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#who killed mr moonlight
streetlight-spam · 4 months
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him: you better not be shooting nostalgia in the back when i get there
my moonlit ass:
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marypsue · 3 months
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What level of 'poser how dare you' is it when you order all of a band's albums from the library and get into their music because you got a really sweet deal on one of their vintage concert tees?
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“pretty when you cry”
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pairing: earlypresident!coriolanus snow x reader
summary: coriolanus is a cruel man, he knows that, you know that, the entire country knows that. but he can’t stand to see his wife upset. luckily for you, he knows just how to bring comfort.
disclaimers: normal snow behaviour, dacryphilia? but there’s no actual sex. allusions to violence.
word count: 1,070
⋆˙⟡♡
the capitol was beautiful at night time. yes, it was always luxurious looking. but something about the way the buildings gleamed under the stars had shivers going down your spine.
you caught yourself getting lost in your thoughts, moonlight from the bare window casting a dim ray onto your face.
“is something on your mind?” coriolanus sat up in the bed, taking your hands into his own. he took notice of their frigidness.
you didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes on the city, mentally thanking yourself for leaving the curtains undrawn. “just thinking.” you pondered for a moment longer.
“thinking about what?” he manoeuvred his entire body to face you, not once dropping your hands, his cold gaze boring through you.
you huffed and slumped your shoulders, wishing you hadn’t accidentally awoken the man in the first place. “life, i guess. nothing of your interest i’m sure.”
coriolanus chuckled darkly at you. “life?” he repeated, and then paused. “i was unaware that you were one to worry about things like that.” he said, scoffing, “you are a woman of high pedigree. your life is golden. anything you need, you can have. you have me.”
rolling your eyes at him, mr president, mr “you don’t have a reason to be sad”, you moved his hands, laid back down on the plush mattress and turned away from him. maybe you didn’t want to talk to him anymore, maybe you just didn’t want to see his face, or maybe, just maybe, you felt too vulnerable in front of him.
“are you alright?” he asked softly, placing his now free hand onto your back. your skin was cold, usually it radiated heat, he missed the feeling.
“yes, coriolanus. just…tired. you can go back to sleep.” you more told than suggested, not moving an inch. his face changed for a moment, taken aback by the use of his full name. you always called him coryo. he was your coryo.
your husband’s brow knitted together while he sat there, debating on whether he should push this. you were his wife. did he not have the right to know what was bothering you, what was making you to be this way?
“i will not go back to sleep until you tell me what’s bothering you.” coriolanus said, almost too sternly, and his hand that you thought he would leave rested on your back and began to stroke your hair.
his palm stopped in its tracks when he swore he heard you speak. or did you? he wasn’t quite sure. no, you sniffled. why were you sniffling? oh. the realisation dawned on him.
you were crying.
why? suddenly a million thoughts raced through coryo’s head. who had hurt you, made you feel this way? he would kill them. that’s for sure. he could imagine himself already, hauling them off to dr. gaul’s office as they begged for his mercy. he wouldn’t give them any. they didn’t deserve it.
“what happened?” he wrapped both hands around your waist and gently pulled you to be in his lap. you were… fragile. broken, even.
“fuck, i’m not.. i’m fine.” you quickly wiped your eyes, resisting the urge to meet his. though you didn’t deny his touch, you can’t remember a time where you did. possibly out of fear, you weren’t really sure what the feeling was.
“i can tell you’re not.” coryo placed a finger underneath your chin and gently pushed your face up towards him. “i’m not stupid, darling.”
the moment your eyes met his, his piercing blue, blue, blue eyes, it all came crashing down. you let out a tragic sob you didn’t even know was in you.
coriolanus’ face softened at the cry, and he wrapped his arms around you, all thoughts of violent quickly fleeting his head. “shh…” he spoke softly, holding you close to him.
it was such a sweet thing that this man, the tyrant president of panem, who was feared by many, was cradling his wife in his lap. and his wife? he had never seen her in a worse state.
you cried into his shoulders for what felt like hours to you, you were surprised he hadn’t pushed you off, complaining of the tear stains on his top. no, instead you held you tight and allowed you to dump your emotions onto him to your hearts content.
eventually, you pulled back. your eyes glossy and cheeks stained with tears. your lips pink and plump. you looked ruined. but your husband thought you had never looked more gorgeous. “coryo.” you whispered, he had tilted you towards him, your foreheads now touching.
coriolanus smiled as he looked at you. your tears made your already beautiful eyes more breathtaking than ever. he loved seeing you in such a state, and had to let himself indulge in you.
he leaned forward, his lips caressing yours.
he didn’t know if this moment was making your feel loved or uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. he wanted you, he wanted to touch you, kiss you. he needed to.
you were his woman, his wife, and his possession. if you were crying and he wasn’t the reason why, what was the point in wasting your beautiful tears?
“coryo.” you said again, this time against his lips and very much out of breath. your hands moved from his shoulders to his biceps, subconsciously poking and prodding at the muscle.
he pulled away, hands squeezing your body that he had claimed ownership over many a time.
“what?” silence. “i’m sorry.”
you sniffled once again. “for keeping you awake.” he peered at you, his eyes narrowing in a way that you didn’t quite understand. “i know you have work to do tomorrow.” you quickly added, afraid of what he was thinking.
“it’s alright.” he cooed, his hands caressing the side of your waist as he continued to look into your eyes.
the sigh of relief you let out was almost comic, and you smiled. not a toothy grin, a smile, soft and gentle, not baring any teeth. yet the bags under your eyes were obvious. and your husband revelled in them.
you looked sad. you looked weak. you looked pathetic.
“you need rest.” coriolanus decided as he gently pushed you onto your side, allowing your head to rest on a pillow. he then pulled you into him, wrapping himself around you, and holding you close. he ran his hand through your hair again.
it’s safe to say, sleep found you easily.
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bobbin-buckley · 1 month
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Like Rain Meets Oil
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Cairo Sweet x Artist!Fem!Reader
Summary: You find Cairo alone in the dark, as you fight over your darkest secrets in the night sky
Warnings: Smoking, mentions of suicide, Mr. Miller mentioned, teacher x student mentions,
Somewhat angst…and some fluff at the end
(Please do not read if these affect you)^^
Enjoy ^_^
y/e/c: Your eye color
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rain
One of your favorite time of days, is when it rains..especially when it’s dark
Taking a stroll down a wet path, the sidewalk had puddles of water on it. The street lights glimmered in the reflection of the puddles. Avoiding the puddles as to not get your shoes wet, even if you were a bit drenched already.
It wasn’t typical for you to stroll in the middle of the night as it rained, (not that the rain was spouting down hard) you rather enjoyed rain indoors..as you did whatever thing you enjoy at this time.
Strolling down by the gates of your school. Yes, gates at a school, this wasn’t just any high school in particular..this school was quite fancy…just for some high school in Tennessee.
The schools gates were tall, could keep intruders out..but in this case someone had either broken in or…was here for a reason.
The gate was slightly opened
Now, were you an adventurous person?
Yes
Did you like sneaking into places?
Probably
In this case it was curiosity of who would be sneaking around in the school at this time.
Maybe some dirty teenagers or some..homeless person..? Who knows, but you were persistent to find out anyways.
You whipped right past the gate, making sure no one was looking and approached the school. It looked rather strange in the dark, as-well as rain covering it. You noticed how the entrance to the library had a light shinning over it, did the janitor forget to turn off the light?
Odd. Getting closer to the door you opened it with ease, someone had definitely broken in..or.gotten in at least..because who breaks into a school?
Warmer air hit you once entering the building, you were on the backside of the library. The back rooms.
Shutting the door behind you and walking further in and out of the backrooms. It was warm oddly..and pretty much dark. You strolled through the dark isles of books..not being able to tell what the book covers said because of how dark it was
Your eyes caught something over by the library’s large window, the moonlight was gleaming inside the library..so there was some light..but that wasn’t what caught your eye..
Someone else was here, for sure.
Someone was sitting in the lounge area, holding a cigarette in hand..they were facing forward so you couldn’t tell who it was…but they obviously weren’t exactly a thief…hopefully
“I know you’re there, you can stop hiding…”
They spoke.
You recognized their voice, you more than likely knew who it was. And it wasn’t a surprise why they were here.
“Walking around here at night is dangerous, especially for someone like you..”
They spoke again. Walking in their direction you walked further enough to see who it was.
Cairo Sweet
“What is it about me that makes it dangerous for me to wander here?” You asked, not facing her direction since you knew it was her.
She chuckled
“You are weak, naive and impulsive. You wouldn’t notice if someone was stalking you, maybe kidnap you..”
You couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not, but she takes another puff of her cigarette..which was another thing lighting in the library other than the moonlight.
“Hm..those are gonna kill you ya know.” You ignore her comments about you and referred to her cigarette. “Also, what makes you think I’m weak?”
“It’s just the truth…face it,” she rolls her eyes. “And I don’t care, I can smoke if I want.”
She obviously didn’t like your company
“I’m just warning ya…and I didn’t ask whether it was a true or false statement…I wanna know why you think I’m weak.” You snide, turning to face her now..you could see her features now..as yours was being shown half of light and dark..
“You’re attitude says enough, you can be too nice for anyone to take you seriously…you’re just too impulsive that anyone with a strong personality could make up a lie and you’d believe it.” She inhaled once more. “And for your kindness you think being nice to them you’ll expect it back? Pretty low from you..”
You could tell she hated that you followed her, how you talked back without hesitation.
“I don’t like making verbal or physical fights.”
“Right, you’re just too afraid of fighting and making confrontation. And it’s not like you can anyway…all a strong person needs to do is raise their voice and you’ll…cower or something..” Cairo snickers.
“I’m not afraid. I’m just trying to be a better person from who I used to be. You can either end up on the streets selling weed or…dead.”
It’s true, you used to be selfish..a no good person. Attempted multiple things…like selling drugs..you almost attempted suicide.. and some assholes in the world end up in those places…jail even
“Well, that just lets me know how you think. The fact you basically said you only see two bad pathways in life, as if there isn’t more..to be scum of the earth..or a naive child..it’s just pathetic. No wonder you are delusional and nice, you don’t consider other possibilities. You only focus on the extreme and completely oblivious anything other..”
Damn, she hand a point..the fact you looked down only two pathways..one’s you could more than likely live off on
Cairo finishes her cigarette, and crushes the rest of it on the tip of her shoe
“What makes you think you have the upper hand over me? Because..I think I remember someone coming in here without permission…
Oh right, Cairo Sweet, getting into trouble again. I mean hey, I’m not the one breaking into places and smoking weed on school grounds.”
“Are you threatening me? Telling on me? That has to be the worst comeback I’ve heard today. What are you? A child?
Oh wait…you are because you’re so naive you don’t even know all the bad things..I should be impressed you know the word ‘weed’….” Cairo laughs, laying her leg on the other.
“I’m not a child, and..it seems like I’ve hit a weak spot because..you are jumping to conclusions now..I didn’t say I’d tell on ya..”
You were now looking straight at her, arms crossed and eyebrows lowered
She scoffs, “I can read read between the lines to figure you out, you can’t hide the obvious. Why would you bring up something about me smoking weed in a school if not to threaten me? Because you were concerned, please, as if you care.” She was also staring right back at you, those brown eyes glaring right into your y/e/c.
“You said it yourself, I’m nice. But you are lucky I’m not letting anyone know about your…weed.
But also..I remember two years ago you were the one seducing Jonathan Miller our professor…wasn’t he like..fifty two? Yet you only seduced him to then get him in trouble because he was trying to fuck you all because you were mad he rejected your writing. Which was literal porn you had written!”
Cairo was in shock. She wasn’t expecting for you to spill her life. And she as a bit pissed too
“H-how do you know about that?”
“Oh please, I have bigger eyes and bigger brain than you think Miss Sweet.”
Her face grows back to arrogance and confidence again
“So you think you’ve got the upper hand now because you know my secrets, but that doesn’t mean you know anything about me.”
“Maybe I don’t know much about you. But how you cut your words towards me, and what you did two years ago. Tells me a lot.”
You were smiling now, you had her
“Oh, and I’m sure your ex best friend hates you now, that you practically used her during that time. Winnie did talk to me.”
Winnie and you became friends not long ago. Yeah she’s odd and sex positive or whatever…but she seemed so upset about what Cairo did to her
She freezes, for a moment..losing her vanity..she just froze at your words..
“Winnie…you talked to Winnie?” She looks at you in disbelief.
“Yes, I did.” You stood there proud, crossed arms and hiding back a smile.
“How’d you talk to Winnie? She left mid semester last year, and blocked me on everything..what did she tell you?”
Cairo was furious..but also in complete disregard as well
“I’m not going to tell you what she said, but she managed to get my number somehow and then we met up to chat.”
Winnie called you on a random Sunday, saying she’d meet you at a coffee shop in town. You weren’t sure why, but obliged anyways..
“She called you?” “Yeah.” “What did she say about me?…I wanna know..because when she left, she made it clear she didn’t want me in her life anymore.”
Winnie did talk a lot about Cairo, she cried about how mean she was and what she did to Miller that Winnie told her not to do…
“I’m not saying anything, she told me not to tell you.”
Cairo’s eyebrows furred, she wasn’t liking the fact you weren’t giving her a direct answer
“You can’t tell me one thing? She may not be in my life anymore but why can’t you tell me? I just…want to know…please.” She pleaded, she was sitting more stiff on the lounge chair.
“Begging now huh? Seems like I do have the upper hand..” you smirk
Her face turns red in both anger and embarrassment. But she ignores your comment
“Just tell me one thing..just one..” you could hear the irritation in her voice.
“Can’t.”
Cairo takes a deep breath, her hands clenching so hard the veins in her hands were pulsing…
“Why? Why can’t you tell me at least one thing….?”
“Because I’m respecting her boundaries..unlike you.”
Her body felt numb..it was like as if you paralyzed her. Her face dropped to guilt and…sadness..she started to feel worse about herself. She had all this confidence but now it was…gone..
“What? Did I say too much? Did I break your cold heart? That’s too bad…because mines been broken too many times…and you don’t even realize you’ve broken Winnie’s too.”
Her silence spoke volumes, as she looked down at her feet
“I…I…I may have done wrong things…but that doesn’t make her any better than me. She’s done bad things too…”
“I’m aware, she was like the..schools ‘slut’ or whatever but..at least she didn’t go apeshit over a writing rejection. She did mention how she tried to stop you from getting Mr. Miller fired.”
Cairo bit her lip, “she’s who should have kept her mouth shut..” she murmured.
“You said you wanted to know one thing, well, there you go.”
Cairo fell silent again, her heart was racing at your words..she was thinking hard..
You sighed, walking over to her and sitting in a chair across from her.
“You can have a change of heart.
If I did, you can..”
Her eyes were directed back at her shoes, the cigarette bud left a mound on her shoe..
“So, you’re actually being..decent now..why?”
“Like you said..I’m weak..it’s because I’m too nice for my own good..you just haven’t seen the other side of me…”
She looks at you again, her eyes filled with curiosity and concern…
“How scary…” she says sarcastically
You sighed, “no kidding..you are and ass..”
Cairo smirked, “I’ve been told so..and I don’t disagree. I put it at my charming personality…which makes people think I am…don’t you think?” She mocks.
You looked into her eyes, trying to find some kind of hope in her…
“Not really, there is a good version of you in there…you’ve just forgotten her..Winnie told me so..”
Cairo’s eyes water a bit..concerned and confusion..
“Sh-she said that?”
“Yeah..Cairo, she misses you..”
The dark brunettes eyes tear up more, a tear slipped down her cheek…emotions were pealing through..her gaze didn’t move away from yours
“The good you.”
You stood up from the seat, walking past Cairo..walking towards the exit of the library..
Cairo was still processing this…she didn’t even notice you get up and leave..
“W-wait!” She stood up from her seat and walked in your direction before stopping..
You stopped in your tracks and turned to face her
“She…misses me?”
“Yeah..she does..”
“But…why? Why would she miss me? After everything I did to her..”
You pursed your lips, looking down for a moment before back into her eyes
“You think about that for a moment. You think about who you are now..compared to before Miller..think of the differences on why she wants you back.”
You turn around and walk to the library doors
“I’ll be in the art room when your ready to talk.”
Cairo was left in shock. She couldn’t help but let the tears flow down her face.
She was so angry at herself, not realizing how much it affected her old best friend. Winnie deserved the world, Winnie must’ve really actually liked Cairo..but she didn’t truly see that and went off to ruin someone’s life instead
You told her right. Told her how she was in the wrong, even if you weren’t apart of it..she still respected that you were right.
Cairo sighed, taking a big breath before strolling down to the art room, she was all of a sudden afraid…nervous..
She found herself in front of the art room, opening the door as it was a bit brighter inside. Her eyes caught you sitting in a small chair in the corner of the room, waiting patiently
“Ready?”
Cairo nodded, walking over in your direction
“Good, have a seat.” You sat up from the chair, telling her to sit in it
She sits down in it, looking at you as you walked over to an easel that had a painting which had a sheet draped over it
“So, will Winnie..ever forgive me? Would she be willing to have me back in her life?”
“I didn’t say anything about her forgiving you.”
More tears dripped from Cairo’s face, “she hates me still?”
You sighed, starting to feel bad
“I hate to say it but uhm..yeah…she does..”
“Did…did I really push her away..that much she’d be willing to talk to someone about me? I mean, I didn’t think she’d actually hate me this much…and you probably hate me too.”
You ripped the sheet off the painting, it revealed two people (genders not specified) holding each other. The painting showed from their waist to their heads as different colors of red painted the large canvas.
Cairo was confused, she looked at the painting…amazed but..unsatisfied at what you were trying to point out
“It resembles love and hate.”
Cairo looked at you, “so..you hate me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
She was still puzzled…
“Then..what do you feel?”
“Absolutely nothing…”
She looked back at the painting..then the floor, “so- but how come you are still here and talking to me? Yet you feel nothing….”
She was right..that didn’t make sense for you to care about her so much..you’d talk to her..about her past and acting like you felt bad..
“Because feeling both love and hate for someone, makes you feel numb.”
You loved her? And hated her?
Cairo’s eyes widen, her jaw dropped. A million thoughts were running through her head..she felt numb too, she didn’t say anything..just silence..
“That is what the painting resembles..there isn’t any emotion or much interaction between these people…” you pointed at the painting. “Are they in love? Do they hate on another? Do they feel both? Yes.”
She looked at you when you said yes
“This is the exact situation between you and Winnie
She hates you, but she can’t help but love you”
Cairo understood now. Winnie still cared for her, she just couldn’t see her because she’s afraid…Cairo hated that she let her writing take a hold of her and make her do a bad thing…
“So..she’s numb because of me?”
“Exactly, and you wanna know who else you’ve made numb?”
She looks up at you when you stand in front of her
“Me.”
A tear. One tear falls at that word…you…she let all her emotions plow through before even putting the people who care for her first..
“Am I really that terrible? That I pushed Winnie and you away…”
“I like you Cairo, I really like you. It’s, just the things you’ve said and done made me hate you…but when I know there’s still good in you…I can’t stop loving you..”
It all hits her like a bullet. She didn’t know everything she did affected you, and Winnie.
She was so guilt tripped…she didn’t even think about you at the time. You two knew each other during the Miller thing…she didn’t notice how much you liked her and how Winnie cared for Cairo..trying to help her undo the bad
She felt numb..she hated you the moment you walked in the library..the moment she saw you again..since she saw your beautiful face in the moonlight she fell in love..
“I’m sorry..”
Cairo was crying, she’s never felt this emotional since she last spoke with Winnie…
You knelt down in front of her, looking in her broken eyes. She really needed a hug…something…
“Here…”
You patted your lap as you sat down on the cold floor
Hell broke through and she fell into your arms, crying her heart out. Saying she was sorry over and over again…
“Shhh..shhh..it’s okay..it’s okay..” you muttered into her hair, she was latched onto you like a leech..sucking your heart into hers…she needed love..all she wanted was to be loved..
“I know I said some things too…I’m sorry..I know you’re hurting..I know you need love..”
You were crying, she didn’t understand why and why were you apologizing?
“Just know I need it too, I’ve been so nice to you…and..you broke my heart..by rejecting my offer of help..and you just threw yourself to the wolves…when I needed you…and you needed me…”
Cairo held your hand, putting it against her cheek. “No, I should be apologizing…I hurt you..I hurt Winnie..I didn’t even know it either but I was hurting myself…”
“I love you too Y/n, so much…”
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A/n: low key balling rn…
I didn’t even mean to make it this emotional at the end 😭
I did really like it though I enjoyed writing it..i maybe spent like a few hours..even if it seems short..I think? Lol..I’m writing this before editing
I might write another one of her because I love Cairo sm..maybe I’ll do a Cairo x Winnie or Cairo x Winnie x Fem if y’all are down? 😏
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wen-kexing-apologist · 5 months
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Last Twilight, Ep. 1 Thoughts
Full disclosure, I am very neutral about JimmySea as a pairing, and literally the only reason I am watching Last Twilight is to see how Aof Handles Disability: Round 2. While I certainly had quibbles with some stuff in Moonlight Chicken, I was generally impressed by the way Aof navigated that storyline both on and off-screen. And seeing characters with disabilities in BL has been extremely rare. 
So, I just want to share my thoughts on the first episode of Last Twilight because there was not enough going on in it for me to personally write an actual analysis. I also want to make it clear that I am not blind, and do not know how accurate an experience any of what is going on may be to blind people. 
BUT! I will say that I was desperately in love with the way they opened the entire show. And I don’t mean like the intro, I mean the “this is a fictional series///raikon dopini” announcement at the beginning because they blurred it at the beginning (and let it become clear over time). Aof and co are getting a lot of mileage with their use of Day’s level of vision, but I personally think it is important to periodically remind the audience of what Day’s working with:
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OH ALSO, CONTENT WARNING FOR STROBE EFFECTS FROM TIME 0:18-0:34 IN PART ONE. 
That said, there were a few aspects of Day’s disability storyline that I found interesting. 
I loved watching everybody interview for the caretaker position, it was really fun to see the comedy and ridiculousness of some of the common sentiments (shout out to Mr. “I’m not helping him, he’s helping me”, worst anyone has ever done it, buddy: 12/10) being played for the absurdities they are.
I loved some of the set dressing, even if it feels a little obvious. The painting in Day’s house with like four or five heads being split by one giant eye in the center is a fucking brilliant choice. (and this is not related to the disability aspect, but the little bandaid Rung put on her car absolutely killed me, what an adorably tragic detail). 
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3. I already said it, but I loved the way that Aof and co cuts between their normal sharpness and Day’s level of vision. Especially because Aof is using Sea, who I feel like most of the fan base knows, and has seen very much be Not Blind. I think stories that center around disability should actually be spending time showing the audience the difficulties that can stem from disability. It was extremely helpful, to me at least, to know what and how Day sees, you get a much better sense of danger when he walks in to the street, when you know how he is trying to navigate. I loved how impossible it was to differentiate the shuttlecock from the ground during the badminton game. And, I think they got the balance right, and didn’t over use that tactic in the first episode, but I will be interested to see if they continue to use it throughout the show
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4. The semi-infantilization of Day by his family. This feels so similar to some aspects of Heart’s family dynamics and so different in others. Both families are very protective of their disabled child in the sense that they (in my mind) overestimate their child’s limitations. But, where Heart’s family was more detached from him: leaving him alone in the house so often, not learning sign language, etc. Day’s mother won’t even let Day stand up and walk like…30 feet in a straight line. Day’s brother, Night, yells at Day for getting out of the car and going up to the Society for the Blind so he can search for music to listen to. It is really fascinating actually, having just wrapped up Unit 2: Race, Class, and Disability from @bengiyo’s queer cinema syllabus, to compare the way Day, a grown adult man, is being treated by his family, compared to say, Leo from The Way He Looks. There are definitely intersections of concern and tighter leashes around these characters than I think either Day or Leo would like. But, because Leo has been blind his entire life, there are aspects of his blindness that are normalized and integrated in his family that are not present in Day’s because…they are new to the whole blindness thing.  __
Something I am iffy about as this progresses is the conversation around eye transplants for Day.  Of course, everyone has the right to choose how to handle their disability, but in a story that from my own interpretation feels like it is partially about accepting new realities, I am waiting to see how that particular story element shapes up. I also think there is/was an opportunity to play with sound in thai show, and I do not know if they are going to do that. But, GMMTV and sound design have never really gone hand in hand.  __
One thing I very much did not like about Day’s disability storyline: 
THE FUCKING CENTER FOR THE BLIND DOES NOT HAVE BRAILLE
ANYWHERE!
I don’t know where they shot this, if it was at an actual center or if it was a set/made to be a center for the blind but…
There is no braille on the elevator 
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There is no braille on the books
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There is no way to easily know what CDs are on that table. 
And like, I have no clue as of yet if braille is something that Day has learned (and I did look it up there is both Thai and Lao braille). It’s been a year since he started losing his vision, so he would have had time to learn. But this center does not revolve around Day, so either way, WHY THE FUCK IS THERE NO BRAILLE? I have to assume this is a place they just dressed as a center for the blind, and that there were limited changes they could make to the space or something to justify the fact that this society for the blind is not accessible for the blind. 
Also, everybody in the center was staring at Day trying to find the CD that he dropped, and like…y’all are staff at a center for the blind, why are you acting so surprised? 
Curious to see how this show continues. 
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lizzie-is-here · 1 year
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lonely is a man without love
part iii- cairo
“i am a deserted sky, and you are the moonlight” - manoj muntashir
summary: you and marc head to cairo, and you make a shocking discovery in the form of a giant skeleton bird
wordcount: 4k
warnings: language, violence, vague references to the red room, drinking, slight pining, a saddening lack of steven
a/n: yuhhh posting this before my bday tomorrow so i can get crunk af. ALSO TAYLOR AND JOE? sobbing. but i hope y’all enjoy love y’all sm sm sm 🫶
taglist: @thefictionalgemini @ravenz-hope @undiscl0sed-d3sir3s @iateall-yourcookies @disregardedplant @sunflowers-4 @yellowumbrelllaaaa @bagsy-not-it @local-mr-frog @thescarletredwitch @jupitersmoon167 @creamecafe @stevenknightmarc @theluciansystem @kingtwhiddleston @spider-biter @mxltifxnd0m @sgt-morgan @no-dont-be-suspicious @onzayhe @namorslit @i-cant-write-for-shit
i’m sorry it won’t let me tag some of y’all 😭
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Marc pokes and prods for more intel on your profession the whole plane ride to Cairo.
Honestly, it’s more of a harsh interrogation at this point, with him making sure you aren’t working for any remnant of the Red Room that managed to stay alive. Once he’s satisfied and his temper cools, you explain why you were sent.
“Righteous” justice or not, he was a danger, killing random people all over Europe and shaking off hits that no normal person should be able to. And the team liked to keep tabs on enhanced beings.
“So the actual Avengers are worried about me? It’s not like I’m going after them,” he says.
You laugh, loud and obnoxious. “Worried? No, you misunderstand. It’s more of a public safety precaution. Just making sure all of our loose ends are tied.”
“Loose ends being…?”
“Hydra. The Red Room-“ You gesture to yourself. “Aliens. Things like that.”
“Yeah…” Marc says, hesitant. “‘Things like that’, sure.”
You lean over a bit, scanning the plane from your aisle seat to check for threats. All you see are tired passengers, dozing off or absorbed in the small TVs on the backs of the seats.
Once satisfied, you turn back to Marc.
“If you want to sleep, now’s a good time. Once we get to Cairo, we’re not going to have much time to rest,” you say, nodding to the TV. 3 hours away.
He eyes you, a bit suspiciously, but closes his eyes anyway. With a sigh, you stand up, snaking through the aisles to the bathroom. You grab your phone and tap a favorited contact.
“(Y/N)?”
“Tasha,” you greet. “Is it a bad time?”
Your friend shakes her head, holding up the phone to show the group. “We just finished a movie, what’s up?”
“So… Marc Spector is here. He has DID, and Steven Grant is an alter, not an alibi. Things are getting serious.”
She nods. “That explains a lot.” You’d been relaying your experiences to them for weeks, and they’d shared in your confusion. Her tone turns more stern. “How serious?”
“Cults, magic, something about a scarab? It’s out of my expertise.”
“Do you need backup?” Steve’s voice calls from the other side of the couch.
You shake your head. “No, it’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s just fucking weird.”
A chorus of laughter goes up on the other end of the phone and you smile, rolling your eyes when a knock lands on the bathroom door.
“I just wanted to update you. We’re heading to Cairo now, so…” You shrug. “I will maybe get some souvenirs.”
The knocking grows more incessant.
“Will you hold on? Your shits can wait!” you call. Turning your attention back to the phone, you sigh. “I’ve got to go. This person is going to kick the door down.”
Nat nods and mock-salutes you. “Have fun, stay safe. You can always call, (Y/N).”
With a brief goodbye, you wash your hands and leave, awkwardly waving at the small child who was the source of the knocking. Sitting down, you sigh, listening to the sound of air and propellers.
No sleep for you, you guess.
———————————————————————
When the plane lands and you rush off, you and Marc find the closest hotel and buy separate rooms.
Even after securing the room and stuffing a gun under your pillow, you still sleep lightly. A shattering sound wakes you, bright light from outside invading your eyes, and you curse under your breath as you clamber out of bed.
You slip out of your door and into Marc’s room, gun still gripped in your hand.
He’s sitting on the floor, head in his hands. A mirror is shattered.
“Are you gonna break more mirrors or can we start the day?” you ask. He raises a bottle.
Snatching it from him, you down the last of the fiery liquid and chuck the bottle. It lands somewhere on the ground behind you, brown glass joining the reflective shards on the tile.
He drunkenly laughs, looking up to where you stand.
Your hair is free and rustled, not like how you normally have it. Your hair is always braided or tied back, something he now realizes is a habit from your training.
There’s a gun in your hand, and he can see your finger on the trigger. Marc regrets waking you, partially out of guilt and partially because he’s once more been reminded that you’re a killer. Which reminds him that he’s a killer.
You’re just a much prettier killer. Much.
“Are you going to get up? Or are you going to stare at me like you want to fight me again?” you laugh. “Because it did not go so great for you last time-“
He waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. ‘M gettin’ up,” he finally says, and you slip away, avoiding glass and heading back to your own room to dress for the day.
Light colors, thin fabrics. Anything to stave off the heat. Once you’re both ready, you and Marc head into the city.
You don’t mention the mysterious absence of Steven, who the vigilante is definitely suppressing. Said vigilante is too busy hunting down his target.
He shakes off the last bit of drunkenness as he leads you up a ladder, not really telling you where you’re going or why. It doesn’t bother you, per se, but you are curious as to how he knows where to go. Sometimes he glances at empty spaces, as if listening to something not quite there.
You have no time to ponder this strange behavior as you leap across rooftops and nimbly avoid obstacles that Marc barrels through.
Your question as to who you’re hunting down is answered when you see a group of men, with one being stabbed in the stomach right as you arrive. Great.
“Oh, shit,” Marc sighs. “You killed him? I needed to talk to that guy. About a dig sight.”
“I don’t think they can un-stab him,” you snort.
He nods. “True. Guess I’m gonna have to talk to you all instead.”
“You’re too late,” one of them growls. “You’re never gonna find Harrow.”
“That’s his name?” You audibly gag. “Eugh, that’s a shit name for a cult leader.”
The guy tosses his knife in the air, following it up by tracing the blade along the ground.
“Ooh,” Marc says. “What, are we dancin’? We fightin’? What are we gonna do?” You step back as one of them lunges, deciding to go easy on them and not use a weapon.
Slamming one against the wall is easy enough, though he gets up soon after and targets Marc instead. One of them, a kid, charges at you.
You disarm him and shove him on his ass, not wasting your time on a literal child. Whipping around, you grab the handle of a knife as it zooms past, a few inches past your shoulder.
“Seriously? Learn to aim,” you say to yourself as you toss the knife off the roof.
It’s going rather well for a street fight. Much more fun, albeit less challenging than any of your Red Room missions.
And then it all goes to shit.
Marc’s got a knife to a guy’s throat, but something changes. A brief moment of silence, and he slams the blunt handle on his head, hard enough for him to bleed.
You let him go to town fighting the other two, who are now much more scared of him. It’s only when he meets your gaze that you realize something is deeply wrong. The hairs on your neck rise.
That’s not Marc. Definitely not Steven.
Your suspicions are confirmed when he leaps from the roof and disappears into the crowd.
What the fuck?
You follow, sprinting down streets as you barely stay on his tail.
When you manage to catch up to Marc, or whoever, he’s staring down a cliff with two dead bodies on the ground. You don’t have to look to know that the third lies at the base of the steep drop.
“Marc? What the fuck just happened?” you demand.
He whirls around, fear in his eyes.
“I- I don’t know. That wasn’t me, or Steven. So what-”
The wind swirling interrupts him, and he stares off at a rusty car.
“And what is so interesting about the car that-”
“We have to find Harrow. What about the other gods?”
You furrow your brow. “What?”
A disembodied voice responds, “To signal with an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath-”
You’ve never pulled out a gun faster. Turning in circles, you find no source. No people, no tech. Your breath quickens, aiming the firearm at random.
“Okay, Marc?” you begin. “I’m all good with cults, and floating scarabs, and even some magic, but you are going to have to explain that voice before I start freaking out.”
The man sighs, glancing back to the air.
“I serve the Egyptian god Khonshu. I’m his… avatar.” The delusional nature of his statement is offset by how naturally he says it, so much so that you do a double-take.
“And you’re just telling me this now? Of course, of course, the first mission I go on after fighting a grape from space has Egyptian gods,” you hiss. “Don’t tell the public, Thor’s got plenty of fangirls that you don’t want.”
The voice sounds again. “I doubt they’d find the same appeal in me.”
You shrug, but when you turn in the direction it came from, you see it. And boy is it ugly.
An absurdly large bird skull, the body covered in mummification wrappings, and a large staff at his side.
“Cool. Cool-cool-cool. You were saying about talking to the other gods?” you mumble, trying to ignore the large bird thing.
“Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen?” Marc asks.
“Anger them enough and they’ll imprison me in stone,” the thing -Khonshu- says.
“That doesn’t sound too bad to me,” the man next to you says. You nod in agreement.
“You are very ugly,” you state bluntly.
Evidently unused to people disrespecting him, the god slams his staff on the ground.
“Not many mortals are allowed to even see my form, much less speak to me. It is a blessing.”
“Yes, well, I don’t feel very blessed.”
He turns his attention back to his avatar. “See how well you fare against Harrow without the protection of my healing armor.”
“All right, so what? Do you have any good ideas?”
“I have a bad one.” With that, he disappears.
You glance up, noticing the light dimming. You are met with a solar eclipse. So he can fully move the moon with no regard to its position or that the next eclipse was not for a good while? Huh.
Marc leads you down some stairs, past Khonshu as they talk.
“The gods all have avatars,” he explains. “They’re gathering now, but I don’t know…”
A wall begins to open itself, revealing a tunnel lined with glowing hieroglyphs. “... how to get there,” he finishes.
“I don’t fuck with small, dark, magic tunnels,” you say. “Besides, I don’t think I should join you.”
Marc smiles, visibly nervous. Resting a hand on his shoulder, you shrug.
“You’ll be fine, okay? Meet me here when you’re done, I will wait and see what I can learn about any leads.” It’s the nicest thing you’ve said to him, so he nods, steels his nerves, and heads down the tunnel. As soon as it shuts, you sigh.
“‘Egyptian mythology’,” you whisper to yourself as you type into a search bar. “I guess the black market is a good place to start.”
———————————————————————
You’re wandering through a marketplace when Marc finds you. The Red Room taught you to blend in perfectly, but he manages to spot you when he hears a loud laugh.
In your hand are a drink and a tangerine, which you may or may not have stolen.
“Can you find anything about Senfu’s sarcophagus?” he asks.
“Ouch, no ‘Hi’?” you tease before obliging. As you search with Stark tech assisting you, you glance at Marc. “It didn’t go well.”
“No,” he agrees. “They brought in Harrow, called me crazy, and denied my request.”
“Hmm, some council.” You finally break into a smile, holding your phone flat and projecting your findings. “Mogart. Some black market collector that is conveniently… 24 miles away.”
It takes a while to double-check your intel and find a boat, and the sun has set by the time you’re onboard. Sitting on the end, away from the other groups, Marc watches you, observing the cheerful passengers. A few young girls dance to the loud music, just enjoying the night as you look away.
“You know, I know almost nothing about you,” Marc says.
“I could say the same about you. Other than the file.”
He doesn’t balk at the mention of a debriefing on him, just smirks. “Yeah? Well, you know I work for an Egyptian god, I’ve got a British man living in my head, and the basics. All I know is your name and your-” He gestures at you. “-previous job.”
“You don’t want to know about the Red Room, I promise.” Your smile is a bit bittersweet. “It’s not pretty.”
“My past isn’t either.”
You hum. “The Red Room makes child assassins,” you say, avoiding too much detail. “And… I was cycled through the Black Widow programme three times. I was good at it, too.” That’s all you give up, gauging his reaction.
His gaze softens, not with pity, but with empathy. “How young were you? When you started- The training, I mean.”
The question manages to cause a lump in your throat. This is why you don’t like thinking about it.
You soften the truth when you manage to speak. “I don’t remember a time before it.”
A hand rests on yours. And the two of you sit in silence for a bit, quiet understanding lingering.
“And you?” you say, blinking away the small amount of water building in your eyes. “Did you always work for the bird?”
“No. But I was fighting for a while before I met him. ‘ve done plenty of horrible shit in my life even without him asking me to.”
“And I’ve done horrible things to get out of the Red Room. We have something in common.”
Marc shakes his head. “No, you… you’re out. Hell, you’re working with the Avengers. You’ve made up for it.”
If he knew what you’d done, he wouldn’t be so quick to absolve you. You brush that thought away.
“Well,” you begin, leaning back on the seat. “It’s never too late to start.”
The boat reaches the banks before he can respond or be further distracted by the rings on your hands. Or how your body twists and curves as you quickly jump onto dry land.
“Got an alibi?” you ask, watching Marc stash the duffel bag under the dock.
He hums, shrugging. “A few. Rufino Estrada,” he decides. “What about you?”
“I’m going in as myself. Obviously, not an Avenger, but…” You tie your jacket around your waist, allowing your t-shirt to hide many of your weapons.
On your belt, there are two guns and a handful of knives, but Marc’s eyes are drawn to your wrists. Gauntlets flicker red, electricity in them crackling as you check your weapons.
He speaks after you fire an experimental blast into the ground. “And what’s our story here?”
“You hired me as security, and you are in the business for this sarcophagus. You’re a reputable antiques buyer who previously had ties to Dreykov, the head of the Red Room. I’ve already sent that information ahead.” You flash a charming smile to the man, who still seems a bit on edge. “Mogart made a few small deals with him, so he knows how serious the Widows are. It’s a perfect alibi.”
You two approach a large track, with men jousting under bright lights as music blares from the speakers.
Schooling your expression as you approach a man, you tilt your chin up.
“Where is your boss?” you ask, voice much darker and accented than usual.
“Ma’am-“
“I sent a message earlier. We’re here for the sarcophagus.” The man immediately nods and rushes off as you lead Marc forward. “Don’t drop the act,” you whisper. “Let’s go.”
The guy introduces himself as Bek and guides you toward the track. “He’s excited to meet you. He hasn’t been able to speak to any of the infamous Black Widows after the Red Room fell.”
They were scattered across every continent on Earth, rebuilding their lives. Of course he wouldn’t find them.
“Excuse me a moment. Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly,” Bek says, slipping away.
You lean against the railing, the Widow Bites on your wrists glowing red at the movement.
“So what?” Marc starts. “This joker just puts on El-Mermah games in his backyard for fun?”
You click your tongue. “Ah, who knows? Rich people are weird.”
“Sir, Agent. Come in.” The man, dressed in a dark red robe, greets you with a more than relaxed attitude. “I hear you’re interested in my collection?”
Marc nods. “I hear you have Senfu’s sarcophagus.”
“And who told you that?” This is tedious, you think to yourself. Diplomacy and bargaining, it makes you want to heave.
“The best in the business.” Marc gestures to you.
Mogart seems convinced by this, and you begin to head toward a group of buildings.
“I hope you understand this is more than a collection to me. Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously.”
“No one asked you to do that,” you comment mildly, baring your teeth in a sinister grin when he frowns at you. “Yet, here we are.”
Mogart brushes off the thinly veiled insult with a chuckle. “I forgot how deep Widows cut,” he jokes. “How was the old boss before he died? May he rest in peace.”
“Pieces,” you correct, struggling to speak well of the man that previously controlled every aspect of your life. “Helicopter explosion. He… He died powerful and influential. What he would’ve wanted.”
Mogart doesn’t push further, thankfully, coming to a stop in front of a glass pyramid.
“If I may ask, why such interest in Senfu in particular?”
You have a fake reason, but he gestures for Marc to answer. Shit.
“I think that… I just think I would love to take a look,” he says. He’s confident, but it’s an awkward pause.
Mogart concedes. “Funny man. Feel free.”
As you enter the area housing said tomb, you glance at Marc.
“You need to let Steven out. He knows more than either of us and we cannot afford to blow this,” you whisper.
Marc scoffs. “Not a chance. All right, what do you see?”
“The burial practices,” you begin, recalling your research from earlier. “They’re in line with the Studenwachen texts.”
“The what?”
You roll your eyes, exasperated. “Apparently I’m the only one who studied. It means it’s real. But all of this is just instructions to guide the dead.”
“So?”
“No locations indicated.”
Marc glances up at the ceiling, likely listening to Steven. He turns back to you, voice hushed.
“Ok, will you give me a minute? I gotta talk to Steven. Keep him occupied.”
You nod, slipping away with a sigh of relief.
“Mr. Estrada needs some time alone,” you announce, watching said man ramble to himself. “He’s… praying.”
This doesn’t stop Bek, who storms in and grabs Marc’s arm. On instinct, the ex-Marine disarms him, also giving up your cover.
Guns are trained on you in an instant, and you raise your hands.
“Marc!” you shout. He spots you, and for a second you think he’s gonna shoot the guy and leave you to fend for yourself. Instead, he curses and gives up the gun.
“Do you really think I’m an idiot?” Mogart asks. “Get on your knees.”
Marc obliges, and the robed man sneers at you. “I really thought you were a possible ally.” A gun shoved against your neck forces you forward. “I used to be Dreykov’s customer, a friend, even.”
“You think I’d want anything to do with the man who ruined my life?” you laugh. “Dreykov was a coward. And I wish I’d been the one to kill him.”
“Hey-“ Marc steps in. “Take a look inside the sarcophagus. There’s somethin’ really, really big.”
Before Mogart can look, Bek speaks to him in French. You freeze.
“It appears we have a concerned third party here,” he says. “Get up.”
“Harrow,” you mouth to Marc, trying to find the zealot. He stands with two men, leaning on his staff.
“Whatever they’ve told you, I’m sure I can offer something much more tangible.” The scarab floats above his hand. “Why settle for a clue when you can have the treasure?”
Arguing breaks out as Marc snaps at Harrow, who simply turns to each of you. “You all have more in common than you know.”
“(Y/N), you think that ignoring the past will keep it from catching up to you. That missions can give you a purpose, but it’s closing in.”
You’re so taken aback by him knowing your name and reading you so well that you don’t hear another word.
“Do it. Summon the suit,” Khonshu says, appearing on a rooftop. “Give them what they deserve.”
You exchange a glance with Marc, subtly nodding to your gun, and then to the distracted guards.
Meanwhile, Harrow calls on his staff, using it to destroy the sarcophagus. By the time the cultish leader is gone, so is Marc.
Panic starts immediately, and you grin despite being surrounded.
“Well, boys. Looks like you’re in trouble.”
Mogart and Bek run as Marc starts attacking, throwing down curved blades as you grab your gun. Shooting down three guards is easy enough, but more are firing from the track.
“Here!” Marc covers you with his cape, blocking the gunfire in a way you don’t understand.
You catch your breath, looking up where his eyes glow through the suit.
“Can you buy me some time?”
“Absolutely.”
You run to the tomb, grabbing the tattered fabric. When you turn around, you come face to face with Bek.
Thinking fast, you throw shards of glass at his face and kick him in the stomach. He grabs a knife as you dodge his attacks, ducking in time for his knife to land in the mummy.
You take the advantage, slamming the grip of your gun into his nose. He tosses you away to grab the knife, but as he turns around, you fire off a single shot.
A quick death, it could be worse.
Running to the track where Marc is pinned down, you jump the fence. There’s multiple javelins stabbed through him, and you shoot a rider with another ready.
As you aim for the rest, however, you take a blow to the head. You hit the dirt, trying to rise as your vision blurs.
You can hear hoofbeats pounding in your head, only increasing the incoming headache. He’s got a javelin.
“Fuck that hurts,” you mutter, pushing yourself into a sitting position with your gauntlet trained on the figure. Even as Mogart heads for Marc, you don’t waver, especially when he sticks out the weapon to attack you at the last second.
Marc tackles you out of the way, enveloping you as he rolls to safety and tosses a last knife. It doesn’t miss.
Sighing in relief, you let your head flop onto his shoulder as you try to fight off the ache. He pats you on the back as his wounds mend under the suit. A luxury you don’t have.
“There you go. That’s it, deep breaths,” he mumbles, not really sure when you got comfortable enough with each other to sit like this.
He tries his best not to focus on the weight of you leaning on him, trusting him enough to rest, safely tucked in his arms. It feels nice, to have someone trust him like this. Marc hasn’t had that in a long time.
He coughs a bit and you pull away, leaving a cold, exposed feeling where your touch was. Shakily standing, you observe the bodies scattered on the sand.
“We should keep moving,” you say softly. “Don’t want them to catch up.”
Marc can only nod as he fights to keep from reaching for you.
“Yeah. We’ll keep moving.”
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padfootagain · 9 months
Text
The Last Ones on Earth (I)
Chapter 1: A Mission
Hi everyone! It’s me! Mrs. No-self-control! Here I come with a new series! The concept is simple: what if the Darkling was a little less alone…
I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!
****
Pairing: The Darkling x reader
Warnings for the series: mentions and depictions of violence and warfare, mentions of trauma
Warnings for the chapter: None
Summary: You and the Darkling are a team, even if no one knows it. Beyond being a team, you are the only one he trusts, and he's the only one you care about, and you're each other's true love. But if you've kept your secrets hidden for a long time, now that the Sun Summoner is fighting against you, it's time to reveal who you are, and what you are capable of...
Word Count: 5214
Masterlist for the series - The Darkling's Masterlist - Main Masterlist
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It’s very dark outside, but that’s okay. You like it this way. After so many years spent by Aleksander’s side, you’re used to the shadows. You find comfort in them now.
You remember when you were a child - such a long, long time ago – you used to be afraid of the dark. You longed for daylight, moonlight, anything to pierce the black veil covering your world. You couldn’t see anything around you, the unknown was a scary place. You didn’t realize by then that the shadows were a hiding place. If you couldn’t see a thing, no one could see you either.
Besides, the dark was a place filled with stories of monsters and spells and evil creatures lurking in its midst. It was evil, against the goodness of light.
What a fool you were by then…
You’ve never gotten used to the sight of the Fold. You should have, it’s been here for such a long time now. Still, you struggle with the view of it as you stare at the darkness by the window: the sharp edges of its unpalpable wall, the shouts that struggle to get out of it, to escape.
It’s a prison, in a way. You want to make it a key towards freedom…
“Are you certain that this is a good idea?”
Aleksander’s voice is deeper than usual; low and cold but you know him enough to identify the worry that’s there too. He sounds almost afraid. You know he’s terrified, actually.
It’s a rare emotion to hear in his voice, and you turn to look at him at the sound. He’s standing in the middle of the room, gaze lost on a map splayed on the table at the centre. You know he doesn’t see any of the lines, any of the names or letters traced in black ink. The light is too low, only a torch and the fireplace, painting strange shapes in red and gold over the furniture, the walls, his tall frame…
You walk across the room, steps slow and measured, trying to be quiet, as if not to scare him away. As if he could ever walk away from you…
You don’t speak until you’re standing by his side. You lean against the table, your back against the wooden furniture, so you can stare at him. He doesn’t turn his black eyes towards you though. He’s too lost in thought, or perhaps he’s fleeing your gaze. You’re not sure. It doesn’t really matter, anyway.
“We don’t have a choice,” you speak in a soothing voice, crossing your arms before your chest. “They won’t let you go anywhere near Alina. But they don’t know who I am. We know they’ve taken Genya and David in. Probably others too. They could want to take me in too. I can try and get closer, close enough to talk with her.”
“And if you can’t convince her?”
“It doesn’t matter. It will give you time to access Keramzin undetected. And I’ll make sure she joins us, whether she likes it or not.”
“She will try to kill you.”
You notice the way his fits clench by his side, so tightly you’re pretty sure it hurts. His knuckles have gone ivory with the strength of his gesture, even if his voice didn’t falter. You reach for his hand, and he lets you slip your fingers between his.
After all this time, it still feels the same. The rush of his amplifying powers coursing through your veins. The callous pads of his fingers brushing against your knuckles and sending shivers down your spine. The warmth of his palm soothing you, making your heart skip a beat…
You know he feels the same. You see it in the way his hold on your hand is tender, in the way his shoulders drop ever so slightly, in the way his gaze shifts in your direction, without looking at you. He’s averting his gaze still. It’s alright. You’re used to it.
“I’ve survived more perilous situations.”
“Because I was here.”
“Don’t take all the merit. I’m incredible.”
He lets out a shaky breath, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. There was a time when he would have offered you a full laughter at that remark. It was a long time ago, when you were young, and too naïve for this world. When you still believed there was a peaceful way out of all this…
“I will be cautious,” you tell him, and your voice sounds like a promise, your tone makes him tighten his hold on your hand. “I will come back to you in one piece.”
“You’d better. Or you’ll have me to deal with.”
“I’m sure I should be terrified of the Darkling’s punishment, but I really am not.”
“You should be.”
You scoff at that.
“We’re alone, you know. No need to play the cold, tough guy with me. I’ve seen you cry before.”
“I’ll cut off your tongue if you tell anyone about this story.”
And his voice is icy, and firm, and serious, and anyone but you would have trembled before such a threatening tone. But not you.
You’re the only one he would never hurt in any way, and you know it. He could kill, torture, destroy, annihilate everything, the entirety of Ravka, of the world even. But not you. You could betray him, you could try to kill him, and he wouldn’t lift a finger to stop you. You’re the only one he wouldn’t punish, the only one he would forgive. You make him weak like that.
And he hates it. He hates it, but he needs this fragility, this one weakness. He must indulge it, he doesn’t have a choice. And you know it, you feel the same about him. That’s why you’re never afraid when he’s around, no matter what he does, no matter what he says. You trust him too much for that.
When he turns to you, at long last, he forces a tender smile to his lips.
“And throw it to a Volcra?” you ask, struggling not to smile too brightly.
“Or one of my nichevo’ya.”
“Of course, for a second I forgot your new minions.”
“You are not terribly fond of them…”
“I know how painful it is for you to summon them. Of course, I’m not fond of them. They’re efficient, though.”
You stare at each other for a while longer. In the hearth, the fire lets out cracking sighs. There’s an owl outside, somewhere, you hear it singing, the voice of a night at its fullest. There are voices in the corridor too, coming inside Aleksander’s room as shushed, barely there at all, only ghosts of other lives. Lives that will never be like yours, or Aleksander’s…
“I will have to tell Alina the truth, if I want to have a chance to convince her.”
Aleksander clenches his jaw.
“You shouldn’t. It’s too dangerous.”
“We’re beyond pondering about risks, I reckon.”
“Y/N…”
“I know what I’m doing. If I want to convince her, she needs to realise that this is not going to work. That none of it will ever work. We’ve tried it before, and it failed, because the world is not going to change, unless we burn it to the ground first. She needs to understand that.”
“I’ve tried to show her…”
“No, you’ve tried to lure her into trusting you too blindly to protest.”
“She’s a child. She will never understand…”
“Then we’ll get rid of her. She’s too dangerous alive if she’s not on our side.”
“On this, we agree.”
You heave a sigh, suddenly tired, as if the weight of many battles fought in the past was suddenly thrown onto your shoulders once more.
And he hates it. Aleksander hates seeing you like this, tired and almost broken. But then again, after all you’ve been through, how could you not be like this? He has lost himself too, along the way. He has lived too long to remain the same.
You’re disappointed for a second when he lets go of your hand, but it only lasts a moment. Instead of your fingers, he reaches to touch your cheek.
You’re the only one he has ever touched so gently, so slowly, so lovingly. He hates it, the power you have over him. But he has never had a choice.
It was always you. It still is. It will always be.
“I cannot lose you,” he whispers, and Aleksander wishes he could add an argument about how useful you are, to at least keep the illusion that he’s not so vulnerable, but what would be the point? After such a long time loving you, it would be of no use at all. “Please, be careful, my love.”
Your smile widens, you can’t help it. It would be dangerous for others to know who you truly are, just like no one can know who hides behind the image of the Darkling. It’s safer if the world doesn’t know about your relationship with Aleksander either.
The Darkling’s wife, that would put one hell of a target on your back. And it would make him unbearably vulnerable too.
That’s why these moments are so rare these days. The ones when he calls you sweet names, and touches you like this, and lets you get so close again. There was a time, long, long ago, when things weren’t so complicated, when you were together all the time, when all you both had to do was love each other. But that type of happiness didn’t last for long. You learnt that lesson the hard way.
You are both Grisha. You were never allowed to be happy. If you want happiness, you need to fight for it.
You lean into his touch, letting him cup your cheek, brush the pad of his thumb across your soft skin. You close your eyes for a second, enjoying the soft caress. You wish you could stay like this forever…
But when you open your eyes again, and fall into his dark eyes, you read too much fear into them to be fooled.
You are both Grisha. If you want happiness, you need to fight for it. And if it means that you must burn the entire world, until there’s no one else left, then so be it.
“I’ll come back to you. I always do. I always will,” you promise him, resting your hand against his heart, feeling its steady beat, the rhythm that matches the one under your own ribs, the rhythm that belongs to you.
He nods, and you can’t help but step into his embrace, but hold onto him as tightly as you can. It takes him a moment to reciprocate the gesture, but he does. He kisses your forehead, sweet and tender and a little desperate.
“Be careful too,” you admonish. “I’ll meet you at the Little Palace.”
“Until we’re the last ones on Earth,” he whispers into your skin, eyes closed, his voice a mantra you’ve both been repeating for years, so many years… It’s almost a prayer.
And you pray too, you pray even if you don’t believe in Saints. You know who they really were: Grisha slaughtered and brought into legends.
What an irony, to idolize the most hated people of this world…
You breathe in deeply his scent: woollen kafta, a bit of leather, something cold like a wintery night. Home.
You bury your face in the crook of his neck, and that’s the safest you’ve felt in a while. When you answer him, your voice is firm, unfaltering. A promise, just like a vow.
“Until we’re the last ones on Earth.”
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You leave before dawn, it’s safer that way.
You know Aleksander is watching you leave through the cracked windowpane of the room he’s taken as his own, in the deserted house where the Grisha have now taken refuge. You take one last look at the wagon that arrived the previous evening. There are still traces of blood darkening the wood.
Twelve Grisha rescued from a town nearby. Encaged. Beaten almost to death. They were to be killed without much of a trial or any type of mercy. Their crime was existing.
You are used to it by now, but you wish you weren’t. You wish it could still surprise you, that you could still be aghast by the cruelty of it. But you aren’t, not anymore, not after witnessing it again, and again, and again.
It will always happen. You’ve lost your hope for a better world made with peace and harmony a long time ago. You are not so naïve anymore. Instead, you’ve learnt how to kill.
You have a long journey ahead, at least three days of riding before reaching the last-known location of Alina and Nikolai Lantsov, along with their little group. It’s safer if you travel alone, no one will recognize you without your kefta, no one has ever paid enough attention to you for that, anyway. Besides, you’re strong enough to defend yourself. No, you are not worried about the journey that awaits you, you are worried about the negotiations that will follow.
You’ve almost guided your horse outside the lands attached to the mansion, and you can’t help but take one last look over your shoulder. Beyond the large house stands the infinite wall of the Fold. It stretches up to the heavens, loses its tip into the clouds, you wonder if it has any end. From here, it only looks like a dark void: ominous, unforgiveable. It is splayed in both directions too, from South to North, as far as the eye can see.
You can feel Aleksander’s stare upon your frame, and your eyes drift down from the Fold to its creator, to his motionless shape by the window of his room. He won’t move, won’t acknowledge your presence any other way than by staring at you as you leave. You shoot him a smile anyway.
He’s grateful for it. If he never sees you again, at least he’ll have the memory of one more of your smiles…
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Ten months earlier
The Little Palace
You had not seen Aleksander in a while.
It wasn’t that surprising, with the new Sun Summoner taking up an awful lot of space and air. She enjoyed complaining too much. She also enjoyed thinking she was righteous. Maybe she was. More than you, at the very least, without a doubt.
You had not seen Aleksander in a while, and so you were surprised when he called for you, sending Ivan to look for you and bring you to his war room. You bid David a good night, leaving behind your messy desk on which you worked on some gloves to help Alina control her powers. A waste of time and energy, in your opinion, but maybe there was a tinge of jealousy that blurred your judgement when it came to her.
You followed Ivan, trying to control your heartbeat into a steady rhythm, so that the Heartrender would not notice how excited you were at the prospect of seeing the Darkling. No one in the Little Palace knew how close the two of you were, and it was better if it remained that way. It could endanger more secrets, some darker and more dangerous than a hidden love story.
Lucky for you, you had been playing this political game for a long time now. You were used to controlling your own heart. And even if Ivan was a talented Heartrender, he couldn’t sense any change in your heartbeat as you advanced towards the door of the War Room, the Darkling’s symbol of a moon in eclipse engraved on its surface.
He opened the door for you, and let you walk inside.
The Darkling was leaning above the giant map set in the middle of the room, lost in thought, considering the next movements of his own troops. He was alone, wearing his usual black kefta although you noticed that his hair was a little dishevelled after a long day. It was nighttime, after all. Dinner had passed, and with it, most Grisha in the Little Palace had gone to sleep, before a new day filled with training and work would arise. Outside, stars were shining brightly, you could guess the blurred shape of their light through the windows on the opposite side of the room.
The Darkling didn’t look up as you stepped inside, didn’t acknowledge you at all.
“Thank you, Ivan. Leave us.”
The Heartrender gave a small bow, almost a mere nod, before turning on his heels and walking outside the room without a word, closing the door behind him. You moved your hands in a quick, circular movement to lock the door.
You relaxed as soon as you were safely alone with the Darkling. Although, he was still hunched over his map as you turned to him again.
He seemed worried, his brow bearing a frown that traced lines across his forehead and at the edges of his eyes. You heaved a sigh.
“You do know that even the General of the Second Army needs to sleep every once in a while, right?” you ask, crossing your arms before your chest.
Your tone was both teasing and admonishing, and Aleksander closed his eyes at the sound.
He had missed you. Saints, he had missed you so much over the past three months. But seeing you alone was too risky for a while. Now though, with your work for Alina’s gloves, he had a perfect opportunity to require your presence, alone.
At last, he stood straighter again, looking up to catch your eyes with his black ones. He tilted his head to the side a little.
“Do I look so tired?”
“You look exhausted.”
“You don’t look so rested yourself.”
You smiled at that, and he noticed the tears that shone in your eyes. He tried not to feel happy about the sight, but he did. You had missed him too… even after all this time, you still missed him…
“Lots of things going on. Lots of things to worry about,” you answered, shrugging. “Doesn’t help that I’m working way too much because of your stupid gloves. You know how grumpy that makes me if I don’t get my beauty sleep.”
He chuckled.
“And how many years have passed since you’ve had one of those peaceful nights?”
You didn’t answer at first. Before that, you took off the leather gloves that you always wore. He was the only one who got to see you like this, with your last bit of armour, of disguise, resting on his table. You were fully yourself before him.
“Two.”
He frowned, searching through his memory. Two years…
He smiled as he figured it out.
“Our journey to Ketterdam?”
“We had a couple of days free then. It was nice.”
“We spent all of those days in bed…” he gave you a smirk, a dangerous glint in his eyes that you recognized, and that made your heart skip a beat, like it always did.
“That’s what I’m saying. Despite your unbearable snoring, I still had plenty of time to rest.”
He laughed at that. It wasn’t one of his bright ones, the ones he used to give you when you met, when you tried to have a life together. But it was a laugh all the same, and you welcomed the sound of it, tried to carve it into a memory.
But too soon, the sound vanished, failing into the air, replaced by the cracking of the fire in the hearth, the soft sound of his breathing, the regular ticking of a clock. There was no sound coming from outside the room, and no word spoken inside could escape either. You were an amazingly skilled Durast, after all. You had prepared, in secret, long ago, some materials only known to you that could absorb sounds.
No eavesdroppers. Aleksander and you could talk without fear.
He clenched his jaw, straightening his posture a little. Coming into a commanding stand.
“There is much to discuss though,” spoke the Darkling in a cold voice. “We don’t have much time…”
But you didn’t let him finish. Instead, you crossed the room, and rushed into his arms.
Aleksander’s arms…
“Y/N… we need…”
“Shut up. We’ll discuss everything you want. But give us five minutes. Just five minutes to be ourselves. Please, darling.”
You felt him tremble under your touch as you called him by this sweet name. Both of you were too used to act distant, like strangers. It was good to be reminded that you were so much more than that.
At last, he wrapped his arms around you, an embrace strong, comforting, safe. Arms that had never failed to protect you, no matter what the world had tried to destroy you both…
“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, your voice more fragile than you intended for it to be, but you couldn’t find a way to care.
You closed your eyes, breathed deeply his scent. The wool of his kefta, a tinge of leather, something cold during starless nights.
Home.
“I’ve missed you as well, my love,” he whispered in your hair, brushing his cheek against your temple, his beard tickling you in a delightful way.
The skin-on-skin contact made the rush of his amplifying abilities course through your veins, but it wasn’t what sent electricity travel across your spine. It was because of the hand he slipped to the back of your head, to press you closer to him, to keep you right there, tugged into the crook of his neck.
You remained motionless for a few minutes, basking in each other’s presence, in each other’s warmth, in the safety of an embrace you had shared thousands of times, so familiar and missed as soon as it was broken.
“Are you sleeping at all these days, darling?” he asked in a soft, tender voice that almost sounded like it wasn’t his own anymore, after banishing it for so long.
You nodded, even if it was almost a lie.
“Just not enough,” you reassured him.
“Nightmares?”
“Sometimes. I’m genuinely busy though.”
“I wish I could tell you to get more rest, but time is working against us.”
“I know. It’s okay. You look exhausted too.”
“I am, but that’s not the point. I think I’ve found the stag, Y/N.”
You looked up at him, not breaking your embrace just yet, but frowning hard.
“Are you certain?”
“Not entirely, but it seems promising. Trackers seem to have found it in Fjerda, near the border.”
“Saints…”
“I know. I doubt it is a coincidence that we finally find Morozova’s amplifier when the Sun Summoner appears out of nowhere.”
You nodded, turning to the map to let him show you where the stag was spotted. He went on for a while about that, explaining you the whole situation in details.
It wasn’t the only thing he wanted to discuss with you, though, and you knew it. You knew him to well to be fooled.
“So, what will you do about Alina?”
You noticed that he was tensing. You felt almost guilty for enjoying this sight of discomfort. But then again, he never tensed, not unintentionally, except in your presence. He could let his guard down with you, he trusted you enough for that.
“You know what I’ve been doing about Alina,” he deadpanned.
“I know. You’ve tried to seduce her.”
“And I am certain that you hate it.”
“You’re my husband. Of course, I hate,” you scoffed.
“It will not go as far as sex, if it is what worries you.”
“Have you kissed her?”
He intensely stared at you.
“Not yet.”
“You’re planning on going that far?”
“Maybe. I don’t know yet. We’ll see.”
Slowly, you nodded, and he hated that look on your face. A mix of rage, of pain, of an anger you tried to suppress because you knew why he was doing this, and you would have been ready to go that far too, without a hesitation.
Still, he understood your reaction. He would have killed the person you needed to seduce instead of letting you play that game.
But you were more rational than him, if not more patient. You wouldn’t strangle Alina in her sleep. Instead, you merely glowered at him.
“I don’t like it. It won’t work,” you mumbled.
“She’s falling for me, already.”
“How did you do it?”
“With the truth. That no one else she knows can understand her. That she will live a thousand lives and everyone else will wither and die. Except for me. I’m her only chance with eternity.”
“I see. Nicely done, I have to admit.”
“Well, thank you.”
“Do you think it will be enough to make her agree to all of this? To use the Fold against Ravka, Fjerda and Shu Han? To kill the king?”
“I don’t know yet. But I don’t see any other way to secure her power on our side. She must believe that she depends on me. Or else, why would she help us at all?”
“What if we told her the truth?”
“The truth?” he repeated, his tone mocking. “Since when are you so naïve?”
“I highly doubt Alina will agree to destroy entire villages, slaughter populations, and draw the world she knows into chaos just for your pretty eyes. Sorry for your charms, but a crush won’t be enough for that. She won’t accept to take over Ravka if she doesn’t realize that this is the only way for us to ensure that Grisha will find peace.”
“You overestimate her intelligence.”
“And you underestimate her stupidity. She is still naïve. She’s a child, Aleksander. At her age, did you believe something as terrifying as the Fold was the only way towards peace?”
He didn’t answer, he merely stared at you instead. You were right, of course. Like always. He knew it was the only way, but Alina didn’t. She had not suffered nearly enough for that. But the two of you?
You had so many years of practice with suffering…
“I have never played with pity, I will not start today,” he spoke with too much pride, and you both knew it.
“But breaking my heart by seducing a stupid girl is perfectly fine to your standards, I see…”
“Y/N…”
“I know that you’re doing this to reach our goal. I understand. It doesn’t mean I have to like it. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to rip her tongue out every time she talks about you.”
His gaze softened, and he held out his hand for you to take, palm up, inviting you into what you knew would turn into an embrace.
“My love, there was never anyone else for me,” he let out in a breath, a tender smile on his lips. “There will never be. But we need Alina Starkov, if we want to have this peaceful life we have always longed for.”
But you shook your head at that.
“You want power now. More than this quiet life we dreamed about at first.”
His hand trembled, faltered, but didn’t disappear. He kept his offering up, hoping you would take it, the way you had always taken it before.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “I’m too angry. I’ve lost too much to want more than revenge now. But beyond it, I still want this safe life with you. The one we have always dreamt about. I want all Grisha to have it too. I won’t deny I’m thirsty for power now, that I’ve left morality behind a long time ago. You know when I abandoned it. I abandoned it the day you died.”
“Almost…”
“You were dead, Y/N. No matter how you want to call it today, you died for several minutes that day. I will never forgive them for that. And I never want to have to feel this way again. If I need to do the most atrocious things to protect you, to protect us, then so be it. I am tired of depending on stupid kings, I want the throne. I want the throne so I can make my own rules and make sure that no one is stronger than me. That there is no one against whom I will not be able to protect you.”
There was also a selfish part of him that longed for power out of pure greed, you could see it in his burning gaze. But you also knew that he was earnest when he spoke such words. He was doing it for himself, but he was also doing it for you, and he was doing it for all Grisha too. There was a time when the Grisha were the most important element, then it was you, and now, maybe it was him. It didn’t really matter. The truth was that he would never act against the interest of the Grisha, and against your safety.
His soul had darkened along the years, like his shadows. But it was still him, looking out through these black irises. The same man you had always loved.
You slipped your hand in his, holding tight, and he reciprocated your gesture in a firm, certain squeeze. Steady. Infinite. A silent promise that he would do all that it would take.
“Seduce Alina, if you think it’s the best way to make her yield,” you spoke at last, holding his stare, your voice firm and decisive. “But don’t sleep with her.”
“It won’t go that far. I won’t need to.”
“Very well, then. Do what you have to.”
“Are you angry?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be. You’ll have to leave in just a few minutes. And then, I don’t know when I’ll have a good excuse to talk to you alone again. I want to see my beloved wife smile one last time before she needs to leave…”
You snorted at that.
“I’m not Alina Starkov. I don’t fall for cheap lines like that.”
“What about the truth, then?”
He reached up with his free hand to cup your cheek, move his fingers across the soft skin, trace the outline of your jaw with his fingertips…
You could barely breathe at all, and neither could he. His gaze had grown softer, much softer. The way it used to be, a long time ago, when you were still naïve…
“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, vulnerable and almost begging for safety. “I always will. There is only us. It will always be just us.”
You nodded, tears shining in your eyes, before you leaned up to kiss him, and he met you halfway. Your lips met and danced in movements you had repeated thousands of times, but they still felt the same. Passionate, reassuring, loving, dependant, desperate…
“I love you too, Aleks,” you whispered against his mouth, right before he leaned in again, deepening the kiss quickly this time.
You weren’t sure for how long you kept on kissing, safely held in his arms. None of you truly cared. All you knew was that when you pulled away at last, it was to whisper against his lips this promise you had made a long, long time ago. Vows that neither of you would ever break.
“Until we’re the last ones of Earth…”
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Taglist: @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic
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melonthesprigatito · 5 months
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My idea on who I think would make the PERFECT villain for The Incredibles 3 (not that they're ever going to make one, this could also just be a fanfic idea)
NaNoWriMo somehow dragged me kicking and screaming back into my The Incredibles hyperfixation that I haven't thought about since 2021. Drafting up a long Tumblr post in my Notes app for a few days totally counts, right? (Probably not but whatever, I am fukcing passionate about The Incredibles lore, I need to ramble)
So, the villains of The Incredibles and Incredibles 2 are both genius inventors with no superpowers who use their technology to fight the heroes. What if, for the third villain, they ditched that idea and had a villain who was a Super?
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Who'd be able to fill that role? Would they invent an entirely new character who is a Super? It wouldn't be too farfetched of an idea, they did invent two new Super supervillains in Lego Incredibles, The Anchor Man and Brainfreezer, one with hydrokinesis and the other with.... functionally cryokinesis like Frozone except she controls ice cream. 
But what if... the villain was an already existing Super? That already poses a problem, a majority of the Supers in the present day of The Incredibles are either dead from Syndrome's Omnidroid or an unfortunate cape snag. The only surviving Supers from the pre-Super Ban Glory days are Mr Incredible, Elastigirl and Frozone and possibly Fironic and Plasmabolt (and only because they never showed up in Syndrome's Operation KRONOS database.)
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Fironic is pretty ambiguous if he's still alive or not, but Plasmabolt for its practically a 100% chance of survival for a few reasons:
1. Her profile says she keeps her hero and civilian lives strictly separate, so she might have had no desire to go moonlighting as a hero like Mr Incredible did
2. She's a forest park ranger. She probably lives off-grid in a shack in the woods or something. 
3. The way Psycwave, Everseer and Macroburst are killed one after the other, but Plasmabolt isn't counted with them. All four of these Supers were part of a superhero team called The Phantasmics. Mirage probably used their connection to find all of them, maybe Plasmabolt fell out of contact with her old friends.
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Plasmabolt herself might have been a good villain candidate, having lost faith in humanity after learning how the National Supers Agency failed to keep track of her old friends, of all the Supers, and didn't notice that Syndrome was picking them all off. 
Buuuuuut she's not the one this post is about. There's another that would probably be an even better villain, mostly because she has a personal tie to one of the main characters.
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This is one of the features on the bonus disk of The Incredibles: a full set of character files and audio interviews of most of the Supers (except for Tradewind, Vectress, Blitzerman and Fironic. They didn't get profiles.) 
It's listed in alphabetical order, featuring Apogee, Blazestone, Downburst, Dyna Guy, Elastigirl, Everseer, Frozone, Gamma Jack, Gazerbeam, Hypershock, Macroburst, Meta Man, Mr Incredible, Phylange, Plasmabolt, Psycwave, Stratogale, Splashdown, Stormicide, Thunderhead and Universal Man. 
The one I want to draw attention to is this one. 
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(Side note, it’s kinda frustrating that the only way to find images of most of these guys in colour is to look for random comic strips and the freaking Lego game of all things. I’m just gonna link this fan art too because I think it rocks and is probably the best image of her https://www.tumblr.com/pazam/183219465026/no-gadgets-no-gimmicks?source=share)
THIS, is Blazestone, the blorbo- I MEAN, the Super I think would make a great villain in a hypothetical third Incredibles movie. Or a Frozone spinoff movie. Either works. 
I think she'd make a good villain for a number of reasons.
1. SHE'S ALREADY BEEN THE MAIN VILLAIN OF ANOTHER OFFICIAL THE INCREDIBLES STORY. 
Let me highlight something important from her profile. "ARRESTED AND JAILED. RECRUITED BY NSA. WATCH CLOSELY TO ENSURE SHE OPERATES WITHIN NSA GUIDELINES" 
That's right, Blazestone is actually a reformed criminal. This one little detail from her profile is a major plot point in the novel Elastigirl: A Real Stretch.
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She was paired with Universal Man as part of her rehabilitation. In the novel, they're constantly arguing, they constantly insult each other. Universal Man is an incredibly strict rule follower and tries to keep her in line. He thinks she'll never make it as a true Super if she doesn't follow the guidelines and acts recklessly ("THESE TWO WOULD BE GREAT IF THEY DON'T KILL EACH OTHER FIRST")
She hates being constantly monitored and forced into teams with other Supers and wishes they'd give her the freedom to do what she wants, as opposed to being constantly badgered into being a better person and following the guidelines
Eventually, Blazestone gets so sick of the National Supers Agency that snaps and decides that the only way she'll be able to do what she wants is to KILL ALL THE OTHER SUPERS SO THERE'S NO ONE TO STOP HER FROM TAKING OVER. 
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In fact, her plan involves 
1. Steal a shipment of the ZAP chemical (the novel's McGuffin, a radioactive chemical used as a superpower enhancer that has various effects depending on which Super it's used on. For most of them, it disables their powers entirely, for some it makes their powers malfunction and Apogee is the only Super who's powers are actually enhanced by it.) 
2. Secretly recruiting all the criminals she jailed as her henchmen and breaks them out of jail on the day of the Super Appreciation Day celebrations. These henchmen are disguised as other Supers and blend in with all the other cosplayers entering the Costume Contest. 
3. Attack the Supers Appreciation Day celebration at the pier. Trap EVERY SINGLE SUPER inside a band shell covered by a net that's coated ZAP which basically fucks up all of their powers. She then lifts the band shell off the ground and was heading towards the ocean to drop it in and drown them all.
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 (a few pages later)
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.... I'm serious, that's what actually happens in the climax. 
Never mind the fact that she's touching the net covered in the chemical that needed to be handled with heavy gloves WITH HER BARE HANDS BECAUSE HER SUPERSUIT HAS SHORT SLEEVES in order to lift the band shell. ...And the fact that she has no super strength so shouldn't have been able to carry the weight of a structure and 20+ Supers.
Blazestone actually mentioned earlier in the novel that ZAP had no effect on her, and while the novel never mentions it, my theory is that Blazestone is the only other Super who's powers are enhanced by ZAP. Apogee was also powered up by ZAP... in small doses but being that close to the netting enhanced her powers too much so she couldn't assist in the climax without incinerating everyone with the power of the sun. Blazestone must have lied about ZAP not having an effect on her to eliminate her as a suspect for the theft of the ZAP. 
ANYWAY, Blazestone went full supervillain and that's the last we heard of her until she showed up dead in Syndrome's Project KRONOS database. Between Supers Appreciation Day and the beginning of the Super Ban, she might have resumed her criminal activities and became part of Municiberg's Rogues Gallery. 
As the Super Ban went into effect she might have been kept in a maximum security facility for a few years until she managed to break out into a world where Supers are in hiding. She might have used her powers to commit smaller robberies to survive, which might have been how Mirage tracked her down..
But wait, she's dead isn't she? So how could she possibly be the main villain of Incredibles 3 if she's dead?
2. SHE'S ONE OF THE FEW SUPERS WHO COULD HAVE PLAUSIBLY SURVIVED THE OMNIDROID BY FAKING HER DEATH.
She's the 6th Super to have been killed by Syndrome, and is probably the Super Syndrome tested the Omnidroid's fireproofing on, hence when it's immune to lava. 
Except.... Blazestone could have been marked as "Terminated" when she really wasn't.
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But how, exactly? The model of Omnidroid that killed her was v.X2 (the highest being v.10) so it was a VERY early model. Too early to have all the little issues ironed out. Perhaps there was a flaw that Blazestone exploited that kept her alive. 
There's also Blazestone's powerset.  She has a threat rating of 5.5, which sounds low until you realise that the highest is Gamma Jack with 7.9 Her powers are listed as pyrokinetic discharge, heat control, heat resistance, high agility and flight (by riding on heated air) which is pretty OP by itself but there's one power not listed on the file that Blazestone mentions having.
From the Bonus Disk Audio Interviews: (sped up because she was talking through the entire interview on 2x speed) "Wait what, do you want me to say the whole thing again? I thought I was completely clear, are you- Do you want me to go back again? The whole thing? I don't understand... (back to normal speed because she realised she wasn't in the dimension where people talk really fast, I guess?) "...OH, okay. *laughs* I am so sorry, I know what the problem is! I can't *laughs again* I keep on forgetting which dimension that I'm in! Wait, which... Which dimension am I in?"
From Lego Incredibles: "Wait, which dimension is this? Never mind, I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.”
That's right, apparently Blazestone has the ability to warp herself to other dimensions. And this isn't an out of the blue thing that probably isn't canon either, Incredibles 2 shows off exactly how that power would function.
(Transcript from Incredibles 2)
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Escaping by warping to another dimension is a VEEEERY good method of hiding your own body.
Picture this: Blazestone is contacted by Mirage. She's told a lie about the Omnidroid, it's the government's secret project and how it's went rogue. She gets told they looked for her because she's the only Super who defected from the NSA, they need her specifically. If they approached any other Super they might contact the NSA and expose the secret project. So they need her because she won't tattle. 
Blazestone goes to Nomanisan Island and is told to go to Room A113 to wait for instructions. She gets bored and hates being told what to do so goes to explore. She finds the lava waterfall and flies through, only to find Syndrome on his computer looking over his Operation KRONOS files. She realises that they lured her to die, that she's not the first one they called to destroy the robot, they lied to her and now she's trapped. She goes back to Room A113, and while they're unaware that she found out, she starts asking too many questions. 
The Omnidroid x.V2 is sent after her. She's not fighting to disable it for a sum of money, she's fighting for her life. Blazestone is agile, she flies out of reach of the Omnidroid, and hurls fireballs at it as it has no methods of hitting her back. Until it learns to throw its own projectiles at her. It uproots trees, throws rocks etcetera. It gets an unlucky hit in and knocks her to the ground. Suddenly Blazestone realises that it's getting more accurate, it's predicting where she'll fly next. There's no winning against it. They're near the volcano at this point so Blazestone makes a beeline towards it, if she could just reach the lava.... 
She's inside the lava caves, she flies directly over the lava. She's heat resistant. She baits the Omnidroid into throwing one more boulder and allows herself to get knocked into the lava. She's entirely submerged. Syndrome is watching the fight through hidden cameras, waiting for her to emerge, but she doesn't. Syndrome makes a quip about how the lava must have been too hot for even Blazestone to handle and marks her down as terminated. In reality, Blazestone warped to the other dimension the second she went under, tricking them into thinking her body melted away in the lava. 
As for how Syndrome didn't know about her dimensional warping power, the fact that it's not listed on her National Supers Agency file kinda feels like the NSA didn't believe she had that power. She's a former criminal who probably figured that she she'd defect from being a Superhero at some point. If she ended up in a jail cell, she could teleport out of it. If they knew she could teleport they might have found some way to neutralise that power before sending her to jail. So Blazestone kept it a secret in the even that she'd need to escape from some where. 
So Blazestone lives and freaks out about her near death experience. Except... She draws the wrong conclusion about Syndrome. She doesn't know that the government is actually oblivious to the fact that Syndrome is developing a robot strong enough to fight Mr Incredible using Supers as test subjects. She thinks the government is hunting down Supers and killing them with the Omnidroid. 
She goes cold turkey on crime in case the government finds her again, but after all that, a deep resentment and rage bubbles up inside of her. 
Flashforward to after Incredibles 2, when the Super Ban is lifted and the National Supers Agency is re-established and is recruiting Supers again. The details of Project KRONOS are released to the public. Blazestone's rage boils over. 
She hates that the National Supers Agency is up and running to control Supers again like how they suffocated her with their rules and trapped her in a dysfunctional partnership with Universal Man, she hates that ordinary people tried to wipe out Supers when THEY should be in charge. 
Remember in Incredibles 2 when Evelyn mind controlled Mr Incredible, Elastigirl and Frozone and made them forced them to say something into the camera during the public broadcast before they hijacked the hydrofoil to make them look bad?
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Yeah, Blazestone ACTUALLY believes that. 
As far as anyone is aware, Blazestone is dead. She might hide her face to make sure nobody figures out it's her. She could target the DevTech/Wannabe Supers (Voyd, Screech, He-Lectrix, Brick, Krushauer and Reflux) and shake their confidence in the Supers Agency or the public's faith in Supers, after all, the Supers Agency let all the old Supers die, they public turned on you years ago, who's to say they won't turn on you again? Look, there's already politicians who disagree with the Super Ban being lifted and want to put heavy restrictions on Super activity. I think she'd be after Voyd specifically because she's an anxiety ridden easily manipulated mess who is also potentially a threat. After all, Voyd's power is portals, and she can follow Blazestone when she dimensional warps...
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She rallies a bunch of other young Supers who felt betrayed by the government banning Supers, perhaps she even manipulates a grieving Plasmabolt who's still mourning her teammates' deaths into acting as a mole in the National Supers Agency. She wants Supers to be on top while all the puny normals get subjugated like they deserve.
Baaasically she becomes Pixar Magneto? ... I'm not 100% certain, I'm not all that familiar with X-Men? I just kinda know who he is from watching one movie years ago. I don't know, I suck at writing allegories, I just have the vague idea in my head and I dunno how to put it to paper properly. If I've said something bad or made a bad comparison, I'm sorry. I'm writing this section at 3am.
3. SHE HAS AN EMOTIONAL CONNECTION TO ONE OF THE MAIN CAST.
If The Incredibles was about Mr Incredible and Incredibles 2 was about Elastigirl, who's the third member of their trio who hasn't got a chance to be a protagonist yet? Let's bring up the profiles again, shall we?
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Notice anything?
"ONCE PARTNERS WITH FROZONE. BUT RELATIONSHIP RAN HOT AND COLD."
"FORMER PARTNERS WITH BLAZESTONE (ROMANTICALLY?)"
OH SNAP THAT'S RIGHT, FROZONE AND BLAZESTONE USED TO BE PARTNERS. POSSIBLY ROMANTICALLY.
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Blazestone was partnered with Frozone first before the NSA shoved her into the Beta Force with Universal Man. This is purely headcanon, but I like to imagine the Frozone/Blazestone team was known as the Alpha Force because Beta comes after Alpha. The sentence "relationship ran hot and cold" aside from being a bad pun, kinda implies that at some point the fluctuation led to them having a huge falling out and splitting their team apart so the NSA could try again with Universal Man.
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I found this on Reddit's Tumblr sub and honestly, my thoughts exactly.
Imagine the DRAMA of Frozone finding out that his former "Enemies to lovers to enemies" partner who tried to drown him on Supers Appreciation Day that one time who he thought was dead is suddenly alive again and is currently leading a gang of Supers to attacking people. There could be a deep dive into what their partnership was like, how he reacted to her fall from grace and all the mixed feelings of seeing her alive again in the present day.
Maybe this could finally be the opportunity to show Honey on screen. I mean, she HAS a design now and an entire deleted scene that they cut out because it caused pacing issues
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Imagine Frozone lying battered and bruised on the ground from Blazestone fighting him, and Honey runs to his defence. Blazestone mocks her like "What could you possibly do to me? You're powerless!" and then Honey takes her completely by surprise by pulling out a metal baseball bat or some other mundane household weapon and beats the ever loving shit out of her.
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Another idea I had that doesn't really fit into any section is the idea of bringing the Deavor siblings back. Winston and Evelyn having a fractured relationship after the events of Incredibles 2. Winston visiting her in jail trying to understand why she'd risk their father's legacy and endangering DevTech by connecting it with the attempted mass murder with a boat. Evelyn snapping back that he never noticed how she was feeling as they grieved for their parent's deaths because he was too focused on thinking that they died because there was no Supers around anymore to save them.
Blazestone kidnapping both of them and forcing Evelyn, the one who hates Supers with her entire being to remake the Screenslaver technology by threatening to burn Winston to death if she doesnt comply. Why does Blazestone need the hypnosis tech? Because she's aware that some of the Supers she recruited might not be 100% loyal and wants to control their minds to keep them in line if she has to. Because she doesn't care at all about any of the other Supers, she just wants to use them for her own gain so that SHE can control the city. Plasmabolt is definitely going to be the one to betray Blazestone in the end. She realises that Everseer, Macroburst and Psycwave wouldn't have wanted her to harm innocent people to avenge their deaths, so she'd fight alongside The Incredibles family, the Wannabe Supers, and Frozone.
Aaaand that's all I have to say, it somehow took me three hours to move all this text from Google Docs to Tumblr and find accompanying images.
Hope you liked my probably badly written sequel idea
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jeffament · 1 year
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when nico sang with bauhaus
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After the gig, we repaired back to our hotel with the chanteuse in tow. As we carried on drinking in the dark, low ceilinged bar, a somewhat inebriated Nico began to trot out a list of her lovers. ‘Lou Reed luuuuurved me!’ she said. ‘Bob Dylan, he luuuuuuurved me! John Cale,Jackson Brown, Jim Morrison, they all luuuuuurved me!’ To which she added, ‘Peter is a very beautiful boy. Very beautiful.’ I believe she had something of a crush! ‘Yes,’ I concurred, and we ordered some more drinks. She ended up sleeping in the beautiful boy’s room that night, although in different beds, according to the object of desire himself. It proved to be the last time we ever saw her.
from David J.’s book Who Killed Mr. Moonlight? Bauhaus, Black Magick, and Benediction
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So…Hi tumblr. This is a fic that I’m posting here so… enjoy it? Eheh.
Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: Gen
Fandoms: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson, The Glass Scientists
Relationship: Edward Hyde & Dr. Henry Jekyll
Characters: Edward Hyde, Dr. Henry Jekyll
CONTENT WARNINGS:
Self-Harm, Blood and Injury, Murder, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mental Breakdown, Panic Attacks, Toxic Co-Dependency, mentions of mental institutions, Disassociation, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Hatred, Non-Graphic Gore
Language: English
Words: 3,603
Not beta read
Summary: Alas, the most he can pray for is time. Is a chance. Never forgiveness, never redemption, or mercy or goodness. He is long past all of those, quite thoroughly drenched in sinfulness and all the evil in human souls.
Nothing parallels him.
Not even Satan, he is sure.
//
OR The aftermath of Hyde murdering Carew, but I mashed it with Glass Scientists.
//
OR OR Can I really call Jekyll my favourite character if I haven't torn him apart first?
Reap your self-destruction
Fuck.
This is atrocious, and despicable, and really in no way good for him at all. Dead- there on the street, sights for all to see; dead. Dead. Rotting and never coming back, hacked to the pulp of an unidentifiable, red mess, there in the street, half way in the moonlight.
Bloody, and messy, and all over him because he’s a murderer now.
Shit.
This is only half the issue; the fact that he’d murdered a man and that man is never ever ever going to come back to life, and that he’d see it, all the gore, and it was undeniably him who had done that-
He’d done it all with Lanyon’s cane. The cane he got gifted for his birthday some years back from his closest friend, such a tender memory, was the very same cane he’d used to beat Danvers’ body to fine, scarlet mush as it screamed. The thing had snapped with the bones and he’d lost it in the wreckage, carrying back with him the bloodied other half, all the way to Soho. There were no officers on his trail, at least, but he could not go back to the Society- not like this.
No; he’d rushed to his apartment, hands surprisingly steady, breathing calm as possible, (he is a psychopath, a madman, really. He was breathing so normally when Danvers could never breathe again, lungs collapsed in and it was all his fault, and he’d done it with Lanyon’s gift and-) uprooting notebooks and papers from dusty draws, feeding the fire to feed his desperation and ensure there was not a splotch of evidence against him.
Jekyll’s voice stuttered frantically in his ears, the entire time, and Hyde was distinctly aware of his incoherent rambling, no doubt consumed by the gruesome sight they’d both caused. He is only Jekyll’s anger, after all.
In any case, nothing was being helped, but he’d prefer it over silence. He did not want to be alone with what they’d done. At least Jekyll could provide the understanding they’d never get in the gallows-
No, no; they’re not there yet, they won’t get there, he promises, he promises, he promises!
The papers were stained with his fingerprints, bloodied with impressions of scarlet blood that didn’t belong to him. He couldn’t think too much about it, or he’d stop what he’s doing and get caught red-handed (literally) by the police. He didn’t have time.
With this thought, he threw the remainder of the papers to the fire, watching the angry thing rise with a defiant cackle and eat away at his sins. He’d doused the other half of the cane with gasoline- ‘reserved specifically for emergencies,’ Hyde had said when he’d brought it and right now was a fucking emergency- and fed that to the monster too.
It had flared madly, but there were only ashes left of his crimes. He’d killed the flames with water- pure, clear, safe; something he’d never be ever again- and not thought once before downing that wretched draught in his pocket. It’d swirled bright red then purple then green in mockery and he’d taken every last, bitter drop until he’d felt himself heaving.
Now, everything is too tight and too bloody, and the glass has shattered onto the floor and he’ll have to clean it or that’s proof against them and he’s putting them all in danger, all over again because he’s so reckless-
His bones pop disgustingly into place, bringing with them the sickly nausea that comes with the unnatural feeling of his insides turned out and replaced to make an entirely new man. Innocent, he could claim with this face and this voice. Innocent-
But his hands are still bloody! He has to get the blood off; just so it won’t stain Jekyll’s clothes, he tells himself- certainly not because it’s stifling and spreading and unstoppable.
Of course, he is completely logical, and sane; so he scrubs his hands over a basin of cold water hard enough that he thinks the skin will start to crack. The water is red. Not pink- not just stained- but so fucking red that he thinks he can dye something with the water and it’ll come out the deepest maroon.
That’s bad.
He needs to get rid of the water. It’ll stink up the place if he leaves it- well, it already is; the air is shimmery with a metallic scent that he swears to heaven will haunt his dreams. He doesn’t plan on coming back here, it’s not really his problem anymore; but the thought of leaving the water to go stagnant and rotten, with such a pungent odour as to tell the whole world what he’s done, makes his stomach churn.
So, he dumps it over the ashes in the fireplace, now clumped together, and watches the dirt drink up the river of red he’d made. It was all him, always him, every single part- the anger, the blind rage, the stab through the body, the cracking of the bones; every last bit of it is all him.
It might still smell, but at least the basin of blood is out of sight. At least it’s masked with the scent of something long burnt and no one can tell where the smell would’ve come from because there is no obvious source, no liability. Just that the room is a mess, and the fire has been put out with too many ashes, and some human is clearly missing from this place.
But that is not his issue ever again: he is human- he promises- not an animal, not a madman, not the devil. No; he is Henry Jekyll, in the blood-stained, ruined clothes of Edward Hyde- with whom he is in no way associated- and the tightness of his shirt makes him want to scream. Frantically (there is no time to waste, no time to waste, Hell is at his heels), he flings the doors to Hyde’s wardrobe open, shifting through the few clothes to find the only ones that could possibly fit him.
Again, safety measures- he kept an outfit of Hyde’s, Hyde kept an outfit of his. Just in case.
But, here, he had to be careful. If he left his clothes in a mess, he might give the police reason for suspicion.
‘Calm down.’ Hyde urges, though his voice is anything but calm, stuttering at every other vowel like a nervous child. ‘Do this logically. Don’t give the coppers a reason to suspect anything other than an escape.’ Yeah- that made sense! He could do that.
Henry’s hands shake quite violently when he looks down at them- they have been the entire time; it’s a surprise he didn’t spill the water earlier- but he’s sure he can do it. Just; take the clothes he’d messed up and fold them coherently and properly. It feels wrong doing such a mundane task when, not even an hour ago, he had murdered a member of parliament.
‘But it’s ok.’ Hyde pacifies, trying to keep his own voice calm. ‘You’ve done this before- it’s not difficult.’ No- he certainly hadn’t murdered someone before, thank you very much. ‘Folding clothes. Focus on folding the clothes.’ And he does. It’s messy and disorganised, but it can be arranged in a way to make the closet seem untouched. He heaves the biggest sigh since that body lay in moonlight, as he closes the closet doors. Nothing was taken. These clothes are his, he is fine.
‘The glass.’ Hyde hisses, just so Henry doesn’t forget. How could he? The shattered remains of the phial drip with hot, green formula, glittering in the streaming light like explosive stars. Where would he put the glass? He had pockets- pockets. The police wouldn’t suspect Jekyll to have proper connections to the murder- not after that fire.
Ok. This would all be ok.
He kneels on the carpet, just where he’d stood last as Hyde- the last time ever as Hyde. He would never come out again; Jekyll couldn’t afford it- neither could his other. Or the Society. Or everything else relying on him surviving this night. Then, with careful hands because he doesn’t want to nip himself (‘That pain would be inviting? The punishment we need. The punishment we must-’) on the glass and get even more blood stained to him, he’d had enough of the accursed substance tonight, he starts picking the shimmering shards from the ground.
Collecting the glass off the floor is easy- he just hopes to God (‘If God will listen to us anymore.’) that nothing about the few drops of potion on the carpet gets noticed. Otherwise, his pocket gets steadily heavier with the tinkling of the glass as it drops in, and soon enough, the last piece is in his hand (it’s shaking again, shaking with his breath, shaking because he knows there is only one way forward, one way to run, but he should be in the gallows, hanging like the murderer he is, all to Hell).
It’s no use. He can drop the last piece in with the remainder of the phial, but the edge cuts his fingers, slices clean into the skin and stings as red starts welling at the wound.
The careful facade of his calmness, of fixing his breath just until he’s out of Soho, shatters like the phial in his pocket.
There is blood on his hands. It’s red- it’s everywhere because he’s just murdered someone. He’s just murdered someone and they bled so much. He was a doctor- he knows how much a person can bleed before they die, that they bleed after they die too, that blood gets everywhere and never comes off and it won’t come off him because he’s bleeding and he’s a murderer and he’ll always be a murderer and nothing will ever change that.
Red. On his hands. He needs to stop it. ‘You’re bleeding.’ Hyde informs him, in some vain attempt to wake him up. ‘It’s your blood. All you need is a handkerchief.’ Right. A handkerchief to press to his finger then he can get out of here, leave this place forever and go home-
(‘The walk to your punishment?’)
No time to be hysterical. Just remember that. Hysteria gets you killed- or you end up in Bedlam. You don’t want that, Jekyll. I don’t want that. No.
He fumbles for a moment at the desk, searching for one, and finally breathing that shaky sigh of relief once he pulls one from the drawers. He presses it to the cut, watching as the scarlet invades the white of the cotton, trailing up and up through the fibres until he thinks the thing is doused.
Ok. Now, he can go home. Just- ‘My clothes are still on the floor.’ Mutters Hyde, somewhat urgently. Jekyll clenches his fist, squeezes his eyes shut as he nods- cannot force his breath to calm at all- and scoops up the bloody pile. He can take it outside to throw away somewhere. Yes.
It’s all so simple, if only he was calm-
He bundles the soft cloth between his arms; it’s drying stiff in the patches that are far bloodier. The roughness is a horror- instead, he tries to keep the softer parts running between his fingers, just to calm him until he can discard the wretched garments. Besides, the therapeutic feeling helps with the steady pain from his cut finger, handkerchief still clenches around staunching the blood.
For the last time, Jekyll turns his back to the room, surveying the wreckage he’d left behind, eyes shimmering in the fractured moonlight slipping in through the window. A wreckage like the body, discarded for the rats and writhing maggots, all done with such a holy gift that he had ruined. How dare he?!
There were still papers scattered to the ground, the last frantic writings of a madman. ‘Not enough to take us to court.’ Hyde promises; something softer, a hint more certain in his voice. Jekyll trusts him; blindly- what more can he do? For now, Hyde is the only one who knows, who will ever understand, who will ever get the feeling of his disgust and anger and pathetic self-loathing. When he hangs, Hyde is the only thing left to say goodbye to.
But with that, a murderer leaves his room, and stalks out into the thick mist of London night, hands bloodied beyond reparation.
//
He is breathless when he arrives at his street. The clothes (Hyde’s clothes. The last clothes Edward Hyde would ever be spotted in) have long since been abandoned in the back alleys of the city, a good distance away from his apartment in Soho. He’d stalked out of the borough on brisk legs, not risking getting a cab until he was rid of the wretched weight of ruined cotton in his arms. Besides, the walking had helped. Cold air in his lungs whilst it rushes through his hair was the blessing a sinner like him did not deserve, no matter if he found it polluted like the inner clockwork of his soul.
Alas, the most he can pray for is time. Is a chance. Never forgiveness, never redemption, or mercy or goodness. He is long past all of those, quite thoroughly drenched in sinfulness and all the evil in human souls.
Nothing parallels him.
Not even Satan, he is sure.
He takes his key from his pocket, hand grasping the cool metal press of his door handle, a grounding weight to the inner dwellings of panic still clutching at him because there is still blood on his hands, he is still a murderer, Danvers is still dead. What is changing that? What is changing-
With a snap and a click (the breaking of bones, the snap of a cane, the click of his brisk footsteps away from the scene of a mutilation), the door stutters open uneasily, and, thankful at last for this one small shelter from the eyes of the world, for the heaving anxiety lifted off his shoulders of the police following him down, he steps in with a breath.
‘To your punishment.’ Hyde’s voice curdles sickly, reassuringly in his mind. After all, Jekyll knows he is right, has seen this coming from a long way. It was one of the genuine reasons he’d rushed home (does a reprobate have a home? In hell, perhaps? With the moulding images of rotten, unrecognisable bodies, ever consumed by mycelium and fungi?), with the throb of the cut gently increasing, Jekyll had- at some point- become desperate to inflict the harm on himself purposefully.
There had been a moment of respite between the cut and his loss of composure, between the initial slash and the blood flooding through, skin opening to his darkness, inviting all other monstrosities to peek in and cower at the evil in himself. Of course there had been. There always was this feeling of pride, of calm. Knowing you did well because you punished yourself, you got what you deserved, without bothering someone else to do it for you.
That is all waiting for him now, in the depths of this cold house, with his cold blood and rotting heart ever consumed by illogical fear. Who must he be afraid of? He is the murderer, after all.
He unclips the cloak around his shoulders, maybe the last thing holding the faint lines of his soul together in a clutch of vile tendrils, moving through the shadows to his room, and only then letting it drop when the door clicks behind him. With the stuttering of some broken, sick thing, he, frantically, stumbles to the ground near his bed, no longer desperate to keep the emotions threatening to consume him trapped in, no longer concerned with anything besides raw truth and the hot tears burning their way down his cheeks, and the wretched voice in his head.
He looks down, at the bloodied cotton pressed to his hand, focuses on the sting of it when he presses too hard. But, this is all he does in the moment, all he can bring himself to when he is the spluttering mess of a last breath gone wrong. ‘Now, you know what we must do, Henry?’ Hyde mutters, and it's all Jekyll can do to make himself nod along, to lift the sleeve of linen from his forearms, a patchwork of silver spider webs stalking up it on the underside, from days when he’d been obsessed with the concept of human pain and what it truly was.
No need for morbid curiosity anymore, not when he was intimately familiar with the causes of human pain, and how to make it, and what it did to one and his mind. ‘It sends someone to Bedlam. They should’ve done that to you so long ago, because look where we are now. Henry, isn’t the glass of our broken phial so pretty?’
To Bedlam. He doesn't want to go to Bedlam, he doesn't want to be locked up with the horrors he deserves because they are the horrors he’s caused. At the end of the day, he supposes Hyde is right- a man, human and whole, would never have reason to wonder about something so horrid as suffering, lest he was mad, and Henry is far past that.
He takes a shard from the heavy pocket at his side, with those ever shaking hands, and looks at it cradled so softly in his palm like it was something new and innocent and fragile and all that he never ever would be. It was pretty, he supposed, with the way the moonlight caught it, filtered in through the windows, making it sparkle like the last wings of an angel, and with its sharp edge gleaming in the anticipation of smooth skin. It would, obviously, look a lot more prettier doused in red, dripping down to the floor, stained with all the sinful stuff inside of him.
With a shaky breath, and a screaming desperation, he brings it to press cooly against the delicate workings of his veins, and closes his eyes stained with glass tears, wrists quivering because he knows he can't do this, can’t fall back into such a habit that had eaten away so hungrily at his life.
‘Having second thoughts? Then give me the control, give me your hand. What awaits us but the punishment you cower from, coward?’ That voice spits, in all its stuttering truth.
Jekyll knows he should be fighting for control, he knows he should be doing all in his power to deal logically with this, to not hurt himself, to lay his head down and sleep and hope that will fix the wrongs he’d caused. But none of this fixes Danvers’ body, lying still in the streets, blood splayed around him, left for the rats; none of this fixes the phantom feeling of blood under his nails and ribs cracking beneath his hands. No, logic is not for him to take right now, sleep is not his luxury, the only thing he must do is this.
So, he lets Hyde do it to him (lets him do it to himself), sits idly in his body, staring as the impressions of far rougher, crooked hands ghost his, and guide the edge of the glass down words into a sloping arch. Blood blooms from the cut with intricate pain, red and the last drips of green hissing into each other as they run down his arm in a careful rivulet. It’s not enough.
He brings his hand down, Hyde following his every move, once more on his skin, watching the edge of the glass get coated in thin scarlet. An adjacent cut mars the flesh, and tingles with the delight of sweltering pride in his chest. His heart clenches at the thought of this being his downfall, of this being the thing that finally snubs his disgraceful flame from the face of the world. He’d frowned at the thought of death, but musing it now, as Hyde cuts again and again and blood pools steadily into wood with each droplet, brought by hands that are (deniably) undeniably his, it is a simple thing. Maybe even right.
Again, the heavenly edge (a devil-send) of that curved blade comes to quietly stained flesh, where his tears fall and mix with the pain of his fear and rot and peace all slipping away from him.
Another cut befalls him (he brings the blade on himself). ‘Is it not so easy?’ Says Hyde, the haze in Jekyll’s mind too sweet and simple and painful to ignore the way his words curl like the body of a snake on its latest kill. And would a death like this, for him, not be so simple? All it would take was the careful positioning at the one place he’d been avoiding, to carve the final breath from his deceitful lungs. He could fall to hell so easily, he could destroy it all now and not have to reap the consequences because he doesn’t have to look to the future.
He can die, and rot here alone for days, with a body unfound and all his blood drained. It would be so easy.
The haze grows thick like honey, seeping into the crevices of his thoughts and clogging them with undeserved, unnerving peace. He can’t feel the pain anymore. Why can’t he feel the pain anymore? Why isn’t Hyde speaking to him?
Why is the floor so red?
With the quiet plink of a shatter, in the earliest depths of a winter morning, a shard of glass splays into ten, bloodied fractures.
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Bsd except it's not Hawthorn hunting down gifted.
Fukuzawa pauses, feeling a shift in the air behind him. He narrowly dodges and turns around to face his assailant. He's suprised to see not a knife like he expected.
But tiger claws.
His assailant chuckles "yeah, even I didn't think that would work." He admits, in a nonchalant tone that reminded Fukuzawa eerily of Ranpo.
"And what, is the reason for this visit. You don't seem allied with the Port Mafia." His assailant shakes his head. "No sir, I'm not with those vile dogs." As for why I'm here, it's too free you."
Fukuzawa frowns "free me?" The masked assailant nods "you're a gifted" he spits the word like a curse. "A disgusting plague on the world, a filth that's needs to be cleansed."
"You want to rid the world of gifted" summarises Fukuzawa, looking at the others claws. He was clearly gifted, he notices Fukuzawa's gaze and chuckles humourlessly.
"I'm not a hypocrite. I lived my whole life in a cage, burdened by my own curse. That was until my master set my free, he shared my ideals and told me I was the key to ridding the world of all gifted."
He reaches up and unmasks himself. Revealing a young man with white hair and glowing purple and yellow eyes. "I'm Atsushi Nakajima, executioner of the Rats in the House of Dead. But everyone calls me The Gifted Killer."
Fukuzawa frowns, both at Atsushi's goal and that he's revealed himself. "I won't allow you to do such a thing. Special abilities are gifts, they are to be treasured. They can bring us pain as much as they bring us joy."
He remembers Yosano who hated her ability for a long time, and now happily uses it to heal others. He's seen Atsushi's face on countless.
But even with sympathy towards him, Fukuzawa won't let Atsushi hurt anyone else. He built his organisation to protect gifted, to protect this city. And he won't let anyone stand in the way of that.
Atsushi smiles, for a moment he even looks sad. "I'm sorry, Mr President." He does respect Fukuzawa, an ex assassin who devoted his life to helping people. In a way the man was everything Atsushi wanted to be.
But he wouldn't disobey his master, he owed him everything. And besides, Atsushi was saving people. He would save Fukuzawa from his own cursed gift.
Fukuzawa frowns, gasping and putting a hand on the shallow cut he got from dodging Atsushi earlier.
"Posion" he concludes, growing pale and falling to the ground. Atsushi watches, with an almost bored expression. "Don't worry, you won't die. Not yet at least, you're just the first step in the plan."
Fukuzawa glares at him, defiantly even in his weakened state "my organisation will stop you." Atsushi smirks "I know, my masters counting on it."
Footsteps come up behind him and Atsushi immediately bows respectfully. "Well done Atsushi, with this Phase 1 is complete." Congratulated Fyodor patting his shoulder and Atsushi stands properly.
"Thank you, Master. But... I dont understand, wouldn't it be easier to just kill the President now and pin it on the Port Mafia?" Asks Atsushi, curiously after Fyodor gave him a pointed look.
He was loyal to his master, who always told him to voice his thoughts with him. Something Atsushi had never been allowed to do.
"It would" agreed Fyodor, nodding, a smirk on his face as he took in the passed out President. "But they are detectives are they not? Finding the true cause of death would be child's play to them."
He looks back at Atsushi as he finishes his explanation. "Pushkin's ability will give warning, it will send them into a panic and they'll destroy themselves. Leaving the rats to take our true prize."
Atsushi bows his head, turning away from Fukuzawa. "I understand, I will do whatever I can to bring your plan into fruition." Fyodor chuckles, ruffling his hair "I know you will."
The two walk away, hidden in the shadows from any prying eyes and the bright moonlight. It reminded Atsushi of the first night they met, when he'd left the Orphanage with Fyodor.
And where Fukuzawa's body lay, had been the Headmasters. Atsushi had been terrified but he trusted Fyodor, and used his ability to kill the man that had tortured him.
He trusted him than, and he trusted him now. In time they would find the book, and Atsushi would be rid of his cursed ability forever.
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minhosimthings · 6 months
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Skz as Mythical creatures
Bang Chan - Werewolf. There's nothing to question here about this. Man literally gives so much wolf vibes that writers on Tumblr use wolf memes for his smaus. But also werewolves have been used throughout history to provide a sense of wisdom combined with misinterpretation. Wisdom, in the form of living and going through so much in their moon drunk lives. And like is that not Chan?
Lee Minho: A warlock. Warlocks are basically wizards who get their magic from evil sources. They conjure magic called 'blue magic' aka evil magic from shady sources and repay that debt with their own blood. They have been known to help people from time to time but only the people who need it the most, like a raped woman who no one believes. Oh also they are known to have cats as their companions! And they live very secluded lives usually in forests and grow mushrooms. My brain is dying thinking about evil warlock Minho cause my standards are so fucked up
Seo Changbin: A dragon. Listen LISTEN TO ME. I chose a dragon for Changbin, because they have many myths of false appearance. When I first got into skz, I really though our Binnie was the most serious person in this group. But then I saw how those hips moved, and I was like 'oh so he's Barbie and Shakira combined and put into one man'. Dragons are known as fierce creatures who protect the gold that they hoard and destroy villages, but how much of that is true? Mostly they do it to protect themselves and the gold which they have rightfully earned. Also they are extremely loyal and friendly once you understand them and don't harm their loved ones (yes even dragons have loved ones)
Hwang Hyunjin: Selkie. Selkies are basically mermaids, who originate from Scotish folk tales (trust me they are VERY popular here). They turn into seals in water and turn back into human if daylight or moonlight touches them, Aka if they come on land. They are very dual creatures, being pretty and kind to most humans, especially women, but they can also be the most savage beasts when it comes to men who have corrupted for their own pleasure. Their siren songs are very captivating and they are known to make art out of conch shells.
Han Jisung: A shapeshifter. Han Jisung is truly a puzzle. Like man could be intense babygirling one moment and then two seconds later literally kill all of us with wavy hair, sweaty face and those fingers playing the guitar finger kink go brr. Jisung is more fitting to the shapeshifter brand when you realise that the humans who used to be good at doing everything and not crack under intense pressure were awarded this shapeshifting power by the Gods. So yeah our fourth gen ace would definetly be a shapeshifter.
Lee Felix: A fairy. Need I explain anything? Need I even write an entire essay about this? (Already wrote it but fine). He would definitely be a healing fairy. Like he would whip up medicines and hide them in his delicious brownies to trick unwilling children into taking them (MY HEART IS TOO WEAK FOR FELIX HANDING OUT BROWNIES). He would def live in the woods in like a tiny cottage, which is decorated with creepers and vines and soft moss, where he rests his pretty wings, excuse me I need to write something on this.
Kim Seungmin: A nymph. Nymphs are actually more powerful than they are portrayed nowadays. Many of them were sons and daughters of river or tree Gods and they used to possess the quality of being able to fic someone in a trance with their voices. LIKE HELLO? MR KIM SEUNGMIN WITH THAT GOLDEN VOICE? Also they were known to be mischievous, always teasing pixies and fairies and taunting beings older than them. (I am not making this up yet legit used to taunt old trees for being so old and wise because nymphs never used to age or they would age VERY slowly)
Yang Jeongin: A vampire. Alexa play Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo please. I mean dude's literally immortal I'm telling you. He looks LIKE THE SAME PERSON EVEN WHEN HE WAS A CHILD LIKE HOW? If y'all look at me, I look like a completely different person from when I was a kid. And also there's something about our baby bread that just screams vampire vibes. Like he would totally live in a castle all alone, drinking blood and having foxes as pets.
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sofiiel · 3 months
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Hello Dear Mr. Moonlight
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mariana-oconnor · 5 months
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Shoscombe Old Place full
First of all, in my head this story is either called Shoscombe Old Spot*, and is about pigs, or Is a repeat of the Boscombe Valley Mystery. I cannot call it the right name to save my life.
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This is all I am going to see for every character in this story. I apologise in advance.
*There is a type of pig called a Gloucester Old Spot.
Sherlock Holmes had been bending for a long time over a low-power microscope. Now he straightened himself up and looked round at me in triumph.
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"Since I ran down that coiner by the zinc and copper filings in the seam of his cuff they have begun to realize the importance of the microscope.”
And 100 years later it would be used in flashy, edited montages of pretty forensic scientists also identifying glue and threads from a tweed coat.
"Watson, you know something of racing?” “I ought to. I pay for it with about half my wound pension.”
Did Mary die, or did she throw him out for his gambling addiction and they both agreed to pretend the other was dead because it's Victorian Britain?
“It was when he horsewhipped Sam Brewer, the well-known Curzon Street money-lender, on Newmarket Heath. He nearly killed the man.” “Ah, he sounds interesting! Does he often indulge in that way?”
I would call that neither interesting, nor indulging, but you do you, I guess.
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Sir Robert Norberton. Sounds like a great guy.
"He should have been a buck in the days of the Regency—a boxer, an athlete, a plunger on the turf, a lover of fair ladies, and, by all account, so far down Queer Street that he may never find his way back again.”
That took a distinct turn for the unexpected at the end there. Quite the euphemism there. Apparently it just means he has money problems (presumably because of being a horrible person and a gambler) but the joys of linguistic evolution strike again.
Is he... far down Queer Street, or has he just gone a few steps?
“There are the Shoscombe spaniels,” said I. “You hear of them at every dog show. The most exclusive breed in England. They are the special pride of the lady of Shoscombe Old Place.”
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The spaniels are now also pigs in my brain. Everything is pigs. It's actually a long con that Lady Beatrice has been pulling for years. 'Most exclusive breed' = they're actually pigs in disguise.
...the firm, austere expression which is only seen upon those who have to control horses or boys.
This absolutely made me laugh. Excellent description.
“First of all, Mr. Holmes, I think that my employer, Sir Robert, has gone mad.”
Really? How could you tell? He seems like such a level-headed and calm person with absolutely no emotional issues whatsoever.
No really, how could you tell?
“Well, sir, when a man does one queer thing, or two queer things, there may be a meaning to it, but when everything he does is queer, then you begin to wonder."
😐😐😐
They did say he was pretty far down Queer Street, my dude. That's probably what the issue is.
This story is already one of the most unintentionally hilarious we've read. I hope it doesn't end with the deaths of horses or children. Or some woman marrying the abusive arsehole. That would ruin the joy.
And ah, we have reached the casual antisemitism. Because of course we have. Money lenders were mentioned, clearly there was going to be some.
"Then there is his conduct to Lady Beatrice!” “Ah! What is that?” “They have always been the best of friends. They had the same tastes, the two of them"
Does she also enjoy whipping people almost to death? Family dinners must be a riot!
“And a bitter, savage, spiteful quarrel at that. Why else would he give away her pet spaniel that she loved as if he were her child?"
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"But then, again, what is master doing down at the old church crypt at night? And who is the man that meets him there?”
...I mean... Do we really want to get into that?
There's a haunted crypt? Excellent. Ghost pigs abound.
"So we up when Sir Robert was gone and pretended we were just having a walk like in the moonlight..."
Just a casual moonlit bro walk at midnight in the hook-up graveyard. Like bros.
What even is this story? I don't need to provide commentary, it's all in the text (apart from the pigs).
‘Hullo, mate! who may you be?’ says I. I guess he had not heard us coming, so he looked over his shoulder with a face as if he had seen the devil coming out of hell.
You were in the haunted graveyard. He thought you were a fucking ghost my friend. And if he didn't, he should have done and I will be very annoyed.
"From Dr. Watson's description of Sir Robert I can realize that no woman is safe from him."
Or man. Or non-binary person.
“No, sir, and there is something more that I can't fit in. Why should Sir Robert want to dig up a dead body?”
I feel... like you could have opened with the grave robbery? Maybe. Could be important. Seems relevant, if not to the case as a whole then just to... general interest, honestly.
If he dug up a grave at the haunted hook-up graveyard on Queer Street, man's going to be haunted by all the queerest ghosts. It's going to be Queer Eye for a Live Guy all over that place. Though I suspect Sr Robert is beyond their undead assistance.
"It was all in order, sir, except that in one corner was a bit of a human body.”
A bit... Which bit?
"It was just the head and a few bones of a mummy. It may have been a thousand years old."
Oh wow, is this the thing where people ate mummies for their health or something? There was a massive fad where people were just like 'I guess eating this person who is dead will stop me from dying, that makes logical sense and isn't disgusting at all' nom nom nom. Please tell me one of these people is a cannibal. Not like cannibalism yay, obviously, but that's pretty much the last thing this story needs to become completely epic.
"The creature was howling outside the old well-house, and Sir Robert was in one of his tantrums that morning. He caught it up, and I thought he would have killed it. Then he gave it to Sandy Bain, the jockey, and told him to take the dog to old Barnes at the Green Dragon, for he never wished to see it again.”
Ways in which Sir Robert Norberton is better than Sir Eustace of The Abbey Grange fame: instead of covering the dog in petrol and setting it on fire, Sir Robert just sent it away. The bar is so incredibly low for Holmesian villains.
Also, there was something in the old well-house. Probably a horse. Dog was giving it away so dog had to go.
But he didn't kill the dog. So proud. He can whip men half to death, but he draws the line at hurting dogs, apparently.
“It's the upper condyle of a human femur,” said I.
Hey. Look! Watson did a doctor thing! And it wasn't brandy.
And now they're going undercover.
Part 2
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"...refuses to stop at the stables to greet her favourite horse..."
This makes me feel like it's not her favourite horse. We've already been told the horse has a doppelganger. Did the real horse die and now he's got a problem because all his money is on the horse winning the race, but he's only got the rubbish one? Or was there only ever one horse in the first place and it's rubbish? But the bone is a human femur, or so Watson says.
"Let us suppose, Watson—it is merely a scandalous supposition, a hypothesis put forward for argument's sake—that Sir Robert has done away with his sister.”
Did not see that coming. I think I missed that no one at all had seen her other than the maid. I guess it makes sense because if she dies, the estate goes to someone else and then he has no money at all. I have been distracted by horses.
Though the fact that Holmes is saying this implies to me that it's not the case. On the other hand, this is only a two parter, so there can't be that much more plot to go.
“My dear Holmes, it is out of the question.” “Very possibly, Watson. Sir Robert is a man of an honourable stock."
There is so much wrong with this exchange, I don't know where to start.
"Never mind me. I shall stand behind this holly-bush and see what I can see.”
By which you mean whether the 'spaniel' wants to go to its mistress.
Aw, he's such a good boy.
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Then they stop in the suspected murder investigation to have a fishing day. That's the thing about the Holmes stories. ACD isn't afraid to say 'and there was nothing that could be done right then so we just had a jolly day out'. Crime fighting is such a leisurely business.
“‘Fore God, Mr. Holmes, it's all right,” said he. “Appearances are against me, I'll admit, but I could act no otherwise.”
A surprisingly reasonable response here from the man that we have been repeatedly told by multiple people likes to punch first and ask questions never.
"Mrs. Norlett, under her maiden name of Evans, has for some years been my sister's confidential maid."
The maid is married!? and her husband's a character?! That Sir Robert knows?! Plot twist!
So she died of natural causes. That's kind of nice. If it wasn't for all the antisemitism, this one would be pretty good.
Except for how the violent gambling addict magically makes good in the end and turns out not to be so bad after all. Though I suppose I should be happy he turned his life around. Maybe a little anticlimactic, but it's a good twist that I didn't see coming because I was too busy thinking of horses.
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And pigs.
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yougetsu · 6 months
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Since I've been into Bauhaus for years and B-T members have mentioned them as an influence, going deep into the roots is something I enjoy. I wasn't sure of writing this (long post), but the two bands are really important at a personal level, gonna share some thoughts.
The first time I watched Physical Neurose PV, the aesthetics inmediately reminded me of Telegram Sam MV. Sakurai has mentioned that he enjoyed "Shadow of Light" (1984), an archive with promotional videos of the band. So, it's possible he got some inspiration from it.
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Physical Neurose (1988)
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Telegram Sam (1980)
Tbh, there are several interviews where Sakurai (love him for being enthusiastic about the band) shows his appreciation for them, their image and Peter Murphy's vocals. He has highlighted Mask and The Sky's Gone Out as important records since he was a teenager.
It is well known that B-T members enjoy post-punk and goth bands, Imai's love for Love & Rockets, and Hidehiko and Yuta have also shown interest in Bauhaus and Peter Murphy's solo albums. They even got Daniel Ash in Schiz.o Genso -the spiderman mix-.
Six/nine videos also make me recall Bauhaus live at Riverside (1982), look at Murphy's outfit, body language, his extravagant dance moves, and the spotlight game. Also, Ash & Murphy dynamics on stage were similar to Atsushi & Hisashi in early performances.
Another example of getting inspiration from the English band might be in the title of "Mr. Darkness and Mrs. Moonlight", which made me remember "Who Killed Mr. Moonlight". Maybe it's a coincidence but as a fan, it didn't go unnoticed.
And of course here, I'm going to mention The Mortal's cover of Spirit <3 (I was very moved when I listened to this cover for the first time).
Gonna add this Bauhaus live version too 'cause it's so good and when you watch The Mortal's live version you can tell that Sakurai has possibly watched this performance at least once.
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I recommend to watch that entire show (Gotham, 1999), if you like vampiric costumes, hats and boas.
I'd like to include Hamlet Machine & Sponge Spirit cover, which can be found in the Satori: A Tribute To Bauhaus (1998) album:
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I'll finish by saying that Issay & Atsushi went to watch Murphy's live shows together during the 90s, soo lovely! It's cool to see how music connects people and inspires.
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blatantlyhidden · 14 days
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Shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up. Then copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals. 💌💜
aaaaa thank you for this, i love these type of things <333
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