#benjamin will always face the consequences of his actions

[cannotflyarc]

thinking about the narrative and how no matter what, they are all doomed. not matter what world, everyone is doomed. in every single world, benjamin is cursed to pursue his own selfish desire for vengeance over his family and how he always succeeds eventually but always looses lucy all over again. how there is practically nothing to save them. they tell this story again and again in different universes, yet it always ends the same way.

[sehtoast]

Guilt - (Depowered Homelander x OC) - All of You is Left to Love ch9

1.9k words

Summary: Homelander realizes the consequences of his actions affect much more than just himself.

Warnings: Light descriptions of bodily injuries.

Chapter Directory

What he hated, more than anything, was the waiting.

When would Ben get home? When would his little spider crawl through the window and into their bed?

This night in particular ate at Homelander's nerves in a way that left his entire body wracked with anxiety so deep it made him nauseous.

See, Ben always replies to his texts. Always shoots him a message when he knows it'll be a late night.

John must have texted hours ago. At first, just one message.

'Another late one?'

After roughly ten minutes without a response, he sent another.

'Will you be out long tonight?'

When that message went unanswered, he began to worry that a deep seated fear was coming true.

'Benny?'

'Come on babe, don't leave me hanging.'

By the end of the hour, he must have sent at least thirty texts.

He tried to convince himself that Benjamin was simply busy, but then that part of him slithered from deep within his mind to weigh in.

He left you. Don’t they all, eventually?

John didn’t even bother with a response. No refutation, no shake of his head to will away that voice he’s known since childhood. He just held back the tears, bit back on the panic, shuffling instead to the bedroom and grabbing the bottle of pills he’d come to rely on for sleep. He stared at the name on the bottle with a furrowed brow and melancholy eyes.

Benjamin Colyer, in bold font. His lover made a deal with Vought’s head doctor, all so he could sleep at night…

Two pills down the hatch.

He crawled into bed on Ben’s side, still at the mercy of his protector’s taunts, holding tight to his lover’s favorite blanket for comfort.

Homelander stared at the thread of texts for a minute and decided to try calling.

No answer, of course.

He wiped at his face aggressively, his other hand holding tight to his phone, praying that it’d buzz and let him know he wasn’t alone. Hoping that he’d feel his little spider’s arms wrap around him before the meds put him to sleep.

He drifted off before either happened.

When he did wake, it wasn’t to that stupid, chirping alarm tone that rouses Ben for work– nor was it to the sunrise peeking through the curtains. Ever the uneasy sleeper, even medicated, he was roused from his dreamless sleep by the feeling of a head settling on his chest.

The first thing he did was push Ben onto his back so that he could be the one using his love’s body as a pillow. Two things struck John as odd in that moment– strange enough to notice in his barely awake state. The first, that Benny still had his spider suit on.

The second was a wince– a tight breath held and exhaled as the arms he yearned for wrapped around him.

“What was that..?” He murmured, his head groggy and heavy from his medication.

A beat of silence, and another tight breath.

“Nothin’.”

In the past, he’d have been content to nod and fall back asleep without care. Self centered and ignorant, he’d assume all was well so long as he had all that he wanted.

John, however, was not that same man anymore. He was… different, now. A new chamber in his heart, growth– Ben’s influence coupled with a sprinkling of humility from losing his powers.

He smacked around the nightstand, banging the lampshade before switching the light on.

Homelander’s eyes widened, panic wriggling through his body like a million worms– a thousand pound weight forming in his gut.

“Wh– what…” is all he could muster.

Eyes roving over every inch of Ben’s body, breath caught in his throat.

Bruises everywhere were what stood out the most. A busted lip, a cut at the bridge of his nose, smatterings of purples and blues at Ben’s cheeks and jaw, trailing underneath the neckline of his suit.

The worst, though, was the three thick claw marks carved into Ben’s chest from his collarbone to just below his sternum. If not for the fact they were already scabbed over, he’d surely be cleaning up a river of blood.

Ben shushes him before he even can speak. “S’fine,” he whispers, groaning softly as he shifts his weight. His hand, bloodied and with a slight tremble, comes to Homelander’s face to…

To comfort him.

“Y’should see the other guy.” Ben exhales, head leaned back against the pillow. “Mm, never thought I’d fight a guy who can turn into a giant lizard, but…”

The little dose of humor spurred John from his shock, and his mind kicked into overdrive.

What to do? How to help him? Would he need to go to the hospital? Would it make everything worse to move him? Did–

Did his leak of Compound V lead to the creation of whatever fucking cockroach put their hands– their claws into his little spider? Was he responsible for this?

Deflect.

“I thought– Didn’t you get stronger after that time with the therapeutic V? How the fuck did this happen!?”

Deflect.

Ben smiled, lip stinging at the stretch.

“Starting to think I kept just about everything but the invulnerability…” A chuckle. Always jovial, even in the face of pain. “Go figure.”

With some coaxing and support, John managed to get Ben stripped and seated in the bathroom while he fumbled about with cotton balls and wound cleaner, guided by Benjamin’s directions.

“Sorry,” the wall crawler murmured as Homelander knelt before him, dabbing at the cut on his nose.

“For?”

“Making you worry. Waking you up.” Ben gave an apologetic, knowing smile. “Kept you waiting.”

Yeah, John’s inner voice retorted bitterly. Sure fuckin’ did.

He couldn’t say anything. If he opened his mouth, the guilt would come pouring out. If he hadn't leaked V, would Ben be like this now? Would his lover be out all the time cleaning up his mess?

Homelander could practically count on one hand the amount of times in his life that he felt truly bad for the consequences of his actions.

This…

This was one of them.

“I…”

The sound slipped free before he could stop it, and with it came the gnawing distress brewing deep in his gut.

“This is my fault…”

“Huh?” Ben’s brow furrowed. “What– wait, this?”

Homelander nodded, the discomfort of his accountability churning his all too human stomach.

“John, you did not make a giant lizard man and tell him to go terrorize the town.” Ben laughed incredulously. “Why in the world would that b– oh…”

The realization hit quickly.

Ben raised a hand to John’s face, stroking his thumb across the pink scar at his cheekbone.

“Babe,” he began, that unlimited fount of kindness within him leaking through every word. ”Yes, you leaked the stuff that made these guys. But you’re not responsible for what they chose to do with their powers.”

Ben certainly wouldn't look him in the eye and say that leaking V wasn't a total fuck up. Because it absolutely was. But blaming him, treating him maliciously for it wouldn't undo a single thing. The only redemption left now was to contain the mess. So, that's what he vowed to do.

He would contain Homelander's mess. Atone for his other half's wrongs.

John gazed up at him, eyes wide like a child receiving a reprimand.

“But I–”

“Nope,” Ben shushed him, thumb now at his lips. “Look, regardless, you’re here helping me patch up afterward. Helping me keep my head on my shoulders while I handle it.”

John leaned his head down, burying his face against Ben’s thigh. Clenching his eyes shut, fighting against himself. Wanted to hold the words inside, wanted so desperately not to outwardly be as weak as he felt.

You almost lost him. He almost didn’t make it home. You really do destroy everything you love…

He wished so much sometimes that his alter ego would shut up.

“Look at you…” He murmured, voice breaking. “What– What if you didn’t come home, huh? I’d be responsible for that, I–”

“Johnny…”

Neither said a word for a while, just… sat there. Silent apologies. Silent comforts. Ben's hand on Homelander's back, John's head and hands resting on Benjamin's thighs.

He looked as though he were knelt before an altar, praying to a deity. For forgiveness, perhaps.

For something already given.

"How do I fix your chest..?"

His voice was nearly nothing. Whispered, barely, into his love's lap.

Ben smiled down at him, though he couldn't see.

"Well," he began with a flutter of diffusing humor. "I think, honestly, we just gotta clean it. I bet that guy never cleans under his big lizard nails."

After some apprehensive touches, some cold wound cleaner, and a roll of gauze wrap, John finished cleaning and dressing Ben’s chest. He’d been so afraid to even graze the scabbed lacerations, so afraid to hurt Ben even more.

As they lay in bed, each of them exhausted, sleep remained elusive. Ben insisted that Homelander could rest his head upon his chest, despite the injuries. The web-head stared at the ceiling for a time, fingers idly stroking through John’s dark, shaggy hair as he contemplated Homelander’s guilt from earlier.

John had gone quiet since then, simply clinging to him.

Finally, with a sigh of contentment, Ben spoke.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

Homelander’s response came as a nod.

Another beat of silence.

“I’m always gonna come home to you, babe.” Ben murmured. “I’m sorry I scared you…”

He contemplated his next words carefully. Didn't want to reveal too much about what he'd gone through in that fight.

"Y'know, when I was chasing him, he ran onto the bridge to Queens…"

The bridge to home…

"He started tossing cars off the side to distract me," Ben continued, gaze still fixed on the ceiling. "Got to a point where he pinned me down when I was trying to finish connecting a web to the guard rail, and…"

A deep exhale.

"After he clawed me, and I didn't think I could get him off of me, I realized he'd probably keep running this way once I was down and out, yeah?"

Homelander lifted his head to look at Ben. What was the point of this..?

"But, when I was pinned, I just… thought of you." Ben continued, eyes closing as he let his mind wander back. "Thought, what if, by some bullshit odds, he finds you. Hurls cars around or something, and one came through this window. Thought how you'd be if I didn't come home. How you'd react if you saw it on the news…"

Saw that I got killed.

"You, in that moment, were what I needed to keep going. Whether you believe it or not, I've got you fighting these bastards with me every day."

John had buried his face into Ben's neck, hand cupped at the other side.

"Shut up," Homelander whispered through the tightness of his throat. "Just shut up and sleep, please…"

Don't remind me that I have something to lose.

Something I can't protect anymore.

Ben shut his eyes once more. He understood without it being said. He always did.

Always would.

"I love you, too."

[ananke-xiii]

As much as it pains me to say it (because of my visceral dislike of the BMoL storyline), “The Raid” is a good episode. So far in the season the BMoL hasn’t succeeded in recruiting any American hunter but Mary Winchester. We’re mid-season now, it’s time for The One where the BMoL seduce Sam and Dean. And Mary is the key. And Sam picks a side. And he’s wrong, of course. (in a cruel twist of fate, I’m starting to suspect I should be “grateful” to SPN writers for writing a main character who’s always so blatantly wrong. Like, without Sam (and Cas) consistently screwing things up we would have no plot and therefore no SPN, so thank you??? I guess???). Anyway, let’s see what this seduction is about.

Quick note before I continue: as per classic SPN, the ones that die.die.die are women and black people. This episode is, sadly, no exception. Billie, Benjamin, The Vampire Alpha, the “Death Siren” music producer + other extras. I mean, come.the fuck.on. Ugh.

“I’m not just a mom”.

Mary is this episode’s (well, obvs primarily this season’s) keystone. She came clean to Sam and Dean about her involvement with the BMoL in “Family Feud” and now she’s facing the consequences of her actions. Her sons (well, mostly Dean) throws her out of the bunker. Dean is pissed, Sam is… how is Sam?

Sam: Look I-I am pissed and – and frustrated and confused, too. But we've frozen her out for days.

Firstly, let me say that the use of the verb “to freeze” in relation to Mary The Fridged-Unfridged-Refridged-Character-Of-All-Time is… hilarious, not gonna lie.

Secondly, Sam is pissed, too, okay? But he’s not THAT pissed. He wants to hear her out. This is big because, so far in the season, Sam hasn’t exactly showed a propensity towards communicating with Mary. She wanted space, he gave her space. She didn’t text him, he didn’t text her. So why is Sam suddenly so interested in Mary? I think it has to do with the fact that she has clearly stated that she’s their mother but she’s not just a mom. I’ve talked about how Sam is subconsciously very VERY VERY pissed at Mary, specifically at her role as his mother. Sam is known to be able to easily compartmentalize events, things, people, feelings into what he can handle and what he can’t. He can’t handle his mother right now but he thinks he can handle Mary.

Dean calls bullshit on his excuse:

Dean: She lied to us, Sam. Sam: I know. Dean: For months. Sam: I know, but it's Mom! I mean, whatever she was doing, she must've had a good reason. Dean: A good reason? A good reason for working with those ass clowns? Sam: Look, I hear you, all right? But – but at the end of the day, she's family. We owe it to her to at least –

In “Lily Sunders has Some Regrets” Sam says something similar about Kelly and Jack: “at the end of the day it’s a mom and her kid”. I mean, this starts to sound like a mantra he tells himself in order to avoid sorting out his feelings. Of course, she had her good reasons, but can Sam accept those reasons for what they are while disagreeing with his mother and being pissed at her for making wrong decisions? Spoiler alert: Sam cannot. So, at the end of the day what can he do? He can play neutral and, again, Dean calls bullshit:

Dean: And this whole peacemaker shtick that you've been running, first with Cass, now with Mom, it's getting old, man. Sam: What's that supposed to mean? Dean: You're always playing the middle, Sam. For once, why don't you pick a side?

(And, again, it’s just hilarious that Dean’s saying this, Mr-Pick-A-Bloody-Side, lol, Bob Berens knows his references)(also, wait so is it Sam who’s stuck in the middle with them (ep12, Sam: “Mom... what the hell did you get us into”)? Oh-oh, yeah guys, Sam is very VERY VERY pissed at Mary)

Picking a side.

If it wasn’t clear, Mary is not a saint, okay? And the previous episode did show us a mother, Rowena, being cunning and evil and getting her revenge. You don’t mess with mothers in this show, cause they are not “just moms”. So Mary plays her “Sam we need to meet. It’s urgent” card and boom, Sam is baited. She didn’t send the same message to Dean, we have two clear shots of her text chats with both her sons. Mary is smart. The only good thing Ketch has ever said in the whole of SPN is that they [the BMoL] didn’t need Sam and Dean because they already had the best Winchester, i.e. Mary. He was not wrong.

So now the brothers are split and the seduction game can begin.

In order to seduce the brothers, Mick and Ketch must find out either what they want or what they need. To be fair, Ketch is better at this than Mick, Mick so completely lucks out in this episode, like he literally cannot believe that, in the end, he’s the one who’s succeeded in attracting Sam (he really, really needs to send a fruit basket to Mary for this). What do Sam and Dean want? Well, good question, let’s skip it for now. So what do they need?

Let’s start with Dean cause it’s easier and he literally tells us. He needs to hit something. Now. Oh, and he also needs drinks, plural. But, he hasn’t been able to find a case and he’s alone in the bunker with no alcohol around. (so reminiscent of s11 Crowley drinking alone vs Dean and Cas on a fake beer run, Berens did study). The magic can begin: knock knock who’s there? It’s jolly good pal Ketch with a bottle of great scotch, a nest of 10 vamps to kill and a lot of fun toys to play with. This is the perfect recipe for Dean but Ketch still fails at seducing him and we’ll see in a moment why.

On the other hand we have Sam, what does Sam need? To be honest with you, I don’t really know. Like, textually, Mary tells him three times that “he needed to know” and she successfully baits him and is able to give him her sales pitch so I guess she was right, that’s what Sam needed. And knowledge is a huge part of who Sam is, this episode in particular shows us how his knowledge is far superior than any other hunter and how it’s the only thing that saves them (well, that saves only Sam, Mary, Mick and the Hunter King of Baton Rouge ‘cause the rest of the BMoL is dead). The show is ambivalent in this regard, sometimes I think Sam wants out, sometimes I think he wants to keep hunting but in a different way, sometimes I think he’s more or less fine with his life… I mean, really, I don’t know. But the show ended with Sam getting out of the life so I must presume that Dabb’s endgame was exactly that.

Anyway, let’s go back to the seduction thing. Mick, by pure chance, manages to seduce Sam with the illusion of organization and method. Sam wants to be a part of it because he thinks they’re changing the world which is ridiculous because the audience has literally just watched how unorganized and unprepared the BMoL are. And I’m not talking about the vampire attack against the base, but we see Ketch going on a hunt certain of his intel but when he arrives at the supposedly vamp-infested motel he finds only one of them. So I think that, all in all, even if I don’t know what Sam needs I think I know what he wants and he wants power (the knowledge he has, the power he wants). He sees the results: the Alpha is dead, doesn’t matter how bad the night was, he sees it as an opportunity and he wants in.

Mick thought they had failed to “attract the, uh, top shelf of American Hunters. Like you” but he actually managed to work well with Sam, they worked in sync to kill the Alpha and that’s not something that goes unnoticed. A connection has been made between the two and Sam picks a side.

On the other hand Ketch’s seduction fails. Dean and Ketch don’t work well together, they’re not on the same page. Ketch reminds Dean that he’s a killer (“You’re a killer, Dean Winchester”, the same line Rowena uttered in “Regarding Dean”) and that they share the same “inclinations” but he’s wrong. What drives Dean is not a crazy impulse to kill but it’s family.

Dean: (to Mary) When I thought something might've happened to you, nothing else mattered. Mary: Dean, the things I said – Dean: No, Mom, you were... It's not your job to make my lunch and kiss me good night. It's – We're adults. You're gonna make your own choices, even if I don't like 'em. Even if I really, really don't like 'em. That's just something I'm gonna have to get used to. Okay, Mom? Mary: Yeah.

(I really really wanna ask: whose job is it to make you lunch and kiss you good night, Dean? 'Cause I know you've given that a thought and you might have an answer, share with the class, maybe?)

And just like that, even if this was an episode where Sam and Mary finally have some screen-time together and manage to somehow connect, we are once again reminded that Dean is the only one who’s putting in the work to establish a relationship with her and who’s willing to sort out his feelings about their frankly messed-up situation. Dean is growing up a lot, being in your late thirties changes your perspective on life, man. Ain’t nobody got time for bullshit anymore.

To the way things are supposed to be.

I love when Sam delivers his little manipulative speech and people fall for it. every.time. He’s that bitch, after all. So one thing is sure now: although Sam has picked the wrong side, he’s aware that they cannot go back to how things were, how things were supposed to be. This will be incorrect as far as the BMoL storyline is concerned (voice of the narrator: things will go back as they were, hunters and vampires, cops and robbers, a fair fight), but it’s correct in terms of Sam’s relationship with Mary: it’s a small step compared to Dean’s emotional growth this season, but Sam is also (slowly) starting to realize that they are indeed adults, Mary is indeed not just a mom and, more importantly, he doesn’t want to go back, he wants to change the world (voice of the narrator: or so he thinks, poor Sammy).

So yeah, good episode. The Mick/Sam-Ketch/Dean parallels worked really well (Ketch invading the bunker and Sam infiltrating the BMoL’s base is visually cool), the family theme smoothly underpins every dialogue, every character has changed (to varying degree) by the end of the episode and the acting was solid. Cool.

[townsenddecades]

1300 - Day 2

(TW for a brief allusion to sexual coercion)

Anne’s worries about the future don’t keep said future from coming upon the Townsend farmstead - not the life-shattering consequences to her actions that she fears, but the humdrum realities of working a farm for a living. Over the next few weeks, life settles into its usual rhythm, with her keeping the house, Benedict working the fields, and the girls helping with both, as well as with their chicken coop.

They have another avenue of making some money besides their crops: beekeeping. With the girls helping on the farm, Benjamin finds some time to clean the hives and extract some honey, in hopes that they will make a tidy little side income. And Anne can use the beeswax to make some nice-smelling candles they can either use for themselves or sell, too boot!

As always, the girls make the trip to the village to get some water from the village well, too. They don’t meet any strange boys from town, this time around, but Anne steals some time to watch a lizard for a bit before heading back. With their chores done, the girls often take some time to cool down from the summer heat in the nearby river.

Luckily, all the farm work doesn’t keep Benedict entirely from spending time with his wife and children. Anne’s heart nearly breaks each time she watches his tenderness when interacting with any of their little ones. Her husband has a bit of a temper, but he loves them all more than anything else in the world. It’s what makes it so hard for her to tell him about her pregnancy, well-knowing that the child she is carrying could be another’s and that it would wound him deeply if he knew. But she knows she can’t hide it forever.

And really, she has stepped outside of her marriage one time. The Watcher wouldn’t punish her family by having her get with child by that. She isn’t a cruel deity.

(The Watcher would not, incidentally. Punishing Sims for giving in to love or pleasure or, as in Anne Townsend’s case, fear as to what refusing a powerful man might mean for her family, is not in Her divine wheelhouse. Quite the reverse: in the latter case, She would rather punish said powerful man for being a self-centred, thoughtless idiot.

The Watcher would have the child be illegitimate to enjoy the unfolding drama, however. She is not a malicious deity, but a bored one.)

Eventually, Anne decides that she has to tell him, so she approaches him while he is out checking on the chickens in the girls’ absence. She knows that she is wringing her hands, but she can’t help it.

“Benedict, love, there is something I need to tell you.”

Her heart aches as she looks at him, smiling, as if he already knows what is coming. “Yes?”

“I…I wanted to tell you that I am expecting another child.”

“Anne, that’s wonderful!”  And suddenly, he is hugging her, holding her tight. “It may be a bit of a tight squeeze, but I can’t wait.”

“I’m happy you’re so thrilled”, she says, but her eyes fill with tears as she hugs him back. Thankfully, he can’t see her face – until he pulls back to hold her at arms’ length, that is. He is frowning now.

“And you’re not?”

“I’m just worried”, she says. It isn’t a lie. “You know I want more children, but if the harvest is bad, it may get hard to have so many mouths to feed.”

At that, his smile is back. “I’m sure we’ll manage. We always do.”

She can only hope that’s true. Maybe she’ll be lucky, and the child will be born with a shock of red hair like their siblings, and she will be able to put all of this behind her.

But aside from that, the second quarter of the year comes to an end without much upheaval.

Prev: 1300, Day 1 <---> Next: 1300, Day 3

[ioannemos]

and when the wind blows through it, it makes no sound

Whatever became of the moment when one first knew about death? There must have been one. A moment. In childhood. When it first occurred to you that you don't go on forever. It must have been shattering – stamped into one’s memory. And yet, I can’t remember it. Tom Stoppard

day six: oh, yes, the past can hurt / childhood | regrets | secrets rating: pg-13 for murder, violence, probably language? still don't know how british cursing works tbh words: 900

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They come inside without speaking and separate at the door: Lucy to the attic, George to the kitchen, and Lockwood to the basement. He leaves their kit bags for the moment, deciding to come back for them later.

Familicide. The word rolls around in his head as he lays out his chain for oiling and double-checks his flares. The police couldn’t conclude what had happened, but there were certain hints. The twins were poisoned first, which suggested the hand of Mrs. Baldwin; the older two were shot in their sleep with Mr. Baldwin’s gun, a more masculine action. “Mothers don’t shoot their children,” a policeman was quoted as saying in one of the articles about it.

Lucy heard a woman crying and saying, “I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it.” Couldn’t bear what, he wonders as he restocks his bag. A suggested motive was the loss of Mr. Baldwin’s job. She couldn’t bear to be seen as poor? To lose her pretty things? There were things they could’ve sold to make ends meet, like her jewelry and a silver set. They could’ve moved to a smaller house. But no, that wouldn’t do, he thinks in disgust. They couldn’t be seen as failures. Never mind that Baldwin lost his job because he wouldn’t stop drinking. God forbid they experience the consequences of their actions…

He realizes he’s been staring at the shelf for several minutes without moving, hands gripping the edge of his bag so tightly that his knuckles ache. He drops the bag and heads for the training area, drawing his rapier.

“A HORRIFYING SCENE”: PARENTS KILL CHILDREN, THEMSELVES screamed the headline of the main article. Four children, dead in their beds. The twins’ room was clear of furniture but the Beatrix Potter wallpaper was intact, little scenes of Peter Rabbit eating carrots, Benjamin Bunny in the tam o’shanter, Jemima Puddle-Duck in her bonnet and shawl. Two faint death glows along one wall.

Lockwood misjudges a swing and his rapier hits one of the pipes hard enough that he feels it jar up his neck. He stumbles sideways, shaking the vibration out of his arm. It won’t do to get sloppy. He ducks back in, dodging a blast of air.

The older two had bedrooms across the hall from each other. Both were found laying down with their eyes shut. Did they both sleep through it? Did their father close their eyes after? Their death glows were just as faint, though bigger. The eldest slept curled up on her side.

Running into her room after a nightmare, crying and tugging on the sheets, calling her name as her face scrunched up and her eyes flickered open. The fading scent of citrus and lilies surrounded her like an invisible halo. The comforting darkness of her raised blanket; a sigh and she was back to sleep. He’d lay awake waiting for his thundering heart to slow, which it always did. The peace. The relief. The quiet.

He misjudges again, this time his sleeve catching on a nozzle and tearing a hole in his coat. He sheds it impatiently and throws it to the side of the room, rolling up his shirt sleeves. As always he sees the minute scar on his right thumb that's the only physical reminder of the day Colin died.

Slight, small for eight, white-blond hair, milky blue eyes that made him look ghost locked. The shocking brightness of the blood around his mouth when the poltergeist had thrown everything from around the fireplace at them both. Lockwood got nicked by a corner of the ash shovel; Colin had been skewered by the poker. He’d given a single startled cough and then died. Lockwood hadn’t realized at first, expecting a change of expression, a rattling exhale, eyes fluttering shut. He didn’t even have time to shout for help: the death glow appeared while he stared.

Colin’s mum had him cremated. It was the only time Lockwood saw her. She was also slight, but tall, with flaxen hair and eyes the same odd shade of blue. She’d stared around without interest, looking through rather than at anybody.

“Lockwood?”

He turns and slams his cheek into one of the nozzles, sending a white-hot burst of pain across the entire right side of his face. He drops his rapier with a choked gasp as the world ceases to exist for a minute or so. All he can do is clutch his cheek and try to remember how to breathe.

Somewhere in the background noise underneath the siren of the pain, the machinery cuts off and then Lucy is trying to pry his hands back. “Let me see, let me see.”

He has to force himself to let her. The general glow of pain is settling into a pulsing hot line beneath his watering eye. At first he thinks a tear fell.

“Oh, shit.” She pushes his hand back. “Push pressure on it. I’ll get the first aid kit.” He’s found a stool to sit on by the time she returns. He allows her to direct things: hold this, open that, hold still. “What’s wrong?”

It takes him a moment to figure out that the question needs an answer, and a much longer moment to realize he doesn’t know. He tries shrugging.

“Bollocks. You were fighting something.”

“I don’t know.” She gives him a look. “Honestly, Luce. Do you think it’ll scar?”

───────────────────────────

@lco-angst-week

squeaking in under the wire here... i'll add more thoughts in a sec

okay SO

i love lockwood. he's emotionally self-aware to a POINT, but he's gotta like, sit down and think about it, and this one runs deep. probably wouldn't wanna touch it with a ten-foot pole. it would be hard enough for him to express what he's feeling if he even knew what it was, and listen *slaps lockwood on the shoulder* this sad boy can fit SO many suppressed emotions in him

also lest anyone accuse me of libel, lucy and george are also affected and sad by this particular case, they're just expressing it in different ways and lockwood slamming his head into a steam nozzle kinda derailed lucy's "hey so. these are some Unfun Feelings Huh" talk

[lyledebeast]

I was looking at the addition @norman891 made to my post about the 2003 Peter Pan’s Captain Hook and how he actually wins the fight with Peter at the end of the movie.  And it’s kind of ironic how similar that final fight is to the final fight in The Patriot.  The two movies represent such different genres and are for such different audiences that this similarity is remarkable.

Having the hero come back from what appears to be a certain defeat is definitely a popular way to create dramatic tension across all kinds of storytelling genres for all different audiences, and sometimes it works well.  Sometimes, the hero really has to gather their strength and refocus their energy, and their triumph really adds something to our understanding of them and creates a powerful ending. Then, there are cases where the hero just had to win because it’s their mug on the movie poster, and here’s not much else going on.

Both of these movies are in the latter category.  While each adaptation of the Peter Pan story puts its own spin on J.M. Barrie’s original play, it is very unlikely that Peter will be shuffling off this mortal coil anytime soon.  Benjamin Martin, while inspired by historical figures who survived the American Revolution, is fictionalized enough to give the screenwriters considerable freedom (after all, Banastre Tarleton--the inspiration for Colonel Tavington--survived the war too).I, for one, would have loved to see Mel Gibson go 2 for 2 on evisceration in faux-historical epics, but I am clearly not part of the intended audience for this movie.

While Peter’s triumph at the end provides no character development for him, it does for Wendy.  He is saved by another character who cares about him.  Benjamin Martin, though, is just saved by the power of the theatre.

I’ve looked at The Patriot’s final battle in a few metas, and I go back and forth on how much of Tavington’s death is his own fault. His little speech to Martin does forecast quite a bit: “It appears you are not the better man” . . . I am going to swing my saber and decapitate you . . . Right now . . . Get ready, Martin . . . Decapitating on 3 . . . 1 . . . 2 . . . That the entire sequence is shot in slow motion does not help.

As unwise as it is for him to gloat given the result, Tavington is acting on the assumption that Martin has stopped fighting and is no longer a threat.  And he is correct.  Martin is defeated until the American flag comes floating into his field of vision, bursting with all the Significance it always has in nationalism propaganda movies such as this one and the connection it has with the second of Martin’s sons that Tavington killed, and inspires Martin to act.  Of course, Tavington is totally unaware of the significance this has for Martin.  He provides Martin with time, but if it weren’t for Old Glory Ex Machina, he probably would have sliced his head off anyway.

Peter Pan, in all its iterations, is a fantasy, and damned if The Patriot isn’t, too. While Peter Pan represents the fantasy of engaging in adult actions--including maiming and killing--without having to face adult consequences, The Patriot represents the fantasy of consequence-free bad choices. All of the civilian carnage in the movie happens as a result of choices Martin and Tavington make.  Tavington chooses to kill Martin’s son, and Martin chooses to make it everyone’s problem, the fall out from which leads directly to his other son’s death.  Not only does he escape consequences, but he is about the only person in the movie who does.  

[flamencodiva]

A Different League 1 - Walls

Description: Y/N never experienced the life of luxury. Being the daughter of a hunter never gave her that experience. But what happens when she finds a job working for one of the most prestigious hunting companies in the world?

Word Count: 1960

Beta: @wonder-cole

Warnings: Language, Violence, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Slow Burn (yes, that's a warning), Rivals to Idiots, Idiots to Lovers, Lovers to Idiots.

Main Masterlist 

Series Masterlist

<< Prologue 

Code Red! Code Red!’

The red lights and alarm sounded throughout the building.

‘Level 10 monster detected.’

Y/N Y/L/N made her way through the hall towards the locker rooms to suit up. As usual, she was part of the ground team, which did all the messy work when hunting monsters for Hunter Corp.

Marching down the hallway, she made her way to the briefing room, grabbing the folder handed to her and reading it right away.

“Think this is the one?” Benny asked, standing by her with his folder.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders, “don’t know. Maybe it is. But according to the data recon has gathered, not likely. If it’s a level ten, then--”

“It’s most likely an Alpha monster,” Ketch interrupted. “Y/N, darling, when are you going to take me up on that offer to wine and dine you?” he asked, trying to flirt with the huntress.

“When hell freezes over, Arthur,” she sighed, “I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, my focus is on work, not my--”

“Libido,” Benny and Ketch echoed with matching smiles.

“We know, Cher,” Benny chuckled, “then again I did see you eyeing--”

“You say it, and I hog tie you and castrate you,” Y/N growled, “I lived on a ranch for a good amount of years while dad was taking care of a pack. Don’t think I won’t do it, Benjamin.”

Benny lifted his hands in surrender and chuckled, walking toward his seat on the conference table. Other squad leaders filtered in as they were ready to talk about the Level 10 monster that had appeared. This included the two sons of the CEO, the eldest of the two, Dean, taking a seat next to Y/N.

“Units 1 and 2, you will take the lead on this, “ John Winchester said as he walked into the room, taking a seat at the head of the table. “These two units will oversee operations and capture. I will repeat that,” he said, looking at each unit leader in turn, “capture the target. Our goal is to learn as much as we can before eradicating their species.”

“Do we have the special equipment that I had made for occasions like this?” Y/N asked as she flipped through the different pages, analyzing the data collected. “Do we also know what kind of Alpha we’re dealing with?”

“As of right now, we just know it’s an Alpha. I’m waiting on relay team Gamma to get back with the complete analysis,” John announced, impressed with his top hunter. “But I do want my best teams there in case something goes wrong.”

Y/N simply hummed as she let her mind process the strategy the boss set up. Her boss wasn’t wrong. Her squad, along with Snob, as she liked to call Dean, would be a formidable force. That is if he wasn’t trying to talk about his exploits on a private jet.

No matter where they were, he always had some way of interjecting how nice it is to have money and experience things. Y/N has never had the pleasure of doing. Sure she had the money to do those things now, but she never saw the big deal. It only spurred her annoyance at Snob when he would try to make conversation with her. They had nothing in common, yet he continued to try to talk to her while she ignored him.

After the meeting ended, Y/N made her way back to her room. She was the only one of the squad leaders not to have a place of her own. It was something that didn’t go unnoticed by the other leaders, especially John. Y/N would brush off the comments of her not having a place to unwind away from work. In all honesty, she didn’t know what else to do. She grew up hunting, and she figured living in the facility would give her faster reaction time to save more lives.

As she packed her things, she could feel a pair of eyes on her.

“What do you want?” she called out, never facing the person who stood at her doorway.

“I was wondering--”

“No, Dean. I will not go to whatever fancy place you want to take me to,” she sighed, moving around her room to collect what she would think she would need.

“I’m not, Ketch,” Dean grumbled, “And I know for a fact that you barely leave the compound. You don’t even have your own place.”

“Why do you care, Snob,” she hissed at him. “To someone like you, I’m just a worker. Why do you care that I live in the compound?”

“If this is about the gala, I already apologized,” Dean whined, “What more do you want from me?”

“To let me do my job,” Y/N huffed, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pushing past him, “and right now, my job is to make sure we know what we are dealing with before we go in blind and kill good hunters on a hunch.”

“The recon team--”

“Has been wrong before,” she pointed out, “Your brother has been wrong before and at my expense!”

“Samuel would never-” Dean began.

“He has, and he did, Dean,” she argued. “That scar on my back was not because I thought it would be fun to ignore that there was another Rugaru.”

She glared at him, “It was because I was told by your brother that there was only one when there were, in fact, three of them.”

Dean stayed silent as she walked away from him and towards the garage. Never in his life had a woman angered and enamored him before. The minute he had laid eyes on Y/N three years ago at the gala, he could feel his heart pound in his chest. His insecurities had gotten the better of him, and he had to play the millionaire asshole. When she didn’t bow down to his charm, he was intrigued.

After a year of training, moving up the ranks, and being her partner, Dean learned that Y/N was all business. Not like any of the girls he ever dated or bedded. Y/N had a drive, but what it was, she wouldn’t say. Y/N began to distance herself more from him for every case they had, only communicating if it had to do with the hunt and to turn down his invitations.

Dean made it to his dorm with a deep sigh and began packing his things, hoping he could try to break through the walls Y/N built with this hunt.

Looking at her watch, Y/N wondered where Charlie was? Usually, Charlie would be her research partner on cases like these. Well, Charlie is always her choice as a research partner. The woman was a genius when it came to technology and making her way into security footage to search for monsters.

Y/N didn’t notice as Charlie walked up behind her. Most of Y/N’s attention was on the recon folder. She was trying to assess what the team had found.

“You know,” Charlie said as she approached Y/N, “You’re really taking this not thinking with your libido thing a bit too far.”

“I am focused on my work,” Y/N replied, never taking her eyes off the file. “I have a feeling we’re dealing with a Shifter-Alpha.”

“What gives you that idea?” Charlie asked as she sat down next to Y/N.

“It’s the fact that in every house reported, Mom and Dad are dead,” Y/N pointed out as she pushed the folder towards Charlie. “But the baby goes missing,” she pointed to the details in every story.

“Huh,” Charlie let out, tilting her head to the side as she looked over the notes, “I guess that means we’re heading out early?”

“No,” Y/N sighed, “going to talk to John first.”

“Really?” Charlie gasped, “you’re usually gung-ho about going when you have a hunch like this?”

“Okay, I’m a hunter, not suicidal,” Y/N drawled.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to point out the details in the story and voice her suspicions to John. Of course, when John agreed with her suspicions, he organized all quad leaders and put his plan in motion. Nearing the next house that Alpha would attack, Dean and Y/N placed themselves in charge of moving in to capture the monster.

‘Leader 1,’ came Dean’s voice through the walkie-talkie, ‘we have movement inside the house. I repeat, we have movement inside the house.’

“Copy that, Leader 2,” she responded before taking a breath, “Red-Recon, Red-Recon, what do we have on the video feed?”

‘Can’t I have a cooler nickname?’ Charlie whined through the intercom, ‘like Red Hawk!’

Y/N rolled her eyes, letting out a chuckle before responding, “Okay, Red Hawk, can you just tell me what the video feed shows?”

‘You were right, Leader 1,’ Charlie confirmed, ‘glowing eyes in the feed. We’re dealing with a nest of shifters. We also are seeing a large nursery through the micro-cam footage.’

“Shit,” Y/N cursed, “we might need to abort and come up with--”

‘You are going to do nothing of the sort, Leader 1,’ Samuel’s voice came through, ‘we’re here to do a job. We will kill every last one of them if we have to.’

“Samuel, there are kids in there. No matter what the species, kids are kids!” Y/N argued.

‘That’s Recon-Leader to you, Leader 1,’ he barked.

‘Recon-leader,’ Dean’s voice came through, ‘I agree with Leader 1. We are only here for the Alpha. We need this to be a quick and clean operation.’

“I don’t need your help, Leader 2,” Y/N growled. “If Recon-Leader wants us to go through the paperwork explaining why the squads changed Leader Prime’s plan, he can do it himself.”

‘What are we going to do, Leaders 1 and 2?’

Y/N closed her eyes, knowing full well the consequences of her actions, “we are going to go as planned, capture the Alpha, take down as many shifters as you can.”

‘Y/N,’ Dean called over the com, ‘I think your instincts were--’

“I’ll deal with the fucking consequences,” she called back, “we move on my mark.”

To say the operation was easy was a big fat fucking lie. Just as Y/N predicted, getting to the Alpha with all the other Shifters in their way was a challenge. So much so that they had to call Squads 3 and 4 for backup. It took longer than it should have for the team to capture the Alpha, and that was after Y/N was full of bruises and deep scratches. The nursery with the children was empty when they searched it. Some Shifters made it out with the abrupt change in plans, while others were killed trying to let them escape.

Once Y/N was patched up, she prepared herself for the yelling she knew John would give her. Even if they got the Alpha, the method they used almost cost the lives of good hunters. Y/N had made sure to try and save as many hunters from death as she could.

“Y/N!” she heard as she walked out of the medical tent.

Rolling her eyes, she turned away from Dean, who was jogging towards her.

“Thanks, Jess,” she called to the doctor on staff that stitched her up.

“Damn it, Y/N. Please wait!” Dean called out to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I talked to Samuel and--”

“Save it, Snob,” Y/N growled. “I am going to head to my room in the hotel and write up the report. Don’t worry about Douchebag. I will take all the heat on this.”

“Why do you do that?” Dean growled, “Why can’t you let me tell Dad about--”

“Leader Prime,” Y/N barked, “when we are on the job, you address him by his title.”

Dean let out an audible groan, “can you take the stick out of your ass for just one fucking minute!”

Y/N turned to glare at him, “what could you possibly say to me? That you’re going to use your privilege to get Daddy not to punish me because your brother was being an ass? Please spare me. I’m used to this. You and Samuel get away with everything while the rest of us have to struggle!”

“You are such a bitch, Y/L/N. No wonder people don’t want to hang around you,” Dean spat, his eyes widening at the realization of what he said. “Y/N I’m--”

“At least people don’t hang around me for my money,” she spat, “leave me alone. Why are you even talking to me, Snob? We have nothing in common, you live in an ivory tower, and I live in the mud. You stay with your people, and I’ll stay with mine.”

Dean watched her walk away, unsure what to say or how to fix what he did. He hated himself for the way things went down. Dean should have talked to Samuel about his behavior, but Samuel was just as stubborn and headstrong as their father. Dean knew he could only do one thing, and that was talking to his father about what happened, whether Y/N liked it or not.

Dean stayed silent as he contemplated how to fix things with Y/N.ht--’

“I don’t care what Samuel says. The operation could have gone smoother if he had just listened to Y/N. You can’t fire her--”

‘Calm down, son. No one is getting fired. Especially not my best hunter,’ John interrupted. ‘Now, calmly, tell me what happened.’

Dean began at the beginning, telling his father all about how there were more Shifters than just the Alpha and how Y/N wanted to re-adjust the plan to lessen any casualties. As Dean continued to recount the tale, he never noticed Samuel walking in. The younger brother crossed his arms, scowling at his older brother.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said before hanging up the phone.

“You called, Dad?” Samuel let out, making Dean jump.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that, Samuel,” He scolded.

“Don’t, Dean,” Samuel huffed, “You called to tattle on me? You know as well as I do that you should be Leader 1 no matter what a stupid test said all those years ago.”

“Is that what this is about? Is that why you have this grudge against Y/N?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“She is nothing but a--”

“Don’t say it, Samuel,” Dean growled.

“A second-rate hunter with no class,” Samuel continued, towering over his older brother. “You need to forget about her, Dean, and learn to take her position from her.” he let out a huff, “besides, she dresses in nothing but second-hand clothing. Does she even know what designer clothing is? Does she even care about the clothes that she wears and how she presents herself?”

“Samuel, her choice in clothing doesn’t mean she is incapable of being a good Leader. Besides, what she wears is her business. And what good would taking the position from her by force do? How would being Leader 1 make me any more capable of running the company?” Dean crossed his arms, staring right into his brother’s eyes.

“For one, it would show Dad that you have the skills to lead,” Samuel huffed. “Y/N couldn’t even stand up to me after what I said. She could have tried harder to go over my head. She has no leadership skills.”

“No leadership skills?” Dean said, his voice rising in anger. “You call putting her life on the line to make sure no one dies, poor leadership skills?” Dean shook his head, giving his brother a disappointed look. “Do you realize that she didn’t go over your head because she feels you would use nepotism to get away with it?”

Samuel tilted his head in confusion, “what? Since when? I--”

“Dad spoils us, Samuel. You know he does, but it’s different in hunting and our lives, and Y/N doesn’t know that. She already thinks we’re pompous snobs.”

“So?” Samuel chuckled, “I love that we live a life of luxury. Someone like her is never going to understand us. Besides, why are you trying to get her approval?”

“I am not looking for her approval, but I am trying to establish a civil working relationship,” Dean said, turning away from Samuel.

“You had had eyes on her since the ball all those years ago,” Samuel chuckled, “‘if you want her that badly, woo her and leave her. Or you could take Bela Talbot on her offer.”

“Bela?” Dean shook his head in disgust, “she is nothing but a low-grade black market dealer. “

“One who has had her eyes on you for a while,” Samuel said, smiling slyly at his brother. “You don’t have to make a business deal with the woman, just bed her and be done with her. She also knows her way around good scotch. Let’s not forget that Bela also has better fashion sense than Y/N. ”

Dean contemplated the thought of having Bela in his bed. Bela had more than shown she wanted to lay with him, wanting to have Dean pleasure her in the ways he was taught. Shaking his head, Dean sat on the couch of the double room suite he shared with Samuel.

“I’d rather fuck a porcupine than Bela, Samuel,” Dean sighed, leaning back to place his hands over his face.

“Then at least go find a sweet lounge fly and bring her up to have your way with her,” Samuel said as he walked over to his bedroom, “I mean, we should put the skills Dad had us learn for a reason, right?”

Dean stayed silent as he contemplated how to fix things with Y/N.

Chapter 2

Tags in the Reblog

[algernoninwonderland]

'Lie' - wow, that's an episode and stuff. It had some genuinely great ideas and some sincerely terrible things in it too, it left a bitter taste in my mouth and I wish it hadn't

The Good

Chat Noir truly is a cat, overdramatic and teasing and inconsiderate and flawed, that's great.

He drinks milk when he's sad. It's genuinely funny!

All these parallels between the Tsurugis and the Agrestes. Some basic directing ideas but they work really well.

Kagami likes Toulouse Lautrec, she's a perfectionist artist and has to keep it a secret from her mother. And this isn't a hobby related to Adrien or her family's legacy, it's the thing she enjoys doing on her own. It's a good idea!

The repetitiveness of the "throwing the paper ball in the bin" motive. That's basic directing, again. But it works well. I like it when things work well, and sometimes they do.

Kagami sees through the lies of the Jedi Adrien's facade in a way none of the other characters have this far. I'd go as far as to say that she's a lot more perceptive about him than Marinette.

She's really assertive and that isn't shown to be necessarily an absolutely bad thing, or an absolutely good thing. There's some nuance in there. Can you believe it?

Nice fencing scene there, all these sparks weren't really necessary but it's done competently. They got the movements and the speed right.

The show really hammers down the fact that being friends/dating a superhero without knowing their secret identity means you're forced to deal with them vanishing all the time and hiding things from you and that it's pretty terrible. Kagami's expression progressively sours as Adrien is shown to disappear more and more. That's good directing.

Some good character blocking and shot composition during the scene taking place outside the Hôtel de Ville.

“A cop never lies!” “You're lying!”

Bob Roth calling out Jagged Stone.

Fang, the true Best Boy of this show.

Some really stellar voice acting from Benjamin Bollen. He's always good.

Kagami isn't the bad guy for taking her distances with Adrien! Wowie!

The Bad

Cheap ship teasing is cheap.

Would they really leave Adrien making a sadder face in that TV show thing? Nah, that's a moment that completely breaks that conceit.

Portraiture as the capture of the truth within people, “portraits can't lie” and all that stuff. The art historian within me is shrivelling.

The show is mixing up a lot of stuff for the sake of this “truth and honesty and lies” and remains very superficial about these things.

What is Adrien's “true self” anyway? Is his being a clown as Chat Noir part of his facade or not? It's really interesting and that would require an episode of its own but no, have a handful of minutes instead, that should do the trick, right? No it doesn't…

Everything after the 13 minute mark, really.

What kind of villain design is that? What is it meant to convey? Liars are paralysed… That's it? Wow. I'm genuinely impressed. Incredible stuff. I am awed.

That white ball of light means some pretty ugly rendering. Like, really ugly. There's exactly one good-looking shot during this akuma fight and it's the one they used in the season's trailer.

DQ Animation and Artage Studio are getting better. They're still not as good as SAMG. Which means that the character acting is really wooden during the more subtle moments, and generally not as good as the scenes would require. Character make weird faces that don't quite work during some scenes. It's not distractingly awful but it's not good.

It's a show with a fandom that uses every little character detail to call a character they don't like the literal devil. Kagami expressing her anger physically is a double-edged sword.

Some really weird shots with weird camerawork.

The Ugly

Do you remember when Marinette said she loved Adrien because he was kind and caring and all of that stuff and then started drooling over the picture-perfect, airbrushed image of him instead of trying to get to know him as a person, meaning that she's in love with his image? But then the show still tried to push the idea that she was truly in love with him as a person? They're still doing this now. We've had the exact same joke for like two seasons. And yet we're meant to root for Adrien and Marinette to get together because…???

Chat Noir acts irresponsibly, yet has immense responsibilities, the show portrays him as funny and as always it’s inconsequential, he never has to face the consequences of his actions for more than five seconds

That scene with Chloé and Sabrina. Is is supposed to be funny? Is it supposed to be awful? I don't know. It was just rubbish.

I get that the point is that Kagami has to lie to spend more time with Adrien and that she's done so during Ikari Gozen already but are you sure this is the same character who needed an app to talk to people just a couple of episodes ago? The same character who absolutely despised liars earlier on? Why not show her second-guessing herself then?

She's a fast learner, for sure, she's been shown to get better at complimenting Marinette in the span of just two episodes, but this is a whole other level of off-screen character development. She used to lie by omission, now she's a very chatty liar.

Which just confirms that in Miraculous, characters change radically to accommodate the episode's theme. They have no integrity, no internal coherence. It's a recurring flaw with the writing and it's never been as glaring as it is now.

That cheese analogy is awful and gross. I already thought that the "changing targets" stuff from the earlier seasons was awful but this is just as bad. So people you want to date are like game or fermented milk, then. How romantic. Not objectifying at all. What a great conception of what relationships are like.

Some pretty awful writing. Chat Noir "dying” was cheap and fell completely flat and the dialogue came straight out of a Wattpad fic.

Shadow Moth's “Noooooooo”, straight out of Revenge of the Siths.

And now the lesson of the episode is… Love Square, Hell Yeah? Really?

What was that final scene? It's rushed and stupid and we're meant to be satisfied with it but it's the worst thing ever and “sometimes we must lie but we know we can trust each other” is such a hypocritical line when you take the show as it has been this far. And yet you're meant to clap and be happy about it?

This episode is a mess and I don't know what we're supposed to do with it. Give Kagami her own show.

[hotchley]

pallbearer

Not completely sure what this is, but it was sparked by the posts about Kevin being a pallbearer at Haley’s funeral. Saw it in my drafts and decided to finish it because yeah, why not?

It’s Eid somewhere (India and Australia for sure) so take this as a little gift from me to all of you because you’re lovely but I suck at writing fluff, so it’s pretty much just angst and a bit of Reid being a good friend to Hotch because I live in the nice world where they have a good relationship :)

As always, absolutely no proofreading, and it low-key sucks, but nothing else is working so...

Trigger Warnings: references to death, funerals, grief, just general sad things 

read on ao3!

After they get back from the case that took them from the funeral, Reid, who is still using a cane, leaves without telling anyone.

Derek panics because he’s meant to be taking Reid back to his apartment- there’s a lift that functions and it means Reid isn’t being stupid- then Garcia tracks his phone and realises he’s going to see Hotch. They can’t interrupt that, so they don’t.

Why is Reid going there? All alone?

To apologise.

He goes there himself, takes the lift up because he knows his limits and rings the doorbell. Hotch doesn’t answer and he panics, so he rings it again.

When Hotch does open the door, it’s clear he wasn’t expecting any sort of company- least of all his colleagues/family. He still lets Reid in, and he asks him if he’d like anything to eat or drink. Reid declines, because Hotch shouldn’t have to be running around after him. Not now.

They’re sat in silence for a few minutes- they both try and justify it by saying Jack is asleep- but then Reid speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Hotch seems exhausted by all the apologies- after all, people are only giving them because there’s nothing else they can say- but Reid doesn’t say things lightly. It always means something. And he knows how Reid’s intelligence is always used against him. The team asked him to recite the phone call because they wanted the information, but Spencer would always associate it with a way in which he failed.

So although he hates the way everyone is apologising to him, he won’t tell Spencer to not. Spencer needs to say the words so he feels like the forgiveness Hotch has already given him- the forgiveness he received the moment Hotch saw him come into the office where Jack had been hiding- is deserved. And Hotch needs to hear the words from somebody that is saying them despite knowing everything about the situation.

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to speak, and even then, the words do not feel adequate.

“You did everything you could Spencer,” is his soft response.

“Not about Haley’s death. Of course I’m sorry, but what I meant was- I’m sorry I couldn’t carry the coffin. You know I would’ve if I could’ve.”

Hotch meets his eyes, and sees his own tears reflected in Spencer’s face. There’s a certain innocence to Spencer’s expression. One that Hotch thought his own failures would have permanently taken away. He should have known better. Spencer is nothing if not resilient. But then he thinks of the situations that forced him to become like that, and he wants to scream into the void because of how unfair the world can be.

He doesn’t though. That would only make the situation worse.

Instead, he sighs. “I know Spencer. I know. But I- even if you could, I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

Spencer frowns. “Why not? Will, Derek and Anderson were all pallbearers, and I probably knew Haley about as well as them. It would’ve made sense for me to carry Haley’s coffin. You know that. I can see it in your face.”

It would have made sense. It would’ve made much more sense than Kevin Lynch. But Hotch’s words are the honest truth. It wouldn’t have mattered- not to him anyways- whether or not Spencer was able to carry that weight. He wouldn’t have asked. Would have rejected the offer if it was given. Found anyone else to be the final person.

“I know that.”

“So why would you not have asked?”

His reason- the true reason- is one that steers the majority of his decisions regarding Spencer. It is one that clouds his judgment and forces him to confront how human he is, and how the team were the only people (aside from Haley- who had always been perfect) to teach him that love didn’t need to hurt.

That people came back when they were angry.

The words that would explain his actions have been on the tip of his tongue since Gideon left. They almost slipped out after Chester Hardwick. And then Owen Savage. He wanted to say them when Reid almost died at the hands of Benjamin Cyrus, but he had pulled away at the last moment, too afraid of the consequences. He got stupidly close after the anthrax case. 

Something had always held him back. But Haley’s death reminded him of how fleeting life was. Haley died protecting her son, knowing Aaron would make the right decision and raise him to be a good man, but she should never have doubted the love Aaron had for her, and that was his fault. He wasn’t going to repeat that mistake.

“Because parents want to protect their children from all the evil in the world, no matter how unreasonable that may seem,” he blurts out.

Spencer’s brow furrows, and the resemblance to Jack terrifies him so much he almost laughs. He repeats the words to himself, clearly searching for some other meaning behind them. But in that way, Hotch and Reid are similar. They will only rarely say things they don’t mean.

“Oh,” is all Spencer is able to say.

“I’m sorry. It’s not fair of me to tell you that I look at you and see-”

“Can I hug you?” Spencer asks, cutting him off.

Hotch nods, unsure how else to respond. Spencer doesn’t use the cane as he moves onto the other sofa, opting to use the cushions as his support instead. When he’s close enough to reach out and touch Aaron’s hands, he takes them. Hotch cannot look at them, even though Morgan had washed and bandaged them almost immediately, so he stares at the ceiling instead.

Spencer’s touch is gentle and almost not there, but it feels like the safety of a childhood home that he had only ever read about in the books that served as his one escape in that little town that had no mercy for any boy that dared to speak out against their father.

“You’re a good father. To all of your children,” Spencer says.

“I know I’ve failed you. All of you. More times than I could possibly count, even though I remember every single one of them. But I always told myself that the one thing you would never do is carry a coffin that contains the body of someone you loved because of this job. Or because of my failures. It’s the only promise I’ve been able to keep.”

Spencer realises that Hotch is right. Although both him and Morgan had been on the time when Adrian Bale attacked, Hotch had organised the funerals without any input from the two of them, with all the pallbearers being family instead. No agents had died after JJ had joined, but the option of carrying Haley’s coffin hadn’t even existed for Emily.

It saddens Spencer to know that the only way Hotch is able to show how much he loves the team is by shielding them from certain horrors, and to protect them from the aspects of their jobs that cause them to wonder how much longer their hands will go cold when they see crime scenes. It makes him want to rage at the world for taking this man- this good and loving and kind man- and destroying him.

But his anger will terrify Aaron. Everyone’s anger terrifies him, because he always feels responsible. Always feels like it’s his influence, or his actions, or his failures. So he doesn’t say a word, knowing Hotch will appreciate the silence. He also knows that Hotch will understand and accept the silence for what it is: all of the words and emotions he would never be able to put into words, but so desperately needs him to believe.

It’s a haunting image. There is one one man so young he may still be a boy, and he is trying to hold the fragile and broken pieces of a man he had always believed was invincible and able to come back from anything together.

It is also a beautiful image. It proves that every child will eventually learn that their parent is not invincible, and that they get hurt and fail and mess up in the same way every single person does, but that the knowledge will not destroy them. If anything, it will comfort them because they will learn that no human is perfect, but they can still be good.

It will also be a moment ingrained in both their memories forever. Even if Spencer’s wasn’t eidetic, he would remember it. Because Aaron would not be able to keep this promise. The team would carry Emily Prentiss’ empty coffin only nine months later. And Spencer would carry Maeve Donovan’s, despite Aaron’s pleas to let somebody else handle the pain for him. When Spencer turns to him, and says he has to do it because he’s not a child that can be protected from any evil in the world- not when it emerges from the same cracks that should only contain love, they will both flinch.

Because he is right.

Because Aaron failed.

Again.

It’s funny, in a twisted sort of way, that his failures will always be associated with the bitter tang of death.

[elgaravel]

⚰️😱❌🎵 for my main mans indigo and zeke <33

Da murder men.... I'm not gonna answer the second one for Indigo bc I've talked abt it a lot I think 😭

Indigo:

[ ⚰️ ] what are your muse’s greatest regrets? what would flash before their eyes when they’re on their deathbed?

Treating the people around him poorly, not getting help when he needed it and actually had the chance, things like that. Though I think the main one would be the way that he treated his brother before he passed. They were never on great terms, and rightfully so, but Indigo still regrets not being kinder. That's one of the main things that haunt him as is common when someone dies.

[ ❌ ] is there something your muse struggles with that they might never overcome? what is it? why do they have so much trouble with it?

He'll likely never overcome a lot of his mental obstacles without some kind of professional help. His behavior is heavily trauma based and it's not something he can really work through alone or ask his equally fucked up friends to help with. His jealousy and fear of abandonment are the main things that get in his way. He lashes out often because of this and not being able to manage his emotions.

[ 🎵 ] is there a specific song or songs you associate with your muse? why is that?

Jesus Christ by Brand New

Blood Infections by Frank Iero

Bullet by Hollywood Undead

He is a sad and pathetic little man <3

Zeke:

[ ⚰️ ] what are your muse’s greatest regrets? what would flash before their eyes when they’re on their deathbed?

Zeke has been lucky enough to live his life without major regrets. Most of his regrets would be things like "ah man, i should've bought that thing :/" but nothing more. So he doesn't really have anything on his conscience. If he were to kill anyone close to him (Vince, Mike, or Prim), he'd genuinely regret that.

[ 😱 ] does your muse have any specific fears? where did those fears come from?

Other than his fear of the dark, Zeke is afraid of facing the consequences of his actions, or justice being served, however you wanna see it. He's never really had to, he's always been able to talk and gaslight his way out of most things in life and he'd very much like for that to continue. He's wary of forming friendships for this reason. He'd sooner kill himself than go to jail. He is also afraid to die, this stems from the people he's killed and how scared they seemed.

[ ❌ ] is there something your muse struggles with that they might never overcome? what is it? why do they have so much trouble with it?

He likes the idea of loving someone and being loved, but that's not something he's ever going to achieve, at least conventionally. He tried to maintain relationships when he was younger, though they'd quickly turn abusive just because of the way he is. He can't "love" someone without hurting them. It's bothered him less as time has gone on and he's met people similar to him but it's something that's always sat in the back of his mind.

[ 🎵 ] is there a specific song or songs you associate with your muse? why is that?

So Cold - Remix by Breaking Benjamin

Getting Away With Murder by Papa Roach

Reptile by Nine Inch Nails

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

In The Air Tonight

From The MoonBrella Academy

Word Count: 2300

Warnings: sex (penatrative, m/f), erotic asphyxiation, death, angst, PTSD, mentions of war, magic, general Klaus-induced chaos. GIF by @sheehanspam

A/N: During the summer of 1974, The Kostas family feels more than the oppressive weight heat. A true prophecy warns them something is on the horizon. Something that will set the course for the rest of their lives all thanks to the man out of time and a baby they promised to raise.

Honey found her balance after straddling Leon. Her hips rolled in a steady rhythm of back and forth. Her husband reached up to caress her breasts. She seized his wrists so tight, her manicured nails dug into her own palms.

Leon, switching gears, grabbed at them roughly instead. He pinched one of Honey’s nipples swollen then the other. They were lost perfectly in his grip as he massaged them, played with them as Honey rode him. He growled and she cried out before moving his hand towards her mouth to suck and bite at Leon's finger and thumb.

They were like a couple possessed. There was something in the air like static. Manhattan was the hottest Honey had known it to be. Everyone drifted slowly and drenched in sweat on the streets and in her apartment. It had been quiet during the worst of the heat. Only Diego and Klaus dained to still visit.

Earlier in the evening, up on the roof with their feet solidly in a wading pool, Leon and Honey sensed Klaus was uneasy about everything. He complained that the temperatures and the electricity in the air was suffocating him. Making his skin crawl as he stripped to his underwear. Everyone was in stages of undress, even the littles were naked and Honey topless.

“It's like Vietnam. The humidity is cellular. I feel strange and twisted.”

“Murderous, but fancy a good shag?” Leon’s query settled across the roof. “Like you could kill who you..” he mouthed fuck.

Two sets of verdant eyes gawked at Honey who suddenly sat up and covered her breasts. “Knock it off, the both of you. You're creeping me out.”

Somehow they made it through dinner and bedtime and MASH and Carol Burnett before Leon threw Honey over his shoulder. She squealed and mimicked trying to escape, but it only spurned Leon into grabbing a fistful of her ass. He maneuvered her around so she could wrap her arms and legs around him while they lumbered and kissed and undressed towards the bedrooms.

“Shhh,” Honey admonished with a strangled laugh. She pointed at the doorway to Sugar and Sunny’s room.

Klaus had passed out on the floor between the tiny beds, his head in his arms on his stomach. Sunny half poured out of the bed with a hand on his.. uncle? Brother? Klaus’s head, little fingers tangled up as he sucked on his free thumb.

Now here they were maybe hours later, insatiable. The air was stifling and had a magnetic crackle that raised the hair on their bodies as they kept having sex. Honey pushed it out of her mind that metal objects were slowly shifting in one direction as she placed Leon's hand around her throat. Her body rocked up and down faster.

There was a blue tinge to the sky and lightning. Heat lightning Leon insisted. It set Klaus on edge with the kids playing around him. He and Sunny tested out telekinesis while Selina danced to David Bowie. Her dark eyes were covered by Klaus’s literal rose colored glasses. He kept zoning out. Like he was waiting, waiting for the consequences of all of his actions.

“Tio Topolino, watch me!” Selina spun with her arms up in the air. Uncle Mouse. Klaus had been too hard to say before she learned her parents’ native tongues.

“Something is coming, Gracie.”

“Why would you say that, Leonidas?”

They were whispering in Greek. The littles weren't quite ready for Greek yet, but Klaus was born fluent. So they spoke in hushed tones on the fire escape.

“Doesn't it feel that way? The last few Weeks. Klaus usually leaves after a day. He's been here for nearly two months. There's bound to be repercussions, right?”

“Not much happened that he's said, or we read, as the result of Vietnam or 1960-1963.”

Leon rolled his eyes at his wife and made a tsk sound, “Just a bloody apocalypse or two. That Dickensian fuck who raised him got a whole new legion off it. Klaus talked you into having our baby. Then into taking another baby he stole. Skip a stone on a pond, and it makes ripples, don’t it?”

Honey hated when her husband was right. And her vagina loved how smart he was. She had looked in the window in time to see Sunny stand and toddle towards Klaus. His eyes glossed over and lost their irises. It was as if he had gone blind.

The parents scrambled through the window towards their son, but Klaus had him by the tiny hands. Sunny's pudgy fingers curled around his.. The larger ones for stability.

“Sunny?!” Selina shook her baby brother lightly.

“Klaus what the fuck? HELP HI-!” Honey yelled but Leon clamped a hand over her mouth.

“He’ll be ok,” Klaus sort of cooed. His voice was low and gentle. “I remember these. It happened so much when I was a kid. It's the innocence I think. I lost this ability because of Reginald.”

“He's in a trance, love. Like in all those movies with seances where the medium goes wonky, and they've got a message from the other side.” .

Everyone held their breath. Then a delighted shout came from the boy. “BIRB!! BEN!!” Then his eyes came back into focus; he threw his arms around Klaus’s neck. As if that was what he planned the entire time.

“Ben?!” Two men with the same face asked simultaneously. “That's my brother.”

“That was your brother’s name?” Klaus spoke first. “Maybe that's where I got it. When Mom asked us to choose our names based on our birth countries, I thought Germany was mine. My brother was Korean, but he couldn't settle on a name. Ben came to my mind. It felt.. familiar.”

Leon walked over to his kids and his twin, or clone, or whatever Klaus was, and picked Sunny up. The toddler stuck his thumb in his mouth and flexed and unflexed his little chubby fingers in his daddy’s long curls.

The matching mess of hair covered Leon's neck and chin as Sunny laid his tiny head down on the elder’s shoulder. The little yawned as his hand now absently stroked Leon's goatee.

“He died in Cyprus. He fought for Britain against our own people. He defected and was killed,” Leon said so casually. “He was 20. I was 16. It was really bloody difficult being an immigrant. A refugee. We left Greece during the Independence War when I was a year old. There's so much death, mate. All around us. I'm just really so sorry you and Nicklaus have to see it up close. I hope here, with Honey and I, they're a bit friendlier.”

Klaus had offered to conjure Leon's brother. His Benjamin. Leon declined. One day, maybe, but 15 years still wasn't enough time. That The Séance had likewise lost his brother in battle at the same age was empathetic enough.

Everyone was a bit melancholy, the air more humid with a spark, Klaus offered to get the littles to bed. Asked if he could crash in their room tonight instead of on the couch. The couple didn't mind.

Really, if Klaus could somehow, they both preferred he just stay here permanently. Honey could keep an eye on him that way. She and Leon knew Klaus had to go back and forth, maintaining his own timeline.

Except the last time he came was two years after he smuggled Sunny to his parents. He promised five minutes. This time it had been over a year. The Kostases were worried the next time he showed up, it would be the 80s. Or they would be old, their kids in their forties.

It was a silent agreement between Leon and Honey that they liked Klaus being around. “But what’s the price WE end up paying?”

Now there they were in the throes of it all. Honey encouraged Leon to tighten his grip around her neck as she scratched at his forearm. Their bodies gyrating in ways they hadn't in years. Not since before Selina. As if they couldn't fuck each other harder or faster.

Honey started to see black spots on the corners of her eyes. She relished in the struggle to breathe. Looking down, the blue tinted midnight sky with its wild lightning reflected back at her through Leon's eyes. He looked deliberate, livid. She knew she looked barking mad to him.

Honey tore at her tits and hair as she felt an orgasm coil around her sex and stomach. She was lightheaded and unable to scream out like always. She began to laugh as best she could like a woman possessed. Rode Leon through his explosion inside of her. She mentally willed it to get her pregnant.

Such a strange thing to wish for while Leon was killing her. Except he wasn't really, was he? Honey could feel herself pass out when there was a massive explosion in the sky over Manhattan.

Leon immediately let go of his wife. A blazing white light that blinded both of them filled the bedroom, and a squawking noise sounded from down the hall. Then yelling from Klaus lost somewhere in the present and possibly Vietnam. There was giggling and the patter of feet with more incoherent shouting and swearing from the littles’ room.

The bird noise only grew over the shouting, so Honey covered her ears to drown it all out. Leon looked stunned. Like he had woken from a terrible dream. That little girl laughter. The patter of feet running down the hall. The yelling and squawking all stopped. Cut off, as if the couple had fallen deaf.

“Mummy!” Selina exclaimed delightedly. It would be strange to Honey that her daughter had developed an accent like Leon's. Except that's who she spent most of her days with. Eventually Selina grew out of it, and Little Italy would take over.

“Can we keep him?! Are you and Papa playing?”

Honey knew Selina’s little head would be tilted. Little forehead wrinkled as it gathered between her eyebrows, tiny pink mouth slightly agape. How Honey loved finding more of Leon in her daughter every day.

“Keep what, Poppet?” Leon asked while helping Honey slide off of his lap. They weren't being modest, she just clearly was coming down from an adrenaline rush.

“This!” Selina held something large and black aloft. That squawking sound again.

Her parents froze. Selina held a raven nearly the size of Sunny in front of herself. It blinked its bright ebony eyes a few times, but was rather calm for being squeezed by a 5 year old. It, he. They knew it was a he. There was even affection on his face.

“Blimey love, whatcha got there?” Leon dared to ask. He was more fascinated than scared. The corvid set Honey’s hair on end.

“It’s Ben, Daddy!” Selina made a tsk noise and rolled her eyes. Little female Leon. “Sunny told us he was coming! The sky was filled with blue people, and Topo was scared. And Sunny’s little hands were blue and Topo’s were too and then Sunny started to fly. He's on the inside roof! Is he Mary Poppins?!” Selina could barely breathe, she was so excited.

“Those blue people are sad and Topo saw one and started to cry. That blue people is Dave. Then the bird came,” she held him out again towards her parents, “and he started making noises at all the blue people and they went away except three and Topo won't stop crying and Sunny is giggling. I'm tired. Can I sleep with you?”

As calm as they could muster, Honey and Leon got out of bed and put on clothes. Leon scooped up Selina who held the raven like a baby. Her dad ignored it. They made their way to the second bedroom where a blue light emanated into the hallway.

Like Sugar said, Klaus was on his knees crying into his hands. Sunny bobbed along the ceiling. He pushed off of it and bounced back up. The little boy’s laughter was a creepy juxtaposition to his older self gently weeping on the floor.

Honey knew. Leon knew. The “blue people” were ghosts. All of that static, that violence and heat in the air the last few weeks were the dead. Crackling and surfacing, begging to break through now that TWO mediums were together. It was, they immediately understood, Klaus’s sheer willpower that had held them at bay. But he was vulnerable, lost vigilance. They all broke through at once.

“Fuck me,” Leon managed at one of two soldiers. He was taller than Leon, but no mistaking his best of curls and angular jaw. Honey knew in life he had dark eyes. “Βενιᾱμῑ́ν?” Benjamin?

Dave, the woman knew, had been Klaus’s lover in Vietnam. He died saving Klaus and their regiment on the front line.

Except Honey could tell that wasn't true. The Commission had him killed to fix the timeline. They were different, not governed by violence more like stern warnings. As if parents instead of a dictator ran them now. When would they come to scold her family?

Lost in her worry, Honey didn't see the third man. The melancholic one with a cigarette perched in his fingers. He wore a giant suit jacket and equally large pants. There was a transparent tumbler of whiskey in his other hand.

This one, this ghost opened his mouth. At the same time Klaus sat up, his head cocked. Then he spoke, and a voice Honey hadn't heard in ten years came out.

“Hiya, Gracie.”

Honey began to weep. “Uncle Lenny.” She hid herself away so he wouldn't see the tears.

“Aw c’mon dollface. It's ok. I'm ok. I'm not ruining my life anymore. I do miss the stage. And Kitty. Tell Kitty I love her, will ya? And Honey, my Honey. That Kindergarten hooker. Spiteful bitch. I miss them. Proud of you, Gracie. We gotta go, ok. The three of us got wrapped up in all that jazz. By the way, cute little fuckers ya got there.”

Lenny tipped his head at Honey and Leon. Then he was gone. They were all gone. Everyone left behind in their wake to cry harder. To mourn in disbelief. Then giggling brought them all to.

Sunny floated down enough for Klaus to catch him by the ankle. He held the little boy to his chest, and Sunny patted him on the cheek. His hands weren't glowing anymore as he shoved a thumb in his mouth. Then, delighted, he gave a shout in the direction of the raven:

“BIRB!!”

@neuroticpuppy @nightmonsters @magic-multicolored-miracle @forenschik @super-unpredictable98 @ghouls-buddy @vonkimmeren @messengeronthemoon @frogs--are--bitches @bisexualnathanyoung @elliethesuperfruitlover @070188 @firstpersonnarrator @rob-private @duck-noises @sylvertyger

[grandhotelabyss]

This is the public-facing rhetorical move par excellence of the radical academic theorist: revel in your radicalism in the seminar room and peer-reviewed journals, but describe your program in the most bland, banal, who-could-possibly-object way for general audiences. Did you know that Marxism is “a refusal to take things for granted”? Why not “follow your dreams” while we’re at it? Never mind the part where “[w]e shall put you in front of a good wall and shoot you,” to quote a poem of Brecht’s. You see this today, too, with the left-identitarians, thinkers who have a nihilistically extensive critique of liberal society—who posit in fact the urgent need to destroy this society—and then, when queried by the public or its representatives, will reply that it’s just about treating people fairly, dude. 

But to give the formulation its due, if you truly take nothing for granted, if you never silence the critical intellect, you will in your own mind delegitimize your state and every state, the lives of your neighbors and then your very own life, and you will shoot yourself in the head, as in the aforementioned fictional case of Leo Naphta and the nonfictional one of Mitchell Heisman, possibly after you’ve shot some others à la Brecht or Naptha’s model Lukács, because the critical intellect left to its own devices will annul first the world and then itself. Which is why the profoundest thinkers, i.e., novelists and poets and playwrights, have always suggested a plunge into contact with reality to arrest deconstructive thought processes, from Hamlet to Herzog. Make art, make crafts, have sex, have a child, take a walk, take a drink, dig a garden, plant a tree, get revenge, get a cat—anything at all to remind you that the critical intellect allows itself to be annihilatingly disappointed at the world’s corruption only because it has lost touch with it, literally, and that criticism’s proper service to humanity is as guide and guardrail to action, not as universal solvent. 

(Note the details of Hamlet’s example: he only had to kill one person, but deconstructive thought processes made him responsible in whole or part for at least four other deaths and made him suicidal as well; only when he resolved to “let be” could he strike his sole legitimate target, but by then the collateral damage was so great that he forfeited his own life and his country was conquered. A parable for the would-be revolutionary.) 

Deconstruction at its best reminded us of these truths, as implied by the quotation from Montaigne that introduces Derrida’s epochal essay on “Structure, Sign, and Play,” but because it was premised on the very purity it set out to debunk—the centered structure organized by neat binary oppositions—it became a very purist argument for impurity. There’s always another binary to undermine over the horizon, always something else and more you could be doing to decenter; so deconstruction finally lent itself to the deranged purity spirals that have marred intellectual life recently. What deconstruction says about strong texts’ essential non-essentialism is basically right, but strong texts achieve this irreducible complexity on tides of emotion that criticism of all sorts has always been bad at capturing, making them elements of reality as well as interpretations of it.

I append all of the above to Leo Robson’s excellent essay-obituary for J. Hillis Miller, from which I draw the opening quotation. This witty catalogue is my favorite paragraph in the piece:

You might say that the effect of deconstruction, in its literary-critical mode, was to augment a presiding canon of largely B-writers (Baudelaire, Benjamin, Borges, Blanchot, etc) with a group of H-figures (Hölderlin, Hegel, Heidegger, Hopkins, to some degree Hawthorne and Hardy), and to replace a set of keywords beginning ‘s’ – structure, sign, signifier, signified, semiotics, the Symbolic, syntagm, Saussure – with a vocabulary based around the letter ‘d’: decentring, displacement, dislocation, discontinuity, dedoublement, dissemination, difference and deferral (Derrida’s coinage ‘différance’ being intended to encompass both). And there was also a growing role for ‘r’: Rousseau, rhetoric, Romanticism (one of de Man’s books was The Rhetoric of Romanticism), Rilke, and above all reading, a word that appeared, as noun and participle, in titles of books by de Man, Hartman, and most prominently Miller: The Ethics of Reading, Reading Narrative, Reading for Our Time, Reading Conrad.

Also this fun fact: “as late as 2012, [Miller] had never read anything by Samuel Richardson.” I am always fascinated by the gaps in brilliant scholars’ reading, and the more time I spent in academe the more I noticed how large the gaps really were. A generalist-dilettante, I try to read a little bit of everything and am consequently bad at being a completist of any one subject or author that a scholar necessarily is. I’ve read Pamela but not Clarissa; for that matter, I’ve read around in Derrida and De Man but, except for his rather psychedelic 2002 primer On Literature, not so much in the late and lamented J. Hillis Miller.

Further reading: my short story, “White Girl,” a dramatization of deconstructive thought processes in action, partially inspired by what I was seeing right here on Tumblr a little less than a decade ago.

[toxoiddiamond]

ORLANDO BENJAMIN FORRESTER What smells remind them of their childhood? His mother always wore (and still wears) Emeraude perfume. Every now and then someone will pass by Orli and he’ll catch the scent of Emeraude and be immediately transported back to his childhood. What filler words do they use in everyday speech? Do they have an accent or speech impediment? If someone says something that requires an acknowledgement but not a full-on response, he’ll usually say something like “ah,” or “mm,” just something to make it clear he’s listening. He also begins sentences with “well…” if he’s thinking over his response. He just has a typical American accent, no speech impediments and nothing remarkable about his manner of speaking. Do they make quick decisions and act on them? Do they take time out to think about actions and consequences? Orli isn’t exactly impulsive when it comes to his decision making (unless he has no choice but to act on instinct). If he can, he prefers to take some time to really think things through, to look at things from every angle, before he acts. This is why he’s given so much leeway at work to basically do what he thinks is best– the higher-ups know that Orli never acts on a whim and wouldn’t be doing anything unless he’d considered all the possibilities, all the possible outcomes, etc. How many unread messages are in their phone? None. Orli reads all of his messages as soon as they come in, and responds immediately unless the message doesn’t require a response. He’s not one to leave unread texts, emails, or anything else. Where do they go when they’re angry? Anywhere that will get him away from the source of his anger. If he’s angry at work, he’ll make an excuse to leave the office for whatever reason (whether it’s to do some research or to grab some coffee) and will just hang out in his car for a while until he’s calmed down. Outside of work, he usually takes out any anger or frustration by doing some kickboxing at the gym. On what occasion do they lie? Orli isn’t too much of a liar, he usually tells the truth about things, or tries to give a diplomatic answer if he can’t be as honest as he’d like (this happens a lot when he speaks with the higher-ups at work). Mainly he tells little white lies, harmless lies just for the sake of sparing people’s feelings or keeping the peace. He’s not brutally honest by any means and doesn’t want to make anyone feel needlessly bad about themselves. How would they respond to an apology from somebody they still can’t forgive? He would probably say he accepts the apology if it seems sincere. He still would never forget what they did, but he would at least be civil if it really did seem like they were sorry. But if the apology seemed insincere to him, he wouldn’t accept it and would continue to ignore the person whenever possible. What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved? He cheated on his girlfriend while he was in college. He got wasted at a party after midterms and ended up hooking up with a random guy. He felt absolutely horrible about the situation and confessed to her right away. She was understandably upset and broke up with him on the spot. Although he was heartbroken, since she was his first love, he didn’t fight her on it or try to convince her to stay with him because he knew he’d completely fucked up and ruined any trust they had between them. They sort of made up about a year later and became friends, though of course things were never the same between them. Do they enjoy working out? Do they play any sports? Orli really enjoys doing various types of martial arts– his current interest is kickboxing, and he has been taking classes for a few months. He’s also done kenpo karate, taekwondo, and jiu jitsu. He’s not a black belt or anything, he just enjoys dabbling and likes taking out his anger in a constructive way. He used to do track in high school, but he’s not really into running anymore. Do they believe people who say they have no regrets? Do they have any? If not, why don’t they have any? Orli thinks that anyone who says they don’t regret anything is full of shit. In his mind, if you don’t regret anything, then you haven’t learned anything or bettered yourself. He has plenty of regrets, some more significant than others. Which do they prefer, a lot of attention, or a little appreciation? Appreciation, hands down. Too much attention makes him feel a bit smothered, but any type of appreciation, even a quick thank you or an acknowledgment of his hard work, gives him a lot of satisfaction. Where do they feel the safest? Once Orli and his siblings all started doing well for themselves, they all pitched in to help buy their parents their dream home in Gig Harbor, Washington. It’s a very lovely, slightly secluded home with a gorgeous view. Orli goes to visit them there at least once a year, and just being there is extremely relaxing for him. By far, it’s the place he feels the safest. Are they more likely to ask for permission or forgiveness? Although he’s not the type to just go rogue all the time, he’s also not someone who asks permission for every little thing. If there’s something he wants to do, something he thinks will help a case along, but he thinks the higher-ups might say no, he’ll just do it without asking and tell them about it later. He’s never really gotten in trouble because it’s always worked out well in the end. Do they stay up late or wake up early? Both. If Orli had his way, he’d stay up late and also sleep in– that’s just the way his body clock is. But as it is, he stays up late (both to work and for pleasure), then wakes up fairly early for work. He does sleep in on his days off, and absolutely refuses to do anything that would require him to get up early on those days. Have they ever been bullied or teased? Orli grew up in Springfield, Illinois, which is widely known for being one of the most racist towns in the US. So, yes, he’s been bullied, teased, assaulted, and all manner of things. His parents tried to tell him to keep his head down, to not start anything or fight back because they were always worried that if he tried to fight back it would only make things worse for him. But by the time Orli got to middle school, he was tired of just taking it. He snapped one day when one of his bullies started bothering him and ended up beating the shit out of him. Orli got in huge trouble and was nearly expelled from school, but everyone pretty much backed off after that, so he felt it was worth it. Who was their first best friend? Where did they meet him or her? Do they still see each other? His first best friend was a classmate of his from high school named Robby. He had friends before that, but no one he was super close with or hung out with all the time. It wasn’t until high school when Orli became more social and started making a ton of friends– he was quite popular. Robby was on the track team with him, and they became fast friends. They aren’t really in touch anymore, but Orli will always think of him fondly. What are their weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling? He is definitely prideful, and has a hard time admitting when he needs help, or when he’s struggling. Those are things he tends to keep to himself. He feels that he needs to be completely self-reliant, and that asking for help shows too much weakness. He also has a hard time saying no to people if they ask him to do something, and as a result, he is always stretched very thin. He takes on far too many projects/requests at a time and just ends up stressing himself out– this is part of the reason why his former partner was such an asset. He always said no for Orli and basically told people to stop asking him/them to do anything more, that they were already busy enough with their own responsibilities. What are their eating habits? Orli is quite a healthy eater. He’s the type to view food purely as fuel, rather than something for enjoyment. He’s a decent cook and usually does meal prep for himself on his days off so he’ll have food he can quickly pop into the microwave without having to think too much. Once in a while he will indulge in something like a slice of cake, or a burger and fries, but the majority of the time he prefers to stick to healthier things. What is the most violent thing they’ve ever done, and the most violent thing done to them? The most violent thing he’s ever done was beating up a bully in middle school. The kid ended up in the hospital, though his injuries weren’t serious enough that he needed to stay overnight or anything– he had a couple of broken bones, a broken nose, and needed some stitches on his face. Orli has shot people in the line of duty, but he would consider that less violent, because he always does his best to remain calm and collected and only shoots to incapacitate rather than kill. He has had a lot of violence directed at him in his life. Fellow classmates used to hit him and push him, he was assaulted by a police officer once (before he became a detective). But the most violent thing done to him was when him and his partner were caught in a firefight in the middle of a drug bust. His partner was killed, and Orli ended up in the ICU with severe injuries. Did they have an easy or difficult childhood? Overall, it was pretty difficult. Growing up where he did was not easy and he had a hard time making friends or living any sort of normal life. But his parents and siblings were a great support system, and he never felt like he was completely alone. Things got much easier for him in high school, when his father got a new job in another state and they moved to a much less backwards town. He ended up loving high school because his classmates weren’t all racist assholes and he made tons of friends.

[moviemunchies]

The Patriot is a weird movie that has somehow grown on me? I think it’s a good movie, but I don’t know if it’s a great movie, and it’s about as subtle as a brick to the face. I wouldn’t say it handles the subject matter very well, cutting a few corners to make the story work. 

So The Patriot tells the story of Benjamin Martin (Mel Gibson), a South Carolina...farmer? Plantation owner? Whatevs. He’s a widower with several kids and a veteran of the French and Indian War, so despite the beginning of the American Revolution going on, and his oldest son Gabriel (Heath Ledger) joining the Continental Army, he advocates a peaceful solution to the conflict with Britain because he doesn’t want to be drawn into another war. But when a British dragoon leader Colonel Tavington (Jason Isaacs) shows up and shoots his son, Martin joins the war effort, and attacks the British in a brutal guerilla campaign leading a group of local militia.

If you’re from South Carolina, you’ve probably heard about this movie quite a lot, in part because it takes place and was filmed there, but especially because the protagonist is heavily based on American Revolutionary hero and militia leader Francis Marion (and some other South Carolinians from the time but they didn’t have a cool nickname so that’s the one we usually go with). It’s not precisely an accurate depiction of Francis Marion’s life by any means, other than he was a guerilla militia leader in the Revolution that hung out in the swamps. For starters, Benjamin Martin’s anti-slavery, which is not quite the attitude Francis Marion held towards the practice (but fellow SC native and Revolutionary hero John Laurens certainly did!); his plantation is staffed entirely by freedmen--a facet of the character that even Mel Gibson felt was a bit of a cop out, avoiding a chance to do a warts-and-all look at American history. Admittedly, this is a bit much to ask of the movie, I think. And Roland Emmerich, probably. 

Still, it’s a bit jarring to have a subplot about one of the militiaman, a black man, finding out that the Continental Army will free any slave that fights for the Revolution for a year when that’s not really a thing that happened at all. And Francis Marion wasn’t nearly as great of a guy as Benjamin Martin; although that may be exactly why there’s a fictional stand-in instead of the actual historical figure in the lead role.

There is often a conversation about the atrocities that the British (mostly Tavington, if we’re being real here) commit during the course of the film. Yes, he’s based off of the real British officer Tarleton, who is infamous in American history for being vicious and giving no quarter. And yes, atrocities happened. And to be clear, in-film, Cornwallis and other Redcoats call out Tavington on his brutality throughout the film, to the point that none of the Brits seem particularly torn up when he dies at the end. But burning a church full of people is a _Nazi war crime._ There’s no record of the British doing anything like that during the Revolution, and so people accuse this movie of demonizing the British. But while the British didn’t do this to American colonists, similar atrocities were committed against the Irish a hundred years before. So no, the British didn’t do this to _US_, but they did do it at some point. That probably doesn’t justify its use here in this movie, but I feel like it’s all important to keep in mind.

This all leads me to the idea of _The Patriot_ not as a history--it’s Hollywood, of course it’s not--but as a sort of mythologized version of the American Revolution. Maybe that’s a weird take, and that might make some people turn off from this movie, but for me it works. I guess that I haven’t been one of those “This movie’s inaccurate, so it SUX!” people for a long time.

The hero of our movie isn’t a man who wants to go to war--he does everything he can to try to avoid going to war, to convince his neighbors that war is not in their best interests, even though he believes in independence for the American colonies. It’s not until the war refuses to leave him alone, and begins to harm his family, that he fully commits to fighting the injustices he sees being perpetrated. Yeah, it’s kind of American _Braveheart_ but is that really a bad thing? As long as we know that’s what it is, I don’t think it is. If there were people out there who took this movie seriously, I don’t know that I’d be as lenient, but I have yet to meet someone whose opinion of history was seriously influenced by this film. Which is probably for the best.

I do understand though that the Plot kind of feels like it’s making the main character way too important to the war effort. It makes it seem as if Benjamin Martin is the only officer in the Continental Army who actually knows what he’s doing against the British. And while I like the character and his arc, I do think it’s a bit silly the way it frames the story in a way that would lead one to think that he’s fighting this war by himself. It’s not fantastic when a story dumbs down the rest of the Good Guys in order to make the Hero stand out--there are ways of accomplishing that without making everyone else incompetent.

And I’ll admit that the story’s structure is a bit… weird, I think. Sometimes Tavington just does terrible things, and I don’t know what this contributes other than adding angst. Towards the end of the movie, he gets information from some colonials before locking them in a church and burning it, but it’s not as if we see him do much with that information. It’s not really Plot Relevant. It just provides motivation for Gabriel to go after Tavington and shoot him with what should have been a fatal shot, and get killed, and give Ben MOAR ANGST. Of course it’s better to show the war as something that has casualties and consequences, but I felt that there were better ways to do it than this.

But this movie is telling an almost mythical epic story set in the American Revolution. Benjamin Martin isn’t a real person; he’s a legendary hero vaguely based off of a real hero. And in epics, seemingly pointless terrible things happen to the hero all the time to make his life suck. And like I said, this is a war movie (albeit, in an 18th century war), made before a lot of the discourse about Fridging came into public forums. Yeah, bad stuff happens, and it doesn’t always seem to make sense--that’s war. And the audience getting invested in the story, and being bothered by character deaths; well that’s kind of the point of character deaths in the first place, isn’t it?

Also it’s kind of an awesome historical action movie--I really like this period in history, because it’s a point where firearms have become commonplace, but haven’t yet become practical enough to completely replace melee weapons in battle. So we’ve got Benjamin Martin taking out Lobsterbacks with muskets, knives, and a tomahawk. It’s great, I love it. This is a huge part of why I love Assassin’s Creed III so much.

Maybe this movie isn’t that great, and I’m just projecting on it because of the lack of good American Revolution movies in the last twenty years…

I dunno. Decide for yourself. It’s a worthwhile watch. It’s got problems for sure, but I think it’s probably one of Roland Emmerich’s greatest films (maybe not a high bar), and a great film on its own merits. 

[Also you know Logan Lerman is in this movie? Yeah, Percy Jackson. He’s the youngest son in the family. And Adam Baldwin is a loyalist officer, which is so off from how he’s usually portrayed it’s weird.]

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

To forget

Perhaps people wonder what could push someone to the hanging tree at the edge of the forest.

Quintin can’t speak for everyone, but he’s fairly sure the answer is despair.

 You have to be truly hopeless to even consider asking the fae. 

He is sure that some people think this sort of thing through, think about the presents, the night, the Precise Words they will use. 

The day he walks to the hanging tree he has not prepared a single thing. 

That night he wakes up in cold sweat, a nightmare, the third time this week and it is only Thursday.

He tries to shake off the cold fear overpowering his body, he tries not to think of his face, his wandering hands, the way his voice went hot with anger.

But it’s all rather hard to not think about.

Without thinking he steps outside, he needs a breath of fresh air. 

He wants only one thing, to forget.

Somewhere off in the distance there is a laugh. 

He looks up to the sky, the moon is close to being full.

Not entirely, if it would have been a few days more Quintin would have stepped outside, never to return.

But close enough for anyone with any sense to run inside and pray to whatever gods they worship.

Quintin is already so panicked that common sense has rather left his mind.

The almost-full-moon reminds him of the Fae and then the hanging tree.

A brilliant plan latches onto his brain.

What he does next he blames on sleep deprivation, PTSD and rather spectacular amount of stupidity.

He runs inside and grabs whatever he can remember Fae like. 

Golden coins, his mother’s golden brooch, a rather expensive candy his grandmother gave him. 

He runs out of ideas and just shoves a pound of sugar in his bag too.

Then he goes upstairs, his father is used to him moving around at night, so there is no need to be quiet.

He grabs one of his T shirts, a rather nice one (he is not sure whether the quality of the clothing matters, but rather safe than sorry) and neatly cuts a strap.

Quietly he walks into the cold early winter night with no hesitation in his step.

It’s only when he is halfway there when he realises what he is planning to do, he decides that it’s better to not think about it too much, just continue into through the path without hesitation.

He gets to the tree, then with shaking hands he ties the strip of clothing to the branches.

It shines in the light of the moon.

“I have come here to forget my ex-boyfriend.” 

It sounds silly when you put it like that, but it is somehow the truth.

There is a cold wind that feels more like a strong shiver, a terrible primal fear settles into Quintins stomach, but it’s rather late to back out.

Suddenly there is a creature before him, their skin is pale as snow and their eyes are white as the moonshine.

They are tall enough for it to be creepy and their smile seems painfully genuine.

They are achingly beautiful.

In the same way forest fires are, or floods, tornadoes or a snow storm.

Dangerous, powerful, eternal.

“Heartbreak, huh.”  

The voice feels like a strike of lighting, though it is just above a whisper.

“Something like that.”

They smile even wider.

“Very well then, who is this boy you wish to forget.”

“Ian,” he realises its the first time he has spoken that name in months “Ian Brooks”

He realises the critical mistake of naming him.

Now the fae cackles. 

Quintin wishes he didn’t feel bad for Ian, but there are things you don’t wish your worst enemy or your abuser.

“Alright,” they sit down cross-legged in front of him, as if this where a fun chat between friends “I can make you forget him, but it all depends on what you are willing to give to me.”

It is now revealed Quintin has no plan whatsoever and makes another mistake, so stupid even a child wouldn’t have done.

“What would you like to have from me? I’m not sure I have much to offer.”

He gestures vaguely to the poorly prepared bag with gifts 

The fae’s smile turns into a smirk.

“On the contrary, there is so much of you I’d like to have”

They eyed him the way a hunter eyes his prey, Quintin swallows deeply, his heart pounding in his chest.

There are a few moments in which the creature seems to deliberate with themselves; then they smile wider than should be possible and let out a giggle that can only be described as pure glee.

“Your memories.” they laugh out.

Quintin sits in shock.

“My memory?”

“Well it seems rather fair, I help you forget a bad person and I get to keep your best memory.”  

“Memory, singular?”

Because then really it’s not that a bad deal, he gets to forget many many bad memories and he only loses one good one.

“The Best,” they say suddenly serious “ I will only take the memory that is the absolute best at that moment.”

Hope seizes in his chest, perhaps people were exaggerating, perhaps he is just getting lucky, either way this seemed to be turning in his favour.

He really should have known better.

“And I forget him?”

“Yes.” there is almost no malice in their voice. “You shall forget Ian Brooks.”

Almost.

“Alright” he stands up straight and extends his hand. “I take the deal.”

The Fae stands too and the moment they take his hand their smile turns maniacal, they seem to transform from vaguely humanlike to absolutely monstrous.

“Brilliant.” they say and they grip his hand as strong as earthquakes. “Your best memory, at that moment, for forgetting Ian Brooks” 

Quintin remembers it being screamed, although it was merely stated, soft and precise.

Abruptly the spirit launches forward and smashes their lips together, in a kiss that is sadly not the worst Quintins ever had.

He feels the magic seeps into him. 

As they pull apart and he catches a glimpse of a horrific smirk.

He realises he feels, hollow. 

As if he is not whole.

Something is missing.

And he desperately wants it back.

It is only then he realises the full idiocy of his actions. 

He made a deal with a Fae and he is going to have to pay the consequences.

“I-.” he chokes on his own words. “I am going to regret this.”

It is not really a question or a statement. 

There is a shrill laugh, daunting and weirdly contagious.

“Yes my dear, I’m afraid you are.”

Quintin is not sure how he gets home. He only remembers collapsing into his dad’s arms and sobbing.

What in God’s holy name was he thinking?

His dad assures him it might be ok, or at least not that bad.

Both of them really should have known better.

————————

Benjamin Aracena goes downstairs on sunday of the full moon.

He finds his son in the kitchen, his eyes look lost, his body shaking.

He had another nightmare.

He had hoped those might stop, but as always the deal with the Fay had turned for the worst.

His son had certainly forgotten Ian Brooks.

That does not mean he had forgotten what Ian had done.

Quintin’s tormenter had become a faceless, nameless monster.

A monster nonetheless.

Benjamin lightly put his hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Quintin?”  

Quintin flinched under his touch, his haunted eyes looked up at him.

“Who are you?” 

And a beat later.

“Are you him?! Get away! Please don’t hurt me!”

Something cracked in Benjamins chest.

Of course if Quintin had listened, he would have known that it was “the best memory at that moment” which means as soon as his best memory is taken, the next one in line becomes the best.

Slowly but surely Quintin Aracena was forgetting everything.

And the last things he would remember will be horrifying, the worst of the worst.

“Quintin, honey, I’m your dad, please, don’t you remember?”

There is brief recognition, a split second of happiness.

Quintin exhales and throws himself into his father’s arms.

Benjamin kisses his sons temple.

Suddenly he gets shoved aside.

His son looks at him terrified.

“I’m sorry please do not hurt me, I will be better-”

As soon as something good happens…

He immediately forgets.

V: ooooooh this is so NEAT gotta pay attention to those exact words baby oh oh oh i feel so bad for Quintin!!!

[king-theseus-kingdom]

Dreamscape Hell

This is a fanfic based around my friend @call-me-paxton​ ‘s Discord server plot--it features Wilford Warfstache, Actor!Markiplier, Marvin the Magnificent, Benjamin the Who Killed Markiplier butler, the Who Killed Markiplier? Manor Entity, and Wylie Warfstache--Wilford Warfstache’s son (in our canon).

Please proceed with caution, as this deals with death and a lot of injury and blood warning--if this may trigger you, don’t read for your own safety. ❤

Wilford had rounded a corner with Ben close behind him, and he let out a cry. "WYLIE!" He shrieks, joy overtaking his entire being at the sight of his son down the hallway. The boy's head shoots up, and a smile lights on his face, tears running from both of their cheeks. "Dad!" Wylie cries, starting to run up the hall towards Wilford. It takes Wilford a moment to see all the blood down Wylie's front, the way the boy's leg isn't working quite right as he runs with a limp. The boy is holding his front, but the pain that should be in his expression is replaced with relief and joy. Wil barely sees Actor and Marvin rushing after him. "Dad!" Wylie is sobbing as Wilford takes off towards him, planning to meet him in the middle. A figure appears behind Wylie, down the hall, the splitting image of Mark. "WYLIE LOOK OUT!" Ben roars from behind Wilford, but a deafening BANG! cuts through the air. Wylie's eyes dilate as his body jerks, the smile cracking apart as he trips over his own feet, starting to plummet to the ground. "Dad.." He chokes, eyes rolling back in his head. Wilford dives, barely managing to catch the boy and going down with him. "Wylie-" Wilford can't breathe, fresh tears gathering in his eyes and running down his face. This can't be happening! His mind screams, Anyone but him!! Oh god, please no! The bullet had hit Wylie in the back of the neck, and there was so much goddamn blood all over him from so many different injuries that Wilford felt sick, so fucking sick.. Marvin, in his cat form, had let out a wail, jumping off of Actor's shoulder and sprinting towards the two pink-headed men. "Oh god.." Ben's hand was on Wil's shaking shoulder, the man's breaths coming out in small gasps as he gazes down. Actor was rushing over, face tight with pain and fury. That was his kid, too. Covered in his own blood, in more pain than you could ever imagine. More than he should have been in for a lifetime. So much more than he deserved to feel...

"Wylie...Wylie can you hear me?" Wil's voice breaks as he presses a hand over the wound on the back of the boy's neck, his body laying across Wil's lap now. "Please..." The boy's eyes open weakly, his body shaking from all the pain. "D...da--" "Shh, it's alright, d-don't--don't talk, Wylie, it's okay..." Wilford whispers, his eyes swirling with a million different emotions. Marvin's paws are pressing against Wylie's shoulder, trying to heal the damage that had been done, the wounds that had been brutally carved into him. "We're gonna get you home, son, I promise, you're--" Wilford's voice breaks, and he hiccups as he holds him tighter. "Dad.." Wylie whispers, his voice sounding like he was drowning. He was choking on the blood that was seeping into his throat from the wound, making his words sound gargled and distorted. "I-I'm..s--sor--ry.." Wylie was crying now, too, his face tight with fear and agonizing pain. Wilford let out a sob, clutching his boy tighter. Actor had a hand pressed over his mouth as he knelt down next to the boy he'd grown to love so much, knives through his heart as he listened to him and watched the emotions melting across his bruised face.

The image of Mark had morphed, turning into Wilford, gun still clutched in his hand. "It was an accident!" The double had wailed, dropping the gun. It disappears in a puff of smoke when it hits the ground. "I swear!" Wilford flinches, a hard sob spilling from his lips as he tries to look anywhere but at his carbon copy. "I didn't mean to kill anybody!" "Shut up!" Benjamin shouts at it, his voice quaking. "Leave us!" A low chuckle spills from the entity, its eyes turning pink. "Life needs a little madness~ isn't that right, William?" The entity shifts, changing shape and turning into Mark once again. Wilford refuses to look at him, soft sobs spilling from his lips. "It's not fair, is it?" Mark, the copy, had growled, moving closer to the group.

Actor turns, a deep snarl on his face. "Get the hell away from us!" He'd roared, grief making his voice quake. Wilford finally looked up, unable to form words. "Life is for the living.." Mark had smiled, hands clasped behind his back. "And your precious boy won't be living much longer..unless you all stay here, where I can give you anything..." "SHUT UP!" Wilford screams, hyperventilating as his whole body shakes, his own eyes flickering pink as Marvin looks up at him. The poor magician was doing everything he could, but after the journey he was so much weaker than usual, and there were so many injuries all fighting to kill Wylie simultaneously.

Smoke pours out of Mark, and Wilford lets out a heart-shattering sob as Dark took the figure's place, white-suited and eyes dark with disappointment, that look that always broke part of Wilford to see. "Same snake, different skin...causing more death, William?" Dark purrs, and Wilford chokes on his breath, shaking his head rapidly. He knew it wasn't Dark, he knew it wasn't the man he loved so goddamn dearly...but it still send red-hot pain through every inch of his body to see him, hear him... "N-N--No--" Wilford gasps for breath, holding onto Wylie like it would keep him alive. "Do you now see the consequences of your actions, my prince?" Dark has appeared closer, gazing down at Wilford with cold eyes. "So much trouble...all for something so small...why leave? You can be free here, with no pain or trauma...no death.." Dark tilts his head, smiling harshly down at all of them. Marvin was hissing, his green eyes glaring up at the impostor. Dark bares his fangs and hisses right back at the feline. "So..what will it be? Stay, and Wylie will be fine? Or leave, and he will die?" Dark demands. "Wylie would never want us to stay," Actor growls, "He never gave in because he wanted us all to be free..." "Fine, have fun burying your precious child." Dark laughs, looking at Wilford for his answer as Ben shakes his head.

The ceiling above them was starting to crack apart as Wylie's life drained away. Wilford was rocking back and forth, trying to keep Wylie alive by pressing his hands over the worst of the wounds as Marvin worked to correct them. "What will it be, William? Save him? Or let him die like all the others?" Dark repeats, void of emotion as he watched Wilford sob in pain and anguish. "Stop it!" Wilford wails, "Just stop, leave us alone! If you're not going to help him then LEAVE US ALONE!" Wilford screams, sobbing his voice raw as Wylie gazes weakly up at him, trusting him...eyes soft despite the deep pain. "Please, pl-lease...Wylie..Wylie..." Wil whimpers, lowering his head and pulling his broken son closer. "Please.." Don't go, don't let me lose you too, I can't do it.. "I'm tired of giving people a choice." Dark snarls, fists clenched at his sides. He walks up to William, seizing the man's chin and yanking his head up. His eyes were black, his teeth sharp and bared in a growl. "I will only heal him if you agree to stay. If not, he dies." "Leave him alone!" Actor shouts, jumping to his feet. The entity rolls his eyes. "Sit down before you hurt yourself." Dark sneers, letting go of Wil's jaw and taking a step back. "..d..a..ad..." Wylie rasps, grabbing onto Wil's shirt with a blood-soaked hand. The poor man looks down, leaning closer. "D..do..n'..t..agr...ree...g...go...go ho...m.." Wylie's eyes are starting to fall shut. "Wylie!" Wilford grips him tighter, "No, n-no please don'--don't close your--" *I'm losing him, he's going to die, oh god no please-* A section of the ceiling crashes to the ground not far from them, and Ben and Marvin both jump in surprise. "His death is breaking everything apart.." Actor whispers, just loud enough for Marvin and Wilford and Ben to hear.

"Your stubbornness will be the death of us all." Dark sighs, straightening his suit jacket. "But fine, let this place fall down, let him die, just like you let Mark die, over, and over, and over, and over again!" Dark's body splits apart into various Marks, each with different, fatal injuries. "Like you let them all die!" He reforms into a single entity. "STOP IT! SHUT UP, STOP TALKING!" Wilford shrieks, shaking his head violently. CRASH as a mirror falls from a wall, the paint and supports crumbling. "G..go.." Wylie whimpers quietly, and Wilford looks down at him again. No, please, I just found out about you, I can't lose you now, please, please no...Wylie... He smiled, Wylie really smiled up at Wilford, as his teeth stained red from blood, and as his shaking body started to slow. Wilford's heart was breaking apart, and he was shaking his head. "I won't leave you, please..W..Wylie.." His mind was snapping, the threads straining and breaking apart, all that progress--all that progress...backtracking, falling apart like the room they were sitting in. Dark watched him with a disgusted expression, lip curled in anger. "We gotta go-" Actor chokes, looking back at them, "This place is going to come down on top of us--w-we gotta move--" He was crying, too, tears slowly sliding down his cheeks. "Wil--" Marvin rubs against Actor's leg, jumping up on his shoulder. "My magic won't work....god I don't know why!" Marvin mentally says to Actor, lowering his head. His ears were tucked back, and his tail was lowered, used only for balance now. Marvin yowls as part of the ceiling comes down and Actor has to move to avoid the debris that shoots up after it breaks off. "We're all gonna die if we don't get out of here.." Actor murmurs, but a soft hiccup comes from him as he sobs quietly, bringing hand up to his face to cover his eyes. Wylie's eyes have shifted, and he's gazing up at Marvin and Actor now, eyes starting to glaze over.

"M..Mar..v.." The boy chokes, and it causes the cat to jump down, every movement stiff with fear as he lays his tail on the dying boy. 'I'm sorry.' Wylie's mind was whispering, 'I'm so sorry I can't keep the promise...' "Stop!" Marvin's small body trembles, "Wylie, no, please, come on.." 'You have to go..take them and go, keep them safe...please...' Wylie's mind answers, and a weak little smile is on his face, 'Please, Marvin...keep them alive for me...tell Wil I love him, okay? It's not his fault...and not Mark's either...' His mind was getting quieter as the room crumbles faster and faster. "We have to go!" Ben cries, stray tears slipping off his cheeks, "William, we must go or we're all going to die!" Actor is kneeling down again now, looking at Wil. "We have to get him out of here, Wil! Listen to me!" Actor shouts, grabbing Wil's shoulder. "We have to get him out! Come on! He needs us, William!" He's desperately trying not to look down as a choked sob comes from Wylie. "Pull yourself together!" "Hold on Wylie! Just hold on a little longer! We're gonna make it, just don't let go!" Marvin was screeching to the boy. He could see it, see all the flashing images in Wylie's head. Wilford and Wylie the first time they met, not so long ago, laughing, smiling...Dark was there too, and Mark, and Finn, and they all seemed so nervous and yet so happy. Wylie's mom, Paisley, took up many of the images. Over the years of him and her, only the smiles, the good times. Actor, the grins he'd sport when he was joking with Wylie, the protectiveness and fond expression.. "I like the Wylie I have in front of me.." Actor's voice sounded. 'Dad..' Wylie's mind whispers, and both Actor and Wil appear in his head. And then Marvin appears, from the cat form landing on Wylie's head to helping the other with his jacket, nothing but fondness existing in the boy's mind when he thought about his new friend that he didn't get enough time with.

'I love you all, so much...' Wylie's mind whispers as tears roll down his face and drip off onto the floor. They were screaming, Wilford and Marvin and Actor, all shrieking for him to hold on as the floor cracks and the ceiling crashes down. Marvin could hear his heartbeat slowing down. 'Take...take care of..of...th...' Wylie's mind stops whispering, and his eyes slowly fall shut, breath escaping his lungs one last time before he goes limp in Wil's lap. The pink haired man's breathing speeds up as his eyes scan rapidly over his son's face, and Marvin tosses his head back with a grief-stricken caterwaul. He was gone. The floor trembles as the ceiling breaks apart. Marvin presses himself against Actor, and the man can feel all the pain the feline is feeling. The repeated "HE'S GONE HE'S GONE HE'S GONE-" ringing in his ears. Actor nearly collapses, feeling sick as he covers his mouth. "No, no, no-" Actor chokes, letting out a sob. "WYLIE!" Wilford is screaming, ignoring the debris smashing down around him. "We have to go!" Ben is trying to pull Wilford to his feet. "WILFORD LET HIM GO!" "NO!" Wilford screams, shoving Benjamin away. "Wil he's gone, we have to go or we're all going to die, too!" Ben is crying, watching his friends eyes turn pink slowly. "We have to go!" "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Wilford screams at him, "What do you want me to do, leave him here?!" "Wil-" "No!" Wil sobs, his mind snapping apart. "I'M NOT GONNA FUCKING LEAVE HIM HERE!" The room was turning black, stars closing in on the crumbling room. Darker...darker...darker... ....nothing.

~~~~

Wilford's body jerked awake in the basement of the manor, gasping and jerking as tears start running down his face. "WYLIE!?" He's still screaming, head whipping around as he searches for the boy. Benjamin wakes up nearby as if he'd come back from the dead, groaning as he held his head. "Wil-" He chokes, gazing at the pink-haired man, who was on his feet and turning back and forth, looking for his child. Marvin was awake, trembling with his knees pulled to his chest, no longer in his fuzzy cat form. He was crying silently, hands over his ears. This can't be happening..

Actor was the one who woke first, and found Wylie's broken body in another room, not far from where the others had woken up. Covered in his own blood, no pulse...body starting to cool already... He's not coming back. Actor felt his heart shatter apart, holding onto the boy gently as he tries to rouse him, in vain. "Wylie.." He whispers, lip trembling. "Oh, kid...please no..." An ear-shattering scream tears through the air as Wilford enters, and the mans knees buckle as he tumbles to the floor, staring at the body in horror.

When you lose your parents, you're an orphan... But what do you call it when you lose a child..? Nothing, there is no name for that.. Because you cannot put a name on that grief.

As Wilford stares at the broken body of his only child, mangled, bloody...he can only scream, in heart-stopping agony, as the body turns cold. As Marvin and Ben enter, unable to stop the pain the two men were feeling.

That night, Wilford Warfstache lost his mind all over again, and Actor lost his will to continue, and Marvin lost the light in his eyes. Ben lost four friends once more, and now himself, as none of them were ever the same again. And poor Wylie, joining Mark, Damien, Celine, Abe, Y/N... As another victim of Markiplier Manor.