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the-hidden-writer · 4 months

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No Escape From Reality.

An Alan Wake 2 oneshot. Spoilers for The Final Draft!

Summary: Despite both Alan and Saga's reassurances, Casey can't stop questioning his existence and struggles to draw the line between his own life and the books.

Words: 2,521 AO3 link: [Here!]

No Escape From Reality

He was out of the spiral.

Despite sitting relatively comfortably in the back of a van owned by the FBC, Alan felt exhausted. But he would take the deep-rooted fatigue in his body over The Dark Presence any day. Besides, he wasn't alone.

Albeit for a much shorter time, The Dark Presence had possessed Agent Casey and Scratch had used him as a vessel just as he had with Alan himself, so the FBC wanted to bring back the both of them. And while his gut told him that he would be with the FBC for a considerable amount of time, he was less certain what they had planned for Casey. Did they just want to examine him? Question him? Or did they want to run tests on him?

Even though he was fully expecting that for himself, Alan felt a sudden flash of anger at the thought. He felt strangely protective of Casey, despite only officially meeting the man so recently. He wasn't sure why.

He looked over at the man in question.

Casey sat opposite him, his head tilted back to lean against the side of the van and his hands gripping the seat, but otherwise unmoving. Alan absentmindedly wondered if he was experiencing the same exhaustion as he was.

Casey hadn't uttered a word for the entire journey. The last time he'd spoken was when he was parting with Saga, insisting that he was fine and to greet her daughter on his behalf. Though the FBC had questions for Saga too, it wasn’t as urgent and they allowed her to go home to her family first. Alan had the feeling that she would have gone even without permission.

As soon as she'd left his sight, Casey's small, reassuring smile had dropped. Alan had been too wrapped up in his own thoughts at the time and thought nothing of it. But now, with a long journey ahead of him and a familiar stranger in front of him, he started to itch for a conversation. Not to end the awkward silence between them, although it was very awkward, but instead because the two of them being alone together was beginning to remind him a little too much of The Dark Place.

Wanting to end the silence was one thing. Figuring out how to start a conversation with the stoic man after everything that had just happened was another.

Time had no meaning in The Dark Place and Alan was accustomed to being there, so he was unable to determine just how long he spent trying to think of how to initiate a conversation. Being a writer, words usually came so easily to him, and yet all of a sudden he couldn't find the right ones. Maybe it was a side-effect of exiting the loop. Or maybe it was plainly the exhaustion consuming him.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter, because Alan felt a sudden tickle in his nose and broke the silence with a loud sneeze.

"Gesundheit." Casey said, without looking at him.

"Thanks." Alan responded, slightly embarrassed.

Of course, he thought, with a hint of chagrin. His actions were no longer being determined by pre-written pages. You'd never see the hero of the story cough, sneeze, or need to use the bathroom.

At least the ice between them had been chipped at.

Alan readjusted his sitting position, purposefully making enough noise when shuffling around to catch Agent Casey's attention.

Judging by the shuffling across from him, his plan was successful.

Not wasting the opportunity, Alan spoke up.

"Are you okay?"

"Just peachy." Casey replied, his voice gruff and his words thick with disdain and sarcasm.

After a long pause, he sat forward and finally looked at Alan. His hardened features melted into a weary frown.

"Honestly, I'm just tired." He said with an air of defeat. "With that thing, that- that presence inside me… god, it felt so awful, so…"

His voice trailed off as he also seemed to struggle to find the words.

"Dark?" Alan prompted.

Casey barked out a small, humorless sound that wasn't quite a laugh.

"Yeah." He affirmed. "Don't know how you managed it."

"I'm just used to it."

They fell into a more comfortable silence then. The ice felt like it had finally broken, which Alan was grateful for. He needed allies if he was going to help Alice, and Casey seemed like a great contender.

Again, he had no idea how much time he spent listening to the gentle hum of the vehicle before Casey was the one to speak up.

"I should've asked, are you okay?"

"I've been worse." Alan answered honestly.

Casey gave a tiny nod. "Good."

His gaze lingered on him for a few more moments, before stiffly turning away. Alan got the feeling he wasn't really satisfied with the answer.

"Agent Casey?" He tried.

Casey turned back toward him, face suddenly hardened again, and his eyes locked onto Alan’s, almost like he was searching or scanning for something within them. Alan had to fight himself to not blink too much or look away. The more questions he saw in the man’s eyes, the more they started to feel like his own.

Eventually, Casey said: "Wake, I'm real."

It was a statement with no room for argument, but Alan heard the implied question underneath.

That’s when it dawned on Alan exactly what was gnawing at Casey. He must still be fighting with the concept of being a fictional character.

Alan could relate, to some degree.

“Yeah.” He replied simply.

“And your books,” Casey continued, unable to hide his distaste, “based on me, not the other way around.”

“That’s right,” Alan affirmed again, “you can’t create something out of nothing.”

Casey nodded, seemingly pleased with that answer. But he wasn’t done.

“And I’m in control of my life. Your goddamn writing didn’t start twisting it until after we got to Bright Falls. I’m my own person.”

Alan paused at that. As much as he wanted to be reassuring, the affirmation didn’t come to him as quickly.

The truth was that he had no idea. He’d only just discovered Alex Casey was a real person and not just a figment of his imagination. His books had all been unknowingly based on a real, living man. Alan tried not to dwell on that fact too much, otherwise he’d start doubting his own abilities as an author and creative.

If the real Alex Casey was a Private Investigator, then maybe the question of which came first would be easier to answer. But he wasn’t. He was an FBI agent, one whose partner possessed the necessary abilities to break Alan out of The Dark Place and one who had previously investigated Bright Falls and murder cults. That’s exactly what Alan had needed, and what he’d written about. It would be a stretch to call that a coincidence.

As for being his own person…

Alan didn’t know how many times he’d killed the Casey (that looked and sounded identical to this one) in The Dark Place. It didn’t appear to have impacted the real one, but he couldn’t be sure.

He’d come to consider the echoes of Alex Casey in The Dark Place as comforting. A friend guiding him through the endless night, written into the story to save him. His character of so many years- or so he’d thought.

They say that every character contains a piece of their creator. Heroes and protagonists are especially more likely to just be a mask of the author.

Alan tried not to think about Thomas Zane and his familiar face. Nor did he wish to dissect Zane’s film, Nightless Night, or how “Thomas Seine” playing the role of him swapped places in The Writer's Room with the man who looked like Casey playing The Detective, a role which Alan himself assumed in The Dark Place. It was unnerving to think about and Alan was afraid he would come to a revelation neither of them would like.

However, his mind did wander briefly to the actor he’d met whose name escaped him. He’d seen him before The Dark Place, he was sure of it, and he recalled that he looked so uncannily similar to Casey. His voice was nigh-identical in the movie clip as well.

And then the actor, bound to a chair by the reel of Zane’s films, desperately fighting against Alan’s pre-written narrative and begging for his life.

Wearing a mask.

Alan pulled himself out of his quickly spiraling thoughts and back into reality, realizing he had been taking a long time to respond. Casey was still looking at him expectantly, though the silence seemed to be an answer in itself. His hard mask had cracked slightly; his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly parted as he waited with baited breath. Alan saw a glimpse of a deeply-rooted fear, one that maybe even predated the events at Bright Falls, and an uncharacteristic sliver of anxiety.

No, Alan caught himself. He couldn’t decide that it was uncharacteristic. It might have been for his Alex Casey, but who was he to know the emotions and personality of the real one?

“Yeah.” Alan answered finally, brushing aside the reflections in his mind of the actor, the echoes, and Nightless Night. “You’re your own person.”

~-.-~

Looking out over the damned lake that started all of this, Casey sighed and took a big sip of coffee. Next to him, he noticed Saga doing the same.

The two of them had traveled back to Bright Falls to tie up some loose ends of their investigation, despite the case technically being transferred to the FBC. Both partners were thorough in their work and liked to see cases to completion if they could.

The real reason they’d come back was that Saga was concerned about the locals and wanted to talk to them. People like Rose and Ilmo had been through a lot and were kept more out of the loop of what was happening, and Saga wanted to see how they were doing and ensure that Wake’s story hadn’t permanently corrupted them in some way.

Casey himself, finally free from all the FBC’s prodding and poking, had no intention of letting her go by herself.

So there they were. Casey and Anderson sitting on a bench in Bright Falls overlooking Cauldron Lake with cups of Oh Deer Diner coffee in their hands, thankfully with the sun shining overhead.

It should have been peaceful. And yet any proximity to that cursed town brought back a lot of unwanted thoughts and fears in Casey. Particularly the memory of when Saga had told him that something he knew and remembered as fact at the time (Logan’s death) was untrue. Since he fully trusted Saga, he found that he couldn’t trust himself.

After spending many years contemplating the scary amount of coincidences and parallels with the fictional Alex Casey in Wake’s books, that feeling wasn’t exactly new to him. Didn’t mean it was any less unpleasant.

“What’s on your mind?” asked Saga, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Casey let out a small huff of amusement. He knew very well that she’d probably already deduced exactly what was troubling him and was only asking to be polite. He decided to humor her.

“I spoke to Wake the other day.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Was all he could say. He wasn’t sure why it was so difficult to explain what he was feeling. It was easier to think about it privately than to outwardly say: ‘Hey Anderson I think I’ve been twisted into a fictional character without realizing it’.

“Hey, Anderson?”

Saga gave him a patient smile. “What’s up?”

“I…”

I don’t know if I can trust any of my memories. I don’t know if my personality was mine to begin with. I can’t rid myself of the feeling of the dark shadow writhing around inside me. I think I might end up dying in an alleyway like in Wake’s book.

His hands began to shake, causing him to lose grip on his coffee cup which fell to the ground, leaving an ugly splatter on the floor. Casey held back a sob but couldn’t stop his voice from breaking.

“...I don’t know who I am anymore.”

The sight of the lake in front of him started to burn his eyes, so he tightly closed them. A few seconds later he felt an arm wrap around his shoulder.

“Look at me, Casey.”

Casey inhaled deeply and slowly opened his eyes. Saga had moved so that she was crouched in front of him, taking up most of his vision. Her face blocked his view of the sun, causing sunlight to outline her silhouette and give her an almost angelic look.

“You’re my partner, and you are real.”

He met her gaze and a stray tear found its way down his cheek. “The changes don’t affect me, remember?” Saga continued. “I’ve known you for years, and you’ve always been the same person I know and care about. A really great FBI agent, not some gritty PI.”

She had a point, there. She was the one who could tell when Wake’s story was changing reality, and if Wake really was the source of his life being altered, then Saga would know. And if she really did have some strange mind powers, then she would know that it wasn’t normal and he trusted her to tell him if that was the case.

“You’re right, Anderson,” he said with a small smile, “as per usual.”

She smiled at that. He knew that she liked to abuse her privileges of being one of the only people he actually listened to.

“See?” Said Saga. “Now, repeat after me: My name is Alex Casey, and I’m an FBI agent.”

Casey grimaced. “Do I have to?”

“Yes!” Exclaimed Saga, using the same patronizing tone of voice she’d use to get Logan to eat something she knew she wouldn’t like.

With a frown, Casey relented. “My name is Alex Casey and I’m an FBI agent.”

“And again.”

He groaned. It was all more than a little patronizing, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t help ground him and make him feel slightly better. He repeated the phrase again.

Saga was tenacious and wouldn’t let it go. “One more time?”

“My name is Alex Casey, and I’m an FBI agent.”

“Good.” Saga smiled, standing up. “I’ll go get you another coffee.” She began to walk back toward the diner, but he cleared his throat before she could get too far. She paused and looked back.

“Thanks, Anderson.” He said, and while his voice might not betray it, he could tell that she understood that he meant it from the bottom of his heart.

She nodded knowingly before heading inside.

Casey cast his gaze back to Cauldron Lake. The water looked innocent enough from an outside perspective- even beautiful on a day like this one. It chilled him to his core to think about all that had transpired because of it and what sinister secrets lay below the surface.

He closed his eyes.

“My name is Alex Casey. I’m an FBI agent.”

Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated :)

#alan wake #alan wake 2 #alan wake spoilers #fanfic #alex casey #saga anderson #sam lake #the fictional one haha #no escape from reality #one last fic of 2023

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frankfontainecalloutpost · 4 months

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youtube

Do you like Control, The Magnus Archives, or Alan Wake? And general archival and mistery type content? Maybe I was under a rock and everybody already knows about this but I found this hidden gem that strongly reminds me of TMA. It's a mostly audio based story of an FBC employee analysing filed altered objects, as the story continues we hear more about his situation during the bureau lockdown.

I'm not done listening to it but I'm really enjoying it so far!!

#Control #control remedy #federal bureau of control #the magnus archives #alan wake #the white vault #podcast #spc #scp foundation #scp #text #Youtube #this is the tag for my text posts

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kawaaiju · 2 months

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It's been a long day of catching up with various clues Anderson left him from her night of surveillance, putting them all together and now Casey was feeling the exhaustion of the day catching up to him. The apartment was warm, he was laying in the sunny spot on the couch and from the distance he could hear the sounds of water running and quiet humming. He was content. Content and quickly drifting away. He promised he wouldn't, promised to stay awake since he hasn't seen Alan in almost a day but the second he closed his eyes sleep took him over. The water shut off and the humming quieted down few moments later. Silence filled the sunny apartment and then soft steps approached the couch.

Alan draped the blanket over the sleeping form before him with a small huff. He debated it for a second before climbing in himself and snuggling close, stealing some of the blanket for himself.

Seeing Casey relaxed made him calmer. Last few nights were again filled with restlessness and tears. He trusted Casey could take care of himself but every night he was out on a case, made Alan uneasy. But he didn't want to be a problem so he just pretended to be asleep when he finally felt the other man slip into the bed and curl into his side. His anxieties started eating at him to the point he was unable to fall asleep even with Casey there the whole night, warm and asleep under him.

But for now the sun felt so good in his hair and on his skin and closing his eyes, Alan begged for a few moments of sleep. Few moments in the warmth that he created.

Casey stirred and sleepily pulled him closer, kissing his forehead.

It made him tense for a second, remind him of his fears, of darkness, of FBC. But he couldn't worry Casey with any of that, not when he was on a new high profile case, so he calmed down and just pretended again.

#this is really short and (not) sweet #can you tell im struggling with insomnia and anxiety #set after aw2 where alan moved in with casey #also my writing is not that great and this is not much sorry #alan wake #alan wake 2 #alex casey #caseywake #mywriting

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quietblueriver · 11 months

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Judith at the Banquet

S2 Ep.3 - Just a quick bit of canon divergence. Ava and Beatrice make it to the Prado after all.

“You want to go sightseeing? Right now?”

“Yes! I spent my whole life in an orphanage. I mean, this is Madrid! Villa y corte. The city of the bear and the strawberry tree! I wanna see everything!”

Ava’s arms are spread wide and her smile is bright and familiar. It’s the same smile she uses to try to convince Beatrice to abandon their run for a trip to the bakery or the pool. It’s the same smile she uses to tempt Beatrice into a walk to the coffee shop, Ava claiming she wants some sweet concoction when really she just knows Beatrice is having a difficult day and could use a cortado. It’s the same smile that led to Beatrice drinking lemon drops and letting her hair down, pressing close to Ava on a dance floor. It’s effective more often than it should be—Ava is earnest and eager and beautiful and trying and Beatrice is, despite herself, entirely in love with her. Today, though, as she watches the pattern on her cross flash over and over again, she shouldn’t agree. She can’t agree.

“I understand, but now is really not the time. Come on, it’s this way.”

Ava rolls her head back in defeat but follows Beatrice toward the meeting point. As they get close, she hesitates. There are at least three men watching the door. They may be compromised. She stops short of the gate at the entrance and considers. Ava stops just behind her, close enough that Beatrice can feel the warmth of her, their arms brushing as Ava rocks her body restlessly.

“Bea?”

“Keep your eyes ahead. We’re being watched.”

Ava tenses as she moves closer to Beatrice, stills. “How many?”

“Three that I see so far, but I’m concerned that there may be more inside.”

She turns to face Ava, letting her eyes pass over the men across the street. Ava says, eyes just over Beatrice’s shoulder, “Right. That guy is window shopping at an accountant’s office.”

Beatrice hums. “Yes, and there are two others behind you, not to mention whoever might be inside.” She glances at the door. She doesn’t see movement but that doesn’t mean much. “Even if nobody is inside, we can’t take the chance that we lead them to the others. We have to lose them.”

Ava bounces on her heels, pulls at the brim of her hat. “Yeah. Let’s lead them down a side street and take them out.”

It’s an incredibly Ava plan, meaning it’s rash and it ignores everything Beatrice has taught her about strategy. She reminds her, again: “Never spark a conflict until you have a complete understanding of your odds.”

Ava’s already moving toward an alley, turns to face Beatrice as she walks backward. “Mmm. More of a punch first, maybe ask some questions, and then punch again kinda girl.”

Beatrice thinks of the street fight with Miguel, of the FBC informant. The lingering weight of her fear for Ava sits low in her stomach, even as she rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’ve noticed.” She looks back at the flower shop and then at Ava, watches as two of the men start toward them in an entirely unsubtle way. Amateurs. FBC, if she had to guess, but she can’t imagine Vincent would send anyone this green. Then again, she couldn’t have imagined that Vincent would be acolyte to a demon, so anything is possible.

The two men behind Ava are huddled together now, and their attempt at conversation over a newspaper article is ridiculous, the henchmen’s version of bad improv. One of them has his eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline and is nodding so hard that the tip of his nose is nearly parallel to the ground on each dip. The other is holding the newspaper out in front of them so demonstratively that he might as well be a mime.

Beatrice leaves them to their show and assesses. She’s not willing to go into the shop without more information, and she’s concerned, deeply concerned, that Vincent has gained access to the coordinates. She doesn’t know where Mary’s cross is. She doesn’t know who else he might have working for him. There’s every chance the shop is full of wraiths or that Vincent has set some other trap. It’s not a risk she can take, not with Ava.

They’ll have to find somewhere to regroup and think of another means of contacting Superion and Camila. A call is out of the question, but Camila would pick up any digital breadcrumbs Beatrice left, she’s certain. It may be the best option. She’ll need to find a burner phone, a wifi connection, and somewhere to pass the time until Camila can find them. Beatrice considers the bus stop, thinks of Ava’s indulgent smile every time she orders Beatrice’s cortado. Well. They are in Madrid. She puts her cross away.

“Ava.”

Ava stops, tilts her head in acknowledgement.

“How would you feel about a detour?”

Ava shrugs. “Sure. Want to lead them somewhere else?”

“Not exactly. I was thinking,” Beatrice steps closer to her, nods her head in the direction of the bus stop, “that we could go to the Prado.”

Ava’s on top of her immediately, arms wrapped around Beatrice’s neck as she laughs and whoops in delight. Beatrice wraps her own arms around Ava’s waist and holds her off the ground for a moment as Ava jumps. When she lands, she presses a kiss to Beatrice’s cheek, distractingly close to her mouth, and takes her hand.

“You’re my very favorite, you know that?”

Beatrice feels her face grow hot, knows it must be visible because Ava’s smile softens, her eyes full of something tender, and the hand not holding Beatrice’s reaches up to trace knuckles over Beatrice’s cheek. The window shopper moves in their direction and Beatrice snaps herself back to reality. Before anything else, they’ll need to deal with the stooges. If their current behavior is indicative of their general level of competence, it won’t be terribly difficult to shake them. She reaches up to take Ava’s hand from her face, squeezing to let her know it’s not a rebuke, even though, Beatrice knows, it probably should be. She pulls Ava by her other hand back toward the side street.

“Let’s shake them. I need to do a few things to get word to Camila, and then we can catch a bus.”

Ava nods eagerly and bounces on her toes. “Whatever you say, boss.”

It takes nothing, two minutes ducked behind a gray Fiat, one and a half of those purely out of an abundance of caution, and they’re free. Beatrice gets them back to a populated street and walks a few blocks, tracking back and on high alert for any additional danger. She thinks, for a moment, that she sees a familiar face, the flash of a clerical collar, but when she looks again, it’s gone. They’re in a crowd now, and Vincent is unlikely to make a move that would draw negative attention to Adriel and call into question his angel persona. It’s unlikely, but she murmurs to Ava anyway, “Be on watch for Vincent.” When Ava looks at her in alarm, eyes darting through the crowd around them, Beatrice pulls her closer, their hands having remained linked since they emerged from behind the car. “It’s okay. I can’t be certain that I saw him. I just,” a man bumps Ava and Beatrice lets go to steady her, keeping her hand at the small of her back long after it’s necessary, “I don’t want him anywhere near you.”

Ava leans into her further, pulling Beatrice’s arm fully around her waist. “I’m gonna kick his ass, Bea.” The determination on her face makes Beatrice want to take her back to their flat, keep her tucked away. There is nothing dutiful left in her desire to protect. It’s a scared, selfish thing. “Ava, please be careful.” Her tone is pleading, telling, but Beatrice cannot bring herself to be embarrassed. (“I am your best friend, and I cannot watch you die.” The truth and so much less than the truth. A confession and a prayer.) Her hand moves against Ava’s waist, fingers brushing bare skin where her overalls open, and she’s startled enough at the intimacy of it that she pulls away. Ava catches her hand before it gets far, rubs her thumb over Beatrice’s knuckles as she secures it back around her waist. She stops them in the middle of the crowd, unconcerned at the inconvenience she’s causing, and her eyes are understanding and, maybe, a little bit sad. “Okay. It’s okay, Bea. I’ll be careful." She starts walking again, and Beatrice moves with her, directing them to a corner store advertising SIM cards in its window.

---

Ava’s eyes are wide as she takes in the city through the window of the bus. Beatrice splits her time between watching Ava and watching the passengers around them, nodding and answering, where she can, Ava’s questions about the city and their route.

When they reach the front of the Prado, Ava’s eyes are as bright as Beatrice has ever seen them, and she takes Beatrice’s hand and links their fingers as they enter, bounding toward the stand of maps. Biting her lip, she hums as she unfolds a pamphlet and examines the layout of the museum, thoughtful. It’s much more intentional than Beatrice would have anticipated, but she would never say so. “It’s silly. I don’t…” She shrugs a bit, almost embarrassed, and Beatrice steps further into her space and presses a palm against her back, just below the halo, feels Ava’s muscles relax against her. The desire for physical proximity, for her own sake as much as for Ava’s, is instinctual in a way it never has been with anyone else. “I’ve never seen anything like this, Bea. I don’t even know where to start. I…I’m so excited, I just…” There are tears in her eyes, and Beatrice says, catching the moisture on Ava’s cheek with the thumb of her free hand, “I feel very lucky to be able to explore with you.” Ava’s smile wobbles but there are no more tears. “Come on. We’ll start here.” Beatrice laces their fingers after Ava tucks the map into her pocket and leads them toward the first hall.

Beatrice has been to the Prado and the Reina Sofia on more than one occasion. She has been to the Louvre, the Musee D’Orsay, the Rijksmuseum, the Van Gogh Museum, to countless others scattered across Europe and even more beyond that. She has wandered while on trips with her school and her family, on weekends in the summer when she felt like exploring and her parents deemed her proposed itinerary appropriately culturally enriching—endless hours and always with the knowledge that she could return. At home, of course, she could navigate the V&A with her eyes closed, could still schedule a private tour of any collection in the British Museum with one call, and her parents’ donation of a Cezanne to which they were not particularly attached led to several particularly enthusiastic welcomes at the National Gallery over the course of Beatrice’s youth. At one point, in the year before her parents sent her away, she knew the security guards at the Tate Modern by shift.

She has taken a vow of poverty and has given up worldly things, but moving slowly with Ava through the Prado makes Beatrice feel the unshakeable reality of her privilege, something that can’t be undone with any vow, with a deep kind of shame. Ava reads descriptions and stares, bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration. She tugs Beatrice close when she finds something she likes especially, or when she reads a fact she wants to share, and there’s a slight tinge to her cheeks as she asks about pronunciation, her mouth moving over the syllables as Beatrice helps. Beatrice stays close and answers questions conversationally but with her voice low enough that Ava won’t feel embarrassed. She doesn’t think she would be, knows she shouldn’t be, but Beatrice isn’t taking any chances.

She’s done enough to discourage Ava today. Every day, if she’s as honest as she should be. Beatrice lives with a temperance appropriate for her vows, discipline and dedication and caution her guiding lights. Ava has no interest in temperance, and Beatrice understands why—she had been abused and kept isolated for most of her life, had died because someone else decided her life was not worth living. It’s another thing to admire about Ava, that she emerged from that blazing and determined to take as much as she could while she could, to live when she’d been denied a life for so long. Ava is resilient, brave, defiant.

Beatrice is a good soldier. She knows how to fall in line. She has spent her time with Ava convincing herself that she’s protecting her by reining in her impulsivity and her brashness, tempering her for her own good. Certainly, that is partially true. But right now, Beatrice’s chest is tight with the knowledge that in another world, they are not here today but moving furtively through the city, caught in a fight, maybe, or recovering from one. Ava had given in so easily, following her to the shop and taking Beatrice’s dismissal, her disbelief at Ava’s desire to explore, in stride. She knows Ava takes her role as halo-bearer seriously. It makes sense that Ava would fight her more about their morning run than she would about something that might actually put Beatrice, or anyone else, in danger. And she knows Ava doesn't resent her for keeping them focused on the mission. Of course she doesn't; Ava has been, to Beatrice's constant anxiety, eager to get into the fight. Still, Beatrice itches under her skin at the thought that she hadn't understood Ava in that moment or even, really, after Ava explained. How often had Beatrice told Ava no without any real thought as to what it might mean for Ava for her to say yes?

Ava’s staring at Perseus as he frees Andromeda, tiny sweater-jacket hanging off one shoulder and cap flipped backward, her head angled up and tilted slightly as she evaluates some detail on his body. Her ever-in-motion body sways just enough for Beatrice, standing half a step behind her, to notice. She’s beautiful. Beatrice has never loved Rubens, but she would happily stay here all day.

She imagines a world in which she can stay, in which they can stay. Together. She wants to be here for as long as Ava wants to be here. Then, tomorrow, she wants to go with Ava to the Reina Sofia, which she knows without any doubt will spark something bright in her. She wants to wander with Ava through El Retiro and listen to her talk about her favorite pieces, then take a tour of the Royal Palace to hear her get excited in an entirely new way. She wants to take Ava to Barcelona, to walk with her through Park Guell and climb the stairs of the Sagrada Familia. She wants to call Andres, who handled her family’s art acquisitions, and throw her family name around like she never has before, to get Ava all the time she wants anywhere she wants, tours with a curator or a personal guide. She wants to go back to London, undeterred for the first time in a very long time by the thought of her parents, because she thinks Ava would love the V&A especially. She wants to hear her gasp and exclaim, unabashed, at the colors and the textiles and the range.

“Bea?”

Beatrice brings herself back and smiles at Ava. “Sorry. Sorry.” Ava bumps her shoulder into Beatrice’s and then threads their arms together. “You okay?”

“Yes.” She takes a breath, says as if it’s simple, “Just thinking of all of the places I’d like to go with you.”

It’s more than she would usually allow herself, but the ache in her chest is still there, pulsing, for a version of Ava who missed this day. For a version of Beatrice who let her. For their sake, she is trying a more direct honesty. For their sake, and for her own, she wants Ava to know. I want to say yes to you. Surprise flashes across Ava’s face and she tugs Beatrice closer. Her fingertips press into Beatrice’s bicep as she curls around her, and she rests her chin on Beatrice’s shoulder.

“Yeah? Not ready to be done with me yet?” It’s teasing, mostly, breathed out against her cheek, but Beatrice answers earnestly, trying for some of Ava’s bravery. “I don’t ever want to be done with you.”

Ava stills, and Beatrice worries, for a moment, that she’s given too much away. Then there is the soft press of Ava’s lips against her cheek and the even softer, “My very favorite person.”

The burner phone in her pocket buzzes just under an hour later. She takes it out and sees, in a code she can actually read with ease, a location. She types back, simply, “Knock, knock.” A moment later, it buzzes again, “Banana.” This is nonsense, but it’s nonsense only Camila would know.

Ava’s rocking back and forth, turned away from the Rembrandt and toward Beatrice, coiled and ready. She wants to tuck the phone away, just as she did her coded cross, and say to Ava, “How do you feel about another museum day tomorrow?” Instead, with the smile she can manage, she says, “Looks like we’re going to the movies.”

Ava flips her cap back around and takes her hand. “Fun. Oh, Bea! Can we get popcorn?”

Beatrice says, Ava’s hand warm in hers, “Yes.”

#avatrice #sister beatrice #ava silva #warrior nun #warrior nun fic

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mashkara45 · 9 months

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#remedy control #fbc reminder #control quotes #videogames #horror games #videogames quotes #remedy entertainment #quotes

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jtl07 · 7 months

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jt (finally) watches warrior nun - s1 e9 (pt 3) & e10

Last episode 9 thoughts and brief-ish thoughts on episode 10

I was thinking again about the fight vs flight critique that Ava and Bea had and was pondering that in the context of all the other interactions they’ve had thus far - and how it kinda bridges over to the interactions (esp the arguments) they have in s2.

As in: This is the first time that we see Ava kinda bite back at Bea - not like how she does in s2, mind you, (e.g. their arguments re: Miguel and the FBC) but it’s a little hint of it. In the same vein, for Bea, it’s a step further from the critique she had of Ava in the hallway in s1 e3 but not yet as emotional as the apartment fight in s2.

There’s not really a point to this observation, more like a, huh that’s interesting, in terms of how their relationship is slowly evolving.

That said, I … don’t have much to say about e10. I’d been dragging my feet mostly because I did not want to watch Adriel being manipulative, and woof, I was right. What I mean: they knew how to cast Adriel as evil via manipulation and lies, and they did it well. It really turned my stomach to watch it, and I was going at 2x speed plus had a completely unrelated movie running in the background (if you’d like to know: it was one of the Ice Age movies lol).

[Things I was pleasantly surprised by and some frustrations under the cut]

The reveal of Vincent’s loyalty was really well done - probably the only time the short scene edits served a purpose. Interweaving Vincent going to Adriel with Mother Superion confronting Duretti (and goddamn, Di Fanti was amazing) reminded me of old Hong Kong Triad movies for a sec. That said: It actually took me a moment to realize what they were doing because they’ve been doing those damn cuts so much prior to this that it nearly lost its effectiveness. All in all, really showed that they’d been setting up Vincent’s betrayal from the very start.

Speaking of old school HK movies, I was really frustrated with the lack of tension in the editing - or maybe it was the angle of shots? I can’t put my finger on why I wasn’t getting the tension I wanted from the girls’ reactions to Vincent’s reveal. (I was, however, hella amused that it took three of them to hold back Mary lol)

I will say that I was surprised by the scenes of the girls waiting for Ava near the beginning, namely Beatrice’s calm - which was highlighted by everyone else’s reactions: Lilith’s restless anxiety, Mary’s tense cynicism. Part of my surprise was because of that fight vs flight convo in e9. I mentioned in my e9 writeup that I found it really odd that Beatrice frames the reason why she has the extra explosives as more of a contingency if Ava fails, rather than how she simply says here in e10 that it’s their worst case scenario. She presents an almost serene sort of faith in Ava here - is it because she’s not alone with Ava (and therefore more critical of Ava)? Is it because she’s with the others (and therefore more presenting as “faithful”)? It’s very curious, human even, how she is both critical and trusting of Ava in these two episodes.

(Or: Perhaps Beatrice can’t find it in her to praise Ava to her face? Hm. Curious, curious)

Oh last thing: I did like - and hadn’t known! - that twist of the fight with Adriel actually being them buying time for Ava. That said, hadn’t it already been 7 minutes since she phased through the wall and yknow, had been talking to Adriel? Also what uh, what were they expecting Ava to do? Like, she still isn’t much a fighter lol. Again, weird tension/build/logic issues - there were plenty of “cool” moments but they didn’t seem to make sense…?

All said, kinda happy to be done with season 1. It felt really disjointed to me in terms of storytelling and editing (goddamn the short scene edits killed me), though it served as a good “introduction” to the main characters. The things it felt like they really wanted to, and did, nail was: let Alba shine as Ava (mission absolutely accomplished) and build Vincent’s betrayal (mission also accomplished).

In any case, looking forward to finally get into s2!

#jt watches wn #jt ramble time #warrior nun #finally done with season 1 #only took me 2 months lol #hopefully season 2 will be faster

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brydde · 3 months

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a post nobody asked for about similar themes / concepts between the remedy verse and the rave.n cycle / dream.er trilogy universe.

places of power = ronan's "forests" lindenmere and cabeswater. like the oldest house, leylines also run through those locations. ronan and his friends exploring cabeswater reminds me of jesse and the kids exploring the slidescapes. (henrietta awe?)

altered items = dream objects and creatures. ronan's invisible car, the lynch's unplugged toaster that is always warm, a cat with hands, a painting that always make you dream of the ocean, lots and lots of things that abide by dream logic and can kill you.

paranatural entities = eldritch entities like the greywaren and whatever lindenmere/bry.de is.

parautilitarians / artists in cauldron lake = dreamers.

fbc = the moderators. a secret intergovernmental entity that hunts down anyone or anything that can/does break minds or rules of reality.

alan and scratch = ronan has the ability to make fiction and dreams real. he is alan and bry.de is very much his "dark" doppelgänger scratch.

dylan and ronan = bald. has an older sibling who's worried sick about their safety. supernatural coma. powers. dreams that feel real and are real. was almost killed because people were afraid of what they could do.

dark presence / the hiss = the lace is an entity of darkness that wants to come into the world in order to destroy it. nightwash is also very dark place-y. ronan who "loves to dream of light" fights it.

#if this is incoherent i'm sorry it's 6 am for me adjajdha #will add to this once i get to playing control (and actually finish it this time 🤞)

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foundationresellers · 1 year

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This reminded me of home. It might not be an African drum but it still gives me nostalgia #drum #furniture #nostalgic (at FBC Thrift Store) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmzwrDFrkHy/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#drum #furniture #nostalgic

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vincess-princess · 10 months

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as we were falling

ch. 7

a/n: this one is small. but you know how it is: it ain't much but it's honest work word count: 1021 warnings: prostate exam

The next morning he and Nikki, with growling stomachs, went to a medical exam. The office was clean and brightly lit, filled with state-of-the-art technology. Tommy didn’t even know the purpose for most of those. A woman in white uniform with golden buttons sat at the computer in the corner of the room.

“Number 971-TP5?” she clarified, not looking in Tommy’s direction.

“Uh-huh.”

“Right. Undress.” Her voice was just slightly more human than the robotic voice in the torture rooms.

She pointed in the direction of scales with a height measurement function. Tommy stepped on them, the metal of the device cold under his feet.

“195 cm and only 75 kg? Underweight.” Her fingers clicked on the keyboard. “You’ll be getting a special diet.”

“What’s special about it?”

She ignored the question. “Get in the ultrasound machine.” She noticed Tommy’s confusion and waved her hand with irritation towards a large intimidating device in the middle of the room, reminding of a very elaborate coffin. “This one.”

“Don’t move,” she ordered once Tommy was in. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Alright,” she typed something on the keyboard again, “no obvious defects… you’ve had your nose broken?”

“Yes.”

For the first time she looked right at him pointedly, then picked up glasses from the table and examined him again, now through them.

“No, it’s visible enough to omit… well, that’ll drive the price down a bit. Oh well.” She typed something on the keyboard again. “Now the MRI.”

Another intimidating machine, another couple minutes of waiting that felt like hours. The doctor found nothing bad in the MRI (what was that, even?) and nodded approvingly.

“Sit.” She pointed at the chair next to her table. Tommy did as told. She pulled out a stick and a light. “Open your mouth. Say ‘a-a-ah’.”

Then she checked his ears, lungs, neck and abdomen. At every stage she murmured something to herself and typed endlessly on the keyboard. Tommy wanted to know what was that she was typing real bad, but he suspected she wouldn’t let him take a peek.

When the doctor was done with the physical exam, she pushed a button on her desk. To Tommy’s surprise, a young girl wearing the same overalls as him appeared, the numbers on her chest showing her name was 538-BB4.

“Bibi,” the doctor turned to her, “this unit needs a FBC, genetic testing and blood sugar.”

“Will do, madam,” the girl replied, then disappeared behind a small white door in the corner that Tommy didn’t even notice before. She reappeared soon, carrying a box that Tommy assumed had materials for the blood test. “Your left arm, please,” she said to Tommy and smiled tentatively. Tommy smiled back. A needle piercing his skin evoked a familiar longing in his chest. No, no more of that, he berated himself.

“Does it hurt?” the girl asked anxiously – probably Tommy’s emotions seeped through onto his face. He shook his head.

“Good,” she smiled, pulled the needle out and filled a vial with his blood. She did this two more times, placed them in the box, picked it up and with a bow left the office. The room felt colder when the door closed behind her.

The doctor pulled out a round mirror with a hole and a flashlight. Tommy could only guess what this was for until she lifted them to his eyes.

“Look here.” She flashed the light in his eyes. Then she brought the mirror to his face. “Now here. Here. Here.”

Then she sat him down in front of a large machine and ordered to lean in and level his eyes to a lens.

“Perfect vision,” she murmured and clicked on the keyboard some more.

Then came the most unpleasant part of the exam.

“Get on the bunk,” she ordered. “On all fours.”

“What for?” Tommy frowned, seized with suspicion. That part of his body he treasured dearly and didn’t want any unwanted invasion. The doctor as if hadn’t heard him.

“Do as I said now,” she said in a slightly higher tone. “Or I’ll call the security.”

“Fine, fine,” Tommy sighed and climbed onto the bunk as the doctor put on rubber gloves.

What followed was as bad as he imagined. It was painful and pleasant at once, and he wanted to piss himself and come at the same time. He wanted to keep proudly silent, but couldn’t hold back whimpering. Did that count as losing anal virginity, a thought flashed through his head.

When the doctor pulled back, Tommy was overcome with such huge relief it drowned the shame and the indignation for a little while. But just for a little.

“That was rough,” he grumbled. He expected the doctor to ignore him again, but she looked him right in the eyes. They were watery-blue and stared as though through him.

“That’s what you get,” she said indifferently. She must have examined so many slaves, Tommy realized, that they were all the same to her. Whatever he answered, she wouldn’t pay attention. He could as well bark or meow.

So he didn’t answer. The rest of the checkup went in silence, interrupted only by clicking of the keyboard. The doctor didn’t even murmur to herself anymore.

“We’re done,” she only said when it was over. “Dress yourself and call in the next unit.”

Tommy did so. He was relieved to leave this pale, bleak room. The doctor didn’t even feel like a person – more like a robot, her face didn’t change once. Tommy wondered if she took up this work due to her nature or if her work made her this way.

That’s why, when he grasped the doorhandle, he was incredibly surprised to hear her voice again.

“Do you want to know your price?”

He turned back to her, examined her face. She looked at him calmly, but there was something in her eyes… curiosity?

“Yes.”

“Three thousand two hundred fifty-seven EDs, calculated from your health condition.”

Tommy was silent for a moment. Well, it was a bit flattering – he expected less.

“Thanks,” he said. She nodded.

“Call in the next unit.”

#motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #tommy lee #as we were falling #my writing #yeah i'm still a bit jet lagged from my exams and i still have so much to do so this is the only fic i am capable of working on #it takes no brainpower whatsoever. idk why #hope it isnt empty senseless bullshit #been feeling extra insecure about my english lately so feedback is appreciated

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