#this is genuinely the most harrowing thing I've ever made I think
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The World is Silent
[AO3]
Had this idea for the last couple of days, started writing it yesterday at 5am, went until 7am, slept, woke up, finished it instead of my uni work.
This oneshot is fucking depressing, and deals with some suicidal thoughts (made myself cry with this one, just be warned)
The world is silent. Plants cover the once indestructible walls of the base, vines making patterns in the cracks of the grey concrete. Leaves, old enough to brown and die, cover the training grounds, erasing the foot tracks, the memory that someone ever lived there.
Ghost cannot even indulge in the faint mark. He is not allowed to carry that reminder, that there was. There was an army here, there was a place he could call home.
There was. And now, there is no more.
The world is silent, but his mind screams. He walks through empty streets, under barren bridges and over desolate roads.
Ghost has been looking for more canned meat. He ran out a while back, not finding a will to go into the city. He hates the cities the most.
In the wild, in ancient forests and hills, he can pretend there’s still something out there, someone. A voice besides his own.
The city reminds him what was taken from him. He never truly cared for humanity - Ghost saw the worst of it as part of his job, and before that… he was nursed not on milk but on snake venom. His mind developed a taste for pain, and yet he always craved more. Companionship, comfort. And perhaps love, even if he does not know the true meaning of the word, even if he can’t imagine it. He wanted love. Still wants it, but that’s a dream he must leave behind.
Ghost knows he can’t love himself. And therefore there is no one in this world to love him.
He looks around, gun loosely on his back, for mere comfort. Wild animals won’t require an M4 to kill.
One of the many grocery stores he recalls come into view right around the corner. He can’t feel too happy about it when the entrance is blocked by a felled tree, one of the many storms in the past few weeks snapping its trunk.
Ghost could simply go to a different one, but there are not many interesting things left for him to do in this world. Or, there are not many things he wants to do. There’s no point to accomplish anything when there is no one left to share it with, no one left to congratulate him.
The nearby house renovating store had a few good saws, and Ghost picks one labelled for tree trunks before returning to his new enemy. At the beginning, he thought of everything as a mission, taking care and putting in the dedication he would back Before. Now, he’s too tired of it.
He’s too tired of everything.
Ghost gets to work on the tree, the back and forth motion of sawing leaving too much room for thought. His thoughts, when left unchecked, often lead him to memories. And memories, all they’re good for now is heartache.
Still, he remembers. Because he couldn’t bare forgetting.
He couldn’t bare forgetting how Price’s bucket hat looked, the curve of the front casting shadows over his eyes (were they green? Blue? Perhaps a mixture of both?). How Gaz would buy them all tea, the expensive kind, whenever he went on leave. How he would laugh at Soap, when the Scot took a sip to try (and how did his laugh sound like?).
And he could never forget Soap, Johnny. His blue eyes, the way they shone in sunlight. His crooked smile. His silly hair. How he wished he could remember all the jokes they exchanged, the small touches before missions, his Scots.
Ghost doesn’t only remember. He also changed them, in his memory. Price was just a Captain Before, but now he’s a father, proud of Ghost and supportive of him, someone to lean on. Gaz, a brother in arms, turned brother by blood, a person he could share his deepest secrets to, no matter how embarrassing. Someone he never had to hide from. And Johnny… Johnny became an infatuation. Ghost can’t call it love, because he does not know the meaning of the word.
The tree trunk splinters under the saw, and Ghost manages to cut away enough to move it to the side, unblocking the door. He throws the saw to the side, if he needed another, he would just go back to where he found it.
In this new world, there is no consequence for his actions.
He begins browsing through the shelves, finding himself drowning in memories once more. In this candy Price mentioned he liked, or the energy drink he shared with Gaz and Soap. In the scotch next to the Bourbon, in the tea next to the coffee.
Ghost’s heart skips a bit when he hears a whimper, and he instantly takes hold of his rifle and looks around. Despite no danger existing anymore, his heart still believes there’s a possibility. His mind doesn’t indulge in those delusions.
The whimpers and whines continue, and he steps around aisles, clearing corners just to feel safe.
He reaches the end of the store, and there lays a small bundle of fur, breath heavy. He lowers the gun, and the creature lifts its head.
A dog. It has brown fur, matted and dirty, and eyes… blue.
They remind him of Johnny.
Ghost wants to shoot the dog, for daring to look like what he lost. But he can’t even lift the barrel to aim, not when blue eyes look at him like that. He could never harm their owner.
He spots a meat can on the shelf next to him. The dog still whines, albeit quieter now, curious of Ghost.
He opens the can, and slowly crouches, inching closer to the dog. It doesn’t seem afraid of him, and yet again he’s reminded of Soap. Soap was never afraid of him.
The dog sniffs the air, tries to get up on wobbly legs, and falls once again. Ghost stretches his arm close enough to let the dog eat, and it immediately starts slobbering up the food loudly. It almost makes him huff.
Ghost supposed he could sit here for a while longer. Nothing waits for him at base, nor here.
Nothing waits for him everywhere.
Johnny wakes him up again, licking his face enthusiastically. He groans and pets his soft head. The dog has grown quite a lot in the last few months, now reaching his mid-thigh when on all fours.
Ghost found himself a sort of routine, mostly forced to by Johnny. The little muppet likes taking walks around the forest, but he doesn’t like doing it alone. Ghost can’t be mad at him for that, not when he shares the sentiment.
He dresses up in warmer clothing, lacing his boots automatically, and walks out of his barrack room.
Ghost reckons he could’ve found a better place to sleep in, hell, even the Captain quarters would be better than the small room, paper-thin mattress, and bathroom made for dwarves that is Ghost’s room. He likes the familiarity of it too much to change now. It makes it so when he wakes up from a rare dream, where everything is as it was, he can pretend for a few more moments that he isn’t alone.
Johnny runs ahead, and waits for him on the top of the hill. He takes his time walking there. Johnny is well-trained, he doesn’t run off without Ghost, even if he doesn’t give him voice commands. A pat on his thigh is enough to summon him.
Ghost hasn’t spoken since it happened. He’s not sure if he can at this point.
‘It’ happened a while ago. Months, maybe years ago, he’s not been keeping track of time. One day, he woke up, and everyone just… vanished. At first, he thought he was having a nightmare, and he kept waiting to wake up. And he waited. And waited. Eventually he had to accept this is reality.
He tried to find a reason, back in those first days. Maybe he was drugged, maybe he lost his mind.
Ghost remembered the stories his mom told him, of the reckoning. Of how all the good people will go to heaven, leaving the bad ones here on earth. If Ghost still believed in God, perhaps he would’ve thought he’s the only bad person, left here on earth to be punished for his sins.
In those first few days, he waved off that theory, thinking to himself this couldn’t be hell.
Now, though… hell is an apt label for what this place became.
Johnny barks at him, shaking him off his thoughts. Maybe this isn’t hell, if he’s allowed one companion.
The forest has grown a lot since it happened. At least one thing enjoys the sudden lack of humans in its vicinity.
Ghost would appreciate the clean air, the warm sun and birdsongs, the happiness of Johnny’s wagging tail, if he could appreciate anything at all. He doesn’t see much point to anything, to enjoying, to feeling, to living.
He thought of ending it all, many times. Thought maybe it would end this nightmare, that if he’s dead at least he can’t feel this emptiness, he can’t remember.
But thinking about how, if he were to go through with it, he would end up back here, finding himself stuck, forever doomed to roam this wasteland…
He prefers living with the possibility of dying. It gives him a strange sense of hope. Something he’s been dwindling on, as the days turned to weeks turned to months, to years.
Sometimes he feels as though Before happened a thousand years ago.
He doesn’t miss many people. The vast majority of faces have blended together long before everyone disappeared. The only ones he truly misses are taskforce 141, his teammates. Price, Gaz, Soap. He repeats those names every day in his mind.
It hurts to remember, but in a way it’s also his duty. He can’t let their faces blend with the rest. They deserve better.
They deserved so much more than he gave them Before. He wants to go back in time and punch his past self, for being so careless, so unfeeling towards them, when the 141 was the only place he could call home.
Now, After, he has no home.
They’ve been walking for a very long time when Johnny stops to sniff at something on the ground, probably feces of a wild animal. Ghost waits a while before he checks it out, after Johnny tries to get his attention multiple times. He walks around the dog and squints at the dirt.
Ghost instantly drops to his knees, pushing his face down to inspect it closer. His heart tries to climb out of his chest, and he feels tears welling up his eyes. Fuck, he might’ve lost his mind already, because this can’t be real.
Footsteps, boot marks. Human. Recent.
He and Johnny have been scouring the woods for hours now, the adrenaline Ghost got since he saw the marks still yet to fade. If there’s another person around here, he has to find them.
The notion that he just conjured it up in his deranged mind becomes less and less likely when he continues to find more signs that something, a human, has been here recently. Broken branches, too high for any animal to do, candy wrappers, knife marks, cloth pieces. Ghost feels a painful hope, sharp and spiky, wrapping itself around his heart like barbed wire.
He had hope, at the beginning. The rest of the 141 were on assignment when it happened, and so Ghost never had any proof they are really gone. He credits this fact to the way he’s been able to not lose his mind completely.
Johnny stills next to him, ears swiveling around as he listens to something. Ghost wishes he could ask the dog what he heard, but before he could dwell on that, Johnny started running, Ghost chasing after him.
Sharp branches cut his arms and clothes when he pushes through the overgrown trees, trying to keep Johnny in his sight, but too quickly Ghost loses sight of the dog, and he has to stop to take a breath. He remembered then that he didn’t eat or drink in the last few hours, mind and body only focused on the hope of finding someone.
Perhaps, he is losing his sanity.
Some far off branch snaps, and he instantly crouches to hide behind a bush. Old habits die hard and all that.
In the distance, he could hear something. Ghost understands there are two paths of action in front of him - run away or investigate.
Ghost, as he has nothing to lose and everything, everything to gain, starts slowly sneaking towards the sound.
He feels like puking when he makes it out, not because it disgusts him, but because his body simply can’t contain the sudden influx of emotions within him.
He hears humans. Speaking. In English.
As his mind tries to catch up on the fact, as Ghost lets himself indulge for a few moments in what could be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, the voices drift away. Instantly, he jumps from his hiding spot, looking around, searching.
Nothing.
There was always nothing, wasn’t there? His cruel brain decided to give Ghost hope, just to rip it away when it was done toying with him. He sits back on the ground, tears streaming down his mask, but he is silent.
The world is silent.
Johnny returned to him while he made his way back to base. The sun was setting, and raindrops started drizzling the empty fields he once trained in. Ghost absentmindedly is reminded that the pipes have been rusting, and are due to burst at any moment and flood his room.
He couldn’t bring himself to care. Johnny will wake him up before it either way, the cricking sound sure to alert the dog.
The mud caked boots stay outside his door, and he collapses on the thin mattress. Ghost doesn’t bother doing anything else, he’ll survive one day with no water and food. Johnny curls up next to him, fur dirty and soaking wet, but Ghost still presses his face to it. It makes him feel less alone.
Sleep comes and goes throughout the night, dreams meld into reality, memories resurface and call for Ghost. Lie to him that they’re still here, speak to him softly in a way he doesn’t deserve anymore.
Ominous cricking wakes him for the final time, and Johnny bolts out of the bed and sounds half a bark. Something gives and the pipe snaps, but while he waits for water to drench him, Johnny runs out of the room.
Ghost feels his heart jump to his throat when he realizes the pipe burst in another room.
He springs out of the bed, feet sliding on the base floor as he runs a couple meters to the room next to his. The door labelled ‘Soap MacTavish’ has water leaking from under it.
Opening it reveals just how much damage the water caused. The bed is absolutely drenched, the closet next to it not faring much better. Those do not matter to Ghost, not as much as the items on the table do.
One day, after it happened, Ghost searched through his teammates’ rooms. He’s not sure what he wanted to find, perhaps he was just missing them a lot.
For each member, he left an odd shrine on their table. Price has his cigars, an extra bucket hat, and a few photos he took throughout his career. Gaz has the expensive tea he was apparently planning on surprising them with, as it was hidden under his clothes, and his sunglasses. Johnny’s is made of the Ghost Team mask he kept, his personal file, and his journal.
All of which, are now ruined beyond repair by filthy, sewage water.
Ghost’s hands are shaking as he reaches for the journal, which took the brunt of it. The pages are stuck together, and he fears if he opens it, they would fall apart. The name etched on the cover is still legible, and that’s the only comfort he can take from it now.
Inside it were drawings, places the 141 went to together, and portraits of the members themselves. They didn’t take a lot of pictures together - elite taskforce and all that, and so the sketches inside were the only true memory he had. And now he doesn’t.
The mask is a little wet, but it will dry. It will be fine.
In the personal file, Ghost didn’t have much he doesn’t remember by heart at this point. At the start, he used to go through and memorise every single detail from everyone’s files - date of birth, past missions, blood type - and at this point he could write a new one from scratch.
No, what was important for him in Johnny’s file was his photo. A small passport one, where he almost smiles to the camera, in a way that brings Ghost back to how he used to see it every morning. How fucking lucky he was back then, and he never appreciated it.
He holds the small photo up, and chokes on nothing when he sees how mud and grime covered most of his face, leaving only one, blue eye staring at him. Something about it almost feels judging.
And in his mind it does, it’s angry and accusing, it’s asking why he let this happen, when he knew the pipes would burst. How could he be so bloody stupid, so careless, as to let what little he has of Johnny left be destroyed?
Ghost sinks to his knees, cradling the photo to his heart, uselessly trying to wipe the dirt off it, adding more water to the room. Johnny comes to whine next to him, nudging his hands and shoulders, but he’s too far gone in self-hatred and regret.
How much more can he already lose?
Eventually, he gets up. Shakes off the water, and goes to find something to soothe the ache in his stomach with. Johnny left a while ago, probably let himself out on a walk. Another being Ghost disappointed today.
He rummages through the canteen, where he stores all the food. Electricity stopped a while back, and he didn’t know how to operate the generators. He’s been meaning to learn, but…
Nothing feels real as he walks around gathering random cans and tins. It’s almost like he’s not in control of his body anymore. He feels empty, inside and out.
Ghost munches on what could be tinned apples when Johnny barks outside. The sun is just starting to rise at this point, and Ghost thinks he’s probably just chasing an unfortunate squirrel, but the dog comes rushing into the canteen, and barks at him.
The dog is unwilling to accept his disinterest, as it starts to grab at his pant leg and pull him off the bench. Ghost pushes his head away and sighs. He supposes he could follow Johnny to whatever he wants to show him. Perhaps it would distract him from the black hole in his heart.
They walk through the forest yet again, Johnny running ahead and coming back, trying to urge Ghost to run, but he’s too tired. The dog is unrelenting, though, and so he keeps walking.
The forest has a clearing nearby, a place with soft grass and little white flowers, that in the summer looks like it’s out of a movie scene. He remembers Johnny drew it in his journal, and his stomach churns and aches.
Ghost stops dead in his tracks when they get closer. He looks up to see smoke coming from the clearing’s direction. Could there be a forest fire? Did a rogue lightning light the grass on yesterday’s storm?
He starts walking with more purpose now, Ghost can’t let another thing be destroyed by his inaction. Johnny loves the forest, and Johnny loved it.
The dog runs off again, and Ghost hears something yelp in surprise. It sounds… so achingly human.
What he stumbles into, when the clearing is in sight, makes him want to turn away, to run, to rush into.
The source of the smoke turns out to be a campfire. Around it are three tents, so very clearly military issued. A man stands outside, on his back, as Johnny is licking his face. The man laughs, and the other two tents rustle.
One of them opens, and a second man calls for the one being assaulted by the dog. He seems happy to see him, and Johnny runs to greet him as well.
A third man joins them, visibly older and crankier at the occasion. He quiets down soon enough, when Johnny comes along to be pet by him.
Ghost’s heart, which was empty and bled dry, collapses on itself. He’s breathing heavily, the edges of his vision swim. These men, they look… they sound like…
Johnny is finished with his warm welcomes, and decides to run back to Ghost. One of the man breaks away from the group to chase him, smiling as he calls the dog back.
Ghost is frozen in place, even when Johnny licks his hand to get him to move.
The man gets closer, and Ghost feels water run down his cheeks, blinded by blue eyes and warhawk, smile lines and a scarred chin.
He halts, those blue eyes (that Ghost has never forgotten, will NEVER forget), stare, wide and full of emotion, full of life.
The man speaks.
“... Simon?”
And the world is no longer silent.
#tw suicidal thoughts#call of duty modern warfare 2#cod mw2#cod ghost#cod soap#cod gaz#cod price#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#john price#call of duty fic#call of duty fanfic#call of duty modern warfare#cod fic#cod fanfic#this is genuinely the most harrowing thing I've ever made I think#and I love it a lot#if anyone wants to ask me about the worldbuilding/ending youre welcome#but this is meant to be open to interpretation
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(CW death, suicide) 6 months ago today, I lost a close friend.
Mari was - someone who loved unabashedly and shared it with the world, despite having been horribly wronged by it. She made a point of complimenting strangers because she knew she was unthreatening and wanted people to know the things about them she appreciated. She tried hard to reach out to people she thought seemed neat, even though it took her time to build up the courage - that's how we met in the first place, at skating night. (she told me later she'd been building up the courage to talk to me the first 3 times we'd been at skating together). In my short time with her, she made it abundantly clear how much she loved her people - her entire soul lit up when she talked about them. She told me so many stories about people I didn't know very well and more about people I'd never met - will probably never meet, now - and even though she's gone, a little piece of her love for them remains.
She brought that energy to her hobbies - she wrote and shared really detailed strategy guides for the games she played, made and published free translations of foreign gay comics on request - and her friendships. I met Mari only a few weeks before my roommate's cat died. She came to visit us a day or two later, brought us flowers, and kept us company while we grieved. She checked in on us every day, sometimes multiple times a day, and did what she could to help. She was meticulous about keeping track of people's preferences and triggers, and thanked me whenever i told her about one so that she could use it to be more effectively kind.
I didn't really learn the details of what Mari was going through until a week before she died, but it was - genuinely harrowing. She was really hesitant to talk about it at all, but it eventually got bad enough that she was willing to, and when I heard the details I invited her to come to stay with us to get a break and have some company. She stayed with us for 3 days, during which she was more scared and frightened than I'd ever seen her. By the time I took her back home, things had gotten worse - she said she just wanted to be alone, that she thought that would help, so I hugged her and left. (it was the last time I'd see her. she was smiling at me and making a little heart gesture with her hands as I drove away). But being alone ended up being worse for her - she asked me if she should find someone to babysit her, but I - didn't know anyone in her area (it was a pretty long drive), and she was having a lot of trouble with her local social group, so we planned on having me go down to look after her that Saturday, and I spent the time until then checking in on her as often as I could. Friday afternoon she told me she was really grateful that I was doing that for her. It was the last thing she ever said to me.
When I got there Saturday, she was gone. She'd left out a bunch of things that she wanted to gift or return to people. She wrote a note, apologizing to everyone in her life for not being strong enough to ask for help, telling them how much she loved them and how good they were, and a warning on the door, saying not to come in and to instead call 911. (i didn't listen. i wish i had. even then, she was trying so hard to make sure whoever found her wouldn't be hurt more than they had to).
i loved Mari from the moment i knew her well enough to see her for who she was. i've tried, in the last 6 months, to bring a little bit of her kind and thoughtful spirit into my interactions with people, and to do small things to look after the people i know she loved and cared about.
i wish things could have been different. she deserved so much better than this. so often i see things or meet people and think about - how much she would have loved them, how much i wish i could have shared them with her. i miss her so much, still. losing her was the most painful thing i've ever gone through, by far. my friends and family have been - incredibly kind and patient and loving and generous with me. i know i would be doing so much worse without them and am deeply indebted to them. i'm trying really hard to - continue being the kind of person i want to be, to have the traits that she loved in me. it's - often really hard, though it's been getting easier, bit by bit.
goodbye, Mari. i'll always love you. the world is forever diminished by your absence.
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Mouse: You made me believe in you. You're a true mage, one of the few.
Mouse: The others, they never had a chance. The Templars set them up to fail, like they tried with you.
Mouse: I regret my part in it, but you have shown me that there is hope. You can be so much more than you know.
I know Mouse is (or at least appears to be) a pride demon and his main MO seems to be him trying to suck up to the Warden by talking about how great they are, but I don't think this is entirely an act. When Mouse says that the Warden is the only one he's ever seen bargain with Sloth to get him transformed into a bear to help them fight, or the only one he's seen fight or outwit Valour to get a weapon, I think he means that! I don't know if he means the bit about regretting his part in the deaths of multiple apprentices (assuming that that's true to begin with; it's entirely possible that that's as much of a lie as the dead apprentice thing), but I do think he really does respect the Warden's strength and intelligence. The Warden is set up to fail, and instead they shine. They clear the Harrowing in record time! They can outfight Valour, or browbeat it into handing over a staff for free by pointing out that it's acting no better than the demons preying on them! They can win a riddle contest against Sloth and gain its willing (if sarcastic) aid without having to actually give it anything! This young adult, in their early twenties at most, can effortlessly outwit, bargain with, and defeat the denizens of the Fade, and I can definitely see why a pride demon (or spirit of wisdom) would be impressed by that and have high expectations for what they'll achieve going forward.
Mouse: Maybe they are right about you.
I believe this line in context is about the Chantry and the Templars and their fear of what mages can do? ...Yes I just played this like two hours ago and I've already forgotten shut up. But when Mouse is caught out, he doesn't attack or otherwise try to take the Warden over by force. He accepts it, offers a final piece of advice, and... lets the Warden go. Mouse seems to be genuinely ceding victory to the Warden out of respect. It might have a different feel if he ever showed up again, but... he doesn't. The Warden wins. It's one of the few pure victories in DAO; no sting in the tail, no compromise to be made, no losses. You just... win. You might not kill your enemy, but there's no sense of Mouse looking down on you or dismissing you as a non-threat: he looks at you and sees the best the Circles can possibly create, and says "You have nowhere to go but up", and he lets you go to see what you can become. Mouse seems to actually want the Warden to succeed. And having Surana/Amell in particular's first taste of combat and danger in the game end in such total success and acceptance and respect feels important? Mages in Thedas are feared, but never respected (despite them being incredibly powerful; Surana and Amell are absolutely the most powerful Wardens by a mile and I will fight you on that), so it means something that it wouldn't with say Cousland or Aeducan that the end of the first section of their origin is such a powerful being showing them the respect required to let them go.
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Dark Sun (Arthur Harrow x Reader)
Chapter 2: Do You Know Me? (7,014 words)
Previous Links: Chapter 1 (Please check chapter 1 for any warnings and tags if you're interested, they are the same here)
Rated Mature for dark themes and some strong language.
Summary:
"You can walk away if you want, I wouldn’t stop you. But you won’t.”
What happens when he gets close? Do you want to test that? Do you want to test yourself?
A/N: My bad yall I kinda forgor to post, the only thoughts about this fic that I've had for two weeks is about finally finishing the current chapter I'm working on (chapter 15 hits AO3 in a couple of days, if you're waiting on that watch that space). Also I gotta say my favourite part of posting here is picking a slightly tangentially-related pic for the top, I always remember my thought processes for these chapters so they evoke scenes and ideas that I drew upon here. Iirc this chapter was written about July/August 2022, I remembering suffering from mega writer's block while working on this. I suffered so bad to write this one at the time. So enjoy it, enjoy my favourite bad bad man, I'm so in love with him it hurts.
~~~
Why is he here? He isn’t supposed to be here.
The sound of crunching glass immediately strikes fear into you, even if it is only momentary. No amount of exposure to it can make you used to it. Even though you don’t negatively associate the presence that accompanies it, something about how it sounds can never be spun in a positive light in your mind.
You had been previously leaning over a cardboard box of your belongings, packing up and ready to move out of the small flat that you’d previously called home. When you looked behind you, following the sound, you saw a sight that you knew to expect but hadn’t quite prepared for.
Harrow was leaning in your doorway, still holding on to that cane as if it helped at all. He looked exactly the same as when you’d first met him a few days prior, right down to the clothes. You hadn’t forgotten a single thing about him, and you should have welcomed the familiar sight, but something prevented you. You couldn’t remember if you’d ever told him where you lived, and he certainly hadn’t been invited.
You raised an eyebrow, suspicious of his sudden appearance. “Are you going to help or are you just going to watch?” You asked, only half sarcastic.
He tilted his head. “From my understanding it appears that you’ve already done most of the heavy lifting.”
“True, I could have done with you randomly showing up here an hour ago.” That was fully sarcastic, and you looked away from him to close up the box you were handling.
He began to take some steps forward, and you tried to hide your own repulsion to that sound that always followed him. “I apologise, I just wanted to oversee things.” He sounded genuine, but at the same time a little distant, noticing that you still looked at him with distrust.
You narrowed your eyes, watching him as he now stood next to you. The way he looked down at you made for an unintentionally intimidating presence that you refused to back down on. You tried to hide your feelings with a scoff and an unenthused smile. “What’s that supposed to mean? I wasn’t going to bail.”
His smile, which was supposed to be reassuring, only served to further stoke your rebellious flames. “I didn’t think you would.”
Finally, you became serious, unsure of his exact intentions. “I don’t need you to worry about me.” You insisted, but something didn’t seem to convince him.
“It wouldn’t hurt to have me worrying about you.” You were unable to hide your confusion when he put a hand on your shoulder, but it was only momentary when one of his damned smiles began to put you at ease. You didn’t mind him doing that, even if you didn’t understand it.
You could only look at him, not knowing how to reply to that. You didn’t really know what it meant, and didn’t dare ask. Given that context, you somewhat appreciated his unexpected company.
He leaned in and moved forward, with your response immediately being to brace yourself for whatever was to come. However, you were surprised to see him go around you instead. The rasp of his voice was next to left ear.
“It’s not too much further, but don’t get lost, alright?” Harrow asked. The question sounded almost playful, but you didn’t know how to respond to the game.
Pinned to the spot, you didn’t dare follow him with your gaze, but his sounds more than indicated him circling around you. He’d said his part, and you saw him again when he’d finished that lap, returning to where he had been a moment before.
He looked at you with a warm stare, a smile only just present. Your nervousness began to disappear at the sight. For once, you felt able to lower your guard. It felt safe.
What was this? Trust? On both our parts?
You only wished to know why he would do all of this for you, but as always, he was a total mystery. A mystery you hoped this new chapter of your life would solve.
***
Crunch, tap. Crunch, tap. Crunch, tap. Crunch, tap.
Anticipation was already eating at you as it was. That was enough torture for you. You didn’t need the addition of those sounds, which you thought you had escaped, getting to you through the walls. Not even the source being in another room could prevent you from having to experience it all over again.
It had been a week since you’d settled into this place. Your experience so far had been pretty good. Harrow’s promises had turned out not to be empty. Although you were still adjusting, you had found this environment to be welcoming, and the people rather kind. They weren’t like their leader at all, they all seemed… normal. When that realisation hit you, you didn’t feel so out of place anymore, and you had found great comfort in that.
Now, you were waiting in a hallway, the hot sun beaming through the windows straight onto you, not helping the already awkward situation. Directly across from you was the room that Harrow was supposed to be in. Well, there was no doubt that he was in it. You had been told that he wanted to see you, and that never really boded well.
You had already seen him a lot, but never in a context like this. Usually, he came to you. He would do that a lot, actually. You never objected to his company, sometimes you welcomed it. If you were alone, he always made sure that it was never for long. He didn’t seem to do this for other people, and they had noticed. No one had a definitive answer to explain that.
Something about the way he is just doesn’t sit right.
He would just sit with you and listen, but the conversation was awkward. He never talked about himself, and you had a hard time talking about yourself, so it mostly boiled down to talking about whatever seemed to be happening on that particular day. It wasn’t exactly riveting, but it was something? Regardless, you were running out of ground to cover. Something had to give. You knew there was something deeper, he had to have a motivation, but that was totally unknown to you.
He had stopped moving. You sighed loudly, trying to fill the eerie silence with something else. The moment was short-lived though, and almost as quickly as it disappeared you could hear him walking again.
Before you had time to process that, there was a clicking of a lock and one of the large, wooden doors that served as the room’s entrance opened a crack. Through it, you could see half of his face, and half of a warm smile.
“You’re here. Come in.” His enthusiasm surprised you, and you could tell he was happy to see you. You just weren’t sure why.
Once he had finished speaking, he just watched you, waiting for your move. You followed him, deliberately cautious. When you got close to the door, he pulled it open for you, revealing a large room that, while spacious, felt claustrophobic with its low-hanging lights and various items stacked up against the walls from top to bottom.
Harrow was shuffling towards the back, where a corner was stacked with sturdy, waist-high boxes. Littered there were various unknown, shiny objects. Drawn to those like a crow, he didn’t pay you much mind for a moment. You’re unable to find the same fascination, but everything around you looks alien to you.
You looked away from him for only a moment to try to better understand your surroundings, but right on cue, he opened his mouth, immediately making you whip your head back around in his direction.
“How are you taking to this place?” The question tumbles out of his mouth innocently. He didn’t even look at you, but somehow, you felt as if he was still staring right through you.
You tried not to let it get to you. “It’s good.” You replied.
He gives a satisfied hum, and for a moment, you’re tricked into thinking that would be all he would say on the matter. Before you can get comfortable, he takes a sharp breath that sets the tone. “Is it… helping?” He stares you down, hiding an eagerness for your answer. The pressure was on.
You recognised the way he looked at you. You’d seen it before. He’d looked like that in your first conversation, you remembered the flash in his eyes that he’d tried to hide. The ever-veiled threat.
Don’t be honest, tell him everything is fine.
You ignored the pleas of your own mind. Dismissed it as paranoia. You could trust him, or at least, you wanted to. For better or for worse, he had compelled you to be honest, but in your shame, you couldn’t look at him. “It’s too soon to say, I think.”
When you picked up the courage to glance his way again in the silence that followed, you could tell that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. His unblinking stare, the way his hands seemed to grasp tighter around that cane, all set off your mind’s warning sirens. But nothing on his expressionless face portrayed that. It appeared almost as a blank canvas, preparing to paint whichever response he deemed most appropriate.
Whatever plan he had, he’s changing it.
Your curiosity got the better of you. “What is all of this, anyway?” The question slips out of your mouth before you have time to fully evaluate the situation, your eyes darting around the room at all of the strange objects.
“Just items I’ve collected in my research.” He replied coolly, picking up an object that flashed gold in the light so brightly that you couldn’t quite tell what it was. “Most of these things are dead ends, but I find there’s no harm in keeping them, just in case.” He handled it with great care, carefully placing it back down. It didn’t quite match with the disinterested tone of his voice.
“And what about all of those?” You pointed to the back wall of the room, where some large - your first instinct was to call them boxes - but they were much more elaborate than that, were shoved into the corner, as if hidden. The longer your eyes lingered on them, the more you were able to discern that their size and shape seemed disturbingly human.
That idea didn’t make you totally comfortable, but you kept a cool head. Your better instinct, starting to understand his antics, knew to give him nothing to work with. You couldn’t let him have control of the game.
He didn’t even look at the subject of the conversation. His eyes instead locked with yours, the corner of his mouth twitching with indecision.
I’ve got you.
You could tell he knew how to pick his battles, but in choosing not to respond he had also admitted defeat. You had managed to call him out, and while that was a small personal victory, it was quickly followed with the realisation that your first examination must have been correct, and the implications were staggering. You could almost respect his ability to always come out on top in these conversations, if you weren’t the one always losing.
Under the weight of that realisation, your voice became hesitant. “Those aren’t what I think they are.”
Finally, he found his smile. “That would depend on what you think they are.” Now you’d given him something. Harrow leaned forward on his cane, completely calm. You thought you had caught him, but the indifference hadn’t shifted one bit. “I didn’t kill any of them, you know.” He stated.
You scoffed with sarcasm. “Yeah, sure.”
He wandered over to the bodies, brushing a hand over the nearest one. “You’d be surprised how many ancient Egyptians were buried with objects of immense value.” His words were a little quieter than usual, as if his mind was distracted.
You dare to take a step closer, standing next to him and looking down at his hand, now tracing the shape of what you assumed to be legs. “Went for a spot of grave robbing, did you?” You felt daring, confidence boosted by your minor win, and sought to further touch a nerve in him, but it didn’t seem to have any effect.
“I suppose you could say that. It made for some fascinating adventures, really.” He gave a small smile, and looked sentimental. You assumed that the thoughts that had made him distant in the moment were driven by nostalgia, and chose, despite the temptation, not to judge. He seemed to snap back into reality, a much more focused gaze now directed back at you. “But I’m past that point now. There’s not much exploring left to do.” He said that with real conviction, leaving you with no more questions.
The way he looked at you made you feel awkward, and you continued to apply the sarcasm. It was the only way you could express your distaste. “That’s great, I’m sure those dead people would prefer to remain undisturbed.”
You almost envied his ability to take all of the criticism levied at him without as much as a complaint. You had insulted just about everything he stood for and he didn’t seem to care one bit. He couldn’t be swayed.
That can only mean that he hides a terrifying level of commitment. You should be afraid of that.
You ignored your own thoughts, dismissing your own imagination as just overactive. You knew this already, yet you were still here.
Harrow was, as you knew him to be, unflappable. You could see the side of his face, and a smile creeping up it. “It’s all for a good cause. After all, if you try to hide something, it will always be found, eventually.” His face darkened during his last sentence, the instant seriousness putting you on edge. He turned, slowly but suddenly, and caused you to flinch as his intense gaze sliced through you. “They simply had it coming.”
You felt thoroughly intimidated, and tried to deconstruct his possible motivations, for you knew he’d wanted this response from you. It seemed like a reminder that you were playing with fire, and you were so, so close to being burnt.
Does he know something? Who am I kidding, he ALWAYS knows.
You suddenly began to remember how you even ended up here. Of course he wanted you for something. “Why did you want to see me?” You asked cautiously.
He seemed amused by that, as if you should have known the answer yourself. “I just wanted to talk. Properly. We haven’t been able to do that just yet.” Harrow tilted his head. The friendly sincerity that had followed him on the first night you’d met him had properly returned.
You gave him a look of confusion. “It’s not like we haven’t spoken-”
“Speaking and talking are two different things.” He cut you off, and while glancing down on you in a condescending manner, his tone doesn’t change, making for a creepy contrast. “You don’t seem very interested in doing the latter.”
Is this… impatience?
That seemed out of character for him. Curiosity began to get the better of you again, even though you seemed convinced that it would assure your downfall. You had a desire to outplay his games, but the line between beating him and playing into his hands was becoming increasingly blurred.
You gave a crafty smile, but spoke as if disinterested. It was the kind of contrast you could pick on, so you had no doubt in your mind that he had observed it too. “It’s not that I’m not interested, it’s that I don’t know how to.”
And you fucking scare me.
“Well, how about a lesson?”
The way he looked at you and the way he asked made him sound so innocent, but the demand was hidden under there. You couldn’t say no to him, even though you knew you should. It didn’t seem like an option.
“What would that be?” You asked, trying to suppress your feelings,
You couldn’t take his eyes off of him as he began to approach you, locked in place. Whatever was coming, you had to accept it. This was what he had wanted.
You only hoped he wasn’t asking too much of you.
He scoffed, a small smile forming. He acted like the answer was obvious. “You have to learn to accept help.” He leaned down a little to get on your level. “I am trying to help you.”
Perhaps it was the way he looked at you, that stare that always made you nervous. Or perhaps it was that he had all the energy of a teacher scolding a child. Something about his offer didn’t work for you. You gritted your teeth in annoyance. “You’re not doing a very good job of it.”
Your comment amused him, but he only lets that be known for a flash before he turned more serious. “That’s because it’s a two-way street. If you give me nothing, I can’t give you anything either.”
“What do you want from me, then?”
You expected his intentions to be suspicious. Every time you felt like you could trust him, he did something to change your mind, and you could tell he was doing all of this because he wanted something. There had to be an ulterior motive.
He gave an exasperated sigh, as if your questioning had tired him out. “I just want you to talk to me. That’s all I want. Nothing else.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to reply, only watching as he stared right through you, as if waiting. For the first time, you weren’t objecting to his games out of choice, but out of confusion, totally clueless on what your next move should be.
Your silence must have surprised him, as he scoffed, but the advance warning did not prepare you for the volume of the chuckle that followed. “I want to know how to help you, I want to know how to fix your problems, and I want to see you more.” A relieved smile formed after his words.
He means it.
Despite your racing mind, you didn’t give away any emotion, and forced something, anything out of your mouth. “Why?” You asked softly.
Harrow looked towards the window for a beat, head tilting as he seemed to think. When the words came to him, he faced your way again, and you observed that he’d dropped the seriousness and the distance. There was something warm about his energy. He no longer looked past you, but at you. “Because letting you go would be a waste. A waste of someone good. Not just for the world, but…” He let out a long, drawn-out sigh, purposefully delaying the rest of his words. “For me.”
Suddenly, everything began to make sense. Somehow, this outcome had never crossed your mind. You hadn’t expected it. Perhaps you’d thought too much of him.
He’s not helping me, he’s helping himself?
You couldn’t help but wonder if all of this had been for his own ends. That you had simply been used. All of the promises he had made to you felt hollow. It made you feel sick. This was a trap.
In your confusion, you hesitated before getting your words out, nearly choking on them. “Do I really need to be here, or did you just want me to be here?”
The way he looked at you hadn’t changed, but in a new context he still appeared as distant as ever, even with the still-present smile.
Fuck! How does he feel nothing? He has to know what he’s done.
He straightened himself up a little, looking down on you. “That’s entirely up to you. You can walk away if you want, I wouldn’t stop you. But you won’t.” The smile seemed to more naturally fit to a newfound smug confidence, certain that he had read you like a book.
His conviction in your own feelings disgusted you. “You don’t know me.” You scowled.
He hummed, almost in agreement. “I know all of this is helping you.”
A tidal wave of emotions was overcoming you, too many too quickly to decide on one. It was the opposite to Harrow, calm and firmly decided on whatever that strange mind had settled on. You began to raise your voice: “Do not pretend to know me. How do I know you’re not acting selfishly? I-”
Knock, knock.
You gave a loud sigh, the knocks having completely ruined your train of thought. You could see, as always, that he was giving you nothing. Even now, when you’d tried to make an impact, you couldn’t break through his defences.
There’s a flash of irritation in his eyes at the idea of being interrupted, but as soon as a woman appears at the door, another disciple, it disappears. He appears to immediately understand the importance of whatever is to come.
“We just heard back from our contact in the Alps. They’ve agreed to your terms for the exchange.”
“That’s great news. Thank you.” His smile is warm and genuine, but the woman seems to register a subtle indication that his matter with you is private and swiftly leaves. He stared at the door, left ajar, his mind far more focused on the news he had just received.
After a beat of no response, he slowly approaches the door.
Crunch, tap. Crunch, tap. Crunch, tap. Cr-
Harrow slammed the door shut, turning to you now with a different expression. His eyes narrowed and darkened, and his offence was clear. For a moment, you felt something shift in the air. For the first time, you truly felt his power. You didn’t know the extent of it, as far as you’d seen and heard, it was stronger than it seemed, and the mystery of that was too much to bear. Anxiety suddenly began to eat at your stomach, afraid of his next move.
“Don’t assume I’m acting selfishly.” He growled, but in the span of a breath he had recomposed himself. All of a sudden his expression shifted in the blink of an eye, turning distant, unoffended. The same as usual, especially when you felt those ever-analytical eyes once again staring you down. He was far too good at hiding his feelings, but you wished to never find out again what he could possibly be thinking. He continued softly, thinly veiling a condescending tone: “That's almost insulting. I would never bring you into something that I didn’t think would be good for you.”
In that moment, you realised why he didn’t seem fazed at all by your negative reaction. Somehow, you were still playing his game. This is what he had expected. You were cornered, at this point, and the only solution left was to follow your heart, hoping that would help you escape.
He knows your heart.
“Forgive me for the insult.” You said sarcastically, not caring how he would respond, but still observing his unblinking gaze that didn’t even seem to register your comment. It unnerved you, and you folded your arms in an attempt to preserve your deteriorating defiant act. “I wouldn’t have that problem if I actually knew who the hell you were.”
He tilted his head with a smile, your words seeming to have the opposite of their intended effect on him. “I see how it is. It’s a matter of trust. That’s a starting point.” He sat down across from you, fingers stroking the head of the cane as he held it between his legs. That seemed to be a subconscious act, because his gaze did not once break from you. “Tell me, why don’t you trust me?”
You hated how genuine his question was, because you had long learned the lesson that always, somehow, Harrow already had every answer he ever needed.
“You already know.” You spat.
“I might.”
You gave him a nasty look for that comment, your contempt too great to suppress.
He responded to your stare with one of his own, but as per usual, he was seemingly immune to your efforts, continuing on as if your gaze hadn’t interrupted him. “I want to hear it from your perspective. Lay it all out.”
You raised an eyebrow, finding yourself leaning sideways on a table, sick of standing. “Only if you do the same.”
He paused for a moment, taking the time for a slow blink. You imagined that the gears of his mind must have been turning at your proposal, but his face did everything in its power to hide that. The silence betrayed the truth, though. With a deep breath and a shuffle as he straightened himself up, almost mirroring you as he leaned forwards and balancing on his own cane, he had prepared his answer.
“That seems reasonable.”
I didn’t expect that.
Even though you were surprised, you’d already rehearsed in your mind what you’d say to him. You’d been doing that for a week. You tried to take a trick out of his book and not betray that you had to think a little, though. With him, you knew that one wrong word and he’d play around it so expertly you’d never get this chance again. “Alright. I don’t trust you because I don’t understand you.”
He tilted his head in an almost adorable display of curiosity. “What don’t you understand?”
“Anything.” Your frustration started to come through as you spoke. “Why you are the way that you are.”
For a moment, he glanced away from you again, something you assumed to be a tell when he didn’t quite know what to say. When he spoke, any sense of uncertainty disappeared. He didn’t appear to be capable of seeming unsure. “There are some things in this world far beyond any of us, and if one was to cross paths with such things, they could break you in ways most of us could only imagine to be possible. For me, that happened long before all of this.” Although it was out of your field of view, you could hear him softly tap his cane against the wood.
You took a moment to process his words, suddenly brimming with curiosity. “What do you mean?”
He gave a dry chuckle. “You’ll probably find it unbelievable.”
Despite everything you had seen, your mind’s first instinct was to believe that he was simply making excuses, trying to dodge the question. He hadn’t been open about it in the past, which had only made you want to know more. There was something hidden in his heart that he was teasing you with. You snorted, dwelling on his words again. “Try me.”
This time, there was no telling moment of pause, his stare cutting right through you. “I was once under direct servitude of a god, who used that position to abuse me. He broke me completely, then left me all alone to pick up the pieces.”
His bluntness on this topic surprised you. This was a lot to throw in so quickly, and it seemed like he knew that.
“I was stuck, trapped fighting a worthless cause for years, all while the voice inside my head tried its hardest to bend me to its will. I was forced to commit unspeakable acts of violence, all in the name of real justice.” He spat those last words, face twisting to one that appeared to be of genuine disgust and pain. For the first time, the Harrow you knew looked somewhat vulnerable. “It never was. Hurting the people who deserved that after the fact never stopped any more pain from being inflicted.”
Guilt. You felt his, and the sudden appearance of your own. He had this appearance of something untouchable, and while you always knew it to be a carefully crafted image, it had achieved its intended effect. Hidden under all of that was something that was hurting a lot. More pain that you felt you could possibly understand. There was a real, deep history here. Even with how crazy it all sounded, you could tell by the way that he felt that it all had to be true. And that meant…
You had to stop yourself from speaking while your thoughts caught up, looking right at him as you saw his face slowly recover from the feelings that had taken over it before. “Everything this group believes…” These tales of gods aligned with everything you’d been hearing, and you knew what that meant. “It’s all real, isn’t it?”
“As real as you and me.” He found a smile again, standing up. His feet shifted on the glass, which must have brought some pain, but he didn’t show it. ”I knew you’d come around eventually. We have an opportunity now to correct our mistakes.”
As he took another step closer, you watched him carefully, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I think you mean your mistakes.”
“No. We’re all guilty.” He replied with total confidence, his voice once again shifting into something more serious. “Why are you here, really? You’ve made mistakes, haven’t you?” His questioning was a bit too antagonising for your tastes.
You didn’t say anything, knowing full well that you were both aware of the answer.
“For some of us, it’s not too late to walk a better path. You’ve got room for a second chance.” There was something reassuring to his words, and despite everything about him, you had no reason to doubt that particular statement, but he cut off any chance for a response with a sigh. “For myself, it’s not as clear. But you never know if you don’t try, do you?”
The talk of himself piqued your interest again. “I don’t get it. Why claim to fight all evil yet preach about second chances? If your actions were so unspeakable, why do you go unpunished?”
For a moment, he doesn’t give any reaction at all, seemingly thrown off by the question. When the answer comes, it appears with no hesitation. You can tell he’s pondered this question before. “I do punish myself. And on judgement day, if I am deemed unworthy… so be it. I accept my fate.”
He shifted his weight and you heard it. His punishment. The fanatic part of him was showing, you knew it had been hidden somewhere. This talk was insane, and served to remind you why you had been so apprehensive.
He’ll try to make you forget this.
You were so lost in your thoughts that you failed to respond, giving him the green light to not only continue with his words, but to approach until he was standing right next to you. “I’m willing to do that for the people who deserve heaven on earth. All that is required of you here is to be ready and waiting for that day. If you make it…” He put his hand on your shoulder, his warm touch surprising you. “It’ll be a little more worth it.”
There it is.
You felt doubt wash over you, refusing to believe that he spoke the truth. Not only because you didn’t hold yourself that high, but because you found yourself distrustful of his words. They were too kind, especially coming from him.
You could only look up at him, mouth agape. With a sigh, you composed yourself. “I doubt I make that much of a difference.”
He leaned in closer, an advance you did not reject, until his face was close to yours. His watery eyes hadn’t been this close before, and they looked at your own instead of through them. “You undervalue yourself.” He told you almost in a whisper, trying to be reassuring.
His words almost worked, and you giggle at the thought of them being true. “You overvalue me.”
He finds your reply entertaining for a moment, but his face quickly drops, and you can feel a finger or two in your hair. “Maybe. But you seem to think that you don’t matter, which simply isn’t true. People do value you.” He spoke with utter conviction, enough to make the back of your mind believe him.
“And who would those people be?” You questioned, hoping to hear what you knew he was thinking from his own mouth, but when he didn't respond, you realised your mistake. He doesn’t need to say anything, for he knows the same thing that you do: Your question has already been answered.
You took half of a step backwards away from him, and he follows your cue to break away. His face flashes with concern for a moment, and you didn’t miss it. You decided to make your question more specific. “Why do you care so much about me?”
He doesn’t think about his response for very long at all. “That’s a question I don’t know the answer to.”
His bluntness greatly surprised you. Him not appearing to know something surprised you more. “That’s a first.” Your sarcasm is kinder this time, unable to help yourself at making a jab that wasn’t necessarily deserved in your mind.
Of course, he doesn’t care how you’ve spoken, just that you have, and he takes a moment this time to get his words right. “I’ve spent a great deal of my life keeping people at a distance. I have a track record of hurting people in every way imaginable. I think perhaps I’m finally at the point where I’m no longer afraid of that.” Just like when talking about his past, there’s something shockingly sincere in his voice.
You caught onto his wording, hoping that he hadn’t thought that through in the moment. You knew that was a naïve thought. That realisation causes you to betray your concern. “You don’t hurt people anymore?”
“I don’t hurt them as much.” He replied callously.
That does not instil confidence. You wanted to chastise him for such a mindset, or even ask for elaboration, but your first and foremost thoughts are self-centred. “What about me?”
An opportunistic glint in his eye appeared after you asked. Before he even began to speak, you know that this is a moment he had been waiting to pounce on. “That brings me to why I summoned you here. I need to test you.”
“Test me how exactly?” You weren’t sure why you asked, because you already knew full well where he was going.
“The same way that I’m sure you’re familiar with.” The words tumbled out. He seemed much more focused on you, eyes glancing up and down over you. When his gaze calms down, he continues. “You were paying attention before, weren’t you?” He may have smiled, but you couldn’t tell if that was a joke or a threat.
For better or for worse, you remembered everything. “You said you didn’t force this on people.” You replied concernedly.
The proof that you had been listening previously strengthens his conviction. “Sometimes there are exceptions. And I need to know.”
“You need to know what?”
“If I’m right about you.” You could barely hear his words as he took a step closer, half overcome by nervousness and half because he had practically whispered that. He gave you a reassuring smile, but it only appeared for half a second.
You felt frozen as you felt him grab onto your wrists. You had been too busy watching his face to watch his arms, and from the point of contact you vow not to make that mistake again. He was surprisingly gentle and delicate with you, even taking great care to place the cold and strange-feeling cane between your own arms, but you knew from the way he looked at you warmly that this was out of a desire to make you feel comfortable with this process, almost as if he foresaw that you'd be afraid. You wondered if he was like that with everyone in his clutches. Out of pure discomfort, you couldn’t look back at him-
“Don’t look away. Look at me.” There’s no warmness left in his voice. It’s a demand.
You hated how he had basically read your mind. Confused, you felt you had no choice but to obey him. Something was happening, out of the corner of your eye there was movement from his arm and you could feel that cane move in some strange fashion, but his grip on you gradually tightened, and you didn’t dare to disobey him.
After what felt like an eternity, you felt his hold loosen. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then, all of a sudden, before you could react, he went in for a hug. You especially felt the one arm nearly wrap around your next, and his hot breath directly in your ear. “I apologise for all of that. For a moment, I didn’t trust my own judgement. But everything I believed before was right, there is a hope for you here.”
“So I passed?” Your question comes out shakier than you hoped.
“Yes.”
“What would have happened if I had failed?”
He gave you a condescending scoff, and you felt mocked for asking such a question. That was irrelevant to him. “Let’s not dwell on that. You are safe now, and no one will hurt you anymore.”
“Not even you?” You found some of your confidence again to force that question upon him, and you can tell when his smile breaks that it has forced him to think.
Something about all of this does not put your mind at ease. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never seen anyone fail the test, or maybe, you remind yourself, it’s because you are knee-deep in the clutches of a cult. Those thoughts are small compared to the main idea running through your head, though.
If I failed, I wouldn’t fit in his standards. I would have to die. He could have killed me. Could he kill me? I’ve never seen him kill anyone. Does he have that in him?
Harrow put a hand on your shoulder again. You now noticed that he seemed to do that a lot. “I will protect you myself. I know now that you’re absolutely worth it.” He had leaned in a little while he spoke, just to add a little more reassurance. You hope desperately that his protection is as valuable as his power. He certainly acted like it was.
You feel a finger brush up against your neck, and the sensation shakes you to your core. In that moment, he feels closer than he ever has before. There’s something so casual in his act, he either didn’t notice this move, or he pretended he didn’t. You already knew it was the latter.
“I hope that we’ve finally cleared up some confusion.” His gaze follows his hand, wandering around your neck until it locks back into your eyes. “Do you understand me?” The question, unlike his last few words, isn’t so kind. Once again, it’s a demand.
No.
“Somewhat.” You lied, knowing that he would not take the truth for an answer.
The way he looks at you suggests that he’s not entirely convinced, but for some unknown reason to you, it doesn’t bother him. “That’s progress. I want…” He pauses for a moment, and you immediately began to fear that a sincere moment was coming. ”something here. I want a deeper kind of relationship. Something that’s more than what we have right now.”
“More than strangers?”
You didn’t intend to be rude, but you didn’t regret your choice of wording. He was, in essence, a stranger that you saw a lot. No matter how much you talked, he was always so distant, as if he wasn’t really on this earth the same way you were. You were never going to be friends, but there was a space to be something else and he’d capitalised on it.
You could tell that he found your response to be harsher than he expected, but he didn’t seem too thrown off by it. You expected that he saw it coming, because he always just knew. The smile he gives almost seems to suggest that he found that funny, but you don’t know what a smile from him means anymore. “More than that, yes.”
In your amusement, you were able to smile yourself for the first time in a while. “I don’t know about that.”
Your own happiness seems to touch him, and continues with his warm words. “I asked you before to take a chance, and you took it. Right now, that’s paying off. All I’m asking you now is to do that again.” In the beats between sentences, you catch his head tilting a little. “You’ve been shutting me out. Please, allow me in.”
You don’t know what to say, feeling more lost for words than you had been before. You watched him, his smile this time not momentary, but waiting patiently. For some reason, you just could not say no. But you couldn’t say yes either, even if the small nod you ended up giving him proved otherwise.
I just can’t help myself, can I?
You don’t see it, but you feel his hand tapping you. “I’m proud of you. You’ve already grown so much.” There’s a great sense of elation on Harrow’s face. This was what he’d wanted, and you’d just given it to him.
You struggled to be proud of yourself. His seal of approval was never something you desired. What you had desired though, was help, and he’d provided that. He had yet to break his promises yet, so why would he start now?
A small part of your mind held on to a lingering thought that you couldn’t shake. You feared that perhaps the closer he gets, the more dangerous he becomes. You wanted someone to understand you, appreciate you, and care about you, but was this the right person?
If I keep things up like this, he won’t hurt me, though. It could all be alright. It’s all or nothing.
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How does it feel to have the most correct opinions in the whole TLT fandom?
As a butch, the way the series treats Gideon felt so... Unkind (?), she's clearly a very good person, a love starved and big hearted individual with a yearning for freedom. Always denied of everything, of even a shred of happiness. Don't get me wrong, i love tragedies, and this is extremely tragic, but idk, there's something uncomfortable in there. The level of carelessness? It's hard to explain but i think you're one of the very few people in this fandom that gets me
It's a burden to be sure but NO LISTEN so.. We get that Gideon's own inner monologue and perspective, the one that we are reading from throughout the whole first book and a little of the second, is naturally self flagellating. And she uses comedy to entirely conceal her deeply heartbreaking situations and losses and longings, right? So, yes, this innate brutal tragedy that is her life would be FRAMED narratively as funny. And honestly that would be a really cool way of using the narrator and could lead to some deeply cathartic moments down the line for the reader, perhaps seeing moments from another pov and understanding exactly how crushingly sad they were.
But it's not just the narrative framing that encourages us to laugh at Gideon's tragedies, the bare bones things that happen in the book do as well. The one I think of most is when Gideon realises she's met her father, who is god, and that no one, not even her parents, ever loved or wanted her. That revelation is something you have to read between the lines for, since the actual scene ends with John turning to Gideon and reciting a very hamfisted 'hi I'm dad' meme that makes me cringe just thinking about it.
Harrow's tragedies are acknowledged, even if she never finds any comfort, even if it only gets worse, there are people around her who see how much pain she is in and you the reader know it as well. Gideon never gets any of that, her personhood is non-existant, she is there to be thirsted after or laughed at. She is never allowed to feel any of the things that happen that don't involve Harrow. She doesn't even care that she died.
And listen!! If we're all waiting for a book four revelation that Gideon as POV wasn't just self flagellating but ALSo a deeply unreliable narrator and she specifically shielded herself from emotionally poignant moments and remember them as jokes instead, that would be cool! But the way Tamsyn Muir talks about Gideon in interviews leaves me with very little hope on that score. Harrow's mind is barbed wire... Gideon is clumsy and slapstick.
In the end, the book cares about Harrow's pain but is callous of Gideon's, it IS unkind, and I have this incredibly complex relationship with it where like... I'd never ever read a book with a GNC lesbian main character before, it was really impactful for me, I genuinely identified with her. But that made the ending hit so unbelievably hard and I really wasn't prepared for it, I've said this before but it actually made me depressed for like a month afterwards, it wasn't the normal emotional rollercoaster read kind of stuff, I was depressed in a bad way because of how brutally Gideon was treated after identifying with her more than I ever have with any main character I've ever read before or since.
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The Whale (2023)
"In a town in Idaho, Charlie, a reclusive and unhealthy English teacher, hides out in his flat and eats his way to death. He is desperate to reconnect with his teenage daughter for a last chance at redemption."
I went into watching this film aware of how well it was being received, and of some of the awards it has so far garnered. I hadn't seen it so I didn't know exactly why. Now I do.
I'm not going to mince words at all in this review. Darren Aronofsky has brought a goddamn cinematic masterpiece to the big screen. Based on the play, and written, by Samuel D. Hunter this is a heartbreaking, harrowing, tale of a man who knows he is in the endgame, the last few days of his life. Trying to reconnect with an estranged daughter, and deal with his life as normally as he is able, Charlie is fighting a losing battle.
It brought tears to my eyes on enough occasions that it almost seemed continuous. And yet despite that there were several occasions where I laughed. Some genuinely heart warming and funny moments, sandwiched into a story that tugged the hardest at my heart strings I think a movie, of any kind, has ever tugged.
Brendan Fraser is phenomenal as Charlie. His performance is sublime, and every note and every single word is laced with epic amounts of talent. I knew he was a good actor on the whole. I've seen his films. I honestly didn't realise that he was THIS good. The awards he has won, and the Oscar he should win, are deserved beyond belief. I know some people object to the use of fat suits on actors, but I suggest that in this case there was simply no other way to tell this tale. I doubt that there are any actors of Charlie's size and, even if there are, the tale and the outcome may have hit home a little too close.
I say this not to fat shame anyone. Quite the contrary, I am an obese man. Nowhere near as big as Charlie, but a damn sight bigger than I should be. This film struck some very hard and painful chords for me, on many levels. I do not believe that, given just a few small tweaks in my life, it would take that much for me to be in Charlie's position, and that is a damn scary thing to realise. Is it going to change my life? I don't honestly know, but it's certainly made me look at things really closely moving forward.
The rest of the cast is absolutely superb, including Hong Chau as Liz, Samantha Morton as Mary, Ty Simpkins as Thomas and even Sathya Sridharan as Dan the pizza man. There is not a performance I can fault in any way, but Sadie Sink as Ellie was eye opening. She has raised her game dramatically from her work on Stranger Things and put in an incredibly mature, and powerful performance, as Charlie's estranged daughter. She rides through the film on an emotional tidal wave that would test the talents of any actor. She comes out the other side, not only dry, but standing tall on top of the wave. She has an incredibly bright future ahead of her and I want to see it.
Overall this is, as I said before, a cinematic masterpiece. It is pure character driven brilliance and will take you on an emotional rollercoaster you are not ready for. I cried, I laughed, and I felt heartbroken for Charlie (and all the other characters) in a way I don't honestly think I ever have for a movie character. This is easily the most obvious 10/10 I have ever given to a film. I hate it for what it did to me, but I love it because it is simply just that good. I cannot recommend this film highly enough, but take tissues because you will need them.
#the whale#Charlie#teaching#obesity#death#family#lgbtqia#brendan fraser#sadie sink#movies#reviews#cinema#odeon
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Can I just have a moment to say how much I love the final episode of series 5 of All Creatures, Two of a Kind. Forget high-stakes drama, the touching and well-executed character work of this episode had me enraptured. I admit I said 'awwwww' several times during the course of the episode.
More under the cut, because this became quite a long outpouring of emotion!
First of all, this is such a brilliant Calum episode. I was afraid when he was first introduced that he'd just be a cheap Tristan substitute, but gosh was I wrong! Two of a Kind shows off the less-than-pleasant sides of his character (his jealousy over Deirdre, his snappiness towards James) but balances that out with such heart-warming scenes that make him a well-rounded personality. His genuine love for wild animals, one of his most endearing characteristics, is genuinely charming here as he sits up all night cradling the fox in his arms. When it's released into the wild, his investment in its safety made me more genuinely involved in the plot that a gritty drama ever could. While the hunting pack seen earlier in the episode doesn't actually kill the fox, its presence hangs over the rest of the episode, reminding us of the gut-wrenching possibility that the fox will be shot dead any moment in spite of Calum's doting attentions. To have killed it on screen would perhaps have been too depressing for a feel-good show and would detract from the drama of the other plot threads, but the decision to leave the fox's fate as uncertain is still effective.
This episode packs a double punch with another harrowing plot thread, that of the ailing Mr Fawcett and his cat, Frisk. It's a return to the classic early-season plot thread of 'old guy has nothing to live for but pet, pet is on the brink of death, pet dies/ old guy dies', but it's a trope I love. Season 4 and 5 seem to focus more on the drama at Skeldale and the practice's more comical clients, and I didn't realise how much I missed the episodes focusing on the lives and troubles of other Darrowby folk, the source of some really touching character drama. Though the deathbed scene is a difficult thing to pull off without becoming overdone, I think Two of a Kind manages it, with Fawcett's selfless attitude holding out until the end. I think this story has to be up there with the best 'pet gets sick, man dies' plots in acgas, along with the very harrowing suicide of Paul Cotterell (the fabulous Nicholas Courtney) in 1980's Matters of Life and Death.
The 'C' plot of Two of a Kind is equally as interesting, if not as emotionally charged. I've always enjoyed episodes which see the vets confronting change, the passing of time and new technology, the joy and the sorrow which comes with this. The onset of war at the end of season 3 and the characters' reactions were absolutely fascinating to watch (the interaction between Siegfried and Tristan as they sit looking out over the Dales after the outbreak of war is one of the best scenes in the show). Equally, Siegfried's wonder at the marvels of radio sets, new cars and modern medicine is a joy to watch and explores the period setting beautifully. Putting the historic first television broadcast to Yorkshire in the context of the show really brings the excitement of the event alive, from Hardy's endearingly enthusiastic reactions to the television set to the look of pure fascination on the face of Mr Chandler as he watches Muffin the Mule, of all things. Witnessing real events through their eyes truly slots the show into history instead of the kind of disconnected fantasy world it otherwise occupies. Part of the joy of the Herriot books is the fact they serve up a little slice of a time and a place in such vivid detail. The show lost this vibrancy a bit when it stopped basing the episodes off the books, and so Two of a Kind was a very welcome return to the feel of the early seasons.
All in all, a brilliant episode, and definitely my favourite since the series' revival.
Also, the episode's IMDb page had this gem:
#all creatures great and small#acgas#acgas 1978#calum buchanan#siegfried farnon#i love siegfried so much#i love them all so much#oh yeah and they got engaged didn't they that was sweet too
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Albums I Missed in 2018
Alright, already halfway through the year, and the time has come (as I said I would last year) to acknowledge the albums from 2018 that I didn't last year before getting onto the second half of 2019. Yeah, that's it, no need for more intro. Here are my thoughts on some albums from 2018 that I didn't talk about.
Yob - Our Raw Heart
I heard so much hype over this album last year and saw it ending on so many year end lists, yet for some reason I just didn’t have the time or energy to give it a worthy try so it slipped by me. And honestly, after finally hearing it, I can’t say I’m all too heartbroken about missing out on it. It's honestly some of the most derivative modern doom/sludge metal that I've ever heard hyped up to this degree. When the album isn't meandering through the types of thick soundscapes that hearken a bit too much to early Pallbearer, it's "resting" amid cheap drones that sound like unaltered Sunn O))). The band are closer to achieving their goal on the more dirging doom songs on here like the title track, but when they try to get heavier like on the unbelievably annoyingly repetitive "The Screen", they sound very out of their capacity. I don't know what so many saw in this album last year beyond its occasionally convincing imitations of Bell Witch or Pallbearer.
Craft - White Noise and Black Metal
I don't know why I didn't talk about Craft's 2018 album, maybe because it wasn't all that different from the band's previous releases, but either way, the Swedisg crew came through with a strong fifth offering of straight-up modern black metal. That band has always had a knack for the grim and sardonic, and they carry that energy well onto White Noise and Black Metal. Again, it's hardly the most unique black metal I've ever heard and it's really not all to different from Fuck the Universe or Void, but for what the band are doing, there's really not much else to complain about. Sure, it could be a little more varied or come with a few more memorable grooves or something, but for nasty, snarling black metal with nothing else in mind, Craft continue to be on of the genre's steadfast pillars.
Convulsing - Grievous
I stumbled across this album earlier this year because I recognized the visual handiwork of Leviathan's Jef Whitehead gracing the cover art. Convulsing is apparently somewhat of a one-man solo project that seems to have started out pretty recently (around 2016 or so) and the music is as harrowing and demonic as I would expect from a Jef Whitehead endorsement. The low-tuned guitar work on Grievous is pretty in line with the type of playing that made Scar Sighted so powerful, and the bellowing death growls give it a furiously cavernous atmosphere. And it is indeed an atmospheric type of listen despite being so thick in its death metal elements, but the gravitation pull of those elements are well-harness to really suck one into the deep dark it provides.
Hoth - Astral Necromancy
On no other album last year did I hear quite the smooth and well-balanced overlap of technical death metal speed, blackened death metal menace, and thrash. Hoth really has it all and is not afraid to show it; this album really has everything: a variety of melodic guitar leads, sinister growls, and intricately hyperactive drumming. It’s this impressive juggling act that makes Astral Necromancy such a unique listen, and one that I wish I had talked about and dissected more thoroughly the intricacies of last year.
Bad Wolves - Disobey
Despite actually not totally disliking the band’s alt metal power ballad cover of The Cranberries’ “Zombie” (which goes over much better than their original balladry), the combination of the band coming up largely by way of a cover song and their close association with Five Finger Death Punch unfortunately kept me at bay from the very label-propped band’s debut album. After having heard the rather familiar djent-influenced groove metal style that the band has to offer, I can't really say the channeling of what Whitechapel and Upon a Burning Body have tended toward into formulas that Shinedown would work with is really all too offensive or inoffensive either. Sure, some of the fence-sitting political commentary, while well-intentioned, is a bit beyond the band's lyrical capacities at best and ham-fisted at worst. But really there isn't really anything the band are doing or saying that's at all new. They're simply one of the newest voices contributing to servicing the Five Finger Death Punch fan demographic, and it really does sound like if Shinedown decided to go djent-groovy in an attempt to bring back their old fans, which I will say does sound better than what Five Finger Death Punch are offering these days.
Hyperdontia - Nexus of Teeth
This one only really caught my attention because of this dental theme, which I think needs to be a theme more prevalent in metal music. More bands need to create musical horror stories that push for encouraging better dental health. But really, this album isn’t exactly the most ground-breaking of modern death metal releases, but if it’s an itch that needs scratching and the usual helping hands like Morbid Angel, The Black Dahlia Murder, or Bloodbath seem worn out for the time being, Nexus of Teeth will get the spot just fine.
Sarah Longfield - Disparity
Brilliant YouTube-based guitar shredder Sarah Longfield had been putting out albums before this one, but I didn’t hear about Disparity until the year was over, and while it’s certainly not a terrible project, I’m not really all too upset about missing it. Longfield takes the album as an opportunity to dive into smooth, semi-jazzy atmospherics that don’t always highlight her technical talents the way they needed to to make the album more engaging. Again, it’s not awful and it’s not like she’s stuck playing back-up the whole time, but Longfield seems subdued on her own album, and it’s disappointing given how magnificent it could have probably sounded if her guitar playing got more time at center stage, which was quite possibly her intent being that she already makes so much content focused on her guitar technicality.
The Black Queen - Infinite Games
Though not quite as overtly raucous as the now retired The Dillinger Escape Plan, Greg Puciato’s second album with this new electronic rock-focused project does generate its own kind of energy that could arguably bear a thread connected to Puciato’s former band. But the appeal of The Black Queen and Infinite Games is rooted more in the textures that the band bring to the table and the more fully opened expression of this calmer side of Puciato’s voice over new-wave-inspired electronic ambient pieces, which, to be clear, bear no resemblance to anything metallic. What’s clear about this album though is that it’s something that Puciato has wanted to do for a while and has genuine passion for rather than a ploy for the “metal singer doing no-metal project” novelty. I didn’t hear about it until earlier this year, but I will definitely be keeping an ear out now for any upcoming The Black Queen releases.
Violet Cold - Sommermorgen (Parts I, II, & III)
I came upon Violet Cold through a friend of mine turing me onto their Magic Night album around the time Deafheaven's brand of bright, cathartic blackgaze and post-metal was sweeping the black metal landscape. While I had kind of forgotten about the album for awhile, I really liked the main opening song to that album, and I was hoping to maybe hear a little more from the band along those lines with their three-part album. Sommermorgen's three parts, while not offering what I was hoping for, fall nicely in line with the occasionally metallic post-rock ambient music of Hammock, If These Trees Could Talk, and Explosions in the Sky, providing at least a sufficiently soothing atmosphere with enough compositional dynamic to keep it from being a total bore.
Slugdge - Esoteric Malacology
How I missed Slugdge’s fourth album and transformation into a fully fledged performing band last year is beyond me. I promise this has a point and that I’ll get to it, but since its inception, one of the most baffling things about Slugdge is how upset some people seem to get about something about either their theme or their puns or their aesthetic. It baffles me because this is so clearly an innocuous side project (or at least it began that way) for its founders to just put out some death-y sludge metal without the kind of self-imposed rubric that often comes with a main project. Slugdge’s music is also so accessible (free if you choose) that complaints about it kind of bear that whiny quality that often underlies complaining about free content. And for fuck’s sake, it’s music about a celestial slug deity; could there be a more obvious signal to not take this too seriously? Because that’s clearly exactly the point of this project. I bring this up because it has clearly been this apparent liberation from needing to create in a super serious context that has become the compositional strength and the appeal of Slugdge. And sometimes freedom from expectations for a band’s music to fall within a certain framework can really unlock artists’ full potentials, which has definitely been the case for Slugdge. Even to some of the band’s fans, Esoteric Malacology felt like a bit of a loss of this non-serious charm the band had operated under, which I think was just inevitable as the members continued to see such success from Slugdge. But any sense of lost charm hardly comes through in the actual compositional content of the album, so either I’m missing something or others are reading too much into contextual aspects of the bands rise to death metal’s upper echelons and applying them to the enjoyment of this album. Personally, I find Esoteric Malacology to be a fine continuation of the refined combination of sludgy and deathly styles that characterized Gastronomicon and were expanded upon on Dim & Slimeridden Kingdoms and one I wish I hadn’t arrived to so late.
Lingua Ignota - All Bitches Die
This did technically come out in 2017, but I will take it's re-release through Profound Lore last year as an excuse to talk about it here because goddamn! Along with her visceral live performances that truly earn that descriptor, Kristen Hayter has seen quite the outpouring of deserved support and respect for her work on Lingua Ignota's Let the Evil of His Lips Cover Him and All Bitches Die. On both these albums (both released in 2017 orginally) Hayter channels her personal experiences as a survivor of domestic and sexual abuse into both classically sung, mournfully gorgeous lamentations and venomous shrieks of anguish, rage, and vengeance. It's hard to say I enjoy this album in the traditional sense, and knowing how real it all is to its creator and performer, I honestly don't feel right just putting either of these albums on in the background while I do other things without giving them my attentiveness. But what Hayter does so powerfully through Lingua Ignota absolutely deserves to be appreciated not just for her musical capacity and artistic uniqueness, but for how it expresses the voice and emotions of the victims of such abuse that aren't heard too much in this field.
#Yob#Our Raw Heart#Craft#White Noise and Black Metal#Convulsing#Grievous#Hoth#Astral Necromancy#Bad Wolves#Disobey#Hyperdontia#Nexus of Teeth#Sarah Longfield#Disparity#The Black Queen#Infinite Games#Violet Cold#Sommermorgen#Slugdge#Esoteric Malacology#Lingua Ignota#All Bitches Die
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