Weeping - Tumblr Posts
good morning mr neil! a few users here have recalled a good omens talk you and terry attended around 2004-ish wherein you discussed one of your favorite things about the book was that it brought so many skinny goth gaiman fans and round nerdy pratchett fans together, and sir terry is delightfully quoted as saying that the couples "looked like lots of number 10s walking down the street together". Absolutely incredible and adorable image - I know many 1 and 0 couples myself haha! Do you recall this/have anything to add to the story?
Terry took an enormous delight in Good Omens signings because he loved that my fans (skinny, dressed in black, tattooed before that was common or with interesting hair colours ditto, "wearing their underwear on the outside" whatever that meant) and his (normally older, actually employed in real jobs, often wearing sweaters, sometimes carrying sweaters they had knitted themselves which they then presented to Terry along with a jar of homemade blackberry jam) stood in the same lines to get their books signed, and met and sometimes even married.
I don't remember the 10 comment but it sounds perfectly Terry.
(ID in ALT Text) Happy very, very late Mother's Day!
I am not saying that zuko is sokkas substitute for kya. or they look in any way similar! The whole concept here is that something was happening at the moment, be it how they were laying in bed, how the hair pooled over the pillow, or how sokka was able to hold onto it. It just brought sokka back. It triggered a memory, and suddenly he relived a brief memory. Making him suddenly miss his mother again. hope you enjoy!
i found this while looking through my old files from last year. they’re based on some finger puppets i made haha, doing their hobbies
bear likes printmaking, bunny likes cartoons & anime, hamster is on reddit ToT
Tell you what, we could've had a good life together.
WHY IS AO3 DOWN 4 ME WTFFFF SOBS
happyyy oct. 3 😼
Shaking weeooeing I CAN'T DO TJIUS GSAAAAGJHFHHJJj
Please don't take my sunshine away :(
weeoing weep eyyg shhh HH this brought me to tears eyyy
Can I request Graves x Price with some hurt comfort (the betrayal didn’t happen), Graves betrayed Shepherd and lost a lot of men and goes to Price for comfort. Have a lovely time zone friend!
🪶
I GOTCHU
I've never written pricegraves before this was fun :D hope you're having an awesome time zone!
Pairing: Captain John Price x Commander Philip Graves
Word count: 2.8k+
CW: Blood, violence, implied death, Shepherd
I Know It
Las Almas was cold. Was it the rain? No, he didn't feel that, sliding down his skin, unaffected. It wasn't the wind. He could hear it outside the windows that wouldn't close.
Shepherd's call had ended, his laptop sitting discarded on the bed next to him. They were supposed to secure Sin Nombre, get the missiles back, and keep their heads down. Not any of this.
The General's warnings echoed in his mind, seeping any warmth from his soul. He didn't have a choice.
"They're getting too close to the problem, Philip. You need to lock it down." He had said.
"You can't expect them to not ask questions, General!" He snapped. "You know that we'd never be that lucky, someone was bound to catch on. No off-book op ever stays hidden, you know that!"
"I don't think you understand what we're dealing with here. What I'm dealing with. This is the immediate future, Commander, I need you to shut it down and take care of it."
Philip stopped dead in his tracks. Take care of it.
Take care of it.
"You ain't asking me to-"
"I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. That's an order." Something in his voice told him everything he needed to do, and that he had no choice. "I'm sending you reinforcements. Make sure you have it managed, Philip." It was them, or it was him.
How could he possibly kill them? All of them? Soap, Gaz, Laswell, the Lieutenant, the Vaqueros.... Even-
No. That was his final straw, he wouldn't. That's against everything he ever fought for, everything he opposed. He thought when he enlisted he knew what war he was fighting in.
He was wrong.
His mind started running a mile a minute. What could he do? He could run, leave it all behind, vanish off the face of the earth, and hope his Shadows could do the same. Hope that the task force made it out alive too. But that was cowardly.
Philip Graves was not cowardly.
The Task Force hadn't even returned from the oil rig yet. That gave him time.
He was speaking into his radio before he had even realized his shaking hands had picked it up.
"All Shadows Stations report to Point Tango, urgently. We've gotta bit of a change in plans."
The radio stations flicked ominous static throughout the emptiness of Price's truck. Vargas' base sat in front of him, but something told him not to enter just yet. He'd watched a transport van enter, but not one big enough to hold his team. Laswell had sent them here immediately following them finishing up in Europe. The sun had fallen, casting dusted shadows across the landscape. Where were his boys?
Gaz groaned into the seat next to him. "Cap, what are you even waiting on? We've been here a few hours, can't we even go on? I gotta piss, and-"
"That's it. There." He lowered his binoculars, following three other vans up the hill and pointed. Gaz perked up in his seat, following the convo with his eyes. He saw Graves standing near the entrance gate, he saw him stop the convo before he entered. The Lieutenant and his Sergeant got out. There was a load pop and he ducked before Graves grabbed Soap by the shoulder and shoved him out of view.
"What's....?"
The static sharpened for only a moment, letting a desperate shout echo across the station.
"RUN!"
Philip tried to be discreet. He really did. But the General had eyes and ears everywhere, and he could only do or say so much before the chain around his throat was pulling him back to his place. They called him Golden Eagle for a reason.
He ran through the halls like a madman, he had no time to lose. They wouldn't give him a choice when the reinforcements arrived, he had to get everyone out without Shepherd finding out.
Could he?
No, he had to.
"Sergeant Parra!" He skidded to a stop outside the office door, trying the handle. Locked. "Sergeant Major! Rodolfo!!"
"Que pasa!?" Rodolfo pulled open the door, a concerned look on his face. "Commander, what's-"
"We need to go! They're- they're-" His chest ached with his heaving breaths. He felt like he was going to throw up. "You need to get your men out of here, Shepherd's sending enforcements to take out the Vaqueros and the 141. We're all done for if we don't leave now."
The Sergeant Major looked like he was going to object before seeing the desperation in his face and believed him, a hard resolve settling over his expression. He handed Graves a slip of paper, and he hurriedly pocketed it. "RV there. Good luck, Graves."
The two turned away, but Rodolfo stopped. "Graves!" The shout turned him around in a panic. "Gracias, hermano!"
He nodded his head, and he was running again.
That's how he had ended up in the courtyard, surrounded by men who he did not recognize.
"Scuse me, soldier-" He tried moving off past them, but one blocked his path to the main hall.
"Are you Philip Graves?" The taller man asked. His voice was gruff, smoky, but distinctly American. What was worse was the beared that he could see that looked almost blood colored in the setting sun.
Graves swallowed, trying to keep his composure. "I am. And I have somethin' I needa attend to-" He tried to push past him again, but a needless hand shoved him back.
"Graves, I see you've met Colonel Tobias Wilkinson. He'll be... assisting you." Said a voice in his ear that nearly froze him to the spot. The General. Of course.
He knew he'd never be lucky enough to set his plan in motion. The other half of the base lay in unknowing wait of a slaughter. Wilkinson put a forceful arm around him, spinning him around, and pushing him towards the doors. Towards the main gate.
This was no suggestion.
"I see you're going the wrong way, Commander. You get lost?" Wilkinson sneered close to his ear.
This was a command.
The new troops not-so-kindly escorted him to the front door. He did not dare glance over his shoulder at whatever Vaquero had dared to ask the men who they were.
He didn't think this was a kidnapping, but a little voice in his mind told him to never get in a vehicle, because they can take you to a secondary location. You'd never be found then.
If Shepherd knew what he was doing, then he hoped someone good would find him.
He got in the car.
Colonel Wilkinson drove down to the entry gate, began barking orders in such jumbled Spanish that even he noticed. The gates slid closed.
A pit formed in his stomach. This was it now.
The men pulled masks over their faces, they looked like his Shadows. His mouth dried as headlights appeared over the hill. He had no way of telling them. He could only pray at this point that something would interfere.
Hatred burned the pit deeper into his stomach as he watched Wilkinson smile before pulling his mask up. Something tasted foul in his mouth, coppery, and with a muted shock he realized he had bitten down hard enough on his cheek that his teeth drew blood.
Three cars rolled to a stop in front of him, the windshields tinted just enough so that he could barely see inside.
"The immediate future." Wilkinson said lowly, twitched towards his weapon warily as two doors opened.
The pretend Shadows filtered through the area as Soap and Ghost spilled out of their cars. Alejandro stepped out, he was closer, and Graves wiped his face of any emotion.
"Graves, que es-"
Out of the corner of his eye, Wilkinson raised his weapon, and Graves acted without a thought.
He wasn't sure when his gun was in his hands, but he aimed for Wilkinson first. Shots rang out between he and the other side, and he turned a split second, shoving Soap out of the way. Part of him felt smug at the shocked expression on Wilkinson's face as he went down.
His radio was on, and he screamed to both the Task Force, his Shadows, the Vaqueros, and anyone else who could hear him. "Run!"
Thankfully, the others had regained their wits, and Soap tried his best to help by firing off a few rounds before Ghost dragged him off into the darkness. Alejandro had taken cover behind one of the armored vehicles and was doing his best to take out the threats as they spilled from his base.
There was a tinny voice from his radio, but that was muffled by blood roaring in his ears.
With Wilkinson went the chain that snapped, the constriction that Shepherd had held him on, and he knew that this was the right decision.
His breathing came choked but he was still going, firing each bullet at his faux masked counterpart.
He wasn't sure when he ended up on the ground, but someone was pulling him up by the back of the vest.
The leash.
The chain.
"No-!" He shouted, trying to fight against the ghosts of a hand, before coming into contact with a tactical vest.
"Graves, we have to go!" Soap shouted at him, searching his eyes in a panic. "We don't have time ta keep at it like this!"
"No! We've- my men are- I have to-" He felt like he couldn't breathe. He wouldn't let this happen again, he couldn't let this happen again, not again, not-
"Graves!" Soap shook him slightly, snapping out of it. He cast a glance back at the base. There were.... too many.
"C'mon! I have a place we can go, esos putos bastardos!" Alejandro cussed angrily, gesturing them. It seemed like he too had an issue with leaving, but knew it was no good cause in staying.
With shaking hands, Graves pulled a bloodied slip of paper from his pocket. "Sergeant Parra- he gave me this.. that's where he said to go." He offered.
Alejandro gave him a grave look, before turning away. "Follow me."
And they did, trying their best to stay unaffected by the shouts and the gunfire from the Vaqueros' fallen base.
At one point, Graves' radio fell silent. He had stopped dead in his tracks when it had, trying to recover his brave face, but nothing could mask the way he paled considerably.
"Shadow Stations, report."
Static.
"I repeat, all Shadow Stations, report."
The silence was unbearable, and they pushed on.
The thoughts pushed inward. He failed. He failed them. He failed to stop them. How many men could he have lost? They were his brothers. He trained them himself. They were better than he was. Why should he-
They arrived at the safehouse, a large, barn looking thing. Alejandro surged inside, quickly followed by Graves, then Ghost and Soap. A few people were already inside. Hope bloomed in his heart as he spotted a few Shadows, and Vargas sped off to find Parra.
"Sergeant!" Graves spoke, his voice almost hoarse, and one of the Shadows perked up hopefully. The younger man was getting his side patched by a Vaquero. Bullet wound, he could tell. This was Shadow 2-3, but his name was Sergeant Connor Saury.
"Yes Commander!" His voice carried across the vast space, and the man turned a few shades of red in embarrassment. "Sorry-"
"How many of you-" Graves did a quick head count of all he could see. Five was his most, but maybe there were others in the other rooms, or still outside. "Made it here?"
Saury's face fell. "Uh- I'm not sure how to tell you, sir, but-"
"Spit it out, Connor."
"Yes- yes sir. Most of them stayed to- well- they weren't gonna let them take us so easily, sir, and a lot stayed behind. They thought the General's men got you, and-"
He raised a hand, and the sergeant stopped, looking down to the floor. "Connor... Where's everyone else?"
He didn't answer.
"Conn-"
"It's just us, sir." He whispered, and Graves felt like he was gonna throw up. There was- no, this couldn't be happening again... "Are... are you bleeding, Graves-?"
"Philip, you with us lad?" He heard Soap say.
His radio was still silent. He doubted it would make sound again. Had anyone else gotten out? What happened to the rest of the Vaqueros?
He was walking. Someone stopped him. He kept walking.
"-just shut down. Hasn't responded to a thing we've said." Someone else, Ghost said, before a light was shined into his eyes. He felt like he was feeling everything underwater. Slow, sluggish, dreamlike.
The only difference between then and now was that there was no missiles gone missing. They... were still gone, though.
A twinge in his shoulder. He felt himself wince. Doctor.
The oily texture told him there was blood on his hands, literally and figuratively.
"The Captain's arrived. Should we tell 'im?" A ghost of a whisper kissed his hearing at some point.
"....Laswell's doing some digging...."
The air morphed and pinpointed around him, the fog around his brain cleared in a split second.
"Where is he?" Philip asked. His tongue felt heavy, his lips dry. How long had they been here?
"Back with us, Graves?" Ghost's gruff voice asked him, somewhere in the dark of the room behind him. He ignored him.
"Where's the captain?" He repeated himself, and Soap pursed his lips.
"Doon th' hall. Second door on th' left."
Less than a minute later, Graves stood outside the given door, hand poised to knock.
But it opened before he had the chance.
Price was running a hand over his face tiredly, having apparently not seen him, but then he looked up, and Graves felt his shoulders fall slack.
"...Phil-?"
"John-" He breathed, and practically threw himself into the man's arms. Price backed up, holding him tightly, and kicked the door shut.
"Hey, hey, what- what's wrong?" He felt the Captain wince at the question, realizing how stupid it sounded. "Take a breath, love, breathe..."
"They're gone, they- they thought- I should've- John, I f-fucked up, it's my fault- John, I failed them, I failed-" His voice broke, and he unwillingly sobbed into the man's shirt.
"No, no, hold on, you didn't fail them, Phil..." He murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his forehead, rubbing his hand through Graves' hair. He was shaking horribly as he sobbed, fists balling the hem of Price's shirt. "C'mere, let's sit down now."
Price's voice stayed gentle, a soothing quiet, guiding him to the edge of the bed in the room. He couldn't stop the cries that ripped their way through his chest, clawing like a beast freed from eternal punishment. Soft hands guided their way up and down his figure, comforting, hovering over his shoulder. Graves hissed a breath as a sharp sting shot down to his elbow. "Pip, are you injured...?"
He didn't know how to respond. Had he been injured? That would explain the doctor he thinks he saw before, and the constant stinging ache. Had it been bandaged? Maybe, but he thinks he had left before the Vaquero could finish. So instead, he hummed in defeat, hiding his shameful face in the Captain's shoulder. Like a child who believed that if he could not see his mother, then she could not see him, he believed that if he hid closer, Price would not be able to see the sin written into the very being of him, the total failure that he was.
"Hey, breathe, look at me. You need to breathe, love, you need to, or you'll make this all worse. In and out..." He was rocking him softly, back and forth.
He tried. In- in and out, in- "John, th-they're dead-"
"I know, shh.... You're alright, you are..."
"They're dead because of me, I f-failed-"
Price took his face in his hands suddenly, forceful, but still calm, shocking a part of him from his stupor. "You didn't fail them, Philip, none of that now. We're all alive because of you." Price said, and Graves hesitantly opened his eyes, peering at the man above him. Instead of finding a cold look of betrayal or disgust, John's face was nothing but concern written softly into the lines of his face. He took a breath. "Because of you, everyone in this building is here. The others..." Price hesitated, but wanted the man to have some hope. "They might be on their way. Some of them, at least. Takes a while to get here, if you don't know where you're goin'." The ghost of a laugh whispered its way through the room, lightening the darker part of his thoughts.
A watery look crossed his tear-stained face, but a bit of spark flashed in his eyes. "You- y'think-?"
"Aye, I know it." Price nodded, pressing his nose into Graves' sandy mop of hair. "I know it."
Good evening. This is TRUE and CANON and entirely exempt from ANY debate whatsoever.