The Furies, one of which Alecto is named after, relentlessly pursue the transgressors to the point of insanity. Screeching at them. Nona screaming at Ianthe until water comes out of her mouth and ears, breaking Ianthe's focus. Her tantrums, where she screams and goes on a murderous rampage. These behaviors must've been why she was given that nickname by the lyctors. Also, at the end of the book her behavior fits her title of "endless anger".
But here is the thing. What about the other 2 famous Furies? Because here is my, probably bad and wrong, theory: the three title characters represent the 3 furies. We know The Locked Tomb was supposed to be a trilogy from the start. Alecto got split but Nona is still Alecto.
The characters Gideon and Harrow still have more development to go through, and this Furies parallel that I'm proposing could be a partial indication of where they are going.
I think Gideon is Megaera, that is defined as "jealous rage".
Evidence of that is her wish to fight Alecto as she declares herself Harrow's cavalier. That's Gideon job, and she knows Harrow would gladly accept Alecto as her replacement because she has been in love with her since childhood. John said in the second book that he wished Harrow was his kid. Meanwhile, Gideon is the unwanted child that the mere existence means a risk to god, so he had to modify her body (and probably only keeps her around because he lacks powerful and trustworthy allies). She is hostile to Ianthe's attempts of seduction (and manipulation) directed towards Harrow. The Ninth took everything from her. She can't have nice things.
That's why forgiveness and being selfless is important to her.
That leaves Harrow as Tisiphone, "vengeful destruction".
In the second book Ianthe mentions that inside the ship Harrow had 2 modes: murder and projectile vomiting (or something like that). This sounds really similar to Nona's tantrums, that I previously mentioned that is like a Furies' behavior. The vengeful part, I think has been building up ever since Harrow met Jod. Their first interaction he confesses his limitation, and maybe unwillingness, to undo the lyctoral process. Later, John asks her if she will join him, and if she accepts, she won't be able to return to her house. We know there was never a choice with the RB around. Harrow accepts, but in her mind she's is already defying his orders because she says that she will return to the Ninth House. Then, there is a bunch of stuff that happens to Harrow in the Mithraeum that makes her live in fear, while at the same time she sees these beings that she was told to worship, live these petty frugal lives. While her house wasted away and starved, god can simply use his necromancy to stop food from spoiling. They have alcohol and reminiscence the old times and sexy parties.
Then there are the John chapters in Nona. Where Harrow goes through Alecto's memories of him ranting about how things turned out this way. Imagine Harrow that had to puppet her parents as a child, because they died in fear of the sin that they committed to this god, listening to him cosplay a cult because he prioritized being seen as a good guy instead of doing what needed to be done. If Harrow was in his place she would've killed those billionaires as soon as she knew she could. While he killed some cops and waited until it was too late. So it's no surprise she's going to find "god" by the end of that book. And would be no surprise if she decide to bring some vengeful destruction upon everything.
I was just going to write the first paragraph but then it became all of this bs that is probably wrong.
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This is @godsliltippy âs fault because she was so kind to me and posted Pocket Virgil to help me through the day. Above is the original three clips, of which Pocket Virgil is part of Clip Two. After watching Pocket Virgil try again and again with no success, I kinda wanted to help him, so this fic happened.
Total meta crack, that really didnât go anywhere, but hopefully will be fun nonetheless. Certain laws of both physics and worldbuilding were totally ignored, so there may be some brain frying concept-wise.
This is for Thunderfam and for all the kindness you continue to bestow upon me. Iâve said it before and Iâll say it again. You guys are amazing. ::hugs you all::
Leave sense at the door. I hope you enjoy it :D
-o-o-o-
Virgil Tracy was grumpy.
He knew this idea was good an all and he fully supported Lady Penelope when she suggested they document some of their rescues for the general public.
But not once...not once! Did she mention that he would be dragged out of bed before the sun, thrown on a set to perform, and the only coffee they would provide would be thimble-sized, consequently cold and allocated to break times.
At the moment, âbreakâ was definitely a keyword. Sans coffee, Virgil Tracy was quite ready to do something of the kind to the director.
âNow, Virgil, I know youâre tired, but you are the calm brother, the respected peacemaker of the family. Snarling at the camera isnât quite in character.â
In character? He was playing himself, for goodness sake. He was in character, character sans coffee! Across the studio, he eyed the Tracy villa swimming pool and wondered if there was a possibility of filling it with coffee.
âCan we try again?â
Virgil grunted at the director. Bet he had had his coffee. Bet he was allowed to access that wondrous machine up so high on that shelf. Bet he hadnât given one thought to how his precious Tracys might feel about the matter.
Yeah, Virgil Tracy was not in a very good mood at all.
The director stood up from the set and stepped away to be half hidden by the camera again.
Virgil lowered Twoâs hatch and climbed aboard. All prepared to launch Two with a smile.
He grit his teeth.
Backing her up into her hangar again, he closed the cliff face and waited for the call.
âAction!â
Practised fingers went through their motions and Two cruised out onto her runway under the fake sunlight.
A poke at a control and the palm trees moved aside...not quite the way they did at home, but well enough...and Two taxied towards her ramp.
âCut!â
Oh, for the love of...what now?!
âVirgil, you are grinding your teeth. I would say we could mute it in post, but you look like you want to kill someone. Youâre the valiant hero, the gentle giant, not Hannibal Lecter daydreaming about dinner!â Virgil stared up at him through the windows. Usually, Virgil would be mortified, but it was barely past 7am, he had been up late for a real rescue last night, hadnât slept well, and there was no damned coffee!
The director stared at him a moment longer before throwing up his hands. âOkay, you know what? Take fifteen, go find some coffee, for all our sakes.â He ended that with a glare and turned away calling the crew to a halt.
Virgil sat there staring at the replica of his âbirdâs controls. He had been in the real thing last night. Saved sixteen lives.
He was just tired and not really being fair to anyone, including himself.
He just wanted coffee. Please, I just need coffee.
If his inner voice sounded like a dehydrated man in a desert pleading for water, it was just being honest.
The thing was that the crew had coffee. In that machine on the shelf. Sure, the cup was bigger than he was, but it might be just enough to put his brain to rights.
But he couldnât reach the button to activate it. In fact, the one time he had tried, some smart ass on set had filmed him jumping up, trying to reach it. It had made the rounds until it hit Gordon, who then promptly made sure the rest of the world had the opportunity to enjoy laughing at his brother.
But then Gordon still didnât know who poured dye in his pool...while he was in it.
The full body make-up his brother had to wear that day to hide the purple was almost worth it.
But coffee...god, he needed coffee. If only he could extend his reach. If only he could grip the cup...
Virgil blinked.
The solution was obvious. Oh my god. He felt like kicking himself for not thinking of it before. You idiot!
There was one piece of equipment he had brought on set that wasnât fake.
It was here for two reasons. The first was that it was built for Virgil, only he could wear it and it was cheaper to just wear the real thing than to build a poorly functional duplicate. Secondly, Virgil preferred to have one on hand as often as possible, just in case, and since they had been spending so much time in Aotearoa on set, he had stashed one with the lead model maker for safe keeping.
He exited the fake Two and leapt out onto the runway. The fact that one of the set hands saw him and immediately made herself scarce was kind of depressing. He had been a grumpy bear this morning.
But that was all about to be solved.
He eyed the director and, making sure the man wasnât looking, grabbed one of the discarded thimble-sized coffee cups and slipped away towards prop storage.
It was a hike and he had to dodge wheels and staff who didnât see him. Those who did all immediately looked at their watches and, just like the set hand earlier, hurried out of his sight.
Maybe he was beginning to get a reputation.
Serve them right for not giving him coffee!
He found his helmet and his exosuit exactly where he expected them to be. Some neurotic librarian type had attached a huge name tag with a barcode onto it.
Virgilâs shoulder mounted laser took care of that.
It was almost comforting to slide on the equipment. The surety of its strength settling on his shoulders, its weight snug at his hips and ankles.
He sighed.
Of course, that one moment of relaxation was interrupted by Steven, the lead model maker, suddenly bursting into the room.
âI donât know, Scott. That sounds kind of dangerous. The real Thunderbird One might be able to handle you surfing it, but Iâm not too sure of the mockups.â
âIâll talk to Brains. Weâll make it happen.â
âWhy are you feeling the need to surf on the outside anyway?â
âBecause it looks cool?â Scott cleared his throat. âAh, because that is what happened during the incident we are portraying and accuracy is important.â
Virgil hunched down behind a scarily accurate model of that moon buggy Scott was always raving about. He dared not move because the wheeze of the suitâs hydraulics was far too familiar a sound to hide from his brother.
But then, since Scott was buzzing around at Stevenâs eye height thanks to one of his jetpacks, his older brother really didnât have a single leg to stand on.
Mostly because he apparently didnât need them.
Virgil found himself grinding his teeth again.
He really needed coffee.
âYou actually surfed on the outside of Thunderbird One?â
âWell, yeah.â
âThat is so cool, man.â
âThatâs what I said!â
Steven reached past Virgilâs hiding spot and picked up one of the fake explorer pods and Virgil remembered that he was supposed to clamber up the side of an equally fake mountain later in the morning.
Hell, coffee was mandatory.
Fortunately, Steven appeared to have everything he needed and both he and Scott left almost immediately after that, Scott coming as close to raving as Virgil had ever heard him, babbling about surfing on One.
Sounded about right. Scott and Alan might as well have been twins if it wasnât for their age difference.
They both gave Virgil grey hair.
But then so did Gordon.
John was easier, cool and calm and sensible most of the time. But that just meant that when he did slide off the rails, he did a proper job of it, likely taking most of them with him.
Hmmm, must remember to grab some more hair dye on the way home tonight.
With the coast clear, he secured his thimble cup to his suit and made a run for it.
He made it across the floor to the blessed coffee machine without interruption this time, though he had to admit, his suit was much noisier than he had realised. But a good percentage of the crew were focused on that scene Scott was filming.
He could still hear his brother declaring that he knew his stunts better than any stunt man.
Virgil had to agree. If anyone was capable of surfing Thunderbird One, it was Scott.
The idiot.
Now, not only was he doing stupid stunts to save people, but now just to show off.
Virgil had a good mind to kick his ass. He was as bad as Alan.
No, correction. Alan wasnât that stupid.
Virgil found himself taking a step in his big brotherâs direction and it was only the wheeze of his suit that made him realise exactly what he was doing.
Coffee, goddamnit, he needed coffee!
Without a second thought, he fired a grapple line up to the bench top and was gratified it secured with a thunk. Pulling himself up with the right equipment was so much more efficient than the equivalent pseudo rock climbing he had had to do last time.
Before he knew it, he was up there standing next to the huge dispenser of coffee. He gazed up at it for a moment and blessed its existence.
But unfortunately, Sadie who had been kind enough to set it up for him last time wasnât available.
Hell, if his assistant hadnât been called away at the last minute, he would have gotten his coffee that day. As it was, the director had found out about the incident when Virgil arrived late on set and had given Sadie a dressing down that involved images of Tracy brothers falling into giant vats of coffee and being boiled alive.
As if Virgil would be that stupid.
Boiling himself would be such a waste of good coffee.
But there were no more attempts at giant coffees for Virgil Tracy from that point on. It was banned.
So, this time, he had to set it up himself.
He was consequently reassured that yes, he was really good with his tools. The suit hummed in appreciation as he made it do what he needed it to do and despite dropping coffee granules all over himself at one point â he was considering eating them off the counter, but then considered that a caffeine overdose wasnât wise â he set up the machine ready to dispense some black heaven.
The teacup he had used last time had been pushed away to one side, but his exosuit made it a simple job to manipulate it into position so he could stand on it.
With the extension of his claw, he easily reached up and hit the green button.
It was a pleasure just to hear the coffee machine start up.
He was seriously tempted to take off his helmet and breathe in the gloriousness that was the scent of brewing coffee, but he still had to get that coffee cup into a position from which it would be safe for him to drink.
He may be coffee and sleep deprived but he wasnât an idiot.
So, he stood there watching the coffee machine make the drink of the gods.
It was a little mesmerising.
And then the process was complete. The machinery quietened and the coffee cup sat waiting for him.
He didnât hesitate.
It took both claws and a secure grapple to the shelf above the bench for stability, but he manoeuvred the cup down onto the bench top.
Steam fogged up his helmet as he looked down from atop the upturned teacup, so finally, he broke the seals and lifted it off his head.
Oh.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
He almost melted on the spot.
The smell was heady, intoxicating. Drowning in the dark liquid no longer seemed a bad idea.
He leant over a little further.
Ohhhhhhhhhh, it was just too good.
âVirgil! What the hell do you think you are doing?!â
It was Scottâs voice. Unmistakeable.
He would want to take away his coffee.
No.
No!
Not his precious coffee!
His brother flew up onto the bench and alighted without a sound. âVirgil!â
Virgil hissed at him. âGo away.â
That earned him a worried frown. âThatâs not safe.â
Screw safe, he wanted coffee. He unhooked his thimble cup from his waist and reaching down, scooped up some blessed, steaming liquid manna.
It was hot.
It was delicious.
He poured it down his throat.
Oh, god, yessssss.
Another scoop and he sculled some more. His tongue scalded a little, but he didnât care.
More.
More.
He was guzzling like a dying man at water filled oasis.
âVirgil?â
âVirgil!â
And suddenly the coffee cup disappeared.
No, no, no, no, no, no!
He over balanced and would have fallen if it wasnât for a sudden thunk of a grapple on the back of his suit.
He looked up to find Scott securing his grapple line to a coffee cup hook underneath the overhead shelf as Virgil teetered on the edge of his teacup, barely prevented from falling by the cableâs connection to his suit.
And there was no more coffee.
No.
Please.
âI need coffee.â
Scott floated down to Virgilâs eye level and Virgil realised exactly who had taken the coffee cup away.
The director was standing behind his big brother.
Virgil was in so much shit.
Damnit.
âI just want coffee.â
Scott was frowning at him. âAre you okay, Virgil?â
âDO I LOOK OKAY?!â
Um, that may have come out a little bit louder than intended. But then he was hanging partly suspended from an empty coffee cup hook.
Much quieter. âI just need coffee.â
Scottâs eyes were wide. âI think youâve had enough coffee.â
No, he needed more. Buckets more. âPlease, Scott.â
âUh, no. Weâre going home.â
Virgil blinked. âWhat?â
But Scott had turned away and was talking quietly to the director.
Virgil caught a glimpse of something shiny out the corner of his eye and turned to find a single drop of deep brown gold suspended from the coffee dispenser.
Coffee!
Without thought he leapt for it.
Perhaps it was a good thing that Scott actually did think, because a yank on that grapple line probably prevented Virgil from being scalded.
âWhat the hell, Virg?!â
He blinked as he hung fully suspended by his brotherâs grapple line, swinging slowly back and forth, one very unhappy commander glaring at him.
Umm, yeah, maybe that was taking it a step too far.
Scottâs words were firm. âShed the suit and go and sit in the car.â
âSco-â
âNow.â Blue fire lasered him where he hung.
Virgil gave in with a single nod.
Scott lowered him to the bench top and Virgil dropped the suit with a clatter. He stomped off in a huff as Sadie was called over the PA system to come and assist him.
He only wanted a decent coffee, for crying out loud.
After all, Gordon did get that massive hot dog the other day, and John had slept in his bagel, for goodness sake.
Raymond Reddington is actually Elizabeth`s mother, that is why every time Elizabeth asked him if he was her father he said No, and that when she asked him if her mother was alive he told her that she was lost, because both of those things are true, Katrina could not protect her daughter because they will hunt her, so she meet Raymond and after his wife and daughter were killed he offered Katarina his identity and so, he died and she died too in a way, only to emerge like the concierge of crime Â
During my second rewatch of Stitchers, I took notes
A LOT OF NOTES. I took 12 pages of notes, FRONT AND BACK, of things that I noticed, of my reactions and my train of thoughts while watching. And a few fic ideas while I was at it....that I might write, Iâm not sure since I havenât written anything in forever. So Iâm going to start posting my notes from each episode, HOPE YOU ENJOY.
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Ok, now that season 2 is over â Iâd like to share something.
 The first time I thought something was off was when the King broke up with Milady.
It was really strange for me that he would break up with her for the following reasons:
-Â Â Â Â Â Â she abandoned him. (Because it was quite obvious she went to get help and more importantly she GOT help)
-Â Â Â Â Â Â She was wearing male clothes (Heâs seen her naked by that point so this literally changes nothing)
-Â Â Â Â Â Â She shamed him in front of his wife by being âbraverâ (It was obviously not as much about being brave as it was about being reckless with her own life. He doesn't have that luxury being the king and all).
 Then I thought it was quite strange sheâd start digging about Rochefort (I think someone brought it up before) and then start helping Musketeers to help the King for no money (I donât think anyone paid her in the end!) and no prospect for getting back into Kingâs mistress position.
 Wouldnât it be smarter for her to leave Paris straight away? Or kill Rockefort for revenge and then leave France?
 Next thing we know she is indeed leaving France after helping everyone out and leading Musketeers to discover Rochefort is a traitor and saving the royal family. She has an obviosuly expencive dress and a carriage with a man to drive it and she has enough money to settle in England it seems.
 So my conspiracy theory would be the following:
 After the incident in 2x06 the King publicly breaks up with Milady. Later his messenger finds her and arranges the meeting. The King is not able to trust anyone â with Rochefort lies he is unsure of who the traitor is. But Milady has saved his life twice now, both times risking her own. So he asks her to become his personal spy and promises her a considerable allowance should she agree. She agrees. With everyone thinking she has fallen out of Kingâs grace she is free to investigate without having all eyes on her. She finds out that Rochefort is the traitor, but by that time the King is already blinded by him and Milady canât get the message through. So she decides to act through Musketeers. She knows Athos will know something is up if she just hands them the information, so she bargains for it first. Then she helps the Musketeers and the king thus doing her job.  Afterwards the King is happy with her and sends her on a new mission: go to England and be a spy there. On the verge of war with Spain the other neighbour needs to be watched closely. Â
 I mean I know how âconspiracy theoryâ that sounds but it makes some sence) And I like the idea that she wasnât just helping Musketeers out of the kindness of her heart, because from what we know about her thatâs not really her thing, nor is it something she can afford financially anyway.
