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evilmortys · 3 years

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okay, so, here are my thoughts on the finale,

i’m gonna start with the things i didn’t like, just because of who i am as a person! my feelings are mixed, but... looks lovingly at evil morty. he truly was the only exception as usual ♥

i’m not going to lie, this whole thing felt. rushed. although some of rick’s meta commentary about not touching citadel shit because it was canon and he and morty were supposed to be going back to lighthearted one off adventures, and “the second he reveals that he’s evil, we’re out” made me laugh, it also felt very disingenuous and ham-fisted. having him do all these fourth wall breaks honestly took away from the impact of what this episode could have been, but whatever.

i just got the vibe that they wanted everyone to stfu about the citadel and evil morty, so they quickly stuck together this episode that dealt with fans’ demand in one fell swoop so they could move on from the existence of both plotlines. i honestly thought it was a bit wasteful since tales from the citadel resonated with a lot of fans and it was an interesting bit of worldbuilding with compelling narratives going on.

you already all likely know how irritated i am with morty’s character degrading so much once again. this entire season has been building him up to becoming so much more capable, only to wrench it away from him again by instead having his co-dependency with rick ramped up to the point it was literally out of character. this has come out of nowhere. at no point in the show’s entire run has morty ever been this needy with rick.

again, i feel like this may have been written around what eventually ended up happening at the citadel, with the revelation that mortys are ‘bred for forgiveness.’ it would have been far more compelling for our morty to have continued to go down the path of being decidedly unforgiving of rick’s bullshit, thereby making him deviate from the norm in a similar way to evil morty himself and implicating that the cycle of a morty going to these extremes is going to be repeated once again.

rick did not deserve or earn voicing the recognition that his dynamic with morty was toxic, and abusive. are you fucking kidding me? the smartest man in the universe only JUST clocked onto that? bullshit! he’s known all along, and he’s been using it for his own gain! he doesn’t get to just say it with that regretful voice as if he’s been clueless / oblivious to it this entire time. they just wanted the audience to feel sympathetic for him by throwing in this tidbit and a tragic backstory, as if that even sort of makes up for everything he’s put his family through.

abandoning the people you’ve hurt is ALSO abusive and toxic behaviour! he’s done it time and time again! how is acknowledging the fact that you hurt people, that you hurt your family, the people that love you despite the fact you objectively don’t deserve it, then ditching them once again instead of staying with them and improving as a person and helping everyone heal from what you’ve put them through, ANY BETTER?? he never changes!!

i also couldn’t really process the fact that rick just handed morty his portal gun like it was nothing-- i feel like him topping it off and using it behind rick’s back should have been a bigger deal than what it was. also, morty would not break a guy out of a mental asylum without a second thought. he simply wouldn’t do that.

we’ve fallen right back into the status quo of morty being stupid and rick being the smartest one in the room who always knows what’s going on, even when he actually shouldn’t for the sake of a few meta jokes. which is more annoying than i can put into words tbqh

obviously i hated all the parallels they were attempting to make between rick and morty having a romantic relationship and “breaking up.” never has morty behaved so uncharacteristically in any other episode of the show. it honestly felt disrespectful to all the growth he’s had as a character to reduce him to something so pathetic.

i guess this is less of a thing i disliked, and more of a commentary on rick’s character? but once again, his hypocrisy really leapt out at me once it was revealed that he always has a hand in bringing together beths and jerrys in order to ensure that more mortys will end up in the multiverse. i find it unbelievably sad that he’ll willingly ensnare the two of them in the throes of a relationship that he knows is likely to become toxic and cause the both of them to be miserable throughout their time together; they’re rarely happy / compatible together and always end up sticking it out for the kids. it also makes his constant shitting on jerry even more egregious and almost serves to call his love for his daughter into question for me. he’s using her as a means to his own ends by manipulating situations so she’ll meet jerry and they’ll likely end up together.

don’t get me wrong, i actually really loved the fact he had a hand in founding the citadel he now loathes so much, and i think the constant creation of mortys as grandsons ‘bred to forgive’ ricks is so fucked up and awful in the most intriguing way. it’s akin to him fiddling with the concept of keeping mortys in constant pain to cloak his comings and goings around the multiverse (on paper, morty, on paper!), except this time he did it in reality.

evil morty. oh my god, evil morty. my saving grace. my ray of light. i’m so, so, so pleased with the way he was handled. while i admit i was looking forward to more of a slow - burn thing, getting a bit of insight into his presidency and possibly exploring a dynamic with him and c-137 (we’ll get to that)... i honestly still really loved what ended up happening with him, even though i still believe on some level that they just wanted to tie up his narrative thread so fans wouldn’t remain fixated on him.

of course he did. of course that motherfucker rick created a boundary within the infinite multiverse that ensured he’d always be the smartest man within it as far as mortys and other people in his life were concerned. i’ve always found it odd that such universes were never brought up even in passing; the nature of infinite possibilities always dictated that someone smarter than him must exist out there, and that worlds existed where he was nobody special.

him being morally gray. i could cry. i was clinging on to the hope that it would be shown he hates ricks more than he looks down on mortys, and it absolutely was. while he was okay with killing and hurting mortys to achieve his own “selfish” ends, it’s clear that he’s unhappy with the cycle of abuse from their infinite grandfathers that pushes him to these extremes, loathes the concept that mortys are not supposed to defy their ricks. “if you’ve ever been sick of him, you’ve been evil morty too.” he hates ricks FAR more than he does mortys, and you can pry that from my cold, dead hands. he believes mortys are beyond help because of the way they stick by rick-- the fact they’re literally created with being yes-men for rick in mind.

he didn’t seek to make changes for the greater good of other mortys within the citadel. i think he understood on some level, it was impossible. i think he has this belief that other mortys are part of the problem, because they perpetuate the cyclic dynamic of toxicity and harm-- they don’t move to break free from it the way he does, and so he feels no guilt leaving them behind while he breaks into the aspect of the multiverse where rick has no power. it’s honestly heartbreaking that he’s come to have a mindset like that.

i think seeing c-137 reach out to help rick up once again instead of accepting what i hope and pray was a semi - genuine offer to join him as he departed was just yet another instance of him witnessing a morty doing the most to save the man who makes their lives a living hell. if he was truly unsympathetic, he’d have made no such offer. if he thinks a morty is capable of pulling away from the hold ricks have on them, he wants them out of this shit just as much as he himself wants to break free from it. i think he has the mindset that i know they tried to play it off with “haha the other seat’s a toilet,” but i don’t think that was the case and they were once again just undermining the moment for no good reason. SCREAMS!! don’t get me wrong what he did WAS selfish and evil. but in a way you can understand where it derives from

again, it REALLY irritates me they’ve undone so much of morty’s character just to ensure he wouldn’t end up taking evil morty up on his proposition. if morty had retained even a tenth of the character growth he’s been having from late season four until towards the end of season five, wherein it began to unravel, he’d have left rick. undeniably.

the yellow portal. oh my god............

it made me so fucking emotional to see that. he’s won. he’s free.

#rick and morty #evil morty #okay this isn't even all of them but it will do #alex talks!

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mimisempai · 3 years

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You will forever be my always

Summary:

After clearing up all the misunderstandings, trust restored, Mobius and Loki finally meet again only to lose each other in the most tragic way. But sometimes everything is not what it seems and their bond is stronger than anything.

Notes:

Follows this time the episode 4 until the end. But I'm an incurable romantic who loves hope and happy endings, so don't worry everything is possible for our boys.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32331820

3043 words - Rating G

Part 10 of The Story of Loki and Mobius

"I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times. You. You conniving, craven, pathetic worm. You did this."

He knew he was pathetic. Mobius had made it clear to him just before throwing him back into this hellish time frame. Forced to repeat again and again that he deserved to be alone to avoid taking a blow in the crotch. Which importance since it was true?

He suspected that Mobius would be angry with him. After all, he had betrayed him in some way. But he had the impression of having had another Mobius in front of him. No more understanding, no more caring eyes. As if everything had disappeared.

" If you’re not working for the Variant, what is it?"

In retrospect, it was mostly from this question that it had gotten out of hand. It was the first time that Loki had seen Mobius being so uncharacteristically mean, and if Loki hadn't been hurt, he would have found it comical.

Why had Mobius insisted on knowing what was going on between Sylvie and him when the first time he had asked Loki the question, Loki had given a clear answer?

"You’re partners?"

"Absolutely not. She’s difficult and irritating, and she tries to hit me all the time. No."

"Not partners, no. Yeah, I guess you don’t do partners. Unless, of course, it benefits you, and you intend to betray them at some point."

Of course he had betrayed Mobius when he had walked through the door, but what had begun to germinate between him and Mobius, had been valuable to him and had not been a means to an end.

The conversation had gotten worse, each one spitting his venom, Mobius had managed to manipulate him and Loki had almost had respect for that. But he had become cruel. Loki still wondered what had made Mobius lash out so much.

"Come on. Look at your eyes. You like her."

"You like her. Does she like you? No wonder you have no clue what caused the nexus event on Lamentis. Both of you are swooning over each other."

"Two Variants of the same being, especially you, forming this kind of sick, twisted romantic relationship. That’s pure chaos. That could break reality. It’s breaking my reality right now."

On second thought, what did Mobius mean by that? How did it break his reality?

How could Mobius think that Loki and Sylvie...After what he and Loki had shared!

And yet when Loki thought about the rest of the conversation it became clearer and clearer.

"What a incredible seismic narcissist. You fell for yourself."

"Her name was Sylvie."

"Ah, Sylvie. Lovely. How do you spell that? Is that with an I-E or just an I?"

"Now, I’m supposed to believe your girlfriend."

"It’s the truth. She’s not my girlfriend."

"Whatever you want to call her. What, your female self that you have some demented crush on…"

"You two, what a pair! Gosh! Unbelievable. Wherever you go, it’s just death, destruction, the literal ends of worlds. Well, I’m gonna have to close this case now, ’cause I don’t need you anymore."

Mobius had been jealous! It was so obvious! Mobius had been completely blinded by jealousy!

After all he had said to him, these last insults made no sense.

He remembered their last conversation, the last words he had spoken when Loki had expressed his doubts.

"But you told me I was born to cause pain and suffering and death. That's how it is, that's how it was, that's how it will be. All so that others can achieve their best versions of themselves."

Mobius had answered him, "Yes, I told you that not because I think that's what you are, I was just showing you that that's what you were limiting yourself to because you yourself think you're only capable of that. Because you want to rule so badly, that you don't see that you are made for bigger things. You asked me to trust you yesterday. I did because Loki I have faith in you and since you've been here you keep proving it. In your own way. Because you are undoubtedly the god of mischief. Unique. Not. A. Villain."

How could the man who had told him that, now tell him the opposite? The more he thought about it, the more jealousy seemed to be the only reason.

Loki knew jealousy, he could even understand it. But that Mobius felt this way about Loki? What did that mean?

Loki sighed.

What a mess! How could he repair an already fragile relationship in the midst of all this mess? He really had a way of getting himself into complicated situations...

"Right?" he was exclaiming, exasperated when Mobius rushed through the door, "What are you doing?"

Idiot, what do you think when I try every two minutes not to get hit in the crotch?

Loki held back from saying out loud what he was thinking because he had just noticed that Mobius looked upset and very flustered.

He just answered dryly, because he was still hurt from what Mobius had told him before.

"Passing the time."

Mobius asked him in an urgent tone, "Do you care about her?"

What? That kind of question again?

Loki replied, "Sylvie? I'm not sure if it's the right word. We've covered this back in there."

When Mobius began to shout, visibly annoyed.

"Shut up!"

Loki was shocked that he would raise his voice like that, so he kept quiet.

Mobius said, hurriedly, "Do you really think you deserve to be alone?

Huh?

Loki did not answer, his voice shut down by shock.

How could he ask him such a question? Why?

Mobius lost his patience again, "Loki!

"You told me to shut up."

Mobius repeated, "Do you believe you deserve to be alone?

Loki replied in frustration, "I don't know."

"You better figure it out quick, because the nexus event the two of you caused, whatever that connection is, can bring this whole place down. So we better understand..."

We? We as in him and me? Did Mobius still believe in a we?

"We?" asked Loki, incredulous.

Mobius looked troubled, almost sad, Loki dared to think, that he had asked that question, but he continued on his line of questioning, "Do you swear she didn't implant those memories in Hunter C-20?"

He wanted Mobius to believe him so badly, he almost begged, "Mobius, no. I believe her."

Mobius seemed to give in and suddenly Loki felt like he had his Mobius back, his prince. There was again that sparkle in his eyes that he loved so much.

He asked, "So, I just have to trust the word of two Lokis?"

Loki swallowed, and decided that this time it was his turn to offer his hand. He said a little timidly but no less determinedly, looking at Mobius with his head to the side, "How about the word of a friend?"

Mobius looked genuinely surprised, then exhaled softly, as if in relief, before continuing, "You were right, about the TVA. You were right from the beginning. And if you wanna save her, you need to trust me. Can we do that?"

He didn't wait to agree, because despite everything, his trust in Mobius had remained unshaken.

Mobius sighed again, and this time the relief was obvious.

"Okay."

Mobius continued at once, "You could be whoever, whatever you wanna be, even someone good."

Loki's throat tightened with so much emotion that he was unable to respond.

Then Mobius added, "I mean, just in case anyone ever told you different."

Loki couldn't hold back the smile that blossomed on his lips as Mobius walked towards the Timedoor. If he wasn't already in love with Mobius, he would have fallen in love right then and there.

However he couldn't just let him go like that. Not without talking about what he'd just discovered, because Loki knew exactly what it felt like when your whole world was crumbling under your feet and he didn't want Mobius to follow the same path as him.

He pulled him by the sleeve.

"Mobius, wait!"

"What? Is something wrong?" asked Mobius, turning around.

"Is something wrong? I'm not the one who was just told that his whole life, what he was fighting for, the world he lived in, was a lie! Believe me, I know what that feels like! So this is me asking you, how are you Mobius?"

He saw the realization of the magnitude of what he had discovered suddenly fall upon Mobius. He saw him lose his footing and literally collapse from the shock.

He helped him to sit down on the floor and while encouraging him to regain a normal breathing rhythm, he asked him, "Mobius, I need to know, first if you can close the time door and second, I need to know how time flows here?

Mobius closed the door with a gesture and replied with a broken voice, "In this cell, it's as if time doesn't flow outside, so no matter how long we spend here, it will take Ravonna and the Hunters a little while to find us."

"Good."

After a few moments of silence, Mobius spoke up, "You know what torments me most now that I know? I wonder if I'm real. Is what I have experienced real? And if what I believe or have believed, was it real for a moment?"

Loki's heart broke as he heard this. The most real man he had ever known was wondering if he was real.

Loki tried to reassure him and seeing that he was not convinced, he showed him by thought with the help of magic, what made him real in his eyes. He showed him all the intimate moments they had shared, the first time Mobius had said he believed in Loki, their first kiss, the second, all the moments of happiness Mobius had given him since their first meeting. And he told him.

For the first time Loki witnessed Mobius' insecurities and for the first time Loki was the one who could reassure him.

Mobius asked him, his voice slightly hoarse, "If this is all fake, then who am I really?"

Loki replied with a smile, "We'll search together."

They had remained entwined for a few moments before walking through the Timedoor together, ready to face their enemies, whoever they were.

Loki and Mobius were smiling at each other, when they were stopped by Ravonna and a group of hunters with their batons pointed at them.

In a daze, not realizing what was happening, Loki saw Mobius handing over his Tempad to Ravonna and there was a moment of silence.

Then Mobius spoke with emotion in his voice, "You know where I'd go if I could go anywhere? Wherever it is I'm really from. Yeah, wherever I had a life before the TVA came along. Maybe I had a jet ski. That's what I'd like to do. Just riding around on my jet ski."

As he spoke, Loki had been watching him, not wanting to understand what was going to happen when suddenly Ravonna's icy voice enunciated two simple words, " Prune him!"

And there before his eyes, Mobius disintegrated.

"Noooo!!"

Mobius! Mobius!

Loki had only this thought, only this name in mind as the hunters dragged him to the elevator.

As they waited, Loki tried to contain the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him like a tsunami.

Mobius, snatched away from him when they had only just found each other!

Another group arrived and went next to them, it was Sylvie who was also held back by hunters.

Sylvie looked at him and asked, "You're okay?"

Loki lowered his head, and answered her in his head.

'No, I'm not okay, I'll never be okay again. They took Mobius. They took him from me, Sylvie.'

'Loki, I need you, I can't fight on my own, I swear I understand your pain, I promise you, you know I know you like I know myself, but I need you, please!'

'Am I only condemned to have those I love and who love me ripped away from me?'

'No Loki, I promise you that this is not your fate. Please, I need you! "

Loki clenched his fists, and walked with the others to the elevator.

Loki tell me you are with me!

He raised his head.

I'm with you.

For Mobius, he had to finish what they had started.

For Mobius, who had always had faith in him, he would fight.

For Mobius, who had seen good in him, he would keep going.

At Sylvie's side, they entered the battle, fighting fiercely to face the Timekeepers, Ravonna and the other hunters on the ground.

One of the Timekeepers tried to provoke Sylvie, "You're a child of the Time-Keepers too, Sylvie. We can talk."

"Oh, yeah?" Sylvie threw her sword, which sent the middle Timekeeper's head flying. The head rolled to Loki's foot. As Sylvie was about to throw her sword again, Loki stopped her. He couldn't believe what he was holding in his hands.

"Fake. Mindless androids. It never stops."

Loki breathed heavily, then asked, "Then who created the TVA?

"I thought this was it."

"Sylvie..." Loki had to tell her something. He had wasted too much time. It had cost him Mobius. He had to tell her.

"Not another pep talk, please." begged Sylvie.

"No, I have to tell you something. We will figure this out."

It was his job to tell her that, he was the one who was able to cheer now. He was the one who was strong. Sylvie and Mobius had made him strong, Sylvie by showing him that he could love himself and Mobius by showing him that he could love and be loved by others.

"How do you know that?"

"Because, uh... Well, back on Lamentis... This is new for me. Um..." Why on earth was he still unable to express himself when it came to emotion.

He tentatively put his hands on her shoulders in an awkward motion.

She looked at him strangely, "What? What is it?"

Then...

Nothing.

He woke up with the sensation of a graze on his face.

He opened his eyes.

"You!"

His Mobius, leaning over him, was running his fingertips over his face and looking at him with so much love in his eyes.

This time he could not hold back his tears and they quickly overflowed from his eyes.

"You have been disintegrated! I saw it with my own eyes!"

Mobius wiped his tears with his thumbs as he went along. He still answered with a smile.

"You too."

"Where are we?"

He looked around, and a strange landscape appeared before his eyes as he straightened up. A strange mix of Asgard and a beach in the sun, between sky and earth. As if two worlds were colluding.

Both their worlds, his and Mobius'.

He finally got up and found himself facing Mobius who was waiting.

Their eyes met and carried away by the urge, they threw themselves into each other's arms and kissed passionately, putting all their emotions into the kiss. It was so right and so perfect.

When they parted panting, Loki pressed his forehead to Mobius' and whispered, "Don't leave me, don't ever leave me, promise me."

Mobius shook his head and moved back a little. "I can't promise you that, Loki, not yet. We're going to have to part again, you know that don't you? Our task is not over."

Loki's throat tightened, "Mobius, what? no?"

"I got here before you, so I'll have to leave before you."

A glow began to spread behind Mobius.

He began to speak very quickly, "Loki, listen to me! I am not dead, I am not gone. When you wake up, think of me. I am still here. You'll have to find me. We will break the curse that separates us! Our love is stronger than anything, no hell, no heaven, no time keepers, no one will separate us! I swear to you that we will find each other. Don't ever lose your faith! I will always have faith in you."

Then Mobius placed his lips on his, kissed him softly before stepping back and walking towards the vortex that had just opened, he looked back one last time, "Loki, we will find each other again because what binds us is stronger than anything. I love you."

The vortex closed on him.

Loki was alone again.

He was stunned, Mobius' words echoing in his head.

He wiped away his tears, then sat on the ground and waited.

Looking at the landscape in front of him, he imagined that one day he would take Mobius to see Asgard and that Mobius would take him to one of those sunny beaches he saw on his Jet-ski magazine and laugh at him on his jet ski.

Then he put those uncertain dreams away in the back of his mind. He would have to fight the fight of his life. He would have to fight for his family. His thoughts went to Sylvie and Mobius.

A few minutes later the same vortex opened. Loki stood up, clenched his fists, and walked toward the vortex, saying with a very resolute face, "I'm going to find you. Mobius, Sylvie, wait for me!"

He went through the vortex.

Then nothing. Again.

Suddenly he gasped as if to catch his breath after holding it for so long.

He opened his eyes and asked, "Is this Hel? Am I dead?"

A deep voice rose from above him, "Not yet. But you will be unless you come with us."

He stood up and faced what seemed to be three, no four if he was to judge by the crocodile, four versions of Loki.

Behind them, an apocalyptic New York was unveiling.

That's when he realized, what Mobius had said was true. They were not dead. If Loki wasn't dead, then Mobius wasn't either.

And as he followed the Lokis, only one thought swirled in his mind, one word.

Mobius.

This time he was no longer overcome with despair, this time in him strong and fighting there was a hope born of love.

Mobius wait for me! I come to you! I will find you!

________

Not beta'd I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

#Loki series #lokius fic #lokius #loki #mobius m mobius #moki #wowki #time husbands #timefrost #developing relationship #episode fix-it #episode 4 related #lokius rights #loki x mobius #sylvie laufeydottir

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honeyyvee · 5 years

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THE WALLS

Rating; Explicit.

Pairing; Yoongi x Reader.

Genre; smut.

Words; 4.2 k

Summary; Tension between you and your hot, next-door neighbor comes to a climax when his antagonizing you is taken too far by bringing pot brownies to your little Church’s Juvenile Choir Valentine’s get-together.

Content Warnings; innadecuate drug use, explicit sex scenes, degradation, degradation talk, fingering, oral sex, mentions of underage drug use, mentions of religious themes, reference/implied cheating.

Notes; this was inspired by a Chase Atlantic song by the same title... basically pwp with little plot. I may write a sequel to this if people like it uwu enjoyy

It's a dark kind of feeling that pulls you to him at first. Min Yoongi is just that kind of guy. Black jeans, black leather, pale skin, resting bitch face, and an attitude to go with it. His quiet, brooding nature fools everyone into thinking he's more mysterious than he actually is. But you know the truth, and it's such a much simpler answer.

The truth is he's a—

"Bitch! Min Yoongi is a little bitch, and I'm going to rip his limbs apart one by one this very instant, just wait," you seethe through your teeth, next to a stunned Park Jimin. There's a weird aftertaste in your mouth, after having had a half piece of one of his horrible brownies. Pot brownies.

You march away from the kitchen counter, ignoring the sweet timbre of Jimin's voice calling your name over the jazz playlist you've specifically curated for the occasion. It's not a long way until you reach the hallway, turning to knock on the first door on the left with contained anger. Oh, Min Yoongi will hear you. The door to the room opens, and you are met with the expanse of his chest.

"Whatever is wrong with you?" You push into the firm planes of flesh and bone.

The boy let's himself stumble backwards, into the darkness.

"You'll have to be specific on that one." Yoongi flashes a set of pearly teeth that gets your blood pumping in your ears.

"Pot brownies? Really?" you accuse, with a raised eyebrow.

Yoongi's low chuckle reverberates in your chest. Stirs something dark within.

In yet another effort to antagonize you, your hot next-door neighbor has spiked the fruit punch and fed pot brownies to the attendees of your little Valentine's Church Choir get-together.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Your hand shots out in the darkness to grab for his wrist, but finds his warm palm instead. It remains slack in your hold, so you tug at it, bringing the brunette into the light of the hallway.

"Explain that." You point at the people sprawled on the living room's couches.

Yoongi lazily scans the area pointed by your finger. A couple of his younger, fellow choir mates are sprawled on the couch and on the floor. Spaced out, engaged in hushed conversation, staring at the ceiling while laughing to themselves on occasion... leaning against whatever surface is able to hold them steady. The board games are scattered through the floor, in the background someone's playing the latest version of Just dance, terribly uncoordinated.

It's a shit show. And it's your shit show, because the Valentine's get-together was your idea. Jimin offered his house as the place to do it, and you had accepted. Fully knowing it to be the habitat of an entire Min Yoongi. Shame on you. You should’ve known better. Yoongi’s and Jimin’s parents had coincidentally went out of town at the very last minute, to visit an old friend of the family who had fallen ill. An unchaperoned party, with the presence of Min Yoongi, was the setting for disaster.

"Some are minors, Yoongi" you grit through your teeth. "Their parents will come pick them up at eleven o'clock and what will we do then?" The minority of the choir are of age, like yourself, Jimin, Yoongi and a couple others like yourself who are in their early twenties... but most are, 16-ish, 17-ish, minors. When parents come to pick up their children at 11 o'clock sharp, all they’re going to think is that it was you who set the trap for them to fall prey of sin. When in reality, you’re just a victim of the circumstances. Namely, Min Yoongi.

Yoongi does not respond, but instead stares. His dark, hooded eyes pin you into place. It registers a little too late, that his thumb's caressing the side of your hand.

"We?" His hold tightens around yours.

It's a treacherous feeling, the one that brews in your chest as your heart swells and skips a beat at the contact. It reminds you too much of simpler times, when you were both children and weren't at each other's throats. When Yoongi's way of comforting you would be to hold hands, playing with your fingers.

You know it shouldn't be that way anymore. Because he's not who he used to be since his mother’s passing, and neither are you since he drifted away from you. He's not someone your strict parents would approve of, as he is now. They want you with someone like his step-brother, Jimin. And that’s just what is going on now, you’ve already gone in a date with the sweet blonde boy. Because you know in your heart of hearts that you deserve, and should be with someone like him. Clean, nice and proper. Not the definition of sin that is Min Yoongi. The bad boy cliché. With his inked skin, leather clothes, bad habits, and underground life.

“Stop.” You yank away your hand, as if burning. The most pressing feeling at the front of your mind should be being mad at him, cussing him out for doing something so wrong and so stupid. Handing out pot brownies at a Christian get-together?

"I didn’t bring those. It wasn’t me.”

As if you would buy that after years of sick little jokes like whoopee cushions, laxants, and spilled wine. Inexplicably however, the flames of ire have dozed off to tiny, crackling embers. There's a dawning haze that's clouding your mind with each passing second, an unsettling numbness of your nerves. Your eyelids feel heavy over your eyes, it’s almost like you’re looking at him through your eyelashes. Your arms cross over your chest in a nonverbal cue of I’m not buying your bullshit, and Yoongi’s eyes follow the movement. His dark gaze boring like he can see through cloth.

“One of the guys asked me for a number, and I gave it to him.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and soon, you realize, you’re too close to each other for comfort. It’s an invisible force of magnetism that draws and repels you two. “Unbelievable as it may seem to you, it wasn’t me. I simply gave them what they wanted, it’s their decision from there. And I'm the bad guy?"

“They’re 16 and above. They’re children. They don’t know what they want.” You snort.

“And, do you? Do you know what you want?” Yoongi presses forward. You stumble backwards, until your back hits the wall. “Why are you so insistent in looking for reasons to hate me?”

You draw in a sharp breath. “Because you make it so easy. It’s almost like you want me to hate you.”

“But what do you want?” His boots close the distance between your bodies with soft thumps. Nearly drown out the own drumming of your pulse in your ears.

“Do you want to hate me? Or…” The air gets heavier by the second, as his body presses against you, you feel the tent of his denim pants poking your lower belly. You feel like drowning. Need some fresh air.

“N-no.” You push him off you. Scattering to the opposite side of the hallway, where the door exposes a sliver of the dark insides of what you assume to be Min Yoongi’s lair. There’s something wrong with your arms and legs. Their movement feels sluggish, as so feels your head. The words slip from your lips before you can stop them.

“I never know what I want when it comes to you.”

Min Yoongi's dark, slender figure stares at you for far too long, mulling your words over in his head, a little too out of it. “Why not find out yourself then?”

Blood rushes to your head so quick your vision spins. Yoongi’s keeping more distance now, but his presence still looms over you. His delicious scent clings around you. It all feels like an out of body experience, when you open your mouth to retort half-heartedly.

“Don’t misunderstand, Min Yoongi. I do not want to fuck you.” Your voice wavers, but you hold your stance still. “You must think you are hot shit, walking and talking around like a jackass. That I will fall for your act like so many. Well, you’re not who you’ve convinced yourself, and your new little friends, you are. Gloss.”

This is not about the pot brownies, or the stunned boys and girls on the couch anymore. This is a one on one between your lost friend of infancy and you. In the spur of the moment, your mouth makes the executive decision to bring the big guns before your brain has time to process what you're saying.

“And I’m tired of this…” you wave your hands at the air. “This half-assed, bad boy, womanizer cliché. You think your mother would want this for you?"

Yoongi's deceased mother. Tragically lost in a fire accident Yoongi still blames himself for to this day. You are an asshole.

"Well, maybe I want it," Yoongi deadpans. "Have you ever thought about that?" No, you think, you couldn't ever possibly have. You don't want to. Yoongi's voice's barely above a whisper, but there's a growl to his words as he spits them spitefully. "Maybe I want you to hate me, and for everyone to stay the fuck away, because I'm a fucking mess."

You trip over your own words in an attempt to placate him."That's not true! You're so much more than what you think of yourself." Your hand instinctively reaches for him in the dim hallway. Yoongi does not take it, neither do you try to actually grasp him.

"And how would you know?" Yoongi glowers. "You're not even sure about yourself. Playing the good little girl, who follows the rules, stays on line and never does wrong. Always following someone else's orders, wishes and expectations… tell me ____ when was the last time you did something for yourself? Something selfish?"

You're stunned into silence. Around you, the air buzzes with ballooning tension. it feels as though if you open your mouth, bat an eye, take a single breath… it will all burst in your face. Yoongi snorts at your lack of response, takes your silence as yielding.

"Right. Don't lecture me about existential questions like you're so above them." Yoongi scoffs. His chest puffs out ever so slightly as he crosses his arms, his posture straightens, resulting in an enticing show of his towering over you. "I’m an artist. That much I know. And you?” He lazily motions with a hand. “Take out choir and your religious devotion and who are you, besides a prideful, self righteous prude?”

Your cheeks swell with hot embarrassment. There's no preparing for the comeback your brain sputters out as a result of your wounded ego and numbed out senses.

“Whether you are a girl or a boy my tongue will make you cum? Please. Those are the words of an artist?" It's probably not your wittiest response. Not the smartest, really. It presents too many, too graphic, questions. And how come you recall those specific lyrics, from that specific song you've listened him practice that one time? The answer, well...

Yoongi shrugs. A contempt smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I take pride in my craft."

Of foucking course he does.

There's not a single coherent thought in mind. Not a single rational one, when Min Yoongi is standing so close before you, wrapped in that forbidden fruit allure. With his soft black hair, leather jacket, intoxicating smell, and stupid, perfectly pouty lips. If your next actions are reckless in nature, you can blame it on the pull that heightens the dark feelings brewing in your chest. The feelings that have always been there, ready to spill.

"You're too much bark and no bite," you taunt. Fully conscious of where it'll take you.

"False," Yoongi mouths.

"Well, fuck it. I'll be the judge of that."

It's an all over the place situation, or so it feels like, when you pounce on Min Yoongi and lure him into the darkness beyond the open door of the hallway. It's an entanglement of numb limbs and lips. There's several bites on your side. His lips are small but plush, the delicate shape of his mouth too innocent looking to fulfill the promise of its abilities. The taste of him in your mouth has unleashed a ravenous need never felt before. You break the skin to taste all of him. You want it all, the blood, the sweat and tears.

His beautiful hands are all over your breasts, under your shirt. Petting, feeling, marking. There are rough and callous edges to his fingers, the sensation of them on your skin and his mouth on your pulse is aphrodisiacal. You're too loose with the sounds that leave your mouth, too responsive. The expanse of Yoongi's hands travel your torso until your blouse is off. Skin on skin contact makes you feel like putty in his hold.

Some way or the other, both of you fall onto the bed intertwined. It knocks the air out of your lungs, but the weight of him over you feels marvelous. Right between your legs, that's where it feels he has always meant to be.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this." Yoongi confesses between scattered kisses to your clavicle.

"Yeah, you neither," you gasp. The tips of his fingers are teasing the button of your jeans. Your hands, previously intertwined in Yoongi's soft tendrils of hair, reach between your bodies and pop open the button themselves.

"Let's see if you really are more bite than bark," you pant.

Your jeans are swept from your legs in a blink, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. The skin of your thighs prickles with goosebumps at the sudden exposure. Yoongi does not say anything in response to your taunt, but conveys a promise in the dark glint of his feline eyes. The weight of the situation is lost on you, in your heightened state of senses. Through the thickness of the lust and fog enveloping your mind, you are vaguely aware that you are high because of the brownies, but so is Yoongi. You're both on even ground.

Yoongi's fingertips thread lightly over the inner part of your thighs in tentative up and down motions, coaxing your legs to open further for him. It's a natural response of your body, as is the gushing of your pussy, clenching on itself in anticipation. Your panties are ruined, soaked through. Yoongi's hands reach higher and higher, until they are at the edge of the flimsy piece of clothing.

Yoongi hums in contemplation. "So wet already." The pad of his thumbs hook in the lacy edges of your panties, your breath catches in your throat. Yoongi chuckles. "I haven't even properly touched you."

There's a still moment, charged with pent up anticipation, when one of his fingers finally touches you through the soaked cloth. Yoongi's index and middle fingers run over your labia in a teasing dance. The added friction of the wet material is a welcomed sensation. But he stops short of your clit every time. Purposely so. He's teasing.

Your hips squirm in response, looking for that needed friction in that particular spot. There's a whine that must resemble his name, caught between your teeth and tongue.

"Let me hear you," he rasps.

You'll be damned if you do.

Your expression must give your thoughts away because soon enough Yoongi's changing tactics. Your panties are slipped off your legs to your ankles. Yoongi's transparent hands are prying your legs further apart with scary resolve. He dives into your sex with the most breathtaking gaze of lust you've ever seen. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips, an imminent threat.

It's starts with an open-mouthed, hot kiss to your lips that has you clenching the sheets beneath your fingers. Yoongi's tongue alternates from there with sucking and licking your sensitive inner folds and swollen clit with varying degrees of intensity. The building ecstasy of his ministrations, courses through your body, from your core to the tips of your toes. It's impossible to restrain the ragged, audible breaths that leave your mouth at the sinful sweeping of Min Yoongi's tongue. You are so close to throwing pride out of the damned window…

Through your lust fogged mind though, a little sliver of pride shines through, reminding you what your little 'misstep' is all about. You are not about inflating this asshole's ego. Even if he kind of has sensible reasons to think so highly of himself… (not that you would ever admit to that). So you bite your lip and stifle any and all sounds of pleasure. Even if your eyeballs threaten to roll their way back to your skull as his tongue flattens against your clit. In the dark of your mind you swear you actually see stars.

An involuntary groan crawls through your throat. You can feel Yoongi smirking against your sensitive skin. He seems to notice your holding back. The silent, issued challenge. A light chuckle reverbates in the back of his throat. The puff of cool air that leaves his nose as he halts his ministrations, tickles your sensitive core, sends a shiver through your whole body. His fingertips circle patterns over the most sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

Yoongi is a man of few words, but it doesn't matter, as everything he wants to communicate in this moment he can do through his expression alone. The slight curve of his lips and glint of amusement in his eyes read, Still not admitting defeat?

Your panting, laboured breaths, and contained expression of pleasure easily give you away. But Min Yoongi is a proud little piece of shit; he demands an explicit, spoken admission of your defeat. He sets his mind to accomplish the goal. His tongue circles, teases your hole, before the hot muscle plunges inside you. You're a goner.

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull shut, with an appreciative groan. Yoongi's fingers trace the inside of your labia with feather-like touches that have your thighs clenching around his face. You're dripping onto the bed by now, and Yoongi's face and hands are covered in your juices. You're close, you're so close you could cry.

Your hands find purchase on soft tendrils of black hair, and tug. Pride be damned, you pull him closer to your aching core, and whine his name. You need him to touch you, to press on the exposed bundle of nerves that ache for the attention of his fingers. He's stopped moving his tongue inside of you, barely touching you... You're very well about to lose your mind with how much you need to get your release.

Yoongi's dark eyes flick up to you, pierce through yours with heavy intention. He raises an eyebrow in silent prompt, you have to say it. You cave in.

"Please Yoongi, please, just—! Fuck me, fuck me with your tongue, fuck!" You buck your hips, thrashing about, on the border of tears.

He holds your gaze as he fucks you with his tongue. One hand mindlessly petting your swollen labia and clit, the other one holding your bucking hips into place. Your eyes shut closed with the lewd image of Yoongi burning your mind. You feel your orgasm building up by the intermittent convulsions of your inner walls, reaching the point of no return as Yoongi retreats his tongue from your cunt and sits back to watch you writhe at his lack of attention. One hand strokes your inner thigh, as the other mercilessly rubs your clit until you feel like bursting. Your breath gets caught in your throat.

"Cum" he rasps, breathless himself.

And you snap. You cum with a cry that could easily be heard down the hallway. You can't care less about it though, as your body convulses and spams with abandon in pure ecstasy. Your eyes close as you ride the high, spasming around Yoongi's hand. It feels like you're falling and falling into an all consuming void. You let yourself melt into the mattress. He's caressing your cunt, gathering your slick in his fingers. Your hole is leaking with juices that run down your ass into the bed.

Yoongi's staring at you with the darkest eyes you've ever seen. His breathing is ragged, as he brings his hand up to examine his work. The collection of your glistening juices drips from his fingers onto your belly, and you wince. The bulge of his erection straining against his jeans catches your attention, your mouth waters, and your thighs clench. You briefly wonder if Yoongi is going to ask for some kind of retribution from you, which honestly speaking, you wouldn’t mind. Even if you are an inexperienced virgin, you convince yourself, you've watched enough porn through your restless nights to have a vague idea of what to do with that.

Yoongi's attention drifts back to you, as his hooded eyes pierce through yours. He comes closer, hovering over your body; presents his slick-covered fingers before your face. Your cheeks flush red with embarrassment at the lewd evidence of the events transpired between the two of you.

"Open up."

It’s embarassing how readily you give in to his demand. His voice, breathless but commanding, makes your insides tremble at the sound. You open your mouth, extending your tongue without complaint for him. It feels like an out of body experience. Like someone else has taken control over your body, and you are just a vessel for pleasure.

"Mmn… I love hearing you," Yoongi purrs. His voice sounds far away. "Maybe next time you can stop being such a prideful prude and let me hear more of you." He smirks, and gives you a wet kiss. You groan into it.

"N-next time?" you stutter. "Aren't you getting way ahead of yourself, Min?" There are actually high chances of a next time happening, but he doesn't need to know that.

Yoongi shrugs, stupid, smartass smirk in place. His hand moves further down, two fingers slipping inside your cunt. They curl inside you, rubbing at just the perfect spot, producing a choked out whine from the back of your throat. Yoongi's slender fingers mercilessly pump in and out of your slick hole, all the way to the knuckle and out to the tips of his fingers. Yoongi's eyes are fixed on you, your eyelids flutter in an effort to keep your eyes open. This is not a loving fuck, this is a stress-relief, frustration-driven, fuck. And you try very hard to keep that thought at the front of your mind when Yoongi's eyes glint at you with the slightest hint of affection. Your pussy is throbbing with sensitivity, yet you feel so close to orgasm it only riles you up and further. You whine and curse, and buck into his sinful hand with abandon. You need his thumb on your clit, his mouth, anything.

You're about to voice out your desire when the increasingly loud squelching sounds produced by the pumping of Yoongi's fingers catch your attention. They are embarrassingly lewd and loud to say the least. You briefly wonder if they'll be heard across the thin walls, only for a groan to be ripped out of your throat as Yoongi's hand thrusts hard into your hole.

"Look at you, so dirty and wet for me." Thrust. "Moaning and whining like a whore." Thrust.

"No one would guess it from that pretty face" Yoongi smirks ", but you're just another good girl who wants to get the good fucked out of her." Thrust.

There's an incoherent retort slipping from your blabbering tongue before Yoongi's hot mouth envelopes your swollen clit, pinching it for what it's worth, and you burst. Your head falls back with a groan, as your eyes screw shut. Your hands find purchase in Yoongi's locks of wavy black hair, your tighs bucking and thrashing into his lapping mouth. He grips your thighs and caresses the sensitive skin in long, patient motions. Yoongi laps your release with lazy, soft kitten licks. It's still too much to handle for your overstimulated, battered cunt.

"Stop." You tug at his hair with a whine.

Yoongi chuckles. "Enough?" There's another meaning, a hidden intention, behind the simple question. It extends a much more complicated, compromising offer. Does this stop now, or do you want more of this in the future?

You turn away from the intensity of his gaze, only to find yourself face to face with a portrait of Jimin's smiling face. It's a picture of him smiling alongside you, to be precise. The portrait you gifted him for his birthday. It dawns on you. This is Jimin's bedroom. As you come down from your high, you find a mix of guilt and thrill brewing in your chest. Is that what Eve felt when tasting the forbidden fruit? You let Yoongi have oral sex with you in Jimin's bedroom. The guy you are seeing. His step-brother. It should feel revolting.

Surprisingly, though... You like it. You are inebriated with the taste of the prohibited, and do not want to let go. You realize it as you stare back into those dark, all-consuming pools. You can't go back. You don't want to go back.

You like the darkness inside the walls.

#btsguild #magicshopnet #bangtanhq #bts suga smut #bts fanfiction #vee writes

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selfcontainedinferno · 4 years

Note

So how do we talk about them without making it seem like we're romanticizing them?

Talk about the constant splitting headache and nausea that can be completely overwhelming sometimes.

Talk about how it can become impossible to poop without laxatives, and that its very common to become constipated to the point of extreme pain.

Talk about how preteen girls are the MOST likely to get them, something like 92% more likely than anybody else.

Talk about the constant feeling of watching yourself in the third person, the paranoia and despair and self loathing that comes with examining yourself in every reflective surface you walk by and never being able to think about anything but how you look, what youre going to eat next, how unbelievably shitty you feel.

Talk about how absolutely horrible it feels all the time-and not in aestheticized terms. Talk about dizziness and passing out, sure, but also talk about not being able to stop shaking, overwhelming nausea, having difficulty walking, your brain becoming fogged to the point where sentences get hard to string together. Talk about the dead eyed look you carry with you everywhere. Talk about how hard it gets to pay attention to literally anything and keep yourself present. Talk about how you'll often feel numb and floaty and disconnected from everything around you.

Talk about constant painful bruises and not being able to do anything without being in pain.

Talk about the constant stream of numbers in your head whenever you so much as look at food, budgeting out your calories for the day.

Talk about shoving your face inside a filthy toilet that smells like it hasnt been cleaned in months with your fingers scraping the back of your throat and not even being able to vomit anything you've eaten up.

Talk about screaming fights with family or friends who just want you to eat, and the guilt you feel over lying to them.

Talk about the voice inside your head telling you youre worthless, planning for how you can restrict more and more, not letting you so much as think about food without ruthless condemnation and telling you horrible things over and over.

Talk about having a sobbing breakdown in a public bathroom because you saw somebody a couple sizes smaller than you and your brain latched onto it. And talk about how you start comparing yourself to everyone, the terms you use and the insidious fatphobia in your every thought, the unfair hatred and jealousy of every person who looks the way you want to.

Talk about how impossible it is to do literally anything without your eating disorders input. Talk about bingeing, about eating enough food for three days in one go without being able to stop and then genuinely wanting to die when you realize what youve done.

Talk about never feeling sick enough no matter what you do-you havent lost enough weight so you cant recover, youve never been hospitalized so you cant recover, youre not sick enough to deserve it. Talk about not knowing who you are without an eating disorder and that nagging fear that nobody will care about you if theyre not worried. And talk about that desperate desire for people to know and worry over you because at least that means they notice, at least that means they care (but god forbid they try and make you eat!)

Talk about eating disorders without equating them to a ninety pound cishet white girl drowning in a sweater, or a beautiful dancer who was a size 0 before she ever started restricting, or a tragic girl ina hospital bed with an NG tube. Stop equating weight and body size with eating disorders because I guarantee you most people you meet with eating disorders don't look like that.

#cw eating disorder #cw fatphobia #this ended up being more of a vent than anything whoops #but god i wish people would talk about the ugly side of eating disorders #theres a whole lot of stuff you never know until you develop one #and they are Hard As Fuck to overcome #emetophobia cw

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snowyfrostshadows · 4 years

Text

Glass Hearts in Porcelain Towers

In old movies from Earth, it's not unbelievable for a evil branch of government or corporate giant to destroy the life of some average smoe by killing a loved one. The heartbroken underdog then swears vengeance, overthrows the corrupt institution no matter the cost, and saves a million others from that pain.

Put like that, Mark Temple is a hero.

It's as the flagpole is being stained red with blood and the life fades from Biff's eyes that Temple realizes he's in love with his best friend.

Far, far too late to do anything about it, but in his defense, his love for Biff had been such a constant subtle presence in his life, that it had been far too easy to pass it off as something else.

In hindsight, it should have been obvious that the love Temple had felt went beyond friendship, beyond brotherly companionship when Georgiana had entered the picture.

She'd been fine, at first. But the longer she stuck around and the closer she and Biff got, the more he'd disliked her. Only now, with Biff dead in his arms, did Temple realize he'd been jealous.

He wasn't sure if he was pleased to be here instead of Georgiana for his friend's last moments or disgusted with himself for taking any pleasure from Biff's dying breaths.

...

He was....happy.

Not that he was thrilled with the reality of his closest and longest friend dying in front of him, but, it was better that he was here for Biff's last moments and not Georgiana. Georgiana would ruin it.

Fall apart. Be no comfort at all.

But he was so much better than that. Stronger.

Temple grabbed Biff's hand and squeezed it. "I promise. I will make this right."

Biff's fingers gave a small twitch, perhaps as an affirmation of hearing his promise and then he's gone and with him, Temple's whole world.

----

In the days, weeks, months following Biff's murder, Temple discovers that as dramatic and meaningful as 'I will make this right' are to say to a dying friend, they don't exactly lay out a guideline on how exactly to do just that.

He wastes countless hours holed up in his room drawing up plan after plan, each more outlandish and asinine than the last. It's not until a couple of years pass that a path finally opens up for him.

It starts, like all great epics, with a news cast.

At first glance, it's a puff piece. A bunch of soldiers receiving medals of great bravery. And then the details break clear like the dawning of a new sun.

The soldiers are a bunch of SIM Troopers like himself and the other residents of Desert Gulch. Unlike them though, they saw through Project Freelancer's games and joined together to bring the whole thing down.

Temple is in awe.

These men were picked up, played with, thrown aside and then fought back and won.

And now, they're pointing out the path he and the others must take.

They did the hard part. They revealed Project Freelancer to the world as the sham it was.

Temple and the others; they can do cleanup. It was the very least they could do.

For the first time in a long, long time, Temple feels alive. Finally he has a way to fulfill his promise and avenge Biff.

He assigns Gene to find and dig up everything he can about Project Freelancer. They discover how vile and twisted the whole project was. How they would set up multiple bases of SIM Troopers just so their agents could come along and toy with them for their own sick amusement.

Hundreds of brave volunteers tricked into being nothing more than glorified, living, training dummies for a small handful of fully funded sadists.

The UNSC itself isn't much better. They knew what Freelancer was doing. Funded them.

It's enough to make anyone's blood boil.

But it's fine.

He has a plan to make it all right. The UNSC can burn right alongside the ashes of Freelancer as far as he's concerned. It is the barest of what they deserve.

The only drawback to his grand plan, is that most if not all of the very top brass, the highest agents of Freelancer, are already dead. The knowage that he will never be able to personally make Biff's murderer pay is crushing.

But it's fine. It's fine.

He'll just make whose left suffer all that much more to compensate.

Loco, genius that he is, comes up with the bright idea of locking their targets in their armor to avoid a fight. Gene expands on that idea of just leaving them in the armor for a slow, painful death with the added bonus of easy transport and cleanup.

Temple can't help loving the idea.

A painful, drawn out death is the closest these monsters will ever feel to the pain they caused him.

So while Surge, Cronut, and Buckey go to recruit all the poor lost souls Freelancer broke and threw aside, and Loco and Gene develop and test their freeze tech on Lorenzo, Temple draws up plans for their new secret lair.

Barracks for their soon to be army, nicer quarters for himself and his team, a lab big enough to keep Loco happy, and, his personal favorite, a nice, big trophy room to entertain his soon to be captives.

Biff would be pleased at their progress.

And then, a year into construction of the new base, Temple receives word that the ship carrying the Reds and Blues to their final retirement has gone down with zero survivors.

It is a devastating turn of events and a disappointing end to his idols' legacy, even if Surge insists a blaze of glory like a ship crash is one of the top five ways to go.

Temple allows himself one day of mourning for their loss before speeding up work and the hunt for former freelancers begins in earnest.

And it's fun.

More fun than he's had in ages.

No matter how many times his team tracks down a former freelancer, nor how many times they insist they're retired or 'didn't know what the higher-ups were doing', he never gets tired of watching them freeze with a simple press of a button. Of hearing their tough guy talk fall into confused pleading.

It doesn't take long before he starts waiting for their target to strike the perfect pose before freezing them. It's the one mercy he gladly provides. If you had to stay in one pose for all eternity, then it better be a good one right? Something bold and action-y, as a reflection of their lives. And well, he'd hate if all his trophies looked the same. They'd be so boring to look at.

His absolute favorite encounter is Agent Illinois.

The man had to have been an absolute idiot who somehow stumbled his way into the program.

Because the first thing he does when he sees a group of angry SIM troopers is not to fight, but to get up and offer them a drink.

It's almost tragic, but the offered glass of alcohol in one hand, the easy, light pace of Illinois's walk is too beautiful for Temple to not press his button. Especially as he's likely to never get this exact position from anyone else ever again.

So he locks the former freelancer in place, laughs, and carries him onto their dropship.

The liquid in the glass quickly spills out, but Temple is quick to reassure him they'll refill it back on base. He is, after all, a very considerate host.

After the initial capture and settling in, however, Illinois loses any charm he had when they first crossed paths.

He doesn't say a word as he's brought into the trophy room. Nor does he rise to any of Temple's jabs of sharing the same fate as his former teammates.

If it wasn't for his armor broadcasting his vitals, Temple would think he was dead after the first few hours.

It's not until day three, the day that death usually sets in for the former freelancers that he even speaks at all.

"Why?"

Temple pauses in his usual idle talk of how things are going on in outside world to stare at his captive.

"Why...all...this?" Illinois rasps, voice weak from disuse and lack of water.

Temple gives him a thoughtful look before shrugging. Why not be truthful with a dying man? This agent has been kinder than the rest, not interrupting him, or swearing that any day now they'd break free and kill him. It's only fair he returns that kindness with a last request of sorts.

"Do you know the difference between you and I? It's really quite funny. One of us got to fight in the actual war and be a big hero and the other? The other got to play living test dummy for the first. And just like a test dummy, it didn't matter if I got hurt or killed if it made you better.

"I'm just cashing in my due. I had to watch my best friend die so now you and all your stupid friends can join him and apologize!"

It takes a moment for Temple to realize the weird wheezing in the room is Illinois laughing.

"I'm sorry...mate...but that's...the longest...go-around...I've heard...for someone...to say... they're a...sadist."

Temple bristles. "Call me a sadist, but I'm fixing this corrupt mess you and the other freelancers started! I'm in the right!"

Another dry, broken laugh escapes Illinois and Temple sees red. Faster than he can blink, he slams the butt of his gun against Illinois's helmet.

"If this was an attempt for me to release you, you sorely miscalculated."

"Hah...hah...haaaaah. Give me...some...respect....We...both...know...you can't...free... someone who's...already...dead...."

Temple doesn't step back from Illinois because he's unnerved by the amused tone from the man. No, that'd be stupid. He steps away because he's done here. And he runs a very tight schedule with the Blues and Reds and their small army.

And he most certainly doesn't bolt from the room as Illinois's broken ghost of a laugh fills and echoes through the room. He's just busy with a lot of other things he has to do.

An hour later, the vitals for Illinois flat line and it's not relief fluttering about his chest but satisfaction. For another monster slain, another Freelancer down, the universe just a little bit safer.

----

A couple months pass after that. The hunt for freelancers has hit a dead wall as either the few remaining have gotten wise to something picking them off and have gone off the grid or Temple and his team have killed them all.

Sad, but probably for the best in the long run. There is another, bigger target that he really should be focusing on.

It is on one of the days he's going through blueprints with Loco that Buckey pulls them out of the lab and to a tv. All of Temple's protests die in his throat as he catches sight of a familiar group on the screen.

The Reds and Blues are alive.

Somehow, against all odds, they'd survived the ship crash. And then proceeded to take apart another corrupt organization-this time Charon Industries.

For one, glorious moment, Temple felt that same wave of awe and admiration for his heroes as he did all those years ago when he first came across their story.

And then he sees a very familiar sickening shade of cyan armor among their ranks and the world is turned on its' head.

The Reds and Blues, his idols, his heroes, his very inspiration for everything are friends with Biff's murderer.

'Maybe they don't know what she did' a hopeful part of him thinks. 'But they revealed Freelancer for what is was. How could they not know?'

Eyes still on the screen, Temple turns slightly towards Buckey and growls "Tell Gene to get me everything on the Reds and Blues. There's been a slight change of plans.''

----

They're idiots.

A fact that becomes abundantly clear after listening to hours of audio and pouring over page after page of requests, reports, and even notes on the Reds and Blues. And that's not even the worst thing about them.

No, the worst thing is that not only were they favored by Project Freelancer, they were hand-picked to be copies of his team.

Every single one of them has a counterpart similar enough in personality it's creepy.

Even Biff.

All to keep a digital copy of the very head of the whole project entertained.

Temple stews and locks himself in his room for a full week to think over how best to deal with this disappointing setback.

For a long time, he considers just killing them outright.

Theoretically, it shouldn't be hard.

A bullet to the back of the head, replacing one of their own and then slipping a knife through each of their ribs. Hell, he could probably even get all of their food poisoned.

But somehow, somehow, they survived a crash from fifty thousand feet in the air.

A feat no one else on board managed to match.

So chances were, a bullet or knife or poison may not be able to do the trick.

....armor locking might.

They could live forever and still not be able to move a muscle.

It's a brilliant plan and he's so so close to incorporating it into their plans already in motion when a small shred of doubt wiggles itself into his conscience.

These men tore down Freelancer. Started him on his path. Gave him purpose. And he wants to return that goodwill with venom?

...

Everything points to them being idiots, so it's likely they don't even know their 'friend' is a freelancer who kills and ruins lives for fun. And it's because the Reds and Blues are so trusting, that she's alive and practically gift wrapped for Temple to kill her himself.

Ultimately, he decides to offer them an olive branch.

They've done so much for him, it's only fair he offers them something back in return.

----

More intel is gathered on the Reds and Blues. If he wants them to accept his offer, join his team, then he is going to stack his hand with every card in his favor.

-He learns they've killed at least four freelancers themselves while still keeping two alive and within their ranks.

-They cared deeply for the Director's digital copy, going so far as to 'save' it multiple times.

-The copy is currently 'dead'; moreso from being an outdated faulty piece of tech than ever actually being 'alive'.

The lack of the digital copy turns out to be their ticket to reeling the Reds and Blues in. With just a little prodding, Loco is able to cut up audio files of 'Church' and formats them into a distress call and then broadcasts it throughout space.

The others doubt the broadcast will work without set coordinates but Temple knows it will. Somehow, the audio will find them and they'll come running and he'll welcome them with open arms and a smile.

----

It ends up taking a few months longer than Temple thinks it would. By the time they set foot at his front door, he's nearly done putting the finishing touches on his greatest achievement. A few more days and they would have missed it.

And while he easily wins their trust with a little air show and some theatrics he can't help being... disappointed by who all shows up.

The Freelancers are easily taken care of. And best of all, the Reds and Blues don't even notice they're gone. Proving to Temple they were merely saving them for him and absolutely will join his vendetta.

However, they brought a reporter with them and she won't stop poking her nose in every little thing. And their orange solider, the one he was most curious to meet, seems to have quit.

He can't even dispose of the reporter because every time he tries to, their maroon solider has pulled her aside for yet another interview to complain about the missing orange one.

If it wasn't for his two brand new captives (one of which is Her) to torment and final checks to see through, Temple is fairly sure he'd lose it.

Besides, it'll all be worth it in the end. (Until suddenly it isn't)

The truth comes out and Simmons, Tucker, Caboose, and Donut throw his generous offer in his face and decide to stand against him.

Not even an hour after that little confrontation, Surge alerts him to the presence of an intruder.

Who, on the camera feeds is walking around the base like he knows the place. And even though he knows, he knows Biff is dead, his very first thought at seeing the orange armor is thinking it's his old friend.

But it's not him.

Because Biff would never pause in his duties to scarf down a plate of fish with terrifying speed. Nor would he get the bright idea of suddenly shoving his body into too small a space for absolutely no reason.

Most damning of all, Biff would never tell him to fuck off before he even had a chance to open his mouth. But Grif does. Even after Temple and his men spent so much of their precious time pulling his fat ass out of their vent.

So he drags the Reds and Blues' orange fuckup to join the rest of them. He can't even enjoy watching his captives hope for rescue fall because Tucker's cursing Grif out and Grif is ignoring all of them in favor of trying to pull some touchy-feely crap.

It's sickening.

And he can't help it, really he can't. The betrayal and utter dismissal from his former heroes hurt. And the temptation of hurting them back, ripping their little world apart in kind is too much.

So he indulges. Reveals the message from 'Church' was a lie to trick them to meet him. Pounds it into Caboose's think skull until he gets it because he has the decency to not sugar coat the uglier side of things no matter how stupid his listeners are.

And finally the mood in the jail cells is what he wants.

Crushed. Despondent. Cursing his name because he's won and better than all of them combined.

Temple rides that high as he leaves and gets things packed up. He's not even upset when he fails to get any word from Withers confirming Sarge killed the reporter and her cameraman.

Even if Sarge had a change of heart and went crawling back to his team, it doesn't matter. Temple's done here and ready to destroy the UNSC's base on earth.

There is literally no way anyone can stop or even catch up to him in time.

Except the Reds and Blues do.

Not only do they hijack what was supposed to be a dropship full of the last of his army, they manage to outfly nearly every torpedo he throws at them. And even when they ARE hit, they walk off another crash because apparently, a thousand tons of twisted steel and fire is about as life-threatening as a buddle of wet tissue paper to them.

A part of him wants to stay behind and finish them himself, but he's so so close to finally avenging Biff. So he orders Cronut and Lorenzo to direct the men stationed outside of the base.

Over one hundred men with an abundance of tanks, jeeps, guns, and ammo against a measly seven. It should be an easy win.

Should be if everyone on this stupid fucking island but him wasn't an idiot!

Because just as Loco's finished the machine, Surge comes running in to announce the Reds and Blues have made it into the building.

It becomes a mad scramble after that.

Surge, Gene, and Buckey all head off to separate areas to try and somehow contain this clusterfuck and stop their 'guests' before they reach the very heart of the building and destroy all his hard work.

At best, the three of them with the help of their many subordinates will be successful. At worst, they'll merely be obstacles distracting the Reds and Blues just long enough for Loco's doomsday device to go off.

He doesn't want to take any chances though and heads to the heart himself. He will be the final obstacle that they simply can't get past.

And at first, it does seem to be that way.

Tucker, Caboose, Sarge, Donut, and even the reporter surround him, as if they have any sort of high ground here. As if they can actually win when victory and revenge are so close to his grasp.

But even when he's losing, Temple has a card up his sleeve which he happily plays.

With just a simple press of a button, he has them all frozen in place. Well, those who could be a threat anyway. Caboose and the reporter can still move but the reporter's smart enough not to do anything to escalate the situation and Caboose is too stupid to come up with a plan that won't end with his friends' blood on his hands.

Everything is going wonderfully.

And then, right as he's in the middle of explaining that his hands will forever remain clean because the world, nay, the universe will believe the Reds and Blues, the Heroes of Chorus were behind all of this and everything left of the UNSC will collapse in on itself, he gets interrupted by Grif the lazy, fat one of the group of all people.

He'd be more upset if the disgrace to the color orange didn't fall flat on his face trying to swing in to save the day.

Out of the goodness of his heart, Temple offers him the chance to stand with the rest of his stupid, meddling friends instead of dying by his gun right where he landed.

Only, Grif doesn't....take the easy out.

He rises, focuses a hard look at Temple, and refuses to move.

Even as Temple has his gun pointed at his face, finger tense on the trigger, the two of them standing so close, Grif would never be able to dodge a bullet in time.

It's almost.....noble. Familiar.

'What are you doing, Mark?'

Temple flinches and blinks and suddenly it's not the fat lazy knock off of his best friend looking back at him, but the real thing.

And he can just see Biff's expression behind the helmet. His mouth is turned down slightly like he's looking at a puzzle he's trying to figure out and his eyes are lidded in that way they only get when he's faced with something he doesn't understand.

'We're friends, aren't we? You wouldn't kill me, right? We have each others' backs, we always do. What is this Mark?'

Temple's hands shake and he can feel himself taking a step back when that reporter throws him back to That Day and suddenly his whole body is shaking. He looks away for one second, aiming his gun at her to shoot her first when Biff, no, Grif tackles him to the floor where he loses hold of both his gun and the only thing keeping the Reds and Blues in place.

Then Loco runs into the room calling for Caboose as if they're all friends and the last several hours never happened. And while he can't get the controls for the armor lock again, he does get his gun back just long enough to shoot Loco before he can be tricked into revealing how to shut his machine off.

Because he refuses to lose, to let everything he's worked so hard for go up in flames!

But Loco ends up being his only kill for the day as Tucker turns around and knocks the gun of his hands and kicks him back like a wannabe freelancer. Adding insult to injury is the fact that for whatever stupid reason, Loco decided to make his doomsday weapon into a time machine just so Caboose could say goodbye to an unfeeling computer program.

Any hope he had of things finally going his way die with the revelation that ~surprise~! The reporter has been carrying around an ai strong enough to dismantle a super weapon with no ill effects this whole entire time!

He can't even sneak away when it's all over as Tucker grabs hold of him, only knocking him out because Agent Carolina of all people insists they're too good to just outright murder people.

As if that wasn't a laugh and a half.

His army.

Surge.

Gene.

Loco.

All gone because of them.

It's almost a bitter enough taste to drown out the blandness of the fish the small number of them left get in prison.

Almost.

The only thing Temple really tastes anymore is the ash in his mouth after watching years of hard work and planning go up in flames before his very eyes.

It would have been kinder just to kill him. If the situations were reversed, he would have.

#tw: language #red vs blue #mark temple #my fics #temple's kinda a fascinating character #like he's an utter mess don't get me wrong but as villains go he was i think a pretty good one

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returnn-of-the-mac · 5 years

Note

What if sole was this beacon of hope for the commonwealth: took down mechanist peacefully, United far harbor peacefully, brought down the institute using the minutemen, was merciful at any chance he could get, but having to leave his son to die and if he were to also leave his synth son finally broke him to where he received the nuka-world broadcast, was gone for a long time, and returned a raider king with a raider army just completely changed and evil. How would the companions react?

Honestly, I think the companions would be extremely pissed off and disappointed, so that’s the direction this piece took. I also made the Sole in this one a male (bc you said ‘he’), but I think the same reaction would be evoked whether they were a male or female Sole. Straightforward prompt, so no intro. Please enjoy some very angry companions! *Gage and Ada are not included. Gage for obvious reasons and Ada because I honestly don’t think she’d care.*

FO4 Companions React: Good Sole Gone Bad

Preston: As Sole marched into Sanctuary with his army of raiders following closely behind, Preston curled his lips and shook his head. “I can’t believe it, General,” Preston began, his voice shaking with disappointment, “I put all my faith in you, all my trust in you. I admired you. I whole-heartedly believed that you were for the people, and you were going to finally bring peace to the Commonwealth. But clearly, I was mistaken.” He scowled and turned away from his former companion, “Don’t look for me again. Don’t speak to me again. We’re done.”

Hancock: Hancock glowered at his ex-companion as he entered his quarters with a group of raiders. The ghoul stood up, crossing his arms. “The hell do you want? You actually had the audacity to come in here and try to talk things out?” Hancock spat, removing his knife from his pocket. “I suggest you get the fuck outta here and never come back. You had a lotta potential, pal. It’s a damn shame you wasted it on those raider goons.”

Piper: Piper was browsing the Diamond City Market when saw Sole approaching her with their raider gang. She quickly averted her gaze and started rushing away. When Sole called out, she turned around, scowling. “I can’t believe you, [name]!” She hissed, “You’re such a damn traitor. You’re evil.” When Sole tried to talk, she pulled away. “Leave me the hell alone,” she cried, “I don’t want to see your stupid face!”

X6-88: X6 apathetically stared at his companion as they approached him, followed by a group of raiders. “It’s a shame a person with so much potential would choose to side with such a despicable crowd,” the Courser plainly stated, “Evidently, I have no reason to continue this partnership. So long, sir.”

Cait: Cait angrily clenched her fists as Sole approached her with his raider gang. “Come any closer and I’m swingin,” Cait threatened, “I’m not playin yer little game!” Sole stopped on their tracks and Cait glared. “After everythin I told ye about how these raider types treat each other and others...why would ye want to be a part of that,” the redhead asked, “These damn thugs abused me for years, and now they’re yer buddies? What happened to [name] who was selfless and all about helping others, huh? He dead?” Cait shook her head. “Just scram.”

Danse: Danse crossed his arms as Sole and his raider gang made their way to the Police Station. “I suggest you leave,” he warned coldly. Sole continued to try to talk to the Paladin. Danse scowled, “I put my reputation and career on the line for you. And for what? For you to desert the Brotherhood and join those raider goons? It’s disgraceful.”

Strong: Strong stared at Sole, who was parading through Trinity Square with his raider gang. The supermutant frowned. “Human said help Strong find milk of kindness. Human lie,” he growled, “Human not nice. Human evil. Human friends with other human who hurt and kill. Not kind. Milk will never be found with you, human.” Strong turned around, walking back toward the tower. “No follow Strong. Strong no wanna be friends no more. Go away.”

Deacon: Deacon pursed his lips and scornfully shook his head as Sole entered the Railroad HQ with his raider gang. “You know, I really thought we were gonna be lifelong pals. You had so much going for you,” Deacon began, “But you just threw it all away for a bunch of cold-blooded killers.” Deacon beckoned for the exit, “Just leave. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Curie: Curie’s eyebrows furrowed as Sole approached her inside Vault 81. “These innocent Vault inhabitants do not deserve to be subject to raiders,” she began, “Please, leave me be.” Sole tried to speak to the synth again, and she looked around nervously, “These people— like so many others— admired you, Monsieur. When you decided to side with the raiders, many were saddened and disappointed; myself included.” Her eyes welled up, “I really thought you were an incredible person, but I suppose I misjudged you. Please...leave me be.”

Nick: “What the hell went wrong,” Nick asked sincerely as Sole approached him with the raiders, “Did you just decide acting like a decent human being wasn’t exciting enough for you anymore?” As Sole tried to enter Nick’s agency, the synth blocked the door. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not coming any closer than this.” Sole stopped and looked at the detective in the eye. “Everything that we’ve gone through together—helping others and such. It’s tragic that was so unfulfilling for you, you decided to join these firebrands,” Nick solemnly shook his head, “From here on out, I want nothing to do with you and your raider clique. Got it?”

MacCready: MacCready looked daggers at Sole as they approached him at the Third Rail, followed by their raider gang. “Don’t come any closer,” he warned, “I mean it.” Sole stopped in his tracks and blankly stared at his ex-companion. MacCready scoffed. “Don’t look at me like that. What did you expect? You leave, become evil, let down hundreds of thousands of people, and, what? You expect me to welcome you with open arms? You’re insane,” he spat, “Why don’t you just go? I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

Longfellow: “What brings you here?” Longfellow asked, taking a swing of whiskey, “Sick of being evil? Just like you were bored of being good?” He grabbed his beverage and stood up, “Well don’t expect me to be your traveling buddy. It’s not happening.” He made his way to the door, “And I’m not interested in bargaining with you, so don’t waste your time trying to find me.”

Codsworth: “So you’ve gone and joined the raiders, sir?” Codsworth his voice dripping with disdain. “Never in all my years of existing and serving you would I have ever thought you’d sink this low. How do you think the wife would feel about all of this? Unbelievable.” Codsworth immediately turned away from Sole and hovered away. “Don’t look for me, sir. I am done serving you. Good day.”

#fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 #danse #paladin danse #hancock #deacon #maccready #strong #curie #cait #piper #longfellow #nick valentine #codsworth #x6 #x6 88 #preston garvey #ask #answered #react

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punkscowardschampions · 4 years

Text

Chloé & James

Chloé: What the fuck is wrong with you, James? James: typically you'd happily answer that for me Chloé: I'm not in a joking mood now Chloé: thanks to you James: neither am I, coincidentally Chloé: really Chloé: well you seem happy to make a joke out of me James: you don't have the slightest knowledge of what does or doesn't make me happy, Chloé Chloé: frankly, James, I don't care either Chloé: but if you're going to make ME look as stupid as you clearly are Chloé: then we have a problem James: would you care to share with me what you're talking about though? James: I'd like to know the scale of the problem at the very least Chloé: the problem is, dear husband of mine, you getting caught leaving here without me and with some random whore instead James: okay Chloé: is that all you have to say for yourself Chloé: I don't think so James: essentially, yes Chloé: how could you Chloé: do you have any idea how ridiculous I feel Chloé: I would NEVER do that to you Chloé: in front of your friends James: I didn't do it deliberately James: you weren't supposed to find out & neither were they Chloé: unbelievable Chloé: what the HELL am I meant to say to Sara? James: what did you say last time when it was Zara instead? Chloé: absolutely nothing about this is funny Chloé: you're going to have to grovel so hard when you get here Chloé: she's about ready to say something to you herself James: it wasn't meant to be amusing, the point is you'll think of something, you always do James: if everything else fails, unfriend her like you have so many others Chloé: you'd like that Chloé: ruin my social life Chloé: this is the first time we've been to anything proper in AGES James: your social life is far down enough on the list of my priorities to not be relevant to me whatsoever Chloé: you want me to be stuck at home with nothing to do but raise your children James: I'd like for you to contribute towards raising our children, yes Chloé: oh that's right, try to turn it around on me Chloé: you YOU fucked up here James: I shouldn't have let any of your friends see us, but I hardly consider it a fuck up James: if anything it's a chance to do things differently, be honest with everyone Chloé: excuse me? James: why can't we finally stop pretending that everything is fine? Chloé: oh yes, let's just tell EVERYONE are business, air everything in public Chloé: don't be so ridiculous James: I didn't say public James: friends, family Chloé: stop talking nonsense Chloé: what do you want, group therapy? Chloé: no one wants to hear about your problems, James James: you know I want to leave Chloé: clearly but you got caught Chloé: come face up to it like a man James: face up to what? James: you're not upset for any genuine reason Chloé: don't you dare tell me I've no right to be upset James: that isn't what I said James: you're upset because you care about what Sara thinks, not because you care about me or our family or anything real Chloé: care about you??? Chloé: you are something else Chloé: you're going to humiliate me and ask for that Chloé: what part of you should be back here on your knees do you not get James: I've given up asking for anything James: you're drunk, it's making this more of an argument than it needs to be Chloé: fuck you Chloé: i'm here, alone Chloé: because you openly left to go fuck someone else Chloé: I am your WIFE Chloé: you don't just get to do that James: you haven't spoken to me since before I dropped the girls off James: I got the impression that you were enjoying being here alone, with your friends Chloé: oh yes, I really want to be the only one here alone Chloé: that doesn't look tragic at all James: you aren't the only one here alone & I'm allowed to have friends Chloé: I'm the only one here with a partner who's being stranded and left in the dirt actually, yes Chloé: and you weren't going nowhere with any fucking friend so don't even try that Chloé: Sara saw her James: because of course you've never slept with any of your friends Chloé: I don't even have any male friends Chloé: accusing me of things won't make what you did any less obvious James: I fully admit it was obvious James: as I've explained, I want things to be different Chloé: well they aren't Chloé: and you don't get to implement changes just because you feel like it James: they could be Chloé: they won't be James: Chloé Chloé: Get back here now James: & if I don't Chloé: did I say that was an option? James: talk to me, I'm trying to talk to you Chloé: I don't want to talk Chloé: I need to go home now, thanks to you James: well, I don't want to come back, give me an actual reason why I should Chloé: you know why, I don't need to spell this out to you James: the girls aren't there, so between me & you, what possible reasons are there? Chloé: if you don't come back for me right now, you know I will make your life a living hell James: it already is Chloé: you know I have the power to make it worse James: yes, but will you when you won't even admit to anyone that anything is wrong? Chloé: if you force my hand Chloé: by openly cheating on me, or whatever you think you're trying to do here Chloé: I'll have no choice James: nothing I've ever done has been a secret from you Chloé: You aren't this stupid Chloé: you know what you have to do, how you have to be James: perhaps I'm this tired Chloé: we're all tired, James Chloé: grow up James: please just give me a discussion James: instead of whatever this is Chloé: there is nothing to discuss Chloé: get here now, take me home James: we can't keep doing this, you know that Chloé: doing what? Chloé: you, ruining everything Chloé: I wish you'd stop but doubt it James: it's not just me James: I wish you'd stop too Chloé: I've not done anything to you Chloé: have you seen me fucking anyone else in front of you today Chloé: no James: that isn't what I'm referring to or what I've done James: you didn't see me, I wouldn't do that Chloé: it's the same fucking thing Chloé: in fact, I would rather Chloé: if that meant you didn't do it in front of everyone else Chloé: all my friends James: I haven't done anything, getting in a car with someone could be explained away a million different ways Chloé: no it cannot Chloé: everyone knows what that means Chloé: you do not turn up to an event with your wife and leave with someone else Chloé: don't insult my intelligence James: then let me tell the truth James: tell me I can go & get the girls & take them to my parents' place with me & we'll go from there James: it's one honest conversation Chloé: what are you talking about Chloé: absolutely not James: please Chloé: you're drunk James: no, I'm not Chloé: why the hell would you think I would ever agree to that James: because this isn't working Chloé: so you need to fix it James: taking you home so you can pretend this never happened isn't a solution Chloé: it's a start James: for god's sake Chloé: just do it and stop whining Chloé: for god's sake me, who do you think you are James: your husband, as you keep reminding me now that you'd like me to do something Chloé: we got married James: I do have some recollection of that, yes James: despite the state I was in Chloé: it was horrible James: I know, I'm sorry Chloé: you aren't sorry Chloé: not sorry enough James: I am, for that, you didn't deserve the wreck I was on that day Chloé: I looked disgusting James: no you didn't Chloé: yes I did Chloé: and no one made any good speeches or danced and the photos are awful James: your mum made a nice speech Chloé: Jay ruined her dress, and kept crying Chloé: I only get to do it once and it was that shit James: she was a baby, crying & being sick is what they do Chloé: she was 2 Chloé: that's not a baby James: it's not an adult either James: you can't hold her responsible Chloé: whatever Chloé: where the hell are you James: I don't think she was 2, I'm sure she was younger Chloé: well I was 16 when I had her and we couldn't get married 'til we were at least 18 so you do the maths Chloé: and you didn't answer my question James: I suppose you must be right Chloé: I know i'm right it happened to me you idiot Chloé: where are you James: on my way Chloé: hurry up James: please don't start, Chloé Chloé: like I said, it's Sara you need to worry about James: oh I remember her having a tantrum about her hair James: did we go to someone else's wedding when she was a baby? Chloé: Why is this relevant? Chloé: I don't bloody know James: I'm just trying to account for the gaps & mix ups in my memory Chloé: Brilliant James: I'm sorry, okay? I'll say it for back then as many times as you want Chloé: As if you're any better now James: I can take care of them now James: I'm not high any more Chloé: what about me James: I'm coming to take you home Chloé: you don't care about me James: yes I do, a part of me will always care about you Chloé: you only care about them James: I love them, of course I care Chloé: you're just not Chloé: you don't do any of this right James: neither of us do James: I told you, it doesn't work Chloé: you need to try harder with me Chloé: make more effort James: I make every effort Chloé: psh Chloé: you do not Chloé: when's the last time we fucked James: you know when James: & why Chloé: exactly Chloé: it's not good enough Chloé: it isn't right James: it wouldn't be right for me to sleep with you James: I can't Chloé: you can sleep with literally everyone else James: you're not like everyone else Chloé: why James: I don't want to do this James: you know you don't treat me like they do, or make me feel good ever Chloé: 'cos you treat me so nice James: I'm no better & that's exactly why we shouldn't be together Chloé: well we are James: until Sara opens her big mouth at least Chloé: what? James: you were the one who told me she saw me Chloé: that doesn't mean we're not together Chloé: it means you cheated Chloé: again James: if she decides to tell everyone, we won't be together Chloé: she wouldn't do that James: what makes you so sure? Chloé: she's my friend Chloé: and it's not her place James: she's one of those friends then, who knows her place James: that makes sense Chloé: you think anyone is going to end our marriage Chloé: don't be ridiculous James: if only Chloé: excuse me James: it's a clear sentiment, perhaps I should've slept with Sara if it meant she would Chloé: Sara would never sleep with you James: but you've said the same about some of your friends who have Chloé: you are disgusting James: undeniably James: I've made a lot of mistakes & yet, as angry as you are, today wasn't one Chloé: why are you telling me this Chloé: I could sit here and list off all the people I've slept with but I'm not going to James: because you think I haven't tried James: I stopped when you gave me the news about being pregnant with Matty & it made no difference whatsoever James: the problem isn't who we sleep with, it's us Chloé: you didn't want her James: don't say that to me as if it has any relevance James: it didn't want either of them with you under both sets of circumstances, it's not equal to wishing they didn't exist Chloé: that's nice isn't it James: we shouldn't have brought another child into this, I can admit that Chloé: you can play doting dad all you want but that's what it comes down to James: I'm not going to apologise for wanting things to be different James: for all of us Chloé: want all you like Chloé: this is real life Chloé: for fuck's sake James: yes, their real lives James: you can't tell me you think any of what's happening is okay for them Chloé: there's nothing wrong with their lives James: Chloé Chloé: what? James: it isn't true Chloé: yes it is Chloé: stop being dramatic Chloé: you're seriously drunk James: stop lying Chloé: I'm not the liar James: what have I lied about? Chloé: everything James: I'm here James: are you going to help me find you or is this part of the suffering as well? Chloé: take a wild guess James: well, do you at least have a car waiting? I gave mine to her Chloé: you better be joking James: what's funny about that? Chloé: why would you do that Chloé: have to do everything myself because you wanna play gentleman to some random bitch Chloé: fine James: so she could get home, obviously James: it's fine I'll order another now Chloé: that's not your concern when you aren't going with James: they're my concerns, not yours Chloé: who is she James: no Chloé: what do you mean, no Chloé: tell me James: we're not talking about her, no Chloé: why the hell not James: because I gave her my car in order to avoid her running into you, or Sara Chloé: I'll find out James: you won't Chloé: we'll see James: it's not one of your friends who I wanted you to find out about James: there's no games this time, it's not about you Chloé: what is it then James: it's her Chloé: i'll find out and put a stop to whatever you think this is James: like you said, this is real life James: you have before but it hasn't actually stopped anything Chloé: you're still here Chloé: with me James: but I still want her James: I'll still like her Chloé: shut up James: okay Chloé: I don't care what you want or what you like Chloé: got it James: I've always understood that, however stupid you may take me to be Chloé: Then we understand each other James: can you please get in the car? Chloé: i'm saying goodbye Chloé: i have manners James: fine Chloé: you can wait five minutes James: you were desperate to leave not even five minutes ago Chloé: you can wait Chloé: that's important James: we understand each other, remember, I know what you're doing Chloé: maybe you'll start to talk some sense James: however long you make me wait, I won't be blindly agreeing with the nonsense you're prone to saying when you're this drunk Chloé: I'm not even James: finish your goodbyes so we can go Chloé: don't tell me what to do Chloé: asshole James: I'm sorry but this is unbearable Chloé: how do you think i felt when you left me James: I honestly didn't think you would feel anything Chloé: you never think about my feelings Chloé: that's why Chloé: just yourself James: I don't know how you feel, I haven't for a long time James: you refuse to communicate properly with me Chloé: pretend you care Chloé: pretend you ever have James: I do care, I told you, you're the mother of my children Chloé: then do what I want James: what do you want? James: you asked me to come back, I'm here Chloé: whoever you're seeing, stop Chloé: focus on me Chloé: your wife Chloé: make me happy James: I did stop, it didn't make you any happier James: you didn't even notice Chloé: you need to do nice things for me James: I look after the children so you don't have to, work so you don't have to James: I'm friends with who you tell me to be, I wear what you tell me to Chloé: you should just be those things Chloé: that's not trying, that's the minimum, you could be anyone from here James: then find someone who's willing to try harder for you Chloé: it's that easy Chloé: fucking hell James: of course not, but it doesn't have to be this hard either Chloé: just stop talking Chloé: you have no idea James: or you can talk to me, that's something we've never tried

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drabbleshereandthere · 6 years

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The Sun and His Cloud

Word Count: 2,692

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

A/N: Soulmate!AU where you have a symbol somewhere on ur body y’all :))) p.s. I know this took forever I’m sorry lmao

WARNING: This fic isn’t the happiest, set yourself up for a little bit of angst.

When Billy Hargrove lost his mother, he lost everything. He lost his hopes, dreams, and his belief that some day he would find his other half. Ever since his mother had been gone, he didn’t want to learn to love anyone else. Not even his soulmate. Chances are he would never meet them in the first place, he was moving to the small town of Hawkins, Indiana after all. He knew how love ended, and he swore he would never take the chance of feeling that again. His mother always told him that once he found his soulmate, that everything would be unbelievably bright. Unfortunately, Billy never did love the sun, he much preferred the shade.

Everyone was born with a different symbol that represented their soulmate. Different colors, different shapes, animals, and sometimes food. They developed at different times too, so it was untelling how long someone may have to wait. People that met their soulmates always said that they knew when they saw them, no matter how cryptic their symbol may be or how long they had to wait. They also said that the best feeling you’ve ever felt would wash over you.

You sported a black sun on the cuff of your ear since you heard about soulmates from your father. It was completely filled in black with sharp edges. You’d always imagined what it would be like to have someone love and want you- someone made specifically for you. Someone to hold you and comfort you when times were tough sounded like something out of a story book, but you just kept hoping. A sun kept you going. Your Dad met his soulmate, your mom. But she died giving birth to you. He blamed you for taking his love away from him, even if he wouldn’t say it. You could never imagine that, “meant for each other” type of love. How could you? You’d never felt it. Your black sun was your saving grace. A black sun led every dream you’d ever had of your future. Who knew everything could go down the drain before it had even started?

Billy Hargrove wore a soft grey cumulus cloud on his right shoulder blade with shame. What kind of symbol was a fucking cloud anyway? He noticed it checking himself out in the mirror recently. It also didn't help that ever since he came to Hawkins, he felt some sort of pull. Whatever romantic shit it was supposed to be, just didn’t do it for him. He delved himself in teen girls and booze. Why spend time waiting on a soulmate that he vowed not to fall in love with? He wondered if it would hurt them. He also told himself he didn’t care.

This school year was a bumpy ride. There was so much piled on work, a missing kid floating around town with a million rumors, Steve Harrington apparently lost his spark, and a Billy Hargrove took his place. You had to admit, at least a little- that you were curious. Everyone knew he was a lady killer, though. Talk about his dick weaved through the gossiping girls almost as much as he himself did. But, word was, keg King got himself really sticking to someone.

Billy was tired of the pull before the damn thing started, and if he focused himself on some other girl, then he wouldn’t worry about some other one he hadn’t even met yet. Claudia was hot, and she would do. Billy didn’t love her, but he did love the way she made him forget. Forget that even after all this time with her, he still felt that annoying ass pull.

Curious may have been an understatement. Your best friend kept feeding you information about him, as she was quite the gossiper herself, yet he’s not her type. As new information came, the stronger the “curiosity” became and the more you would ask. “He’s staying around some girl often, which is weird because he usually bounces around more than a beach ball. You’ve got to see him. Maybe he found his soulmate. People say it changes ya.” “Hmm. What else?” “You ask about him ALL THE TIME. Just take a peak on your own. A lil’ bit of sin never hurt nobody.” “I’m pretty sure that’s not-“ “LET’S GO SEE HIM.”

She was progressively dragging you to the outside parking lot, and as you got closer, a coil in your stomach began to grow. Your head felt light yet your legs didn’t want to stop. What was happening? There was no reason to feel this way. Were you getting sick? Your ear began to tingle. Almost itch, and it felt good to get closer to wherever you were going, and yet a sense of dread washed over you. Everything felt light, yet your stomach was heavy, and this had never happened to you before. Were you having a heart attack? All of a sudden your heart was beating and beating and beating. The coil was getting tight. Too tight. If it didn’t stop now it was going to snap and- oh. You knew it was him. Your dark sun. Your saving grace.

Yet, the ”best feeling” never came. What kind of joke was this? Then all at once, a dark realization crumbled over you and when it crumbled, so did all of your hopes, and dreams, and the belief that you’d find your sunshine. Everything crashed onto you. Your black sun. Billy Hargrove was your black sun. And there he was, leaned up against his infamous Camaro, kissing a girl like no one would ever believe. It sure looked real. Not like some sort of bounce around type of guy. Just your luck. He looked desperate with need, melted into her.

———————————

Billy was standing in the same parking lot as always. He was ready to go. Claudia was ready to go- yet he hadn’t unlocked the car. And damn, if he didn’t need to leave now. That pull was strong. Stronger than ever. It was coming toward him and all he could think was that he wanted you. Whoever you were. He needed you. Whatever you stood for. That pull felt like a 1000 pound weight pushing him with all it’s force and telling him to go. His chest was heaving, and he was calmed by it getting closer but he wanted to be angry. Shade. Coolness. Relief. A guard from the boiling heat on a summer day. His cloud. Billy had never wanted anything so bad in his life.

Goddamn it if he was letting it get in his way. He pulled Claudia in front of him and kissed her with all the pent up frustration he so desperately wanted to pour into you. It wasn’t magic. It didn’t feel right, it wasn’t anything. And he didn’t feel the best feeling he could’ve ever felt- because he didn’t see you there. He didn't see you walk away and leave him behind.

———————————

You stayed away from school for weeks. All of your hopes that you’d been clinging to for so long were beaten to a pulp in front of you. You best friend tried to be there, but she didn’t know what to say. No one knew. The only thing she could say, was what she regularly did. Everything about Billy Hargrove.

Rumor was that he dropped Claudia after school the day that you saw him. In spite, she attacked him personally, and spread around the school about his soulmate symbol. A cloud. No wonder you were a cloud. Just going to block out his rays of sun. Putting a damper on things. Everyone talks about the forbidden tragedy of the sun and the moon. Billy was a raging, hurting, yet radiant sun. And Claudia was in some way a moon concealed in the dark. Yet you were only a cloud. The clouds and stars were always left behind in the tragic tales of the sun and the moon. Who ever cared about the clouds, and how they only wanted to reach as high as the sun- so envious of the nearer, brighter moon.

You didn’t blame him for kissing her the way that he did, or for looking for someone else. Billy had never met you after all. You’d saved everything for him, but you couldn’t just expect that from everyone. You knew he was a player before, but he was spending more and more time with this girl, and you feared that he may love her. You were foolish- naive to think that anyone would wait on the clouds that would soon disappear into the dark night. Hiding behind the moon’s bright image. It was beautiful, she was beautiful. She didn’t sport any baggage, and they matched. You would probably choose her too.

There was no denying that it was him, either, everyone always knows. Not to mention, a black sun? He was obviously damaged, dark, a bit out of place and yet deserves to have some light shined on him. Yeah, Billy Hargrove was your soulmate. Yet, you didn’t wish for it to be anyone else.

Billy Hargrove was your soulmate. All your life you waited to feel your cloud 9 when you met him. You couldn’t lie, you did feel it. But he didn’t. And so the pull was still there. Duller though, farther away. Pain was more prominent now.If you saw him again, all there was to be gained was pain. You didn’t want him to be disappointed in you, after what he lost was much greater than you could ever hope to be. How can someone meant for you, your supposed perfect match- want for someone else?

———————————

Another week passed after Billy let Claudia go. He wanted to find you and give being “soulmates” a try. Billy knew he sounded exactly like the caring bastard he never wanted to, but after he experienced how good you getting close to him felt, he wanted to meet you and set things how they were supposed to be. Billy Hargrove was turning into some sappy asshole and he hated it. He had no idea who you were for god sake. But, you were his remedy, his relief, his special cloud, and his soulmate. Even though that seemed like nothing to those on the outside, it meant a lot to him.

———————————

It’s been weeks now, and he can feel much more than the pull. He feels the deepest pit in his chest and he wants it to leave. Now. It’s part of what you’re feeling, and he's caused it. He also knows that what you’re actually feeling is amplified by 10 and what he’s channeling is already too much for him to be okay with. He knows for sure, atleast, that you’re hurt and why. Him kissing Claudia with the desperation that should have been used on your lips- not her’s. How was he going to explain that he did that to her, to avoid you, yet all he wanted was you now. The pull was duller, further away. Even if he wanted to tell you, he couldn’t. You weren’t here, not where he had access to you. He broke his soulmate’s heart, and he didn’t know what to do.

“What can I do, momma?”

It echoed in both of your minds that night.

-———————————

The truth was a hard pill to swallow, and it was that at some point you were going to have to go back to the place where everything happened. But, swallow it you did, as you made a plan for the next day.

Your plan was to avoid him at all costs. There was no other way that you could see things panning out well. Billy made a plan that night, too. The plan was, whenever he felt that pull again, he would go after it. No more avoiding it. He would be calm and attempt to be accepting of your bond that he didn't ask for yet was so adamant about saving. He really was turning into someone else.

When you came through the doors the next morning, Billy could feel you. He wasted no time in seeking you out. He could feel the coil tightening, everything becoming hazy and his mind weak, it was almost all too much, but he craved more. He craved you. You could feel it too. As he chased after you, simultaneously you went the other way. There was no way that you'd let this happen. And it didn't. Billy heard the bell and was crestfallen.

The hallway full of people dispersed and he was alone with his thoughts. He was determined, though. He wouldn't lose his chance to meet you again. That thought was all that ran through his head when he felt that same pull to you again as soon as he was ready to leave at the end of the school day. Everyone was clearing out the parking lot, the buses had left, yet you hadn't. He felt you again. You felt him too.

It was so much stronger than before, and you would run, but it was after school hours and you had nowhere to go without someone seeing you speedwalking from school grounds like a madman. Instead, you opted out to walk behind the school into the field. If he couldn't see you, maybe he would leave. Then there wouldn't be much reason to stay. Unfortunately, you had underestimated him. You were reason enough.

He made his way down to the school again and found it strange that instead of inside or in front, you must have been behind it. When Billy began to head there, he knew he was close. The familiar feeling of lightheadedness and weak knees alarmed him. His heart was going wild, pounding all its weight against his chest. His right shoulder blade burned with impatience and excitement. Each step became heavier and heavier. Of course, he was excited, but he was equally scared shitless. What would he say? Even worse, what would you say? He’d have to tell you that he was sorry. As much as he hated to admit it.

Everything he was experiencing at this moment was so heavy. He just needed relief, a break, he needed shade from the heat- and as he rounded the corner there it was. There you were. Cascaded in the natural light from the sun beating down on you. You were looking at him, wide doe eyes gazing at his form. As you both took each other in, you finally met eyes and- the best feeling you'd ever felt.

The connection was instantaneously magnetic yet light, and warm, and everything was perfect. Billy's mind flashed with a smile he’d never seen, then a familiar one, his mother’s. Happiness spread through his chest as the coil snapped.

Your mind flashed with two smiles you'd never known. But, you knew who they belonged to. Billy’s and your mom’s. Billy knew that the one he’d seen unfamiliarized was yours. As you regained consciousness from your moment, you looked at Billy breathing out from his. He hesitated in coming to you- but only for a split second. He let himself ease into your presence and walked up to your form. As much as Billy didn't want to stop until he was crashing into you, and showing you everything he felt instead of actually saying it, but he stopped. He knew that even after what just happened, you feared the worst. He wanted to do this right. He clenched his jaw and swallowed before speaking. ”Hey. Can I get your name, sweet pea?” You tried to hide your grin. ”Hello. It’s Y/N.” One word that you said- your name, shouldn't have made his stomach literally flutter. Fucking soulmates. ”M’sorry about-” ”I know.” you shyly smiled and nodded at him.

You knew. Of course you did. What a damn cliché. He was glad. ”Come sit?” This was his time to deny her or there wasn't any going back. His vulnerability was hanging on a string. Billy took a moment to realize that so was hers, and if she was willing to give him that, he could try too. And so the sun and his cloud sat on the dry grass in the field with their hands interwoven in a promise. ”You were meant for me.”

People may tell tales about the forbidden love and tragedy of the sun and moon. Billy, however, would tell the story of his pure and neglected, yet kind cloud and you with your damaged and fiery, yet caring sun.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

End Note: I’m sorry if the scenes are really short and stuff doesn’t have a lot of detail, most of this was written at like midnight and I was trying to push something out. Hope you can enjoy it anyway.

#billy hargrove x you #billy fanfiction #billy hargrove drabble #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x reader fluff #billy x reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #stranger things drabble #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #soulmates #soulmate #soulmate!au #fluff #angst

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irondevilpunisher · 6 years

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ultraericthered replied to your post “My Jessica Jones S1&S2 Review”

GTFO with all you said about Kilgrave there. He's a wonderful character, a wonderful villain, and a wonderful performance by David Tennant, but good lord did you ever miss the point if you think he's a sympathetic, not-too-horrible person and even REMOTELY "loves" Jessica. He was given exactly what he deserved at the end of S1.

Unbelievable. I am not in the mood for this today. I’m having a crummy month as it is so getting something like this does not help improve the circumstances. In fact right after I make a response I’ll be sure to send my regards to the blocking mechanism to further prevent this account from wanking up anymore of my posts in the future.

First of all this is based solely on ONE review of a series I enjoyed. A personal opinion which is mine and mine alone. And believe it or not its allowed. Second I’m in no way excusing Kilgrave’s actions whatsoever. I think he is cutthroat, sadistic, manipulative, evil and menacing but just as you’ve stated he’s a very exceptional villain. One of the things that made Jessica Jones so compelling in S1 was the arc between Jess and Kilgrave because it allowed the audience to not only understand, sympathize and relate to her but also him.

Its not like Kevin Thompson asked to be experimented on by his parents for years. Regardless if they insisted it was necessary to help him their actions created a monster. Parents are supposed to love and protect their child not psychologically, emotionally, mentally, and physically traumatize them. Kilgrave is the result/consequences of their breakthrough as scientists but failures as parents. Even Jessica after she learns about this disturbing piece of history, despite what he’s done to her, tries to understand his position. She too was a victim of genetic experimentation [IGH]. Yes at first she mocks and is disgusted by him [and later these feelings fade fast] but at the very least feels slightly empathetic to what he’s been through. Kilgrave says it best in 1x08:

“How am I suppose to know? I never know if someone is doing what they want or what I tell them to [...] I didn’t have this. A home. Loving parents. A family.”

Ironically Kilgrave was being genuinely serious. He doesn’t know how to interact with or treat people without causing them physical or mental harm. He doesn’t trust anyone, why should he? He’s never had a family or real friends which means he’s never experienced any meaningful connections with another person.The closest to resembling such would be his mindless drones which he controls. Kilgrave was never shown affection, compassion, kindness, self-control or had boundaries which explains why he abuses his abilities to the point of exploiting, torturing and eventually killing his victims. How do you expect someone as damaged as him, who’s only known the life of a lab rat, to be capable of functioning normally in society. Its just not logical I’m sorry and this is exactly why I and many others found him not only fascinating but ‘sympathetic’.

In his own twisted sick way Kilgrave did love Jessica or at least convinced himself he did, it wasn’t just about controlling her. He really wanted her to love him and was determined to make her happy regardless if she wanted him to [hence when he got her house back and designed her room the way she had it as a teenager]. Yes he’s creepy I don’t deny that nonetheless a very tortured and tragic individual but I’ve never downplayed his maliciousness. I’m not one of those naive fans who just dismisses the awful things he’s done. I condemn it however part of the actor’s job is to make the viewer feel empathetic towards their character whether they’re good, bad or neutral. If they can’t accomplish this difficult feat they’ve failed. Luckily Tennant succeeded here.

And finally I didn’t miss anything. We all have different interpretations.This was just MY interpretation of what was going on in the show and the characters in that world. FYI there is no right or wrong way to analyze a tv series and for you to suggest otherwise is fallacious. I don’t disagree that Kilgrave deserved to be stopped but there were other creative methods the JJ writers could’ve gone about without resorting to the usual “shock value” death. What if they designed Kilgrave’s S1 arc to end with his powers being stripped and him going to prison until his next encounter with Jessica? Or maybe that stuff he injected himself with could’ve had a side-effect that left him either comatose or his powers temporarily suppressed.There were plenty of options to keep him around for the future and instead they took the easy way out which ultimately was part of what hurt the second season. Getting rid of David Tennant like that was in my humble opinion a mistake.

As the old saying goes “a hero is only as good as its villain”. Wilson Fisk on Daredevil is an excellent example of a beloved villain who was granted more story and airtime because he was just so damn awesome, charismatic, larger than life, cunning but also [like Kilgrave] he’s sympathetic and he’s the perfect foe opposite to Matt Murdock. He’s a psychopath yes but he’s likable and the DD writers found a solution to detain/delay his return to the series so he’s not just running rampant. Kilgrave could’ve been shown the same courtesy as I felt there was more story to tell with him. And lets face it that villain in Jessica Jones S2 was a joke.That’s all I was initially getting at but you somehow managed to twist around my words into something filthy.

I’m finished with this discussion now. For the record if you’re going to ‘like’ than leave rude comments such as this on someone else’s post you might want to try thinking it through before hand. Have a nice day.

#kilgrave #kevin thompson #Jessica Jones #David Tennant #irondevilpunisher response #jessica x kilgrave #wilson fisk #Marvel's Jessica Jones #so done with this wank

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saferincages · 7 years

Photo

a couple of weeks ago, a friend showed me this amazing post (where the photos are far better than mine, which just didn’t want to turn out at all) of @the-far-bright-center‘s beautiful, sparkly Force Ghost Anakin, and it brought me such joy (I was maybe giggling excessively...), and today he arrived in the mail as a surprise gift! 💖

I want to take a moment to appreciate this bio, and the “weapon of choice” being loyalty and love, because it is. a lot.

this could be a very silly post (okay, it already is), but it actually gives me an opportunity to talk about something that I’ve never had a chance or reason to discuss before without some frame of context, so here is an unbelievably overemotional story (one of many regarding Star Wars’ history and special place in my life, I could write a series of these focused of specific themes and characters in all honesty) that no one really needs, but that I feel compelled to write anyway.

I’ve written before about my first experience seeing Revenge of the Sith (most recently here), so I apologize for retreading a certain amount of ground, but it’s important to know what the state of my life was at that time, which was a frightening, burned out shambles. ROTS premiered in May 2005, I believe I had just completed the physical therapy I’d been undergoing since the car accident we had that February. I was extraordinarily ill, and no one knew why (diagnoses were forthcoming), I was rapidly losing weight, and at the time, the scariest thing for me, was that I had no choice but to withdraw from school. Academia, which was such a constant for me, wasn’t even going to be on the horizon. I was, in short, not okay. I felt almost hollow in that uncertainty.

That midnight premiere was incredible, exciting, emotionally fraught, and I remember the weight and the sorrow of it hitting me in a very profound way when we got home, at which point I crawled into my bed and sobbed. I saw it several times that summer, but the final time (which is also a story a couple of my friends know, but I don’t think I’ve posted about it publicly?) was on my birthday that September. It is a crystalline memory. I can recall everything about that day, even what we ate (the cinnamon rolls my mom made for breakfast, the vanilla chai tea I had at Borders that afternoon), because it was the last birthday I had when certain things were not yet permanent, when I was still in the misty place between before and after. By then, the film had moved to our local little budget theatre, and seeing it that way, with a handful of other people rather than with a big, enthusiastic crowd, lent it an intimacy and poignancy which struck me on a wholly different level. (That was also the night Supernatural premiered, which is an aside, but don’t doubt for a moment that the events are inextricably emotionally connected for me.) September, and I should have been in school, but I wasn’t. I had no idea at that point that I never would be again, but I was frightened, and sad, and deeply angry. Anger isn’t a feeling I’d had a lot of experience with, I was a sweet, shy, overly sensitive, naive child (and teenager), but I didn’t often deal with anger, and then I usually sublimated anger with grief and guilt instead (and those things were warring in me, too, and of course I still carry them), but the anger at the unfairness of it all, at how cruel it was that this had happened to me, at how much I hated my own body for turning against me, how I irrationally hated myself for not being better or stronger or able to fight it, was consuming and yet almost childish, as though being ill was causing a perpetual temper tantrum in my mind.

My touchstone in the prequels was always Padmé, and she deserves her own post, but she was so inspiring to me, her compassion and her goodness and her belief in justice, her loving nature and her femininity and her tender heart being strengths, and never undermining her bright spirit, her keen mind, her ability to lead, her powers being her forgiveness and empathy and kindness. I love her so much and she had (and continues to have) such meaning for me.

It took me by surprise when the aching heart of my identification in ROTS plunged more towards Anakin. I loved him too, and I had a lot of varied, complicated feelings about him already, about his gentleness and his trauma, about the immensity of his capacities and his contrasts, but this was the fall, the dark hour of the story, the nadir of everyone’s suffering, and so much happens at his hand, because of his tragic choices. When I was reading the novelization, I didn’t know what to do with the fact that I understood certain aspects of his struggling in such a harrowing way, and seeing it playing out made that even more acute. Those choices he makes out of desperate fear aren’t rooted in evil, they’re driven by the chasm of grief and terror of loss, and they’re mixed with disillusionment and disappointment and frustration. Up until the moment when he walks into the Jedi Temple, when we really see him cross a line he cannot return from, hope for a course correction seems possible. Even knowing what’s coming, it’s like...just turn back. You can still fix this. It ripped my heart out because of course he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. There’s the scene where he’s denied the title of Master, and his outburst at the council (“this is outrageous! it’s unfair!”) is tinged with an adolescent level of upset, but...of course it is. He’s still so young and he wants to trust them, it’s not ambition causing that fury, it’s desperation for inclusion, for some measure of respect, and he keeps being refused. It’s a strange analogy because the things holding me back had nothing to do with a council of old men deciding my fate, all my hindrances were physically trapping me in my own body, the jury denying me the ability to move ahead was my own failing immune system, but I understood his rage, because I wanted someone I could yell at. The person I was so terrified of not being able to save, of having to watch die, wasn’t my beloved, it was...me, the girl I was, the girl I dreamed of becoming. I’ve talked so many times about feeling like I let her down, like I’m the ghost of her, the revenant walking around in a shape that vaguely resembles her, but at that point, she wasn’t gone yet, she was just rapidly slipping away. I didn’t know what to do to save myself. People would say it wasn’t my fault, to let it go (which felt a lot like being told the useless “mourn them do not, miss them do not”), that I was still here, I didn’t ask to get sick, and I knew, logically, that was true, but emotionally all I felt was that crushing guilt and despair (all of this remains a lingering struggle). I didn’t want to be powerless. I would have clung to something that offered me a way out. I knew where Anakin, conflicted and misguided as he was, was coming from, and it eroded everything that made him good and heroic and kind, so the only power I had left was to fight against it and keep the anger at bay.

This is such a specifically personal thing that I won’t get into the analysis of what happens in regards to his descent (which I also expounded upon in that other post anyway), but every time it happened, the same muscle memory seemed to take hold of me, my hands would shake and I’d press them together, my chest would pound, I’d bite my lip to try not to cry. I have this overwhelming fear of fire, so Mustafar was its own nightmare, and I’ve literally only watched the immolation scene once (that first time, at the midnight showing), otherwise I close my eyes tightly shut. I don’t even like seeing gifs of it. But because of what I was going through at the time, what I’ve gone through since, the physical aspects of him so painfully and horrifically losing himself, being so stripped of his humanity that hardly anyone ever looks at or acknowledges him as a person again (until Luke) held its own terror (it’s such an awful metaphor when it’s examined, and it’s that re-enslavement, he did not choose that reconstruction) because I didn’t understand what was happening to me physically, and because so many people were questioning the veracity of my pain and my incapacitating illness, were treating me as somehow less (ableism wasn’t even a word in my vocabulary yet, I just thought maybe everyone had a point and I didn’t deserve the space to be heard or understood, since so much of what I was going through was invisible). I genuinely felt like my personhood and my agency was being taken away. I didn’t have school, I was quickly isolated from everyone else and kept in the (comforting yet confining) cage of my room, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be anymore, and I didn’t know what to do if no one would listen or believe me (my mom aside). The torture Anakin is put through in that conversion to Darth Vader is unimaginable and I don’t want to dwell on it, but there’s a passage from the novelization that goes in part: “The first dawn of light in your universe brings pain. The light burns you. It will always burn you...You can hear yourself breathing. It comes hard, and harsh, and it scrapes nerves already raw, but you cannot stop it. You can never stop it. You cannot even slow it down...now your self is all you will ever have...and within your furnace heart, you burn in your own flame.” It’s such a wrenching description that some part of me separated it out from the villainous aspect, because the rest of it felt true. My nerves were raw and burned with sensation, touch and too much strain hurt, but my heart persistently, stubbornly kept beating, and I was left sifting through the alternating aspects of its passions (both the transcendent and the desolate).

This isn’t at all “excuse or justify the things Vader did” (since, again, this isn’t actual analysis, it’s sentimental personal nonsense), because of course I do not and never would, but the depth of empathy I had for Anakin, as a person and as a lost soul (and a lost future), and the way that left an imprint on me right at the onset of my illness became indelible.

There’s a point to this, I promise.

George Lucas did re-editing and reworkings of the original trilogy and I’ve never minded any of it, because they were his to edit and fix up if he wanted to do so, and little extra CG snippets of planets and creatures only expands the universe in my mind. That said, I realize adding Hayden’s Anakin at the end of Return of the Jedi was divisive, even upsetting for some, but for me it was everything. I’ve hesitated to ever reblog gifs of the scene because I felt like I had to justify or explain why I hold it so dear before I did, so this is my chance to do that.

As a child, I never felt really connected to the fleeting glimpse of Sebastian Shaw (my mom actually remembers me asking why he was so “old,” apparently I reasoned at the time that Anakin should have been younger, I think because I imagined him then as more of a dashing hero, based on Obi-Wan’s description in A New Hope). Anakin never lived as that image of a more middle aged man, that was never who he was within Vader’s suit, and there was always an evincive resonance that I was seeking. Once Attack of the Clones came along, Hayden was my Anakin, he was the embodiment of that character, and I loved him, and I loved his performance (and saw so much nuance and layering in it despite what was often said). Yet one of the last images we witness of him is burning on that scorched lava shore. It’s devastating.

Luke’s unwavering faith that some glimmer of his father still exists, that goodness can’t ever be entirely erased, that love will overcome, that throwing aside his weapon is an act of bravery and grace, is the moment when Anakin is finally released from that. “He takes the ounce of good still left in him and destroys the Emperor out of compassion for his son.” Balance is restored, and redemption is very small and quiet, not a washing away of violence, but a ceasing of it. It’s the hope that we can always find salvation, that we can still choose to act in love.

When Luke turns around and sees those spirits watching over him, benevolent and glowing and one with the Force, Anakin is his beautiful self again, as the description on this little package says, restored to the “hopeful young Jedi he once was.” The first time I saw that edit of the film, I wept. That was the connection I’d been looking for, the understanding that we’re never wasted, that our souls endure and are mended, that we can choose light, no matter how lost we feel we are, that love can persevere and illuminate even the longest night. It reminded me that I wasn’t only my body, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how it felt like it was collapsing on me, no matter how often I felt like I was failing to be the person I thought I would be, my body could never capture the entirety of who I was, or am. My spirit could still shine, my heart could still be soft.

Anakin says to Padmé in AOTC, “Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is essential to a Jedi's life, so you might say we are encouraged to love.” It’s one of my favorite scenes because it’s so sincere, and yet so richly layered in its meaning. And in the end, this is fulfilled, this belief is proven right.

People may think the idea of the Force is hokey, but because of the way I was brought up, and the intense theological discussions that used to be framed around it (particularly by my dad, we used to do this over e-mail back in the olden days of dial-up, I wish I had those conversations saved), it was a really important, formative concept for me. The Force is connectivity, it’s like a variant of the belief in Tikkun olam that parts of the vessels of the divine used to shape the world shattered, and their shards became sparks of light trapped within the material of creation, and thus exist and persist in all of us, in all the diverse and breathtaking life around us, and that we should respect and cherish that life. “The best expression of the Force is not a lightsaber fight or other combat techniques. It’s really about your connection to life, to everything around you, and your ability or willingness to let go, to find peace, and ultimately become a selfless part of existence...in the end there is no power that aids [Luke], except the power of compassion and love; the act of forgiveness and apparent self-sacrifice is what saves his father from the dark side.”

It’s the idea that there’s something eternal within all living things, something powerful and connected that binds us together, that means we affect one another, and that we make choices as to whether those influences are for the better (or not). That we can decide to increase the power of light and warm energy in the universe. The idea that we’re not limited to our physical selves, that we’re luminous, radiant, possible beings. That we can reach out in love and compassion to heal the world, even if it’s only in small ways, even if we’re the only ones who see it exist, who know it happens, and still the summation of that additional light can radiate everywhere.

#does this even make sense idk but here it is anyway #anakin skywalker #love can ignite the stars #encouraged to love #star wars #luminous beings are we #look what a *toy* caused me #i am a ridiculous person #bubble wrap around my heart #spirituality #the little girl who was always tired #chronic illness #it took me three hours from start to finish to actually get this posted sigh #but it was important to me even if nobody reads it #you are not obligated to complete the work but neither are you free to abandon it #sw meta #it's not really but i'll file it there

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sicklylittlesnowflake · 7 years

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RIVERDALE PROMPT!!! Archie is in a lecture at school and Jughead is in the same one but Archie starts to feel really sick and Jughead notices and takes him out and looks after him?

(This is hella cute anon! Also it’s really hot atm and I’m going to take my frustration out on Archie who now has heat exhaustion lmao..sorry Archie.)

A heatwave decided to hit the town of Riverdale upon the last few weeks of school, and needless to say, the people in this town were suffering.

Everyone knew the heat was bad when Jughead Jones, who wore jackets in the heat of the summer sun, was only wearing a thin cotton t shirt and shorts. Jughead got cold really easily, and was often shivering in a classroom when the rest of the class was boiling with heat.

His best friend Archie Andrews, was the complete opposite. He got warm easily, a simple jacket over top a baseball tee was enough for him during the coldest of the winter. Anymore, he’d start stripping off clothing. He couldn’t even sleep in a shirt, the blanket far too warm for him. He was a great furnace for his best friend who got too cold, and was perfect for cuddles.

So if Jughead Jones felt hot, Archie Andrews was roasting.

He had started his day with an incredibly strenuous football training, having to do three laps around the pitch in the incredibly humid and dry air. By the time he had finished he had been completely drenched in sweat, no area of his body was dry. Then, they were playing a mock game that completely exhausted him, panting for air and water. The game went on far longer than expected, and had to go to classes without a shower because they simply did not have enough time.

Archie stumbled into his Social Studies class completely red in the face, heaving and panting for air, completely out of breath. He was covered in sweat, looking incredibly weak and dehydrated.

“Late!” His teacher scolded as Archie barely had enough energy to acknowledge him, flopping against the seat next to Jughead.

“Holy shit, dude!” Jughead exclaimed-whispered as Archie flopped down next to him.

“Mr Jones,” The teacher squinted. Jughead smiled sheepishly in response.

“You gotta drink up!” Jughead whispered, pulling his water bottle up and passing it to him.

Archie gulped down the drink gratefully, the icy cold liquid refreshing and cooling against his overheated body, but it was not enough.

His head began to pound, and each time his brain would throb painfully, it seemed to send a burst of heat throughout his already boiling body. Archie could barely breathe, painting and gasping but could only take in dry air that burned his throat.

“Arch..” Jughead whispered in concern.

“It burns, Jug,” Archie choked out.

He felt his heart rate begin to pick up, sweat pouring off him as his breathing began to pick up too. He felt so trapped and scared, feeling like the walls were closing in on themselves and stifling him. He hadn’t really had much panic attacks, and this really wasn’t that, but he thought that maybe this was what it was like. Archie wondered how Jughead dealt with this.

“Arch..oh my god, this isn’t normal, we gotta get you to the nurse,” Jughead pressed, feeling his heated cheek and clearly not liking the flaming result.

Archie felt a wave of nausea hit him, some of his muscles slightly cramping. He hissed in pain, as his stomach flipped, headache intensifying and body weakening in general. He felt like he was going to collapse.

Jughead raised his hand, his teacher approaching them and whatever noise came out of Jughead’s mouth came in a blur, a slurred mess that he could not make out. All he could concentrate was the pain he was in. He could somewhat sense his fellow classmates staring at him, and he wondered if they were all secretly Cyclops from X Men and burning into his skin with his eyes.

His body was blazing, his heart rapidly beating and he struggled staying conscious, letting out noises of pain and agony as his muscles cramped. Suddenly, a steady and comforting arm was being wrapped around him leading him out of the classroom.

As he stood up initially, his blood pressure felt unbelievably low, his legs wobbly and like jelly, unable to support his way too heavy body. A wave of nausea hit him, causing his knees to buckle but was luckily caught by Jughead. Jughead held on to him tightly and supported him out of the classroom.

“You’re going to be okay, buddy,” Jughead whispered reassuringly, running his hands through Archie’s drenched hair in comfort.

“This is a little funny, huh? How when it’s really cold I get really sick and you take care of me, but now it’s really hot and you’re really sick, and now I’m going to take care of you,” Jughead joked, hoping to lighten up the mood. It was enough to make Archie momentarily smile a little. Jughead was always enough.

“Opposites attract, hmm Arch?” Jughead chuckled as he slowly guided Archie over to the nurses.

“I’m dying Jug,” Archie whined.

“Not on my watch, pal,” Jughead chuckled, and as they neared the nurses, Archie stopped.

“Wait, can I have one minute of fresh air, please,” Archie pleaded, slightly gesturing towards one of the school’s exits.

Jughead contemplated, but the desperation in Archie’s bleary, feverish eyes were enough for him. He sighed, “One minute Archie, but we really have to head to the nurses after, okay?”

Archie nodded slightly, and let out a relieved sigh as Jughead pushed open the door and a very light breeze hit his face. It was rather pathetic excuse for a breeze, still dry and warm, but better than the constricting and confining airless classroom.

Archie closed his eyes as the breeze hit him, slightly cooling his body temperature but his symptoms remaining in tact to his dismay. Archie groaned in pain as yet another wave of pain intensified his headache and his muscles began to cramp again.

“Okay, come on now, we have to go,” Jughead instructed as he lead Archie back inside the stuffy, humid school corridors and towards the nurses.

Archie let out a soft moan, but obeyed anyway, using everything left in him to drag himself over to the Nurses.

When the nurse saw them from the window, she had sighed and had expected Jughead to have been injured and ill yet again, but when the two walked in she was surprised to see Archie completely pale besides his flushed cheeks.

“What have you done to yourself, Archibald?!” The older lady gasped, rushing towards the two.

“I think the question that should he asked here is what has the sun done to poor Archibald over here,” Jughead joked lightly, although his worry and concern was clear in his voice. Archie could only take in the cold, refreshing air hailing from the air conditioning, relishing each breeze.

“Oh dear..well, with this heat I’m surprised someone hasn’t come in sooner!” She exclaimed.

“Archibald here is a furnace, m'am, doesn’t take too well to the heat,” Jughead explained.

“Archibald have you partaken in any strenuous activity today at all?”

Archie could only groan in response, still not having any energy to respond, his head hurting way too much. Jughead frowned and lead Archie to one of the beds and set him down, his frown deepening as his best friend curled up and clutched his head.

“He did, m'am,” Jughead spoke up for him, “He had football training this morning and I believe they didn’t have time to shower, and he’s barely had any water.”

The nurse nodded, making her way to retrieve a glass of water. Jughead moved out of her way as she approached the sickly redhead, prodding him very gently.

“..Archibald, sweetie, you need to hydrate,” She cooed softly, but Archie wouldn’t budge, groaning loudly as he continued to clutch his head protectively.

“This will all stop if you can somehow drink some of this, sweetheart.”

She sighed again as Archie could only hiss in pain, tutting, “Poor boy..”

Jughead’s heart broke as he watched his best friend in pain. He hated this; this wasn’t a common occurrence and Jughead was not prepared for this heartbreak. Archie, his sunshine and light, did not deserve this. It was tragically poetic; struck and attacked by the sunshine when he was sunshine to others.

“M'am, maybe I should do it?” Jughead suggested.

“Yes, you should try that Forsythe. I’ll go collect a cooling pack and contact his father. I’m assuming I will also excuse you from your lessons?”

“Yes m'am, that would be great,” Jughead smiled as he took the glass of cold water water from her and sat at the edge of the bed.

Jughead gently prodded Archie’s arm, his soft and comforting touch escalating up to Archie’s hair as he reassuringly ran his hands through it, to put him at ease and coax him into it.

“Archie,” Jughead whispered quietly, careful as not to have any harshness to his tone whatsoever, wanting Archie to feel safe.

“Please do me a favour and drink some of this? I promise you you’ll feel better,” He promised, smiling in relief as Archie managed to nod, beginning to rise. Jughead reached for waist and supported him, easing him to sit up. He carefully pressed the water glass into his hands and watched as Archie downed the glass, cherishing each hydrating sip.

Jughead watched pitifully as Archie weakly drank, his hands shaking. He sighed softly as Archie rested his head against Jughead’s shoulder, slumping, extremely drained and exhausted. Jughead gave him a small, sweet smile and pressed his nose against Archie’s soft hair, nuzzling into it, “I wish I were sick instead of you..I hate seeing you like this..”

Archie managed a small, raspy chuckle, “..But I hate seeing you sick too, Jug..as much as this sucks, I’m glad it isn’t you for once.”

Jughead massaged Archie’s hair softly, hoping to relax him and tried to subtilely feel his skin to see if he was still burning up like earlier. He was still very warm, but the air conditioned air was definitely cooling him down.

The nurse came back in, another glass of water in one hand and a cooling pack in the other. She looked a little impressed.

“You managed to get him to drink,” She observed.

“I’m filled with undying charisma, m'am,” Jughead joked as he took the items from her hands gratefully.

“You’re doing a better job than I am! You’re surprisingly good at caretaking than I would’ve expected from such a sickly boy,” She complimented.

Jughead’s eyes flickered with a bit of sadness for just a second, knowing his skills had come from his isolation and all his years of deadbeat parents who made him grow up too soon. It was pretty upsetting; but if it meant he could make sure Archie get better, it was all worth it. Anything for Archie.

“Anyway, I’ve contacted Mr Andrews and he’ll be here to collect you both in about 10 minutes,” She informed.

Jughead smiled and nodded his thank you and turned back to Archie, bringing the glass up to his lips, while his free arm managed to wrap around his shoulders to support him and comfort him. Archie sipped at the water, relief flooding his system, the hydration doing little repairs to his weakened system.

“Thanks Juggie,” Archie mumbled tiredly.

Jughead smiled warmly and began to open up the cooling pack, which was the gel kind that Mr Andrews would give to him or Archie when they were sick as children. He hadn’t seen them in quite a while.

“This really takes me back, Arch,” Jughead chuckled lowly and he showed the item to his best friend.

Archie giggled, “They’re a really funny texture.”

“Well, we need to get your temperature down and this should do just the trick,” Jughead reassured as he plastered the gel pack over Archie’s forehead, a sense of satisfaction flooding him as an obvious sense of relief and peace came to Archie’s face.

“Better?” Jughead asked hopefully, rubbing his shoulder with care.

“Much,” Archie gloated as he began to lie down against the pillow again, closing his eyes. To try and lull him to a sleep where hopefully Archie could rest, Jughead softly begin to hum one of Archie’s songs.

A tiny smile crept onto Archie’s lips, “..wait..that’s..”

“..a piece of art,” Jughead finished, grinning kindly.

“You’re the best, Jug,” Archie muttered.

“Anything for my best pal,” Jughead replied wholeheartedly, continuing to hum the melody sweetly. Archie had written this song for him when he hadn’t been feeling too great over his father’s arrest, and it meant a lot to him, hoping the same melody would also cheer Archie up.

“You’re good, we have to work..together..sometime,” Archie slurred as he nodded off.

Jughead smiled, content, that for now, Archie could rest.

Fred arrived 20 minutes later, looking very flustered.

“I’m sorry I’m late, there was a little bit of traffic,” He explained to the nurse as he walked into the office.

“That’s quite alright, sir! Forsythe is doing a great job with Archibald,” She said proudly, gesturing towards Jughead who was softly caressing Archie’s hair.

Fred smiled at the sight, approaching the two and patting Jughead on the back.

“I’m glad you’re a part of the family, Jug, hope you know that,” He said proudly, his eyes lighting up with pride and joy, making Jughead’s heart swell.

“And I’m glad you let me be a part of it,” Jughead replied.

“Now, lets go home, yeah?” Fred grinned, as he slowly woke up Archie. The redhead groggily opened his eyes, but was instantly cheered up by the sight of two of the most important to people in his life. Jughead and Fred both helped him up, guiding him to walk by one holding his waist and the other holding his shoulder, ready to leave.

“He has heat exhaustion, sir, he should be fine with plenty of fluids and rest. If it gets worse, and I don’t think it will, he’s already making a steady and speedy recovery, then you should contact a doctor..but I think Archie will just be fine with you two,” The nurse smiled.

“I think I will,” Archie grinned.

#archie andrews #jughead jones #jarchie #fred andrews #riverdale #sickfic #prompts #fever #heat exhaustion #i cant believe i finished this today lowkey proud of myself #also take a shot everytime jug says m'am jfc

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gremma-appreciation · 7 years

Text

"Russet-Tinged Remembrance"

(Okay, so I am trying to do a writing with a color focus: browns in various shades a hues, to be more specific. It’s a new sort of experiment, and though it definitely turned out sad, angsty, and introspective, I hope it still works. This takes place in season one, after Graham’s death, but before Mary Margaret’s arrest. I have Emma starting to wonder about the strange circumstances of Graham’s passing, because it has never made sense to me that she didn’t, but other than that, I think it could fit into accepted canon as a missing scene.)

By @snowbellewells

Most people see brown as dull, plain, the color of dirt, dust, and dying leaves, almost a non-color, so bland as to hold little interest. It is the shade of late Autumn, when the outside world pales and prepares for the winter’s own forgotten sleep. No umber or sienna can carry the heat and intensity of those blazing reds, simmering oranges, and bright golds in the leaves that fall around her, swishing about her booted feet and crackling mildly to cushion her steps. Still, though most would deem the color cold and bleak, it offers its own warmth to swell within her chest.

Emma Swan draws in an unsteady breath, her arms unfurling from where they had wrapped around her middle protectively in order to shakily trace over the sandstone edges of the grave marker she has stopped in front of, trembling throughout her limbs as she looks at the blocky letters of his name carved into the buff and beige flecked monument.

There’s a reason she comes here as rarely as possible, only enough to see that it is properly tended, that she avoids this peacefully quiet spot as though some terror or sickness lingers instead of the intended calm surrender. It isn’t right that this Gould be his resting place, that this should be how he is remembered. No matter how nice they have made its surroundings look, the headstone is still cold and lifeless where he was always warm; kind eyes, open heart, and friendly smiles - acceptance where others had offered judgement or turned her away. He had welcomed her and provided a place and a reason to stay. Hope had shone in the deep gaze that stared out of his tanned face covered with nutmeg scruff, as if he knew all too well what it was to grasp with both hands at a chance to belong.

She kneels before his grave, picking up the dried and withered offering of flowers left there last, which nearly disintegrates in her hands as she moves it aside to place her bunch of daisies, marigolds, and black-eyed Susans at the stone’s base. The dust from the forgotten tribute, brown as the acorn hulls also scattered across the ground at her feet, almost makes the tears she has stubbornly held in escape in a flood. Biting the inside of her cheek for several long seconds and blinking furiously until her control returns, Emma blows out a harsh breath before whispering to no one except the missing sheriff who had made her his deputy and a part of something here in this town. She hopes blindly that somehow, some way, wherever he is, Graham knows what that meant to her.

“This isn’t fair,” she presses, bowing her head for a moment, her fingers clenching against dirt clods and blades of scraggly grass, somehow seeing once more those fawn-colored curls of his that she should have run her fingers through, that single tear trembling on his cheek and the way his wide, grateful eyes had been luminous with more unshed as he’d thanked her just before…

If she’d only known, she would have kissed him sooner, promised to believe him, held him closer. But how could she have known there were only seconds left between them? Shaking the images away fiercely, Emma runs her hand under her nose, sniffling even as she bites out through clenched teeth, “This isn’t what you deserve, Graham! You know that… don’t you?”

She crouches at the farthest corner of the town cemetery, picturesque with a weeping willow arching over his single plot. It feels as if this whole pocket of their odd little town has gone sepia-colored, muted like an old photograph holding nothing but memories. Still, this spot is lonely and forgotten, not nearly enough. There should be constant wreaths and flowers, a day of remembrance for what he had sacrificed; all he had suffered simply because he would not murder Snow White - and because in the end he had chosen his freedom over a comfortable continued life bound in slavery. The single bouquets left by herself, sometimes with Henry beside her solemn and sad and carrying his own unique gifts for the man he’d known, are all she ever sees here for their sheriff. Those few tokens brown and fade all too quickly and are far from sufficient. Emma finds that truth falling her now - more than she can rightly explain.

The sky looks as strange and morbid as she feels when she rises from her knees; still lingering uncertainly, waiting in the hush of early evening for she knows not what. She has more to say before she goes - though it will never be the words she had wished to speak. They had been robbed of so many conversations and sweet moments: sipping cocoas with whipped cream and cinnamon, playing darts at the Rabbit Hole, spinning on their identically rickety desk chairs until their heads spun and their laughter was giddy on long, uneventful nights at the station - the chances to know more joys instead of solitary pain. She was just getting to know him. She had begun to tear a few bricks from her wall to let him in.

Pressing her lips together, Emma once more struggles to calm her own beating heart, to bring the fruitless rage and maddening sense of loss back under control. Too late, too late, too late… she had missed her chance, and more tragically, so had he. “I haven’t forgotten you,” she murmurs softly, a promise to a ghost that vanishes in the tawny, bronzed-hued light of the setting sun. “And I won’t…not ever.”

When she leaves the cemetery, Emma cannot quite make herself return to the loft and Mary Margaret’s company. The other woman, kind, compassionate, and infinitely willing to listen and offer comfort, has been a godsend of a roommate- and if Henry is to be believed, Emma’s mind adds with the barest huff of disbelieving humor, her long lost mother besides - but she has no way of understanding the tangle within Emma’s mind. She knows how cagily guarded she is, that she can be prickly and difficult to know. The gentle schoolteacher’s nature is so sweet and hopeful that it feels impossible to explain to the other woman how she survived her late teens by stealing, that she gave Henry up for adoption because she had been wrongfully serving someone else’s jail sentence, and that the reason she kept people out was because that person who had let her go to prison for his crime had also been the first soul in this world to ever tell her she was loved, just before he callously left her behind. How could she even begin to explain to Mary Margaret that she was beginning to suspect Henry may be right - as crazy, far fetched, and unbelievable as it sounds - and Regina did somehow take Graham’s life? It made no sense for someone as young and healthy as he had been to simply drop dead of a heart attack. If she admitted to entertaining Graham’s belief that his heart had not been in his chest at all, and that the mayor had somehow held it in her possession to crush it when he ended their association, they would lock her up and throw away the key.

So instead she heads to the only place she can think of where she can mourn to herself in relative peace. The station is the last place she had seen him alive and it is where he had fallen. Logically, Emma thinks as she walks through the door into its falsely bright, fluorescent lit interior, this place should upset her. Yet the safety, the comradery she’d felt with him, possibly even a bit of his presence, if only in her mind, lingers here and it makes the small office area seem welcoming. Taking a seat behind her desk and running her hand over the smooth surface, Emma closes her eyes and allows the play of gold-tinted happy scenes to flow behind her lids. The beige and brown stodgy and old-fashioned deputy’s uniform Graham had first offered and tried to get her to wear and the playful poking at his traditionalism she had offered in return, the playful way his eyes had danced as he flipped open a box of fresh doughnuts in a bribe to switch shifts with a bear claw, even the mocking way he had baited her while cuffing her and bringing her in when she’d been accused of stealing Archie’s files, and lastly, the lingering amber glow that had suffused her body as he had cared for the cut on her brow that final night, the tender perfection of his strong hands as they cupped her face and his lips tasting hers, treasuring her as if she were precious in a way she had never experienced before. The coffee-scented, stale air of the station ensconces her with her fleetingly limited bits of times they’d shared, and Emma sinks into it, relishing the fragments of a genuinely good man she has left to hold.

And if before she goes to sleep curling up on the cot in the back cell, she takes down the chocolate-dark coat of leather worn soft, which had been his and still hangs in its place on the hall tree in the corner, strokes her fingers lovingly over the red material at its collar, slips his arms into the top-long sleeves and wraps it around herself, aching for the embers of his pleasant heat through the chilly night hours - well, no one needs to know but her.

#gremma #graham humbert #emma swan #ouat #sheriff graham #gremma appreciation #gremma appreciation july event #submission #fic #fic angst #fic canon

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theemichelleb · 5 years

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When They See Us (Netflix) - Miniseries Reflection

To be honest… I have no idea how to start this post.

A few weeks ago I watched Ava Duvernay’s interview on the Breakfast Club about this miniseries and how she came about taking on the challenge of telling this unbelievably difficult story. Our community is affected by these tragedies all too often and it makes it hard to want to have children that will have to grow up in a society that will never see them as children. Ultimately, I just want to put a thank you out there to Ava Duvernay for checking her DMs and responding to that message she got from one of the victims of this ridiculous justice system and running with the opportunity to shed light on this horrible part of their history.

“When They See Us” is the true account of what happened to Antron McCray, Yusef Salaam, Raymond Santana Jr., Kevin Richardson, and Korey Wise in 1989 when they were falsely accused, charged, and convicted of the tragic beating and rape of Trisha Meili, a white woman. This four-part miniseries walks us through the eyes of the boys from the night they were in Central Park until the day they are exonerated of all charges and released back into the world. Part 1 exposes the unjust tactics and tools used to interrogate and trap these boys in lies of committing a crime that they had no idea existed. Part 2 walks us through the trials of all 5 boys and how the justice system brings no justice to black people no matter how blatantly untrue a story being told against them can be. Part 3 shows us a snippet of what Antron, Yusef, Kevin, and Raymond endure during and after their release from prison; trying to integrate into a world that refuses to accept them because of these false allegations. Finally, part 4… we see the tragic circumstances and situations Korey Wise experienced for 14 years being moved from prison to prison trying to survive with a target on his back that NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE.

As a black woman I can never understand the tragedy of having that type of target on my back to the degree our men must live with it, but I can be angry for what they are doing to our men. This story is known… there are no spoilers to give or disclaimers to provide. If you don’t want to know my opinions on certain parts of this because you feel it may ruin the watch for you I understand, but please watch because this story NEEDED to be told. I don’t want this to be considered a review but more of a reflection because no matter the scale this affects us all, including myself. If you feel it’s “too hard” to watch or don’t know if you can “handle it,” they don’t deserve to have their story out there for you to not watch. Take your time, but watch… no excuses.

There were so many parts that hurt to watch and I’m often told I’m heartless because of my inability to cry at emotionally tear provoking movies or tv shows, but this broke me. I made it through the first 3 parts with anger and frustration but no tears, taking breaks and pauses in between watching. It’s going to take anywhere between 1-3 days to work through the series; approximately 5 hours altogether. For some, it may take longer. That’s how real it gets.

Watching Korey’s story hit me the hardest; that was what finally made the tears fall. The depiction of his truth and struggle was the hardest to witness yet the easiest to relate to. Not many of can say we’ve been directly arrested and blamed for a crime we’ve had nothing to do with, but anybody can relate to the fear of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and having something like that happen. Korey Wise went to the police precinct to support his friend, Yusef, and was left there. Not too long after being left he was used as a scapegoat to make this absurd story make sense to any other white person that would listen. Considering these boys were already being treated as animals it’s hard to believe the scenario could get any worse but lets add in the fact that he’s sent directly to prison, not a juvenile detention center, and beaten countless times by grown men that are actual rapists, murderers, felons, and so much more. Korey’s story is going to hit the hardest… just be prepared.

Watch this with your kids, your younger siblings, your older siblings, mentees, whomever you hold dear to you because this is real, and EVERYBODY in America needs to see what really happens to our boys. This isn’t something that you can turn away from and pretend as though it’s not happening everyday from police shootings to racial profiling. We wouldn’t change our skin even if we could, but America does need to change it’s privilege…

These boys were interrogated for hours without their parents. Parents were suckered and punked into handing over their kids to the system. This outrageous individual that is often referred to as the President of the United States, current day, was on news channels, taking out ads to have the death penalty imposed on these children that didn’t even know what truant or rape meant. Let’s be realistic… who in their right mind believes any BLACK MAN would willingly admit to raping a white women if they knew exactly what that meant? No man… and you think these five 14-16 year old black and brown BOYS understood what they were admitting to, alone with no parental guidance? Sitting in a precinct hungry and wanting to go home?

One question here… when has a rape EVER been THIS important to police? Rape gets overlooked, forgotten, disregarded, and ignored more often than it should even now with more resources than were available in 1989. Don’t be fooled… had that woman in the park been black and the supposed assailant a white male, there wouldn’t have been this much traction to find the attacker, let alone to create 5 attackers out of a crime scene that clearly only had evidence of their being one. This was a clear racial attack targeted at minorities that couldn’t protect themselves… more specifically blacks in America that have ALWAYS been discounted and created into animals that couldn’t possibly be human beings.

Linda Fairstein was disgusting, right along with Elizabeth Lederer, Robert Morgenthau, all of the cops that were gathering up boys, and the detectives in the precinct that coerced false confessions out of 14 year olds. Disgusting doesn’t even give justice to the horrific things these five went through, and the worst part is the shock value is gone. We’re not surprised at how the justice system fails and frames our people, it’s what we expect and that’s disheartening. You may watch and wonder how can we protect our children against a system that’s centered around seeing them fail, and I don’t have the answer to that. Knowledge is power, however. This takes me back to “The Hate U Give” and how Starr’s father teaches his children the hard realities of dealing with law enforcement and being black. Give your kids as much knowledge as possible to protect themselves; tell them don’t say anything without having you present, don’t resist or struggle unnecessarily, and don’t admit to anything especially something they haven’t done or don’t have any knowledge of.

Points that struck a nerve and hit me the hardest while watching:

Nancy Ryan should have pushed harder to take the case or have somebody else work the case because Linda Fairstein had a personal vendetta she was trying to resolve. I don’t know if she was a victim of rape or knows somebody closely who was and that made her act the way she did, but somebody needed to put her on a leash. I truly believe Nancy Ryan should have been that person, but I am happy she was the one that handled the confession from the real attacker in 2003. I understand the attempt to try and set Linda straight after everything, but babygirl waited a little too long to try to check somebody that flew off the deep end 4 years prior.

The black cop that tried to keep the detectives from interrogating Kevin after his mother left not feeling well… sir you could have pushed harder. I understand the remorse you probably felt by stepping back and watching that happen, but I’m sure there’s plenty of things you could have said to somebody or done to address the fact that they knowingly interrogated him ignoring the fact that his mother was sick and was coming back after getting her medication.

The audacity to connect Kevin’s eye being swollen and scratched to the struggle the rape victim put up when in reality he had a black eye from being smacked in the head by a cop with a helmet while they were tackling and herding black boys up like they were cattle… and this is NEVER addressed during the trial.

Antron’s father, Bobby, disgusts me. This man knew how the system worked because he had been locked up, but instead of protecting his son he forced his son to admit to being involved with raping that woman to keep his job and lifestyle up. I understand he’s passed on and God rest is soul where he is, but that struck a serious nerve with me. Protect your children at all costs, because nobody else will.

Yusef’s mom, Sharon, was a lot for me. I understand she was trying to protect her son, but this entire situation was bigger than just her and Yusef, especially when Korey ended up in this trying to look out for her son. No disrespect to any mothers out there because I definitely understand wanting to protect your baby, but they were all babies and they all needed protecting.

Ray’s step mother needs something… a beat down is what comes to mind, but I’m a lover not a fighter.

And just overall, the evidence that was missing, the stories that didn’t match up, the DNA sample that matched NONE of the boys, but some how they were still convicted.

There were so many other moments other than just that that even make writing this and reflecting on it almost as hard as it was watching it.

There has been a lot of buzz around this miniseries and for good reason. Ava Duvernay took her time on sculpting this and telling their tragic story in a beautiful manner. The actors portraying every person involved did such an amazing job and I can’t even begin to imagine how it must have been stepping into the shoes of anybody in this plot line; especially one of the five men that stepped up to tell their story in hopes that it would be heard and they would be recognized. All five men are hard working and it appears they are thriving despite the tragedies they endured to get to where they are present day. Again, I charge anybody that has decided this is too much to watch to reconsider. It may be hard to watch, but this is our history as black people and these men deserve to be supported by our community no matter how painful it may be to witness. The hardest part was going through it and they handled that part long ago, now, we should stand behind them and their efforts to stop this from happening to anymore of our children.

I recently saw a video from Clint Coley with him in a rap battle against some white cops and one line stood out to me… “You can’t say all lives matter, cause the black ones don’t.” Nobody should be able to watch this and continue to think our justice system is fair and protects all citizens. The thing white people will never be able to relate to is the fear that they may get that call one day about their son and they won’t be able to do anything about it. White boys are coddled and treated as though there’s every cure in the book for anything wrong they do, but black boys are thrown into jails and treated as adults with no comfort, support, or benefit of doubt. All lives can’t matter when that’s the reality of the world we live in.

So, do your community a favor… do your future sons and daughters a favor… do yourself a favor and watch “When They See Us.” It will make you mad, it will make you afraid, it will make you cry, but it will throw more fuel to the fire inside you that should be anxious to make a change for the generations coming after us. They will watch what you did and move accordingly. They will appreciate how you supported our community and follow your lead. They will be stronger for it, because that’s what you’ll teach them to be.

Be D.O.P.E. Support our men.

Release Date: May 31, 2019 Where I watched: Netflix

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