#John will get him to read it soon i have faith in him

[potato-lord-but-not]

obligatory Oscar post 🫶🫶

[theteaisaddictive]

jane immediately recognising that her confidence in rochester is dead after the whole attic wife thing gets revealed — indeed, all throughout their engagement, noticing little red flags about his behaviour, which she wilfully ignores even as the more sensible part of her knows that she needs some form of financial independence, that rochester treating her the way he treated celine varens isn’t going to bode well for their marriage at all…….

i’m just saying. she’s young, but she’s not stupid. there’s a reason they can’t be together until jane’s inherited her fortune and rochester has been humbled by the loss of his financial status and physical ability — indeed, until rochester wholeheartedly embraces a christianity close to jane’s own, which doesn’t resemble the hypocrisy of brocklehurst or the puritan self-denial of st. john.

[keravnous]

diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

[missmomof3]

Deep Regret (shelby sister fic)

Sorry if this is awful, this is my first time ever trying to write a fanfiction. I'm not sure what this would be classified as but probably too long to be a drabble. Maybe an imagine? If anyone reads this, thank you and I am fine with criticism (I'm sure I did lots of things wrong) but please be kind.

Summary: y/n shelby always tried to make her family happy, but they all believed Grace over her and soon most bonds were disintegrating, especially with Tommy, who she'd always loved and looked up to.

TW:character death, not proofread, possibly missing some so read at your your own discretion.

"Y/N get in here!" Tommy yelled from his office at you where you were sitting in Michael's office doing your homework.

"What did you do this time" Michael asked, irritated but fortunately not at you, he hadn't turned on you.

You had always been Tommy's favorite sibling, him more of a father than a brother to you until Charlie was born. Until recently you'd even lived at Arrowhouse with Grace and him. But after Charlie was born suddenly Grace began complaining to Tommy of how disrespectful you were when no one was around. That you called her names, taunted her and even until they married, had nicknamed little Charlie "the bastard". But just to her, not around anyone else. You hadn't ever done any of that and at first were confused when Tommy began yelling at you frequently and you weren't allowed alone with Charlie anymore.

He held a family meeting without you there to discuss your behavior. By the time that happened you weren't friendly to Grace anymore because what was the point when you'd be in trouble anyways. The family had noticed the tension so for the most part believed Tommy when he told them of your troubling behavior and they began being short with you and before long it felt like all you had left was Ada, Finn and Michael. Polly was no Grace fan but was disappointed in you for supposedly insulting a baby and felt like you should be grateful Grace had agreed to let you live in their house. John, Esme, Arthur and Linda took that line of thinking as well, deeply disappointed in how you went from being one of the sweetest people they knew to being so disrespectful and cruel. They especially were disappointed that you'd be so two-faced and only do this while no one else was around. At least have the backbone to own your behavior was their thoughts.

So now here you were, living with Polly because even though she was disappointed you were still her niece, but living with hostility everywhere. You were still polite when you saw Grace, but now you held yourself back from everyone so their accusations and lack of faith in you didn't hurt so badly.

Responding to Michael's question with a shrug, you got up to walk into Tommy's office ready to be told off again for some imagined offense.

"Sit down y/n," Tommy said coldly, "and explain to me why you felt the need to make my wife cry last night."

Family dinner was held at Arrowhouse last night, and even though you hadn't wanted to go, Ada promised she'd be there and insisted you go with your head held high, knowing you were innocent. She never believed Tommy, remembering how it felt when Grace's betrayal took her Freddy away. Remembering you sneaking to her place to help with Karl, and how alone she felt thinking her brother betrayed her. It baffled her how her family could believe Grace over you, but whenever she brought it up they all asked why Grace would lie when she loved Tommy and she knew how much sending you away and practically severing his bond with you had hurt him. So she, Michael and Finn still staunchly defended you but gave up on getting through to anyone. That's why last night you stuck close to Ada, never being alone with Grace, in the hopes this very incident wouldn't be happening.

"Tell me, oh brother of mine, what did I do to Grace now?" You asked, no longer worried abour his reaction to your attitude since you had already grieved the loss of your relationship.

So he started laying out some imagined conversation that happened in the kitchen when Grace went to ask Mary a question. According to her you'd seen her and started criticizing her hosting skills, telling her what a disaster the upcoming charity gala would be.

You smirked at his tirade, because this time you knew you had proof. "Call Ada, ask her what happened last night" you said, standing up and getting ready to leave.

"I haven't dismissed you yet," Tommy clipped, grabbing your arm. "I am putting you on notice, if you do anything to embarrass Grace tomorrow night at the gala, I will have no choice but to completely cut you from the family the minute you turn 18. That means no help, no using the Shelby name, you'll be on your own."

"Bold of you to assume once I'm 18 I'll be sticking around here" you said, rolling your eyes, "I know my place now, at the bottom. When I'm an adult I'll take care of myself. I'll miss the family I had, but I'll make my own." Then you left.

Tommy sat with his head in his hands. You'd never know how much his heart broke to imagine you completely gone from his life. He didn't know how to reach you anymore. His sister, closer to a daughter. He still loved you so much and had hoped tough love would work, but he missed you deeply and choosing his wife and son had felt like removing a large part of his heart. If only you could have stayed the sweet girl you once were, before jealousy had taken over.

When Grace first went to him with your behavior, he hadn't wanted to believe it. But the more she went to him and the more you denied it the more arguments it caused between him and Grace. Until finally she told him he was putting his true family aside for a girl who wasn't his daughter, who would eventually marry and leave him, while his wife and son suffered in the meantime. It became easier to give in, to be angry at the strife in his house that you were causing. Especially when it stopped as soon as you moved to Polly's.

But he couldn't ignore the voice at the back of his head reminding him Grace was an accomplishhed liar while you had always been awful at it. So he called Ada. 30 minutes later he was more conflicted than ever but knew he needed to get answers from Grace. Ada confirmed you had never been alone with Grace, never even went to the kitchen. Then he spoke to Polly who also had never seen you leave Ada's side. Now Polly was beginning to demand he find out if they had been wrong all along, if her niece had been sacrificed for familiy unity. Michael had been chipping away at her beliefs for awhile now and this seemed to confirm it.

That night, Tommy sat Grace down, determined to find out the truth. After a lot of obfuscation and denial it all came out. She'd been feeling guilty for some time now whenever she saw how heartbroken and torn her husband was, but she was petrified he'd love his son less than his sister, and with her standing in the family being only strong because of Tommy's love for her and Charlie, she panicked and in that panic had thought if she got y/n sent away, Charlie and by extension herself, would always be his top priority.

This saddened him greatly for a multitude of reasons. Her lack of faith in him even though he'd never been the betrayer in their relationship, his poor choices, his cruelty to you, the loss of that bond. It all hurt.

The next day, before heading out on business he demanded a family meeting be held. He made Grace come with him and confess all. She did, because deep down she felt awful that she'd ruined the life of a sweet girl that had never been anything but kind to her. She'd seen the loss of spark in your eyes and couldn't deny any longer how horrible her behavior was. Maybe this could be fixed. At least your relationship with your family, especially Tommy. He missed you deeply and maybe the memories of all the years he'd loved and taken care of you could combat the time he'd spent alienating and breaking your heart.

The family was horrified but not shocked. Deeply disappointed in Tommy and themselves they made a plan to begin making it up to you. Tomorrow, after the gala, they'd all individually apologize and set about making things right. Work was cut short so they could all get ready, but at least tonight they'd be knd to you and start treating you like the beloved little sister you'd always been.

Tommy and Grace rode in silence to the gala. Grace didn't know how to bridge the gap and Tommy was lost in thought. Before they got out he turned to her and said "After you apologize to y/n, we can begin fixing us. You're Charlie's mother and I still love you, but you broke my trust and cost me someone precious. So right now, let's just focus on righting the wrongs we both have done." Grace agreed sadly, knowing it would be a long time before she had her husband back, but accepting this as the consequences for her bad decisions.

For you the night was going great! Everyone was suddenly friendly, and even Tommy had a warmth in his eyes at you that you hadn't seen in a long time. Grace had made a point of complimenting you and suddenly everyone wanted to talk to you. It made the night pleasant, but you weren't getting your hopes up. You'd built walls and they weren't coming down because suddenly people treated you like you were family again. You stuck around Ada and Finn.

While everyone had been having epiphanies and making plans to repair relationships today, you'd been doing some thinking of your own. Mostly thinking about how different your life might have looked had you had parents. They maybe would have loved you unconditionally. Maybe your relationship with your brothers, their wives, your aunt would have been better if they hadn't also had to help raise you. For so long, you hadn't felt you were missing anything because you had brothers, a sister, an aunt, and more recently a cousin and sisters-in-law that loved you ahd made you feel protected and like you belonged. As a child you'd had multiple people to go to for love, advice and help, it never occurred to you that that could all be taken away. Even during the war, the letters you got from your brothers and the presence of Finn, Ada and Aunt Polly had always kept you from feeling lonely. Now you knew that could be taken away and now you knew loneliness. Now you felt like the orphan you were.

Tommy was walking away from some duchess when he caught your eye and motioned you over. You went over hesitantly, hoping you weren't about to be chastised for something. As you walked up to him, he was in conversation with Grace about her necklace. Hoping to slip past them without being seen as everyone was moving into the banquet hall to eat, you suddenly heard someone yell out "For Angel!" with a gun in their hand. At once time slowed down and sped up and all you could think of was little Charlie losing his parents and becoming like you. Not even realizing you were moving, suddenly there was a sharp pain in your stomach and you were falling into another person.

Everything became chaos. Tommy was horror stricken as he held his baby sister's head in his lap while Grace was putting pressure on the wound. He yelled for someone to call an ambulance and kept trying to get your attention, because you were still breathing but staring at the ceiling like you could see someone there.

"Please, y/n, please look at me, stay with me, don't leave me" he begged, running a hand soothingly through your hair as tears streamed down his cheeks, all the while remembering years of time spent together, how you would climb into his bed after the war and just lay beside him when he'd have nightmares, grounding him and reminding him he was home, safe and warm, not in a tunnel, no enemy shovels around.

Grace had one hand putting pressure on your wound, the other holding your hand while she cried as well. She was horrified at what her behavior stole from you, while you had literally saved her life. Thinking back on the sweet little girl back when she was a barmaid, asking her to sing because her voice was "beautiful" Soon she was nudged roughly out of the way by John who took over putting pressure on your wound, tears streaming down his cheeks. His thoughts on the girl he used to throw in the air when she was little, her always trusting he'd catch her.

Arthur was beating the man who had fired the bullet, he couldn't make himself stop. All he could see was you in his arms as a baby, your finger wrapped in his and your eyes looking at him so trusting, and how much he'd let you down by not going against Tommy.

Polly was on the phone getting an ambulance, begging them to hurry, trying to keep herself calm as she remembered all the times when you were little and would hold out your arms, confident you'd get picked up and cuddled, she could almost feel the warmth of your head on her shoulder.

Ada was holding Finn, praying silently for her sister, most recently at an age where she was fun to shop with, try on clothes together, the girl who would confide in her because she trusted Ada's judgement and knew she was safe to be herself with her.

Michael stood at the door waiting for the ambulance, doing his best not to cry, thinking of his cousin who, even feeling alone and rejected by almost everyone, would listen as he spoke about his girlfriend, and who would joke around with him while doing homework.

Esme and Linda stood by Grace, quietly crying, both thinking of how welcoming and sweet you'd been when they were introduced to the family. Esme knowing no one and yet you immediately treated her like a sister, helping with the kids and softening some of Polly's harshness during the London expansion. Linda wishing she'd gotten to know you better, but remembering how you'd hugged her when she and Arthur got married and said how you knew she'd make him happy and help him find peace.

Regret and sorrow ran so powerfully through the large ballroom it felt like they were a physical presence.

[lordgrimoire]

The Goonion would like a Word

Bruce had never had an experience like this before, letters of ransom from any of his rogues? Certainly! But the Goonion only ever left messages when they were paying bail for their own, and he was becoming worried as to why Jason’s Goons had posted a message to him via The Goonion.

“To Batman of Gotham, New Jersey, United States of America, We would like to have a word with you in regards to a pair of Meta Adjacent individuals we would like to harbor here in Gotham, we are only extending the courtesy to you regarding them due to the fact that the United States Government refuses to acknowledge them as people due to their conditions, the Boss said he would tell you himself, if he has not already he likely will soon. Suffice to say a family of three is coming to Gotham as their last chance at a safe harbor and we would prefer it if you did not get on their cases. We hope to receive your response without any broken bones, The Goonion, Gotham, New Jersey Branch.” Tim was staring at the paper, the stationary of The Goonion, with confusion, Dick, Barbara, Cass, and Stephany seemed rather accepting of it, and Damian was confused. 

“What is this, Goonion?” His youngest asked, staring at the paper as Bruce read over the return address, the Iceberg Lounge, a server named Thomas. 

“Ah, we haven’t told you about them yet have we?” Dick began, sitting back. “They’re nice folks, help get the Goons payed and are usually the ones to put their feet down when Rogues get outta hand for normal folks, for instance, the Joker does not have the stamp of approval for, many reasons. But primarily it’s due to his former Henchmen, including Harley, snitching on him to the Goonion.” Dick typed something into his phone, Damian’s own device pinging in his pocket, likely more info. “The Goonion has an odd relationship with us, we don’t go after them and they try to keep things regulated, Jason could probably tell you more, and it seems from the letter we do have to talk to him.” The door to the cave opened, and while Bruce looked up to see his second son come walking down the steps he seemed, tired, run down even.

“The Goonion already got to you? Good on them.” Jason huffed as he sat next to Damian, ruffling the boy’s head much to his exasperation and attempted swatting. “Situations fucked, the letter doesn’t even touch on the bigger parts but it gets, real fucky like, possibly gonna want to get Uncle Clark and Aunt Diana in on it fucky, definitely Constantine as well.” Well Bruce knew his flags rather well and if Jason was advocating for not only a League intervention but one headed by John Constantine? Bruce decided to address the original topic first. 

“They can stay, but they will have to answer questions.” Jason huffed and leaned back. 

“Ground rules then, the two younger kids? Meta Adjacent? They have a similar situation to me, and it turns out Ra’s is playing with not even a tenth of a full puzzle with the Lazarus Pit.” Everyone around the table stiffened, save Alfred who had come in behind Jason with a tea service, as Jason took a sip from the mug placed before him and nodding to Alfred. “Thank you. The details are spotty but the abridged form is this, the Lazarus pit is the remains of a bunch of people from a dimension to which we all go when we die, the residents therein call it the Infinite Realms since it services everyone that means every Person who has a faith or doesn’t has a place there. Furthermore these three’s parents who passed recently in a Government Sanctioned raid made a Portal to the Infinite Realms, and Lazarus Water? Corrupted, dirty, a literally soul eroding form of what makes up matter on that end of the divide, Ectoplasm.” Jason withdrew a vial from his pocket, a bright green and sluggish substances was held within. “This is pure ectoplasm, The Parents, a pair known as Doctors Jack and Madeline Fenton, introduced me to a Doctor from the Infinite Realms, suffice to say I am feeling much less angry and far more at peace with things, though apparently being angry is normal for the type of “Dead but Brought Back” I am.” Jason placed the vial on the table and slowly pushed it to Bruce, taking his hand back when he reached for it.

“Jazz, the eldest, is a student at Gotham University, or she is now, identities and the like will be handled later but for the younger two it’s time for some non starters, because apparenlty if you ask an Ecto Entity or anyone touched by the Infinite Realms how they died it sets off a “I Must Kill You Now” trigger in their head, essentially forcing them to suffer their deaths all over again until they deal with who or whatever asked the question, so no being a little nosey punk about it Tim.” Tim jolted at his name being said instead of Jason’s nickname for him but he nodded when he realized that his elder brother hadn’t looked away from him. Bruce was still proud the two had started to mend things so well, but as he stared at the vial a question swirled in his mind.

“Why did the Goonion send a letter then?” Jason stiffened slightly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Alrighty, so you know how I’ve been going to College classes since a year ago? I met Jazz at one of them, as Jason Todd, son of Bruce Wayne and card carrying member of Red Hood’s Goonion. This was, sometime around Spring Semester, soooooo” Steph lunged up, mouth open with a squeak until Cass pulled her back down. Jason sighed and continued. “We started dating last year, she wants to be a psychiatrist and maay have started working for The Goonion in Star City when one of their guys ended up on her mentor’s patient bench. Her academics are already transferred to Gotham U but she’s still looking for a new Mentor.” Bruce made an affirmative noise at that, encouraging, Jason was holding something back, the younger siblings hadn’t been named yet. “The Goonion hired her former mentor and Jazz followed them in since they have really good benefits, and she has experience with the whole Capes and Crooks thing already. Though she told me she would rather she and her siblings explain that.” 

So, Jasmine Fenton, after being a student for at least a year in Psychiatry, became a Goonion Psychiatrist, and then when her Parents died she takes her younger siblings, one of whom is rather recently adopted into the family by the looks of it, and flees her hometown, one Amity Park Illinois, which has a disturbingly blank file in the League databanks. “Yeah,” Jason began, looking over at the Batcomputer, scanning the total lack of data from two year ago on. “The Government locked their hometown down quick, they have a branch called the Ghost Investigation Ward, who managed to get a law in before our current Shining Dome of a President, was sworn in, apparenlty old Lex has been trying to rip that law to shredds since he found out about it and there’s something akin to a coup attempt going on from the GIW towards Lex. I looked into those guys already, I think it would be wiser to side with the current President and not a bunch of Loons who would dissect Uncle Clark and his kids if they got the chance.” Damian jerked slightly, turning to face Jason.

“What?” 

“Yeah, Krypton is dead it’s a dead world, by some of the smaller parts of the Anti-Ecto Acts that means that all Kryptonians are ecto-beings and by that law have no sentience, and are just emotions imprinted on ectoplasm, given the fact I died once they would pick me up as well in a heartbeat, for “disposal” as they call it.” The room had become Still, Dick seemed furious, staring at the damning lack of info alongside a pale Tim, Damian who was still staring at Jason realized just why his brother had looked back to him and was also looking at Cass, they had been brought back by the pit, they were by Federal Law non-sentient. Bruce felt the arms of his chair bend slightly under his grip before breathing out his frustration. 

“You have a plan?” Jason nodded, he seemed to be expecting worse, you really didn’t give him a reason not to, and began speaking.

“The Goonion will be dealing with protecting people who fall under the acts, we just need the JL to take this problem and light it on fire, drag it into the public eye and raid a few of the GIW’s bases that may have people, both from our side and theirs, in captivity. I will be going tonight to get Jazz and her Siblings from a bolt hole of theirs, an Aunt in Arkansas whose bound to be investigated is hiding them, I just need to borrow something.” Bruce allowed an eyebrow to climb up his forehead, he wants to borrow the Batplane for it.

“I’ll allow it, go and get them once it starts to become dark out, I’ll expect you back by dawn, do you have a place set up?” Jason blinked at him before nodding. 

“Yeah, one of the safer corners of Crime Alley, closest part to Gotham University, three bedrooms, two bath, someone maaay have helped me pick it out.” Bruce nodded, he would get nowhere in trying to guess which of his other children, Alfred, or any of Jason’s friends, or even some of their own collectively reformed Rogues could have helped Jason in this, but suffice to say it was a safe harbor and one backed by some rather tough figures. The Goonion alone would give anyone trouble, but with them being in Crime Alley that meant that they were essentially in an invaders nightmare. Dead ends, construction, dilapidated or abandoned buildings, it was a natural ambush site. Jason then put a box on the table, it was a scanner of some sort. 

“One of the reasons they’re coming here is this,” he flipped a switch and the machine began to frantically beep, practically sounding a long tone before Jason flipped it off again, “Gotham sits on a similar point to Amity Park, and as such we are LOADED with ambient ectoplasm, constantly stirred up by magic based curses of one sort or another it essentially blinds ectoplasmic tracking devices.” Bruce nodded, accepting the device as it was pushed down the table to him. “Jazz had apparently decided that they would run to Gotham if things went sideways like this anyways, we’re the closest ambiently effected city to Amity not ringed by GIW outposts and scanners.” Bruce paused in his observing of the machine, the GIW had surrounded other cities that had high ambient ectoplasm?

“Where?” Jason pulled out a small notepad.

“Well, Jazz wouldn’t tell us, but the Goonion has it’s ways, The GIW has encircled the following cities, Salem, Boston, and Springfield of Massachusetts, New Orleans, New York, Philadelphia and Gettysburg of Pennsylvania, Chicago Illinois, Savanah Georgia, D.C., and then San Francisco and San Antonio of California and Texas respectively, I asked for this list at 6 this morning, I was handed this current version at Noon, these were just the overt ones. Metropolis, Bludhaven, and Gotham, are currently not surrounded, there are locations between them but not many.” Bruce stood, watching as addresses were placed on the table, each assigned a sticky note and details. 

“You should get ready to go get Jazz and her siblings, we’ll deal with this.” Bruce tapped on the sticky note closest to him. Jason nodded and stood, following Alfred out of the Batcave as Bruce looked to the rest of his family. “We have targets, we have details, Tim, dig up what you can on the GIW, Damian, Dick, Cass, Stephanie, your with me, we’re going to raid as many of these places as we can tonight, Barbara,”

“I’ve got comms, got it.” She interrupted, rolling over to the Bat computer and preparing for daylight operations 

[youzicha]

Putting on the sunglasses 🕶️

In the movie They Live (1988, written and directed by John Carpenter) the protagonist Nada comes across a pair of special sunglasses: when he puts them on he can see the subliminal messages behind magazines and advertisements, and can also see that some apparent humans are actually alien invaders controlling us. Soon the aliens realize that he is on to them, so the first concrete thing he does with his newfound knowledge is getting into a shoot-out and killing two aliens disguised as police officers.

The imagery is not exactly subtle, but in interviews Carpenter spells it out: “the aliens are members of the upper class, the rich, and they’re slowly exploiting the middle class”. Or as Slavoj Zizek puts it the glasses lets Nada see the “the invisible order which sustains your apparent freedom”, the “dictatorship in democracy”, the “ideology”.

As far as I know the Wachowskis have not supplied an explicit gloss on The Matrix, but the plot is quite similar. Neo comes across a special red pill which lets him see through "the world that has been pulled over your eye to blind you from the truth." After some soul-searching, Neo and Trinity are finally ready for concrete action: they declare “we need guns. Lots of guns” and shoot up a Federal Building. Both movies feature a scene where somebody resists the knowledge: Nada’s friend Frank refuses to put on the glasses, and Cypher declares “ignorance is bliss” while eating simulated steak.

Of course these movies work metaphorically, but They Live also allows a quite literal reading. If someone kills two police officers because they are secret aliens controlling the government, the obvious explanation is a paranoid delusion, not an alien invasion.

A movie about a random psychotic guy would be uninteresting, but psychiatric symptoms tend to be exaggerated versions of general human tendencies, and paranoia is contiguous with ordinary ideology and confirmation bias. Compare with the Utøya massacre, where psychiatrists disagreed whether the killer was psychotic or just had bad politics. Or for a purely ideological example, consider guys like the Red Army Faction. They shared Carpenter’s revulsion for “unrestrained capitalism”, saw through the false consciousness into the underlying machinery, and killed a bunch of police officers.

So with all that in mind, I think it’s interesting to see who reference these movies. There’s an article in The Unz Review, Battling the Matrix, which includes a long comparison with They Live, explaining how well it captures the experience of bringing up Perspectives Largely Excluded from the American Mainstream Media. In particular, as soon as you try to explain that jet fuel cannot melt steel beams people defensively dismiss you as a conspiracy theorist.

Or religions:

Prince had his change of faith [to become a Jehovah’s Witness], he said, after a two-year-long debate with a musician friend, Larry Graham. “I don’t see it really as a conversion,” he said. “More, you know, it’s a realization. It’s like Morpheus and Neo in ‘The Matrix.’”

Or neo-nazis, who prompted John Carpenter to angrily deny that They Live is about Jewish control of the world, while some poster on /pol/ says that “The J[ewish] Q[uestion] is the final red pill”.

Or Ziz explaining:

According to traditional morality (you learn in the Matrix), if someone tells you you need to split off from the people you are close to who don’t share certain beliefs of yours, that person is a CULTIST and you need to RUN.

All of these examples have an cute symmetry: someone declares that they have finally seen through the ideology, while from the outside we would say that their new theories add a distorting filter. (Like some colored glasses, say.)

[scribeforchrist-blog]

Remain In Me

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK

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+ Matthew 15:17 Yes, it is, Lord,” she said. “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

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VERSE OF THE DAY

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+ 1 John 4:3 By this we know that we abide in him and he in us because he has given us of his Spirit

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SUBJECT: Remain In Me

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** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM NEAR THE SOURCE

I AM ABIDING IN JESUS

I AM WALKING HUMBLY

I AM HEARING THE VOICE OF JESUS

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READ TIME: 7 Minutes 4 seconds

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THOUGHTS:

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  Life can throw many curve balls, but it's sometimes overwhelming. I, for one, must pause and say, God, please help me through this because I don’t know; it's okay not to know. It's okay to rely on God because that’s what he wants of us; when I moved, I had all these electronics, I needed to be plugged up, and my dad was there helping me put all my stuff together and placed it in this new port he got me. I never used these ports before, so I didn’t know I had to click the switch.

   When I finally figured that out, everything came on, and nothing worked until I clicked the central button to turn everything on; sometimes we must remember we need to connect with the primary source for things to make sense; a lot of times, things don’t feel right or go right because we aren’t connected to our primary source which is Jesus.

   In his words, he tells us to abide in him. We don’t know how to do this until we connect with him and ask him. And abide means to stay. It means to connect. Webster says abide means to stay and remain; how often do we remain where we are to hear him speak? How often have we stayed to hear him say what he wanted of us?

    John 15:7 If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.

  He says if we remain in him and his word remains in us, he will give us whatever we want. But we must remain in him if we are faithful; if we do what we are supposed to, he will give us according to his will. Many don’t remain in him to see him move in our lives. Many of us will stay long enough to get what we want and leave, but He is saying today, "REMAIN IN ME!!!

 If all my stuff stays connected to the port and I use the right source, my electronics will stay ON, but as soon as I unplug it or click the button, I will have no power, and that’s like us. We lack spiritual power until we connect and remain in Christ. We must stop praying and dashing. We must remain and see what he wants to show us; how many of you want to grow and develop in your gifts? You can't because you're not seeking him more. You're not connecting with the primary connection.

 Psalm 91:1-2 He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, “My refuge and fortress, my God, whom I trust.”

     We must remain in the shelter of the high; when we do this, we can better see him as the refuge and the fortress, but if we keep leaving and keep meddling in other things, we can't see. We can't see the problem because we don’t see it any other way, but sometimes, it takes us to see it differently. God is that new way he's trying to show us what we need to do, but some of us are saying, no, I can’t, we can't because we won't, but we can if we try if we allow God in & remain in him and try him, he will develop us right where we are.

  Abiding in Jesus is hard to do sometimes because we don’t want to do anything else but be in our head or be in our ways, but if we are using old ways to develop new ways we won’t truly change ,we will be stuck . I have been stuck thinking I can just stay here and be fine. Still, Jesus is saying come to me, stay with me, and don’t leave. When we stay in one place, we can get comfortable. If I stay where I am, I am not developing. I didn’t see that, but the moment I said OKAY, God, let’s go, God started to show me great and wonderful things but we must speak the words and say let’s go, God , let’s walk together.

  Romans 13:13 Let us walk properly as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensuality, not in quarreling and jealousy

  We must stay close to God and walk properly, and that’s holiness; when we start quarrels and are full of jealousy, we aren’t living in a way that shows we are abiding by God. We often think God is leading us, but honestly, we are being led by the flesh! The flesh will lead us, and we will get comfortable staying in the flesh because the flesh makes us feel we are right; our flesh will make us feel we are doing the right thing, but we aren’t; the flesh will always feel good because it’s ultimately what we want to do!

  When God shows us what we should be doing and how to abide, we must walk away from our thoughts and the idea that what we are doing feels right. The hardest thing we must do right now is decide what we want to do, and the easiest choice is choosing our flesh, but the best choice is Jesus. Allow Jesus to be who you abide in and not your flesh.

   *** Today, we learned how weak we are when we choose our flesh and how abiding in Jesus every day is the best choice. Our power source will never get tired of strengthening us , we all know how some things get tried and weak after using it so much; not Jesus, he loves us and wants to comfort us to give us more, not just finically but in general for peace of mind, the lord loves us and all our flaws ,we don’t have to hide who we are and what we did ,all we have to do is come and stay with him.

  1 John 2:6 Whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked

   It tells us that when we stay with Jesus, we must walk the same way he walks, which means being filled with love, joy, peace, and understanding, and a lot of us don’t walk this way because we aren’t staying in Him.  As we stay in the lord, our mind transforms, and we become different; we are new in him. Jesus wants us to be renewed; he wants the veil lifted, but it can only happen when we say yes! Say yes to Jesus today!

©Seer~ Prophetess Lee

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PRAYER

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Heavenly Father, thank you so much for everything; we need you so badly. We thank you for everything; we ask you to help us abide in you. Lord, we ask that you forgive us and renew our minds. Lord, show us how to listen to you and not walk away from you! Lord, we need you, and we thank you for the ups and downs. Lord, continue to help us through, and we will hear you. Lord, strengthen our walk and our understanding of you, in Jesus' Name, Amen

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REFERENCES

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1 John 3:24 Whoever keeps his commandments abides in God, and God in him. And by this, we know that he abides by you

 

+John 8:31 So Jesus said to the Jews who had believed him, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples,

 

+ 1 John 4:13 By this we know that we abide in him and he in us because he has given us of his Spirit

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FURTHER READINGS

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Proverbs 24

Leviticus 24

John 8

Psalm 35

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[randomquadballpun]

DAY 9 (attempt no 3)

John did not have a shift scheduled this Wednesday so after dropping off Rosie at school he took a detour over to a local farmers market before lunch to collect some fresh groceries and enjoy the mild September weather.

When he returned to Baker Street with his haul of apples, potatoes, radishes and fennel, he found Sherlock sitting crosslegged on the living room carpet surrounded by a halo of little screws, wires and other electrical parts. If that was not worrying enough on its own, then there still was the object at the centre of Sherlocks current efforts.

"Wait, is that our water kettle?"

The sad electric kettle sat right in front of the detective on the floor and seemed to be partially dismantled at the moment, with Sherlock poking at different parts of it with a dubious expression and only reluctantly raising his gaze at Johns exclamation.

"Obviously!"

"Why?"

"Something keeps going wrong with Watsons and my experiment. I investigated a few possible causes and observed that the heating plate that I used for my waterbath showed quite significant fluctuations in temperature when tracked over time. So my current reasoning is, that we might have killed the bacteria by heating them too much and that's why the experiment failed so far."

John stared down at him slack-jawed. "All of this is still about the experiment that you are doing with Rosie?"

That earned him an indignant look. "Of course! I am not going to teach her that she should just give up as soon as science gets a little bit tough. Repeating and tweaking your experiments is a fundamental part of scientific discovery! We are going to get to the bottom of this."

"So what did our kettle do to deserve this faith?"

"I am trying to get it hooked up to my contact thermometer and then use it to maintain my 42°C waterbath instead. I found someone on ResearchGate.net who did something similar when their heating block failed."

There was no use arguing with Sherlock whenever he got into this kind of singleminded focus so John decided to let him be for now.

Instead, he took care of his groceries and began preparing a cuppa for himself. He would need some tea to deal with this nonsense. It took him almost a minute of standing in front of the spot on the counter that usually housed the water kettle to realise that there was something vital missing. He groaned.

"I am sure Mrs Hudson will let us borrow her kettle for now", Sherlock noted distractedly. "If you go down now, could you bring me a cup as well?"

John shook his head in disbelief but eventually and with much grumbling he got out a second cup and stomped back into the living room, narrowly swerving around a collection of tiny screws that were almost impossible to spot on the colourful carpet.

"You are lucky that you are cute."

That stopped Sherlock in his tracks and had him staring up at John with absolute disgruntlement.

"Baby animals are cute. Most dogs are cute regardless of their age. Rosie is the rare exception of a human being genuinely cute."

"Yes, and your point is?"

"I. Am. Not. Cute!"

"Oh yes, you are adorable." John dropped a fleeting kiss onto the other mans dishevelled curls before moving towards the stairs for some well-deserved tea and 10 minutes of relative sanity in the sanctuary of Mrs Hudsons kitchen.

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

Troubleshooting, part 6/?

-> No Rosie this time round, but she will of course make an appearance again for the next parts. No water kettles were harmed in the writing of this chapter. I am fairly certain that what Sherlock is doing here is pretty impossible, but I am not going to let that stop me!

-> The next snippet can be read here!

-> Start reading right at DAY 0 or read the previous part here.

[homestuckreplay]

EOA2 - Character Opinions

Just like at the end of act 1, I’m rounding up all the characters and how I feel about them so far, to see if my opinions change over time. There are a LOT more characters in Act 2 than in Act 1, so here’s hoping I remember them all. If I’ve forgotten anyone, let me know!

Love ♡

John Egbert – Still my most favoritest character. I love his facial expressions so much. He’s really going through it, but despite the horrors both immediate and hovering, he finds joy in the small things, which is a trait I love in both characters and real people. His excitement over making the pogo hammer is a highlight of the act, and his movie referencing so hard he breaks the box and his trying to be a paladin with the Slimer pogo as his faithful steed are excellent too. I love how John uses his very specific areas of expertise, like movies and magic and his other interests from the start of the story, to solve problems that don’t at first seem related. I love how he’s openly scared and reluctant and how he rises to challenges anyway. I love how he knows he doesn’t know things and is willing to experiment. I love how he has strong emotional responses often for no apparent reason. I just think he’s neat.

Rose Lalonde – I have so much fun reading anything Rose says. Her GameFAQs are so unintentionally hilarious but she’s also got a great intentional sense of humor, like her fake-mustache W and her trying to create the Colonelsprite. I do think she plays a little fast and loose with John’s life, expecting him to navigate combat on narrow platforms and stairs above an endless void, but I can cut her some slack because she’s having to balance her responsibility over John with trying to save her own life. All of her scenes so far have been based around her game connection with John – either actively playing the game, or trying to reconnect her laptop – and my hope for act 3 is for Rose to get a story of her own. Ideally one that involves summoning one of those sick ass creatures from the grimoire.

Zazzerpan the Learned – He is a twenty foot tall wizard, and as such, is the only Homestuck character I would describe as ‘hot’.

Wayward Vagabond – Easily the best mayor Can Town has ever had. Started off as a rude tyrant yelling at John, but it ended up just being cultural differences, and they’ve really worked on communication. I love how creative WV is, how ready they are to take enjoyment in life where they can get it, and how much they care for their non-edible possessions. They’re in this very structured, somewhat antagonistic, Sburb-mediated relationship with John, but I actually think the two of them have a lot in common, and if they could just sit down together with a big train set they’d have a blast.

Serenity – Not only is she glowing and sparkly, but she’s smart and good at taking responsibility in an emergency.

Like

Nannasprite – Ghost? Harlequin? Game construct? Loving grandmother? Nannasprite is all these things. Sure, she’s going way overboard on the cookies, but she doesn’t know John well enough to know he’s not into baked goods. And she really got him with the bucket on the door. That was a great prank. Mostly, I like her for giving me the Good Lore. Please Nannasprite, I will eat as many cookies as you want if you will infodump to me about Sburb for hours on end.

Rambunctious Crow – An absolute scamp who’s just doing what crows do. Made even cooler by the addition of a sword.

Neutral/Mixed

Dave Strider – I still think Dave sucks, just like at the end of act 1. I think his insistence on irony is exhausting and his raps are a chore to read, I hate how dismissive he is of other people’s interests and how superior he is about his own, I think he’s way too quick to resort to violence and way too slow to do any kind of self reflection. But. Having learned more about his bro and his living situation, I understand why he sucks so bad, and I don’t think he’s really to blame. I hope that Dave’s bro is kidnapped by imps soon, in Sburb or otherwise, because I think that’s the only way Dave could become someone I actually like.

Dad – I’m harsh on parents in fiction. I think Dad seems like an awesome guy, I love his Serious Business app, his preparedness re: shaving cream, his bucking of gender roles by always being in the kitchen, and his refusal to go quietly with the imps. But despite the external trappings of a father and his obvious love for John, he seems unwilling to meet John where he is and be the dad John actually wants and needs. I wish he would do more to get to know John as a person, to perhaps offer him some tasty roasted vegetables, to perhaps buy him the Nintendo DSi instead of a harlequin doll, to open up to John about his own life and to take him on some trips into Seattle. I wonder if he regrets not doing all that now that they’re separated.

Uncertain

gardenGnostic – I want to like GG, and I hope I will end up liking her, but Act 2 has built up so much mystery around GG that even though she’s had a few further pesterlogs I feel like I know less about her than I did at the end of act 1. She really plays up how she ‘can’t’ tell people things but still insists on mentioning them, which is an annoying trait, but I like her positive attitude and the fact that she’s so encouraging to her friends.

Peregrine Mendicant – I like that they are collecting mailboxes, as I am a huge fan of the postal service as an institution, but I do not have a sense of them as a character.

Mom – First off, we should eat the rich and redistribute Mom’s wealth. Her millionaire status aside, I don’t think she’s a good parent, or that exchanging passive aggressive notes with your daughter or ignoring her suicide threats is in any way healthy. But, it seems from WV: Ascend that her role in the story is bigger than raising Rose. Whether that goes towards redeeming her or makes her even worse, only time will tell.

Dislike

Sburb – I’m deeply fascinated by Sburb and I love to analyze it, and the story is making it increasingly clear that the game Sburb (2009) is just a small part of the larger entity Skaia (~4 billion BC). As a story element it’s amazing, but as a force acting on the characters it’s nothing but sinister. Willing to sacrifice the whole continent to achieve its secret goals, many of whom haven’t elected to play the game, and keeping its nature hidden from players until it’s far too late, it’s like a form of extreme gamer Darwinism allowing only its best players to survive. Its use of mind control and its impact on real life means it can’t even be fun to play, arguably the worst sin for a video game.

Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff – I would not hang out with these guys.

Midnight Crew – These four spent a hundred pages stuck in a bunker and all they were able to do was inflict violence on each other and fail to play 52 pickup. WV managed a skilful escape 32 pages after getting stuck. Case closed.

Hate

Bro – Just the worst guy imaginable. Anyone who controls a child through violence and fear, withholding food and a safe home, is irredeemable in my book and bad enough that I can’t even enjoy reading about him. There’s nothing wrong with being into puppets, or porn, or puppet porn, or even making a career out of puppet porn and ventriloquist rapping, but there is something wrong with forcing these things on people who aren’t comfortable with them and aren’t able to say no.

Lil Cal – He is bad to look at.

[unreadpoppy]

Cirice

Priest! Raphael x Fem! Tav

Read on AO3

Warnings: This is kinda dark and blasphemous, and it goes a lot into religious guilt I guess. Raphael is very manipulative and there is a non consensual kiss at the end.

A/N: Remember when I said I would take a break from writing? I lied, bitch. Anyways, this is inspired by the song "Cirice" by Ghost, and by some things I have been thinking about lately. Enjoy.

After the sudden death of Father John, a new priest had taken his place in the church, and in a short amount of time, he had amassed the love of many. 

Father Raphael was a handsome man. When he preached, he spoke with such power, his voice echoed around the room. After mass, it was customary to see him talking with some of the followers, most of them older women, who would swoon with every smirk he sent their way. 

Soon, the church had more and more people attending it, all charmed by Father Raphael. 

Of course, he loved the attention. How the flocks of poor, little lambs would follow him around, asking him for advice. He especially loved when they confessed their sins to him, pouring their hearts out and asking for a forgiveness that would never come. 

After all, there was no God;. When they cried about their fear of eternal punishment, they were unaware that Hell was already here. 

Tonight’s mass happened while it rained outside. Near the end of the ceremony, one person entered the building, all wet. Even amongst the multitude of people, Raphael could feel her presence. Try as she might, she couldn’t hide from him. 

Tav. The lost little mouse. She would always sit in the back, make as little noise as possible, and leave without even looking at him. Raphael had tried to speak with her before, but she would cower away. 

At first, when Raphael had first started preaching, Tav was always there. She’d go every time there was mass, arriving early and quickly leaving once it was done. Always with her head down, praying intensely.

But for the past few months, she attended less and less. Raphael, being the devil that he was, could feel that her faith was starting to waiver. 

And that was exactly what he needed. A lost soul, an insecure one, ready to be taken by someone else. Like the snake that once convinced Eve to eat the forbidden fruit, Raphael would make Tav turn from God and onto him. 

Mass ended, and after a few ladies had questions for him, Raphael ushered them away, saying that the rain would get heavier if they stayed too long. Everyone left, until there was only Tav, who kneeled on her bench, hands clutched and eyes closed as she prayed. 

Slowly, Raphael walked towards her until he was in front of her. She finished her prayer, making the sign of the cross, and turned to look at him. 

“May I sit here?” He asked. Tav nodded and made space for him to sit. He looked at her, noticing the distant look in her eyes and the frown on her face. “What ails you, child?” 

She shook her head, arms embracing herself. “Nothing, Father. It’s just the cold.” 

“Are you sure? Because I have noticed how less and less you join us here.” Her back straightened. She had been noticed.  He got closer to her and said “You can tell me anything.”

“I…I don’t know if I should…say what I want.” Tav whispered. 

“And why not?” Instead of answering, Tav looked up at the giant crucified Jesus that hung on the back of the church, the one Father Raphael would preach from underneath it. As Tav looked at Christ’s face, she shuddered. 

“Ah. I see now.” He looked in the same direction she did. “Do not worry, child. God is all forgiving.” Raphael said, although he knew a different truth. 

“Is He?” She said. “Is He truly that forgiving?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Tav took a deep breath. “I used to come here almost every day, since I was small. My parents wanted me to be a good Catholic girl. I was baptized, I did first communion. I prayed every single night before bed.”

“But?”

“But…I never felt this connection that everyone speaks of.” Tav said quietly, as if confessing something she shouldn’t. “I never felt God’s presence as everyone else claims.” She looked at him for a moment. Although his warm brown eyes were inviting, she always felt something sinister behind them. 

Tav looked down again. “Forgive me, Father. I shouldn’t be saying these things in the house of the Lord.”

She attempted to stand up, but Raphael put his hand on her shoulder, making her sit again. “Please, wait.” Tav looked at him, fright in her eyes. “I can see you have more to say.”

“How?”

Raphael smirked. “I can see that there’s a thunder breaking in your heart. I can see through the scars inside you.” He placed a hand on her back. “Tell me, what have you done?” 

Tav sighed, the warmth of his hand was welcomed, considering she was still shivering from the cold. “As I said, I used to pray every night. And I believed that if I didn’t pray before sleeping, something bad would happen.” She gulped. “It was horrible. If I slept before praying, I would spend the waking hours worrying about everything. I couldn’t find sleep if I didn’t pray.” Tav took a deep breath before continuing. “So I just stopped. And right after I did so, my grandmother died.”

A tear ran down her face, and Raphael wiped it. “And ever since then, things have only gotten worse. It feels as if God is punishing me. Tonight was the first night I prayed in three months, and I felt nothing!” Tav sobbed. “But how is it fair, Father? My prayers always fell on deaf ears. He never listens, but the moment you stop praying, He punishes you?” 

The sound of thunder from outside echoed in the church. The lights went out. Raphael smirked. 

“What a poor, sad, little mouse you are, my dear Tav.” He put a hand on her head, caressing her hair. If it was someone else, Tav would have found it a gentle touch, but coming from him, she felt something was wrong. “You are lost and you feel that God has failed you.” He spoke, as if talking to a child. “But fear not. God has not abandoned you.” 

She looked up at him, frowning. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes.” He smirked and she got a bad feeling in her stomach. “God hasn’t abandoned you, because He was never here to begin with.” As he said that, Raphael made a gesture with his hand, and all the candles in the church were lit. 

Tav immediately stood up. “What…what are you?” She demanded, walking away from him. 

Raphael stood up. “I am your salvation.” 

She ran towards the open door, but he waved his hand and they closed in front of her face. Tav turned around, her back on the door. He approached her. “You have wasted a whole life praying and believing in a God that wouldn’t listen. One that would soon damn you to an eternity in Hell before helping you. But I listen to you, and I can make all your indulgences come to fruition just like that.” He snapped his fingers, making flames dance around his hand for a moment. 

Raphael was right in front of her. “You won’t be lost, little mouse, for I have found you.” 

“What…what do you want from me?” 

Raphael’s smirk grew. “I want your devotion. I want that everytime that you pray, it won’t be for him-” He pointed towards the cross. “But instead, for me. I want you to place your faith in me.” 

“And-and why should I do it?”

He chuckled. “Why not? You said it yourself, you don’t pray to God anymore. But I am here, I can see you, I will soothe your worries away.” Raphael whispered in a dark tone. “Wouldn’t it be much nicer to pray to someone who would listen?” 

Tav felt conflicted. This was all blasphemy and went against everything she had ever believed. But, as she said before, Tav never felt God’s presence near her. It was much easier to believe in what was right in front of her, someone she could see. 

“I guess…it would be nice.” Tav said, looking at him. His face was inches away from hers. 

“So, do you promise to devote yourself to me? To turn away from God and believe in me? To get on your knees and pray for me, your savior and master?” 

Tav hesitated momentarily. “I-I promise.” 

Raphael smiled, and he was engulfed in flames, human skin melting away, and in turn, a devil stood in his place, still with the priest’s clothes on. Tav’s eyes widened as he grabbed her face with both of his hands and said “Good” before harshly kissing her.

Tav contorted to try and get away from him. Then, he bit down on her bottom lip, and soon, the taste of blood filled her mouth. He let go, his own lips tainted with her blood.

The deal had been made, and Raphael was satisfied. As Tav put a hand on the mouth, he took a step back. “I will see you soon, little mouse.” He snapped his fingers, disappearing in thin air and leaving Tav alone to wonder what had she just done.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Joanna | My Lips Are Sealed | Platonic [Male Reader]

Dialogue prompt: "Paying won't be necessary."

While you are on guard duty, the wife of your superior and a Jew try to sneak into the dungeons of Herod’s palace.

Requested by J Bart

You flinch at the stench of mould stinging your nose as you walk up to Linius, giving him a nod in greeting. A grateful smile graces his features; he must be exhausted, especially since he had night duty. Linius appears to be very glad to see you to relieve him of his post. “Ah, (Y/n). Right in time. Any longer and I’d have gone as nuts as our prisoner.” 

He gestures at John — the Baptiser — who had been imprisoned after barging into one of Herod’s banquets and making a fool out of the tetrarch by calling him out on his behaviour. Herod Antipas, raised Jewish, did not follow Mosaic law. You weren’t very well-read when it came to Judaism, but it was clear that Herod’s lifestyle did not necessarily fit his upbringing. Either way, the Baptiser was imprisoned, and as far as you knew, they weren’t planning on releasing him any time soon, either.

Which honestly, you didn’t really mind. You’d never admit it to your superiors, but you liked the strange preacher in spite of his unconventional ways of getting his message across. John is straight to the point. Determined and faithful to the God he serves. You have seen your fair share of preachers before, but none as intriguing as John himself. Well, apart from the One he had been talking to you about. Even though you were Roman, John insisted that you’d go and see his cousin, Jesus of Nazareth, in Person. 

You don’t find a burden in guarding John at all, even looking forward to your shifts. He whispers stories about Jesus to you, and about the Kingdom of God, and in the light of your declining, merely traditional faith in your own deities, you want to know more and more. Perhaps that you believe, or eventually will, but it is clear that this is no ordinary Man that John is risking his life for. 

“I can take your next shift as well, then.” you offer. Although you try to make it sound like some kind of lighthearted suggestion, you’re frankly hoping that Linius will accept. 

“In need of extra salary? Or just trying to climb the ranks?” 

“I just have nothing better to do.” you tell him, which isn’t a lie. After all, what better place than to learn everything about this Kingdom that John preached? It is the closest to Jesus that you’d ever get.

“Very well then. I’ll see you in the morning, I guess.” 

“You owe me.” 

“See, there’s the catch.” Linius chuckles and points at you whilst he walks towards the other end of the hallway, nearing the corner. He looks over his shoulder one more time and smirks.

“Good luck. Hail Caesar.”

“Hail Caesar.” 

You repeat the words out of duty, for even though they sound hollow to you — especially these days — you have still sworn duty to Emperor Tiberius. 

Linius walks off and leaves you be. Straightening your back, you clear your throat as you approach John’s cell.

“Good evening, (Y/n).” he says with a grin. “Double duty, huh? Am I that interesting?” 

You can’t fight a chuckle. 

“Are you fishing for compliments?” 

John laughs lightly as he wraps his hands around the iron bars. “I’m flattered, honestly. So… Remind me where we left off last time.”

“Have you forgotten already?”

“Well, I haven’t, but I want to make sure that you have not forgotten, either.”

You hum and momentarily glance over to another cell from where a prisoner is staring at you; maybe he’s looking at John, you aren’t sure. For a moment, you wonder if any of them are taking the Baptist’s words to heart and if they weigh differently if one is either free or imprisoned. 

“We were talking about the origin of good and evil,” you tell John, “And how your God differs from our plethora.” 

“You haven’t been to the sermon.” John states. You shake your head.

“I tried to reschedule my patrol duty, but alas, it was out of my hands.” 

The Baptist hums and scratches through his beard. “It would have been valuable to you. But then, I reckon that Joanna will be able to report back to you about the sermon.”

“I don’t doubt it.” you respond with a small smile. Ever since your shared interest in John the Baptist and in turn the Jesus of Nazareth he has told the two of you about, you’ve been starting to form a bond of friendship, or mutual understanding at least. 

“So, when regarding good and evil, I had already established that God is the source of life itself, as well as everything that is pure. Evil only exists because God allows it to. He is not the creator of evil itself, but He allowed it because of mercy.” 

“Mercy? It doesn’t sound merciful to me to allow people to do bad things.” 

“Let me explain.” John continues, “If God wants people to follow Him, to genuinely love Him, they need to have a choice to not do so, either. Are you married, (Y/n)?” 

“I am.” 

“So, why do you love your wife?”

You smile a little, a fond spark inside your chest. “Well, because she is beautiful both inside and out, and we are a good match. A rare thing within our community, really. Most people wed out of political arrangement or convenience.”

John hums.

“That’s true. It happens in all cultures, don’t forget that. However, how are these marriages? Are both parties equally happy?” 

“Not always. A few others in my legion are not as fond of their wives as I am. Or they have multiple.” 

“So, do you reckon it’s healthy?”

You shake your head. “I suppose not.” 

“Would you consider those marriages to be based on genuine love?” 

“No.”

Then, John tightens his grip on the iron bars as he shifts closer to you. “Let’s say you were in one of these marriages. Not to your wife, but to a random woman. And she’d say to you, you are going to love me whether you like it or not. We are going to be together and this is just how it is going to be. What would you think of that? Would you truly love her?”

“I don’t think so. Some people say that one learns to love through marriage… But I don’t reckon it to be a good dynamic.” 

“Right.” John gives you a small nod. 

You turn a bit towards him without taking your presence away from the other prisoners. No matter that you’re here to listen to any word that John says, you’re still on duty and still responsible for their behaviour. 

“So, would you agree that choosing your own spouse is a better way to find real love?”

“Yes. If I can choose to marry or not marry a woman of my choosing, of course I’d marry someone that I care about. Someone I want to grow old with, for better and for worse.” 

John smiles. “Precisely. So, it’s the same with God.” 

You frown a little. “But that’s a different kind of relationship. You don’t get married to God, right?”

John chuckles lightly. “No, indeed, you don’t get married to Him. But He doesn’t want to force us to love Him. Because a mandatory love is not a real love. Does that make sense?” 

“It does,” you agree.

“So, for us to love God in a way that we truly desire Him with our hearts, there has to be an option to not choose Him. And because God is the sole source of everything good in the world, there has to be a way to freely choose what to do, also if what we choose isn’t good. We can’t be forced to do good things.”

You mull over the words.

“Of course it’s way more complicated than that, but I’m just trying to simplify things here.” John adds, grinning a bit. “There’s many conversations to be had about the source of evil, why God allows it to often hit the ones who love Him just as much as those who don’t, but I can’t risk flooding your brain with too many questions and answers at once, hm?” 

You chuckle. “I suppose not. It does make sense, and I’m looking forward to hearing more. For us Romans, it’s a little different. In our culture, good and evil is approached by looking at—” 

Right when you are about to tell John your side of the story, you hear the door to the dungeons open and fall shut again. You quickly straighten out, standing at attention, appearing to be on full alert regarding your duty. When the familiar face of Joanna appears around the corner, you feel yourself relax a bit.

She smiles at you, then looks over her shoulder at someone, a rather shaken looking young man with unruly dark curls, whose gaze is focused upon the cell where John is standing. 

Joanna holds something in her palm, and you have an inkling that you know what it is.

“It will be… Embarrassing to me if you tell anyone about my visit, or my friend being with me.”

“Not to worry. I won’t say a word to anyone.” you muse. 

The Roman woman holds a satchel of money against your hand. A heavy purse, you can tell by the way the coins clink together.

“Paying won’t be necessary.” you reassure her with a small shake of your head. “You were never here. I wholly understand that you’ve brought a former student of John here. Would you… Would you mind if I stayed to listen, too?” 

Joanna smiles, pocketing the satchel of coins again. 

“Not at all. Bygones, it would make no sense to send a willing audience away.” 

“John said that you attended the sermon. I’d like to hear about it, too.” 

She nods. “I’ll tell you everything. Come on, Andrew.” Then, she brushes past you with the man named Andrew in tow, whose eyes have not left the Baptiser.

“John?” his voice wavers as he halts in front of the cell. “John, are you alright?” 

“What are you doing here?” John breathes as an excited look comes over his face, his eyes glittering as they settle on his friend. “Who allowed this?”

“No one.” Joanna whispers. “We should be quick.” 

“I’ll be fine.” John assures, “Think of it this way - I've never got to sleep in a palace before.” It lightens the mood, and both men chuckle lightly. “But what are you doing here?” 

“I’ve been so worried,” the curly-haired man says, “Praying for you every day.” 

“You’ve got a new Rabbi now. The Rabbi. Focus on Him. And hopefully I'll be able to as well soon enough.” 

John gestures at Joanna, causing you to turn to the woman.

“She came to me in distress after Herod arrested me. Not for my sake. She was angry I didn't call out her husband's adultery when I accused Herod.” The Baptiser laughs lightly. “She’s proving an apt pupil. And my friend (Y/n) here, too. Did you talk to Him, Joanna?” 

Joanna steps closer to the cell and quietly speaks. “Yes. I told Him everything you told me.

“Thank you, but that’s not as important. What do you think of Him?” 

A large smile spreads over her lips as she looks at Andrew, at you, then back at john.

“I... I don’t know how to describe it.” She breathes in awe.

“Like you are grateful for food and didn’t realise you’d been starving.” 

“That works.” She giggles. 

“Anything new?” 

You perk up your ears, wanting to drink in everything about Jesus.

“So much.” Andrew says. 

“Tell me what He said.” John urges.

“Nothing that made sense.” Joanna pipes up, “Everything backwards— the poor, the grieving, the meek, all elevated.”

“Blessed.” 

“Yes! And other things reversed... Love your enemies. Who can love their enemy?!”

“He can. What else?” 

Joanna is beaming as she continues. Your heart hammers in anticipation.

“Bizarre imagery, like... Something about pearls before pigs, and logs in eyes...” Andrew adds.

“Salt, murder, rain... God feeding the birds, houses on sand...” 

“He’s almost as strange as you, John!”

“Oh, I wish I were as strange.” John murmurs. “How many people were there?”

“Thousands.” Your heart rears at the notion of thousands of people listening in to the sermon of the Rabbi you’ve been hearing so much about.

“Thousands… Wonderful. Wonderful!” the Baptiser whispers in awe. “What else?” 

“John.” Andrew firmly states. “What can we do for you? How—how can I help you?” 

Deciding to give the two some privacy, you decide to step away. Joanna follows you to give them some space to converse, and for a moment, you’re torn between listening in and speaking to the woman next to you, whose face has started to glow happily ever since seeing Jesus of Nazareth in person.

“Joanna,” you whisper. “Can you tell me all about this later? I want to know everything there is to know. What you have learned is so valuable. We… We should really get our hands on their texts, I… I want to know more. I need to know more. I… I don’t even know what to say.”

Joanna grins at you. “It rejoices my heart to hear how eager you are, (Y/n).” She squeezes your shoulder. “I agree. We should see when we can speak more about this… After all, there is much to be learned. But you should really come and see Him some time. I’m not sure when I will be able to speak to Jesus again, but… I’d really like you to come with me next time.” 

You eagerly nod. “Yes. Yes please.” 

Joanna hums and for a moment you have a moment of meaningful eye-contact, establishing your newfound kinship further, rooted in something that goes beyond the understanding of you both. 

Turning back to the prisoner and his secret visitor, you focus back on what they’re saying.

John gives his former student a look. “So if you want to help me… Andrew?” The curly-haired man looks up, “If you want to help me... Listen to Him. Go home, and do what He says. That's what I want… Got it? Now, let Joanna get you out of here so you don't join me.” 

Joanna and you watch the two with soft smiles on your face. Andrew blinks away tears as he steps away from his imprisoned friend. “Adonai be with you, John.”

“And with you, Andrew. Always. Shalom shalom.” 

“Shalom shalom. Until we meet again.” 

With a heavy heart, Andrew walks towards Joanna to be escorted out. 

He gives you a small nod, which you mirror, and Joanna smiles before turning towards the exit. 

As the two walk off, you pivot to the Baptist, who gives you a kind look. “Well, that was refreshing. It was good for both of us.” You nod in agreement before John carries on. “I think you should talk to Joanna about this later. I’m sure she’s got plenty more to tell you.” 

“I was already planning on it.” 

John hums and smiles. “Good. And don’t forget to report back to me, alright?” 

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Amusement glitters in his eyes when you look at him. “Now, you have a good while of your duty left before you’ll be relieved. How about you make your rounds and return here so we can continue our conversation where we left off, before we were so… Rudely interrupted?” 

You snicker and nod.

“Of course, I’ll be right back.”

With a quick stride, you head through the dungeons to make sure everything is in order, glad to have offered Linius to take over his shift as well. 

The more you learn about God, about this Jesus of Nazareth, the hungrier you are becoming, and you have a feeling that there is only one decision left to make.

[brunhielda]

Haveing one of those days where I’m not in pain but I am just all out of sorts. So what do I spend my Sunday doing?

Watching multiple versions of Treasure Island. Obviously.

First Treasure Planet, then Muppets, because again, most fun, obviously.

Although, side note: as someone who has seen more adaptations and read the book, Muppets might be one of the most faithful adaptions I’ve seen. Because Muppets- they value that good literature 📚👍

It is hitting me this time around that many of the adaptation changes in any media version have to do with culture, and what makes sense to the intended audience.

In the book:

Jim is like 12/13, maybe even younger.

Sure, his dad is dead, but it’s more of prerequisite to needing the income from going to sea than it is a a main character trait. It is not implied he needs a father figure. It is simply understood, in a British way, that men will influence him as a young man going off into the world to learn. There is a lot of comparing the different types of men he meets and deciding for himself what makes a man, but it is not about father figures, just observation and lessons along the way.

Jim never really trusts John. Even as he learns useful skills from him, he is cautious and wary, and as soon as they confirm John is a pirate, Jim’s attitude is very “I knew it!” And “Finally, here it is. Here we go.”

As soon as John is a pirate, he is evil. It is never implied he is anything better than the devil figure whispering charm in your ear. His one single redeeming quality is that he actually does like Jim. That doesn’t make him special. Jim is the youngest cabin boy and the ship mascot. Everyone likes Jim. The question remains- is this character willing to kill a child anyways? In the end John isn’t, and it’s a surprise. Him getting away at the end still has that feeling of the noted enemy getting away at the end of an episode of a super hero show- “Another day- Jim Hawkins!”

In any American adaptation:

We age Jim up. I will say, again, Muppets are more faithful here. Still, every adaptation makes it more ok for him to go to sea. Jim in Treasure Planet is a troubled teen who needs to prove himself. Jim in Muppets is an orphan with nothing to tie him to land. We as Americans don’t like the idea of a Mother sending her son to sea for months to earn income, so that’s not what happens.

A boy needs a father. In the US it is expected that a father teaches thier son all the things that make them a man. Boarding school is last resort rather than expected. So of COURSE Jim is taken in by John- he was missing a father in his life. It is a main character point of the story. The comparison of different men becomes more emotional than intellectual.

This shifts the tone of the story so much. Original book is very much “kid character off on an adventure.” He’s clever, thoughtful, and important to everyone. He gets himself into trouble, but he gets himself out of it, and saves the day multiple times- not just at the end to show growth. It’s personal fantasy for rambunctious little boys. But the family friendly versions written by Americans? The kid is a kid, and it’s about him learning to lean on the right adults and build self confidence. If he’s great right off the bat- where is the story? Well, the original story is a little boy proving to the adults he can do stuff, which is a completely different view of how growing up is supposed to work.

John is so much more sympathetic. You actively root for him to do the right thing and be a good man, despite his love of gold. In Treasure Planet he is mostly a scallywag, and he builds a real bond that makes you cry. In Muppets the ending feels like Jim has won over John’s worldview. You WANT him to be good.

Why? Because Americans have a much different relationship with pirates. Pirates won our wars and built our port towns. They were the first sparks of rebellion against the structure of the British society. They are freedom- in all its worst chaotic ways and best democratic equality ways.

Pirates are chaos- They are clever, disruptive, and write thier own rules. How your society relates to chaos will inform your view of pirates. Often in American story’s- Errol Flynn, Pirates of the Carribean, ect- they are the chaotic hero against the oppressive structure, akin to Robin Hood or Bug Bunny. We do love our conmen.

Meanwhile, British society is built on the idea that structure and bureaucracy keeps things running and people from falling to the wayside. Pirates cause battles and destroy innocent port towns. They disrupt trade routes and people go hungry.

Neither view is wrong, but focus on different aspects of a complex group of people of a very vast spectrum.

It is an interesting intellectual excercise to pull pirate depictions apart. 🧐 Perhaps someday I’ll have a whole thing on that.

I think what I get from this analysis of “Treasure Island” in general is that I want a TV show. Not because you get more info from the book, but because the book is very serial, with many smaller adventures, and you could get more of that feeling of the kid hero solving problems and proving themselves to everyone, while also possibly exploring some of the emotional aspects that we have come to expect out of John Silver and Jim’s relationship with him.

For a modern example- it’s why Percy Jackson works so much better as a show than a movie. Even if they had done the movie well, the show still would have been better, because the book is episodic like that.

A show could also actually portray the Doctor, Trelany, and the Captain the way they should be done. In the original book, they are a wonderful trio akin to Star Trek’s Bones, Spock and Kirk. Only imagine all of Kirk’s charm and daring with none of his brain in Trelany, the Doctor being later Spock with all his intelligence and warmth, and the Captain as a very practical, very firm, often grumpy Bones. Obviously the Doctor and the Captain spend far too much time reigning Trelany in 😂.

Like, I get why two out of three of these guys get squashed together into one character in adaptations- that’s a lot of characters for a movie. But a tv show could be really fun. And the fact that you have these three on one side, with John Silver on the other, as the angels and much louder more charming devil on Jim’s shoulders, fighting for his heart and mind, is amazing. Intrigueing. Dynamic.

The fact that evil can be one charming clever guy, while good is so difficult and complex it need three entirely different guys to portray it is one of the best parts of this story and it is NEVER explored in on screen adaptations.

Finally, it’s a minor note, but Ben coming out of nowhere would stop feeling disruptive. It’s just another episode with another aspect of this treasure hunt to focus on, not some random character out of nowhere. I did appreciate how the Muppets solved that. Picture in the Captain’s quarters and suddenly the appearance on “Ben” is cheered, lol.

Also- could I have a version, of any media, where it is blatant that the Pirates need this kid’s help because he can read? It is such a huge “learning to read is important” moment in literature, and I think I’ve seen it in like one version? Maybe? I think it’s in the Disney live action?

I really like the “Jim knows machines” from Treasure Planet, but it does steal that moment, and in the Muppets, who you think would run with this, it is more about his compass than his reading skills.

Reading lets you have adventures, both imaginative and literal, and I want that to be important in this story. It doesn’t need to be a big hokey moral lesson, but if it was just more obvious, kiddos would make that connection themselves. Sorry- Librarian bias here, but I want it back.

Anyways, I could do with a tv with different seasons just being different classical children’s literature. Most of them were serial, and would lend to that structure really well. We could explore more classical aspects of the story while keeping the bits we tacked on in later adaptations.

Could be fun 🤷🏻‍♀️

[fizzyxcustard]

I've Loved You Forever (2)

Part 1

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: North & South (modern AU)

Pairings: Modern John Thornton x Fem!Reader/Fem!Reader x OC

Warnings: Language, angst, pining.

Summary: It is the Christmas party for John Thornton and his workers from Marlborough Mills. You have all been allowed to take partners, and that means your boyfriend of eighteen months is there. When he is asked if he loves you and can't answer, John Thornton's rage comes out full throttle, especially as he's been in love with you for quite some time.

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. I’m gradually removing people from my tag lists who do not interact.

I tend to use Lucas North pictures as my modern Thornton images. This idea actually came to me randomly a few days ago when I was reading on the train.

As soon as you got home that night, after Stuart had dropped you back to your flat, you said farewell to him. Your mind was ablaze with John Thornton, and so much so that Stuart had to call you back for a kiss. The kiss was quick and only a peck. Of course Stuart noticed a difference in it, but he put it down to what he had said earlier that night and just told himself that you would be alright in a few days. Whenever you had a falling out, it didn’t take long for you to get over it. 

John paced his kitchen, his phone in hand. Should he call you? After he had admitted his feelings for you, you had disappeared back into the full pub where your boyfriend was still sat with everyone else. Thoughts and emotions raced. How could he put this right? Had he made a mistake telling you how he felt? The truth was, it would never be a mistake in his mind because he really did love you, more than he could express. Bearing his heart to you would never be a mistake in his eyes, even if your answer wasn’t the one he wished for. 

Suddenly your name flashed on his screen. With a grin and a sigh of relief, he answered the call. 

“John? We need to talk about tonight,” you told him. “I left without telling you where I stand. You shocked me; I’d never got that impression from you at all that you thought anything for me which surpassed friend and colleague.” 

Shit! Where was this going? Were you going to politely reject him? John held his breath. 

“The truth is…” 

John’s heart was pounding so hard now and he gripped his eyes closed, praying with everything inside him that your answer would mirror his confession. 

“The truth is…” you began again. “I…love you, too. I’ve never had anyone tell me they love me, and look me in the eyes and have so much passion there. John, it’s something I’ve always yearned for. And the way you spoke to me earlier, I know I can’t walk away from you. Even when I had all the rough times with Stuart, you were the one who was there in the midst of it all. I miss you already, and I’ve only been away from you about half an hour.” 

“Will you let me come and see you? I need to,” John asked. “Hearing you say this, I need to see you.” 

You sighed. “I want to see you so much, but I need to do the right thing and speak to Stuart first. You do understand, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do. I’d do the same,” John said, still smiling. Even at a time like this, you were faithful and honourable in your relationship with Stuart. 

“I’ll call you as soon as it’s done, John, I promise. I…love you.” Those words felt alien on your lips, but so right. They connected to your heart and your soul. The act of speaking them felt alien, but the place the words came from felt as though you had been born with it in your heart. 

“I love you, too. Goodnight.” 

Your conversation with Stuart got straight to the point, and you initiated it by recalling the events at the pub. “I know we’re not in love, Stuart. Tonight made me see that it’s like that from both sides. We’ve been together for eighteen months and surely something should have started to blossom now and it hasn’t.” 

Stuart chuckled. “And I’m guessing your boss has got something to do with this as well?” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked defensively. 

“It’s obvious he fancies you. The way he snapped at me, and then he followed you outside. I’ve known for a while now that you’ve got feelings for him, and I never said anything. I know we stayed together out of familiarity. We’re too different. When you had hard times, you went to him and not me. I knew a long time ago that you felt something for him.” 

Stuart’s understanding and cooperation shocked you, and for a second you were speechless. 

“John seems a nice bloke, apart from his temper. He’d be good for you like I never was.” 

The call ended with you both saying goodbye to each other and walking away on polite terms. For a few seconds you held your phone in your hand in disbelief, staring at it stupidly. You’d just broken up with your boyfriend of eighteen months and he was okay with it, very okay with it. Had your relationship really been that bad? In the sense that it was too familiar and comfortable.

John was still awake, sat in his living room, scrolling your Instagram page. There was only one photo of you and Stuart. The rest were memes, quotes, childhood photos and holiday pictures. There were even a few of you with your natural beauty hidden beneath a stupid filter. 

Are you still up? The text pinged on his phone. 

Yes. Is everything okay? He asked.

It’s done. You replied.

John couldn’t help but allow his urge to push him to make the call to you again. He sighed as he heard you answer. “It’s done?” he asked, his voice a whisper. 

“This means I’m now single, Mr. Thornton,” you giggled. 

John chuckled. “I was hoping that I could change that in person. But it’s midnight.”

“My door will be open if you get over here in ten minutes.” 

Anticipation raced up your spine and butterflies flapped in your stomach with such ferocity. You watched at your window, until you saw a familiar vehicle pull up outside your maisonette block. A tall figure got out of the car, all veiled in shadow. That walk: you could spot it anywhere and recognise it amongst a dense crowd. 

John reached out to press your bell, but instead was greeted with your face. The door opened swiftly. He couldn’t help but smile at you, falling even more in love with you. He inhaled sharp, and stepped inside the flat. 

Your cheeks flushed bright red as John reached out and cupped your cheek. Then, slowly, he leaned down, being taller, and kissed you softly. Your arms immediately curled up his back and you both sank into the kiss. 

John wound his arms around your waist and pulled you in closer against him, your kiss deepening. 

***

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[strangedreamings]

S3E2 (spoilers abound)

Agatha and Charlotte talking about LW's latest column. Charlotte mentions that Edwina has "made a splendid match abroad." So, does that mean she didn't end up with your (great-)nephew Friedrich? Interesting. The shippers will be disappointed, but that's what AO3 is for. Can this be the final mention of Edwina, please?

Pen, did you have to mention Kate's age? I get the point you're trying to make but bringing it up again seems crass.

So glad Mrs. Varley approves of Pen's makeover. She has presumably known Pen since she was a baby so this is nice to see.

The Mondriches getting a tour of their new house. Alice is lowkey PISSED OFF about this whole thing and their new housekeeper doesn't seem any happier.

Eloise walking with Benedict and Colin. Where are her flowers? I don't know if her modiste is Delacroix or the other one but damn, let her have her florals.

Does Benedict not have his own storyline this season? So far, he's just been a supporting character for his siblings' storylines. If he's supposed to be the Bridgerton lead for S4, he needs to do SOMETHING, ANYTHING for himself this season.

Oh God, more secondhand embarrassment watching Pen try to interact with any man besides Colin and Lord Debling. She wasn't nervous at all around Debling last episode, probably because she doesn't see him as a potential suitor (yet). Nervous laughter, the poor thing.

Agatha, Violet, Francesca, and Hyacinth talking about the lords. Well, a music-lover would be a necessity. Is young Hyacinth this interested in the Marriage Mart in the books? I've only read her and Gareth's book once but if I remember correctly, she was not interested in the whole thing, so this seems OOC. I mean, it works, don't get me wrong, but it's not like what I remember her book counterpart to be. Florence is growing up so fast. If they don't get Hyacinth presented next season, she's going to look too old soon to convincingly play a girl still in the schoolroom. Hyacinth is dressing more like a grown-up now -- her hem is lower, etc, so there is some acknowledgement by the show that she is growing up.

No mention at all of the Stirlings so far. I just glanced at the cast list on IMDB and there's a Lord Samadani in 2 episodes this season. Same last initial, so that could be the show's John. As long as her future husband's got a Scottish accent, I don't care what his name is. (I assume Regency Era Scotland is as racially integrated in this universe as RE England.)

I swear, Pen's mother and sisters' hair color changes with each season.

"Do you think babies appear in your womb?" Portia, you're the one who told them two Seasons ago that pregnancy was a contagious disease, are you really that surprised that they're this ignorant about how to get pregnant?

Colin in bed with two women. Those had better be courtesans because if they're two unmarried women of the ton, I'm going to kill him. As long as they're courtesans, I'm actually okay with it -- it was practically expected for young unmarried men of his social status to be sexually experienced before marriage. A horrid double-standard since women of the same class were expected to be virgins, I know, but it was hoped that by sowing their wild oats before marriage, men would be faithful to their wives when they were married. It does look odd that these women didn't even let down their hair before getting into bed. We've seen Simon in S1 with a woman in his bed and Anthony in bed with what was possibly a succession of women but just one at a time in S2, so I believe this is the first time we've seen a threesome on this show. Shonda, here's a hint -- THE MALE LEADS DO NOT NEED TO TOP THE PREVIOUS MALE LEAD'S EXPLOITS. Benedict (or whoever is the male lead in S4) does not need to do something even more outrageous than a threesome, trust me.

"Same time tomorrow?" Has he been doing this DAILY since he got back? Colin, you'd better have this same level of stamina for your wife (and of course, only your wife) once you're married.

Aww, I was hoping for a Polin first meeting flashback, but reminiscing is almost as good. At least that's more or less identical from the scene in the book. Rae, Pen's maid, needs a raise and possibly hazard pay.

"What exactly happened?" Colin, baby, you DO NOT want to know, trust me.

The Mondriches having separate bedrooms will not last. It's a stupid tradition if the couple truly wants to share a bedroom.

Oh, so El's modiste is Delacroix. WHERE ARE HER FLOWERS, GENEVIEVE?! I mean, Francesca is wearing flowers, the two girls should switch dresses.

Pen coming over to Bridgerton House and Colin surprises her with flirtation practice. I have loved his floral waistcoat since I first saw photos of this scene but I had NO IDEA it laces up in the back. Slutty, slutty waist indeed. (This is the first and probably last time I will ever use that phrase.) Speaking of clothes, I hate the tulle tied around Pen's neck. It's out of place however you look at it. The dress itself is lovely, though. I've loved all of her new gowns so far.

And now we have the "kind eyes" scene that Netflix showed us before. One honest compliment from Pen and Colin is THIRSTY, I love it.

Yes, have her hide in the study, where any family member or servant can enter at any moment. Colin, take it from another writer -- if you don't want someone else to read what you write, DON'T LEAVE YOUR OPEN JOURNAL IN A PLACE ANYONE CAN FIND IT. He really is clueless about everything, isn't he?

One emotionally and physically (hands!) intimate moment then they both jump back like they've been shocked. I love these two, they are adorably hopeless.

Eloise sees Pen just as she's leaving. No words between them but all the anguish on their faces. This isn't going to resolve anytime soon, is it?

Glad Alice can find one good thing about her new status. I agree, the jewelry is lovely, but to see it just in the vanity's drawers like that is odd to me.

Finally, El is back in florals. Perhaps there is hope for her yet. This is the dress she's worn in all the promo shorts, so I'm sure this ball is very significant. The damn sheer gloves are back and I'm not crazy about the necklace either -- it looks too modern, but the dress itself is lovely.

"How is she?" You still care, Eloise. Just talk to her. Argue if you need to, but get it all out of your systems, you'll both feel better and you'll be better friends in the end.

"Perhaps the most eligible right now, strangely." God, I love the sibling dynamics on this show -- it's one of the few things the writers are consistently good at. "I love you and I will never hesitate to tease you every chance I get."

Whose bright idea was it to have a ball in semi-darkness? Is this because of the full moon? Yes, back then, full moon nights were very popular nights for parties but that was because PEOPLE COULD FUCKING SEE OUTSIDE ON THEIR WAY TO THE BALL. In the time before streetlights, that was very important. THERE IS NO REASON TO NOT HAVE THIS INDOOR BALL PROPERLY LIT. People can barely make out everyone's faces, let alone their expressions.

Oh, Lady Cowper just criticized Cressida and I'm sure this isn't the first time. Okay, now she has my sympathy.

"I do enjoy a good turn." Eloise, you are a terrible liar, but apparently, no one there, not even YOUR MOTHER, can tell.

"They've taken to hunting in packs." Yeah, Benedict, they kind of have to when you're not chasing any of them. We get it, you're bored, so why did you even come?

Where's that deaf debutante? I want to see more of her.

I'm glad Pen gets along with her brothers-in-law so well. They're nice to her, in spite or perhaps because of the way their wives treat her.

Pen's stars dress and necklace look lovely on her. Too bad it's utterly wasted on Colin.

"... simply pretend they are dead." That explains so damn much about you, Cressida.

"She was at my house today." Eloise, you better guard your tongue, anything you say next can and will be used against Penelope.

"It seems Colin is helping her look for a husband." WHAT DID I JUST FUCKING SAY?! This is Cressida Cowper you're speaking to, the 2nd biggest gossip in London. YOU UTTER MORON!

(Honestly, I'm not sure which sibling is in possession of the Bridgerton braincell this season, but it's not Anthony, Benedict, Colin, or Eloise. I'm reserving judgement on Francesca. Maybe Daphne took it back to Clyvedon with her the last time she visited.)

Hmm, it seems it's Benedict's turn to be the Bridgerton or Basset closest to the Mondriches this season. I like it.

"Inserts himself where?" Philippa, I know you're not the brightest crayon in the box but what the hell? Portia, this is all on you.

"I cannot think of anything at the moment." Cressida Cowper holding her tongue for the first time in her life? The full moon is getting to everybody, apparently.

I like this Lord Remington. He seems nice and he loves to read LW's column, and it's good to see more diversity in the ton. No one so far treats him differently just because he can't walk.

Oh fuck, that news didn't take long to spread. Just shows that the ton doesn't need LW to spread gossip -- these people would have been exactly the same without Pen's column. What LW does is make people aware of gossip outside their social circle. I can only assume these debutantes and mamas actually do see Penelope as a rival now or they wouldn't have cared what she did.

So we've got Colin telling Eloise off but it's not enough. At least El didn't blab Pen's secret to him. And Cressida is innocent, but El's still in the wrong for telling a secret in public since she was, of course, overheard.

Oh Lord, Fran is going to be the Diamond but she's an introvert, this is not going to go well. She knows it too. Agatha, you really did it this time.

I'm glad the Mondriches are taking control of things. Will's right, the current viscounts, etc didn't do anything to earn their titles, only the original title holders did. Every successive title holder is simply riding their ancestor's coattails.

At least Pen changed her clothes before she started writing this column, but the tear running down her face means she's still not in an emotionally good place. Hopefully, she won't regret anything in this one.

Well, looks like her sisters are finally in the baby race. *eyeroll* Who wants to bet both of them have girls first?

Cressida is both garnering my sympathy and has a point! There is hope for her yet! I think if she can just get away from her mother, she'd be nicer (and much better off).

Hey, Portia, maybe if you actually SUPPORTED PENELOPE FOR ONCE, she wouldn't have to resort to extreme means to get a husband.

We've got Colin bribing Rae to give them privacy and Pen asking him for a kiss. This is either going to end really well or really badly, but they've only got less than two minutes to figure out which.

50/50? They both went back for more but then she ran back into the house and he's standing there gaping. So, Colin, did she rock your world? If so, you'd better do something about it. And by that, I definitely DO NOT mean you should tell anyone. Not your buddies, not your brothers, and definitely not El.

We are a quarter of the way through the season and hooboy, the angst is flowing.

[gigglemugger]

Mandy Goes to Med School.

Fandom: “Saw” Franchise

Pairing: None.

Synopsis:

Amanda Young had no idea she'd have to become a surrogate cancer doctor, but then again she had no idea she'd start killing people for a living either.

Basically a character study of Amanda, my own take on her, through snippets of scenes from the movies all the way to Saw III.

Word Count: 4,127 (used to be less but I added a few things after a reading pass, lol, nothing major).

CW: All canon typical violence PLUS the horrors of being Amanda Young. So it's a bit heavy on the depression, self-harm, even a little bit of OCD.

AO3 link.

Notes: So not to sound totally pretentious but remember when Joan Didion said that she wrote Play It As it Lays to be a complete blank space of a novel? This fanfic is sort of like that. It's a bunch of snippets like the synopsis says and what Amanda might have been thinking during them. Title is from the Dresden Dolls song where they perform back alley abortions and while Amanda and Lawrence don't go around doing that in this fic, man did I think about writing that too. The timeline was borrowed from the wiki but boy is the Saw timeline complicated. Also things are not completely faithful. I hope you have a good time anyway!

When Amanda decided to join Jigsaw in his ‘business affairs,’ she didn't know that she would double as a medical orderly, but in retrospect she should have known better by the looks of everything.

She was presently standing in the middle of hers and John's shared working space, looking at him as he put one piece after another together in their newest contraption. He wanted to make a chair that twisted the limbs of the person sitting on it. It was still a long way away, this being more of a prototype at this point, and he was working meticulously at it, but all Amanda could see was how washed out he seemed. 

John didn't seem that sick when he met her at her apartment, all those months ago, but now, it was too plain to see that things weren't so hot. He'd cough more often. He'd also walk slower. Sometimes, he'd need longer time to breathe from one project to another. 

When they were preparing the bathroom game, dragging bodies, making sure everything was right and John told her he wanted to be in the center, she remembered being worried about him simply because he was, well, older. Nowadays though, she thought that if he did lay down in another bathroom for hours, he'd probably never get up. 

So, the decision to talk to Lawrence came from her. 

“I see,” John said, briefly looking up from his work, but focusing back on it again soon enough. 

Amanda went from one foot to the other.

“Maybe it could help.”

“I'm dying, Amanda,” he said, slowly. “Nothing can help.”

“I know. But you don't have to suffer just because of that.”

In the background, in the many televisions John and Amanda had in their space, people screamed while having their limbs torn out. 

...

John decided to let her talk to Lawrence, so he knew she was coming. She sat there on a chair at Saint Eustace Hospital, and could see the nurses passing her by, making sure other patients were okay. It reminded her a lot of the Homeward Bound clinic Jill used to run and her arm started to itch.

“Amanda?” A nurse asked. She looked up at a kinder face than hers. “The doctor is free for you now.”

“Thanks,” she said, getting up. No one knew she was Jigsaw, or at least an apprentice Jigsaw, but that didn't make it easier. As she walked, it was as if they knew. She wasn't, obviously, ashamed of it, or at least not as much as her rational brain told her she should be. That being said, the brain is weird, she would know.

Besides, if all the apprentice Jigsaws in this hospital were discovered, Lawrence would probably be in way deeper shit than a former drug addicted felon would be. That brought her some level of comfort.

“Amanda,” Lawrence greeted from his desk when she showed up. He pointed at the chair. “Close the door, will you?”

“Yeah,” she said, doing just that, before making way towards him. She didn't wanna sit down, not yet. “I'm assuming John told you why I'm here.”

“You want to make sure he's OK.” It was a statement. She nodded. “You understand that people go to medical school for years before they can do this stuff right?”

“You're saying I'm not capable of it?” Obviously not. Why are you challenging him? He's a doctor. He would know. Maybe this is stupid.

“No,” Lawrence said, cutting her thoughts. “I'm simply saying that I can't exactly teach you how to operate on someone. Not on the spaces we have,” and she knew he meant “we” as a team here, not “we” as the hospital he worked at “Not with the resources we have. The most I can do is give you books, talk you through treatments John was already going through that ended up interrupted because of his… Well. New status.”

“Yeah. I'd like that.” Lawrence never stopped looking at her. She thought she knew why.

“Alright. I'll see what I can do. I'll gather some resources, I'll… Steal some medicine.” She looked at him up and down, in that expensive suit, the expensive office, the job. The only thing out of the ordinary was the divorce, but then again how really out of the ordinary was it for a man of his age to be divorced from his first wife? Almost perfect or too perfect. And he's was gonna steal meds for her.

Apprentices come in all shapes and sizes.

“Thanks, Lawrence,” she said, and turned around. 

“Wait…” Slowly, Amanda did an about face. She knew her hair was getting longer, but her clothes were still, alternative enough. So she could guess at what he was thinking, or remembering.

“It's ok, you know. I suppose it's not easy to look at the person who kidnapped you and put you in a bathroom for hours. But if this is about him, he didn't suffer. Not really.” You know, apart from the three days of complete starvation.

Lawrence looked relieved. Amanda always thought she probably reminded him of Adam. Well… Who knows what he really thought of her or of Adam. Neither she, nor John actually knew what went through Lawrence's head about that. He hadn't even recovered completely when she went back down to the bathroom to kill him, considering Lawrence had been battling general infection and dehydration at the time. However, the first thing he asked about was him, and when John told him he was dead, he never asked again. Whenever they saw each other, she felt like he wanted to, though. They barely talked, so no chance. Not without John hearing. 

Amanda nodded and left the room, with no more words, but still thinking. John wasn't dangerous. Not really. Still, it was better if he didn't know that Lawrence was still hooked on Adam. Probably. Again, who knew what went through Lawrence's head. Amanda thought he probably caught feelings and snorted through her nose a little bit at a middle aged man's gay awakening being in a kidnapping situation. She'd plead insanity if she hadn't heard him in his sleep before, one time when John let him stay the night. Apparently he had problems with his wife, no new apartment yet, all of that. Amanda had slept with her arms on top of the workbench, her head against the cold metal, all of which helped to keep her sane, so the pain didn't matter. 

He, Mr. Perfect, had slept on the couch, another dent in his façade. 

Lawrence was lucky John wasn't around when he murmured Adam's name. Amanda was, though, half asleep. She wondered if Adam knew that he haunted not one, but two apprentices’ nightmares. That's gotta be worth something. Who knows, maybe he even haunted that little asshole friend of his, Scott whatever, who tried to harass her that one time. John didn't let her make a trap for him, because it would be a waste, but Amanda was increasingly of the opinion that people like Scott are a waste. 

...

Lawrence kept good on his word. He came by the workshop while she was alone. She did point a gun at him, though. It had been a lonely day at that particular workshop. The cop, Hoffmann, was nowhere to be found, and John had to take a break, so Amanda was antsy and stressed by a number of things, John's new treatment one of them. She even forgot she went up to the hospital until she saw him, a ghost with blonde hair and pale skin, almost too perfect to be there in the fifth and rust.

“Shit. Sorry,” she put the gun down, scratching her arm idly, going from one foot to the other, noticing how Lawrence didn't even flinch. She didn't see the usual fear in his eyes, the one she was used to.

“It's ok,” he said, and approached her, cane hitting the floor with each step, handing her a bag full of things: Books, pills, syringes. “How was the game?”

“Eventful,” she said, shrugging. “Joan survived.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Lawrence said, sounding sincere. She gave him half a smile, before turning around and dumping everything on the metal table with a distinctive loud sound. Both were unimpressed. “Where's John?”

“He's at home.” She stopped herself. How much can I tell this guy? “He's uh… Doing research about a thing, preparing to go to Mexico.”

“Mexico?” Lawrence repeated. “Why?” Amanda shrugged.

“It's a new medical thing. Cause John wants to find other ways to treat his cancer. It's… I just let him do it. It can't hurt. He wants to live, even if these people don't.” Amanda saw that Joan survived, yes. But people like her were an increasing improbability. 

She looked down at everything on the table, the books, the pills and wondered if she was gonna need all of that. If John came back cured from Mexico, or whatever, there might be no need. That would be a relief. She wanted John to live. Still, how much hope could she really put into an experimental treatment?

“We survived,” Lawrence spoke, making her turn her head. “We wanted to live.” Amanda snorted.

“Yeah well, great stuff.” The corpse of Adam might as well have been between them.

“As John's doctor,” Lawrence began, despite the stench of rotting flesh, “I have to say I cannot recommend any alternative treatments…”

“Last time you said that, he put you in a trap,” Amanda said, opening a particularly thick volume. “Maybe it's best if you stay in your lane.” She didn't mean for it to sound like a threat, but increasingly she found that most things she said did. It's better than the desperate, lost tone she had before, she guessed. Lawrence chuckled.

“Yes, maybe.” He then approached the table and Amanda looked up. “Let me teach you how to use some of this stuff anyway. Just in case.”

...

“Just in case” turned out handy, as John's bogus treatment turned out, well, bogus and their trip to Mexico was way worse and much more nerve wracking than Amanda could have anticipated. She was silent looking out the window down to the world below. She wondered how many people in those houses deserved to die. 

“Amanda,” John called, and she turned to look. “Did you speak to Dr. Gordon recently?”

“Right before our trip, yeah,” she answered. John stopped for a second, pondering.

“You were right about asking for help,” he finally said, looking at her. “Thank you.”

She nodded and he went back into silent thinking while she turned her face towards the window once more, trying not to cry.

Amanda really, really, didn't want him to die.

...

John's fate sealed, Amanda watched as he prepared instructions and tapes for a lot of tests to come after he was gone. The tapes were supposedly for her and the cop. He seemed to be around more and more.  

“Do you like that guy?” Lawrence asked one day. They both looked at an unconscious Michael Marks on the table. He was supposedly that fuckass Matthews’ informant. She was happy to kidnap him, to put him in a slab, to make him suffer just a little bit. She wished that he was conscious for his procedure, but John thought differently. In any case, Amanda was there simply to learn how to administer the drugs John needed, how to hook him to a machine, anything that she could while Lawrence was away on a trip with his daughter, which would last a while.

She was also aware she was on tape, but she knew her body and face were concealed from the camera lenses, considering she helped install the thing.

“What? Who, the cop?” Amanda asked, disgusted. Lawrence smiled.

“I guess not,” he said, threading the needle one final time, before he observed his handy work.

“Good job,” she said, strained, in lieu of anything else. 

“Thank you,” Lawrence said, dignified. She looked at him the same way someone would look at a particularly intimidating teacher. “So, shall we?”

...

Amanda is sitting at the Wilson Steel Plant, looking down at her hands, shaking. John's supposed to welcome the cops in a few hours. She's panicking, slightly. 

“Is this comfortable?” Lawrence asked, still there for this last checkup.

“As much as it can be. Thank you.” Lawrence took a last look at the bags and made sure he had enough oxygen in his tank, before nodding. 

“Alright. Guess I'm going now.”

“Yes, go spend time with your daughter.” John said, somewhat painfully. Amanda raised her head to look at them both. “These are precious moments you have with her.”

These are precious moments… The sentence was precisely what she had in mind too. Precious. She needed so much to get up and leave the room for a second, and it didn't matter if John followed her with his eyes all the way outside or if she felt so tired she could barely push the door.

Lawrence met her at the hallway.

“Amanda. It is my understanding that you're going to participate in this next game.” John didn't tell Lawrence everything, just the basics. She nodded anyway.

“Yeah. I'm supposed to make sure this kid is ok. And to make sure everybody knows the rules.”

“A valuable addition,” Lawrence gracefully added. “Who's gonna take care of John while you're gone?”

“No one,” Amanda said. “He's gonna be alone for a while. I trust him, though,” she said this, but looked down. Where she comes from, that was an admittance of guilt. 

“I see.” Lawrence said, knowing she was hiding something. “Well, good luck.”

...

Fuck fuck fuck!

“What happened to him?” Hoffmann asked Amanda as she brought a seriously injured John in.

“That animal Detective Matthews," she shouted at him, vitriol in every word, face horribly contorted. "Or should I say your fucking partner?!” Amanda asked, while Hoffmann helped her with John. “He fucking did this!”

“Amanda…” John murmured. “Don't.” She looked at him, feeling her eyes water, feeling herself to be ridiculous for this. Her only consolation was that Eric Matthews was gonna die. He couldn't survive what she did to him. 

“Where is he?” Hoffmann asked.

“I left him in the bathroom, like you said,” she lied, making sure to hook John into the IV, making sure to look for the right pills.

It's not heroin, but it might take the edge off. It's not heroin, but it might take the edge off. It's not heroin, but it might take the edge off. 

“Here,” she said, bringing the pills back instead of taking them, one by one until she was full. “Give these ones to John, it'll numb the pain. Then we'll hook him on morphine.”

Morphine, morphine, morphine…

“Are you telling me the truth?” Hoffmann asked. Amanda looked up again.

“What are you implying?” She asked, this time the threat being real. As insane as making an unlikely friend in a man you helped tie to a pole, Hoffmann was different. She had no idea why John let him stay for as long as he did. Why did he trust him so much? He smelled like a rat. 

“Nothing,” Hoffmann said with a half smile, and Amanda went back to making sure John not only stayed with them for now, but took some damned painkillers. 

...

Hoffmann disappeared somewhere, thankfully, and Amanda stayed to watch over John. She made sure to count the pills, the few bottles Lawrence brought, plus the stuff they already had, and she made sure to brush up on some reading. Turns out cancer wasn't as complicated as everyone made it seem. Didn't make it easier on anyone's body though, and John being as old as he was and as advanced as he was… 

There's not much time.

That was the crux of the matter. She bit onto a very sensitive skin on her lip until it bled and tasted it. She wondered where Lawrence was, if he and Diana were having fun. He was so removed from all of this, with his little suit and his little medical practice. 

Maybe in another life she could have had a Diana. Not that she felt particularly motherly. Cecil was the last man she fucked and he wasn't really a fatherly type, either. She wondered how it would be to fuck Lawrence and laughed a little at herself, a little secretive silent laugh, while reading the same sentence over and over. It would be like fucking a very specific type of white concrete wall. It would probably suck too. She wondered if he'd cry. Nothing wrong with it, she cried on most days now.

There was no way she could have a relationship like this. John coughed on the slab, and when she looked up his vital signs were stable. It's just a cough to indicate he's dying. No big deal.

...

Gordon is back from his trip just in time. Amanda was working on her own trap, the Angel Trap as she called it. It was supposed to rip a person to shreds unless they could get the key in a minute. It was poetic in a way, somewhat beautiful. John approved of it. What he doesn't know, he can't feel.

She kept working at it so she didn't have to hear the coughing, so it was incessant work by now.

“Amanda.” Lawrence said behind her, and she didn't point a gun this time. Instead, she just turned around.

“Hi.”

“Your hair grew.”

“Yeah,” she said, touching it reflexively. He looked somewhat sad. I look less like him by the day, huh? “How was your trip?”

“Good. Diana was particularly fond of the beach.” She smiled and turned back to her work.

“I liked the beach when I was younger.”

“You went with your dad too?” Amanda stopped. 

“No, not really.” She retrieved a screwdriver from the table. “John wants to talk to you. He's in his office.” There was a pause.

“I see. Thank you.” 

She watched as he made his way towards the door and went back to her work. Her dad really didn't do much good. It was useless to try to talk about him or even think too much . She looked at the office and could see they were talking through the window, wondering what it was about.

“So that's it?” Lawrence was crossing the room. He stopped to answer her.

“I'm supposed to come back for another stitching procedure.”

“I see.” Amanda stretched her back. “Is he OK?” His expression softens.

“Yes. He's alright.”

What a lie.

...

Troy's trap is set. He will not survive. Amanda is giddy, but tries to hide it, when everything goes as planned.

“What a waste,” John says, looking at the footage. He's sicker. More frail. She checks the bottles every day. She makes sure he has enough supplies, enough rest, food, water… 

“Yeah,” she agrees vaguely, pushing John, now in a fucking wheelchair. Everything has been hectic lately. John's worsening, Hoffmann being around more, the cops closing in, the kidnappings increasing. All of that. A Lynn Denlon is supposed to be around next, Lawrence suggested her. Amanda didn't get why, but John told her she's a neurosurgeon. The best. 

How convenient, a neurosurgeon who happens to be great at what she does and who is also throwing her life away. 

Amanda's thinking all of this while reading and looking at her trap from time to time, just to make sure it's still there, as if it would disappear. Turns out the cop is useful after all. He helps her put that bitch Kerry into it and she is elated to see as her creation finally takes her ribcage apart, revealing everything about her, good and bad.

John is wrong about killing. This can't be bad if it feels so cathartic. Some people just deserve to die. 

Did you? 

The illustrations in her medical books are beyond accurate.

...

Lawrence comes back, sews Art and some other guy's eyes shut. Amanda helps. She also helps Hoffmann kidnap a bunch of other people. John says they're human beings, but truthfully she can't remember who is who. She likes when Hoffmann gets a snide comment though. She doesn't like when Jill comes to see them. She can only remember the baby.

Hoffmann is looking at her weird, but Amanda is finishing yet another book, the last one Lawrence brought her. What was it, five books? She read some multiple times. She checked the bottles again.

“Amanda,” John's weak voice awoke her from her counting trance. “Are you resting?” 

“I'm alright.”

“I don't think so. I think you should have a good night of sleep.”

“How can I sleep when you're here?” She asked, distraught. His vital signs were so weak. She couldn't even fool herself about it.

“You have to accept what you can't control.”

“But I can't…” Amanda said, knowing her voice came out as a weak murmur.

“Counting bottles won't keep me from dying, but it will keep you from doing an acceptable job tomorrow. You must rest.”

But the letter was waiting for her. And her knives.

She cried the whole night through.

...

Everything smelled like a hospital. It was just a matter of time. John was laid down, at his likely final resting place. Hoffmann's letter kept ringing through her head.

Kill Lynn Denlon. Kill Lynn Denlon. Kill Lynn Denlon.

“You did a good job,” Lawrence said after checking John's heartbeat. Amanda’s wet eyes went to his face. He had a firm smile. “You could have been a good medical student.”

“Amanda is very bright,” John interceded. “She has a bright future ahead of her.” Lawrence nodded.

“I have no doubt about that.”

...

An hour later Amanda is screaming at a doctor about drugs and having a collapse. The room is somehow green, somehow closing on her and she wondered if these were symptoms of anything at all before coming back to reality.

Too many medical books.

“He needs surgery,” Lynn keeps repeating but honestly she needs to shut the fuck up before Amanda puts a hole through her head. 

She grabs and pulls hair, she cuts, she bleeds, nothing seems to be really enough. Everything is coming down. John is dying in a room, people are dying in the game and Lynn Denlon needs to die too.

Will John even survive? Why would I do what he says when he won't have time to tell him?

Because she wanted to kill Lynn. Why did he keep smiling at her? Why did he choose her? She was the best, right? That couldn't be it. That was one of the reasons, he said.

Then why? Was she special?

Amanda went out to get more drugs. Lynn wouldn't be stupid enough to try to escape. She was a smart type, a pretty doctor. Just like Lawrence, but even more put together. She had brains and even more. Lawrence didn't even look like himself halfway through his game, but Lynn was holding up fairly well. It was sort of impressive. She herself would be a pile of nerves.

In fact, she couldn't even put the key in the ignition. Could she run to Saint Eustace? That would be stupid. 

She tried again. And again. 

“Jesus fucking christ!”

Amanda, get a fucking grip. Now! John's gonna die! Get your shit together!

She drove to the hospital and back in record time, even if people screamed at her from their cars. Fuck them.

...

Lynn cut John's head open like she was cutting meat for dinner. Amanda had been lucky that Lawrence was on duty. Lynn couldn't even suspect he put her through this. 

“How is she?” Lawrence had asked. Amanda shrugged.

“We'll see.”

The machines were beeping. They were so loud. Oh my God. John.

“Amanda, I need your help!” Lynn screamed and her eyes were alert again.

...

Getting shot was as intense as she thought it might be by the looks of everyone else. Not that she had time to think about it as she collapsed to the floor, a relief considering the last few months or even years. Amanda wondered when was the last time she stopped thinking. John kept telling her things. She had failed. She looked up at the counter, at the bottles she had counted. She looked at him, she looked at Lynn. She couldn't see through the tears and she felt the warm blood gushing through her wound, through her fingers. It was her own this time.

She thought about Lawrence. She thought about her dad. She thought about Adam. 

You're dying, Amanda. She looked at John one last time. Maybe he would forgive her before she went.

“Game over.”

Yeah. It surely seemed that way. 

[carefulfears]

@amplifyme thank you lovely! answering these one by one <3

top 5 secondary characters

(cheating a bit and answering this to mean anyone not M&S)

1/ alex krycek

i'm a little bit obsessed with him...union-sponsored krycek girl above all else.

he's a hired assassin that constantly accidentally kills the wrong person. he's a key figure in a decades long conspiracy, and plays for both teams. depending on seemingly nothing more than his little moods. he can fuck his way to the top of any russian gulag or united nations committee. he holds mulder at gunpoint then kisses his cheek. no one knows why. he destroys the only thing that could save mulder's life with a smile, then a month later, tells him that he has always prayed he would win.

after his death, it surprises no one to see his ghost linger behind mulder's shoulder.

is it rivalry or devotion? is it sabotage or incompetence? is it truth or lies? no one knows! least of all him!

2/ walter skinner

this one part of audries' fluorescence and night on all sides:

Skinner has the uncanny ability to materialize at the cusp of disaster. He's a footnote to their tragedy. No, that's not right. He's the one writing the footnotes, filling in the blanks in the best way he can. It strikes her that he will outlive them all, in the end.

he is the setting for the conclusion of all of their adventures, whether it's being chewed out in his office or held in the west virginia snow. he bears witness to all of their testimonies, reads all of their reports. he sells his soul to the devil to keep theirs intact.

when scully won't let mulder go by himself, skinner is the person she trusts with her person. he cries with her when he comes back alone.

he's the first to know about their baby, and eighteen years later, still the first to protect him.

he's a hardass sometimes, it is exhausting to write the footnotes to this particular story, but he loves those crazy agents from the basement of his. and he's forever waiting for them to come back and keep up the fight, bother his assistant, put another statement on his desk.

3/ john doggett

whenever i think about doggett, i think about his first case on the x-files. and how it was scully's first case without mulder, ever, and how hard she was trying to appear sure, how hard she was trying "to be mulder."

until that one moment in the car when she said "maybe i'm wrong." and confessed to him that she doubts herself, that making these leaps doesn't come naturally to her. that maybe she's just trying too hard.

and doggett told her that he didn't go to oxford. that he doesn't know anything about the paranormal. but he doesn't think she's wrong.

"i'm no fox mulder, but i can tell when a man's hiding something."

it says so much about his character to me that he would show up on day 1 of the job that no one wants, that was a punishment, that everyone makes fun of him for, having stayed up all weekend reading every file.

it says so much to me that on day 1 he's able to tell her, look, i know that i'm not who you want to do this with. and i might not even be as good at it as he would be. but i think you're doing a good job, and i am following your lead.

doggett is defined in being a by-the-book investigator, but just like skeptic/believer didn't ever really come close to describing the dynamic between mulder and scully, the flipped roles of this new partnership exceed it as well.

where scully's skepticism for many years was to question and fear, doggett's disbelief is grounded in loyalty, and there is no trail that he isn't willing to follow if he thinks it will lead to a solution.

monica was right, he's a dog person, "you're faithful, you're dependable, you're without guile, you're very comfortable to be around."

he brings a "get well soon" card to another agent in the hospital, even before being partnered with her. he runs into open fire to save a man who was nothing but harsh to him. he breaks his emotional support redhead's baby daddy out of military prison, and is willing to face the consequences.

he is ride-or-die, he is steady as a rock, and he is the perfect energy to have around amidst so much change in the later seasons.

4/ the lone gunmen

our boys!! how can you see them and not crack a smile, not instantly feel that the episode is better when the gang is all here?

they participate in last minute heists of government facilities, they babysit, they call to invite you over for cheese steaks and digitized kennedy assassination footage. what can't they do!

of course mulder's only friends are these three conspiracy-obsessed nerds. he is the cool one of this group.

but my favorite thing to see is how much scully grew to love them, and vice versa, over the years. the way they huddle at the loft to dig up dirt on diana, and around scully's kitchen table to discuss next steps post-resurrection.

the way the four of them are mulder's team, and they yell at each other over headsets and jump in the backseat en route to the bermuda triangle.

the way she says they are "the only ones left we can trust" with her baby. and later, in the end, "they meant so much to me."

"the three stooges," "cowardly lion, scarecrow, toto!," there's a reason why their intended one episode arc spanned 11 seasons and 25 years.

5/ monica reyes

scully's tall dark-haired believer who would do anything for her...it must be a law of nature that when one fades away, another has to fill the role.

this show suffers so much without mulder's optimism and belief, and that's really what makes s8 feel so heavy. there's no one there who will trust that time is moving backwards and help or who will jump unquestioning into the fight against alien-baby-snatching doctors.

monica joining the team in s9 is what gives the show that new life, and what makes s9's MOTWs so much better. and just like how doggett's skepticism is not scully's, monica's belief is her own.

she doesn't just want to believe, and she doesn't believe out of trauma or grief, she believes because she feels.

she doesn't come in with any preconceived notions, she just "tries to stay open" and be sensitive to her surroundings.

the x-files are, as leyla harrison says, "in good hands."

(pre-revival CSM is one of the most interesting characters ever to me, i always love watching whatever he's up to. but he doesn't make the list on account of being nasty.)