#also not sure if you can tell but one of these things is significantly scarier than all the others | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

parkitaco · 2 years ago

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a color i have searched for

prequel ficlet #2 to swear that it was something, requested by @amaragf

Will is well-acquainted with the nuances of coming out. He’s handled it with delicacy, the few times he’s done it - first with Jonathan, then his mother. There had been significantly more crying involved on his part than he might have preferred, but he probably should have predicted that part, in all his planning and preparation for it. He’s never been able to control his emotions. Hide them, maybe, but never control.

It went well, though, both times, like he knew it would - the main reason he’d chosen the two of them to come out to first was because he knew they’d react well, and also maybe because part of him figured they already knew. They’d spared him the awkwardness of saying it up-front, but the coded speech Jonathan gave him in that godforsaken pizza dough freezer a million years ago and the framed picture of the rainbow spaceship he’d drawn when he was, like, ten that hangs proudly in his mother’s office says plenty on its own. He’d received bone-crushing hugs and words of affirmation and support and it had all been very emotional but ultimately good.

So, he’s at least a little bit experienced in this department, and has a solid idea of what to expect in a reaction.

One thing he did not account for, though, is the blank look El is giving him right now.

“You,” she says slowly, eyes narrowed the way they always are when she’s trying to figure something out, “-are gay?”

Even though he’s had the word on a back burner in his brain since he was approximately twelve years old, hearing it said aloud still sends his nerves into a bit of a scramble. Will manages a nod, hands twisting nervously in his lap. They’re sitting on the floor of his bedroom, listening to a Madonna record of El’s that Will would rather die than admit that he actually sort of likes, and Will had glanced over at her- his sister, one of his best friends, outside of Mike, except that Will’s not going down that rabbit hole right now- and had just blurted it out without thinking much about it: I need to tell you something.

But now he’s actually having to say the thing, which is infinitely scarier than the lead-up to saying the thing, and if the look El is giving him right now is any indication, she has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“What is… gay,” she asks slowly, sounding out the single syllable, and again Will’s nerves seize up.

It’s a fair question - what is gay? It’s an insult, sometimes, hurled at him by his peers and his father. It’s a secret, one that weighs on him like a physical thing, although maybe less of a secret now. It’s a curse, whispered in hushed tones between adults who are trying not to be derogatory and instead circling right back around to judgemental, which is almost worse. It’s his greatest shame and his greatest joy, his secret, his love, a fundamental part of who he is but not the only piece of the puzzle. It’s something Will is okay with, mostly, particularly when he looks at Mike Wheeler, marveling at how lucky he is to love him, even if it’s only from a distance.

But he is definitely not supposed to be thinking about that, because he’s talking to Mike’s ex, who broke up with him less than a month ago, and he can’t even begin to ask for her forgiveness for that aspect of it if she doesn’t understand the premise. “Um,” he says intelligently, and can feel his cheeks burning, “It’s, like. It means to be attracted to your same, uh, gender.”

El nods slowly, processing, brow furrowed. “Word of the day?” she offers, sending him a small smile, and he smiles back despite himself, relieved that she doesn’t seem disgusted or angry or any of the hateful things he’s been trained to expect.

“Yeah, sure, that can be the word of the day,” he says, laughing a little. “But- you understand?”

“I think so,” El muses, and meets his eyes warmly. “It is- boys that like boys? Romantically?”

Will’s stomach twists, and it’s all he can do to not picture a certain curly-haired, brown-eyed boy. “Yeah,” he says softly, and it feels like more of a confession than it is. He’s gotten past the first secret. He’s still undecided if he should bother sharing the second. “Is that okay?”

El makes a face, and the phrase how would I know echoes in Will’s brain, her voice bouncing around his skull. He laughs, and she grins. “I do not know why I would not be okay with it,” she says aloud, and Will wonders if he’s going to have to explain the concept of homophobia to her as well, “But yes, it is okay.”

Will knew she’d say this - being lab-grown and kind of a freak (said with affection, of course) probably makes her more accepting than most people, but this is 1986 and Hawkins and Will knows all too well that you can never be too sure of anything, here. He slumps against the end of his bed, relieved, and El smiles reassuringly at him as she scoots closer, leaning up next to him and knocking her knee against his. “Thanks, El,” he murmurs.

Anytime, she says back inside his head, and then aloud; “Why did you need to tell me that?”

Will swallows, nerves creeping back in. “Oh, I don’t know,” he squeaks, voice full of forced lightness, “I just- thought you should know.”

El mulls this over, biting her lip. “Do other people know?”

“Mom and Jonathan,” Will says, inexplicably embarrassed, “And- maybe the Party knows, too, but I haven’t officially told them, so-”

“I won’t tell,” El interrupts quickly, knee pressing more firmly against his own with the affirmation, and Will exhales, relaxing a little. “Promise.”

They’re silent for a moment, Madonna’s voice still playing softly from Will’s record player, and he resists the urge to tap his foot along with the beat.

Then:

“How do you know?” El asks, glancing at him with a curious look on her face, and Will bristles a little despite himself, defensive.

“What do you mean, how do I know,” he asks, and El’s face falls into a frown, confused, and he immediately regrets it. “I- sorry. Sorry.” He pauses, thinking of how best to explain it. “Um. Sometimes people say things like that because they don’t, like, believe you or something, or want to change it. Uh- you know how people sometimes say one thing when they mean something else?”

“Passive aggressive,” El recites proudly, shooting him a brilliant grin, and he huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, that’s the one. I’m just- used to that. Sorry.”

“I did not mean to offend you,” El says, eyes wide and sincere with concern, and Will, oddly, feels a little bit like crying.

“I know, it’s okay,” he says quickly, and El’s expression smooths out, relaxing. “Um- to answer your question, I mean- I don’t know. It’s just a sort of- gut feeling, I guess,” he says, thinking back to the days of Snow Balls and that sinking sensation in his chest when girls asked him to dance, knowing he didn’t like them and being faintly sure that he never would. “That your experiences don’t line up with what people are telling you you should be feeling.”

El’s face twists in thought, and she bobs her head even though Will is fairly sure that she doesn’t really know what he’s talking about. But that’s to be expected, he supposes - it’s not like she has any of her own experience in this department to compare it to her. Her expertise is fairly limited to the supernatural. “Gut feeling,” she repeats, “I don’t think I have many of those.”

Will laughs again, already feeling lighter. That’s one thing he’s learned about coming out since the first time he did it- it feels good. Afterward, anyway. “You will,” he assures her, patting her knee with one hand, “You just have some catch-up to do, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, sounding faintly annoyed at the prospect, but she powers through anyway; “Is that all you wanted to tell me, then? That you like boys?”

“Um,” Will says, and trepidation creeps in. He has a choice to make - he could lie and say yes, and come away from the experience with a supportive sister and a generally good feeling. Or he could be honest with her, and risk having her hate him. Not that she would. Probably. But- well, it’s Hawkins and he’s Will, so you never know. “It’s kind of big, El,” he deflects instead, forcing a wry smile, “‘Is that all,’” he mimics with a scoff.

She shrugs. “You are still Will,” she points out, and the statement sparks more emotion in him than it should. “And I still love you.”

Will supposes this, ultimately, is what makes him take the leap. “Well, in that case,” he says, voice shaking a little. He curls his legs under him, shifting to look at her properly, and she glances over at him with an eyebrow raised, triumphant like she knew there had to be more to the story. “You should know that- I like one boy, specifically.” Despite his best efforts, Mike’s face appears in his mind’s eye, like a physical thing he can’t quite shake.

El meets his eyes, gently encouraging and a little bit gleeful, pleased at the prospect of gossip. Something Max has hard-wired into El’s brain, surely. “Who?” she asks, and her voice is so light and pleased and Will can’t bear the thought of having her turn on him, but he pushes through anyway.

“Uh,” he says, “Well- okay, don’t be mad.”

The gleeful expression on El’s face slips a little, and she frowns. “Why would I be mad?”

“It’s, uh,” Will tries, all coherent thought immediately leaving his brain. He’s prepared for this, has thought through what he would say to El if, hypothetically, he were to ever tell her the truth, but the reality of the situation is much harder to control. He opens his mouth, and all his words come spilling out, desperate to escape after being caged in for so long, rambling and frenzied: “I just don’t want you to think that I was, like, trying to steal anyone, and I know you broke up but it wasn't that long ago and I don’t even know why I’m saying anything because it doesn’t matter, I’m never gonna tell him so you have nothing to-”

Will, El says, both inside his head and aloud, and Will stops short, cheeks flaming with humiliation. He hasn’t even said it, technically, but he meets El’s eyes, and they’re wide with understanding. He resists the urge to run away and hide forever. “It’s Mike?” El asks, clarifying, and the confirmation has Will groaning in embarrassment and reaching up to cover his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he says into his palms, pressing his fingertips into his burning cheeks, “I’m just- I tried to stop, but I can’t, even when you guys were together I just- it’s just always- God,” he huffs, giving up on forming an eloquent sentence and instead focusing on trying to will himself out of existence.

El’s fingertips brush against Will’s hands, and he peers through his fingers at her miserably. She tugs on his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face, and he lets it happen, too emotionally exhausted to fight her on it. “Will,” she says seriously, eyes wide as she clasps her hands between her own, “You do not need my permission to love him.”

Who said anything about love, Will thinks, but it’s not even worth it because of course she’d see through him, she’s his telepathic twin sister and honestly it’s a shock she hadn’t figured it out already. He supposes that not knowing gay people exist makes it a bit difficult to spot one, but still. Of course she would know that his feelings for Mike run deeper than “like”.

“If I did, though,” he forces out, stupidly choked up, close to tears, always close to tears, “If I did need your permission, would I have it?”

El smiles gently. “That is a bit nonsensical,” she says, a favorite word of hers as of late - Dustin probably taught it to her - “But yes, you would.”

“You’re sure?” Will asks meekly, wanting to hide behind his hands again, but she’s still holding onto his wrists, keeping him steady. “Because- if you were upset about it, I would understand.”

El frowns, shaking her head. “Will, you knew him first,” she points out, validating that mean, petty part of Will that had existed the summer before Starcourt, upset that Mike couldn’t find the time for him even if, logically, he understood the hierarchy of their friend group. Girlfriends first, then best friends. He’d always been destined for replacement. “Way before I did,” El adds, and again Will is struck by the startling clarity with which she’s reading the situation. He hadn’t explicitly said that his feelings for Mike had existed before she came along, but obviously they had, and clearly she knows that. It would be embarrassing if it wasn't so much of a relief to not have to explain any further.

“I guess,” he says, swallowing back the lump in his throat, “But still.”

El rolls her eyes. “You are too nice sometimes,” she tells him, which Will is perfectly aware of, thanks, and in this situation he thinks it is a little bit warranted. “It is not your fault. You are not bad because of it.”

“Still,” Will insists, scooting closer, and El fixes him with an unimpressed look as his knees knock against hers. “It’s- I mean, it’s bad enough that I’m, like, violating the boundaries of my friendship with him, but if I’m hurting you too-”

“Okay, first of all,” El cuts in, which is maybe a good thing because Will could feel another ramble coming on, his words overlapping and spilling over each other, “Mike and I are not together. I broke up with him, and it had nothing to do with you, and we are good now, so I do not care who he dates. Second of all,” she continues before Will can protest to the dating part, because the idea of him actually being able to date Mike Wheeler is frankly laughable, “You are not violating anything.”

Will isn’t entirely sure she actually knows what the word violating means, but the look she’s giving him right now tells him that it’s probably not a good idea to double check. “He’s my best friend,” he says in a low voice, fighting to keep his voice even as he twists his fingers through El’s, the warmth from her palms grounding him a little, “He doesn’t deserve me asking more from him.”

“Best friend,” El repeats faintly, and when Will glances up at her, her brow is furrowed in contemplation, like she’s thinking something over. “You are- special to each other, yes? Different than other best friends.”

Will frowns, unsure of what she’s getting at. “Um. I guess? I think that’s probably my fault, though.”

Something resembling a smirk tugs at the corners of El’s mouth, and her eyes are a little bit too wide and innocent when she meets Will’s gaze. “Maybe,” she hedges, in a tone that suggests something else. “I think you should talk to Mike,” she suggests, squeezing his hands, and Will immediately retracts his arms, shaking his head vehemently.

“No way,” he says immediately, scooting away from El and hunching in on himself like a physical reaction to the concept. “No, he’s- we’re finally in a good place again, I can’t do that to him.”

El squints. “Do you know if he likes boys?” she asks carefully, and the question itself sounds innocent enough, very El, always trying to get all the facts in order, but he senses that she’s gearing up to something, and he doesn’t like it.

Will clears his throat. “Uh- well, he’s never said, but- I don’t think so, no.”

“If he hasn’t told you,” El says, in her patented “logic” tone, steadfast and full of unearned confidence, “How would you know?”

“El,” Will says, huffing out a sharp breath, refusing to let that question sit with him for too long, “You’re overthinking this.” When she shoots him a confused look, he amends; “It’s like- thinking too hard. Making things more complicated than they are. Two words of the day today, ha.”

El is unimpressed. “I think you are underthinking it, then,” she says primly, “Or at least not considering all the options. Maybe it is actually more simple than you think.”

Will coughs, face flushed, and he tries not to think too hard about the how would you know, because he supposes he doesn’t know, but- “Okay, El, I appreciate your support,” he hedges, careful, and El sighs as she sees that he’s not going to let her run with this, “But I- I don’t think I really need the relationship advice right now.”

They stare each other down for a beat, long enough that Will gets fed up and shoots an I’m serious in the direction of her brain, and El shoots back a you’re annoying is what you are, and then she sits back on her heels, apparently satisfied.

“Okay,” she says simply, sending him a gentle smile, “Can we turn up the music now?”

#this got very byler-y whoops #was not part of the original plan #but oh well #byler fic #ficlets #st fic #mike wheeler #will byers #el hopper #willel

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hotmouthofgod · 2 years ago

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Advice Nobody Asked For From a Person With No Skin In The Game

If you’re a player:

Continue monetarily supporting creators via donations as best you can. Consider targeting your donations to folks with disabilities, chronic illnesses, or other barriers that may prevent them from pursuing traditional work.

Yes, there are plenty of money hungry fucks in this community who are thoroughly showing their asses right now. There are also folks who are justifiably nervous about potentially losing vital income. I personally think monetizing hobbies is a bad fuckin idea and that doesn’t change the fact that losing income gets significantly scarier the closer to the poverty line you are. As someone who’s been hovering around that line for years, I can tell you even 50 extra bucks a month can make a huge difference. If you see someone struggling, support them.

If we want more harmony in this community, we can’t succumb to an us vs. them mentality. Some creators make enough money for dinner at the end of the month and some make bank. Some genuinely need that money and others probably don’t. Some have mobility within the workforce and others don’t. There’s room for all of this in discussions on this policy. Absolute thinking is a quick road to conflict and division. While some people are being shits and deleting all their CC out of spite, others who relied on this for income may be forced to take a break from creating to find other means of work. Imo it’s pretty easy to tell who has to take a break for life reasons and who’s just stomping their feet because they were only in it for the money (the feet stomping ones tend to be pretty loud lol). Prepare for the possibility that some of your faves may not have the ability to continue making content at the same rate and don’t be a dick about it. Don’t put pressure on them to meet your demand, whether you’re offering donations or not.

If you can’t donate, make sure you show appreciation. Reblog your faves’ posts, send them words of encouragement, go easy on the personalized requests, BE PATIENT WHEN WAITING FOR UPDATES. Whether paid or not, creators are providing you with content that enhances your gameplay, and quality content deserves appreciation!

For the love of fuck stop posting weird call-out lists like we’re 16 years old on tumblr dot com in 2012 lmao just use your brain and the report form when you need to. Some creators have relied on this money to survive and some are greedy little shits. If both names are on the same list, consider working on your discernment. The tried and true trifecta - report, block, and keep it moving. I swear it works every time.

If you’re a creator:

I don’t have any hard data to back this up, but my prediction is that those who can afford to continue supporting you will do so. Don’t panic yet. This isn’t the end! Again, I don’t think it’s wise to monetize hobbies if at all possible but if you’re absolutely set on it or feel it’s your only option rn, consider what you can monetize without violating the policy. Can you offer sliding scale or donation based tutorials or polls for CC? I’ve seen a lot of commission based artists run contests where they pick a random person who’s recently donated and create a quick art piece to that person’s specifications. As long as you’re offering the CC for free immediately upon release, this may be a viable option for you (but I’m not a lawyer so don’t quote me lmao). I’ve seen artists offer things like speed paint videos on their Patreons too, so that’s another idea. Get with your homies and get creative!

Be honest with your supporters. Do you need help with medical expenses? Are you worried about losing money that was helping feed you or your kids? If people can help, they will. And if anyone gives you shit after you’ve been vulnerable, remember the block button is your friend.

Consider whether your skills may translate to other freelance work. I don’t know the first thing about 3D models, but I’ve heard it’s possible to create them for money! Check in with your friends and see what may be available to you.

Draw boundaries. If you have to quit or slow your roll on creating to find other work that pays the bills, do it and don’t feel guilty about it. Nobody knows your situation but you.

Don’t expect anyone to sympathize with your all-caps diatribe about how the entire community is full of entitled assholes who owe you their coin for all the work you decided to do of your own accord. If you don’t enjoy making CC for fun, don’t make it. If you need to find other work, do it. Just don’t subject us to an incoherent rant while you do it lmao

#ts4cc #patreon #simblr #this is a very reasonable post and if you come at me sideways for any of it i'm blocking you lmao

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thefanficmonster · 3 years ago

Note

I may or may not have just sent the 3 word challenge in my real account instead of anon... I'm sorry. Please don't answer there. :)

When you post, post answering here please.

Again, much love,

📚🌻

Don't worry dear! Your identity shall remain a secret 🥰 Here's yet another fic with my Resident Evil OC: Gwen Winters (she’s an adult guys, don’t worry. However this is still an Older Man/Younger Woman relationship)

The words dear 📚🌻 Anon gave me in their previous ask were: Unruly, endurable and system. Please enjoy!

What happens in the gym....

Pairing: Chris Redfield x Female OC

Warnings: Swearing, Spoiler Free 😊

Genre: Angsty Romance

“Sure, throw me in the fire like you always do, Leon!“ Chris snaps, clenching his fists tightly as he glares at his best friend while the two stand in the dimly lit gym.

“Chris, you’re a BSAA captain, for the love of God! You should know better than to complain about something as little as this!“ Leon, while significantly calmer tone and demeanor-wise, is glaring daggers of his own.

“Why me, damn it?! And why her?!“ Chris is not done with his attempts to get out of the situation Leon’s trying to land him in and his partner’s honestly done with it.

“And why not?! You see the same potential I see, why would it be so hard to train her? She’s a quick learner, she’s disciplined when she wants to be and she’s already skilled to a certain degree. You’ve made soldiers out of total wimps before, why is she such a hassle to you?!“

“Because she’s disciplined when she wants to be and I guarantee she won’t want to when she’s around me. She’s unruly, selfish, arrogant and a Chris-phobe. I’m telling you, she hates me!“

It’s about time Leon’s had enough of this conversation. To be honest, he was done with it as soon as it started but he stayed, thinking he’d be able to change Chris’ mind but seeing as how this is a hopeless case, he’s just been wasting his time. “Does she? Or are you projecting your hate for her onto her?” Slinging his duffel bag containing his training gear over his shoulder, Leon finally makes that realization that these are ten minutes of his life he’ll never get back and storms out of the gym without another word.

Chris doesn’t attempt to stop him, in fact, he’s relieved he left. He sighs, silently hating himself for all the shit he said and how he meant none of it. It was all hard bullshit and he doesn’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed that Leon didn’t realize. Either way, he’s been cleared of possible suspicion, even if training the newest BSAA rookie still remains as his task.

Gwen Winters, she’s such a fucking handful. One cannot tell if it’s because she’s angry with the world, angry with herself or just straight up picked up on the habits of the family that took her in when she was rescued from Raccoon City where she was held as an experiment hamster. A chemistry project basically. Ethan and Mia were recovering from the events back in Louisiana at the time, still probably are, that is not some shit you get over, so they thought having another person in the house would help them. And help Gwen did. See, Gwen isn’t a handful with everyone. In fact, she’s a real sweetheart and Chris knows it too, despite his bogus claims. He knows she’s got a heart and soul of gold and is built with the will of a BSAA soldier already. All she needs is a bit better fighting skills and she’s good to go.

He sees how she acts with everyone around him. She’s been quick to make friends with Jill and his sister Claire and she’s even got Leon’s liking and trust which is hella hard to get, especially after all the shit with Ada. She’s overall a super sweet and lovely girl, even with him from time to time. He’s seen her welcoming, friendly smiles whenever he stops by the Winters’ home. He’s heard her laugh at the jokes he rarely cracks.

Then why does she act like she hates him so often? And why does he claim he hates her?

Chris is snapped back to reality by the sound of rough impact. It’s a very distinct noise, one he places immediately: the sound of fists hitting a punching bag. It’s the middle of the night, almost midnight actually, and knowing how lazy the soldiers on his team are, he can only assume it’s either his sister or Jill, given that Leon just left. However, they’ve had people sneak in to train for free before, so it’d be for the best if he went to check who was releasing some pent up energy on the poor punching bag. Judging by the intensity of the punches being thrown, sounds like the person might be angry as well.

And they have every right to be. Because they are Gwen.

Chris’ face goes a bit red at the sight of the infuriated rookie giving the punching bag her all, punishing it the way she’d want to do to her superior she just heard call her all the names she hates being referred by.

“Winters I-“

“Unruly?“ Punch “Selfish?” Punch “Arrogant?” Punch

She stills herself, sighing and wiping the droplets of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, “You say all that and expect me not to be a Chris-phobe?” She lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her shoulders before continuing her wrath over the piece of equipment she’s threatening to destroy. She hasn’t spared him a single look yet, something he’s rather grateful for because the last thing he wants to see is whatever her gaze is hiding right now. “I’ll talk to Leon.” She says, her voice leveled and breathy, far from the pissed off tone she was just using. This calmness is a lot scarier though. “I’ll tell him I don’t want you to be my trainer. To be perfectly clear, I never wanted you to train me in the first place. I’m just not the type to complain, you know. I’m not picky. Beggers can’t be choosers. I take what I can get. And you were all I was offered, but...” she trails off, delivering a particularly hard punch, “It’s not gonna work. I may not be picky, but I know when to draw the line. I know when I deserve better.”

“Kid, you really have no idea what the case really is here.“ He attempts desperately, taunted by the thought of acting on his instincts and approaching her even if that means being the recipient of one of those hard punches.

“You know, I’m strong. I’m skilled. I can hold my own in a fight quite nicely. I’m endurable. I’m not afraid to work my ass off and sweat and pant like a dog after workouts. There’s not a line I wouldn’t cross, but you still choose to make me feel lesser than any soldier you’ve ever come across, that’s really lovely of you, Captain Redfield.“

“Winters, please...“

“It’s ok, I won’t tell Ethan and Mia. I’m sure they’ll send you to hell over it. I’m not petty like that.“

He’s had enough. He’s had enough of hearing that hurt tone in her voice. He’s done hearing these words she’s so certain are true but aren’t. He’s done lying to her and to himself. Before he can even think twice about it, he grabs her by the arms gently but firmly, turning her to face him despite her hostile attempts to free herself from his hold like a wild animal caught in a trap. He’s surprised when she relaxes, probably seeing that as a quicker way out of the situation rather than struggling though if she tried to free herself any longer he would’ve probably let her go.

“Fucking hell, Gwen, listen to me.“ He looks her dead in the eyes, catching onto the spark of shock created by his use of her first name. But he also sees something else, something that looks dangerously a lot like tears. He knows she won’t cry, especially not in front of him, but knowing that he’s the cause behind the welling of those crystal droplets in her always shiny, always smiling eyes breaks him. When she doesn’t look away nor protest, he continues, “I can’t be your captain. I can’t be your trainer. I can’t be any of that. I’m a strictly professional man, and it’d be highly unprofessional of me to take you in as my soldier.”

“But why?“ She’s fully aware she sounds like a whiny kid - exactly how she thinks he envisions her sometimes - but she couldn’t care less. She wants and needs answers. She knows she won’t be able to fall asleep or keep coming back to the training center if she doesn’t get them.

It’s blatantly clear this is far from easy for Chris. His first instinct is to look away, let go of her, run away like he always does - not that she’d let him do such a thing but still. He’s finds the words impossible to spit out yet he oh so desperately feels the need to get them out of his system. And so, he gathers all the strength within him and finally forces himself to say it.

“Because a captain isn’t supposed to look at a soldier the way I look at you.“

Sure, it sounds cryptic as heck but he has no doubt she’ll catch on. Gwen is a smart and sharp girl, among many other things. She confirms this when barely three seconds after he’s said it, he notices her eyes widening

“Sir, I-“

“Don’t.“ He says simply, a small, regretful smile playing across his lips as his hand slides down her arm to take hold of hers, “I just admitted my dirtiest secret to you and you are still gonna remind me how unprofessional I am by using my title, Kid?“

She purses her lips, the shock momentarily replaced by her signature mild glare, “Well, you just admitted your biggest secret to me and yet you still choose to call me ‘Kid’, huh?”

He chuckles, letting his other hand repeat the movements of the first, “Sorry, force of habit.” His thumbs brush against her knuckles briefly as his head falls, his gaze fixating on where their bodies are connected, “You know, I didn’t tell you this to get myself any pity or anything. I just wanted you to understand and....wanted to get it off my chest. Ethan will kill me if he finds out, won’t he?” He suddenly asks, regaining the courage to look up at her once again.

She giggles, “Who says he’s gonna find out?”

Chris bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “You’re right, there’s nothing really to find out abo-”

Gwen has never been a chatter nor can she tolerate when people beat around the bush so she’s quick to cut them off sometimes, no matter how rude that may seem or sound. However, just to clarify, her chosen method of cutting a person off isn’t always kissing them. Just saying - this is a special situation requiring special methods.

Taken aback by the sudden feeling of her lips on his, Chris’ eyes close automatically but not even a second later he responds to the kiss properly: wrapping his arms around Gwen’s waist as her hands travel up to cup his face. The kiss is short - too short if either of them is to be asked - but it’s worth all the words they didn’t say despite wanting to.

When they pull away, Gwen gives him a mischievous smile, “Now he could find out about that and then shit would go south. That’d suck, wouldn’t it Chris?“

He’s only ever heard her say his name twice, once in passing conversation with Claire and once earlier when she paraphrased his term ‘Chris-phobe’, both time spoken with some dose of dislike he now realizes was a cover-up all along. Turns out the two are a lot more alike than they initially thought. Regardless, hearing her say his name with fondness instead of bitterness makes his heart flutter, his body yearn to have her closer, his lips wanting to be in contact with hers again. But he’s a patient and self-controlled man, he’s nothing if not willpower sculpted in a human body, so he keeps his distance, waiting for her to pick the moves, waiting for her to make the decisions just like she’s his captain.

“Big time.“ He manages to say, voice coarse all of a sudden, barely able to leave his throat. “So it stays here, right?”

She giggles again, bringing her lips within an inch or two away from his, taunting him, threatening to break his self-control, “What happens in the gym stays in the gym, Redfield.”

Golden rules of discretion, ones he mustn’t break ever. Especially not when his captain - Captain Gwen Winters - holds so much power over him.

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treasure-hwa · 4 years ago

Text

Beauty of Corruption

pairing: jongho x fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff??

warnings: mentions of first time, corruption kink, praising, light spanking, cockwarming, breath play, dirty talk, fingering (f receiving), explicit protected sex

synopsis: you were so pure that Jongho's heart ached for you and wanted to keep you safe from all profanities, but his mind could just picture himself doing these profanities to you.

word count: 3204

taglist: @little-precious-baby @suni-ho @leetaeilsnecktattoo @xduygu-arsx

author's note: the inspiration came from Jongho's words on I'm the One jacket video, "for the first time, I put myself in the words 'beauty of corruption'." What's with this word count? I really unleashed my smut writer :D anyway, I hope there isn't any typo...

— So how was he?

Your eyes went wide and your face heated up instantly.

— What are you talking about?

— C’mon, you know what I am talking about. You two have been dating for almost two years now and you lost your virginity, as a good friend, I want to know how he treated you.

It hadn't been long since you and Jongho added intercourse to your one and a half year relationship. Both of you felt ready to take this step on your intimacy and, when it happened, you couldn't be happier. But maybe it was a mistake to tell that to your best friend, you wanted to tell so many things, but the embarrassment!

— Ah, he... he was good. Took care of me nicely.

— And the...? — She moved her two pointer fingers apart from each other to simulate a size that looked similar to you.

— A little bigger. — With your face on fire, you pushed one of her fingers farther. — That’s it.

The girl stared at her own fingers and gasped, smirking at the friend.

— What a big fun you had, am I right? Were you in for a thick mess too?

— Yes, but stop, please!

She laughed at your figure with hands over your face.

— But, really, how was it?

— It was great. He was the gentlest, it was much better than what I have imagined it would be. I’m actually very happy he was the first and I hope he can be the only one.

The smile on your face confirmed what you were saying. It was amazing to you how you fully trusted him, enough to give yourself to him, your heart, your body, and he loved you so much he took care of it properly. Jongho was the sweetest man you could have ever met and everyday you were thankful for that.

— So it was, like, vanilla?

— Yeah. Gentle, chill, vanilla, definitely pleasurable. — You bit your lip, playing with your fingers.

Since your first time, you would often catch yourself daydreaming about his body on top of (or under) you, his many muscles flexing, the sweat covering his skin. Jongho also thought about you frequently, how you would muffle the moans of his name, hide your blushing face and touch him gently.

As a traditional virgin, you did not know much about sex, just the basic biology classes and life taught you, so your boyfriend made sure you were comfortable with every move he made.

With that said, you were pure. So pure that sometimes Jongho's heart ached for doing such profanities to you. It seemed wrong. You looked cute, pretty and shy even when you were a mess, even when he was thrusting into you. But there was something the man couldn't get out of his mind: while he wanted to protect you from bad and dirty things, he, all the time, imagined himself wrecking you. However, his desires were nothing close to the love he felt for you and you did not deserve the bad things he was thinking of, so he kept all to himself, fantasizing only.

Well... your mind changed a little after an interesting talk with your friend, who had 0 experience, but a head full of indecencies she would like to try eventually, and you wanted to try some new things on the next opportunity.

That came on Saturday date night, when you two decided to watch movies on your house, that was significantly quieter and more peaceful than his shared one with other friends. Judging only by the cover of the movie, Jongho pressed play on it, even after you expressed doubts for it being a horror one.

— Jongho, you know I hate horror movies.

— Babe, it's alright, it's all fake, and I'm here to protect you.

“Maybe I could try one of those things she told me now.” You thought about it deeply, but the words came out of your mouth before you could really think about them:

— I have a condition.

— Hm? Which one?

Then your cheeks burned. Why did you say that? Why didn't you just stay shut? You were too shy to tell him what has been on your mind for the past week.

— I'm listening, babe, tell me. — His hand caressed your knee and he leaned towards to press a kiss on your cheek.

Taking a deep breath, you mumbled, deciding you had nothing to lose:

— Let me cockwarm you.

His moves stopped at the same moment, face close to yours, hand lightly gripping your thigh.

— Wh-What?

— Cockwarm. Have you heard of it?

— Yeah, I... I just didn’t know you did.

You shrugged your shoulders and stood up, hands on the tie of your sweatshorts.

— So? Can we?

Jongho blinked at your figure, looking at your bare legs for more time than necessary, his member twitching inside his sweatpants, and nodded, pulling his pants down enough to take his cock out. He watched you, almost teasingly, pulling your shorts down and doing the same with your blue cotton panties, mindlessly stroking himself. To be honest, he felt like he was a teen again, getting horny by every little thing you did, enjoying every opportunity he had to get intimate like this with you.

You placed your shorts and panties on the couch arm and smiled nervously at him, cheeks burning and hands fiddling with the hem of your mid-thigh-long shirt.

— Are you sure you want to do that?

You nodded.

— That’s my condition for watching a horror movie.

— Fuck. Come here. — The man took you by your waist and placed you on his lap, back to his chest. His hands roamed your body slowly, from shoulders to knees, squeezing the flesh of your bare thighs, opening them to run his fingertips through your warm skin. Then, he whispered on your ear: — Are you ready?

Again, you nodded, and he put his half-hard cock in you, groaning lowly until he was snuggled against you.

— Okay, great... now movie, shall we?

The first minutes, when there was nothing bad happening on the story, you rested on Jongho’s chest, his strong arms wrapped around you and chin resting on your shoulder. That until he got bored of sitting and, hugging you tightly, moved you both to lay down spooning you both without breaking that contact.

— You okay? — You asked lowly, caressing his arm.

— Yeah, just wanted to lay down. Pay attention to the movie, dear. — He kissed your head and kept watching the movie as if nothing was going on down there.

More minutes passed, the story getting scarier each second, your hand covering half of your sight, because even scared, you wanted to know what would happen.

Then it happened. A big jump scare that made you yelp and involuntarily clench your walls around Jongho, making the boy hiss for a second, when you unclenched. His hand stayed on your naked hip, caressing it with his thumb, as he asked:

— Are you alright, love?

— Ahn? Oh, yeah, I just got scared and my body reacted, I guess.

The boy hummed in agreement, not thinking much and just focusing on the TV again.

As the story progressed, though, more jump scares made you clench and unclench to the point he was fully hard inside of you and no longer paid attention to the movie.

— Babe, can you try stopping this?

— Am I doing it again? Sorry.

But you were not. Jongho could hear the smile on your voice, so he took your face and turned it just to see a stupid grin shaping your lips.

— What’s wrong, love?

He scoffed, pressing the tip of his tongue to the corner of his lips.

— What’s wrong? Well, maybe my girl being needy for cock is what’s wrong. Was this your plan from the very start?

— You were the one who wanted to watch a horror movie. — You shrugged your shoulders and pushed your hips against his, letting out a huff.

— Something tells me you don’t care about the movie at all, sweet baby.

— And what do you think I care about?

Jongho pushed his hips forward, causing you an eye roll from pleasure.

— Dirty girl is loving a cock inside her, right? — You nodded and bit your lips to prevent moans. — I want words, dear.

— Right, Jongho, you are so... big and it is filling me up... nicely — you spoke lowly, chest moving up and down with your heavy breathing. — Fuck me, please.

— My pretty girl wants to fuck? — You nodded and pouted at the images coming on your head. — If you want me that much, who am I to deny it?

Easily, he picked you up, making you hiss about your empty entrance, and walked to your room, never once stumbling, his perfect arms holding you like you weighted nothing, but you expected that from him already.

You were at home, there was no risk of getting caught, however he pressed you against the door to close it and kissed you like there was no tomorrow while slipping his fingers on your core, which made you moan his name quietly in his mouth.

— You are so wet, angel, can you hear it? — His fingertips were thrusting shallow and curling into you, making squelching noises. You were pretty sure you would be leaking on the floor soon, such was the wet sensation down there.

You shook your head up and down, moaning again. Jongho made your legs wrap tighter around his waist before getting you to bed, laying you down and staying on his feet to look at you, all messed up already.

— Stay pretty here while I go take something.

You saw the man running out of the room, tripping on his own foot. He could not believe his fantasies would be turning real that soon. Weren’t you his angel? His innocent girl? He did not know what happened from the last time you had sex to that moment, but he thanked it. Going through the bags he brought, he found the condom box he bought earlier that night to leave at your house. You weren’t taking any chances of a baby right now and these things better do the job.

When he came back to the room, another trip on the stairs later, he found you face down on the pillow, hips up, swinging lightly and shirt lifted, tummy and a piece of your boob showing.

— What are you doing, love? Wanted me to see your pretty bum? — Jongho tossed the condom box on the bed beside you and caressed your bottom flesh. — Perhaps you want me to spank it.

His grip felt strong already, which, yes, made you want him to spank you much more than before, so, being the tease you were being that night, you shook your bum to him and looked back, whispering “do it”. It was a matter of seconds for him to process what you said and to lift his hand to leave a great slap to your skin.

— Do we remember what to say if things don't go well?

After you had mumbled “red”, his heavy hand made contact with you again, and you could feel the warmth spreading on the local. It was good, better than you had imagined, his hand felt amazing on you.

— Oh, angel, you look so pretty right now, what do I do? I want to fuck you so hard right now. — Another slap, another moan. — So hard you forget your name.

His voice was too sweet for the words he was speaking, but you had no complaints.

— Am I pretty? — you croaked out, turning to lay on your back. Your shirt was so up, almost revealing your perfect boobs.

His eyes were on fire, but seemed to soft a little when he took in your figure, hair all over the place, eyes wet, lips red. You still looked innocent, but such a hot one, an angel he would corrupt soon.

Jongho lowered himself down and kissed your exposed hip up to your flexed stomach, the pleasure knot being built there, then he gently took off your shirt to kiss around your soft nipples. With his eyes on you, he whispered:

— The prettiest.

You smiled softly and shyly, cheeks burning and hands making their way to his red hair, once there, they gently pulled him up until your lips crashed in a passionate kiss.

— The prettiest girl in this whole wide world and she’s mine. My pretty girl.

You mewled his name, giggling because of the pet name he had been using for a good time then.

— What?

He pinned your wrists to the bed with a hand, got closer to your neck and, then, all your body hair shivered the moment his hot breath fanned over your hot skin. Yes, you needed him so much, but on top of that you wanted him, you desired him and you knew he did too, especially with the way he was kissing your neck and collarbones while his hand went south to open your legs.

The sensations felt good, they sure did, but when your eyes fell shut, your other senses were sharpened, mainly your touch. Your mind was wrapped around his warm hand cupping your intimacy at the same time your hands mindlessly ran down his back.

— Tell me, love, what did you want again?

— Jon-Jongho...

— Yeah, I know you want me, but specify it.

You breathed in and out deeply before opening your eyes and take in his face and body. All you could say, however, was:

— Why are you still clothed?

The man smirked and let go of your body to undress himself quickle. He had no time to tease, he wanted you, you wanted him and both would be fulfilling desires from now on. Without thiking much, he threw the clothes on the floor and opened your legs to fit between them.

— Better, babygirl?

— So much better. — You stretched your hands towards his torso, touching it delicately. Jongho knew you loved his body and everithing it could do to you and, as much as he would love you to appreciate him a bit more, he wasn’t too patient, therefore he let you have your little fun time stroking his abs and cock slowly while he, shakily, took that condom box and opened it, finally moving your hand away to roll one over himself.

— Hmm, Jongho, stop being so sexy, it’s making me want you to fuck me so hard.

— Is it? That can be arranged, my dirty girl.

With a gentle move, he put himself inside you, pressing his lips and furrowing his brows, but not closing his eyes, since he wanted to see your expression, that was so worth it.

— Hm, my babygirl just wants my cock inside her now. You get so lost when I’m inside, babe, right? — You nodded slowly, trying not to move your hips yet, task in which you would be succesfull if his heavy hand hadn’t slapped your thigh. — I want words.

— Ye-Yes?

— As I said, so lost already. — Jongho chuckled and started thrusting in you leisurely, not enough to make your body bounce, but enough to feel every inch. — You feel amazing..

— You... you too, but faster, please.

— Do you deserve it?

— Yes, Jongho, please. I’ve been a good girl for you.

Still not fastening his pace, he stated, mouth hovering over yours.

— That you have, darling, warming my cock, letting me spank your pretty butt and now it’s so eager to receive everything. Is what you want, right? Everything?

You breathed out maybe five “everything”, running your hands on your body, from your breasts to your thighs arounds Jongho’s waist. Said man smiled and did what you wanted, thrusting fast, hard and deep, groaning on your ear and pressing your sweaty bodies together or biting his lips when he saw himself going in and coming out of your absolutely wet entrance. The sounds you made together were definitely music, one you would keep for yourselves, nobody would ever be able to listen to it.

— Fuck! Jongho, close!

— Yeah? Well, then come for me, let me watch how you look when you come.

And he did. He got up and gripped your hips harsher to push himself in harder and watch it again. You couldn’t even care for the fact your hips would have two hand prints on them, you just wanted more.

Your hands were close to you, holding your breasts, and it made you remember your friends words, as weird as it sounded. “Some people say that if you restrict your breath during your orgasm, it gets more intese.” Why not? With only that in mind and the fast pace of Jongho, you brought your hand up to your throat and squeezed it, already feeling your head lighter and making you moan brokenly.

Seeing this and not quite believing his eyes, he swatted your hand away and changed it for his, squeezing the amount he felt safe enough. And, fuck, his hand felt so much better you let a loud moan and tightened your entrance.

— Oh, so my dirty babygirl likes to be choked? Does that make you feel good? Who would have thought...

Rather roughly, he gripped your jaw with his other hand and lowered himself to connect your mouths in a messy kiss. That was all you needed to reach your high. His hand pressing your throat, making your head slightly dizzy, another hand on your jaw, his cock thrusting into you so well, creating squelching noises, his tongue licking your mouths...

Your hands gripped the sheets as you were cumming around his cock, constricting it deliciously, what took him to his own orgasm, emptying his warm cum on the condom. Your moans, groans and heavy breathing echoed through the room while both were blissed out because of the highs.

— Damn... — Jongho carefully slipped out of you, tied the condom and came back to hug your sweaty body. — How was it?

— Perfect — you croaked out, smiling your angel smile.

— You... were different from our other times. What happened?

— Nothing, I just wanted to try new things. Are you feeling betrayed because I never mentioned anything.

— Well, now I’m not, since you let me try these things with you. Cockwarming, spanking and choking? Who would have thought, huh? — He kissed your cheek while his were blushed, although you couldn’t tell if it was because of the previous actions or because of now.

— And I really like your strenght — you remembered. — But I think you knew that already.

— I did.

You laughed breathily and laid on your backs, staring at the ceiling until your breathing was normal again. When that happened, you propped your body on your elbow and called him:

— Wanna go again?

— Again? Oh, I’ve officialy corrupted you. You’re not my innocent angel anymore. — He chuckled, propping himself on his elbow too and pecking your swollen lips.

— You didn’t like it?

— I did. Too much. Guess that’s just the beauty of corruption.

#ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #jongho smut #jongho imagines #jongho fanfic #jongho x reader #choi jongho #seonghwa #hongjoong #yunho #yeosang #mingi #san #wooyoung #kpop smut #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic

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whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

In The Blood

I was going to post it all in one go and then I thought about it and I was like... you know, if @masterwords did it in two parts maybe I should too. Because I really got to thinking and hey, waiting for that part two HURT. So, I gonna do it too.

Based off an anon’s ask, Unsub kidnaps Hotch to get back at Rossi.

Warning: torture, blood, and angst

Part One

For as long as David Rossi has known Aaron Hotchner, he’s always been a little perplexed about tackling the problem of his handwriting. The kind is as sharp as a tack, that’s undeniable. His profiling skills were unmatched in the academy and what he lacked in extroversion, he made up with in charisma. From the very moment, he met the kid Dave has had nothing but aspirations for the great things he could do. For the things, he would do.

Now, some two decades after he’d rubbed the back of his sick future prodigy, shaking his head in sympathy, he’s sitting at his own desk. A senior agent that shares a wall with that old prodigy, now a unit chief whose puking at crime scenes days have long since passed. But something much worse lurks in his future and his present.

“Hey,” JJ knocks on Dave’s doorframe, smiling. She steps in without him having to say a thing, in her hand is mail. “Downstairs called me,” she tells him, handing him the envelope. “You got some mail and I guess they weren’t sure if they should send it up.” They both know exactly why downstairs called. The sexist bastard treats her like Hotch and Dave’s receptionist. Despite both men having stern, if not borderline unkind, words with them on the matter.

He frowns but takes it from her. “You shouldn’t have had to do that,” he mumbles, glancing at his name on the envelope and reaching for his letter opener with a sigh. “I’ll say something to them,” he promises, sliding the metal through the paper and ripping it open in one clean slice.

“You really don’t have to.”

As he pulls the letter out he stops. His eyes scan over the paper, frowning as he takes in exactly what it is that he’s seeing. “JJ,” he says, removing his left hand from the paper but keeping his thumb and pointer finger on it. “I need you to get someone up here,” he says calmly. There’s a fine layer of grim on the paper. Dirt and, the worst part, blood. Thick droplets that have nearly eaten through the paper. More identifiable than all of that? Hotch’s thin, chicken scratch handwriting.

“Why?” she asks, stepping around his desk to look. She takes the letter in slowly, breath hissing in a shocked inhale. “That’s--”

Jason and Dave could never read his damn handwriting. It’s illegible and made significantly worse by the fact that his palm smears the writing. When Derek and Hotch had confronted Jason about hiring some diversity (the bullpen had way too much testosterone and they really needed a woman on the team), they hadn’t had a type in mind. Hell, hiring Garcia had been an “on a whim” sort of thing (Jason’s exact had been “whatever you think is best”). JJ’s best feature? She’d glanced at the note Hotch had left for Gideon and read it without a problem. Like it was easy.

Now, standing over Dave’s shoulder, stomach twisting sickly, she scans over his shaky lettering. Breath catching as she reads things she… It’s horrific to watch pictures line themselves up on the screen, Garcia turning her head from them as she explains what they can all see but to read it. To have to stand here and read horrific things someone has done to someone you love. To a friend, in their own writing, it’s…

“What do we do?” she asks softly.

Dave wishes he couldn’t make out a single line of writing. As selfish as the notion is, he needs ignorance.

The line that he can’t get out of his head? “I am so sorry, Dave.”

Morgan waste no haste in making himself the leading agent. Which is no real problem because Dave has no interest in taking charge of this situation. He just wants to hold onto his letter, the only connection he has to Hotch right now.

How had they not noticed he was gone?

“I should have known something was wrong.” The admission takes them all by surprise, mostly because it leaves Emily’s mouth with such conviction that no one’s really sure what to say. They aren’t given the chance as she tucks her arms around her chest and shakes her head at herself. “I knew something was wrong when Foyet attacked him,” she observes. “I should have known this time.”

But… how could she? This time was different.

Jack is away with Jessica. Spending time with his cousin because Hotch secretly fears that the boy spending too much time with him will spell nothing but misfortune for his future. Which is simply not true. Hotch has taught that child grace that none of them have ever seen in a child. He’s too much like Hotch but not in bad ways. In his ghost-like gait. Never making a sound as he moves. While it surely isn’t genetic, he’d acquired his father’s silent intuition and those softly pained brown eyes.

But, perhaps, that is what Hotch fears.

That fear has cost them days. Now, they can not measure how long Hotch has been held captive wherever he is. Has he been gone since last Thursday? Taken from the office or from his home? Jack had already taken off with Jessica, gone to spend time with his cousins. Had it been Saturday morning while he was out for his morning jog? After coffee Sunday when he was getting lost in the bookstore in town?

No one knows.

How could they?

“His pills,” Dave mumbles. He stands from his chair, frowning as his brain races. “On his counter,” the information is coming too quickly. “For his birthday five years ago Emily got him a pill sorter.” Hotch hadn’t found it very funny (he’d pretended not to) but Emily had beamed at him. Very proud of herself and her old man gifts. “One of the ones that label Sunday to Saturday-- each day.”

It had been both a gag gift and one of purpose. Foyet’s attack had left its damage, physical and mental. He’d had a bag full of medications to take home from the hospital. Some angiotensin prescription for his kidneys, an anticlotting/blood-thinning agent for the ruined veins in his chest, and a few more Dave can’t even remember. Never mind the fist full of medications he’d been on since about twenty for mental disorders that had never officially been written down as diagnoses to allow him to keep his job.

The point is-- if Hotch was on top of himself about his medication, they can get a rough estimate of how long he’s been gone.

It’s a great idea…

“What if he…” Emily goes with Dave to check Hotch’s house. They both have keys and it’s unspoken that if Hotch were here he’d certainly prefer it be the two of them rooting around his things. Besides, they know how he is and they know what to expect the second they walk in.

They also know that as good as Dave’s idea is, there’s a silent fear shared between them that he hasn’t been on top of his health. It happens occasionally but mostly around the dates of Foyet’s attack. Still, not taking those medications and being gone for over four days is going to be some really unfortunate things for Hotch. Withdrawals, mostly, but scarier than that? Without the blood thinners, there’s a possibility of a stroke.

“He’ll be fine,” Dave mumbles, slipping his key into the lock of the door. Pushing the door open, Dave steps into the house. Hotch’s car wasn’t in the driveway which tells them a minimal amount of information but will give Garcia’s something to run with. Right now they need to focus on their task.

The house is cool and dark, the curtains in the living room drawn completely shut. If Jack isn’t home Hotch prefers the darkness, despite the strain it puts on his eyes. Stepping in, neither bother to turn on the lights. The sun peaks just barely through the thin curtains and, if they’re being honest, they don’t want to break the illusion both have created in their minds.

That Hotch is merely sleeping.

His phone is on silent.

He’s sleeping.

The notion is strong enough to make Emily hesitates as she stands outside his bedroom door.

She’s only been in his room twice. The first time to soothe his broken screams, waking him from yet another nightmare that threatened to consume him. He’d clung to her, sobbing into the old fabric of the shirt he’d given her to sleep in. She’d slept right there with him.

The second time came only a month after Haley’s funeral. He’d smelled like he’d consumed a small brewery but she’d still tucked his comforter around him. Placing Advil and a glass of water on his nightstand for when he woke up. Even getting the trashcan out to place by the side of his bed.

He trusts her.

Closing her eyes, she opens the door, and her illusion is broken. He’s not in bed.

His bed isn’t made, which makes her smile sadly. For such a literal suit and tie man, he’s got some strange habits. One of which is that he doesn’t make his bed. It’s cute, adds character. She doesn’t get the chance to dwell on that for too long. There are more pressing matters to deal with.

Stepping in she rolls her eyes at the pair of boxers he’s got thrown up onto his dresser, his nightstand drawer open where he must have rummaged for something-- she’s guessing the Advil bottle laying on its side. There’s a book on the other half of his bed, open and print down, his reading glasses on the cover. The sight, of which, would have Reid gasping in horror.

She heads in, deeper, headed towards the bathroom attached to his room. There she doesn’t find what she’s looking for. His pills are nowhere in sight but it’s worth her little trip down here.

“Find them,” she asks, coming back to the kitchen.

Dave nods and slides the box to her, allowing her to make her own observations as he continues to talk on the phone.

Wednesday is the last tab open. He hasn’t had any medicine since Thursday. He was at work Thursday when JJ left, the second to last out. She’d stopped in to talk to him about a formality from their last case. Essentially, things are not looking good.

“We’ll find him,” Emily mumbles. She flicks mindlessly at the tab of the organizer and looks up at Dave. “We will, right?”

Dave shrugs. He doesn’t know.

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

Head hanging between his knees, Hotch leans his temple against his bare knee. Sweat mixes with the dirty water dripping from the roof of the old cellar, it’s hard to tell which is running down his face. He’s stripped to his boxers, left to shiver and suffer through the elements. The cement floor and rock walls sapping what little heat his body can properly offer him.

By now, his letter should have arrived to Dave. That is if he can trust a word the Unsub has said to him thus far. That this whole mess-- mess as if disconnecting them both from his actions-- has nothing to do with Hotch. The Unsub had lifted Hotch’s head, forcing Hotch to look at him, with the edge of a knife.

“This,” he’d sneered, “is about what David Rossi took from me. He took my son and now--” He’d dragged that knife against Hotch’s cheek, almost stroking. “Now, I’m going to take his away from him.”

Nothing personal, the Unsub had promised.

It had felt personal.

A baseball bat coming down over his body, ignoring his pained cried. Not relenting when his arm had broken with a snap, Hotch’s cry rasping as he’d writhed and tried to twist and pull the limb away from the attention of that bat. Only to expose his sides and have the air forced from his body. He hadn’t stopped when Hotch no longer cried out. Going on long after Hotch lay still, breathing a wet rasping, and head rolled to the side to show the whites of his eyes.

Hotch had awoken to a harsh push. Pulled upright by two arms scooping up under his arms and forcing him upright. He couldn’t help the rasped, confused cry he’d let out as his broken arm was pulled up, the pen placed into his palm. “Write.”

He’d blinked blood from his eyes as he slurred out a question. He can’t even remember what it’d been.

“You’re telling David Rossi that it’s going to be his fault when your body shows up on his doorstep.” The Unsub had smiled, running a finger along Hotch’s jaw. “Tell him what I did to you. That you hate him.”

Hotch’s breathing had hitched in his chest. He looked back down at the paper. “I don’t,” he’d slurred and hadn’t even had time to think before his head was roughly pushed into the hard rock wall beside him. Hotch’s eyes had rolled into his head, boding seizing up, and a weak pained sob tearing from his mouth before his eyes had rolled into his back, and he’d gone limp.

Three.

He took three beatings before he caved. Pen to the paper he’d bleed and cried the whole way. Shaking and only half cognizant of himself and his actions. Hopeful his awful handwriting and probable brain damage made his words eligible. That way Dave and no doubt the others might be spared his rampant thoughts.

They hadn’t.

With a crack, the wooden door of the cellar opens and Hotch flinches raising his left hand to protect his eyes from the light that comes in.

“Aaron?”

Hotch pushes himself away from the Unsub. Moving until his back hits the opposite wall. “Please,” he whimpers.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the Unsub promises. He crouches down, squatting. “It’s over,” he whispers. “Just come with me now, son. This last part is going to be fast but it won’t hurt.”

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

Hotch had gone missing Friday.

Garcia found his car and the tickets it had wracked up in his absence. Right outside the little book shop, he frequents on days off or in-between breaks. Quant and warm. Garcia had watched him take a seat by a window, tears streaming down her face as he opened his book and sipped his coffee. Would this be the last time she ever saw him?

Dave had found a similar solace in the recording. Some street camera that caught the moment.

They’d all stood and watched, transfixed as Hotch finally left that coffee shop. They knew what was going to happen next but they still weren’t ready. A figure came out of nowhere, aiming something low to Hotch’s abdomen whatever was said between the two of them stopped Hotch from moving. He nodded, once and followed the other man.

Then he was gone.

All they have is the letter.

JJ shakes as she reads the words on the page. It’s hard to tell which parts are worse. Hotch’s nonsense rambles, his fragmented thoughts that hardly sound like him at all. The descriptions that he does his best to throw in. Wet, damp, and cold. He doesn’t know where he is just that he’s in pain. His hand trembles too much during certain parts and she can’t even make out the letters. Tears rip and obscure other words. It breaks her heart to think of what he must be going through.

“He’s standing over my shoulder as I write this. Watching me. Three times I have failed to put this off. Three times he has beaten me for my refusal. As he hits me he tells me this is your fault. That it’s as simple as an eye for an eye. You killed his son and he’s getting even. I’m afraid that I’m starting to believe him.”

“He doesn’t mean it,” Derek assures Dave. But Dave isn’t even paying mind to that particular comment. Hotch can hate Dave until one of them dies for all Dave cares but Dave’s going to bring him home. No matter what. What’s bothering him is the statement about Dave killing someone’s son. He’s had to kill many Unsubs over the years.

JJ can’t force herself to continue to voice his words, her scanning the paper as tears make their slow descend across her cheeks. He writes something of Jack, the pen drags and she can’t make out the words just “sorry”, “better father”, and “love”.

When she gives it to Reid, allowing him to make his own inferences (and search for a message in Hotch’s madness that isn’t there) she has to leave the room. Head bowed and heart thundering, she allows her legs to move on command, and before she knows it--

The room smells like Hotch. Rough undertones of mildew, the room’s old and the carpet even older, but Hotch. Moving with a slowness she can’t explain, she pulls in every piece of him she can find in here. Closing her eyes so she can imagine he’s sitting behind that old desk, scribbling away at files. Until she’s standing at the couch. Without a second thought, she climbs onto the stiff thing. Pressing her face into the cushions and pulling the spare blanket he keeps across the back over herself.

What would he say if he saw her now?

He’s unpredictably predictable. Empathy or strength? He’d always had this innate ability to fathom both at any moment. She’d loved that about him. Love, reminds herself. She loves that about him. He’s not gone yet.

“Are you okay?” Reid’s hesitantly standing in the doorway.

From the couch, she can see the twinkle of tears in his eyes. With a smile, she opens the blanket and invites him in. “Come on,” she offers, scooting over just a little bit more. “It’s not like Hotch is here to fuss at us for a little nap.”

Reid looks over his shoulder and comes into the room, pausing as he looks over at Hotch’s desk. “I miss him,” he confesses softly, sitting down on the edge of the couch. He doesn’t say anything JJ scoots up, placing her head on his lap. He pulls some of the blanket to his own lap.

“Me too,” JJ mumbles.

It’s only been a few days. He’s been gone weeks on leave. After Foyet, he was gone an entire month. Then, at least, they could swing by his apartment with pizza or Chinese food and he’d let them in with a tired smile. Softly admonishing them for being there when they should be at home getting some rest. But he’d been there. Readily available for a quick hug or to let them take his couch hostage to spend time with him.

“We’re going to…” Reid’s voice dies out as he second-guesses his question. “He’s going to come back, right?”

JJ closes her eyes.

Her reply never comes.

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

“Hello?” Dave is heading out to get some fresh air, very aware of the tail he’s accumulated along the way. Emily won’t let him out of her sight but this time it’s Derek’s doing that has her coming along. He doesn’t mind. When he gets the call he doesn’t even break stride.

“David Rossi.”

His pace comes to a dead stop.

Emily, a few feet behind sees.

“You son of a bitch--”

“Now, now,” the Unsub mumbles tsking. “Don’t be like that David. Don’t act like I’m the only bad guy here. Besides, we don’t need poor Aaron hearing language like that.”

Dave glances over his shoulder, spotting Emily and her timid, if not fearful, walk up to him. “What do you want?” Dave asks.

The Unsub chuckles, “you already know, David. Eye for an eye. You took what was mine and now--”

Dave closes his eyes at the sound of a whimper, Aaron.

“Now, I’m going to take what is yours.”

With a shake of his head, Dave says, “he’s not mine! He’s just a colleague. A friend!”

The Unsub hums sadly. “David,” he chides, “don’t lie to me. I watched you. His son comes to your house nearly every weekend. You love him. Tell him.” Hotch cries out in pain, the phone held now to his face as the Unsub grips his hair to keep his head tilted up. “Tell him, David. Tell him that he’s nothing more than a colleague.”

Dave shuts his eyes flinching as his words are repeated to Hotch. Shaking with fury when he can hear those words being used against them both. Drawing whimpers and a single breathless plea from Hotch for the Unsub to stop. “Please stop. Please, just stop.”

“Tell him, David!”

Dave turns his head, finding Emily and her wide sad eyes.

“Aaron?”

“Dave?”

“Hey, son.”

“Dave… he--he’s going to kill me.”

A tear falls down Dave’s cheek. Looking at Emily, he can tell she can hear them. “I’m so sorry, Aaron.”

A sharp cry breaks through the other line. Pained. Strained. Hotch’s plea-- “no! Please!”-- cut off by a sharp crack. Then nothing.

“Please,” Dave grips the phone tight. “He’s got a little boy,” Dave knows he’s playing with nothing here but he has to do something. “His name is Jack, he’s only eight. Aaron, he-- Aaron has to take medicine, already! Please! He’s on blood thinners! You’ll kill him--”

The Unsubs comes back, breathless, and scoffs. “That’s the point David. I’ll talk to you soon.” The line goes dead.

Dave throws his phone to the ground with a shout. “Fuck!” He falls to his knees, head in his hands.

Aaron Hotchner is going to die and it’s going to be his fault.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid #derek morgan #penelope garcia #criminal minds fanfiction #jack hotchner

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greekgeek21 · 3 years ago

Text

Percy Jackson & The Avengers: Convergence - percy takes a test (which is never a good thing)

I am not dead, so there's that.

Hi Felix and Claire!

- your author

Ω ♆ Ω

If Annabeth was being honest, she understood the Avengers concerns about Percy. He hadn't really given them a reason to trust his control yet. It WAS understandable. However, she was also Percy's girlfriend, and that meant that she was ready to fight an army to defend him. That is how she found herself in this situation.

Ω ♆ Ω

"He needs to be contained!" Nick Fury shouted.

"NO! He hasn't done anything wrong! All of his actions were in self-defense!" Annabeth countered.

As soon as the team had gotten back to the tower, they had found Director Fury waiting for them in the living room. Based on the scowl adorning his face, Steve had decided that they had to jump right into the discussion about Percy. Better to get it over with, he'd said.

"Guys..." Percy sighed.

Everyone either didn't hear him, or they were ignoring him.

"He is a threat to the city. Hell, he's a threat to the world!" Fury said.

Jason's eyes crackled with lightning, "My cousin is no threat to your world. He SAVED it!"

"Multiple times!" Leo added.

"It doesn't matter how many times he's saved the world," Fury said, "It matters if he is stable enough to be out with regular society."

He had finally stopped yelling at them, and was instead speaking in an even scarier tone: calmly. It was deadly.

"Don't talk about him like he's any worse than any of your special projects," Annabeth gave Fury the full force of her death-glare, "If this were truly about stability, you would be a hypocrite; with your 'Avengers.'"

Tony gave an indignant squake-like sound at that, but everyone ignored him.

"Guys!" Percy finally yelled, standing up from his position slouched against a wall.

"This is my life you're debating here! And I feel like that gives me a vote!"

Annabeth's features softened for the first time that night, and were replaced with guilt, "I'm sorry, Seaweed Brain."

"It's fine, Wisegirl. What is NOT fine is Director Fury making orders without even telling everyone here the full truth. He KNOWS who I am, WHAT I am. That should be reason enough as to why I'm let go," Percy said.

Steve turned to glare at Fury, "What was that?"

Fury finally seemed to be coming to the conclusion that his plan to lock up Percy would not work when he said, "I know that Perseus and his team are demigods. I know more about their world than you ever should, Captain."

"Why were we not informed?" Clint asked, finally putting in his input.

"It was need-to-know, and you did NOT need to know."

Tony snorted into his glass of whiskey, "That's bullshit and you know it."

It kept going on like this for at least another ten minutes, or that's what Percy thought anyways. His ADHD often made time a jumbled mess, so it wouldn't be a shock if he was wrong. But it did go on for some length of time, that he was sure of. It went around and around and around and around...

Pretty annoying, actually.

What finally ended it was Percy shouted, "ENOUGH! I'LL JUST SHOW HIM A DEMONSTRATION OF MY CONTROL AND WE CAN BE DONE WITH ALL THIS SKATA!"

All eyes turned to him (which kinda freaked him out just for a second) simultaneously.

"Works for me," Fury commented and promptly walked out of the room, "I'll be in the pool room when you're ready, Mr. Jackson."

Ω ♆ Ω

Percy locked everyone out of the room. He walked straight into the pool room and proceeded to close the door on Annabeth's face. It wasn't about him not trusting the Avengers and the Seven, it was more about him not needing their anxiety and frustration distracting him. He was confident in his abilities, but it still helped to be around calm things.

Fury was waiting for him by the pool in all his ominous glory.

Absently, Percy wondered how he was able to hold that scowl in place all the time. It must get tiring eventually, right?

"Mr. Jackson! Are you just going to stand there all day?" Fury spoke, startling him out of his thoughts.

"No, sir. I'm just wondering what you want me to do," he answered.

Smooth, Jackson, he thought to himself.

Fury clearly saw through him, but he ignored it. "Lift the pool water up and split it in two, then freeze one half while lowering the other into the pool."

Percy scoffed, "Are you kidding me?!"

The Director's scowl somehow got deeper, and he said, "I don't kid, Mr. Jackson."

"Would you stop acting like you're better than me? I already have issues with authority, you don't need to make them worse, SIR," Percy snarked back.

He knew that it was a risk provoking Fury, but he couldn't help it. Like he said: he has issues with authority.

It didn't even work, though. Director Fury just held his gaze with an unimpressed look on his face.

Rolling his eyes, Percy sighed, "Fine. I can try to do it."

Fury smartly took a few steps back from the water's edge as Percy prepared himself. It wasn't like he didn't think he could do it. He just knew that it would be draining and annoying. Plus, he hated how new people looked at him after they saw what he could do, even if they'd already seen a display of power. That's mainly why he likes to visit his mom as much as possible. With all the new campers they've been getting, it was becoming increasingly harder to find a peaceful time to himself.

The tug in his gut was welcomed now; letting him know that he was still human. Even if the tug was significantly lesser now, it was still a reminder that he was not some all-powerful god that some people thought him to be. He had limits.

The water did not slowly rise. It instead jumped to obey his will. A week ago, that would have terrified him, but now he knew that it was just the product of his powers growing.

With the water about ten feet above their heads, still holding the shape of the pool, he split it into two bodies.

It was much easier than it used to be.

If he was going to successfully complete the next step, he had to split his focus as well. He found solace in the fact that this part was difficult for him. He gently started lowering the right side of water while he focused on the molecules in the left side. He may act stupid sometimes, but he knew his water facts. Usually, you lower the temperature in the air enough to force the water molecules to connect, but he just compelled the molecules to connect, causing it to freeze.

In his mind, the process lasted forever, but from an outsider point of view like Nick Fury's, it took about five seconds. It was impressive.

But Fury didn't let it show on his face. He hadn't truly believed that Percy would fail his test, but it was protocol to test him. He had to be absolutely sure. It was his instinct to be skeptical.

"Good. I see that my work here is done. Don't make me have to do this again, Mr. Jackson," he gave a nod to Percy before promptly leaving the room and probably the building.

Percy wasn't sure whether to be shocked or grateful that no further discussion had to be done. Spoiler alert: he chose to be grateful.

No need to look a gift horse in the mouth. Just one look at Blackjack's pearly whites and anyone would agree.

"That's all?" Annabeth asked, walking in with the rest of the heroes.

"Yep. I guess he just wanted to make sure," Percy answered.

"How come he trusts a teenager more than he trusts us?" Tony remarked.

Natasha spoke, "Because you're on our team."

"Nice," Tony deadpanned.

"You're welcome," she gave a minuscule grin.

Jason broke in, "Can we just go get some sleep now? It's been a long couple of days."

"I'm all for sleep," Piper added.

Steve smiled at the tea

Steve smiled at the team's new additions (even if they weren't aware of their induction yet), "Yes. Go get some sleep, team."

Ω ♆ Ω

I split this chapter into 2 parts, so this kinda short. At least it's an update right? Please like, comment, follow, and reblog!

- your author

other chapters :)

#pjo #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #ao3 #the seven #fanfic #heroes of olympus #percabeth #mcu #the avengers #marvel #superhero #inkitt #webnovel #ff #wattpad

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mst3kproject · 4 years ago

Photo

The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues

I found this movie online while looking for From Hell It Came (which I haven’t yet found – someday I will and then you’ll all be sorry) and it looked bad, so I checked out the details. Turns out it stars Kent Taylor from The Crawling Hand, Cathy Downs from The Amazing Colossal Man, and was written by Lou Rusoff, who was behind It Conquered the World, The She-Creature, and… oh god, he also wrote Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow. This is gonna suck goat nads. I must watch it right away.

You shouldn’t picture me groaning when I write stuff like that, by the way. You should picture me giggling like a maniac and rubbing my hands together with glee.

A monster is killing people at sea near an incredibly bleak and depressing California college town, and the bodies and wrecked boats it leaves in its wake are scorched by radioactivity! Washington sends Agent Grant to find out what’s going on, and he soon discovers that the Pacific College of Oceanography is positively overflowing with suspicious characters. There’s the reclusive and paranoid Professor King, who is working on weird experiments in his locked laboratory. There’s King’s assistant George, who follows him around and hides in the bushes to watch what he’s doing. King’s secretary Ethel blames the professor for the death of her son and wants revenge, and George’s girlfriend Wanda is a foreign agent. Not to mention the visiting Dr. Stevens, a radiation expert with an unsettling habit of turning up just in time to discover the bodies. Someone among this motley crew has created a sea monster… and someone else is planning to sell it to the highest bidder!

You know how some movies save their monsters until the last minute, in order to build suspense? Or because what we imagine is always scarier than what we actually see? Or because the monster sucks and they’re ashamed of it? Or some combination of the above?

Phantom from 10 000 Leagues is not one of those movies. Before we’re even a full minute into it, the monster has appeared on screen in all its ridiculous glory. Stevens calls it a hideous beast that defies description but I think I can make an attempt. It looks sort of like the lovechild of a saber-toothed tiger and the Horror of Party Beach. There’s a ridge down its head and back like an iguana and a poorly-camouflaged window in its neck so the dude inside can see what he’s doing. The whole costume is also rather buoyant, and the actor is having to work hard to stay underwater. Sadly, this beast remains lurking in the depths and never shambles out onto the beach to menace sunbathers, which is the only thing it would have needed to make it a perfect bad movie monster.

The creature is not the only nuclear threat in this movie… or even the silliest one! During an investigatory dive, Stevens discovers a glowing patch on the seafloor which he says represents an ‘activated’ uranium deposit with the potential to form a naturally-occurring death ray! We finally get to see this in action when stock footage of a ship passes over it – and turns into a different ship that immediately blows up! I’m just sad this only happens once. The glowing stone itself is represented by a mirror with a light shining on it in underwater shots, and by the reflection of the sun when seen from the surface.

So the effects are not special and make an already silly threat even more hilarious. What about the story? Like all cheap monster movies, the focus of The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues is not the creature killing people but the investigation into it. There’s a large number of potential monster-makers here, which could have made the movie a bit messy – but by the time the words The End appear, we know who all these people are, how they’re involved, and what they hope to accomplish. Even the women are given distinct motivations and personalities, although those fall neatly into the ‘maiden, mother and whore’ tropes I’ve discussed in the past. The dialogue is not exactly subtle, but it seems like I can’t wholly blame Lou Rousoff for Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow.

It’s also nice that, despite the preponderance of White Men In Suits (Stevens and Grant both walk along the beach in suits and ties at all hours of the day and night), the characters all look different enough that I can tell them apart! None of the cast are great actors, with a lot of stilted or awkward line deliveries, but then, a lot of the things they’re saying are completely ridiculous, so I probably can’t lay that entirely at their feet.

Unfortunately, the plot of Phantom From 10 000 Leagues is rather unfocused, and like so many of these films it’s not sure who its main character is. It seems like either Agent Grant or Dr. Stevens, who are each conducting some kind of investigation into the goings-on, ought to be the protagonist… but both are introduced in contexts that make them seem potentially suspicious. Dr. Stevens is actually significantly more suspicious than Grant, because when he first turns up he gives a fake name, and later proves to have actually performed experiments with mutating sea life in the past. Yet for much of the movie, it’s Stevens we’re watching, as he cozies up to Professor King and flirts with King’s daughter Lois. He actually gets far more screen time than Grant, with the latter sometimes being out of the movie for long enough that the audience kind of forgets he’s there.

Stevens and Lois’ love story is, as is probably inevitable for a movie of this kind, completely bland. Kent Taylor and Cathy Downs have no appreciable spark between them, and one gets the uncomfortable impression that he’s about twice her age. The movie never offers even an approximate age for either character, but Lois is still unmarried and living with her father, which in the 1950s suggests she’s in her early twenties. King describes Stevens as a ‘young man’ but between his appearance and his impressive academic credentials he’s obviously not, and when I looked up the actors I learned that Taylor was forty-eight when The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues was made, while Downs was twenty-nine. That’s… well, they’re both adults, but he’s still old enough to be her father, and the younger we assume they both are, the worse the two decade gap gets.

Once we actually get to know the characters, the solution to the mysteries is fairly obvious, but this lets us spend some actual time with these men and find out what they think about the situation. Stevens, who’s been down this road before, wants these terrible experiments to stop before any more people get hurt. King, hearing about it for the first time, is more excited about what he might be able to learn by building on Stevens’ work. This represents an interesting inversion because if you’ll recall, King is supposed to be significantly older than Stevens (though actor Michael Whelan was actually born only five years before Taylor).

Usually knowledge and wisdom are both associated with age. This is a very old trope and has some fairly sound logic behind it: the elderly have had longer to learn and to experience. In Phantom from 10 000 Leagues, however, we have the older Professor King excited by the ground-breaking discoveries made by a younger scientist and wanting to learn more about them, even when the (supposedly) younger Stevens warns him about Tampering in God’s Domain. Each assumes the role their ages might make us expect of the other.

This is reflected in their respective fields: depending on how you define it, oceanography is as old as mankind. Humanity has been mapping the seas for as long as we’ve known how to sail across them, and marveling at the monsters we pull from its depths for as long as we’ve been catching fish. That is the Professor King’s domain. Stevens, on the other hand, is a specifically nuclear scientist. Nuclear physics technically begins with the discovery of radioactivity in the 1890’s, but it seemed like a new and scary field in the 1950s, as the development of atomic weapons forced scientists to take a closer look at the phenomenon’s effect on living tissues. To King, who is an expert in another field, the possibilities of this relatively new work outweigh the potential consequences.

As sloppy and poorly-made as Phantom from 10 000 Leagues can be, this contrast between Stevens and King does make it a movie with something to say. It of course has the standard moral for a fifties atomic monster piece, about paths science is not meant to tread, but it also wants us to think about that connection between age and wisdom. On the one hand, King’s interest in Stevens’ work tells us that you’re never too old to learn something new. On the other, just because somebody is young doesn’t mean they have nothing to teach. If King had taken in Stevens’ wisdom along with his knowledge, a lot of suffering need not have happened.

Even if you’re not into that, the crappy monster, the bad acting, the ridiculous science, and all the sneaking around and backstabbing that goes on makes Phantom from 10 000 Leagues plenty of fun watch. It’s much like Beginning of the End in that it ticks all the MST3K boxes, while remaining coherent enough that you can enjoy the actual story along with the badness.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #phantom from 10000 leagues #it's beginning to look a lot like fishmen #50s

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incendiaris · 3 years ago

Note

i dare you to answer all of them for rocket :)

unusual character questions. [ always accepting. ]

what percentage does your muse start charging their phone at?

the moment it drops below around 35%, she's treating it as though it's gonna die any second.

do they drive? what kind of car do they have?

for the most part, she drives a 2019 audi sq8 (dark grey). it has a 4-litre v8 hybrid-diesel engine, adaptive air suspension, a top speed of 155mph, and can accelerate from 0-60mph in 4.6 seconds. rocket likes cars.

what difficulty mode does your muse play video games on?

she likes to start out on whatever difficulty comes just above the default. and then, if there are any higher and she likes the game, she'll try and work her way to the highest difficulty.

what's their go-to drunk / high snack?

lucky charms.

how many pillows and blankets do they sleep with?

four pillows; two for general head support, one to cushion, and one to cuddle. only one blanket, though, which usually gets discarded halfway through the night unless it's particularly cold. she runs kinda hot, especially when she sleeps.

what's the majority of their camera roll (pets, selfies, screenshots, memes, food)?

it's fairly sparse, but the vast majority is probably screenshots of important things that she needs to have easily to hand.

what's their texting style like?

pretty formal. full sentences, proper grammar, nary an emoji in sight. she has, at the very least, fallen into the all-lower-case trap. she likes the neatness of it.

if your muse is pretty chill, what's something they're weirdly high-strung about?

HA.

if your muse is pretty high-strung, what's something they're weirdly chill about?

rocket tends to be fairly chilled out about the media she consumes; movies, books, tv shows, music... she likes a lot of different things, isn't remotely picky about them, and actually sort of enjoys having things recommended to her. which isn't the case at all in terms of virtually anything else in her life.

do they prefer to write with pen or pencil, or something else?

ballpoint pen. preferably black, though she will settle for blue if it's the only thing available.

what's their sims play style?

one sim. needs kept ridiculously high at all times. house always immaculately tidy. that sim only has friends for the sake of climbing their career path. she refuses to use cheat codes.

what's that one story their parents always tell about their childhood?

n/a. no parents, very little childhood.

if there's a tornado warning, do they get to safety or do they go stand on the porch?

oh, she's watching for sure. what's the worst that's gonna happen, right?

how often do they do their laundry?

once a week, religiously. on saturday mornings, unless she has something else on.

if they had to have a side hustle, what would it be?

she's always loved gadgets, electronics, etc., so with a little research and a lot of practice, she'd enjoy running a repair-gig for phones, computers, small electronics, things like that.

do they still have a baby blanket or childhood stuffed animal?

n/a. and also I am sad.

how does your muse think they'll die?

answered here.

does your muse dream at night? what about and do they remember?

the vast majority of her dreams are just vague little fleeting images that she doesn't recall when she wakes up. other times, her dreams will be more like memories. these have a lot more detail; so much so that when she wakes up, it'll be with old surface thoughts that she had otherwise lost years ago. she'll remember little details about the other kids she grew up with that she didn't even know she still retained, for example, or old feelings she abandoned will start to surface.

how often do they actually think about texting their ex?

answered here.

have they ever gotten in trouble at work? what was the reason?

answered here.

do they have a favourite vine or tiktok sound?

absolutely not. vine is dead and tiktok is for children.

...

'road work ahead? uh, yeah, I sure hope it does.'

if they could pick a superpower, which one would they pick?

not the one she has, that's for sure. if she really, honestly thought about it, she'd settle on a variation, though; one where she could use her healing on other people instead of exclusively on herself. it would make her feel so completely fulfilled if she could take away the injuries and the suffering that people go through on a daily basis.

what's scarier to them: the ocean or space?

the ocean, for sure. unexplored, full of horrifying creatures, and close to home. besides, she loves space.

what does your muse call pill bugs (roly-polies, potato bugs, doodle bugs, etc)?

woodlice.

are they allergic to anything? if so, do they still eat it / keep it around?

none. possibly invoked deliberately.

what do they call their grandparents?

she doesn't.

do they like ice in their drinks? crushed or cubed?

ice adds sensation to her drinks by making them significantly colder, and she's not all that bothered about taste, so she prefers ice. cubed, though, not crushed. she's not a child.

how often do they wash their hair?

every other day. more frequently if there's blood in it, obviously.

what is their preferred streaming service?

dis/ney plus. good chance to catch up on everything she missed out on as a child.

could they eat a person if they would starve to death otherwise?

no. she'd be full of bravado about it, but no, she'd rather just starve. or, at least, see if she can starve.

they get three wishes - what are they? all typical rules apply.

1) she'd like the names and locations of the people behind the facility that she grew up in. 2) she'd like the current names and locations of the other people that she grew up alongside in that same facility. 3) she'd like to get rid of her healing factor. this wish would be made after she'd handled the results of the first two.

what's a weird food combo your muse swears by?

sushi and hot sauce.

what is something that they wish they could do appearance-wise but don't have the confidence or ability to (piercings, haircut, clothing style, etc.)?

piercings! tattoos! she would love to just go absolutely crazy with them.

if they have pets, which one is their favourite?

rocket keeps a variety of tropical fish in a purpose-built aquarium. she tries not to have favourites, but she secretly loves her golden barbs the most.

what's their favourite form of media to consume?

books. specifically the kind of trashy, garbage books that people normally only buy in airports. she can't help it; she loves them and she will never, ever figure out why.

do they crack their knuckles?

absolutely. and those babies crack themselves right back.

have they been diagnosed with any diseases / illnesses?

nope, and she's pretty convinced she's never going to have to worry about that. a therapist might say otherwise, but first you'd have to actually get her to a therapist.

how old is your muse and how much younger and older are they willing to date?

rocket is twenty-two. she wouldn't date any younger than twenty, but she'd be a lot more willing to date someone older. perhaps she's into milfs, who knows?

how do they eat oreos?

peel them apart, eat the cream first, and then nibble on the biscuits.

what's a show that everyone's seen but they haven't yet?

bridgerton. most of the hype, as far as she's concerned, tends to be centred around this guy playing the lead. and how sexy and intimate and erotic it is. honestly, it's putting her off more than actually encouraging her to give it a look.

#[ ROCKET. ] MEME.#[ ROCKET. ] INFO.#long post alert lmao.#if you read all of this then i love you.

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fizzingwizard · 4 years ago

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Tumblr sucks so I had to post this twice but you should still read it because I had a lot of fun writing it xD Yamato is so easy to tease omg

Today’s Digimon Adventure: 2020 episode is entitled, “Time To Bring Back Visual Kei Bands,” because that’s pretty much where WereGarurumon belongs. I know what you’re thinking, he’s a wolf man in jeans with a kind of grungy rock n roll cowboy theme, how is that visual kei?

My friend, it’s all about the NAILS.

Those perfectly manicured, PINK freaking nails.

Tto start I’ll say this episode lowers the tension significantly compared to previous ones. That’s to be expected, and doesn’t mean it’s boring. It does a lot - it lets us confirm some things about Yamato, and a couple things about Sora and Jou in relation to him as well. It is otherwise a carbon copy of episode 8 in terms of story arc. More below as usual

So this ep is Yamato/Sora/Jou main inside a Taichi/Koushirou/Mimi sandwich.

We are starting to see more of Mimi Herself, complaining and whining about the unfairness of it all. Taichi appears to have scaled this wall by himself and Mimi’s like “YOU HAVE TOO MUCH ENERGY, YOU’LL PUT THE ENERGIZER BUNNY OUT OF A JOB, DO YOU WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR HOMELESS BUNNIES?? HE HAS TO PROVIDE FOR HIS FAMILY”

Adding salt to the wound, Koushirou then zips up the wall like this..

zip!

The good thing about Mimi is, though she’s emotional, it’s easy to lift her spirits. She’s very in the moment. And fortunate that she has a partner who is both very patient and useful in these circumstances.

wheeeeee

Meanwhile the slightly-less-energetic group has put their heads together and decided to fly first class to their destination. I would ask where they got the basket but I’m sure I’d get the same answer as Taichi’s raft from episode 4 and Jou’s pergola from episode 7: these kids are extremely good at woodcraft and speedy

(or maybe Sora just had a giant basket in her bag, which we all understand by now is really a Bag of Holding)

While airborne they are Attacked!!! by SandYanmamon and not one but two tornadoes.

Jou: Wonderful!

(for a hot second there I mistook this for Birdramon’s line and was like “??? birdramon’s unusually sarcastic today” but of course it’s the king of morbid humor kido jou)

These Kyaromon appear out of nowhere to show off their dramatic eyeliner. Work it baby

Just when you think SandYanmamon and TWO FREAKING TORNADOES are enough, turns out there’s another threat lurking below the sand for the sole purpose of reminding us yet again “Pokemon this is not!”

SandYanmamon: Aaaaaaahhh nooooooooo i had so much living left to doooo heeeelp mommyyyyyyyyy

NOT IN FRONT OF THE CHILD YOU MONSTER!!!

Cool-headed Yamato figures out that the new monster is able to track their movements under the sand. He sends the others away while he stays behind to hold off the bad guy.

The Kyaromon lead them to a cave where they meet...

ewww uuggghh noooo I hate them aaaahh make it stoppp

and also Neemon! and I’m just going to assume this is a parallel universe version of Frontier’s Neemon because it tickles me to think this is what he actually sounds and acts like and is just riding Bokumon out of pure spite

also Bearmon’s cap says “Bears.” Not bear, bears plural. I believe he’s an outcast former member of the Gummy Bears.

The Labramon look like Rainbow Brite rejects

Pictured above: First lovers’ tiff!

Neemon doesn’t know about the holy Digimon and tells the kids he is leading his group of perfectly helpless Digimon across the monster-infested desert because of the dark forces taking over everywhere. They will seek asylum with Leomon! We got our first mention of Leomon! Quick, cast your bets, how long till he dies? My guess is sooner rather than later because this seems like the kind of show that likes to kill your darlings.

Sora takes one look at this pathetic group and goes “We must go with them to protect them!” conveniently forgetting that she just got her ass kicked, but hey it’s the thought that counts

Yamato is quick to disagree.

Yamato: Did you forget that I stayed behind while you RAN AWAY? When you say let’s protect them, you mean I’M gonna be protecting them, right? RIGHT? That’s what you mean RIGHT??

(he thinks, but doesn’t say. that wouldn’t be Cool)

Yamato doesn’t want to lose sight of their mission, which is to fix things in their home world. He’s already at his limit hanging out with other human children who don’t know what they’re doing, he doesn’t want to be slowed down by freaking Bearmon. Wishy-washy Jou is like “Eh, either way sounds like death and torment to me, so...”

The interesting thing to me here is that no one’s upset. A bit surprised, I think, but Sora just stands her ground, Jou wibbles but eventually gets pumped up enough by Gomamon to decide to help her. They don’t even try much to stop Yamato from leaving which I think is what surprised me the most. I would have expected at least a vibe more like “We shouldn’t split up!” or something. If Taichi were there, maybe we’d have seen more conflict... but I’m really not sure. So far, conflict among the kids has been very low key. Even last week, the first time we saw Taichi and Yamato butt heads, to the other kids it was shocking but to a 99 Adventurer like me it was barely a kerfluffle xP

Well, anyway, the result is Sora and Jou stay with Neemon, and Yamato goes off on his own, and there is surprisingly little bad blood about any of this. They are all just getting to know each other though, so maybe that loyalty’s not quite expected yet.

Same as episode 8, Gabumon hints that there’s more to Yamato’s behavior than he lets on. He’s not just coldly abandoning his friends... except that he totally is >_> (As an adult, I don’t exactly think Yamato is wrong. I’d be more likely to agree with him than the others probably xP But these are children in a show for children, so Protecting Others and Following Your Feelings get a boost over cool rationale.)

Gabumon says Yamato should open up to the other kids. YEAH RIGHT. Yamato says “You’re all I need.” AWWWWWWWWW this wont backfire on them in a way that will wrench out my heart and tear it to a million pieces in forty episodes or so, no way

Ikkakumon becomes a Sand Boat while Birdramon covers the sky. At first I was like “hey! not a bad plan!” If they can help Neemon’s group get across the desert faster, it will be a big help even if they can’t take them further.

Of course, first they have to deal with the SandYanmamon.

Ikkakumon: Why does everyone go straight for the horn!?!

Oh, and also the two tornadoes.

Sora, standing on Birdramon’s leg: don’t look down don’t look down don’t look down

And now Sora’s on fire! That is it, I’m headcanoning it that the kids are basically invulnerable as long as they are touching their partners. THERE’S JUST NO EXPLAINING THIS

The flaming elementary school child does well until her partner is snared by the same monster from before, who turns out to be Scorpiomon. But this ain’t your momma’s Scorpimon from 99 Adventure, who was really Anomalocarimon but that was too hard to expect kids to say. This is the real Scorpiomon who is much scarier.

All of a sudden, from above!

ACTION LINES!!!

Yamato and Garurumon, both physically incapable of doing anything normally when there is a cooler, more awesome method available, drop into the battle from the air and start burning shit up.

They stand, bodies licked by blue flame, piercing eyes bright with the fever of battle, the sound of swooning fan girls echoing into the night

Garurumon does his best but Scorpiomon is a level higher so, duh, he doesn’t stand much of a chance. WHAT WILL OUR HERO DO.

Well, first, same as in episode 8, he flashes back to each of his newfound friends, gaining strength from their memory. Yamato is so sentimental it Hurts

Then his mind flashes to someone else...

... his favorite bobble head doll. No wait, that’s his round-headed baby brother, Charlie Brown.

he is infused with the power of Friendship!!!!!!!

Garurumon: What... is this feeling... so passionate... so... powerful... FFFRIENDSHIPPPPPP IS MAGIC

He then evolves into a brony into a furry in the coolest freakiest way he knows how.

WereGarurumon is basically everything the creators thought little boys like besides dinosaurs (because Taichi’s got that one covered) thrown together to make the ultimate little boy dream action figure: wolves, leather, hardware, piercings, brass knuckles, belts, skulls, scars, dog tags, and fuchsia stiletto nails

Ikkakumon: Sugoi... so shiny... oooh... blinding me...

WereGarurumon kicks Scorpiomon’s ass, it’s a cool battle scenes complete with kicks so fast his foot appears detached from his body. He then gives Yamato thumbs up.

Yamato: With nails like those the brass knuckles are kind of overkill...

Yamato dodges apologizing for going off on his own like that by saying he only came back because it’d be useful to him to have the others around as a decoy. Jou’s like FRIGGING DECOYS AGAIN??

But his dedication to remaining cool and aloof falters and he ends up telling them he’s just extra pressured to get their mission handled because he has a little brother, Takeru, living in Tokyo who is probably very scared stuck in the blackout. Sora and Jou are like “Oh, that makes sense, that’s why you’re so high strung.” They don’t point out the obvious, which is that they also have families affected by the blackout... >_>

Jou passionately thanks Yamato for being so forthcoming so early in the season and looks forward to telling Yamato about himself in the future.

The others: “But we already know all about you.”

Jou: “But HE doesn’t!”

xD look forward to it, Yamato...

It’s episode 11 and Yamato can already smile like this... I had to cap it.

Yamato: Ahh, I’m finally getting used to wearing this purple shirt. Still can’t get quite suppress the urge to cut off the sleeves though...

The other slice of bread completes our sandwich when we shoot back briefly to Taichi/Koushirou/Mimi’s group.

Taichi gets annoyed with Koushirou for the first time because of how much time Koushirou spends taking pictures of everything. Koushirou is that kid on the museum field trip who holds up the entire class reading every last word on the exhibit plaques while everyone else groans ‘cmon dude I wanna get to the dinosaurs before we go extinct too!!’

fyi I, Fizzing Wizard, was and am that slow ass kid

Mimi’s even more impatient than Taichi and in her boredom she starts touching things, because she’s never seen The Mummy.

IT’S A TRAP!!!

lol

Next ep’s trailer includes:

Andromon!!!

And Lillymon!!!

Oprah voice: You get a Perfect level and you get a Perfect level and you get a Perfect level and you get-

Yeah so, clearly everyone’s gonna get to Perfect level much quicker than in 99 Adventure, which again, it’s good they’re mixing things up. The question is, what’s next? My guess is down the line everyone will get Ultimate levels and of course, at some point we’ll see Omegamon. I wonder if there will be other Jogress possibilities? Just because it’s hard to believe evolution will stop being important, but if they’re going through both Adult and Perfect so fast it doesn’t leave much left for the rest of the season...

I give this ep a 5.5/10 for being basically a remix of episode 8, and I’m looking forward to getting new stuff for Yamato eventually. Next week’s looking to be Mimi-centric if Lillymon’s any indication, but I’ve got my fingers crossed for a few Taishiro moments anyway.

#digimon adventure 2020 #digimon adventure reboot #digimon psi #psi spoilers #digimon #fizz watches digimon 2020

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abigailnussbaum · 4 years ago

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The Boys 5x06, “The Bloody Doors Off”

I’m generally quite positive about this episode, but before I get to that, this really needs to be said: the trope of “doors open at the asylum, murder and mayhem ensue” is really poisonous to the mentally ill, and should have been discarded a long time ago. It’s particularly common in superhero stories, which are, after all, very fond of the setting of a superhero asylum. Off the top of my head, both The Gifted and Batwoman have employed it in the last two years. Which means that even as it’s patting itself on the back for skewering the tropes of superhero stories, The Boys is indulging in a particularly vile one. And while we’re on the subject of things this episode should have been above: that joke about transgender strippers. It’s not as bad as it could have been, because the gag isn’t “she’s got a penis!” (and MM’s response is immediately “I don’t care for strippers regardless of their genitalia”). But it’s still fetishizing the trans body - which, I suppose, is hardly surprising given the show’s generally judgmental attitude towards kink.

That being said, this is probably the best episode of the season, largely because it plays to the show’s strengths: tight thematic and plot coherence (finally justifying the decision to move the show to a weekly format after weeks of shapeless installments), strong characterization, and a willingness to complicate seemingly black and white situations that belies the show’s reputation as an outrage machine. So yes, this is an episode that features Homelander crushing a man’s skull while in the throes of passion (apparently we need to have at least one of those per season), not to mention a man with a giant, prehensile penis. But it’s also an episode that deepens our understanding of Frenchie, introduces us to a new character who is almost instantly compelling (while also complicating that reaction significantly), and forces us to reexamine our feelings towards Maeve without telling us anything new about her.

The common theme running through the episode is the things you’ll do for the people you love, how you live with the consequences of those choices, and what they make of you. We finally get to meet Lamplighter, the boogeyman whose murder of Mallory’s grandchildren broke the Boys apart years ago and has hung over Frenchie in particular. And we find out why that is - Frenchie was supposed to be keeping an eye on Lamplighter, whom Mallory had just recruited to her investigation of Homelander, and left his post to tend to a friend who was ODing.

Shawn Ashmore is inspired casting for Lamplighter. He’s got the sort of look that can just as easily convey sympathetic concern as selfish entitlement, and slide between the two with ease. Which makes Lamplighter both less hatable than we might have expected, given what we know of him, but also hard to trust. (To be fair, I’m reading a lot of Johnny Jaqobis into the performance, and that was Aaron, not Shawn; but honestly, those two are surprisingly similar for how solid both of their careers have turned out.) But the episode really belongs to Frenchie, who not only takes on Lamplighter’s admission that he didn’t know Mallory’s grandchildren were in the room he set on fire, but finds enough common ground with the man to confess his own part in that night’s disaster. When Lamplighter asks “did [your friend] live?”, it’s a moment of human connection that we don’t often see between the Boys and their quarry (and leads to Frenchie’s heartbreaking revelation that Jay lived, only to die of another overdose shortly after). The episode ends with Frenchie begging for Lamplighter’s life from Mallory (and also trying to make peace with Kimiko, who is otherwise sorely underused).

At the same time, the episode doesn’t encourage us to feel uncomplicated sympathy towards Lamplighter. As MM points out “I meant to murder an innocent woman, not her grandchildren” is hardly a defense. And even more disturbing is Lamplighter’s repeated refrain to Frenchie, “why didn’t you stop me?” Whereas Frenchie doesn’t want to be let off the hook even though he had a good reason for abandoning his assignment, Lamplighter is looking for someone else to blame for his own actions, even to the perverse extreme of blaming an opponent for not fighting back. And, as we see in the present, he’s still killing innocents, burning experiment subjects who don’t pan out or refuse to play along, while claiming that he’s being forced.

Which ties into Maeve, who for the first time is called to account for her part in the plane crash last season. Maeve sees the video of the crash as indicting Homelander, which is also how we’ve been trained to think about it. But when Elena watches it, she sees a woman she’s been taught to think of as heroic abandoning others to save her own life, begging fruitlessly for mercy but finally just saving her own skin. Like Lamplighter - and more importantly, like Annie earlier in this season, when she was about to kill Hughie at Homelander’s command - Maeve might reasonably say that she didn’t have a choice. But she still did those things, and hid them. Her final line to Elena - “why are you looking at me that way?” - sums up the episode’s core message.

It’s a message that is also echoed in the Annie-Billy-Hughie storyline, though it’s a bit more wobbly in that context. The idea of having Annie and Billy bond over their shared love of Hughie is a solid storytelling beat, but I’m not quite sure what to make of Annie’s “he’s too good for either of us”. Annie kills the driver to save Hughie, and the show doesn’t let her off the hook for that (her long look at the baby seat in the car once she gets in). But it’s still a choice she made in order to save someone. Hughie killed Translucent for no reason at all - or really, because he wanted to feel strong and powerful after weeks of stewing in grief and rage over Robin’s death (and Annie, though she knows the Boys were responsible for Translucent’s death, still doesn’t know that Hughie is the one who pushed the button). I’m not sure he’s too good for anyone.

(Meanwhile, the fact that Annie was on the verge of killing Hughie to save her own life just a few episode ago seems to have been memory-holed, even though it would have been a really obvious thing for Billy to throw in her face during their fight early in the episode.)

The other big thing that happens in this episode is that we find out Stormfront’s background, and between what she says to Homelander and what Lamplighter reveals to the Boys, it seems clear that her plan is to create a superpowered neo-Nazi army and use it to take over the world. It’s good to finally have some answers (and I admit that this is a more interesting turn of plot than the one I anticipated last week, a false flag terrorist attack). But I also feel that the show is in danger of outthinking itself. Having Vought be a company with roots in Nazi Germany was a clever touch earlier this season, but making Stormfront a German Nazi herself - and making the entire genesis of superheroes a Nazi project - undercuts a lot of what the show has been saying about American racism and how much its superheroes are rooted in it. Suddenly we’re back to that familiar trope, invasion by an army of foreign and foreign-inspired Nazis. It’s not unlike the way that Winter Soldier whiffed its central revelation, choosing to focus on a fifth column of hidden traitors instead of admitting the more terrifying truth, that after seventy years there’s really no way to disentangle “good” SHIELD from “evil” Hydra, because the former has been hopelessly corrupted by the latter.

When I wrote about last week’s episode, I praised it for skewering rainbow capitalism in its depiction of Vought’s plans to “sell” Maeve’s queerness and her relationship with Elena. Since then, several people have pointed out that The Boys was speeding well ahead of the actual industry it’s lampooning - in a blockbuster market dominated by superhero movies, there are currently no queer superhero characters (though there are several on TV). Which means that the show’s satire can end up missing its mark - instead of pointing out how capitalism squeezes everything good into an easily-digested, marketable form, one can easily read this subplot as saying that a gay superhero would be bad, full stop.

I think a similar dynamic is at play when it comes to Stormfront’s secret plot. An army of superpowered neo-Nazis is scary, but is it really scarier than the President of the United States not only refusing to condemn white supremacists on stage at a national debate, but addressing them directly in terms that can only be taken as an instruction to riot if he loses the election? Is it scarier than videos of police that repeatedly show their sympathy towards white supremacist, to the point of standing by when one of them fires into a crowd of people? It doesn’t take superpowers for fascism to take hold - it didn’t in Nazi Germany, and it doesn’t today. By pretending otherwise, The Boys is neutering its social commentary exactly where it should be most trenchant.

#the boys

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butterfliesandsadness · 4 years ago

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Okay, this scene has been bothering me from the moment I saw it so I rewrote the whole thing. I’m not a great writer but this is kind of the essence of how I think it should’ve gone. I think it makes more sense this way and would just in general make a better scene.

Natasha and Clint hear nothing but the crunch of gravel under their feet as they approach the top of the mountain. That, and their own hearts beating in their ears. They know it can’t be this easy; decades of espionage will teach you that. So they approach carefully, waiting for an attack from some unseen force. So when they hear the greeting of the shrouded figure they are hardly surprised even if their hearts leap into their throats. They have carried out scarier missions but none with the stakes quite so high. Clint knows he isn’t leaving Vormir without that stone.

“Welcome Natasha, daughter of Ivan. Clint, son of Edith.”

Natasha freezes in her tracks, how does he known her? How does he known that? But she roll the unfamiliar name around in her head before filing it away. It is all she has, but she wonders if he is alive. If she will ever meet him. Clint is unfazed by the troubling familiarity of the stonekeeper, he rarely cares how or why things happen, just that they do. He grips his bow tighter and his fingers tingle with the anticipated action of pulling an arrow. “We’ve come for the stone.”

“You should know... it extracts a terrible price.”

“None more terrible than—“ Clint falters, but in his head he finishes “never seeing my family again.”

The Black Widow has had Hawkeye’s back for years and she won’t stop now. She places her hand firmly on his shoulder and replies when he can’t.

“We are prepared to pay your price. We didn’t come all this way to be cheapskates.” She grins that signature grin— cocky and sarcastic but somehow also sincere and disarming.

“We all think that at first.” The shrouded man glides from the shadows revealing blood red skin that clings to his skull in a most grotesque way. “We are all wrong.” He gestures for them to follow as he approaches the summit. “I, too, once sought the stones. I even held one in my hand. But it cast me out, banished me here. Guiding others to a treasure I cannot possess. A fate worse than the Hell waiting for me in death.” He points off the edge of the cliff to a circular engraving far below. “What you seek lies before you. As does what you fear.”

Clint immediately begins assessing the stone around them for the best place to fasten a harness but Natasha’s mind begins puzzling at the pieces. What could she fear more than failure? What could Clint fear more than never seeing his family again? What price is too high for an infinity stone?

“What is this?”

“The price. Soul holds a special place among the Infinity Stones. You might say it has a certain wisdom.”

Seventy years alive grants one a certain seventh sense, Natasha feels. She finds it so difficult to be truly surprised anymore. And now she felt her stomach drop. Whatever was coming, she knows the stonekeeper is not exaggerating. Every sense tells her to grab Clint and run as far and as fast as she can. Clint meanwhile, finds himself humming his daughter’s favorite nursery rhyme as he carefully fastens a rope around a stable boulder. He feels hopeful for the first time in a long time. In his mind he can picture seeing his family again, he pushes away the thought of how he will look his wife in the eye again after what he’s done. It will work out. They will be a family again, and any price is worth that.

“To ensure that whoever possesses it... understands its power.... The stone demands a sacrifice. In order to take the stone you must lose that which you love most. A soul... for a soul.”

Clint stops. The ropes he grips in his hands trembling as he absorbs the pain of the cost. And Clint has a thought he wishes he could tear from his mind and bury, he wants to live, to see his family again. Which means he wants his best friend to die. The dream of meeting his kids again seems thinner even as he grabs at it ever more desperately. He knows he could never ask that of her, but he hopes just a little, and he hates himself for it, that she will volunteer.

Natasha Romanoff’s thoughts take significantly less time to form. She has lived a long life, and Clint was her only family. She would do anything for him to smile again. Even if she wouldn’t be there to see it.

“I see, so I just jump? Is there a ceremony or something? Do I get a last meal?”

“One must simply die at the base of this cliff.”

She shakes her arms out.

“No, you can’t. I can’t ask that of you.” Clint grabs her wrist to pull her away from the cliff’s edge but Natasha can see the pain in his eyes, and she can see the little spark of hope.

“You aren’t asking. Buy Nathaniel a BB gun from me.” She pulls him in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He was the light that had guided her from the dark, and maybe now she can finally wipe clean her debt to him. She walks to the cliff’s edge but is stopped mid-step by the interjection of the stonekeeper.

“I would not if I were you. The stone demands the the sacrifice of the one you love most. And you are not that to him.”

The other boot drops.

“Of course I am,” she argues with the immortal keeper of the Soul Stone. “Who else could it be? His family is” She trails off so Clint won’t hear her say it.

“But she is not dead to him. He holds her ever so tightly even from the grave. You are not a suitable cost. But him? You would do anything for him. You /love/ him more than anything.” The keeper drags out the word love as if he knows it is gutting both heroes. Natasha crumbles to the ground and Clint simply leans back against the stone he had been so sure would help him save his family. He will never see them again. The man raises his face to the sky but cannot even summon the strength to curse God. Natasha watches as the light in her best friend is extinguished. She would do anything for this man. She would do anything to save him, and to save his family. But because of that, she simply can’t. Natasha realizes that she will carry around her debt for the rest of her very long life.

Clint suddenly straightens and walks to the edge of the cliff. He does not look at his friend, hunched over in the sand, weighed down by her failure. For the first time, Natasha really believes that they could move on without undoing the snap. She grabs at Clint’s legs and holds on fast. “Please—“ Her words choke in her throat and she can’t even beg. She knows she is being selfish. But Clint Barton has been the only consistent good in her life and she doesn’t know who she is without him. Or rather, she thinks she does and she doesn’t like it. But even as she holds him, she knows that she can’t do that to him. She cannot force him to live in pain for her own peace of mind. He has to do this for his family, and for everyone’s families. She slowly lets him go as she finds a small stone that she focuses all her energy on. She picks it up and squeezes it in her hand, she memorizes every facet of that pebble before suddenly Clint is in her face, kneeling on her level.

“Listen, I need you to do this. No matter what, you have to bring them back. You have to make sure they’re safe.” He sounds desperate, as if he’s running out of air, instead of being given all the time in the world. “I trust you. If I had to die, I’m glad that I can leave my family with you.”

Natasha strains to process every word he is saying but she feels numb, crouched there on the mountain-top. Her mind is racing so fast she is stuck playing catch up. “You are going to save everyone, and that’s what makes you a hero. Not SHIELD, or even the Avengers. I believe in you.” He is the only one who always had. In almost perfect imitation of their earlier goodbye he pulls her close and kisses her on the cheek. And then he is gone. Clint barely registers the biological panic that he is experiencing. He is consumed by the only thought he has been having since the keeper’s last words. He will never see his family again. And so he will never leave Vormir. He barely flinches when the earth rises to meet him.

Natasha wails as he hits the ground. Partially in agony and partially so she doesn’t have to hear the sickening crunch she knows is coming. Suddenly unable to breathe she bolts up. The Black Widow has found herself sitting in shallow water; far from the cliff’s edge and what she might see at the bottom. She feels the small rock she had been fiddling with in her hand. She holds it up to see that it is no longer the stone she had become so oddly familiar with, but an orange gem, glowing faintly in the twilight. She clenches her fist around the treasure and hangs her head. And she cries for a long time.

Anyway, I think that makes more sense than the way they played it.

#avengers #endgame #avengers endgame #nat and clint #natasha romanoff #clint barton #hawkeye #black widow #the soul stone #what happened on vormir #vormir #infinity war #hawkeye and black widow #does this count as a fan fic?#fanfic #thanos #soul stone #infinity stones #infinity gauntlet

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cartoonsliveon · 5 years ago

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“If I could take it all back...”

Sissy's hysterical screaming is the only thing Yumi hears when she finally opens her eyes, struggling to see anything at first because there's so much dust in the air and so little light. Instinctively, Yumi tries to push up off of the floor, but she barely raises herself an inch off the ground before she's screaming. Pain races through her bottom spine, through her legs, and around her stomach. Her arms immediately give out under her, her face pressing firmly to the concrete floor as if that will somehow help. She struggles to even out her breathing as she quiets down, hands clenching to fist.

Everything's gone quiet. Including Sissy. Yumi doesn't realize it, until she starts trying to figure out why she's in so much pain and can't get up. She remembers, vaguely, that the eleventh and twelfth graders were having an assembly with representatives from the army, talking about the experience because college is right around the corner for them. She remembers, vaguely, everyone in her class talking about how they brought some things to show some of the students in the assembly like tanks and stuff. It hits her then how absolutely stupid that is, to bring such dangerous equipment to a school where any idiot could try to play a prank or mess around with it.

"Y-yumi?"

Yumi's jarred from her thoughts as she looks over, squinting to try and see the figure hidden in the dark and dust. It takes her longer than she likes to realize its Sissy, the bratty girl inching slowly towards her. It's difficult to see, but the arrogant look isn't there anymore. Sissy's face is blank with fear, looking exactly like the child she is.

Principal Delmas was evacuating the school because the tanks were hijacked. Yumi had been trying to sneak over to the factory to meet up with the others. Sissy (god it's always Sissy isn't it?) must have spotted her running the other way, and decided for whatever stupid reason to follow her. Why did Sissy think following Yumi was a smart idea? Didn't she think that, if Yumi could get hurt, she would as well? Yumi can't understand it honestly. Sissy was arguing with her though, and through the windows Yumi had spotted the tanks.

She doesn't remember how they got to the basement though. She doesn't remember how they got here. How they ended up like this.

Sissy takes out her phone, using the glow of screen as the tiniest, dimmest light possible. Both their faces are covered in dust, and Yumi has some blood slowly dripping from her forehead. The light makes her head hurt but she doesn't turn away, watching as Sissy sits in front of her, silently cursing her phone for getting no signal. Of course it doesn't have a signal down here. Why would it?

"What happened?" Yumi asks, turning her head down quickly as she coughs. Pain lances through her ribs, making it slightly harder to regain her breath.

Sissy watches silently as Yumi coughs, unsure what to do. She considers reaching an arm out to try and pat Yumi on the back, but refrains. Regardless of the circumstances, she still hates the older girl. Yumi thinks she's so much better than her and smarter. She has Ulrich wrapped around her finger and she doesn't appreciate him, constantly arguing with him. They argue like cats and dogs and she never learns her stupid lesson.

She hates Yumi. And Yumi hates her. Sissy's an absolute brat. A spoiled, rotten brat that picks on everyone and throws a tantrum whenever she doesn't get her way. But... Yumi can't bring herself to be angry with Sissy or fight with her. As she finally catches her breath, she looks back at Sissy and silently pleads for an answer.

"You spotted the tanks through the window," Sissy finally relents, "It started firing at us. You pulled us into the stairwell leading into the basement. We came down here and... there was this bang. Everything shook, and you pushed me!" Sissy glares at Yumi, still offended by the action even though it saved her life, "And the ceiling and support beams fell on you instead."

"Wait? What?"

Yumi makes the stupid mistake of trying to turn onto her side and screams in pain. Her fists slam onto the ground, and out of the corner of her eyes, she sees twisted metal and tile and whatever it was the basement ceiling was made out of. It's like a mountain on top of her. How is she not dead already?

"What's the matter with you?" Sissy shouted, "What part of the ceiling and support beams falling on you didn't you understand?"

"Shut up," Yumi hisses, her fingers digging into her palms as she tried to push through the pain.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Sissy yelled shrilly. Her high pitch voice only aggravated the sharp pain throbbing in her temples, "We wouldn't even be in this situation if you hadn't run off!"

Well. Sissy isn't exactly wrong there. But if Sissy hadn't stopped her she might have made it to the factory.

"This is all your fault Yumi Ishiyama!"

"My fault?" She sputters, "Yeah, it's my fault that I saved your life you spoiled brat! I didn't ask for those tanks to fire on the school! I didn't ask you to follow me! I didn't ask you to nearly get yourself killed! I didn't-"

Whatever Yumi was going to say, she's cut off by another bout of coughing, her face turned slightly red from the arguing. Although she can't see Sissy, the younger girl's face pales significantly as she watches Yumi struggle to stop coughing and calm down.

"We're going to die down here."

"We're not going to die," Yumi says quietly, her head pillowed awkwardly on her elbow. She doesn't look at Sissy, staring instead at the darkness. It's been maybe 30 minutes since Yumi woke up. Ever since Yumi's coughing fit, they'd fallen into an uneasy silence.

Well... an uneasy silence up until now.

"Have you even looked at yourself?" It comes out as a callous, thoughtless remark. It doesn't hit her until after she says it that she shouldn't have said that.

Yumi turns her head as far away from Sissy as she can, too tired to argue anymore. This isn't her first time being helpless in a X.A.N.A. attack, even if she hates it. This is hardly any different than being pinned under that tree during the blizzard. She remembers, not only how cold she felt, but also how painful it was to even try to move. She suspects that, if she tried to move anything at her waist or lower, she would no doubt pass out from the pain. Or... even scarier, Yumi won't feel anything.

"What I meant was..." Sissy's tone is quieter and softer. And also a lot more hesitant. Yumi strains to hear her, "It's just... you're really hurt Yumi. And no one knows we're down here. And who knows if those tanks are still up there. And there's no way out either."

"We aren't going to die," Yumi repeats, "Ulrich... Ulrich's not going to let us down."

"How is Ulrich going to stop a tank?"

Yumi silently smiles, happy to have this secret knowledge and faith in Ulrich. Maybe if Sissy knew what she actually meant, she would share her sentiments and faith about Ulrich. But now wasn't the time to talk about Lyoko. She didn't have the energy, patience, or strength to explain it.

But Sissy, not getting an answer, glares at Yumi, "You must have brain damage or something if you think Ulrich is going to show up and save us."

"Oh?" Yumi asks, "What happened to wanting Ulrich to come to the rescue as your knight in shining armor?" Any time Sissy is in trouble, from getting caught in the crossfires from X.A.N.A., she's always hoping praying for Ulrich to come to her rescue.

Sissy gives an obnoxious hmpth, and Yumi doesn't expect a response after a few seconds. She closes her eyes, trying to make her headache stop. All this talking is only making it worse. All this banter and thinking is making her feel a lot worse.

Sissy stares at Yumi, hating how her heart stops for a second when she sees Yumi close her eyes. She won't admit it, because she shouldn't care if she hates Yumi right?, but she thought for a second that the worse was happening. She can't stand the other girl but Yumi is so pale and so tired. She looks exhausted, and she isn't hiding her pain like she thinks she is. She's dying. She's dying and she needs help but there's no way to get any.

"I'm not oblivious," She finally says.

"Hmm?" Yumi blinks her eyes slowly open.

"I'm not oblivious," Sissy repeated, "I know you like him. And I know he likes you too. Herb and Nicholas told me that he talks to Odd and Jeremy about you. How much he likes you. And any time any other girl gets near him, your face is more red than Jim's track suit."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"It means your jealous," Sissy rolled her eyes, "And the point I'm trying to make is that I know he'll never like me as long as your around."

"Then why do you keep flirting with him?"

"Because I'm going to just let you have him all to yourself. Just because I know he likes you doesn't mean I'm going to let you have him."

"Aren't you just a saint?"

"Shut up."

"Excuse-"

"Shut up!" Sissy repeats, "Don't talk. If by any chance you're right and Ulrich does somehow manage to show up and be the hero, you need to save your strength. If he finds us and your dead, well..."

Yumi doesn't respond, just choosing to stare at Sissy quietly. She doesn't doubt that Ulrich and the others will pull through in the end, but she doesn't know when. She doesn't even know how long she'd been unconscious, or if they were still waiting for her on Lyoko. What if they needed her? She can't think like that, she shouldn't be thinking like that, but it still lingers in her mind. Sissy is right, she has to conserve her strength. Because who knows how long they'll be here for.

Sissy's scream somehow is louder than the explosion that shakes the entire basement. Yumi covers her head as best she can with her hands, shrinking slightly when she feels something come to rest on top of her. Her entire body is shaking and Yumi keeps her eyes shut for the longest time. It isn't until she is sure the building has stopped shaking does she slowly open her eyes and tilt her head slightly to see Sissy covering her head.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to protect you stupid!" Sissy snaps, wincing at her harsh tone.

Yumi's too shocked to respond. The two girls stare at each other, covered in dust and grime. Sissy's phone died a while ago and they had no choice but to adapt to the darkness. And before Sissy can say anything else, either an uncharacteristic apology or another insult, the ground above them is shaking. The rumble of the tanks echoes down on them, pinning them both where they are in fear.

Another boom, Sissy keeps screaming. Around them, the ceiling shakes and crumbles around them. Sissy curls around Yumi, listening as the older girl starts coughing. Something fell onto the pile crushing Yumi, dislodging something and pushing something else into her spine. It hurts so much that the pain makes her entirely numb. Her gasp for air is replaced with coughing.

At first, she thinks drool is dripping on her lip and chin as she continues to cough. The metallic tang of it informs her its blood.

"Yumi?" Sissy can't see what's happening but she feels Yumi shaking under her from her coughs, "Yumi what's wrong?"

Yumi doesn't answer, not in words. She just continues to cough, struggling to breath. Everything continues to shake, the tanks are still rolling above them and firing upon the school.

"Yumi please!"

Yumi feels her forehead hit the concrete, the cool surface only numbing her further instead of waking her up. Every time she thinks she has a chance to catch her breath, she's wheezing again, coughing all the oxygen she's manage to get in straight out.

"Yumi please!" Sissy's voice is suddenly so quiet despite being right above her, "Please. I'm sorry! I'm sorry for all the mean things I've ever done to you. I'm sorry! But-"

"What?" She rasps confused. And it occurs to her, all of a sudden, that she closed her eyes because suddenly they open. Something drips down onto her face. She's way too confused to realize its tears.

"If I could take it all back... I would."

Yumi doesn't have a chance to answer because there's one final boom, right on top of them, and Sissy starts screaming and she starts gasping for air as she coughs. Yumi gasps and chokes, trying to get air. She hardly has a chance to even process what Sissy has said, when Jeremy at that moment hits for a return to the past and the world is enveloped in a bright white light.

----

I always sort of liked the moments during X.A.N.A. attacks when Sissy isn’t an obnoxious brat and is nice to Yumi and the others. She never, of course, remembers these moments though. But I wanted a moment where Sissy and Yumi are stuck in a life and death situation because of X.A.N.A. because I can’t think of a time where it was just the two of them.

#Code Lyoko #fanfic

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jasonstaylortx · 5 years ago

Text

Finding Connection in a Time of Distancing

By Jamie Salsberg, LCSW, CAP, EMDR, Clinical Director

As the global pandemic continues, and more people are finally beginning to truly understand the need for social distancing, fears of isolation are also growing. Does social distancing automatically create social isolation? This is a particularly important idea for anybody struggling with substance abuse or mental health issues, as a form of social distancing and isolation have inevitably become functions of their disease. Further, they are repeatedly told that their recovery is dependent upon learning to function with ongoing and healthy support and connection. The idea of physical separation from the people around them can be a terrifying concept, particularly for those who want to get better, since many of them may feel they are choosing between their physical survival that requires separating from others, and their emotional survival the necessitates connecting with them.

For those individuals dealing with mental health and substance abuse issues, this is an extremely challenging and sometimes paralyzing concern. Many of these individuals have spent significant periods of time alone and separated from others both physically and emotionally, during the worst parts of their struggles with their disease. As they seek treatment, they are encouraged to share and spend time with others who have similar challenges and may have been doing so in treatment facilities around the country, despite the current pandemic.

This only makes the notion of leaving or completing treatment right now, even scarier. Imagine spending several weeks in a facility with others and being told that the only way to survive is to create a strong, connected social support system, while simultaneously, the outside world is being asked to physically separate from one another. Recovery can be challenging enough without the backdrop of a world instructed to keep their distance. Compounding this fact is the idea that for many, distancing themselves from others offers a sense of comfort, as their disease created the absence of social connection and they are accustomed to being alone; these individuals must also consider the fact that this isolation could mean the difference between life and death. What do we tell people in early recovery from mental health and substance abuse issues about their survival?

Of course, it is significant that we not minimize the seriousness of COVID-19, and the importance of following the recommendations of scientists, epidemiologists, and other experts, who highlight the need for physical separation to minimize the impact of global mortality. However on the other hand, for many of these individuals, the risk of harm may be significantly higher from separation and isolation that result from overdose, depression, anxiety or suicide than from COVID-19. If these individuals cannot find the support and connection that will help them to recover, their mortality is significantly at risk. Add to this, the fact that stress, anxiety, and depression significantly impact the body and therefore lower immune response, and people struggling with these issues are in an extremely difficult spot.

So what is the answer? Are we to tell people in early recovery from mental health and addiction that they should ignore the recommendations and put themselves at risk of infection in order to manage their emotional stability? Do we allow themselves to cut themselves off once again from human contact and support that we know is needed for them to flourish? While globalization and connection of the world may be what contributed to the novel coronavirus becoming a global pandemic, the same global community in this day and age may be the thing that can save us; particularly for those dealing with mental health and substance abuse issues. Imagine a global pandemic occurring 20 or 30 years ago when we had no global communities, no Facebook, no instant access to phones and computers, no video chats, and no ability to deliver healthcare services without in-person contact. One of the most inspiring outcomes of this pandemic has been the human need for connection, contact, and support that has shined through in spite of the current conditions.

All over the world, we see people being creative in finding ways to acknowledge those on the front lines, reach out to those who most need support, and finding ways to connect that are still safe regardless of how significant social distancing may be. We see interactive online meetings popping up, telehealth services increasing, and people finding ways to be healthy and connected without being in physical contact with one another. If you or someone you care about is struggling with addiction or mental health, do not allow social distancing to become social isolation. This goes for the families of those with these ailments, as well as the individuals themselves. Watching a family member wrestle with substance abuse or addiction can be emotional, trying, and excruciating and doing this alone only adds fuel to the fire. We have so many ways to connect, even in the absence of physical contact, so we all have a responsibility to do so. While many have and will suffer from the impact of this virus physically, we can prevent many more from suffering from the impact emotionally. Often it is in our most trying times that we find ways to overcome and achieve together.

If you are stuck at home, take a moment to reach out to someone you have not spoken to; check in with a family member; do something kind for a neighbor; send pictures or inspiring words to those you think may be struggling, and be sure to maintain a connection for yourself. In the words of many of the messages being spread as of late, we are all in this together; but in order for that to be the case, we need to make sure that we act that way, stay connected, and ask for and offer support to the people around us, near and far, to get through this crisis.

If you or a loved one are struggling with substance abuse and/or mental health issues, please reach out; we are in this together!

The post Finding Connection in a Time of Distancing appeared first on Transformations Treatment Center.

source https://www.transformationstreatment.center/clinical/finding-connection-in-a-time-of-distancing/ from Transformations Treatment Center https://transformationstreatment1.blogspot.com/2020/03/finding-connection-in-time-of-distancing.html

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joellbarham85 · 5 years ago

Text

Finding Connection in a Time of Distancing

By Jamie Salsberg, LCSW, CAP, EMDR, Clinical Director

If you or a loved one are struggling with substance abuse and/or mental health issues, please reach out; we are in this together!

The post Finding Connection in a Time of Distancing appeared first on Transformations Treatment Center.

from https://www.transformationstreatment.center/clinical/finding-connection-in-a-time-of-distancing/

from Transformations Treatment Center - Blog https://transformationstreatment.weebly.com/blog/finding-connection-in-a-time-of-distancing

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