#but god will smashing in john’s face was SO SATISFYING

[j4degoyl]

ok but jacob’s & will’s vastly different reactions to meeting their father again after 14 years are lowkey funny to me chdnjdjdjs like jacob is going through the 5 stages of grief & ends with righteous anger, meanwhile will’s immediate reaction is just violence 😂

[caffiene-fueled-fuckery]

🤩a WIP snippet about or with dialogue from Radar and 😔

Thanks so much for the ask!! Sorry that it took me a few days to get to, I was away for the weekend and have been busy with uni.

🤩

Snippet from a Whumptober piece I haven't finished (we're going to ignore the fact that I barely finished any of the prompts in October itself bc I was so swamped with school, I'm still going to post them all). The piece is yet to be titled, but the prompt was: debris, pinned down, and "it's broken." I love Radar so much and even though he isn't the focal point of this piece, I still enjoy having him in it!! For context, Della is one of my OCs.

“Make it stop!” Radar wailed, though she couldn’t tell if he was asking her or some higher power. The quake had to have been going for at least five minutes… it would end any time now, right? Right? Another sheet of metal from the ceiling smashed to the floor, causing them both to scream. Della bit her lip, wanting to beg as Radar had for it to stop, but if she couldn’t comfort, she had to at least get her head back on her shoulders. 

Slowly, the shaking began to recede. Della held onto Radar, feeling the boy trembling in her grasp even once the ground had settled. In the hustle and bustle of camp, everyone seemed to forget how young Radar really was. He ran the place so efficiently and, being in a war zone, it’s hard to remember that some of these soldiers are fresh out of school. Radar was only a kid. 

Della leaned her head against his when he whimpered her name. “I’m right here. Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Okay, good. Good.” She removed one arm from around his head to rub his back. “You’re okay, kiddo. You’re alright.”

She didn’t move until he did. After a few moments of stillness, Radar stirred and pulled away, satisfied that the quake was over, at least for the time being. He pulled back and looked at Della, his face blotchy and tear-streaked. She reached out and wiped a stray tear with her thumb. “You’re okay, hun.”

Briefly, Radar closed his eyes, humming as he nodded. When he opened them again, his gaze was immediately drawn to the shard of glass in her arm. “Della, you’re hurt!”

“Oh, it’s not that bad. I just didn’t want to take it out while everything was still shaking and risk getting dirt in it.”

Radar nodded. “Okay.”

“C’mon, let’s go check on the others. Was anyone in the OR?”

He took the hand she held out to him, careful not to touch any of the broken glass or metal. “Not that I know of. You don’t think someone got hit with a stray scalpel, do you?”

“No, no, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh?”

“Right…”

“Let’s check post-op first then.”

Radar followed at her heels, nearly walking into her when she froze in the doorway and gasped. “What? What is it—”

Della spun around and put her hands on his shoulders, backing out of the room. “Don’t look.”

“Huh? What is it? What happened?”

“Radar, no. Please. Don’t fight me on this just…” She gulped. “Just don’t.”

The boy’s voice trembled when he spoke. “Who was it?”

Della shook her head, covering her mouth with one hand. 

“Please, Dell. Who died? I—”

And for the other one...

😔

This one was a bit harder... Most of the angst I've written that I found hard was for the BSD fandom because I love to put poor Kenji in a blender... But this was also difficult to write. It also comes from a fic that has miss Della in it. Here is a section from my fic, "God, Keep My Head Above Water," which starts during GFA.

Father Mulcahy sat at his desk with his back to the door, his head down. It was likely, she realized, that he was writing a sermon or something similar and was so deep in thought that he hadn’t heard her. She slipped inside and dusted herself off before walking over to him and laying a hand on his shoulder. “John?”

Father Mulcahy made a noise somewhere between a yelp and a cry, trying to turn so quickly that he fell off his chair and crashed to the floor. Della drew her hand to her chest, brows raised and eyes wide as she stared down at her friend, sprawled on the ground at her feet.  She blinked a few times as he stared up at her, his face morphing from panic to recognition to dread, and then finally to plain startled. His voice wavered as he spoke to her, forcing a smile onto his face. “Della. It’s good to see you.”

Della surveyed his face as she crouched in front of him. “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to startle you.”

For a moment he just stared at her before giving her a jerky nod. 

“You must’ve been deep in thought,” she continued, having turned to right the chair. “You’ve never been jumpy.” Della turned back to him and her eyes were immediately drawn to the wound on the side of his head. She leaned forward, her hand hovering beside the shrapnel scars, brows raised and parted lips downturned. “You are hurt…” She took his face in her hands, then tilted his head to get a better look. “John… what were you thinking?”

She let go of him and sat back on her heels, brows raised. His eyes widened, realizing she’d been speaking to him and was expecting a response. He mirrored her expression. 

Della furrowed her brows. “What were you thinking?”

He shrugged. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Della leant forward and rested the back of her hand on his forehead. “You’re not acting like yourself.” No fever, so it probably wasn’t that his wound was infected… “Is it your head?” She checked both of his eyes for uneven pupils, and the icy blue glistened with unshed tears. “Are you in pain?” Della pulled back and held him at an arm’s length, once again waiting for an answer. 

Mulcahy could only blink at her, brows cinched in fear. 

“John? What is it? What’s the matter?” She studied his face as she spoke, finally noticing that he wasn’t looking her in the eyes but was instead staring at her lips. On top of that, when he didn’t answer her, she hadn’t spoken to him with her face in full view. She sat back again and stared at him for a moment, jaw slack. “You can’t hear me… Can you…?”

The tears clinging to Mulcahy’s lashes spilled over and fell down his cheeks. He shook his head and looked down, head hanging as his shoulders started jumping. Della’s chest tightened as if someone had knocked the wind out of her at the sight of his tears, and her heartbeat, which had been in her ears only a moment ago, seemed to have slowed nearly to a stop. In any other situation, she’d know exactly what to do–they had been through a lot together over the course of the war. A hug and soothing words were usually enough to console him in a typical instance, but how was she supposed to proceed with something like this? When it was fear, and pain, and his usual feelings of uselessness likely magnified tenfold… What was she supposed to do with something that could change the entire course of his life so drastically? How could she even attempt to console him when she couldn’t use her words…

When a particularly rough sob tore from Mulcahy’s throat, she snapped out of her thoughts. He clutched his elbows, posture crumpled in on himself, still sitting on the floor. Whatever she’d been wondering before didn’t matter–she’d do whatever she had to, even if she couldn’t use her words. By instinct, she settled on her knees and wrapped her arms around Mulcahy. 

“I’m–sorry–”

Thank you so much again for the ask! If you don't know much about my OC Della, long story short is she's Father Mulcahy's best friend and also kind of an older sibling to Radar. I have plenty of MASH OCs but Della was my first and is my favourite by far. Anyway, yeah, those are the two fics I wanted to share from. I'm hoping to finish the first one soon as well as update the second one on AO3 soon as well.

Anyone else, please feel free to send an ask to my inbox! I'll pin the post it's from on my profile :)

[dhovgaard]

excerpt from exodus

This character is a psychopath that murdered someone else to get on the ship to new Eden.

Jack Moore had slit Brian Faith's throat and slipped his body into the estuary loaded down with an anchor from an old boat and whatever other odds and ends he could attach to the rusty old chain that he wrapped the body with. Faith was not his first victim. He had learned his murderous ways from his crazy uncle Ray. His Uncle liked to string up prostitutes in an abandon boat house and vivisect them for sport.

If Jack's mother knew what her brother did when he was bored she never let on. That and the fact that Jack came home after the baseball game to which his uncle Ray had given him tickets to find his mother slit open like a wild buck her entrails and ovaries decorating the kitchen table and walls.

He should have been shocked by it but he wasn't he began to laugh and after they put his demented uncle Ray on death row he spent his free time butchering small animals eventually working his way up to old men and women. He would sneak into their homes and push them down the stairs. Sometimes he would knock them unconscious and then hang them leaving typed suicide notes on their computers. Then one night a prostitute offered him her wares and he cut her breasts off and stuffed them down her throat. Then he went to her home and killed her children. For several years, he traveled across the country working here and there for cash and killing at will before moving on. No one had ever put it together. Even after Bundy and Keyes cops still didn't talk to each other when they had cases that were clearly committed by psychopathic individuals.

In all that time, he had avoided capture because he just seemed to know when it was time to go, slipping away before the authorities even started looking for him. He attributed this to God's love.

His mother had been a deeply religious woman. She forced him to go to church from the moment he was born. At first, he hated it but then, the words began to speak to him. He began to see that god was not love at all but hate. The events from the Old Testament were to him proof that God despised the peace-loving members of his flock and rewarded only those that killed in his name.

His Uncle Ray reinforced these beliefs when he told him that God wanted the whores he murdered punished not, for their wickedness but, for their weakness. They were weak because they had all the power but let others use them. Their pimps and Johns saw them as nothing more than a commodity to be exploited to satisfy both their lust and their greed.

Ray told him that his victims were no longer human. “They were just meat and God was just fine with the slaughter of meat.”

Just like before there was a little skip in his heart beat as might be caused by a lover’s cool fingers sliding up your back on an unbearably hot night. He knew that his empire would never be. It was gone smashed all to hell by the good intentions of fools.

Didn't they know that humans were just a bunch of mentally disturbed chimpanzees that given the right circumstances they would gut each other for no other reason than that they could. If not for the self-imposed choke collar of laws that by design only applied to those without the guts or power to ignore them.

He was free had always been free. He laughed at his mother's death not because she was a fool or because murder bred its own kind of humor but at the shocked look on her face. Didn't she know this was coming.

The God she had put all her faith in and pinned all her hopes on had not acted to save her but instead made it that much easier for her brother to cut her up like so much chum because God loved death.

He loved all kinds of death the meaner and more brutal the better. He preferred swords, spears and axes over guns because there was more blood, more pain. Bullets killed to quickly much better to rind the flesh to make your victims pray to God in the only way that had meaning to such a sordidly demented deity and that was through pain, sorrow and anguish.

It was why Jewish woman rent their garments when someone died to put on a show for the almighty to roil and bawl in pain and brutality that was the only thing God ever wanted of us and if he couldn't build an empire to those beliefs then he would escape to fight another day. He would bring true heaven down on this planet even if he or they died as a result. 

To that end, he had a secondary plan. Up in the hills he had stocked a cave with provisions and weapons. If what he thought was coming was coming, he would stop there to gather supplies and then move deeper into the jungle to avoid capture. It wasn't the kingdom he had promised himself, but he would still be alive and maybe if God was with him, he could show these fools what true paradise looked like.

[theorist-influencer-untitled]

10.14.23 Saturday

1:19 am

Still have windblow... Retouching my hair... Still,thinking of money :(

I need to cellophane my hair but tight budgeting... Whew! Argh!

8:54 am

I still have windblow... Will be out of fundings soon... I'm thinking and super thinking and still waiting for my rewave... It is 14th of October, in a lil while will be my 42nd birthday and we all know they made me nothing and I'm not happy...

Praying and hoping that my voice will go back to its original tone...

11:39 am

One for me and One for Uncle Jun as payment and thank you for helping me on cleaning John's mat...

1:28 pm

I still have windblow and I know I need to get a job and I'm not happy being flatten this way..

In a lil while, I really wanted to transfer in ilocos. But I need to work first and have some fundings... Hoping for a rewave in Iqor coz I still need to train more and make a good foundation before going to ilocos and money of course...

I wanna have breast implants, join dog show wearing my swimsuit, showing myself to the good high people of dog world.

2:11 pm

My shallow happiness...

I love nail polish,angels...

3:20 pm

I still have windblow and I feel bitter that a lot of women took my place...

I wanna leave the hometown if I'm ready... But right now I can't... I don't want anybody here, except for that dread-locks or Miles... If I like an another person then I'm gonna put it here but now, my latest type is Miles/ dread-locks guy...

Oh! The black penis is ohkay... I feel bitter these days... I can't get a bf, I feel bitterish...

5:07 pm

Done, watching "Harley and Katya" skaters but sad ending coz the girl committed suicide at the end... They were a good pair and amazing but not that rich....They just asked for sponsorship. At an early age Katya hooked in alcohol, as I can see something is wrong on their picture. Probably coz they were not that rich... Plus, Katya got hooked in alcohol.

I also like the new pair "Valerie and Vasilisa"... The new famous pair these days. I think they got money than sponsorship. I think no vices than sex.

Sex is the beginning of everything if you handle it correctly... The start of success...

5:35 pm

Amazing! Uncle Jun brought some ulam or food meal... Thank God!!!

9:47 pm

I still have windblow... I suddenly feel jealous on things that I don't know....

I'm panicky,still thinking of money and people in Cavite are fakers not all but these particular orgy related to the INC and this village, I think so... Who kidnapped some people to smash me...

I feel panicky and not happy.. I can't get a bf... If only if I'm taller but I'm not and I'm no longer spoiled... Sometimes, I feel self-pity... I feel fat,ugly, wrinkled and always defeated.

10:34 pm

Let's just face it angels....If I'm around let's say 5'7" or more then,I can easily get a bf coz I want taller than me... But not that tall like CJ who is 6'2"... I'm thinking of our sex life if I can satisfy him or not... Probably not...

But I'm used to my xpartner who were 5'11", 5'10", and 5'9" and 5'8".... I want taller than me... I feel protected and like what I said I also wanna have even a one child and hoping that she or he will be a tall human being coz that is my frustration in life, my height...

The rule if the girl is shorty like me then I'm spoiled, we always get someone taller than us coz it is the trend of shorty and spoiled girl. I used to watch "Sabrina the teenage witch" her bf their on TV series is taller than her coz she is a witch there, a good witch and spoiled by her family.

Their pictures are always strategic coz Sabrina is shorty.... That's Sabrina's bf, Harvey...

The usual thing it is the trend on shorty, spoiled girl or pampered by the family. But life is a case by case...

Me? I have this tomboyish side so, I just need to avoid men who are just the same height as me, coz there is a tendency that I can have a fist-fight with the bf having the same height as me...

But of course, if I'm getting a bf who is taller than me, I want it mutual... I mean the actual real relationship...

But on Miles or dread-locks guy that I saw in Iqor, I know I'm no longer spoiled that's why I'm sharing this feelings for him on my wavemates... At least help or bridge me... I'm not gonna push him to like me as hell but at least make me feel special for a quite some time coz he got my messenger but it was just crazy that he didn't make a follow-up connection on me or it was just a dummy Miles or Dread-locks account of that dread-lock guy that I saw and held hands in canteen and the one I gave a piece of scented cloth to wrap his hair and the one that I saw on elevator hall, the one on the pathway, the one on the high-way and the one in the 7-11...

Forgive my eyes are blurry but they are all fucking cute to me,angels... The soft hands of him at the canteen, the broad shoulder in Lomihan... It was so fucking weird! It was dark on the pathway even on the high way...

I wanted us to hold hand on the pathway but he changed his behaviour but I let him but I was really wondering why... Suddenly he said we're just friends! I was kinda shocked why Miles/ dread-locks guy didn't want to hold my hand... My left hand...

I lost my voice at exactly 2:30 am that day seeing him on the elevator hall and he knew I couldn't speak and coach John knew I had no voice at all... Then, when we went down me,Lexa and Ramil. I told them I'm gonna meet Miles or Dread-locks on the pathway... Then, the 3 of us went together going to the pathway... I had a hard time talking... Then, when we reached the pathway, it was weird my voice was on and off and it became louder... It was spirit of angel...

When we separated that morning, me going home and accidentally saw Cali in the jeep then I we exchanged messenger and I couldn't speak again, no voice on me... Then, I reached the Salitran , I waited there until quarter to 5am, thank God there are people in the jeep coz I couldn't speak at all, I have no voice at all that day starting 2:30 am... The teenager in the jeep helped me to say para or to stop the jeep coz I did a sign language...

It was somehow sad for me... I was serious...

[denimbex1986]

'Christopher Nolan is a filmmaker with a gigantic talent and an even larger mystique. He can be a visionary storyteller — to see that, look no further than “Oppenheimer.” But if you’re a Nolan cultist-believer, the sort of Nolan-is-God devotee who thinks you’re only starting to “get” “The Prestige” when you’ve seen it four times, then his movies, with their spectacular convolutions and plots that loop around themselves, may exist for you in a realm that’s almost beyond story, a kind of rarefied Nolan Land of spellbinding cinematic purity. Me, I’m a Nolan fan who has often found his films to be haunting and hermetic, resplendent and trying at the same time. (Be warned: I think “Inception” makes no sense.) I don’t think Nolan’s films necessarily get better with repeat viewings (though I always go back). I just think you learn more about their minutiae, which would be perfect if they were video games, which is what I sometimes think, deep down, a lot of them want to be. Here’s my ranking of the known Nolan universe.

12. Following (1998)

Just because I’ve placed Nolan’s debut feature last on this list doesn’t mean that I don’t like it. To me, there isn’t a Nolan film — not one — that isn’t totally worth seeing, and his talent, in embryonic form, suffuses every jagged frame of this shoestring, existential, black-and-white London crime noir, which employs a semi-non-chronological storytelling style that’s so casual you don’t even notice it for a while. The actors are superb. Alex Haw, as a posh, high-haired burglar who’s the master of his domain, has so much cutthroat charisma that it’s startling he never went on to screen fame (he’s now a New York architect), and Jeremy Theobald, as the ambulatory voyeur who’s drawn into Haw’s web and becomes his protégé in petty apartment thievery, has such a mercurial presence that, depending on his haircut and beard, he literally seems to shift identities. Lucy Russell, as the femme fatale between them, suggests an indie Marilyn Monroe with her demons exposed. The film is made with captivating skill, but it’s transparently a calling-card exercise, one of those movies where the build-up of mystery is far more satisfying than the resolution of it.

11. Tenet (2020)

It may be the only movie ever made in which it’s hard to follow a fistfight. John David Washington, as an unnamed CIA agent, is facing off against an enemy combatant who is dressed in what looks like riot gear. As they pummel each other, we’re supposed to hone in on the fact that Washington’s character is moving forward in time while his antagonist is moving backward in time. But like so much else in this dazzlingly semi-illogical and cold-eyed poetic action thriller, it all plays out according to the Nolan head-scratching aesthetic: intriguing in theory, abstract and often baffling in execution. The film is reasonably intoxicating for the first 45 minutes, when Washington, exuding a brainy aura of danger, toys with Kenneth Branagh’s icepick-hearted Russian gangster baron by arranging things like a 747 smashing into an airport building that houses an airlocked vault full of priceless paintings. But by the last act of “Tenet,” a grandiose action battle full of explosions that run backward, you can see that the effects are cool, and the idea is cool, but how the logistics all actually fit together remains barely coherent. Which sort of limits the fun.

10. Interstellar (2014)

Nolan’s most spectacular failure — which is to say, it’s a true failure, and also genuinely spectacular. It’s also the weirdest of contradictions: a heart-warming head-scratcher. Matthew McConaughey plays a pilot-turned-farmer who is called upon to lead a mission through a wormhole in the solar system. He’s searching for a new planet so that the residents of Earth, ravaged by dystopian dust storms, might have a future. “Interstellar” is ominously captivating as a sensual parable of The Coming Environmental Apocalypse, yet by the time that McConaughey circles back through the cosmic continuum to reconnect with his grown daughter, now played by Jessica Chastain, it has turned into the world’s most metaphysical father-daughter Hallmark card. Nolan strains to make some sort of reach-for-the-stars “statement” about how love will save us, but the real obsession at the film’s heart is the director’s desire to rekindle the time-tripping majesty of “2001: A Space Odyssey.” The attempt leaves Nolan looking less like Kubrick than M. Night Shyamalan, though there are moments — isolated, but they’re there — when the film’s drive to turn Einsteinian physics into the ultimate poetic light show can sweep you away.

9. The Dark Knight Rises (2012)

The definition of how a movie can be grand and impressive on its own but still, in the end, far from good enough. The key mistake is basic: Nolan forgot — or simply didn’t realize — how much he’d raised the bar with “The Dark Knight,” and with Heath Ledger’s Method maniac performance as the Joker. The supervillain Bane, who made his first appearance in the comics in 1993, was always a derivative character — can you say the Lord Humungus meets Doc Savage? — and while a bulked-up Tom Hardy does his best to breathe a bit of menace into him, an effort enhanced but also hampered by his word-obfuscating voice-box mask, the bottom line is this: Bane is simply no Joker! Nolan needed to up the ante, to shock us with the audacity of villainy. Bane just seems like a bully lost in his bad dreams. And minus that threat of primitive scary excitement, the final adventure of Christian Bale’s Batman, while wholly watchable, gets buried in dour darkness, with Anne Hathaway’s salaciously nasty Catwoman providing the closest the film has to a spark of — dare we say it? — fun.

8. Insomnia (2002)

Nolan’s first foray into big-star, major-budget studio filmmaking seemed, at the time, the most natural — and accomplished — of evolutions. Remaking the acclaimed 1997 Norwegian thriller, a film that featured the up-and-coming Stellan Skarsgård and that anticipated the pitch-black Scandinavian kinkiness of the “Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” novels, Nolan stuck close to the original but also made it his own thing. He coaxes an arrestingly “sleepy” performance out of Al Pacino, cast as an L.A. detective who is called to an Alaskan fishing village to investigate a sex murder, as well as a spooky and restrained one from Robin Williams as the conniving suspect. Yet “Insomnia,” in hindsight, looms as a Nolan anomaly – the only film in his canon that isn’t a true “Christopher Nolan movie” — and it has often been derided for that reason. I personally wish that Nolan had made a few more films like this, but “Insomnia,” while an absorbing procedural, is more calculated than inspired. It’s not, in the end, as good as the original. What it dramatizes now is the stalwart conventional career that Nolan could have had but clearly never wanted.

7. Inception (2010)

So, at last, we arrive: at the moment of truth, the film that separates the believers from the skeptics, and the gallery capsule that will make a lot of you hate me. I’ve seen “Inception” three times, and each time I’ve gawked, mesmerized, at any number of sequences, like the streets of Paris literally folding in on themselves. Yet I persist in feeling that the impact of that moment, along with too many others, has no real meaning within the interior scheme of the movie. I persist in feeling that if “Inception” lived up to its premise — Leonardo DiCaprio’s Dom Cobb and his team enter other people’s dreams, at different “levels” of dreaming — it might be one of the greatest films ever made, but that it doesn’t live up to the premise (not really), because what we’re watching fuses the hypnotic and the arbitrary, leaving me, at least, with a WTF-I-kind-of-get-it-but-not-really feeling. A few of the questions I’ve always had: How does what’s happening in one dream level influence the next? Since different people are occupying the same dream, which of them is determining, at any given moment, what happens? And why does everything, on every level, look like it all came out of the same lofty balletic action movie? Yet to even raise those questions is to reveal yourself as one of the uncool, the un-anointed, the un-Nolan. “Inception,” the defining 21st-century brainiac video-game thrill ride, demands that you give it up and go with its flow, but I’d say that anyone who thinks this movie adds up to a coherent vision is dreaming.

6. Batman Begins (2005)

The film that launched the latter-day Nolan aesthetic: stylized yet grounded, gritty yet operatic in its imagery, alive with a menace that emerges from within and without. In one of the most elegant and dramatic of all superhero movies, Nolan tells the origin story of Batman, a.k.a. Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale), who after watching his parents get murdered moves from a Bhutan prison camp to being trained in the League of Shadows under the tutelage of a Zen-badass Liam Neeson to launching his own identity as an urban vigilante with a heart of darkness. Nolan doesn’t rewrite the comic-book playbook, yet the movie is charged with his filmmaking joy. After 15 years of mediocre “Batman” movies, “Batman Begins” came along at just the right moment to raise the bar not only for the Caped Crusader but for the entire superhero genre — i.e., Hollywood cinema as we now know it.

5. The Prestige (2006)

This was the first time that Nolan just about tied a mainstream movie in knots with its own convolutions, and he had such a good time doing it that he gave the audience a buzz. The movie is a Victorian-era thriller about two rival magicians, one (Hugh Jackman) an airy showman, the other (Christian Bale) a brooding high priest of illusion, who keep trying to top each other’s secrets in a magical fake-off to the death. There’s nothing genteel about the magic in this movie, which plays off violence, electricity, and the hidden art of tearing holes in reality, and Nolan reveals just enough trickery to make the flimflam that stays hidden seem all the more tantalizing in its mischief. “The Prestige” has the heart of a thriller — it wants to leave you wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and does — but the reason some think it’s Nolan’s finest film is that it’s structured like the ultimate magic show: a series of illusions that interlock like nesting dolls, so that you have to keep going back to see where reality leaves off and sleight-of-hand begins.

4. Dunkirk (2017)

It’s truly an epic vision — at times nearly an abstraction of war, like a graphic silent film with (awesome) sound. The vast, panoramic frames lend an immersive quality to almost every image and event: dive-bombing planes, British soldiers amassed in endless rows on the beaches of France, men scrambling out of boats like rats as they try not to drown, a civilian in a wooden yacht heading into the fray to save a handful of his countrymen, a fighter pilot shooting Luftwaffe bombers out of the sky. The effect is surely Nolanesque, though this is a new kind of Nolan picture: gargantuan and minimal at the same time, like a nearly wordless documentary shot by God in IMAX. The images are momentous, the flow of terrified humanity indelible, yet “Dunkirk,” powerful as it often is, is more of a transporting experiment than a masterpiece. It’s a little too depersonalized, and for a film that seeks to plunge us into the cataclysm of war, it is, to a nearly shocking degree, a stiff-upper-lip rouser, with Edward Elgar on the soundtrack and the film practically pinning medals on the brave hearts of its heroes. In “Dunkirk,” very few people die, and when it happens, the film is too restrained to let you taste the sting of death the way that “Saving Private Ryan” or “Full Metal Jacket” did. What Nolan, for all his virtuosity, offers is an English gentleman’s view of World War II.

3. Oppenheimer (2023)

The story of J. Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb, becomes a riveting three-hour psychodrama that’s breathtaking in its historical authenticity. Yet it remains every inch a Nolan film. You feel that in the heady, dense, dizzying way he slices and dices chronology, turning Oppenheimer’s life into an act of cinematic fission. Cillian Murphy, in a phenomenal performance, plays “Oppie” as an elegant mandarin who’s also a bit snakelike — at once a cold prodigy and an ardent humanist, an aristocrat and a womanizer, and a man who oversees the invention of nuclear weapons without a shred of doubt or compunction, only to confront the world he created from behind a defensive shield of guilt that’s a lot less self-aware. “Oppenheimer” has a mesmerizing first half, and the buildup to the creation of the first atomic bomb just about ticks with cosmic suspense. But the big bang itself, as the bomb is 1tested in the wee hours of that fateful day code-named Trinity, is something of a letdown (the terrifying awesome bigness of it all does not come across). And once the movie shoots past that nuclear climax, a certain humming intensity leaks out of it. Nevertheless, the film’s colliding narrative gives off enough heat and light to sear itself into your imagination.

2. Memento (2000)

Still the quintessential Nolan film: a head trip that seems to be taking place inside the main character’s head, if only because he’s working so hard to keep anything stored there. Guy Pearce, in a performance that’s like one long spasm of grungy noir intensity, is Leonard, an insurance investigator who suffers from anterograde amnesia, which makes it impossible for him to remember recent events. So he provides clues for himself: recording his experiences on Polaroids, tattooing key life events onto his body. He’s trying to track down the man who raped and killed his wife, and the way that Nolan has structured “Memento,” in something like reverse order, Leonard is running toward his past and away from it at the same time. The movie itself lives — tingles — on the knife edge of the present tense. It’s the cinema’s ultimate existential thriller, and it might all be a little too Rubik’s Cube crazy if it weren’t a human drama of such depraved fervor.

1. The Dark Knight (2008)

It’s more than just the greatest comic-book movie ever made. In the second installment of his “Batman” trilogy, Nolan transcended the genre — he made a movie whose spirit was rooted in the mesmerizing crime cinema of the ’70s, a time when corruption was so pervasive that it came to seem a perverse kind of shadow morality. And so it is here. The Joker, played by Heath Ledger as a slavering psycho high on his own freakishness, is a force of chaos who wants to turn the world upside down… because he can! He’s like every other villain with the practical motive stripped away, and that blows the stakes of the movie sky-high. For once, a superhero in a cape and a mask — Christian Bale’s furtively sinister Batman — matters in the way that Hollywood’s antiheroes used to matter: truly, madly, fiercely. The movie is a violent, tangled conspiracy thriller about a semi-nutjob outlaw-saint who is out to save the world — our world — and discovers that he may need to sacrifice his honor to do it. Though it’s getting hard to remember, “The Dark Knight,” when it came out, wasn’t just a mega-smash. It was huge like “Jaws” and “Titanic” and the “Godfather” films: It defined, and owned, a moment and mood in the culture. As moviegoers, we haven’t dared to look into the mirror of our corruption in the same way since.'

[blueicequeen19]

Sharing Is Caring Pt. 2

Previous

After my night with the two Pogues, I was hooked. And so were they. Especially JJ. Jealousy and possessiveness radiated off his body every time another male got me a drink or made me smile. I knew I was in for it when a Kook gave me a swat on the ass. JJ marched over and shoved the Kook so hard he fell into the pool. I gasped but JJ only threw me over his shoulder and carried me to the first room with a door he could find.

"JJ Maybank, I swear if you don't put me down right now!" I snapped and then I was on my feet. I stared up into his angry teal blue eyes until I was being pushed against the wall by my throat. I gasped. The playful, grinning JJ was long gone.

"You let some Kook touch what's mine." JJ growled, his hand slid up my throat and his thumb grazed over my bottom lip.

"JJ, I'm sorry." I pleaded. I tried to wrap my arms around his waist but he shoved my hands away.

"You're not sorry, not yet." JJ fumbled with the zipper on his shorts and freed his leaking, hard cock. He was so hard the tip was red and as angry as he was. "Show me how sorry you are, slut." JJ growled and I immediately dropped to my knees, wanting to please him.

I flicked my tongue over the tip, tasting his precum and he hissed as fisting my hair. I ran my tongue up his length then twirled my tongue over the tip, gently sucking. His hips automatically bucked and I grinned, looking up at him through my lashes.

"Keep teasing and see what happens." JJ warned, tightening his hold in my hair. I felt his rings against my scalp. I hallowed my cheeks and sucked him down hard. JJ groaned loudly as I took him to the back of my throat. I gagged but I kept going. Gripping both side of my head, he began to fuck my face. I gagged but he loved it as tears ran down my cheeks. Suddenly the door opened and I tried to yank free but he didn't let me.

"You started without me, man?" John B swatted his best friends back then looked down at me. "How is she taking her punishment?" John B asked, meeting my eyes with amusement.

"I don't think she's getting the hint yet." JJ forces me down to the hilt and I gag, drool running down my chin. John B frees himself and I wrap my hand around him, stroking him.

"Get me wet." John B demands. I free my mouth of JJ while continuing to jerk him with my free hand and take John B down my throat. I stroke them both as I take turns licking and sucking their tips, both groaning each time. They each take turns fucking my throat while my mascara and drool run down my face.

"Have you learned your lesson?" John B asks, stroking my cheek.

"I don't think she has." JJ answers, pulling free of my mouth then letting his shorts hit the floor. John B does the same as JJ pulls me to my feet and smashes his lips to mine, dominating my mouth with his tongue.

"Punish me." I murmur against JJ's lips. He laughs and shoves me into John B's arms. John B kisses me gentler than JJ as he wounds his fingers in my hair.

"I want her ass." John B breaks free of my lips and turns me to face JJ again. JJ drops to his knees and buries his face in my pussy. I cry out as two fingers slip into me, pumping me so hard I could cum on the spot. I tangle my hands in his hair as I moan, John B pinching my nipples.

"Open." John B says into my ear and my jaw drops. Two fingers enter my mouth and I suck on them until he's satisfied. His fingers slide between my cheeks and probe my ass while JJ continues to feast on me.

"Boys." I gasp, yanking on JJ's hair and he groans, the vibrations racking my body. John B slowly pushes a finger into my ass and I lift up on my toes, my body tingling.

"Oh, god!" I cry as their fingers work me. I feel my arousal running down my thighs.

"Don't let her cum." JJ orders, and I feel John B's teeth graze my ass cheek.

"Uh-oh, someone really pissed him off." John B taunts me. I'm a quivering mess as their fingers slow down to a torturous pace, keeping me right on the ledge but not enough to go over. JJ blows on my clits and I feel tears in my eyes.

"Please, let me cum. Please! I promise I'll be good for you both!" I cry, one hand in JJ's hair and the other in John B's.

"I want you to cum with us." JJ licks a final stripe over my swollen clit then they both yank free of me. I stumble as I try to catch my breath, furious from being denied.

"Stop teasing me." I try to sound angry but it comes out as a pathetic whine. JJ's features darken as he tosses his shirt to the floor with the rest of his clothes.

"It's not fun being toyed with, is it?" JJ taunts me, pinching my nipples and I slap his hands away.

"I'll finish myself. I don't need you. Either of you." I lie and JJ throws his head back with laughter. John B shoves me towards JJ and he scoops me up, quickly impaling me on his aching cock. I moan loudly as my fingernails dig into JJ's skin.

"Fuckkkkkkkk." I pant and JJ's hands on my ass helps me bounce on his cock.

"Lube?" JJ looks over to John B over my shoulder.

"Got it." John B runs his hand down my back and I feel the cool gel slide between my cheeks. Then he's pushing inside me slowly. My eyes roll back as he sinks in, inch by inch into my ass.

"Goddamn, that's tight." John B growls, his hands replaces JJ's on my ass and JJ moves his to under my thighs. JJ slides out as John B slides the rest of the way in.

"I told you." JJ smirks, kissing along my neck and up my cheek.

"Please." I whimper as John B starts to move slowly.

"Please, what, Peach?" JJ asks innocently, nipping at my skin. My head falls back and rests on John B's shoulder.

"Answer him if you want yours." John B nips at my earlobe.

"Please fuck me. Punish me. Use me." JJ's lips trail up my throat and I shudder as he starts to move inside my pussy.

"You asked for it, Peach." JJ sucks a harsh hickey on my throat and they both start thrusting into me. I'm so full and stretched. I love the feeling of them both claiming me as theirs and being full from them.

"Yes, yes." I sob as my release rushes forward so easily after being denied.

"Do you want to cum, baby?" John B nips at my shoulder as they thrust into me while helping me bounce. I wrap one arm around JJ's neck and the other around John B's, quickly taking turns between kissing their panting mouths. A hand finds my nipple and another finds my clit.

"Cum now or you won't at all." JJ demands and I throw my head back with a cry as I cum so hard I swear I black out. Tingles erupt all over my body and my toes curl. Two more groans follow and I feel them release inside me.

"Shit." John B breathes, pulling away first as they let me down onto my feet. I feel the drops of sweat rolling down my back as they start to get dressed.

"Until next time, boys."

Tag list: @lovedetlost @hoebx @strokesofstokes @alizabethcs @carnisidi @famousdestinygarden @i-always-come-back-xoxo @pankowforlife @my-baexht-ls @onmykneesforrafe @slutforsmutsstuff @bethoconnor @hellosexxxysalvatore @mrsjakeseresin @belcalis9503 @maybanks-luver @i-always-come-back-xoxo @drewbooooo Let me know if I missed anyone! 💕

[hoewkeye]

a common mistake.

Pairing || John Murphy x fem!Reader, Bellamy Blake x fem!Reader if you squint

Summary || Reader can’t stand murphy, but a few mistakes led her to end up in his tent. Later on, she has to deal with the consequences, realizing she made a lot more mistakes than she previously thought.

Warnings || NSFW, mentions of rough sex, oral sex, humiliation kink, choking - sex choke and death choke, angsty, non-graphic suicide.

Word count || 3,346

Notes || I started writing this when I first started watching “The 100” and got completely obsessed with the characters, especially Murphy. Psycho boys are just my kind of deal. It was supposed to be smutty kinky-ass kind of shit but it turned into something more angsty and some kind of rewrite which was pretty fun. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Maybe there’ll be more parts…?

————

Murphy was bitter, but tasted so sweet in your mouth.

He was bad news, the kind of person most people run away from. And yet there you were, kneeling before him, praising him like a god. And just four days have passed since you first met, four days since you’ve started to despise him.

John Murphy was kind of psychotic, indeed, but after a heated conversation, fulfilled with hatred, his mouth was on yours. And that was the first mistake made.

“I just want you to shut up!”, is what you screamed before he grabbed your face and smashed your lips together. And it felt way more good than it should’ve. That was the second mistake.

You blushed, he smirked and walked away, still trying to control the little shake of his hands- out of anger or desire, he couldn’t tell.

The third mistake happened the next morning, while working on the camp; your eyes looked for him, and you stared. The realization of how charming he was hit you like a punch, and the fourth mistake came right after: two can play this game, you thought.

The fifth mistake, you reached out for him.

The sixth, you provoked him.

The seventh, eighth, and ninth were made in his tent.

And the tenth mistake, the worst of them all, is that you came back. More than once.

And there you were, once again, taking him in your mouth as he grabbed your hair, pulling and pushing it without thinking twice about hurting you. He didn’t care, and that was the main reason you came back; he fucked you rough like no one else ever did before. His anger, his despise and cockiness were still there while fucking your mouth, making you gag on his dick.

And you absolutely loved the feeling. Because your anger and despise were still there as well, and the idea of having such control over him, the man you hated, as he had on you- was out of this world. Because he was, indeed, at your mercy; groaning, sweating, demanding and, deep down, pleading.

You had Murphy in despair. Trying to bury himself so deep inside you, miserably trying to keep you close, closer. Always closer. Always grabbing, always pulling. Never was enough, and this feeling created frustration. And with the frustration, he would take himself out of your mouth and fuck you out of your senses.

Sometimes literally. He would be so focused, thrusting angrily, grabbing your waist or throat with all the strength he had left, kissing you roughly, biting, sucking, marking. You’d cum three, four times before he could; and he would cum on your breasts, face, wherever made him satisfied; because humiliating you was a pleasure for him. And being humiliated by him was a pleasure for you.

Tenth mistakes brought you here, but you couldn’t care less as you dressed yourself up to go back to your tent. Now you’d have a nice night of sleep, a thing you did never have after growing up.

————

Two days later, you realized the number of mistakes you made was above the ten you initially thought.

“Come on, this is ridiculous. I don’t have to answer to you, I don’t have to answer to anyone!” you heard Murphy’s voice amongst some chattering as you approached, confused, seeing him and Clarke arguing.

“What happened?”, you asked no one in particular, not really worried since Murphy was always getting into fights with, well, everyone in camp.

“Murphy killed Wells”, a girl by your side whispered, clearly amused by what was happening.

Your body froze as you looked up to Murphy, searching for something in his face that would tell you he didn’t. You didn’t know what had happened and certainly it was all a misunderstanding but, again, it was Murphy they were talking about. And you wouldn’t doubt for a second Murphy would kill someone given the right reasons.

You sighed anxiously as you realized you really cared. And you got scared about what they would do to him if it was true.

You watched silently as the dark haired boy approached Bellamy, seemingly worried “Bellamy. Look, I’m telling you, man- I didn’t do this.” And you wanted to believe him, you really wanted to, but you couldn’t take sides without knowing anything.

“They found his fingers on the ground with your knife.”

That damn knife. Murphy loved that thing — and you knew that for sure. How could he deny now?

John went quiet. How could he defend himself? Everyone remembered all the times he threatened Wells and how much he hated him. The Hundred knew that Murphy was a menace, everyone was careful around him, everyone was scared of him, but now you knew he was the one in danger.

“Is this the kind of society that we want?”, Clarke blurted for everyone to hear. “You say there should be no rules. Does that mean we can kill each other without punishment?”

“I already told you, I didn’t kill anyone!” Murphy insisted, stepping forward to try and convince Clarke. Your beliefs got split in two, because, yeah, Murphy could easily kill someone, but you felt honesty in his voice.

Could he be honest?

“I say we float him!”, someone in the crowd screamed, followed by a bunch of “Yeah!”

“What? No!”, you finally spoke, wary, but your voice was muffled by everyone else’s.

Murphy stopped on his feet and, for the first time since you’ve met him, you watched as his face twisted in fear. Your heart missed a beat and you tried to make your way through the people; after all, you knew how quickly things would escalate. The Hundred were a bunch of teenagers filled with hatred and they were dying to get it out by hurting someone.

Clarke looked scared too, “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Why not? He deserves to float. It’s justice”, someone said.

“Revenge isn’t justice!”

“It is justice. Float him!”

And everyone started to chant, “Float him! Float him! Float him!”

As you finally made your way to the middle, Murphy glared at you for a few seconds and then tried to run, just to be punched in the stomach and fall on the dirt, where everyone soon started to kick him and hit him. You were really close to him but all the people around the boy, punching him and spitting in his face, didn’t let you get closer. Most of them were men, enjoying themselves as they made John Murphy bleed.

“No! No!”, you yelled, anxious, trying to push everyone away from him. “Get off him!”, you pleaded, but nobody was listening.

“Get off me!” you heard him screaming between punches. “I told you, I didn’t do anything!” And he kept repeating those words over and over again, which made you fall apart inside. You believed him and it felt like those punches were affecting you directly, grabbing your throat and making you run out of air.

Stop hurting him. Please.

“Get off him!”, some of them grabbed him in the air and started walking towards the forest. You followed, worried sick, trying to get in their way to do something, anything to stop them from what you knew would end up in a death.

What happened next was terrifying; you watched, horrified, as they put a rope around Murphy’s neck and started some kind of gallows. You ran towards Bellamy, who was the only one that could help by making them hear, grabbed his arm and cried out: “Do something. Stop this, Bellamy! Please.”

His eyes studied your face, apologetic, but he never got to answer because someone in the crowd suggested: “Bellamy, you should do this!” and everyone screamed in approval, chanting his name. Your eyes looked for Clarke, internally pleading for her to do something.

“I saw you in the woods with Atom. I know you’re not a killer”, she protested, trying to put some sense in Bellamy’s head.

“Bellamy, don’t do this. Don’t do this”, you pleaded, but he wasn’t even looking at you nor Clarke anymore. He was listening to the people. “Bellamy, please…”

“I didn’t do this. Listen to me”, you heard Murphy’s muffled voice and turned around to look at him right before Bellamy hung him. The air escaped your lungs as you felt like screaming again, quickly trying to approach the tree to cut the rope.

Bellamy pulled you back, grabbing your arm firmly and making you stay put. “What the hell are you doing? Cut him down!”, you yelled, trying to push him away from you. “Let me go! Let me go!” you squeaked, but he didn’t move. You heard Murphy wheezing painfully, which made your blood boil.

“Get the hell outta my way! Cut him down!” you overheard Finn’s voice somewhere, but soon you couldn’t hear a thing because everyone was screaming and laughing or asking to cut the rope.

Suddenly, a child’s voice spoke, “Just stop, okay?” It was Charlotte, and some people paid attention, “Murphy didn’t kill Wells! I did!”

“Oh, my God”, you shoved Bellamy off, grabbing an axe and speeding to cut the rope, making Murphy fall. You dropped on your knees by his side, helping him by taking the rope off his neck. “Hey, hey! Breathe. You’re fine. You’re fine.” He took his hands to his neck, eyes widened, afraid, and kept trying to breathe. “You’re okay.”

————

“Bring out the girl, Bellamy!”

After Murphy calmed down and was relatively good, he started some kind of revolution against Charlotte. Bellamy, Clarke and Finn entered a tent with the girl and stayed inside for almost thirty minutes, which was pissing Murphy off.

“Come on, Murphy…”

“Bring the girl out now!”, he interrupted you and you sighed in frustration, walking towards him.

“Murphy!”, you called but he didn’t even look at you. “John, please, listen to me”, he finally did. His eyes scanned your face, trying to understand if you were by his side or not. “She’s just a kid, you can’t just kill her—”

Of course you weren’t, he thought.

“I’m gonna stop you right there, princess”, he growled, jaw clenched. “I do not care how young that bitch is, she almost got me killed for nothing and I will kill her”, and then turned back to the tent, screaming to Clarke. “You wanna build a society, Clarke? Let’s build a society. Bring her out!”

Bellamy left the tent apprehensively and Murphy stepped out to talk to him, you stayed by Octavia’s side and couldn’t hear a thing. Your hands were cold, your lips trembling and the rest of your body felt numb. A thousand thoughts and feelings were running through your mind and body but you couldn’t put any of them in place. All you knew was that the whole situation wouldn’t end well, and you were afraid.

Everytime you blinked you saw Murphy again, hanging on that tree, gasping for air, scared to death, pleading and repeating that he did nothing. Your heart was still aching for that.

But now… now he wanted to kill a child. And everything felt off, wrong. How could you ever worry about him?

“So who here wants to see the real murderer hung up? All in favor?”, he blurted back to the crowd, out of the blue. You glared at the people behind you, getting frightened when you saw some of the people raising their hands. Fortunately, there weren’t many. “I see… so it’s okay to string me up for nothing but when this little bitch confesses, you wanna let her walk?” Silence followed. “Cowards! All of you—”

“Hey, Murphy. Murphy”, Bellamy insisted. “It’s over.”

One more time, Murphy looked at the crowd. His eyes tracked you down and he shook his head slightly, almost as if he was disappointed with you. For what?, you thought, For not wanting a little girl to die?

“Whatever you say, boss”, he said at last. You sighed in relief and were about to get out of there when Bellamy turned his back and John simply hit his head, knocking him off.

“You son of a bitch!”, Octavia tried to jump on him but Jasper held her back.

You stepped forward, pushing Murphy angrily, “You asshole!”

John looked down at you coldly, and then proceeded to ignore you once again: “Come on, everyone, let’s get the girl.”

Him and his army left you there amongst other people and you kneeled by Bellamy’s side, checking if he was okay. Jasper and Octavia were soon with you, waiting for him to wake up.

————

“Bellamy, stop!”

After Bellamy woke up, you asked to help him look for Charlotte with him, which he accepted. At some point, after several minutes of uncomfortable silence, you both decided it was better if you split up and so you did. Then, when you heard Clarke’s scream, you sprinted towards the sound where you found Bellamy and Charlotte by the border of a cliff, Murphy and his gang right in front of them and Clarke and Finn not so far.

“Wait! This has gone too far”, you tried to reason, walking towards Murphy. “Just calm down. Let’s talk about this”, you asked, wanting to make him listen. You felt like if he wouldn’t listen to you, he wouldn’t listen to anybody else.

Silly you.

“Come here”, he blurted, pulling you by your arm and putting his knife on your throat while holding you still. Your legs trembled as your heart sunk in your chest, a fight against your own tears starting to grow inside you. “I am sick of listening to you talk.”

“Let her go”, Bellamy demanded and Clarke tried to approach.

Murphy pressed the knife against your skin in response, “Back off! I will slit her throat.”

How could he?, you thought to yourself.

I couldn’t, he thought right after saying the words.

I am a dead weight for him, and then all you wanted to do was cry. By realizing your mistakes, by realizing you had fallen for him, by realizing that you cared. You wanted to cry because a child was being threatened, you wanted to cry because she killed Wells, you wanted to cry because Murphy almost died.

And you wanted to cry because he didn’t care about you to the point he would slit your throat.

“No, please. Please, don’t hurt her”, Charlotte cried, her shoulders hunched and her eyes watery. The kid was completely freaked out and you hated Murphy for that.

“Don’t hurt her?”, John pretended to think about it. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. You come with me now, I will let her go.”

“Don’t do it, Charlotte”, you protested. Murphy pressed the knife again.

“No, I have to!” tears kept running down Charlotte’s face and she sobbed sorrowfully. “I can’t let any of you get hurt anymore. Not because of me. Not after what I did”, and then she stepped out off the cliff.

Murphy’s hands on your body loosened but you couldn’t move. A chill ran down your spine and you felt like you couldn’t stand anymore, falling to the ground while hearing Bellamy’s and Clarke’s screams. Your feelings went numb, almost as if you were drunk, and everything became a blur.

A child. Dead.

Suicide.

“Bellamy, stop! You’ll kill him!”, you heard Clarke and you knew Bellamy was beating the hell out of Murphy, but you couldn’t even process it. Everything happened so fast and you felt like zooming in and out.

Only when Bellamy said, “Get off me! He deserves to die”, you came back, standing up and helping Finn to take him off Murphy.

“No!”, you said, harder than you ever did in your life. “No! No one else will die today. We don’t decide who lives and dies. Not down here.”

Clarke agreed, “If we’re gonna survive down here we can’t just live by whatever the hell we want. We need rules.”

“And who makes those rules, huh? You?”, Bellamy mocked the blonde. You looked at Murphy, your heart breaking once again as you saw him lying there, his face red with blood and his neck still bruised.

He was scared, you finally realized, Murphy was scared. He wouldn’t hurt me, he wouldn’t hurt…

You cared so much, but everything was wrong. Everything.

“For now, we make the rules. Okay?” you heard Clarke’s voice, not knowing if that involved you, probably not, but you couldn’t care less. Your mind was already somewhere else.

“So what, then? We just take him back and pretend like it never happened?”

“No. We banish him.”

You wished you could do something. Tell them not to do that, promise them you could fix things. You wished Wells wasn’t dead, you wished that Murphy’s knife was never found, that Clarke had never accused him or that the Hundred had never hung him. You wished for a lot of things, but there was nothing you could do. It is only fair.

You understood John Murphy, you understood his reasons, his anger, his fear. But a child had died, and that was a mistake nobody in camp would forgive. Bellamy wouldn’t, Clarke wouldn’t.

You? You would. You would forgive him because you understood Murphy would never kill that child, you would forgive him because you knew that he acted out of fear and anger after being hung for nothing. You would forgive him because you knew Murphy was a big bad wolf, but he still wasn’t a killer.

Still.

What can he become out there?

A dead man walking, surrounded by grounders.

“As for the four of you, you can come back and follow me or go off with him to die. Your choice”, Bellamy said to Murphy’s gang. All of them agreed and walked back to camp, one by one, leaving Murphy alone, beaten and broken.

Bellamy was the last one to leave, looking back at you when you didn’t move a muscle, “What are you doing?”

“I’ll catch you up”, you mumbled and he nodded before disappearing into the dark.

“What do you want?”, Murphy’s voice resonated as you were left alone. “If you’re looking for an apology, you might as well just go. I did what I had to do to defend myself.”

“You were not going to hurt me”, you stated, even though your legs were still trembling, trying to process everything that happened. “And just so you know, Murphy… I don’t hate you. At all. At some point, when we first met, I did. At some point today, I did”, he looked confused about your words. “But now… I don’t. I understand why you did what you did, even though I don’t agree with it.”

“Cut the bullshit, princess. What do you want? I don’t wanna hear how you fucking feel about me and my actions. Hate me, love me, whatever, I don’t care. Stop wasting your time trying to get my sympathy, you won’t get it”, his words cut like knives. You took a deep breath, trying to not get affected, and kneeled in front of him — who was kneeled as well — so your faces could be close.

“I care about you, Murphy.”

“You didn’t let them hang me, love, but you sent me to death anyways. How is this caring?”

“Things would never work out in camp.”

“Fine. Then leave.”

Your cold hands touched his face and he shrinked, hissing under his breath in pain, and his eyes flickered, fighting against himself not to close them by your soft caress. You then touched his hair and tilted your head a little so you could kiss his forehead.

“May we meet again, Murphy.”

And then you left with your heart breaking into a million pieces inside your chest. You left wishing you could’ve gone with him. You left knowing he would die, and that was a pain you couldn’t put in place.

Bellamy was waiting for you not so far from where Murphy was and you passed by him quietly. Of course, his curiosity got the best of him, “What was that about?”

“I made a few mistakes.”

[twinferns]

ep 4 of tfatws was a rollercoaster

i am experiencing so many emotions and i bet that you are too so let's talk about it

consider this your spoiler warning

- jesus christ marvel really wasn't pulling any punches with the opening scene with ayo and bucky god damn

- the emotional damage those flashbacks gave me is ridiculous. and bucky's face when ayo send he was free? his crying? i am unwell. i am so unwell. sebastian stan is really acting his ass off

- "there's nothing to litigate you straight shot the man" i love sam and his straightforwardness

- "the avengers not the nazis" thanks for the clarification buck!! - all im saying is zemo is walking on thin thin ice with that his "super soldiers are crazy" talk

- during the whole scene with zemo giving the kids turkish delights, i could only think about edmund pevensie and how he would eat that up

- OH MY GOD BUCKY THROWING THE GLASS AND THE LEVERAGE IM SCREAMING HE'S SO HOT

- "that stupid head tilt thing" i love sam so much

- oh you know sharon just casually has access to a couple of satellites she's so powerful

- grandfather lukasz has some questionable advice?? no you should not always do something if youre scared?? that doesnt mean it's a good thing??

- get john walker's ugly ass face off my screen

- can walker stfu and listen to sam who literally works with traumatized soldiers

- this whole scene just cements the fact that sam is the rightful captain america. the way he's talking to karli is so respectful and understanding while also trying to talk sense into her i love him so much

- can bucky please knock walker out with his arm, just a quick bap bap and problem solved

- I LITERALLY SCREAMED AT MY TV WHEN HE BARGED IN AND SCARED KARLI

- zemo you headass stop shooting karli so help me but i do agree with the smashing of the serum

- john walker is literally unraveling in front of our eyes he looks rabid also wyatt russel is really do a phenomenal job

- the way sam said no to the serum so quickly really just makes me adore him more and want him to be the new cap more

- sam real hit zemo with a vibe check with the "isnt that how gods talk" line

- bucky in short sleeves is something very personal to me

- GOD DAMN I LOVE THE DORA MILAJE, AYO BEAT WALKER UP LIKE WE ALL WANTED TO

- the look of absolute betrayal and hurt on bucky's face when ayo detached his arm

- i love bucky and sam just watching like "looking strong john!!" i love him

- karli youre cool but dont you dare threaten sarah ever again

- ofc bucky insists on coming with sam this bitch has attachement issues

- WALKER TOOK THE GOD DAMN SERUM

- "stay there" lmao ily bucky

- they did a shoddy job of kidnapping lamar bc he clearly has a knife on him like shouldnt they have searched him for that??

- sam using his wings in fights is so incredibly cool

- watching bucky fight is the most satisfying thing ever

- THE WAY HE CAUGHT THAT KNIFE IM SCREAMING

- "your welcome" HLUGKYJFT

- rip lamar the shit's ab to hit the fan

- oh so john walker is insane? he just fucking murdered the guy with the shield im fuming but at the same time the scene gave me chills in the worst possible way

- im thinking ab how the guy who died said he looked up to captain america as a kid then the final shot was from his perspective looking up at captain america

- im also thinking ab how steve used that same shield slamming move on tony during civil war but just destroyed the suit and didnt kill tony whereas walker's using it to kill

- steve's "i dont like bullies, i dont care where theyre from" line is just repeating in my head and making me sad

- the final shot was so chilling and iconic in a horrifying way

- everyone filming better post those videos

im extremely sad that we only have two episodes left, but im excited to see the downfall of john walker bc that's inevitable. anyways ill be back next week, im proud of posting this on time.

[mst3kproject]

Caltiki, the Immortal Monster

We've talked about how there are an awful lot of fishman movies.  There are way too many Bigfoot movies.  There are even a surprising number of movies about monsters named Paul, but one thing I swear I never thought would be in two different movies is growing space blobs in the Mexican jungle.  Yet here we, are following up The Flame Barrier with Caltiki, the Immortal Monster. The cast includes Gérard Herter from Secret Agent Super Dragon and Daniele Vargas from Hercules Unchained. Mario Bava insists he didn't direct this but Riccardo Freda says he did, while most film websites blame both of them.

Long, long ago, the Maya were doing math and building pyramids in Mexico when a sudden unknown cataclysm forced them to abandon their cities. In the present (or at least the 60s), a group of scientists have come to the ruins to see if they can solve this mystery.  Two of them venture into a cave, and only one returns, raving about Caltiki, a Mayan goddess.  The rest of the party set out to find out what happened and perhaps rescue the other man, but instead discover a huge carnivorous blob monster!  Most of this beast is destroyed by crashing a gasoline truck into it, but they take a sample back to Mexico City with them for analysis.  Because that's a great idea that won't bite them in the ass at all.

The opening titles of this movie tell us that it is 'based on an ancient Mexican legend'.  I don't know anything about Mexican folklore but I did look through the List of Mayan Gods and Supernatural Beings page on Wikipedia and there are no names there that you can remotely bend into 'Caltiki'.  I'm going to assume this movie has about as much to do with ancient Mexican legends as Village of the Giants has to do with H. G. Wells' Food of the Gods. The same credits also tell us that the dancer we see ripping her own clothes off in some 'native ceremony' was a woman named Gay Pearl. The early 60's was around when the word 'gay' stopped being used to mean anything other than 'homosexual', so I suspect she changed it shortly thereafter.

Although the basic premise of a growing space blob in the jungles of Mexico is strongly reminiscent of The Flame Barrier, in several ways Caltiki, the Immortal Monster takes an opposite approach to telling the story.  One of the things that made The Flame Barrier kind of annoying was how it puttered around in the jungle with character-driven stuff for ages before it even introduced the monster.  Caltiki goes almost entirely in the other direction.  The first thing we see is the aftermath of a monster attack, with the dying archaeologist staggering back to camp.  In the minutes that follow, we watch the rest of the expedition puzzle over what happened to their colleagues, but we have almost no idea of who they are.  Most of the character development has to wait until they get back to Mexico City.

Unfortunately, the characters are really not very interesting people.  Our supposed hero is the dishwater-dull Dr. John Fielding, who is one of those movie science guys whose significant other whines because he would rather look down a microscope than gaze into her eyes.  Fielding promises his wife Ellen that he'll pay more attention to her, and I guess he does because next time we see him he appears to be happy with her and their little daughter, but if I were to call the issue 'minimally addressed' I would be giving it way too much credit.  The other subplot in the movie is about a mixed-race woman named Linda (repeatedly described as a 'half-breed') and her relationship with one of the archaeologists, Max.  Max was a dick to begin with, and when he goes mad with pain after being attacked by the blob monster he only gets worse.  He never seems very interesting or threatening, and since the audience knows there's a blob monster coming, we feel our time is being wasted.  Linda, as the only major character who isn't white, is killed when Max decides she is no longer useful to him.

Another place where Caltiki does exactly what The Flame Barrier didn't, but with far better results, is with the monster itself.  In The Flame Barrier the space blob was immobile and basically just looked like somebody spilled a truckload of petroleum jelly.  The blob of Caltiki, however, truly is the coolest thing in the movie.  It's a pulsating, leathery mass that reproduces by stickily dividing in two, and dissolves people's flesh to leave only their skeletons.  There were worse monsters on Star Trek: the Next Generation nearly thirty years later.  Not only that, but the blobs are active, able to roll around and grow to engulf screaming victims, with a satisfying sense of weight and volume to their movements.  There are also some pretty good gore effects, my favourite of which is a guy who's still breathing despite having had his face dissolved.

The Flame Barrier kept its blob in the distant jungle, where the only people it was menacing were three explorers and a chimp.  We were told about the threat of its exponential growth, but that was fairly abstract.  In Caltiki we still don't get the city-smashing rampage depicted in one of the posters, but just knowing that the city is there and having Fielding's wife and daughter around to be chased by swarms of blobs makes the threat feel far more concrete.

So this movie gets right a lot of things the other Mexican Space Blob movie got wrong, but I wouldn't be reviewing it if it wasn't still a bad movie.  The dull characters and the refusal to deal with their arcs is one big problem.  Another is the poor picture quality.  The lighting is mostly good enough that you can tell where people are and what they're doing, but the film stock itself is not very good, which makes for a loss of detail.  In some of the wide shots you can't tell who's supposed to be talking because it's impossible to see whose mouths are moving.  In another, Fielding consults a book that appears to consist entirely of blank pages.

The dubbing is also not great.  Fielding and his wife have very bland voices, which is a big contributor to them seeming like very bland characters.  The guy voicing Max gnaws on the scenery, sounding like a villain from an old Disney movie.  Fielding's daughter Jenny has the voice of an adult woman trying to talk like a child, and it sounds even worse than the same thing did in Manos: the Hands of Fate.

The script is pretty ham-fisted at times, particularly in the character scenes that tell us things far more often than they show us.  Much of this is the fault of whoever wrote the English dialogue, but there's also the series of ridiculous plot devices that prevent anyone from warning Ellen Fielding that the blob in her basement has begun to grow.  First, Max escapes from the hospital and goes to the house to get help from Linda, and pulls out the phone cord so nobody can turn him in.  One of the scientists, finding no answer on the phone, tries to drive out to the house to talk to Ellen, but gets into a car crash.  The police block the road off while they investigate the wreck, and Fielding runs the road block in his own haste to get home, leading him to be arrested and thrown into jail!  I have to admit, it was pretty funny just watching these contrived events pile up.

As far as having a point to make goes, Caltiki, the Immortal Monster kind of shaves by one in two different places, but never quite gets there.  For starters, there's the idea of archaeology as a treasure hunt.  When the diver first ventures into Caltiki's sacred underground lake, he finds the bottom littered with bones but also with the gold jewelry the sacrificial victims were wearing.  He returns to the surface and does not even mention the skeletons, but brings fistfuls of gold and goes back for more despite the risk of running out of oxygen.  I suppose he is punished for this, as is Max when he tries to retrieve a piece somebody else dropped, since they're both attacked by the blob.  It doesn't really qualify as a thematic thread, though, since the gold is never mentioned again. For the rest of the movie, the characters are motivated by scientific interest in the blob itself.

This leads into what's sort of a second motif, people disregarding the danger posed by the blob.  Fielding has a sample he wants to study (the movie has no idea what kind of scientist he is.  An archaeologist?  A microbiologist?), and upon discovering that radiation makes it grow, he pumps more into it to see what happens.  He and his colleagues are admittedly more cautious about this than the characters  in Reptilicus, but the idea's still there: scientists who think they have everything under control, but don't understand how dangerous what they're working with really is.  Again, this doesn't really go anywhere.  At the end they about-face and insist on destroying every scrap, not even leaving enough for an “... or is it?” ending.

Caltiki, the Immortal Monster comes very close to being so bad it's good.  There's plenty of stuff to laugh at, while the actual monster is threatening and well-executed enough to be entertaining in the way it was intended to be.  If the film-makers had diverted a little of that money into better film stock, I probably would have enjoyed the movie very much.

[tsarisfanfiction]

The Punch (pt1)

So somehow a conversation about angry Virgil with @gumnut-logic got thoroughly and utterly morphed into... whatever this is.  I don’t know what, but there’s no angry Virgil here.  My muse works in bizarre ways.

Sleeping schedule fix is failing but I’m gonna try, so have a part one of whatever this is.  Should have been a simple drabble.  Is not.  There will be more, my muse just stalled here for now which means bed for me and random thing for you guys.  Not proof read.

(I’ll work on my proper, structured, fics again at some point, I promise.  Probably after this uni assignment is done.  For now you get random things and my inbox is still open for those drabble games from earlier!)

Alan had no idea what he was seeing, but he knew he didn’t like it.  Gordon had a hand on his shoulder, holding him back, although from the way his grip felt like claws even through the protection of his uniform, Alan suspected he was holding himself back just as much.

Virgil crouched on the ground, hands gripping his hair so tightly he was sure to be missing some strands when he finally let go, a dull roar of what could be frustration except it had that unmistakable edge of pain dragging itself out past his clenched teeth. Warm, kind brown eyes were screwed tightly shut, and there was absolutely no doubt that, somehow, their brother was in absolute agony.

He’d been the one to tell them to stay back, voice tight before the roar overtook him and he ended up in his current position.  John had seconded the order, up in orbit but no doubt with a better grasp of the situation than they had.  He must have, because there was no other reason that they couldn’t go to Virgil. Not when he was so clearly in pain.

Alan just wished he had any idea what was causing it – or that his brothers would share whatever they knew.  He refused to consider that maybe they didn’t know any more than he did.  Except Virgil knew, didn’t he, because he’d told them to stay back, an order made in a scream.

Gordon was obeying, only just.  Alan was obeying, because Gordon wasn’t letting him do otherwise.

Scott had never let any of them boss him around, and wasn’t about to start now.

“Virgil!”  He’d been the other end of the danger zone, packing up his drones back in Thunderbird One, when the first signs appeared.  Out of breath, he had no doubt run flat out across the perimeter – breaking the first rule of any hazard zone but being the eldest, rules didn’t apply to Scott like they did the rest of them. The panic on his face was a familiar one; Alan had seen that exact same look whenever any of them got hurt, before Scott knew what had happened and that they’d be fine.

Somehow, that made Alan feel better.  Scott was here, Scott would find out what was wrong, Scott would fix it.

“Virgil!  What-”

Alan had seen many things in his comparatively short life.  He’d seen what space looked like without any atmosphere in the way, he’d seen death and life and just about everything in between.  He’d seen brothers broken in hospital, seen impossible become possible so many times. But even though International Rescue had a habit of doing the impossible, this was something Alan could never have predicted.  Nor was it anything he ever wanted to see.

Virgil lashed out, pure muscle – pure Hulk – and his fist smashed straight into Scott’s face.

Something – someone, Gordon – dragged Alan backwards, away from the sheer impossible sight, but it was too late.  Too late not to see gentle, kind Virgil attack the big brother he always supported. Too late to miss Scott crumpling to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut.

There was blood and Scott wasn’t moving.  Alan’s scream was muffled by a hand over his mouth as he was yanked further back, around the corner and out of sight.

“John, what the hell just happened?” Gordon demanded, voice quiet but pure steel.  Alan didn’t hear if their other brother answered, struck numb as the fundamental fundamentals of his life flipped.

Virgil… Virgil would never do that.  Not now, not in a million years.  Not to anyone, not to Scott.

But he had.

“Alan!”  The hiss was sharp, as though it wasn’t Gordon’s first attempt at catching his attention.

“He-” he started, almost a whimper.  “Virgil-”

“I’m going to put a stop to it,” Gordon promised him.  “Virgil’s not himself and John’s found out why.  Alan, I need you to stay here, okay?  Stay hidden until I tell you otherwise.”

“But-”

“Alan.”  Gordon swivelled him around to face him and put both his hands on his shoulders.  “Alan, listen to me.  Stay here. Stay safe.  When I give you the signal, go help Scott.  Not before, okay?”

“Virgil-”

“The moment Virgil snaps out of it he’ll be the first one smothering Scott better,” Gordon promised.  “I just have to go snap him out of it.”  The grin would have been believable if Alan was ten years younger.

“Gordon-”

“It’ll be fine.  Trust me.”

He nodded, and Gordon vanished.  Not towards Virgil, but Alan had to trust he knew what he was doing, that he’d get Virgil back to normal.

Without a brother to hold him back, though, Alan couldn’t stay put.  Slowly, cautiously, he crept back to the corner and peered around it.

Virgil was still roaring, pain and defiance as he clutched at his head once more.  The muscles in his arms bulged, and Alan gulped at the raw strength his brother normally hid.  Scott hadn’t moved an inch, limps splayed haphazardly exactly as they’d fallen.

Was he-

Had Virgil-

No, Alan scolded himself, feeling tears well up.  He couldn’t think like that.  He refused.

There was no sign of Gordon. Whatever his immediate brother was doing, he wasn’t anywhere in Alan’s eyeline.  Hopefully he was fixing it.  Hopefully Alan wasn’t about to be the last sane and conscious brother on Earth. Hopefully-

Virgil slumped down, eerily like Scott except no-one had touched him.  The sudden silence was startling and Alan jumped back, inadvertently putting the corner once again between him and his brothers.  His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and obeying some instinct he didn’t understand, he clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Scott!”  Anguished, familiar.  Alan peered back around the corner to see Virgil back up, on his knees and fumbling for their eldest brother.  “Oh, god, no. Scott!”

His comm chirped. Still watching Virgil as he reached a hand so clearly trembling Alan could see it from there to touch Scott’s head, he answered.

Gordon looked grim, but there was a satisfied edge to it.  Dangerous, a reminder that he’d spent time in the military.  “All clear, Alan.”

There were questions but Alan knew well enough that he didn’t want answers, so he started running, a hasty “F.A.B.” acknowledging Gordon’s words before he closed the line.  Up close, Scott looked bad.

Virgil looked worse. There were tears streaking down his face, cutting lines through post-rescue grime, and he was shaking as he repeated Scott’s name over and over like a mantra.  Large hands fluttered tentatively, as though he was afraid to touch Scott, and taking pity, Alan put his on top of them.

They were warm.  Friendly. Virgil.  If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, Alan would never have believed what they’d done.  He pushed those thoughts away.

“Get the stretcher,” he ordered.  Him ordering Virgil?  Another impossibility, but one he had at least a micron of experience in, if only in space.

“Scott,” Virgil choked out again, and Alan released one of his hands to fearfully check their brother’s pulse.

It was there, strong and steady.  Tension he hadn’t noticed seeped away.

“Virgil,” he said, keeping his voice calm even though he wanted to cry, too.  Virgil still wasn’t himself, but this wasn’t the scary roaring version. This was the older brother falling apart version, and Alan was so not qualified to deal with it.  “Virgil, get the stretcher.”

“Hey, Virg.”  Gordon was back, and Alan immediately let him deal with Virgil as he turned his attention fully to the still-unconscious Scott.

There was no mistaking the broken nose, nor where his teeth had punctured his lip.  Alan plucked the trauma kit from Scott’s baldric with trembling fingers and began initial treatment, hoping it would coax his brother into coming around.

It didn’t.

tbc...

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @candybarrnerd donated $20 and requested Dean/Crowley. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

Crowley comes back to the hotel room early, or early at least for his new companion. When he opens the door it's eleven in the morning and it's dark, inside, the curtains heavy and mostly-drawn, and the reek—

"Good heavens," he says, and there's a masculine groan from the bed. "Could you at least have them washed, first?"

He flicks the switch and the lamp by the television comes on. The television which is—smashed, the First Blade thrown through the screen and sticking absurdly out of the shattered glass. Excellent. In the bed there's a tangle of sheets and bodies, and he comes and stands at the foot with his hands in his suit pockets, mild interest on his face. His new Knight sits up, yawning. "I was sleeping, you know," Deanna says, and Crowley can very much see that.

The boys she's picked up look worn out. One redhead with ridiculous muscles, one tall brunet—oh, that's obvious, dear—both clearly trying to sleep through interruption, like they're hungover and fuck-exhausted. Probably both true. Crowley looks over both of them. Decently attractive, decent cocks, but neither of them quite a match for her. She sinks back onto her elbows, giving Crowley a considering look. "What have you been up to, anyway? You bailed on me at the bar."

Crowley pushes one bare male foot out of the way and sits on the end of the bed. "I do apologize, darling. Hell had some business that needed doing."

Deanna rolls her eyes. "Business," she says, and drops fully back to the pillows, stretching. "Boring. This is why I have to make my own fun."

"So I see," he says, smiling at her, and then he whacks the redhead on the thigh. "Up. You've done your duty. Get out."

Another groan, but they do wake up, and don't seem surprised to see him. They roll painfully to their feet, dredge up jeans and shoes, smile awkwardly but a little fearfully at Deanna before they go. She tucks a hand behind her head, waves at them, and they scuttle out like they're making an escape.

"What do you do to the poor things," Crowley says.

Deanna smiles at him slow, dangerous. "Oh, like you don't know," she says, and Crowley's very old, and very bad, and he's fucked nastier, crueler things than her, and even so that smile makes something warm swirl, in the corroded pits of him.

She's naked and doesn't care, because she doesn't care about much, anymore. It's thrilling, after all those years of her trussed up in that ridiculous flannel, her hair tied practically back in a ponytail or a plait, clunky boots and a bitchy expression. Now—she arches her back, turns onto her side, and it's all that clear golden skin, unmarked by anything but unexpected spatters of freckles, here and there—on the small of her back, where her body arrows down to that perfect fat arse—and, of course, her mark. The thing that makes her dangerous. Crowley smiles to himself, looking her over. Like she wasn't dangerous already.

"You want to take a picture?" Deanna says, propping her head on her hand. As though Crowley hasn't already. "It might last longer."

"Now, darling," he says, and dares to set his hand on the delicate bone of her ankle. "You'll last forever, you know that perfectly well."

She sweeps her eyes down to evaluate his hand, but apparently the flattery was just enough and she smiles, too. "Hm," she says, and sits up, and shakes her hair back over her shoulders. "Well, immortal or not, I want breakfast."

"Anything," Crowley says.

She rolls her eyes. "I know," she says, and pulls her foot out of his reach, but she leans forward, hands planted on the bed so her shoulders curve in, her tits pushed forward, tempting. "Because you're spoiling me, aren't you? Kinda obvious."

He shrugs one shoulder. "So I'm obvious. You're the most precious thing in my kingdom. You get what you want."

Deanna clucks her tongue, eyes going sarcastically wide. "Lucky me," she says, but Crowley's had enough experience with her over the last month to know that she enjoys it, vile hedonist that she is.

She gives him her breakfast order and he calls it down to room service, watching her go over to the window, pull open the curtain to look at the morning. "As quick as though your life depended on it," he says, to the hapless operator, and she smiles over her shoulder at him. In the light she's haloed, delightfully ironic. When he hangs up he says, "What would you like to do today, my dear?" and she says, sweeping the curtains wider, "That's for me to know," and, predictably, "for you to find out."

Not as clever as she thinks she is, but her power's such that it doesn't quite matter. Crowley's stuck here with her until he can work out a way to manipulate her into something more useful. She draws a bath, bubbles and all, and when the room service arrives he carries it in and she eats, rather disgustingly, there in the water—bacon, a burger, chips with enough salt on them that it must sting, but she groans at how good it all tastes, so he supposes it doesn't matter. When she's done with the bath she stands up, dripping everywhere, and puts her hands on her hips, and screws up her mouth. "Wash my hair," she says, thoughtlessly demanding, and Crowley says, "Of course," and strips down, and turns on the shower, and when it's hot enough to blister living skin he holds out his hand and she walks across the tile and steps under the stream, and sighs blissfully as the suds still clinging to her skin wash away, and he stands behind her and goes to work, massaging her scalp, letting the heavy weight of her hair turn to wet silk under his hands, servile as a maid, doing what his Knight desires.

Like this, Deanna's a contradiction. Infuriating, a little stupid, satisfied by dumb physical pleasure. Not, in those ways, so different from her human self. What he hadn't expected was this strange descent into—girlishness. When the soul corroded, what was left tended to be cruelty, inventive meanness, power-hunger, but then that was after a good, long bit of endurance on the rack as the humanity was carved away, slice by slice. Deanna's change was instant. Human one moment, demon the next. What's left is certainly cruel when it suits her, but what intrigues Crowley, what's keeping him indulging her whims beyond his need for her power, is how she has utterly rejected the constraints she put herself under, when she was simply Deanna Winchester, daughter of John, big sister to Sam, hunter who put the fear of god into monsters and demons alike. He'd expected fucking and drugs, random murder and a lack of empathy, and he'd gotten all of those—he hadn't expected her to demand a trip to a fancy salon for a two thousand dollar haircut, or shopping for lingerie that made his unbeating heart throb to see her in it, or wanting to be—pampered. Treated like a precious jewel. Something she couldn't accept, from her brother's hands. Something she hadn't known, before, how to ask for.

He works the conditioner through, carefully. It's the one the terrified stylist had recommended, and so Crowley had bought it for her, of course. "That'll have to sit," he says, and Deanna sighs, arching into him like a pleased cat. He smiles, kisses her wet shoulder. "I suppose I'll entertain you, shall I?"

"I suppose you shall," Deanna says, so he twines her hair up into a sloppy knot at the base of her neck, and turns her around under the water, and she smiles at him indulgently when he goes to his knees on the cold tile. "Mm. I like you from this angle."

He lifts one of her thighs over his shoulder, kisses the soft inside. "I do live to please," he says, and she cups the back of his head, and when he licks into her cunt it's a soft, sweet heaven, just enough salted tang to make his lips burn. She balances easily, her body perfectly under control, and he cups her arse and settles in, licking deep, nosing her clit, spreading her. Slight taste of spunk from the boys who had her during the night and he imagines what it must have been like—her egging them on, vicious and cute by turns. They might've had her mouth, her cunt, her arse—both at once, perhaps, while she gripped their hair and told them that if she didn't come, they'd be sorry. She killed one man for that, early on, and Crowley had ordered the body removed and soothed her pout and said, darling, if you'd like to come, all you need to do is tell me. It was the first time he'd licked into her when there was blood on her hands but not the last, but it felt right, like that. Centering her in the things that mattered: death and pleasure, what her existence would be, free from conscience and second-guessing.

She comes beautifully, pushing into his mouth and pulling at the back of his hair hard enough that it hurts. "Oh, good," she sighs, and he suckles at her clit a little longer, until it must be oversensitive and throbbing, but she just humps against his face and laughs, pleased. "Overachiever."

He tips his head back, smiles up the expanse of her belly. "Always, my dear," he says, and she rolls her eyes and pushes his face away, and so he stands up, uncoils her hair, rinses it to softness under the water. When they're done she yawns, and he says, "Nap?", and she nods and walks naked and wet back to the bed and flops down, luxuriating.

"Get me off again," she says, and so he sits beside her and slots two fingers inside her cunt, and massages her to a second orgasm while she does absolutely nothing to help, and she drifts off with him still inside her, her damp hair a river of golden-brown on the white pillow, her lips softly parted, utter confidence in every line of her.

He rolls his thumb over her swollen clit, idly, just enjoying the slickness on his fingers, the easy response of her body. This girl. It had been a mistake, he'd thought, when he heard that Michael's vessel had been born female. The apocalypse thwarted, all those centuries of careful planning all ruined. Still, Lilith and Azazel did their parts, and when Sam was born it was thought that it would all work out—a victory for Hell, when Lucifer broke free and took what was his. Crowley watched, waiting, working his way up the ranks. When Deanna came to hell Alastair worked her hard, vicious, and Crowley had come and watched, of course—they all had, all of them with rank high enough—and she screamed, and broke, and when she stood under Alastair's proud hands and picked up the razor for the first time, Crowley didn't think he'd ever seen anything so perfect. He'd looked at her eyes, though, rather than what her hands were doing, and he'd seen something—a flicker. A hope. Alastair hadn't paid attention, glorying in his victory, and Lilith was focused on the work of the seals, now that the first had been broken. It was only Crowley, there, looking into Deanna's eyes, who saw what could be.

He makes calls, while she sleeps. His majordomo frets at him, tediously. He arranges for a clue to be dropped, to have some lackeys of Abaddon's find the hotel. She'll kill them, like she's killed all the others, and that'll be one more problem solved—two, in that it'll entertain her. He hadn't expected, when he retook his throne, how much of his time would be spent on entertaining someone who was, technically, his subject.

Deanna wakes up slowly, in the early evening. Crowley's sitting at the side of the bed, waiting for her. "Mm," is the noise she makes, and he raises his eyebrows, indulgent and curious. "We should have fun, tonight."

"What sort of fun?" he says. He slips his hand over her belly, where it's slightly soft. Too many years of burgers.

"I want—" she starts, and hums, thinking. "Music. Beer."

"Done," he says, and she grins at him, and then snakes a dangerously strong hand around his wrist, squeezes. He looks down at that, and back up at her face, and says, dry, "Unless you'd like something else, first."

"Ooh, see, I knew you were smart," she says, and he sighs but shifts around, on the bed, and settles between her open thighs, and she's still soft and a little wet and he pushes his fingers in and applies his tongue to her clit and gets her off twice, that way, insistent and hard. Easy, when one doesn't require breathing.

After the second she's loose, happy. Her thighs sprawl wide, her cunt open and dripping-wet. He drags his fingers down and plays with her asshole, and she allows that, and when he pushes his fingers in past the tightness she arches her hips into it, and so he fingerfucks her idly that way for a while, flicking his tongue against her clit and ignoring her relentless cunt.

"You'd just do anything, wouldn't you?" she says, dreamy. "Always taking care of me, Crowley."

"Of course, darling," he says, lifting his head, and she's looking down at him, from her place in the pillows. She's pinching one nipple, the skin red and hurt-looking; her other hand's tucked behind her head, and it shows off the mark on her arm. His eyes are drawn to it, always.

It's beautiful, on the pale soft skin. Viciously red, as red as her hurt nipple or her used cuntlips, swollen and sore. All the corruption in her stemming from that point. "My eyes are up here," she says, amused, and he looks up to find her smiling oddly soft, her teeth set gently in her lower lip.

He slips his thumb up through her slick to sink into her cunt, squeezing her inner wall between his fingers. She shifts her hips, spreads her thighs a little wider. She says, idly stroking the underside of her tit, "I want your dick," and that's—a rarer pleasure. He hadn't much indulged, before her. She says, "I want you to come in me," and that certainly won't be a problem. She says, "I want it slow," and that's—

He moves up between her legs. She's still sprawled, watching him, eyes a little sleepy. His vessel has a cock big enough to please, he made sure of that when he chose the poor bastard, and he's certainly hard now, after this long of playing with her body. He teases the tip over her clit and watches her eyes flutter, and drags it through her split wet and teases at her entrance, threateningly thick. "Don't fuck around," she says, and he laughs and says, "Sorry, darling," and pushes inside, and she's as deliciously wet and hot as she is on his fingers or tongue, just the right amount of tight, and he gathers her thighs up around his waist and tips her into the angle that'll be best for her, and rogers her slowly, deep, crushing his cock all the way to her cervix and watching her face flinch with it before he pulls back, does it again, and again.

"Good," she sighs, and he dips his head, kisses her collarbone, dips lower and kisses the top of one full sweet breast. She settles her hands on his shoulders, oddly light, and he doesn't change his pace but pushes in harder, and she makes this little gulping sound and so he knows to keep that strength. She's stronger, but he's not weak, and he can please her, tweaking her body to do his bidding at least with this, if with little else.

It's not just her body he knows how to work, though. "Do you want more, darling," he says, softly, and she groans and says, "Fuck, Crowley—god, yeah, yeah—" and he says, dragging his lips up to the tender skin by her ear, "Do you want it to hurt, darling," and she fucks her hips back against him and he goes a little faster, rougher, sawing in, knowing his dick's thick enough that it does hurt, enough for her to feel it the next day, to make her soiled soul reach in and heal it for her, and he slips a hand down between them and rubs her clit, slippery but rough, and her hips buck and she wraps her legs around his back, demanding, and he lifts on one hand enough to see her eyes closed, chasing her pleasure, and he says, looking at that pretty face, "You want me to fuck you like Sammy would, don't you," and she practically growls and says yes, deep in her chest, and he gathers up her hips and nails her hard, and she arches and moans and says like that, like that, which of course he knows because he watched them, together, over and over, Sam's big body braced over hers, their heads close together, their hands twined, their stupid, connected souls trying to get closer, any way they could. He finds her hand, laces their fingers together and pushes them down into the bed, and she starts to come then, her breath quick and high, and he fucks her through it, her body seizing around him, wanting—not him. Wanting something else.

When he comes, as he's been required to do, he pushes it deep inside her. It gushes up, spilling against her womb, filling. He's used to orgasm but still, with her quivering all around him, it feels good—better, almost, than the human blood had—and he groans and holds and then bends his head and applies his mouth to her mark, where her forearm's pinned to the bed—gets the swollen heat of it under his tongue, the skin bitter, there. Bitter.

She breathes under him, allowing it until she doesn't. "Get off," she says, and he lifts his head, licks his lips. Shifts his hips and drags his cock out of her tightness, and sits back on his knees between her legs. She drips, and slides her fingers down to tuck them inside, pushing his semen back inside herself, her eyes distant. This, too. Familiar. When Sam pulled away, that last time, distressed and disgusted and not forgiving her—he went to clean up, and she watched him go and tucked her hand down, like if she kept the warmth inside it was like keeping him, too.

Deanna's eyes refocus, after a moment. "I want steak for dinner," she says.

Crowley laughs, and climbs off the bed. A snap of his fingers and he's clean, and he redresses while Deanna's still holding onto the strange echo of a lived life. He wonders if she even realizes what she's doing. He nods at her, naked on the bed. "I love you exactly as you are, darling, but you might need to put on at least a scrap of fabric so as not to alarm the waitstaff."

"Lame," she says, but rolls up to her feet, and goes to the pile of random clothes she's accumulated from his indulgences. She selects a black bra, and drops a dark blue dress over her head that she snaps her fingers for Crowley to zip for her, and no panties. She will almost certainly fuck the bartender in the bathroom, before the night's over. She tosses her hair back and doesn't bother with makeup, not that she needs it, and rips the First Blade out of the television and tucks it into the thigh sheath she adores. Easy access. "Okay," she says, impatient, like it's wasn't her who wasted half the day with fucking. "Are we going, or what?"

The Impala reeks as much as the room did, but less of spunk and more of cigarettes, spilled beer, grease. He sits in the passenger seat—Sam's seat—and watches her drive. The Rolling Stones, loud, on the tapedeck. She cranks it louder when Paint It Black comes on and grins, and says, "God, this rocks, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does," he says, and gets her grin aimed his way, and thinks, there'll be the murders tonight, of Abaddon's boys, and there'll be music, and there'll be steak, and she'll fuck and kill and have fun, and really, the longer they go, the farther from Sam, the more she's his. One day, he thinks. She'll kneel for him. His Knight. For now—he texts a lackey and gets them a table, at the restaurant she's aiming for, and he relaxes back into the filthy vinyl seat, and thinks about diamonds.

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Supernatural finale - Let’s carry on [My opinion]

First of all, to everyone who is harassing the actors, the directors, the screenwriters or anyone who has been working on the series, shame on all of you. How dare you behave so disrespectfully, when you wouldn’t even be able to do half of what they have done?! You should be ashamed!

After my ranting, let’s carry on.

This post is containing all my emotions and my opinion on the last episode of a series that I literally grew up with and some of my history with the show. 

I started watching the series back in 2006, when I was still living in Hungary. I just turned 13 when the first episode aired with Hungarian dubbing. It was back in the stone-age or at least it feels like it. 

At that time I was a season behind since we always had to wait for the dubbing to come out or for the licenses to get approved and it was a struggle really. But then came online screening where I could finally watch the series, “kind of” up to date. God, I felt lucky. 

I remember back in the day when the first season finished, I was watching it with my mother and the cliff-hanger made me so upset. They left me waiting a whole year without knowing what would happen. And in Hungary it was over a year, because they got the licences later or the dubbing took longer, I have no idea, but it was not a pleasant feeling. 

Now that the series finished, I feel a bit empty. I am sitting here, typing down whatever I feel like, after sobbing my eyes out, but I just can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. From now on I will not be waiting impatiently for the next episode, I will not be crying for the Winchesters, I will not be falling in love with some of the so called “villains”, I will not be studying each and every word and scenario that we have seen with a magnifier just to try predicting some of things as if I was Sherlock Holmes myself. 

It’s definitely a strange feeling, but here we are, so let’s get started. 

Below the cut, you can find my opinion. I didn’t want to spoil the ending for anyone, therefore it’s best to keep things hidden. 

Enjoy!

At the very beginning of the finale having no “Carry on” playing, did make me feel pretty weird, since obviously that’s what I expected, that’s what I am used to when it comes to last episodes, but we did get what we wanted, so I can’t complain.  

With a free Winchester brothers, just having this pie scene and typical supernatural humour, it just felt so idilic and relaxed. It was both very much like Supernatural, but also very unlike it. 

(Did I predict Sam smashing the pie into Dean’s face? I called it right here on tumblr. I feel like a genius. - Just ignore me, it was an obvious move, obviously.)

I was just laughing at the humour, the easiness of the episode, it was nice to see them just being, just existing like before the whole world had gone mad. But then again, we are talking about Supernatural and it was unlike the show, because they have not given us one episode where things were just relaxing, or having barely any worries at all. It was like a warning, the quite before the storm, when you are waiting for something bad to happen. 

Well, did we get that something bad alright?! I had a slight inkling on what would happen and after Dean’s death scene, I don’t really know if I wish it didn’t happen or I’m okay with it. I feel very conflicted. I was ugly crying for the whole scene. 

I don’t know if it’s just me or it was a general feeling, but was it the longest death scenes I have ever seen? I mean it literally felt like they kept digging into me. I understand, they needed to say their parts, but I don’t appreciate sobbing for minutes straight so “thank you” for doing that to me.

On the other hand, perhaps an unpopular opinion, but for me the death scene was actually a bit long. I understand why and it was a nice moment that was kind of a “must”, where things had to be said, but for me personally it was a tad bit dragged out. I still sobbed through it, so I can’t deny that it was a very emotional moment, especially when it’s my favourite character they are killing, but tad long.

Also, I did expect Dean to go out with explosions and gunfires and all the cliche big fight, but then they couldn’t have shared that loving brotherly moment and I do understand that, however I still missed his big exit. 

When Dean appeared in heaven and it was nothing like before, people locked up separately, but instead all of them were together, curse me as much as you want, but I loved that. That’s their happy place, around loved ones, around people they love to be with. I am all for it!

But here at this point came to me, are they only together with who they were very close to? Because if we would put all of the people together, such as Jess, Sam’s new wife, Dean, John, Mary, but then also Bobby was there and the place was Harvelle's Roadhouse, meaning Jo and Ellen would be there and their family, it kind of got me confused as that’s hell of a lot of people in one place. I think I will just stick to not analysing that, because it would get messy. 

I honestly loved that while Dean was driving off with heaven version of baby and “Carry on” playing in the background, we saw Sam living a full life. Just like Bobby said, time in heaven was different. Whilst Sam was living a life he deserved, Dean was barely apart from his brother for long. It was certainly a part that I very much appreciated, because we started with two brothers and I needed it to be brought back to that, for them to be side by side once again. 

“It’s okay, you can go now.” - When Sam’s son, Dean said that to an old, dying Sam, I think that was a genius part to bring back and I felt that was just the right thing to say. (Old Sam’s make up and ageing was not the best, but we can let it slide for now.)

However, I was missing the feel of the emotions while we watched Sam’s life in a montage. I feel like it was needed like this, not to waste too much time on it and having different times between earth and heaven, also because of pandemic restrictions, but it could have been better, more showing than telling if the actual 2 hours was about the brothers, not just 1 hour. 

I feel like they wanted to show us a happy ending even though both of them died, but Sam actually had to go through all the grieving and pain to rebuild his life and we missed that. Of course, it’s just my sole opinion, we can all have different opinions and I do understand that the pandemic did restrain the amount of people they could bring (back) for a grand finale, but for me it was a bit rushed.

In the end, the show ended with the two brothers, just like it started before, and whilst I did have certain parts I questioned, I basically got what I expected.

I was questioning Cas’ appearance, I personally thought he would show up in the end, but then Cas was helping Jack somewhere in the Universe and knowing he wasn’t with the empty, it gave me enough satisfaction, but once again, it was more telling, less showing. 

Overall it was an emotional episode, quite bittersweet, but I enjoyed it. 

I had disappointed moments, such as Dean’s death scene. I expected it to be more of a grand exit, more boom and guns and fire, something bigger. But then I also had satisfactory scenes, such as when the brothers met in heaven and the show ended in a way with a happy scene, a place they were together again, just being happy. 

I enjoyed this finale, even if it wasn’t perfect. I feel like with what they had they did a good job. Not the best, but certainly a good job. I don’t often cry and they made me cry so the emotions were there. I got my happy ending with the brothers being together and it was a nice, bittersweet ending to a 15 years old series. I’m quite satisfied in the end. 

After so many years, I would like to just thank all the actors, producers, directors, screenwriters, stuntmen and everyone who worked on the movie till the last personal assistants and make up artists, they have done an amazing job and created a world we have treasured for years and we will keep loving the series for as long as we can.

Thank you to all the fans, the fandom and everyone who is part of the Supernatural family in any way.

[originalhybridloverfics]

I Don’t Know Who I am Without You Ch4

A/N: It's been a long time since I updated this one. I hope you like the chapter and I hope it provides a welcome distraction from the crisis we are currently experiencing all around the world.

Curtis frowned when he walked into the bunker and found a box sitting on the table addressed to Team Arrow. He opened the small box to reveal a picture of Felicity and William and beneath it a drive. 

Brow furrowing, he grabbed the drive and plugged it in and watched horrified as Diaz broke into Felicity's home and attacked her. 

"What the hell is that?" 

Curtis jumped at the sound of John's booming voice, he spun around and saw John's eyes zeroed in on the footage. 

"I found this addressed to the team." Curtis held out the photo. 

John took it, and his hand started to shake as he stared at the faces of Felicity and William. William looking into the camera, a light in his eyes. Felicity laughing freely, her arm tucked around the boy. 

Tears filled his eyes as he looked at the photo. "Diaz sent this?"

"I think so, and there's a surveillance video."

"Play it," John ordered. 

John's heart pounded as he watches Felicity walk into the frame then stumble back suddenly as Diaz entered the room. He tensed as he watched Felicity grab the nearest thing she had. A coffee pot and throw it at Diaz before running. 

Diaz slammed into her from behind, she crashed into the floor, head smashing against the coffee table. Still, she rolled and kicked Diaz in the chest, knocking him back. 

"Felicity!" William appeared in the frame, scared. 

"Run! Get out now!" Felicity yelled at him, and the young boy hesitated. "Now, William!" 

William took off running, and Felicity grabbed a hot poker and swung it at Diaz, sending him crashing to the floor, but he kicked her feet out from beneath her. Felicity hit the floor hard, she scrambled back to her feet, reaching for the fallen poker. 

Diaz threw himself at her sending her crashing into the table. He turned her and slammed his fist into her face, splitting her lip and pulled out a gun, slowly getting back to his feet and aimed it at her. 

"Do you have any idea how much I wish Oliver was here?" Diaz grunted, his voice low and scratchy. "To have him helpless as I put a bullet in your skull. How satisfying it would be for him to see his son's chest riddled with bullets."

"If you touch him, I'll..-"

"You'll what? Hack me to death? Make idle threats you can't back up?"

"I'll kill you." 

Diaz laughed. "You don't have what it takes to kill, sweetheart."

"You don't know what I'm willing to do to protect my son!" 

"You can't protect anyone when you're dead." he ground out, his finger tightening on the trigger.  

"No!" William appeared suddenly, throwing himself into Diaz. 

The gun sounded, and Digg flinched. His chest tightening as Felicity gave a startled cry of pain. 

Felicity lept to her feet, yanking William away from Diaz and grabbed the hot poker, and swung it at Diaz's head when he started to get back up. 

He collapses to the floor, clutching his head, and Felicity grabbed William by the arm, dragging him out. "Get to the car!" 

John watched with bated breath as the screen went black for several minutes then came back, with the image of a car, speeding down the street. 

He knew it was coming, but it didn't stop the pain from ripping into him as he watches the car explode, fire engulfing it until nothing was left. 

"God, that was hard to watch." Curtis swallowed the lump in his throat. 

John shook, hands clenching into a fist, the picture in his hands crumpled. In a fit of anger, he swept his arm out, sending the computers crashing. 

"John!" Curtis yelled. 

John didn't stop there though, he picked up a fallen computer and sent it crashing into the glass case that held his spartan suit, glass flying everywhere. 

Curtis backed away alarmed, not used to seeing John Diggle, who was, for the most part, calm and collected so livid with rage. 

John whirled around anger burning in his eyes. "He doesn't get away with this. I don't care what we have to do. We're going to take this son of a bitch down. He is not going to kill another family."

Curtis nodded. There was nothing to say. John was right. Diaz needed to be brought to justice for what he did to their own. 

                                                    ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"You've got a letter, Queen." 

Oliver didn't so much as look up as the letter landed on his cell floor. Instead, he stared at his hands, discovered black and blue, the skin split, splatters of blood. 

Oliver clenched his fist, and he felt pain, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his chest with every breath he took, knowing he was alone. 

His son was dead, and Felicity was gone from the world. Why was he even still breathing? What was the point?

"I think you should really take a look at that letter, Queen, or should I say Green Arrow." 

Oliver looked up slowly, eyes hard as he stared at the guard. He didn't like the way the man's eyes gleamed or the sick smirk tugging at his lips. 

Oliver stood and knelt down, grabbing the letter, seeing it only had his name and no forward address, he opened it. Inside was a small note. 

Such a shame to lose your family so brutally. I wish you could have seen it. You still can. I hope you enjoy the pictures as much as I did, Diaz.

Oliver crumpled the letter up in his hand, dropping it to the floor. He pulled out a small stack of photos. He clenched his jaw as his eyes iced over.

The picture of a burning car, staring back at him, had his heart clenching in the worst way imaginable. Just the sight of it made him believe he could hear the sound of his wife and son's cries as they were burnt alive. Hear William crying out for his father, hear Felicity screaming for him. 

He moved to the second picture, and it was another one of the vehicle, the flames burning higher. He moved to the last film, the fire was out, but all that was left was the charred wreckage. 

Oliver's grief and sorrow were quickly being consumed by the raw anger coursing through his veins. 

"Diaz sends his regards." Oliver's head snapped up to the guard, seeing his hands wrapped around the bars. 

The smirk, his words, the look in his eyes, all of it was triggering, screaming at him one fact. He was one of the people under Diaz's pay.

Oliver lunge, his arms reaching between the bars and yanking the officer into them until he could grasp him by the head. He slammed the guard's head against the bars again and again. Inmates started to yell and cheer. 

Minutes later, the other guards intervened, swinging their batons at his arms, weakening his hold and dragging the officer out of his reach. 

The guard was unconscious and bleeding, his face covered in so much blood. The blood had dripped down on Oliver's wrist and arms. 

Seeing the man bloody and battered did nothing to quell Oliver's rage. When the other guards opened his cell. He fought because why the hell not he needed an outlet for his anger.

He took down three of them before one took his baton and struck behind his bad knee, sending him to the floor. After they were like a pack of hyenas, hitting him all at once, he didn't block the blows. 

Oliver allowed every strike to hit him. 

The pain that shook him was welcoming. He wanted it. 

Felicity and William's last moments on this earth were filled with excruciating pain. It was only right that he suffer even a small fraction of that pain. 

He was the reason they were dead. If he had been there, maybe his wife and son would still be alive. 

He never should have left the island. He never should have come home. 

Felicity would be alive and safe, probably running her own company by now. 

And William would still be alive, living with Samantha in Central City. 

Everything that went wrong in their lives boiled down to him. He destroyed everything he touched. No matter how much he loved them, it didn't change one undeniable fact. 

He was poison to everyone he came into contact with. 

It was going to stop when he killed Diaz. 

Once he accomplished that there would be nothing left for him. There was no point for him to go on. 

                                                    ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Being thrown into the hole had become the new norm in the coming weeks for Oliver. 

He spent more time there than he did in his actual cell. 

It got to the point that he no longer could keep track of the time or the days. 

When Oliver was free, he spent it searching for anyone inside who had ties to Diaz he could exploit, but so far, he was coming up empty. The only connection he found was the dirty prison guard he bloodied his hands with. Unfortunately, for both of them, the man had too much head trauma and had fallen into a coma. 

It was one thing Oliver did not feel an ounce of guilt for doing. 

He was sure he would finish the job if the guard ever woke up. 

It was no surprise that he snapped on a single notice in the prison yard when he was approached by a man twice his size, with an ugly smirk. 

The man really should have never even mentioned his wife. 

"Arrow, what good was it saving the city when you couldn't even protect your own wife." 

Oliver was on a weight bench, but he rose up slowly, eyes narrowing as the man pulled out his picture of Felicity from his jumpsuit. 

"How did you get that?" Oliver ground out, his eyes darkening rapidly. 

The man smirked. "She really is a looker. I'll give you that. Too bad she's dead. I get out in two months. I would have loved to get between her thighs and give her what you no longer can. I could have been your son's new father. I hate kids, but if I could have stuck it to your wife, it would have been worth it." 

"One more word about my wife, and I will break you." Oliver's vision was decreasing rapidly, and all he could see was this piece shit speaking of his late wife, his soulmate, so disrespectfully.

The guy steps closer. "Tell me, was she a screamer? How good was she?"

Oliver snapped. He struck his hand out, his hand smashing into the man's breast bone. 

The man stumbled back, abruptly coughing. 

Oliver struck again, chopping him in the throat. As the man choked, clutching his neck, he whirled around, ripping the weight bar from the bench and slammed it into the man's ribs. He followed it up with an attempt to take the man's head off, swinging the bar like it was a baseball bat. 

The man crash to the ground with a sickening crack. Oliver kicked him onto his back, the thought of stopping, not even crossing his mind. 

He climbed over the man, tossing the weight bar aside and started pounding his fist into the bastard's face. His words ringing in his ears. 

He didn't stop. He couldn't. He struck him again and again until he felt the shocks of a taser. The sharp stab of a needle in his neck, something being injected into him. The alarms of the prison blaring loudly. 

His vision blurred. The last thing he saw was the man he had beaten to the inch of his life, face bloody, near unrecognizable. 

Oliver slumped to the ground, the darkness surrounding him, and he welcomed it.

It was all he had left. 

                                                 ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Digg walked through the doors of Slab Slide. He hadn't been there since he had delivered the news of Felicity's and William's death.

It had been weeks. It was no easier walking through the doors with the intent to see Oliver than it was the first time. Digg's chest was heavy with failure every second of every day. He failed to do the one thing Oliver asked of him. To protect his family. 

Still, he had received calls from a friend who worked inside Slab Slide who spoke of Oliver's outburst. How he had attacked a guard. Digg came to see Oliver with the intention of trying to reach his friend. 

Oliver needed to be reminded of the man Felicity fell in love with. 

She wouldn't want this for him. He failed to protect Felicity and William, but there was still a chance he could save Oliver from himself, from the darkness he was letting consume him. 

"What do you mean, I can't see him?" Digg demanded after he was told, Oliver's rights to visitors had been revoked. 

"Mr. Queen has been experiencing violent outbursts. It's gotten to the point that we had to separate him from the other prisoners."

"What did he do?" John asked warily. He hoped Oliver hadn't completely lost it and killed someone in cold blood. He had watched his brother come so far since his days as the Hood. 

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that." The officer replied. 

Diggle glared harshly. "If I cannot see my brother, the least you can do is tell me why?"

His glare must have done exactly what he wanted because the guard looked around nervously before replying. "He attacked a guard, putting him in a coma, and he beat another inmate nearly to death a few days ago. He hasn't woken up, and there is little brain activity. It doesn't look good. If he doesn't pull through, Mr. Queen is looking at another murder charge." 

"Jesus, Oliver." Digg cursed. Maybe he was too late. Maybe he couldn't stop Oliver from giving in to his demons and becoming the man he was when he first met him. A man who was lost, searching for the light, only this time, his guiding light had been extinguished. 

Forever. 

                                               ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Lyla was unsure what more she could do to help her husband. 

Johnny was having such a hard time with everything. He blamed himself for William and Felicity's death, for Oliver's turn to his darker side. 

It wasn't his fault. Lyla wanted to help him see that, but she was starting to think that the only way to do that was to give him closure. 

Maybe then, he would be able to stop blaming himself for something he could not change. 

The only way she thought he would be able to do that was to make peace with what happened. She didn't know how to help him do that, but she figured a good start would be to go to the crime scene. 

Maybe if she found something, anything that could lead them back to Diaz, it would help Johnny and the Team in some way, and perhaps it could give Oliver peace of mind. 

Oliver was never going to be able to get justice for his family as long as he was behind bars. It was up to her and Johnny and the Team to get it for him. 

They owed not only Oliver that much but Felicity and William as well. 

Lyla started with the safe house, other than Argus, and the feds investigating the scene everything was left as it was the day Felicity and William were killed. The living room and kitchen were in shambles, there were spots of blood staining the floor. 

Lyla moved through the home, realizing Felicity and William's things were still there. 

She swallowed down the lump that filled her throat. Since Donna and Thea were still in the dark about what happened, it was up to Johnny and her to take care of Felicity and William's belongings, and they hadn't. 

A part of her knew they stayed away because if they left their belongings alone, it was almost like they were waiting for them to come home. 

It was a misplaced hope because Felicity and William were never walking back through the door. They were gone. 

Lyla picked up a framed picture. It was at Oliver and Felicity's reception. 

They were all gathered around a table, laughing. Felicity was tucked between her boys, and William was tuck into his father's other side.  

Lyla opened the frame and took the picture, slipping the photograph into her jacket. Wanting to give it to Johnny so he could have something of the other side of their family. 

She walked out following the path she knew where it happened. 

Where Felicity's car blew up with her and William inside it. 

The wreckage was no longer there, but Lyla still remembered walking onto the crime scene the first time, seeing the destroyed vehicle for herself. How it had been burnt so badly, no human remains could survive such an explosion.

Lyla's eyes moved over the scene. She frowned when she spotted something on the ground a few feet away from where the car was found. She crouched down low. 

There was a stain of blood on the ground leading into an alley. 

Her frown deepened. Why hadn't they noticed the blood before? 

How could they have overlooked such an important detail? 

They knew from the shell casing that was discovered at the crime scene that a gun had been fired. What if someone was actually hit?

What if Felicity or William had been hit? 

If they were bleeding but were in the car when it exploded, how did their blood end up on the ground? 

Unless Felicity and William had escaped the car before it blew and that would explain why there were nobodies. 

She followed the blood. It led her to an alley with a dumpster. The blood stopped. She whirled around her heart, sinking as the trailed ended. 

She turned again, and something glittered, poking out from behind the dumpster. 

Frowning, Lyla scooped down, heart pounding in her chest, as she lifted the white gold charmed bracelet. 

She would recognize it anywhere. 

Johnny gave it to Felicity for her birthday two years ago. It was a beautiful charm bracelet with an arrowhead, a knight, and a wifi charm.

Felicity wore the bracelet every single day. 

Lyla's breath rushed out of her. A weight being lifted off her chest as she was filled with a knowledge she believed with every fiber of her being. 

Felicity and William were not in the car when it blew. They had gotten out. They got away, and they were out there somewhere.

Alive. 

She had to tell Johnny. They had to tell Oliver and the rest of the Team. 

And most importantly, they had to find them at all cost and make this right. 

A/N: Thanks for reading. Until next time. Stay safe everyone!

I don’t currently have tag list for this story so if you want me tag just let me know. 

[thebeethathums]

Observers - 63

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, graphic abuse and injury, near death situations

A short while earlier back at the Yard, Lestrade had decided to pay your bastard ex a little visit. He was curious about the man that terrified a woman who so easily handled Sherlock, it seemed like a major contradiction in your character. He stepped up to the desk, “I’m here to see Nicolas Farole.” The woman on the other side gave him a blank look, “I’m sorry detective inspector- he’s been released.” Lestrade paled, “W-What? When? Why?”   “Couple of hours ago… the paperwork-“ She stopped short looking at the stack of papers in her hands, “Well that’s strange. The paperwork is gone. I swear it was here.” Lestrade didn’t seem to hear her, pulling out his phone and dialing you as he made his way back to his office. When you didn’t pick up the panic rose in his chest and as the elevator doors slid open, he snapped at Anderson, “I want a warrant out for the arrest of a Farole, Nicolas Farole, and a trace on (F/n) Watson’s phone. Now.” 

Anderson scuttled off and Lestrade considered what to do when he got your voicemail again before remembering you’d used his phone to contact someone else when you’d come in. He found the text you’d sent and pressed call, pacing his office until a voice came through the other end, “Who is-“ “No time. You met with (F/n) Watson yesterday… Do you know where she is? Is she with you?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow, “She is staying with me, yes, but she’s gone to her flat to get some things.” “Her ex escaped somehow… I don’t know how yet but you can be bloody sure I will find out. She’s not answering her phone.” “Send a team and an ambulance to the flat immediately,” Mycroft commanded, hanging up before he got an answer to dial you and then, when you didn’t pick up, the eyes he’d put on you when you’d left his house. He heart sank to the pit of his chest when the man didn’t pick up either- his eyes always picked up… something was terribly wrong. Statistics and numbers ran through his head as he calculated the likelihood of you being in trouble and then if Lestrade would get there soon enough in the time it took him to blink. Seeing no other options, he sent a text to Sherlock and hoped that by some stroke of luck he and John were on their way home. Sherlock stalked down the street in a frustrated huff, they’d come to another wall in the case and John had insisted they go home because he needed to sleep. Needed sleep… sometimes he wondered if the man did these things to frustrate him on purpose. They were only a few blocks away from the flat when his phone went off and he absent-mindedly opened the text without looking at who it was from, “Go home now. (F/n) is in trouble. –MH” He stopped dead in his tracks and John ran into him, letting out a string of curses before Sherlock demanded, “John. Did (F/n) call you like she said she would?” John snapped his mouth shut and quickly pulled out his phone, “No. She hasn’t called me at all… Why, Sherlock? What’s happened?” Sherlock took off at a run and all John could do was follow. Droplets of blood stained the drawings on the wall behind you as Nicolas jarred your dislocated arm to get a better angle to slice the next line of the ‘N’ into your skin. By now you’d gone numb, there wasn’t much else you could do as your shortened breathing wasn’t going to allow you to scream in pain even if you wanted to and you were starting to feel light headed from both lack of air and loss of blood. He finished his craving his initials on your arm, branding you as his, and you nearly hurled at the sight of sliced flesh as blood gushed down your arm- when you got out of this you would need stitches and it would scar… if you got out of this. 

He put the knife away so that he could press himself up against you, “There. Much better wouldn’t you say?” You tried to nod as he roughly smashed his lips to yours, squeezing your side with one of his meaty hands until he heard another stomach-churning snap, and then pulled back to give you a satisfied smile, “Now let’s not overstay our welcome, shall we? Can’t have that brother of yours and his little friend coming home to ruin the party… or join it.” Images of John and Sherlock covered in blood flooded your mind and the tears flowed freely as you shook your head and gasped, “No.” Nicolas pried you away from the wall and escorted you to the door as if he was taking you on an evening stroll, casually draping your trench coat over your form to hide the blood before wrapping an arm around your shoulders, his hand falling over your wound. You could barely keep upright from the pain, in fact, if you weren’t such a veteran to it you probably would have passed out a long time ago… you honestly wished you had. His arm around you was supportive in the cruelest way, his hand squeezing at your injured arm through the stiff fabric of the jacket and causing another wave of pain that made your vision blur more than it already was. There was no fighting it. You’d lost. Things were starting to get hazy but you still prayed to every god that you could think of that Mrs. Hudson would stay in her apartment and oblivious as he practically dragged you down the hall and to the front door. Once you were in the street, your brain had a spurt of the fighting spirit and you tried to come up with some way to use being in public to your advantage. That train of thought was cut short as you heard a familiar voice call your name and your heart stopped, a maniacal smile spreading across Nicolas’s face, “Well, well, looks like they’ll be joining us after all.” He spun you to the exact sight you’d hoped you would never have to see- your brother and Sherlock skidding to a stop a few lengths away from you as the knife went to your neck. You could see John’s face fall into practiced concentration and Sherlock’s eyes scanning to deduce the situation in hopes of finding something he could use to his advantage as Nicolas called, “Back off. She’s coming with me.” You wanted to scream when John took a step closer and you felt the arm holding the knife tense but Sherlock was quick to point out, “You’re bluffing. She means more to you alive.” Both of them let out a sigh of relief as the knife came away from your throat and Nicolas shrugged, “True.” In one swift movement, his grip on you changed so one arm was hugging you to his chest, putting pressure on your broken ribs, and the other pulled his police issue gun to point at John, “Now you on the other hand… I think you both would be better off dead.” He kept his eyes on John and you watched your worst nightmares play out in front of you as he leaned to purr in your ear, “Wouldn’t you like that, angel? Watching your big brother die trying to protect you?” You sobbed, shaking your head as you breathlessly choked out, “Johnny, just go. Please.” The arm around your midsection squeezed sharply and you grimaced doubling over slightly before coughing up some blood as he growled, “What have I told you about speaking out of turn?” The blood caused John’s doctor side to kick in and his eyes began to take everything in, assessing that you had broken ribs that were causing internal bleeding and, even though the coat concealed it, he could still tell that your arm was dislocated as well as bleeding profusely from the way it hung and the blood that was now covering your hand and dripping from your fingertips. “I’m not going anywhere, (F/n),” he stated firmly and Nicolas sneered, “Wrong answer.” Just as he cocked the gun, you acted on instinct and threw your head back into his face and your good arm into his gut, causing him to drop the gun but of course still somehow keep his hold on you. “You bitch,” he screeched, throwing you into the wall of the building so hard you bounced off it, immediately losing consciousness as the back of your head came in contact with the brick. Sherlock took the opportunity to clobber Nicolas in the face when he went to try and wail on your unconscious form, grabbing him when he stumbled back to throw him into the nearby alleyway with a scarily dark look on his face as John went to you. He rushed to stabilize you, to stop the bleeding, trying to stay calm and calculated as he would with anyone else in this situation even though every fiber of his being told him it wasn’t just anyone else, it was you, and he should panic. Neither of them had been so glad to hear the wail of a siren nearing Baker St. and could only pray that they weren’t too late.

[moviestorian]

Rock Montreaaaaal 1981 - Liveblog!!!

Hi there, it’s me again, did you miss you! I certainly did miss you! <3

Let’s get straight to the liveblog, shall we???

- OMG this is so HD - I'm EXCITED - the candles are a nice touch - of course they start off with a series of dramatic explosions and thunder-like sounds XD my fave band is so extra and dramatic and I live for it - Roger's face on a drum kit! - this version of WWRY rocks - finally a cameraman that doesn't fail to show a fair amount of Deaky power - the godly lighting department - Freddie with a Superman t-shirt? Give me that DC spinoff with Queen members as superheroes - they'd fight with evil producers, stupid critics, close-mided people - "you wanna get crazy?" Heck YES - Brian, please STOP making that face... I'm feeling my sin - "We'll give you crazy performace" I BET YOU WILL - Deaky seems to like blue as uch as I do, also he looks SO HOT - Roger's backing vocals are everything - Freddie: *takes off his leather jacket* crowd: *cheers* - man, the cinematography is better in this concert than in some movies I've recently watched - I adore the colouring - this version of Play the Game is far superior to the album version - okay, I'm totally gonna screencap this concert like crazy - Brian looks so elegant, oh my - YASS Roger, bang the drums! - SOMEBODY TO LOVE! - Freddie looked directly into the camera! - Oh my, this is killing me... I can't start crying on the train, please stop making me feel - ROGER'S VOCALS ARE DIVINE, you can't change my mind - all of them are pouring their hearts into this heart, you can SEE and HEAR it - now this is what I call the perfect performance - slay that guitar solo, Bri! - THE DRUMS OH MY - this HD and high sound quality is too powerful - Find me...somebody to love...find me...somebody to love... - *gulps beer* - Freddie cries - I cry - I died BYE - "shift your asses" XD "take off your clothes" XDDDDD - KILLAH KWEEN - where's the triangle!? - perfume came. *naturally*. from PARIS!.! - daaaamn, that transition! - Christ, Roger's killing it - he sounds a bit tired but STILL GOOD - Brian, please remove yourself from camera when they're showing Roger pls - Roger's drumming... I'm dead and in love - that drumset looks amazing, so sparkly and silver - sexy Deaky - Get down make love - cringy lyrics but it sounds pretty cool - ESPECIALLY live - Freddie & Roger are the most powerful vocal duo on earth - the lighting-mist-drumming coordination: POETIC CINEMA - some crazy sci-fi shit going on on - I feel I'm being abducted by aliens - awww, Brian on a piano - their tiny interaction, I MELT - "how I loved you, how I cried" - daamn, Freddie, I didn't know you were singing about me and my love for Queen - I want to offically apologize to everyone for forgetting how beautiful "Save me" is - I love that you can totally hear how better Freddie's control over his voice and vibrato become (compared with Rainbow and Odeon) - HeRe I sTaNd *dum dum* - oh hi shirtless Freddie - hop Deaky Deaky hop Deaky doo - Freddie and Roger - the ultimate brotp - YEAH! YEAH!  - I love those interactions with the audience - Freddie & Rog looking at each other. I'M CRY - Roger was doing a weird thing? Are u okay babe? - LOL Roger back spitting - some fine ass drumming - "are you in a mood for singing?" sure I am - "This is love of my life" NO YOU - the lady in the audience: *heart eyes* SAME GIRL, God I wish that were me - SLAY thay bassline, John! - okay I love this version of Under Pressure better than the David Bowie one (and you know, I LOVE the original!) - Rog smiling at Freddie <3333 - that falsetto, maaan - well, Freddie didn't do the highest note... I'm not surprised though, after 50 minutes of continuous singing I wouldn't expect him to hit a super high falsetto note, and he’s doing a splendid job all the same so - ...the.best.version.of.Under Pressure - Keep Yourself Alive always slaps - especially when Rog is banging his drums like that - noooo he threw the tambourine! He has no RESPEC - this shit is better than the entire Greatest Hits compilation - Roger's legendary drum solo strikes again - Maaaan this is extraordinary - the concentration! the SKILLS! - where you going, Rog? Come back! - OH HELLO THERE - how can he do it so fast??? - and some people still don't remember his name jgajgsdjhgsdjhgsdjhsd - *bows* *thumbs up* Roger, I'm coming to get you!!! - I can sense the longer guitar solo approaching - scratch those strings, Bri!!! - I love how you can see the audience's enthusiasm, and when you compare it with the relatively cold applause at the Rainbow, it's so uplifting and beautiful that people's love for them kept growing and growing - this one guy in the audience hyping Brian... bless you, man and your positivity - Crazy Little Thing Called Freddie with his gutar - love his vocals here - you know, how he rapidly makes this super high and quick sound - "ready Freddieeeee?" - give me a proper shot on Deaky! Yes, that's what I wanted - licky Deaky - Brian changed his clothes, still looking very nice - they really liked Jailhouse Rock, didn't thye? - "move it you fuckers" OMG so mean - Freddie & Brian <333 Brian's smile <3333 - Roger must be really hot in that shirt....in every possible sense - it's Bohemian Rhapsody time! - my mum would cheer, it's her second fave - the best thing about the live versions of Bohemian Rhapsody is that they always play my favourite parts - I'm actually gonna turn up the volume for that godly guitar solo - Oooo they played the operatic part via playback??? - I didn't see that coming actually - Nice touch! - SPARE HIM HIS LIFE FROM THIS MONSTROSITY - ROGER'S DRUMS - okay that hard rock section SLAPS hard - this is my favourite version so far - please tell me there's a CD version of this concert? I want it all (no pun intended)on my phones - I'm totally gonna search for a victim who's gonna watch this with me again - Sensing my mum or my flatmate - SMASH THAT GONG ROGER BOY - the flowers Freddie deserved - I'm pretty sure I'm watching this way too loud (on headphones but still), considering I'm on a traine...I have no regrets though - the editor knew what he was doing, unlike the Odeon one - they have more energy than me, - more explosions...SO EXTRA - Another one bites the dust! - Deaky's time to shine again - Freddie...I'm in public..stop taking off your clothes - AOBTD should be a Freddie/Roger vocal duet, change my mind - "Are you happy? Are you satisfied?" I SURE AM - "How long can you stand the heat?" I'm not sure, you guys are too good - wow Brian, how did you know I love guys wearing black trousers and white shirt? - those people who got to stand so close to the stage... they're blessed - now I'm reminded of the people from that facebook group I’m a member of...They all hate Sheer Heart Attack...BUT HAVE THEY HEARD THIS VERSION? - Me: man I wish I was born the same year my mum was so I could attend this concert  Me: reminds myself that if I were, indeed, born in the early 60s, I'd spend my entire youth in the communist Poland and I certainly wouldn't be allowed leave the country and go to Montreal to attend the rock concert  Me: *laughing hysterically* - Freddie and Roger brotp strikes again! My crops are watered - We Will, WE WILL ROCK YOU! - I lowkey wanna sing along but I'm public and I'd totally embarass myself - I DON'T WANT THIS CONCERT TO END - We are champions - again, my mum would love this concert - I'M EMO - Roger looks kinda sad, I wanna hug him - I think my brain has been forever scarred by that cursed WATC crack video - I can't unhear it XD - Freddie shaking hands with people...THIS IS TOO MUCH - I feel like my life hasn't been complete before I watched this - yes Rog, come forward! - the person who got Roger's sticks..jealous me - "thank you for being such a good sport" I CAN'T Freddie's too adorbs - In short: my expectations were very very high and yet they were grossly EXCEEDED, I'm nostalgic, emotional, happy at the same time - SO WHOLESOME OMG - Like, LIVE AID WHAT? - and they managed perfectly well without any synthesisers, because THEY ARE GREAT and SKILLED MUSICIANS, there was literally not a single weak spot in this performance??? - The bar is set very high for the Hungarian Rhapsody and Live at Wembley, hopefully I can watch these very soon! :D

[the-outcast-in-the-back]

Midnight (Roger Taylor x reader)

A/N: Ta-Da! I finished it! And in time for our mans birthday!!! Happy Birthday Ben Hardy! An amazing and talented actor and a kind and caring person! Thank you for gracing us with everything you got!❤️❤️❤️❤️

Summery: You and Roger have been in love with each other for so long it has gotten on Freddie’s nerves. So he comes up with a plan that will get the two of you to admit your feelings. And what better day than on New Years.

Warnings: Possible swearing? Fluff and a Freddie Mercury Make-Over!

~

“ Darling what are you doing here? It’s early.” Freddie said when he saw you in the doorway. You looked around and saw all the people helping set up for the New Years party tonight. “ One, you forget that the band is probably my only source of friends. And two, I wanted to see if you needed help with anything?” Everything seemed so shiny and glamorous but what did you expect from Freddie. There was gold and silver everywhere, and little hints of dark purple decorations spread throughout.

“ As you can see, we’re quiet alright. You can stay of course.” He offered. You were a little hesitant you weren’t sure if Paul would be upset. You two didn’t have the best track record. Nodded an okay and explained that you didn’t really have anywhere else important to be. To be fair it was really early almost 6 hours before. Freddie then looked at you strange and asked “ You aren’t wearing that simple thing are you Darling?” You then replied “ Oh, no, I have my dress in my car to change into later.” He then gave you a questioning look and added “ May I see it?”

After a moment you brought it back to him. It was a long dark blue dress, with small gems along the neckline. He then took it from you and held it in different directions analyzing it. Which made you very self conscious. Then after a long while he said “ No.” You were taken back and repeated “ No?” He then handed your dress to someone and had them put it back in your car. “ You simply can’t wear that, not for tonight. I mean it’s beautiful for another occasion, but not tonight. It’s New Years after all.” He explained. “ I’m well aware.” You said crossing your arms. “ Well, I’ll help you get something else, something more, appropriate.” He said gesturing to your body. “ Freddie I’ll be fine I-“ He then cut you off “Darling, don’t. I promise you won’t regret this.” He then dragged you up to his room. Freddie made a few calls and about an hour later some person who you didn’t know in the slightest cane in with a rack filled with dresses.

They were all in various different colors, lengths and styles. “ Freddie you didn’t have to-“ quickly he put his hand up and said “ Nonsense Darling, besides it’s no trouble at all. Now let’s see...” He then scanned the dresses and looked at you and then back at them. You sighed knowing there was no arguing with Freddie on this one. You could hear the scraping of the hangers against the rack as he glided them across trying to get a good feel for which one would suit you best for tonight and what he had planned for you and a certain someone.

After literally a few hours of trying on dresses and having to model them for Freddie, you heard a knock on the bathroom door. “ (Y/N) you must try this one!” You groaned and laughed a little. Sure you and Freddie had been best friends for the longest time, but hours of this? That was starting to push it. You then opened the door slightly and then tried this last one on. When you opened the door to reveal him sitting on his bed legs crossed, his eyes widened. It made you a little nervous so you put your head down trying not to make eye contact.

It was a (F/C), long dress, with three quarter length sleeves. It was a satin, with a little shine almost glittery look to it. The sweetheart neckline and basque like waistline made sure that you had a perfect outline. Freddie then came over to lift up you chin a little and then he stepped back. “ Perfect.” He said quietly. “ Now my Darling on to the fun part.” You couldn’t help but let out a sarcastic “ Oh that wasn’t it?” He brushes of your comment and explained “ Of course not! Now we do your hair and makeup.” He said pulling your hands to lead you to the vanity. “ Fred, do you even know how to do makeup?” Questioning his better judgment at the moment. “ I do indeed! Mary taught me.” You sighed an alright and he started his work.

He had just simply combed you hair out explaining to you that it looked beautiful enough on its own. He had also done a silver smokey eye, with a touch of silver glitter mixed in of course, he even slightly contoured and highlighted for you. “ Now let’s see what lipsticks they’ve brought us.” He stayed rummaging through the box he had delivered. He pulled out a red that would compliment your skin tone. He got out a brush for accurate lining when you asked “ Freddie, why are you doing this?” He then shrugged answering “ Is it wrong I want my best friend to look nice? Perhaps even find someone tonight?” He emphasized that last part with a raised eyebrow. He sat down and held your face making sure you do move too much. “ (Y/N) Darling, I care about you. Don’t you want someone ?” You then looked at him and sweetly replied “ I’m very happy one my own, but I would like someone.”

He then finished your lips with a Ta-Da and gave you a mirror. You stared at yourself, you were surprised. Freddie did a really good job, you actually felt pretty. He had a satisfied smile on his face and said “ Hold on a moment.” He then walked out and had you turn around in your seat. “ This was a gift I originally got for my sister, then I realized this wasn’t really her style, but... it look ravishing on you.” You then told him “ Freddie this is way to much.” He then shook his head and stood you up. “ Darling your worth it. You look absolutely smashing, and hopefully some men are going to want to smash you.” You said coyly. “ Freddie!” You exclaimed embraced. Smiled and then explained “ Now (Y/N) you wait here while I get ready and then the party should be ready as well.” But before he left you said “ Thank you Freddie, for all of this.” He then took another glance at you in full form and replied “ Of course, Darling.”

Later that night when Freddie spotted his band mates he sauntered over exclaiming “ Hello my Darlings! Thank you for coming!” The three of them returned the hello and Brian added “ This is, well, a lot Freddie.” “ Very you.” Roger finished. “ Why of course it is what else would you expect?” Freddie asked. “ Once again it looks amazing.” John said. They sat for a moment and talked then Freddie caught sight of you and stood up gesturing you over. He stood up and announced “ I introduce to you, the ready for the New Year... (Y/N)!!!” They all turned to see you coming over and all three of their mouths dropped open. Rogers more than anyone. Freddie smiled to himself at this. His plan was working. He had noticed there was a little tension between you two, he knew you liked him.

You seemed like a school girl when he would walk in the room. And Roger was like a love sick little puppy at even the whisper of your name. He just had to get you two together. “ Hey Guys.” You said taking the empty seat between John and Roger. “ You look beautiful (Y/N)! I hardly recognize you.” John told you. You just giggled a thank you. “ You’re, you’re...” Roger tried to tell you then cleared his throat. “ You’re gorgeous.” You then stopped at what he just said, a little shocked. “ Oh, um-Thank you Roger. You-you don’t look half bad yourself.”

As the night went on it was nearing midnight, maybe less than five minutes. The you had gone to stretch your legs a bit when Freddie came up behind and said “ (Y/N), Roger said he needed to talk to you. He’s on the guest bedrooms balcony. He told me it was urgent.” You then replied with a simple okay and headed up the stairs to where Roger was. What on earth could he need? You honestly had no clue. You always felt like you were too awkward around him. God how bad was your crush that simply walking up some stairs made your heartbeat quicken.

You opened the door to the balcony where Roger was leaning against the railing. “ You wanted to see me?” You question. Confused he replied “ I thought you told me to be up here?” After a moment it clicked for the both of you and you said in unison “ Freddie.” You then explained “ I’m so sorry about this, I should go.” Roger then grabbed your wrist saying “ Stay, please? It’s starting to get too loud for me down there.” You laughed a little at his comment saying “ Well if it’s too loud for the drummer, you know somethings wrong.”

You both laughed a little and he smiled at you with absolute adoration in his eyes. He then got distracted by two people making out and walking into one of the empty bedrooms across and down the hall. You turned around wondering what he was looking at. “ I don’t know why people do that.” He then asked “ What?” Needing specifics. “ Kiss on New Years. I just don’t get it. It doesn’t really do anything. Most of the time people do it with someone who’s a stranger and then they are all awkward after it and then they never speak again.” You shrugged.

You then walked over to the balcony where he was leaning and started looking at the stars. You didn’t like making too much eye contact in fear of that you were staring at him and then him being weirded out. “ How do you know?” He asked you. You again shrugged and explained “ I don’t, I mean not first hand know, you know. I’ve only ever seen it happen to other people or accidentally overhear someone explaining what happened. I just don’t understand a lot of spur of the moment stuff.” You then started to hear the loud counting of people throughout the house. “ Well, here it comes, the New Year. Any regrets or wishes?” You asked and turned to him. He then took a moment to just look into your (E/C) eyes.

5...

He loved that small smile of yours how perfectly curved it was.

4...

He started to remember all those times you laughed while on the road.

3...

He remembered how your eyes would sparkle when you saw a new place.

2...

He then answered you “ Yeah, this.”

1...

Before you even processed his answer his kissed you. It was so sudden you didn’t have time to even think about what he was doing or what you were doing. Not realizing that you melted into him and synced with his rhythm. All of your bottled up feelings for each others disappeared in that one moment. It felt like forever and you didn’t care. You felt like you were in heaven.

When you two broke the kiss and you noticed your arms around his neck he broke the silence saying “ I regret that I didn’t do that sooner. I should’ve but I was scared you didn’t love me, but I couldn’t wait any longer. My love for you was tearing me apart.” He then rested his forehead against yours. “ And I wish to be with you, if you’ll let me.” You then whispered as if it was a prayer between you and him “ I love you too, I love you so much. I just didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t think you loved me. I love you so much Roger.” He then smiled “ When we can would you like to do something? A date? Just the two of us?” You then looked up at him and nodded “ Absolutely.”

There was a long silence between the two of you. A silence of contentment. After a while he hugged you and asked “ Do you still not understand New Years kisses?” You tilted your head and asked “ Will you not leave me? Or forget about this?” He teased “ I don’t know maybe we both need reassurance.” He then kissed you again and you both smiled in it. “ Are you now reassured?” You giggled and said “ I am now.” And you leaned into him hugging each other finally together after those painful moments of tension between you two, you now knew you loved each other and nothing was going to change that.

Little did the two of you know that you were being watched. Freddie after the commotion of all the people went to go check on the two of you. And there the two of you were during your second kiss. You two finally admitted it to each other. You two were in love, the strongest bond. Freddie smiled to himself proudly his plan was complete and was a success.