#if we look at it from a narrative perspective then . sighs yeah i see why she died especially with the batshit crazy writing the team did | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ptergwen · 4 years ago

Text

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

if i forgot you please lmk!

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #spiderman #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic

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mittensmorgul · 4 years ago

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Today on the TNT loop... 12.23 and 13.01 (so far, it’s early and we’re going through 13.04 today). So I’m deep in the Grief Arc feels.

But again, it all hits different now. Yes, I’ve rewatched these since 15.20 aired, this is my second pass through the loop since then. But with a bit of emotional distance from that mess, there’s interesting stuff here.

Looking at the finale, at what Jack would become, at how that ties in with themes of Faith versus Free Will... it’s like this was the point where Chuck finally weaponized free will against them, where their choices would play into his story rather than fight against it. No wonder Dean was so angry after this point.

No wonder Chuck abandoned them, refused to answer Dean’s prayer to bring Cas back. Cas wasn’t SUPPOSED to come back. Chuck finally got him out of the way, and it was literally Dean’s grief unwittingly channeled through Jack’s power that woke him up again and gave him the tools to fight his way back. The fact Cas never KNEW this is still one of those things that I will scream forever about.

(In every way that actually mattered, Dean was silenced)

But in today’s viewing, I’m mostly screaming about the “drunk angel” Miriam and her vendetta against Becky.

DRUNK WOMAN: Whoa. What happened to you hand?

DEAN: Nothin’.

DRUNK WOMAN: Doesn’t look like nothing. You punch a wall or something? I punched a wall once. Well, a poster on a wall, but same diff, right? Freshman year, I had this roommate, Becky. She had this giant poster of Elsa. You know, from “Frozen”? And I mean, first, who brings something like that to college? A cartoon? Really? Like, “hello homeschool,” right?

[As she is talking, Drunk Woman is writing something in the dust of the Impala’s passenger side window, and Dean removes a bottle of whisky from the trunk. He takes a swallow and then pours some over his bloody knuckles]

DEAN: You done?

DRUNK WOMAN: Anyway, Becky was - and I say this in the most feminist, screw the patriarchy way - a giant superbitch. She’d take things, and break things, and piss people off, and just do whatever she wanted, no matter who it hurt.

[Dean is making please stop talking faces at her but she is oblivious]

DRUNK WOMAN: It’s like the whole world was just Becky to her, you know?

DEAN: Mmm. So you punched her poster.

DRUNK WOMAN: And lit most of her stuff on fire.

[Dean gives her a look]

DRUNK WOMAN: I got issues.

[...]

[As the Impala pulls away, you can see Drunk Woman has written “BITCH” in the dust on the window.]

So, we have this invented story about a woman named Becky. But after s15, we KNOW how much control Chuck has over the story, and especially of certain characters-- like demons and angels. This is why he was so infuriated that he couldn’t just control Castiel. We saw him DIRECTLY insert Lilith back into the story in 15.05, limiting her power to ONLY follow his “script.” To the point she was entirely self-aware of this and her place in the story, and the fact that she was essentially just a character in the story without free will.

And I kinda wonder how much Miriam functions in the exact same way-- the way Chuck has implied that ALL angels are expected to function.

MIRIAM: Okay. If she shoots you. (Sheriff Barker looks to Dean in confusion) I don't know what he's told you. I mean, I can guess. Some line about how he and his brother... (deepens voice) save the world. Grr. So macho. (she sighs and speaks in her normal voice) But really, he's not a hero. He's Becky. DEAN: Becky? The roommate Becky? MIRIAM: You take things and break things and piss people off, and just do whatever you want, no matter who it hurts. Also, you're a giant super bitch. DEAN: Well, it takes one to know one. MIRIAM: So, yeah, you're Becky, and Becky needs to die. You're on, Barney Fife.

Yes... she says Dean is “Becky,” this Becky that breaks things and who saw the whole world as Becky... Though... her understanding of how free will works in this context really does sound twisted and tainted by Chuck’s perspective on his own “disobedient” characters. Because to Chuck, the story is the most important thing, it’s the only thing, and it’s entirely his own creation.

No wonder creating human souls made him feel a little queasy... and I’m still not sure that was something he actually did on purpose, especially with the free will bit included in the package. Because from the moment free will existed, Chuck began to lose control of the story of creation. People could choose to tell their OWN stories, better stories than the one Chuck created the universe to tell in the first place. Humanity makes things better, bigger than Chuck could imagine, through the power of love that Chuck could never invent for himself or understand for himself. Or even possibly FEEL for himself.

And who was his original human pawn in the story, way back in 5.01? Becky. Becky who took HIS story and “broke” it and pissed him off, doing whatever she wanted no matter who it hurt (even if it was only Him as the Original Author getting precious about his story). But as we saw in 15.04, Becky refused to just take his story as he dished it out. She went out and made her own life, reimagined the Story of Supernatural as something better than it was-- filed with life and humanity and love. She stopped idolizing HIM as the creator and saw it as HER story now too, the version she was passionate about, the version that brought HER joy.

And what did Chuck do to her? Like Miriam, he “punched her cartoon poster” and then burned most of her stuff. Because Becky had the audacity to take the story she’d been written into and make it her own. She refused to “obey” the story Chuck wanted to tell. And he saw her story as infantile and uninteresting. Because he couldn’t just let it go... like Elsa... lol.

And what Chuck can’t control, he tends to destroy, like Miriam did in this episode. Only... Miriam failed too. Sure, it was only one battle in the long war of Free Will versus The Story, but it was the opening note in this section of the story which was supposed to be about Humanity and Free Will finally triumphing over the story to free themselves from it.

The story itself was telling humanity to hold on, to keep telling OUR version of the story, because that was how to defeat the story itself. Human love and choice and will as something BETTER than the story Chuck wanted to tell. Not just handing it off to someone who has been built into the perfect vessel to carry on his story, but literally allowing humanity to be free from the narrative Chuck spent all of creation trying to build for them. And that freedom was literally built upon the very human love embodied in Dean Winchester (and learned by Castiel to the point it changed him and freed him from Chuck’s control). Cas deserved to come back. Jack deserved to be freed from his destiny. Billie deserved better than being manipulated and villainized by Chuck’s final chapter. Eileen deserved the freedom to choose her own happiness. Sam deserved a chance to do the same. Dean deserved to live, and to have a chance to tell Cas he feels exactly the same way about him. And that’s the tip of the iceberg of what everyone deserved.

(they deserved to not be “burned” for their audacity to want something more than what Chuck thought they deserved)

They deserved to hang up their Frozen posters without some self-righteous bitch judging them for it, and to live their lives how THEY wanted to, rather than how Chuck thought they should for his own egotistical self-justification.

Chuck said way back in s11 that he wanted to create the universe to make something better than just him and Amara, and everything after that point reads like he was pissed off at the fact that humanity went out and actually DID grow to be better than him, in every way possible. Sure, we fuck up, we make mistakes, and some of us are actively malicious and terrible people. But... overall? We try. We keep trying to be better, to love more, to choose the right thing... to do our best in a world where it’s far too easy to do our worst, to take a few words from Cas.

And it just hurts my heart to know what we COULD have had if Chuck didn’t actually win.

#spn 13.01 #spn 15.20 #spn 15.04 #chuck's process #spiders georg of the tnt loop #that's what free will is

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goblins-riddles-or-frocks · 3 years ago

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Top 5 worst and best scenes from Shadow and Bone (TV)

(I’m sorry! I saved this reply to drafts and forgot to ever post it!)

Ahh so this was a tough one, I’ve already forgotten a lot of what happened lmao. I had to consult my livetweet thread to remember stuff. This will be in no particular order, and more according to my personal enjoyment than quality. Because... this show wasn’t that quality xD

Best Scenes:

1. The final moment when the Darkling comes crawling out of the Fold with the nichevo’ya in tow behind him. First of all I just love how they made the nichevo’ya look, I always had trouble actually picturing them. And also the “surprise, bitch” energy of the scene is great.

From a book to film adaptation perspective, I also love that he, personally, has had to claw his way out of the Fold, and how we see that brief moment where he’s down in the dirt. In the books iirc he had like an inferni and several oprichniki helping him? And like that’s just much more dignity than the show allowed him ahaha.

2. The entire sequence where they’re first going into the Fold. I think it adds a lot of tension, and gives a properly sinister vibe. I also really enjoyed the change where Alina discovered her powers when she was still holding Mal’s hand (strongly foreshadowing the third amplifier reveal) but while the volcra were attempting to drag her away.

3. All the Genya scenes! She was great! I loved their final confrontation in the tent. I was really afraid that the show would try to make her less sympathetic? But her dynamic with Alina was still really good. And I think they actually fleshed out that last conversation in a fairly interesting way, where Alina tries to make her see that the Darkling is really behind her trauma, and facilitated it.

4. I’m struggling to come up with more best scenes… Like the Crows were a gift and a delight. And Jesper specifically just about carried the entire show. But their scenes never really went anywhere so I can’t pinpoint any particular ones that stood out to me? Idk their plotline felt aimless.

5. Yeah that’s all I got RIP

Worst Scenes:

1. Darkling flashback. I went into why I think it’s bad in that other post, so I won’t belabor it. But it’s just very generic, and a tremendous downgrade from what we had in the books. It had no real purpose beyond “look how SYMPATHETIC he is” without any complexity, and anything that tries that hard just automatically loses all of my interest.

2. Mal and the Darkling fistfight. Just. Sigh. There’s so much wrong with this scene. Narratively, it really annoys me that Mal gets the final fight with the villain, while Alina’s knocked out. I hate how they rearranged things so that he is saving her, and she’s like the traditional damsel in distress :/

But ignoring that, just at a face value level TROLOLOLOL THE DARKLING IN A FIST FIGHT? Honey, sweetheart, darling, you dumb fucking idiot, you have the unholy powers of darkness, and an army, and you choose to get punched in the face by a kid? Cool.

3. Constant meadow flashbacks/Malina flashbacks. I enjoy Mal a lot in the show! But the plot kept coming to a grinding halt to remind us of how much these two love each other, when their actions actually portray that plenty. It was just so dull and boring.

4. It’s minor but I really really disliked the scene where Kaz tells Inej he won’t rescue the other girls in the menagerie because he only invests in the “one of a kind.” And how it’s…I think?? meant to be a romantic moment. This is just such a bad misunderstanding of the characters and also pretty disrespectful to Inej herself, in that it implies he would simply not help her if she was a) not a highly skilled wraith b) he didn’t have romantic feelings for her. Idk like I said I was lukewarm about most of the Crows’ scenes because the characterization was generally solid but they also didn’t go anywhere. But this was just… not good.

5. Most of the finale/climactic sequence and how it made Alina more of an object to be saved as opposed to the main player. But specifically in that segment the “Make me your villain” scene, arguably the most iconic moment in the first book, was just completely butchered. Like they just try way too hard to humanize the Darkling. They were speaking in completely different terms, more in that of a breakup. Whereas in the books we see him trying to manipulate her into feeling like she’s young and unreasonable for not being cool with being under his complete control, and murdering a bunch of people to further his fascist agenda. I honestly think that moment humanizes him in the book too, and it does a lot of heavy lifting in terms of informing his actions through out the series and making sense of his perspective and habits. It throws all his prior manipulation into sharp relief. But then the show is just like “he cry because she’s mad at him 😢”

Also the antlers are just ugly? Major points taken off simply for making me look at them.

#netflix shadow and bone #shadow and bone #grishaverse #sorry this was so late 😭😭#I’m cleaning out my inbox and drafts #so you might see some older stuff today #long post #meta #step into my office #dark stories of the north

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mochilorddrakeinferno · 7 months ago

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Each paragraph is replying to a certain excerpt of your post, but the character limit won't let me show which. Sigh. Right, yeah, I'd figured you weren't arguing from that perspective, it's a good one to bring up, I was more trying to supplement your point. Yeah, Loki's analysis of Bleck's consistent sense of apathy was really informative about his character in a number of ways, and it's a lens I hadn't really crystallized before seeing that post, it's really neat! Apologies for missing the subtext here, but which character are you referring to here besides Count Bleck re: narrative and design contrast? I'm guessing Tippi, but I'm definitely curious to hear more of what you mean. I have seen it! Definitely one of the better analyses of Super Paper Mario I've ever seen by far, and also the only one I know of that looked from a lens of coercion and power, and that had a pretty significant change in how I see the story. It also ties in perfectly with the nature of the Chaos Heart as the "chaotic power of love", and also patches the flaws in the notion that each world's boss comes from a form of corrupted love in coming at it from the angle that the conflict of each world does (although Chapter 1 still doesn't really fit the mold there imo). Definitely a very fascinating and unique take on it! Yeah, the whole scene has a very different vibe. I'd always thought he was sort of playing up the Bleck identity to ensure the heroes would strike him down and save all worlds and at the same time retreating further into that state out of an internal refusal to allow himself to hope, but I hadn't expected the original script would be so open about that! From what I hear, supposedly he talks in an archaic sort of way that reads like somebody reading a story, which is similar to English, but a bit more subtle. The heroes were following a prophecy, but as you mention it was one designed to achieve a certain future while acknowledging the presence of other possibilities, but it is true that they're still using it as a guide for their actions. What I take from "the very idea of a prophecy is wrong" is not that trying to look into the future is immoral (it'd be a pretty hypocritical message if so), but that something like the Dark Prognosticus that is meant to steal control of the future from others for itself is a perversion of that power that must be defeated. And that's where the difference in the Light Prognosticus is narratively meaningful, why its "if" matters so much. It's using the power of prophecy to create possibilities for others by respecting their free will, rather than constricting and manipulating possibility toward its own end. And in turn I think that relates to a message on how we should behave as people with regard to control over others, both in general and with regard to love. It is alright, even good, to shape and inform the lives of those around us, so long as we do not constrict or control them. We are all prophecies, acting to create our own futures, and influencing others on our path. Yeah, that's one of the main things I'd point to re: his redemption "counting" or not. As soon as he realized it was possible to meaningfully oppose the prophecy, he was willing to sacrifice everything to undo it. I think also important and relevant to him deserving a happy ending is that it was his actions, his act of... self-aware selflessness, I'm tentatively calling it, that restored all worlds. If the worlds the Void consumed remained destroyed, I might feel differently, but that's another key part of things, I feel. AUGH, so true. So much being left open-ended is... in keeping with the themes of the story, and I think probably necessary to make the central narrative of the story focused, but dang, what I wouldn't give to know what the writing process of this game was like (or heck, even who the writers were). Being a Mother fan has kind of spoiled me with regard to the availability of writer interviews and auxiliary information, so it's endlessly frustrating to just have... nothing, here.

What did Blumiere actually DO to be redeemed?

I know this sounds like a really silly question, to be frank, it really is, and this isn't me trying to say something of the ending should have been changed in any way, because, no, I think the ending of Super is incredible, with Blumiere and Timpani professing their love at the altar with the incredible music, phenomenal. I just pondered this at one point and thought it would be interesting to look at Blumiere through an objective lense as opposed to a thematic one.

Count Bleck as a character is incredible, so are the rest of the cast, I could go on for multiple essays for each of these wacky characters. One thing I really enjoy is the juxtaposing types of villainy and roles that Blumiere and Dimentio have to each other, how one is intricatley complex and embedded in the narriative with his tragic tale, and the other is quite paper thin on the surface story (Who may have more underneath, though personally I like him being more shallow on the lore for proper contrast to Bleck, but this isn't relevant to the plot nor this discussion), with quite a strong characterisation to pull him through. They're like two extremes of the villain spectrum; between the sympathetic and complex to the more flat twist type of antagonist that balance each other out very well.

Count Bleck is a very well written character, I love the execution of his narriative, and the question at hand of what he did to be redeemed really doesn't matter in the grand scheme of the narriative, but it's mostly just a personal ponder-

It makes sense to me that Blumiere found happiness because of his ability to "love", how his love stretched the boundaries of comprehension, his ability to truly love is telling of Blumiere's inner good nature despite all that has been comitted. His willingness and persistance to look for Timpani to even the lengths of the Aftergame itself cannot be unoted. I'm pretty sure this is a key takeaway of Blumiere's tale that is wanted: That true love is the foundation of happiness, and without it, one is empty and hollow. Overall, the game redeems Blumiere with the sacrifice at the altar, where that true love that he does have is professed, and he is eligible for his happy ending through his act of love and sacrifice, and can now live a happy aftergame with Timpani.

But outside of the incredible symbolic perspective, a hypothetical view where Blumiere's actions are analysed from a critical lense rather than a narriative one; What does Blumiere actually do to be redeemed?

Blumiere was implied to have killed the tribe that took Timpani away and searched to the ends of existence to fnd her, to which when her existence was no more, he sought to destroy everything, as nothing else held meaning to him other than Timpani. (Again, symbolically, all works perfectly well)

He takes in the helpless minions and promises them a perfect world if they aid him in his destruction, though this is a lie, simply so that he can recruit them and follow the passages of the Dark Prognosticus. (In the English version, some subtext implies he manipulated them to join him, though throughout the game, Blumiere still treats his minions with respect and the original implies that Blumiere had a genuine will to help these minions from the start)

When Timpani is seen alive, he doesn't try to stop the plan, but simly persists forth with destruction all until the very end, where when he is taken down, he immedietly stops with his destructive behaviour and aims to profess his love for Timpani one last time in a sacrifice. Thematically, this is brilliant.

But from an active standpoint, I don't think Blumiere really didn't DO anything to get a redemption- His sacrifice, again NOT from a thematic standpoint, hardly counts because he still gets a happy ending with Timpani, alive somewhere else. Blumiere's actions across his life have been villanous, despite his intentions being through the persistence of love.

Technically you could flip the question to say "Was Blumiere at fault for his actions in the first place?" to excuse the actions caused, and therefore be able to justify his redemption more clearly, and I find the take interesting, for perhaps Blumiere wasn't entirely at fault for his own actions.

Blumiere specifically sought for the 'history' of the prognosticus, seen in the Japanese translation, which implies that he perhaps didn't intend to cause harm to anyone and exclusivley wanted to find Timpani. There are also potential implications that he had been controlled by the Dark Prognosticus itself because of this, and the reason why he didn't stop the world's destruction immedietly when he heard Timpani was alive was because he was fighting for control of himself over the will of the Prognosticus over his mind....But I admit I'm not really too sure how probable this idea IS. The game is VERY clear when it wants to show something relevant to the plot foreshadowed, and I feel if this is the takeaway the developers wanted, that this would have been shown directly rather than in implication. Yes, technically it is said that those who read the book do not find happiness, and I think there are hints towards the book controlling him, but...I feel it's a bit vague?

Also, if he were controlled BY the prognosticus, I feel that the narriative weight of Blumiere's character would be detracted, as what makes a lot of his character so powerful is the lengths he went to show how much Timpani meant to him. Him CHOOSING to destroy all of existence because of Timpani's loss is much more powerful to me than the BOOK making him do it, because it shows Blumiere's agency in the decision. Him CHOOSING the destruction of existence proves how, without Timpani, this man did not find value in existence without the source of his true love. Rather than making Blumiere a victim of naivety for causing damages he didn't intend to.

Overall, this isn't really a serious question, I know very well the writers wanted the people playing the game to look at the big picture and perhaps look at the story from a thematic point of view as opposed to an objective one, as this is a fictional game with a story, rather than something to be looked at with an actual objective lense, but it was a fun ponder regardless. I'd be curious to hear any throughts on the matter. Have a nice day!

#super paper mario #count bleck #timpani #tippi #dark prognosticus #light prognosticus #love #fate #prophecy

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citrinekay · 4 years ago

Text

and I'd hate to fade alone

@bambikieren and I were talking about the pros and cons of S2 a few days ago, and we both agreed the richness of tension and relationship development between Bill and Holden would have been greatly improved by incorporating Holden's panic attacks. I said something along the lines of "their opposing personal traumas could have made them both feel as if they were alone in the investigation, their partnership from S1 abandoned." She suggested I write a fic about Holden calling Bill after a panic attack in Atlanta, so here it is:

A brief yet unsettling nightmare wakes Bill with a jolt. He was once again treading through the lightning dust to the basement of the house on Cimarron Court. It was pure daylight, full of warm sun. Then he reached the place where he’d witnessed the chalky shape of a cross laden with a toddler’s fragile form, but instead of a cleaned-out crime scene, he laid eyes on Brian hunched over a squirming figure.

Brian is a small kid - doesn’t look capable of anything violent; but behind Bill’s eyelids, he saw the worst possible version of what happened that day the boy died. His son - his own chosen child - smothering the life from the baby. In the dream, Brian looks up from the arduous task, his dark eyes gleaming with infernal impulse.

“Dad,” he says, calmly. “Is the fish dead yet?”

Bill is awake in the next instant, his heart thundering against his ribs and sweat itching in the creases of his armpits and down his back. His mouth is dry, tasting of the three beers he washed down before passing out on the couch.

It takes him a moment to convince himself it was a product of his mind encumbered by stress and fatigue and dread, and nothing more. When he gets his bearings again, he realizes that the clock on the wall isn’t indicating the afternoon but well past one o’clock in the morning. The only light Nancy had left on when she went to bed was the lamp beside the couch. The kitchen and dining area are draped in shadow, familiar fixtures undefined and murky and disconnected from his little pool of yellow light.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, Bill sits up slowly with a groan, and scrubs his hands over his face. The next logical step is getting up from the couch to walk himself to bed where his weary heap of bones belong, but the lingering dread in the pit of his stomach keeps him chained in place.

He isn’t certain when coming home on the weekends from Atlanta began feeling like a second job, but the joylessness is inescapable. Facing Nancy with the noble reassurance that he’s trying to save the lives of children no longer seems feasible just like facing Holden with the lie that he’s dedicated enough to his family to be flying home every weekend for no other reason than to spend time with them had reached the end of it’s credibility.

Perhaps that’s why going back to Atlanta now seems like less work than coming home. In a few short months, his life had become a careful manipulation, a tight-rope walk of convincing everyone in Atlanta, Quantico, and here at home of a specific narrative. While in Atlanta, don’t mention Brian. While at home, don’t mention Atlanta. At Quantico, don’t mention either one. The drive to keep his stories straight burned exhaustion through him like a hot fuse. At least now he isn’t bold-faced lying to Holden.

Rousing himself from the couch, Bill grabs his cigarettes from the side table, and ambles into the darkness of the kitchen. He doesn’t bother to turn on a light as he finds the cupboard by memory, and fills a glass with water from the tap. He washes away the stale taste of beer, and when his throat is no longer aching, replaces it with the heat and nicotine of a cigarette.

Standing over the kitchen sink, he taps ashes down the drain, and studies the night sky beyond the window. Constellations emerge against a tapestry of black, unhindered by clouds. In the silence, despite Nancy and Brian sleeping only a few walls away, he feels utterly alone.

The shrill ring of the telephone jars him from his sinking malaise. He has little time to ponder just who the hell would be calling this late at night as he rushes to grab the receiver and stop it’s ringing from waking Nancy or Brian.

“Hello?”

Raspy, labored breathing rustles across the line, startling his defenses.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Bill …” Holden whispers, his voice low and trembling, nearly unrecognizable. “Don’t hang up.”

Instant worry seizes Bill’s chest, those hassled defenses migrating into protective alarm. “I’m not. Are you okay?”

He hears Holden swallow thickly.

“It’s so late. Did something happen?” Bill presses.

“I … No.” Holden’s hesitation shines dishonesty clearly through the affirmation.

“Then why are you calling me?”

Silence registers across the miles of phone line between them, but Bill can hear the slight hiccup in Holden’s breathing, the undercurrent of distress that he recognizes because he’s been feeling it bubbling up within his own chest for weeks.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s okay.”

Bill presses his eyes shut as the rushed reassurance rouses another bout of silence, this one rife with confusion.

“It is?” Holden asks, at last.

“Yeah, of course. Look, Holden, I know things have been … rocky between us lately, but I know you care about this case. I know it’s been hard on you.”

“And you,” Holden whispers, carefully.

Bill takes a drag of his cigarette, and steadily exhales smoke past pursed lips. The nicotine doesn’t have the calming affect he’s searching for. Despite his honesty last week, he and Holden haven’t spoken about what happened with Brian. Part of him knows they should, but as the prospect approaches now it twists the knot in his gut tighter.

“Yeah,” he mutters at length.

“If it makes you feel any better, you hid it incredibly well. I had no idea.”

“It doesn’t, but thanks.”

“Got any tips?” Holden asks, offering a hapless chuckle.

“What? For lying to everyone and pretending I’m fine?”

“Yes.”

“None that I’d wish on anyone … least of all a friend.”

Holden’s muted sigh is tremulous. “Are we still … friends?”

Bill adjusts his grip on the phone, and bends to brace his elbows against the edge of the counter. Staring down at the ashes dwindling into the sink, he tries to come up with a response that doesn’t make him the bad guy in this situation. His thoughts are nothing more than an empty roar, taken by exhaustion and panic.

“I want us to be. Is that good enough?” he asks.

“Yes,” Holden agrees, his tone perking up. “I can live with that.”

“Then I guess I should apologize for lying to you and pretending everything was fine.”

“Mhm.”

“So … I’m sorry.”

“Me too. If I’d known-”

“But you didn’t.”

“I could have been a better profiler. Instead, I’ve been completely wrapped up in my own shit. You know, I’ve never felt more alone than I do right now, surrounded by the dozens of people who are on this task force. God, I really miss those early days when it was just you and me on the road.”

Bill’s instinctive reply is, “why would you miss me?” But he bites it down because he misses Holden too, and maybe he’s still too burdened by pride to admit it.

“Those were the days,” he says, instead.

“We weren’t so alone then,” Holden sighs, then stifles a yawn.

“You sound tired. I should let you go.”

“No, it’s just … it’s the Valium sinking in.”

Bill chest flinches at the mention of medication, the insinuation it invites - that Holden’s first impulse after surviving a panic attack was to call him.

“Are you okay?” he asks once more.

“I guess I would be lying and pretending I’m fine if I said ‘yes.’”

“Probably.”

“It’s okay. You can ask me about it.”

Bill draws in a slow breath against buzzing nerves. This isn't them. They don’t ask each other personal questions or talk about it. Holden is floating out of reality on benzodiazepine and Bill is too morbidly curious about someone else’s pain rather than his own; but it’s late and they’re both loath to fade alone.

“Does it happen often?” Bill asks, softly.

“Hmm … yes. Not enough to impede me from doing my job, but more often than I’d like.”

“What triggers it?”

“Sometimes the obvious things - a bad dream, a bad thought, a crime scene, a smiling picture of a kid who I know is dead and died terribly. Sometimes nothing. It’s unpredictable - that’s in the nature of panic disorder.”

“But the Valium helps?”

“It does damage control.”

Bill nods, biting the inside of his cheek as he processes this information. What he’d said by the riverside lashes across the back of his mind, and it looks utterly cruel from this perspective.

“What does it feel like?” he asks, closing his eyes against the surroundings of the kitchen.

He waits with bated breath while Holden thinks. His lungs burn with anticipation as if to say “sell me your pain; let’s make a fair trade of it; you try on mine, I’ll try on yours.”

“It feels like … suffocating. Very slowly. My lungs hurt, my head hurts. I can’t think or breathe, and I feel very small and trapped and …”

“And what?”

“Helpless.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It is. Even if it only lasts a few minutes, I come out of it feeling like I ran a marathon. I’m exhausted for the rest of the day, but when I lay down, I can’t sleep. My mind races.”

“That’s why you called me?”

“Well, I couldn’t get up off the floor, but I could drag the telephone and the Valium off the nightstand,” Holden murmurs. “I wanted something to hold onto.”

Bill clenches his jaw as he imagines Holden lying on the hotel floor in his pajamas, his pallor white and clammy with sickness, his body trembling. He wants to say that if he were there now, he would leave his own room and come over, he’d pick Holden up off the floor. They could hold onto each other.

When he opens his eyes, however, he sees that he’s still standing in his dark kitchen, and the only warm body to hold onto within touching distance wants nothing to do with him right now.

“There isn’t much left,” he says with a grim chuckle. “For you to, you know … hold onto.”

“Because of what happened?” Holden asks, gingerly. “With Brian?”

Bill smothers his rising hackles. Holden opened the door by offering to talk about his panic attacks, but Bill had kicked it wide open by even asking the questions. Talking about Brian is quid pro quo. Now all that’s left is putting a price tag on his own pain.

“Ever since it happened, I’ve just been trying to hold everything together. Here at home, Quantico, down there in Atlanta. It’s like there isn’t enough of me to go around, and I keep cutting myself into smaller and smaller pieces, dividing them across the problems I need to control. You were right when you told me I was distracted, that I wasn’t there when I was there. Truth is, I can hardly focus on one thing. Every time I close my eyes or my thoughts wander just a little, it goes back there - to a baby dying, and my kid saying absolutely nothing about it to me or Nancy.”

Holden is quiet for a moment before breaching the invisible wall. “How did it happen?”

Bill inhales a steadying breath, and blinks against the sting at the corners of his eyes. “A group of them were playing in the park. They ended up over at the house Nancy is the realtor for. Things got out of hand. The older boys somehow suffocated the toddler. They put him in the basement of the house, but … they didn’t just leave him. They - well Brian - he-”

“What did he do?” Holden asks, his tone lacking condemnation but rather perking with twisted curiosity.

“There was some old flooring in the basement. They made it into a cross, laid the baby across it like … like he was Jesus, and he was going to somehow fucking rise from the dead. It was all Brian’s idea. It was …”

Holden’s breathing quickens against the line. “God, Bill-”

“How do I reconcile that? How do I fucking forgive him? It was weeks before they found him, Holden. Brian left a baby lying there for weeks, and said nothing. I mean what the hell is wrong with someone who does something like that?”

“Maybe he was scared-”

“No, he knows he can come to us. We’ve never mistreated him, hit him, yelled at him. Never once made him think he couldn’t talk to us.”

Holden falls quiet.

The silence over the line thickens, and pretense falls away. Bill can hear the normal reassurances splinter. Holden studies the mind, and he understands darkness. He can read Bill’s fears even from across the country - and he recognizes their validity.

“You think he didn’t feel anything?” Holden asks. “That he’s just like the subjects in our study.”

Bill’s throat chafes with mounting emotion. He hasn’t dared admit it to himself, but it is what he thinks. It haunts his every nightmare.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Bill, we don’t know everything. Especially when it comes to children. Remember when we talked about intervention, and we wondered if somewhere along the line, something could have been done to stop these men from killing?”

“Yes.”

“This is the time to do something. Get him help. Nothing is written in stone.”

Bill rubs his eyes hard. “You really believe that?”

“Aren’t we beholden to at least try?”

Try. Yes, all he has done for the last few months is try, but that is the god-forsaken truth of the human condition. Trying, and trying, failing and trying. Learning one or two things along the way. It’s inescapable.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“You’re welcome.”

They sit in silence for a long moment.

It feels better with some of the weight off Bill’s chest. He imagines it will be back in the morning. All the more reason not to hang up.

Holden yawns softly against the receiver, his rustling breath prickling down Bill’s spine. He presses the phone closer to his ear, and waits for the indolent moan at the end. When it comes, low and throaty, it doesn’t last nearly long enough.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Wanna go to bed?”

“No. Do you?”

“No. We can keep talking.”

“Okay. About what?”

“Something else,” Bill suggests, angling for a lighter tone. “Something not so fucking depressing.”

“Okay. Here’s something.” Holden’s voice takes on an impish tone. “A few weeks ago, I threw your betting sheets out the window of the car.”

“What?” Bill asks, a choked laugh fighting its way past the calcified emotion in his chest. “I wondered where those went.”

“You weren’t talking to me then. Christ, that makes me sound bitchy doesn’t it?”

“Yep. It does.”

“Fine. But since when do you bet on ponies?”

Bill bites his lower lip. This conversation isn’t heavy enough for honesty, at least not yet. It isn’t important for the truth that he hadn’t been interested in racing until Ted Gunn plopped the analogy in his brain right next to the trigger points that are Holden.

“Not long,” he says. “Just something to distract myself. Mindless entertainment.”

“With a price tag.”

“Everything has a price tag. It’s just a matter of scale.”

“What’s the price tag on this conversation?”

“Nothing. It’s an even trade.”

Holden hums something indistinct.

“What?” Bill asks. “You want me to take something from you?”

“Or I could take something from you.”

“You already took my betting sheets.”

Holden laughs, softly. “I did. Okay, what do you want?”

Bill’s levity disappears into a panicked, heady ether. Before Atlanta, he’d often wished for Holden to say those exact words for him; then his world came crashing down, and those wayward thoughts were available to blame for his own lack of dedication to his family. Holden was an easy target for a rage he doesn’t have the will to hold onto anymore.

“I want you to take care of yourself,” Bill says, finally. “Get some rest.”

Holden sighs, unhappily. “It is almost two o’clock.”

“Exactly. I’ll be back tomorrow. We can talk then if you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, as long as we can both keep our eyes open. This surveillance is killing me.”

“Don’t worry. We’re going to get him. If not tomorrow, then the next night.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Well …. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Bill.”

They linger a moment longer before muttering further goodbyes. When the phone hits the cradle, a deep and abiding silence replaces the hiss of static across the line and the warm cadence of Holden’s voice. Outside the window, the stars are the same even as time marches forward, dragging him towards an inevitable precipice. It’s some small comfort that he won’t be making that fall into the abyss alone.

#bill x holden #mindhunter #my writing

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graffiastrology · 4 years ago

Text

The archer, a musical birth chart.pt 5 Does a scorpion sting when fighting back?

Pluto, Lilith and mars in Scorpio:

“No, I could never give you peace”

So yeah, danger does indeed live in you and your birth chart, and she was aware, Battles, revenge, death and transformation will come ahead.

And she knew, since Picture to burn to Better than revenge (songs that are not in the playlist since they may get changed in the new versions) this scorpio force within her, and she has lilith right in the midheaven, and I think of what she said in the “73 questiosn with vougue” What would you say to your past self?

"Hey, you're going to date just like a normal 20-something should be allowed to, but you're going to be a national lightning rod for slut-shaming,"

Lets remember who is Lilith, the mother of demons, the rebel woman,the "bad" wife now a feminist icon, she was expulsed from heaven for having her own desires and thoughts. Having this placement in the MC (the house of public career) can manifest in complicated ways where men and their good wives can point the finger at the MAD WOMAN and project everything you hate on her.

But Lilith in scorpio also has a power of transformation and fighting for women's rights

That event transformed her, and finally stepped into her raw female power.

But now lets go back in time where the narrative was very different, and painted her as a woman with BAD BLOOD putting other women down.But her enemy was not any woman, the triple scorpio herself: Katy Perry.

Scorpio vs Scorpio

Back in 2015 Taylor and Katy stared a big mediatic feud, 5 years from that we can analyze this in a very different way

So lets recap what happened and how everything went off the trails

From the POV of Katy she lent a couple of dancers to Taylor, and she should have known it was a temporary thing, since they have that in the contracts. She must have read the whole contract, right?

From the POV of Taylor from one day to the other she lost a number of dancers of the tour she carefully put together, but they cant go just away, they have a contract oh what it is? Katy told them to put a clause so they could leave the RED tour ? oh this is enough I don’t need a bunch of traitors in my tour, go away!

And they used to be so close, from her POV it looked like she knew what she was doing, and from the Katy perspective it was not a big deal, you tour didn’t fall apart, you had time to plan in advance, but no, band aids don't fix bullet holes

Make no mistake BAD BLOOD was a intimidation tactic, it was a display of power, and it show a side of Scorpio mars in the 11th house (house of frienships)

it was like "look at my army, look at my powerful friends, do you want to mess with us?" Little did she know she had traitors in her army, one of them will be the one to strike low and give her the punishment of a low libra sun pisces moon: destroying your image with lies and illusions.

And then Katy took an opportunity and kicked the horse when she was dead with SWISH SWISH, but Katy you should have known that Mars, your chart ruler, doesn't like this, because if you beat down your enemy when it is down it speaks volumes about your confidence and real power.

But surprise bitch!

She came back from the dead, Pluto in Scorpio in action, babey!

LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO, a power move like no other, just think about it, she could have:

Release Me! as planned and get a shit load of hate "you don't have the right to feel good about yourself, snake!"

Release an “apology” song, submit to the liar, and disappoint all the fans who stand her in her darkest time

Or this, take control of this whole snake narrative, loyal fans have already endured the storm, and it will create a new image, a powerful woman, one that attracted new fans (me included)

And so she was back at the top of the game while Katy was entering a dark era (probably going to make a playlist for her too) in these times she reflected in what went wrong and what was more important, because IT TAKES TWO to make a fight, she send a letter and Taylor recognized she may have blow things out of proportion and forgave her when they meet in the AFTERGLOW of their war.

But let's pause a moment, can we recognize the amount of growth that must take for 2 scorpio women to forgive and forget, to make amends? and that is something she always did, she believed people can be brand new, 32 and still change to grow up, still INNOCENT everybody makes mistakes, everybody makes impulsive choices that are not for the best...but what not everybody does is trick you, get you on the phone and mind-twist you record a call, edit it and re frame it to destroy someone. I am going to put the most interesting part of the call right here:

West: So it says “To all my Southside [N-word] that know me best, I feel like Taylor Swift might owe me sex.”

Swift: [Laughs, relieved.] That’s not mean….. oh my God, the buildup you gave it, I thought it was going to be like, “That stupid, dumb bitch.” But it’s not. So I don’t know. I mean, the launch thing,

West: You don’t have to do the launching and tweet. That was just an extra idea I had. But if you think that that’s cool, then it’s cool. If not… I mean, we are launching the s—

FAMOUS: I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex Why? I made that bitch famous (Goddamn) I made that bitch famous"

Sigh….THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS

Okey let's analyze this, the song was released, Taylor did not promote it, he said that she didn't have to do that, there was an official statement and then the Grammys speech.

People gave him some flak, but nothing extraordinary...somehow he convinced himself he was the victim and as revenge he and his good wife put the edited phone call and used their platform to destroy her, truly a case of how to make the worst of their Gemini, Pisces and Libra.

And after the plutonic transformation and the power move move that was reputation, is time to sit down, and contemplate the pain, because yes, Scorpio is a tough cookie, but still a water sign, and the hurt is intense and after the war, there is pain and even after the years the shape of their name still spells out pain so yeah she doesn't need to forgive however send that letter so they can have their CLOSURE they can have my middle finger instead.

Because when a scorpion cries they will make sure their TEARS RICOCHET, and think about the themes of the scorpio house (8th) how death creates a ripple effect, a death like hers can't go unnoticed and can’t go without consequences (at the moment they are going to divorce) and that is the thing with the scorpio energy it is about action and consequences, its about death and transformation, it's about crime and punishment.

But LONG STORY SHORT: She survived

And I don’t see a better way to go from scorpio to Sagittarius than with that song, so lets JUMP AND THEN FALL into it.

#pluto in scorpio #lilith in scorpio #scorpio midheaven #mars in scorpio #taylor swift #reputation #birth chart #birth chart analysis #evermore

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stillness-in-green · 4 years ago

Note

When we get back to the escaped Advisors (should be around 14-18 still around ...which is much large than I was expecting, tbh) I kinda hope that they're taking advantage of the current state of Japan to replenish their numbers with frustrated civilians. Maybe get a large enough force for a 2nd Jailbreak to free their leaders?

My current count stands at 4 advisors who we know for a fact escaped the initial net, 6 who we saw engage in combat but didn't see captured in the aftermath, and 5 who we just never saw at all, for a total of as many as 15 advisors who may be in the wind. We were also told 132 people escaped, but that number's only from the villa.

Presumably there were other escapees from around the country, and really, how many people with trained super powers do you need to successfully assault a non-island-based prison? I'd love to see or hear about a second jailbreak to spring more of their people; I'd equally love to see their movement gathering steam via new recruits.

(Beneath the cut, some hypothesizing about what PLF recruitment might look like right now, and my one caveat about the PLF re-entering the plot.)

It's interesting, because, on the one hand, the average civilian has enough reflexive bias against "villains" that even just being labeled villains hurts the PLF's recruitment chances, and that is certainly what the news will be calling them--associates of the infamous League of Villains, the organization behind Gigantomachia's mass destruction and the obliteration of Jakku. That will absolutely poison a great many people against them, both because that's what Hero Society does and because, well, they were outed as terrorists. Big surprise people will refuse to consider their perspective when all this death and destruction is said to be their fault!

On the other hand, it strikes me as being to the PLF's benefit that the HPSC and the heroes did so little--nothing at all, really--to spread any information about the PLF before the attack. Because they were a secret organization beforehand, no one really knew anything much about them. The best any given person on the street is going to know is a) whatever they'd heard about the League on the news, and b) whatever few things they might remember from their high school history lessons about villains from the early age of Heroes.

If the PLF can seize the opportunity, they have a window to get in and really spin a narrative about the current chaos. They could talk about the way that the power and number of heroes is dwindling now, yet repressive laws still require people to sit back and let their homes and families come under attack from opportunistic criminals. They could raise a huge and entirely justified stink about the dissolution of the HMP. They could talk about how they were attacked pre-emptively, about how all this destruction is the result of them acting in self-defense, and does not at all resemble what their plans had been. (That last one would be a flagrant manipulation of the facts, but, you know, they're under no obligation to be truthful.)

It'd be hard to get the kind of platform they need under normal circumstances, particularly if the government is trying to enforce any kind of ban on positive publicity for the PLF--a significant break from laws about freedom of the press, and outside the purview of even the highly controversial Subversive Activities Prevention Act, but then, so was the aforementioned HMP dissolution, and that doesn't seem to have prevented it. Skeptic, though, has shown that he is entirely capable of putting any message he damn well pleases across the airwaves nationwide with total impunity. Until the government can capture him or somehow revoke his access to his satellite (fat chance; I'm sure he has backdoors upon backdoors built into that thing's programming, assuming there are any non-arrested members of the Feel Good Inc. board to try to cut him out to begin with) there's really nothing stopping him from pulling that stunt again.

Of course, the PLF doesn't seem to be in touch with Skeptic at the present time, presumably because All For One doesn't give a damn about Tomura's army beyond whatever use they might be in helping him secure One For All. Which is also why we're unlikely to see a repeat of that stunt so long as Skeptic is stuck under his thumb with the remainder of the League. Sigh.

Still, even without the bully pulpit, we know the MLA was reaching people before, even if only the extremist fringe, the sorts of people who were drawn to conspiracy theories or doomsday scenarios, or the people who were already on the borders of acceptable society and who are now likely struggling more than ever. Deku's lucky that the heteromorph woman he saved was a pretty clear-cut innocent--imagine if she'd had something closer to Spinner's mentality and he tried to tell her that she was probably only attacked because people were scared (unspoken: of her and her kind)! Even though the PLF is primarily at fault for the current chaos by virtue of having been planning a bunch of terrorist attacks that the heroes were very reasonably trying to avert, I think they'd still be attracting people who're inclined to ask questions like, "Okay, but whose fault is it that this group felt driven to those extremes to begin with?" or, "Are the heroes even telling the truth about this? I wonder what the Paranormal Whatever League's side of the story is?" And yeah, I'd love to see the escapees from the raid(s) catalyze that support, get their shit together, and spring RD, Geten, and Trumpet from prison.

ON THE OTHER HAND, this all comes with one big, BIG caveat.

If all that the PLF springing their leaders from prison accomplishes is freeing up those leaders to get taken down in a series of single chapter fights by Deku or the rest of Class 1-A--or, god forbid, the Pro-Heroes again--then I'd actually rather we never hear another word about them again. Then at least I could tell myself whatever I wanted about their fate in the epilogue, you know? For the loyalty of the erstwhile MLA, for Re-Destro's fervent faith in Shigaraki, to be rewarded only by getting curb-stomped without a moment's regret by a teenager? A teenager who's going to spout a bunch of idealistic drivel that attempts but wildly fails to address the real issues the MLA has with the status quo? I think I'll just stick with my fanfic, thanks.

#shockersalvage #stillness-answers #paranormal liberation front #meta liberation army #bnha skeptic #bnha

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marueonmain · 5 years ago

Text

Bottom Line ~ Memeulous

Summary: George is concerned about Y/N’s well-being but does not know how to approach or handle the situation.

Pairing: memeulous x reader

Warning: !!DO NOT IGNORE!! MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING - EATING DISORDER(S)

Word Count: 1.2k

Whether or not youtubers are classified as celebrities, four million people is still a lot of people. It is about five times the seating capacity of all Premier League stadiums combined.

Naturally, there was overlap between George’s four million followers and the one and a half million people who viewed Alex’s video on instagram fitness influencer Ashley Nocera. It was an entertaining video with an interesting segment where the flatmates weighed themselves on camera.

“I think George—I think we’re legally dead.”

It was a joke, of course, to which the younger laughed, and the older argued. Both men were fine weight-wise: just on the lighter side of what would be a ‘normal’ weight range for their height and sex.

While it was fun for George to angrily defend himself whenever he was called small or to push the ironic narrative of being massive, it was not in truth something he cared about. As long as he had skin to keep his organs in and bones to hold the skin up, that was all that mattered to him.

It was Alex who first pointed out that his girlfriend might not see it the same. George was not observant, but following that conversation, he tried a little harder, and he noticed some things.

Y/N bought two new identical shirts – seemingly the same fit and size as ones she already had just in different colours – but these did not fit her. She also twice blew up at him for changing dinner plans as if it were his fault the restaurant was closed or too busy to seat them.

“Are you not dressed? We got to go.” Y/N chirped, fiddling with putting her earring in as she emerged from the ensuite into the bedroom.

“You’re not eating as much as you should.” And there it was out in the open. George did not have time to even think how best to approach the topic before his concern overrode his rationale and took control of his mouth – spilling the words out messily.

Y/N shrugged, “Yeah.”

“Well…isn't that like…a problem?”

“Maybe, but I’m not going to deal with that right now.” She finished with her earring and crossed the room to her small shoe collection. “If we don’t leave soon, we’re going to be late.”

“We’re not leaving Y/N. We need to at least talk about it.”

“Now?” A frustrated sigh rumbled through her throat. She threw her hands up in mock surrender and resigned, “Fine. What do you want to say?”

“You know we were together all Saturday and Sunday, and I never saw you eat more than a bowl of cereal and a banana.”

Y/N scoffed, shaking her head she asked, “Is that it? What you’re worried about? You know I don’t eat a lot. Never have. Besides, we ordered in pizza Sunday night, remember?”

“You had two slices!” George spoke sharp and loud before pulling himself back down. “I just—I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me. Even if you think it doesn’t matter or it doesn’t make sense, you can tell me. I haven’t been where you are, and I’m not sure what we’re meant to do from here, but I’m all in for you.”

“We do nothing. I’m fine; I’ve been dealing with this for years.”

“By ‘this,’ you mean your eating disorder.” He did not know how she could be so casual about something so serious.

“I can handle myself.”

“Obviously not. You don’t think I’ve noticed how you started having to wear a belt with all your jeans else they fall right off you? Or how you always change clothes in the other room?”

“Fuck off.” Y/N snapped; the blinds of offhand indifference were ripped down to reveal the blinding light of an angry sun. “Look at you, George. Look at your friends! Attractive, successful social media influencers. I’m not dumb. Ok? I know the type of women who get with guys like you – they’re graceful, camera-ready goddesses. They’re not fat.”

The last word broke off in her mouth and shattered against the floor. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she was quick to turn from George and wipe them with the back of her hand. All the while, her set jaw, and tense muscles worked to maintain her previous unfalteringly stern expression.

All George could muster amidst his bewilderment was a meek, “You’re not fat.”

“I know. Why do you think that is?”

“You don’t understand. You’re noticeably thinner. It’s enough that people are asking me if you’re alright. A quarter of the comments on the last video you were in are accusing me of like forcing diet pills down your throat or other bullshit. Even Will and Alex and them have brought it up.”

“Oh, I see.” Y/N barked out a short, humorless laugh. “So, this isn’t even about me. It’s about you. How you look to your friends. Got it.”

“They’re our friends, and they’re worried about you; I’m worried about you.”

“Well, I’m not going to change. Alright? Bottom line. I know what I’m doing. I know my body and what works for me and what makes me feel good about myself. There’s nothing you can say that’s going to change my mind now, so let’s just leave it. Forget about it and go. We’re already late.”

It took another few moments for either to speak as it seemed the subject was dropped altogether. Y/N collected her keys and wallet up in her hands while George changed his shirt. And both moved to leave.

The solemn silence between them broke just as Y/N locked the door behind them.

“I’m breaking up with you,” George said.

His hard-hitting gaze coaxed a temporary softness from Y/N. Her shoulders relaxed, even turning inward, a hesitant smile on her lips as she searched his face for the joke. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m serious. If you refuse to get better, to even try, then I’m not going to be there while you make yourself worse.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Sure, I do. Bye, Y/N.” George took a step backwards, before turning around completely and walking up the hall toward the stairwell. He did not even want to share a ride down in the lift with her.

And Y/N did not call after him like in a romantic comedy, nor did she follow him with an intense desire to proclaim a new outlook, a changed perspective on the situation. Her feet remained planted, and her mouth shut. She did not see it for the ultimatum it was – at least not at first.

Y/N: alright, I get it, v dramatic. You made your point Y/N: this is so stupid! Y/N: don’t be a dick. text me back. Y/N: you’re serious? All this over what 3kgs??? Y/N: Fuck you!! I don’t care I’ll go out by myself!

Y/N: answer the phone. Coward. Y/N: must be hard to ghost me on every platform

Y/N: ok I get it Y/N: isn’t 72hours a fair punishment? come by so we can make up.

Y/N: answer the phone. Y/N: George, I get it. I’m not alright Y/N: I’m sorry, Answer the phone, and we can talk, please!

Y/N: I need help Y/N: I’ve made an appointment with a psychiatrist. Y/N: she specializes in eating disorders.

George: When’s the appointment?

Y/N: Thursday @ 11

George: I’ll be at yours with the uber at 10. I’m sorry too.

Eating Disorder Helplines UK: 0808 801 0677 USA: 800.931.2237 Canada: 1-866-NEDIC-20

#memeulous #george memeulous #memeulous imagine #memeulous x reader

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hoodwinkd1 · 4 years ago

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Your Eyes Whispered Ch 15

Ch 14 here.

Chapter 15: light hearted jokes

A pillow smacked his face, shocking Eris out of what had been an extremely pleasant dream. He almost snarled at the attack, turning onto his side, before remembering that the object of said dream was lying beside him.

“Sorry,” Rhia whispered, her eyes wide. “Did I wake you up?”

Her fingers played with the edge of the pillow still sitting between them. To Eris’ delight, she appeared to be in the process of removing the barrier, explaining the early morning attack.

“Not many people are brave enough to assault the High Lord first thing in the morning.” Testing the waters, he placed his hand next to hers, palm splayed open. The tumultuous ocean between them turned into a gentle stream as she took it.

Rhia let out a soft sigh. “Go on then, if you must. Lock me in the dungeons, imprison me for life.”

Was it his imagination, or had she shifted closer? Either way, Rhia looked entirely too tempting in the mornings. Her hair had fallen out of its updo and into complete disarray, but framed her face in a way that reminded him of cozy sweaters and falling leaves, of the brief moments he had ever truly relaxed in his life, of safety and of comfort.

He twisted their joined hands so he could press a kiss to her knuckles. “You shouldn’t dangle an idea like that in front of me. I may just keep you here forever, though certainly not in the dungeons.”

She hummed in response, releasing his hand to run hers through his hair. Her fingers continued to explore, drawing the most delicious shapes over his cheekbones, his nose, his jaw, and his neck. Eris would have traded all his fire power in exchange for the fiery lines her touch brought forth.

He also would have traded his powers in an instant for nothing at all. The unpleasant memory of the night before shadowed his thoughts, reviving the roaring self-hatred and guilt at causing her pain.

“Is this why you wanted to remove the pillows? I hadn’t guessed you’d be so affectionate this early.” Eris kept his tone light. She could take his question at face value or use it as an opening to talk about what had transpired.

Rhia grimaced. “Am I that easy to read?” She pushed his shoulder lightly, and he let himself fall onto his back. Eris almost lit the curtains on fire when she moved forward so they were chest to chest, one arm slipping on the other side of his waist. He curled his hand, the arm pinned underneath her, around her back, reveling in the simple touches. “The pillows were in my way.”

“We can’t have that,” Eris concurred. He grabbed the remaining pillow, resting against both of their knees and threw it over the side of the bed. He might have aimed too low and brushed her cheek. All’s fair in love and pillow fights, of course.

“Asshole!” Rhia launched herself on him in earnest this time, straddling his waist with her insanely gorgeous legs. She let a wisp of magic loose, pulling the pillow from the floor to her hands. Eris sat up, hands flailing to grab her wrists, but she got a good smack in before he could. He caught one of her hands and--

“This is too cute!”

Eris let out a snarl that could have woken half the palace at the intruder's voice.

---

Rhia desperately needed to catch up on inter-Court politics. She was relatively confident that foreign diplomatic officials weren’t allowed to show up in High Lord’s bed chambers without invitation or announcement. And yet, Carina Archeron leaned against the door frame.

“Take your time! Just letting you know I’m waiting in the sitting room when you’re ready for a chat.” The dark-haired female sauntered out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Eris dropped her hand and pinched his forehead in frustration. “I would say she’s not usually like this, except...she is.”

Rhia sighed and removed herself from his body. She had hoped that in the morning light, maybe some activities would be marginally easier than the night before. “We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“I have some very choice words for her,” Eris grumbled. “No more showing up wherever, whenever like she owns the building.”

“Oh? Does she show up in your bedroom often?” Rhia raised an eyebrow.

Eris’ reaction was better than she’d hoped. The High Lord, halfway through putting on a new shirt, whipped his head around, almost ripping the fabric apart. “We haven’t, she’s not, I can promise you that there’s nothing to worry about--”

“I’m teasing, love.” She reached up and helped navigate the sleeves down his arms. “Do you have a spare dressing robe? And not one that was meant for your previous consorts?”

He bit the tip of her ear as he moved past her towards the massive closet. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Carina perked up when they finally joined her in the main room. “That was much quicker than I expected. Look, I even put up a sound barrier.”

Rhia could feel the magic buzzing, right as Carina popped it. At least she had more faith in their sex life than Rhia did.

“I’ll be brief.” She sat back on one of the golden chairs, watching as the couple settled themselves on the couch. “I am sorry for interrupting; I forgot you would stay the night. Anyway, long story short, my parents have invited Eris to come stay the week before the Winter Solstice.”

“How wonderful,” he replied drily. “My ideal vacation.”

“They’ve also extended the invitation to you.” Carina winked at Rhia. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell them about your hero worship tendencies.”

She glanced over at Eris, who’d gone surprisingly stiff at the statement. “Isn’t that normal? Letting a fellow High Lord bring guests?”

“Of course it is,” Carina continued. She shifted in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Half of Prythian has heard the news of your mating.”

Eris let out a low growl. “I’m sure Rhysand has the purest of motives here.”

“Ignore him. Rhia, they stressed that you’re invited to come, even if you must come alone.”

Eris growled louder this time. “Not a fucking chance.”

Rhia whipped her head to face him, mouth gaping at the blatant demand in his tone. He never, not once, had said anything territorial or commanded her in anyway. “And who are you to stop me?”

“I would never stop you.” Eris clenched his jaw. “I just want you to see this charade for what it is.”

“Is it? A charade?” She directed the question at the Heir of the Night Court, who looked increasingly uncomfortable with every tense remark.

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought it was anything less than genuine,” she insisted. “Eris, you know I’ve never taken their grudge seriously.”

He leaned forward in his chair. Rhia tracked the movement of his arms as they slid down his thigh, hands joining together and elbows resting on his knees. “Tell me, then, with complete certainty, that the Inner Circle has no plans to investigate our relationship. That they have no desire to inspect my mate for themselves. That they have no beliefs that she might be in any danger.”

“What?” Rhia almost choked on nothing. “They can’t think — they have no reason to believe that you would harm me.”

Eris looked down into his palms, searching for something in the creases that brought her so much comfort. “You know our history. Of course they have reason to believe I would treat you maliciously.”

Carina glanced between the two of them. “Yeah, so third wheeling a fight isn’t really my idea of a grand time. I might just go—“

Eris cut her off. “Answer my question or return home with our most insincere apologies.”

“I don’t know! I didn’t ask and I honestly didn’t consider it.” Carina uncrossed her legs and stared him down, intensifying her gaze. “I swear on all the stars in the sky, I only came here with good intentions.” Her eyes jumped to Rhia and her smile turned apologetic. “And if they did pry, it’s only because they happen to be the nosiest assholes in this world.”

Rhia wanted to sweep this entire conversation under the rug and never address it again. She knew that Eris, like he would with any topic, would let her do exactly that if she asked him to.

But something in her heated. Some fire in her core, some deep-seated instinct urged her to defend, to protect, to snarl at any threat with every drop of her power.

“That isn’t fair. They have no right to judge what’s ours, without proof or complaint.” Her words were quiet, but the look from Eris screamed so loudly that she blushed. “If they have any sort of motive, then I have to decline.”

Carina dipped her head. “I can send that message to my parents. If you did say yes, I would set down clear and strict boundaries for your comfort.”

“Thank you. It’s not a yes or a no at this moment.” Eris’ response was much calmer than before, drawing a soft sigh of relief from her lungs.

Rhia offered a weak smile to the other female. She genuinely wanted to bond with Carina, sought friendship with one of the few Fae Eris trusted, and this conversation had deterred her from that goal. One last question lingered, though.

“I know the history between our Courts is tense, and rightfully so,” she began. “But truly, what purpose does it serve to antagonize Eris like this? After successfully allying with him for so long?”

Carina shrugged. “They always have to be the hero. My parents and family have centered themselves in one narrative for too long, unable to really break the molds they were forced into.”

“My father grew more powerful than anyone expected, than anyone knew how to handle, all while facing scorn from both halves of his bloodline. He had to comprise his own beliefs when dealing with the Illyrians and the Hewn City, yet never could find a way to actually fix the problems. My mother was thrust into almost unlimited power and given a hyper-dedicated soulmate at 19 years old, with no worldly perspective or aged experience.” Carina bit her lip, as if holding back a grin before adding: “oh, and of course they both died for Prythian, so that really set the entitlement in.”

She waved a hand casually, wiping away the fact that she had just analyzed the two most magical beings in this world with utter candor. “Whatever, enough about them. Think on it, and send me a note when you decide. Either way, I’ll still visit and demand the latest Autumn gossip.”

She winnowed before Eris or Rhia could move, a person much too used to always getting the last word.

“How are you feeling?” Rhia leaned back into the couch cushions and placed her hand on his shoulder.

Eris draped his hand over hers and squeezed. “I don’t think I ever feel normal after conversing with Carina,” he admitted. “But I’m no longer angry. I apologize that you had to see that.”

Rhia snorted. “You’re much too calm normally. I can appreciate some rage now and again.”

“Never at you.” He leaned over to kiss her knuckles. “Not ever at you. If you’d like me to rage at someone on your behalf, however, that’s completely acceptable.”

“A wonderful sentiment.” The hand on his shoulder slid behind his neck, while its twin danced across his abdomen. “I would like to see the Night Court someday.”

Eris hummed. “I’ll make sure you see all the Courts and the continents beyond, if you wish.”

“Even Illyria?” she teased.

“Nope.”

“Why the hell not?” Rhia pouted. Rhia hadn’t felt any actual desire to go to the bitterly cold mountains, but his denial struck her as a bit odd.

Eris glanced up at the ceiling. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Well now I simply must know,” Rhia giggled. “Or I’ll assume something much worse than what it is.”

She watched him scrunch up his nose in the most adorably frustrated way. “The General and I....we don’t mix.”

“Eris,” she sighed. “You can’t let this grudge eat away at you like—“

“It’s not the grudge.” A blush crept up his neck. “It’s not me that, well, I don’t want you meeting Cassian.”

Rhia swatted him. “Is he so horrible? Or are you worried I’ll take one look at his hulking body and fall madly in love?”

A beat of silence. Another. Too much time passed, and Eris still didn’t respond to her taunt.

“No.”

He groaned and pulled her closer to him, hiding his face in her curls. “It’s not what you’re thinking! It’s beyond silly, I know, but he did manage to take not one, but two betrothals from me.” His voice went soft. “It’s silly to even think this.”

Rhia bit her tongue, trying to think of anything comforting or sweet to say. She couldn’t do it. A giggle slipped out, and Eris shot his head up.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me.” His eyes flashed in warning, pushing her over the edge.

Rhia gasped for air as the laughter fully overtook her. She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to be serious but...” Another laugh interrupted her sentence. “That is so incredibly ridiculous and superstitious!”

Eris glared at her. “My ego is utterly shredded right now, thank you very much.”

“I love you.” She finally calmed down enough to press a light kiss to the edge of his mouth. “I love you and we’re mates and I promise I won’t leave you for the General of the Night Court.” She kissed the other side of his mouth, punctuating her words.

He wouldn’t risk her pulling away, gripping her waist to keep her against him. She teased him with a few more pecks, adjusting her position to hover directly on his lap.

“Kiss me, you cruel, despicable creature.” His breath fanned her neck and she smiled against his forehead.

A heartbeat later and they were tangled up in each other, lips and tongues and limbs coming together as one. Rhia gasped when he bit her bottom lip and Eris purred when her nails dug into his shoulders.

"Promise me we won't be interrupted this time," she breathed, as he moved down her jaw and back to that one spot on her neck.

Eris smiled against her skin. "I've tripled the wards."

She licked her lips, drawing his attention back up to her face. Slowly, torturing them both, her fingers grazed the neckline of the dressing robe, gliding it down her shoulders, letting it fall off her arms. He looked at her with all the intensity and desperation of a drunkard on his last bottle of wine.

She leaned forward, kissing her way from his chin to his ear. "Should we try again?"

-----

thank you for reading!

tag list: @moonbeamfenrys @qamariana

#eris #eris vanserra #acotar #acosf #sjm #sarahjmaas #autumn court #you are in love

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migurie · 4 years ago

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SUMMERTIME CLASH !

yamabuki lemon x f. reader ; oneshot #1 !

a summery day . it's hot and sticky .

another mesmeric may . im tired and icky .

hey, i have somethin to say . i love you , silly .

"Yamabuki!" one exclaimed. It was a rather hot afternoon. The rays of the sun would make you feel as if you were trying to cross a pot of boiling water. Thus the reason, the yellow haired, sat on the swing, a water bottle on hand.

"You're late." He halfed ass a glare and took a glance at her sweating state before turning back to his phone. "Atleast you came!" Her giddiness was never something he prefers.

"Yeah yeah, why did you call?" It was already quite a shocking tribute for her to call in midst of their summer break, but he was never the type to complain about matters that involves with them finally being able to see each other. "No reason." Her answer became vague once again. Holding meaning even he can't decipher.

"Then, can we go? It's very hot out here."

The fact that he mentioned we and not I just made her smile even more. Nodding vigorously, he sighs.

"The flowers in your house's garden is really pretty, huh?" She muttered aloud, as they both sat in the living room, the sliding glass door, seen across was the field of many flowers of different names and breeds, colors and scents. Staring at it was calming, as the AC blasted in the room, she sat on the couch, holding a pillow on her lap.

The lights were off, and the only source of brightness they have was that from the outside. Though considering how it is in mid of summer, it's quite bright. Lemon might have been trying to conserve energy, as the AC might have been too much in his perspective. Trying to balance it out by killing one source of electricity which is the bulb above.

"I guess? Mom likes gardening, after all." It wasn't really that said throughout this narrative yet, but Y/n have known Lemon for quite a while now.

"She likes the nature, considering how she named you." It would've sounded like a joke, but the tone she used and the gaze filled with appreciation that never left the landscape outside, contradicts the mere thought.

"I really like your name." She started again.

Y/n has always been like this. She speaks to herself sometimes, and unknown to herself, she speaks aloud, her eyes hold thoughts deeper than any ocean. It's almost as if she's thinking of something rather problematic.

"I like your name too, it's very you." As he knew that she'd definitely look at him for validation if she heard him right, he immediately looked at his phone, to act as if he said nothing at all.

"Just my name?"

"What are you trying to achieve?" He retorts, as she had already moved near him, "For you to speak of words you would normally rarely utter?" They stared at each other for a while.

"I love you." She smiles. Their hands held each other, his gaze on his phone were all on her. "More than your phone?" She spoke yet again.

"...yeah" he sounded indecisive and as if reluctant of admitting it. "More than anything?" Pressing on, his hold shifted on her waist, as she sat on his lap.

"I love you more than anything." His voice as addicting as always, his warmth that her body agreed to take in, despite how hot the weather is. His hold that made her feel safe. His gaze that would usually be on nothing but that screen, on her and her only. She definitely likes the way he acts like he dislikes the thought of being near her, though he likes spoiling her like this.

"I love Lemon too." Her answer may have seemed insufficient, but the way she held her neck and she spoke that sentence was more than enough.

"More than any flower?" As if to copy what she had done earlier, he asks. "You're better than any flower." Her lips grazed his as she let out a low giggle. "How true is that?" He sighs, giving in and grasping her waist.

"Very much so."

She was being much more touchy than usual. "Neh, Lemon, do you dislike my love?" She sounded desperate for him to answer no.

"Your love is sometimes too much." He started. Sounding as nonchalant and blunt as always. The fact that he held her lovingly seem to be nonexistent when he thinks of how he responds to her.

"Because yours seem to never be enough." That wasn't really a lie. Lemon knew as much. That because she gives her all, he always reflexively acts like he doesn't need to do the same.

"What do you want me to do, then?"

She perked up, pulling her head back from it's position on the crook of his neck. She beamed, eyes glowing at the thought that he actually bothered to ask.

"Love me, overwhelmingly." Though she may be asking for too much. He simply slumped his shoulder a bit and lets out a small smile.

Looking tired and sleepy, he stealthily took one of her hand that held his neck. Putting the back of her hand on the surface of his soft lips. He held her hands lovingly. "As you wish."

Y. LEMON ; ONESHOT ( END ) !

other works ! @migurie !

#jshk #jshk lemon #lemon yamabuki #oneshot #tbhk

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bwayfan25 · 4 years ago

Text

ER Appreciation Week Day 5: Favorite Mini-Arc

Kerry was adopted.

This is different from “Kerry searching for her birth mother.” I would have been more of a fan of that if 1) they’d fleshed out Kerry’s backstory more (*cough, cough* told us about her parents in a meaningful way) and 2) finding her birth mother did not cause the problems it did. I’m talking about the thing with Chen at the beginning of s8 as well as how the arc ended.

I am a firm believer that this arc had a lot of untapped potential. From a character perspective, it really explained a good deal of her personality and revealed a little bit more about her thought process and narrative lens. However, there was not enough substantive backstory added to really reach its full potential. Not to mention it took six seasons to finally come to fruition. Between when it was revealed in s5 to when she found her birth mother in s11, the audience pretty much forgot about it. (I know I did.)

And while I focus discussion of Kerry’s parents in my AUs where Kerry and Susan end up together, I think it really would have bolstered canon too. Even if we never met the characters of her parents, it could add a level of depth to Kerry as a character to know more about who she is and where she came from.

It’s likely no surprise given that I am a fan of this, as it was a big factor in my two complete re-writes of ER, but I never miss an opportunity to talk about missed opportunities.

***

Susan was just about to take a seat on the couch opposite where Mildred sat reading when she realized they weren’t alone.

Kerry lay curled on the couch with her head on Mildred’s lap, fast asleep. Mildred absently stroked her daughter’s hair with one hand while she held her book open with the other.

“Oh, sorry,” Susan whispered as she took a step back. “I didn’t realize-”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Mildred said at a volume far closer to a normal speaking level. “You won’t wake her up.”

Susan still looked pensive, but Mildred just waved her on.

“It’s… I’ve gotta say, it’s kind of… weird. To see her like that,” Susan remarked quietly as she sat down. “I think I speak for all of us at work when I say she does not strike us as a very cuddly person.”

“Ah. Well, that’s at work. We’re at home,” Mildred pointed out. Then, she gave a shrug of acknowledgement. “Though, I’ll admit that I thought she grew out of it a long time ago. But when I moved in here, she started doing it again. Particularly on nights where a certain someone is over at her dad’s house.”

Susan smiled slightly though she was still a bit thrown by seeing Kerry Weaver taking a nap on the couch cuddled next to her mother (let alone the implications that she sought this out on nights where her own daughter was not around to cuddle with her).

Mildred was about to turn back to her book when she noticed the look on Susan’s face. Her brow rose in question.

“Yes, dear?” she asked at Susan’s look of consternation.

Susan opened her mouth to reply and then closed it. She paused a moment, gathering her thoughts, before trying again.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Mildred tucked a scrap piece of paper into her book to mark her place before setting it on the table next to her. She then looked back at Susan expectantly.

“When did you… tell her?” Susan asked slowly. “I mean, I know you said it was never a secret, but you would have had to tell her at some point. How old was she? And… And why didn’t you keep it a secret? Or, I guess, try to keep it a secret.”

Mildred heaved a sigh.

“Well, for one thing, I was forty-six years old when she was born. And while I have heard, let’s say, horror stories of that kind of thing happening to a woman at that age, I knew it would have been harder to explain that once she was old enough to understand where babies came from.

“And, of course, it’s not just you that has to keep the secret. We had friends and family - our entire church even - praying for us. If we’d kept it a secret, they’d have had to keep it a secret, too.

“But, honestly, what it came down to was that we wanted her to know how much we wanted her. That… That, so what, if we weren’t her biological parents? We waited for her and prayed for her and loved her no matter what. And if we kept it a secret that she’d been adopted, we’d have missed out on the opportunity to tell her all that and have that meaning behind it.”

Susan nodded.

“How old was she when you first told her? When did she first understand?”

Mildred chuckled.

“Well, the first time I told her and the first time she understood were different,” she said with a loving glance down at Kerry. “I think the first time I told her, she was… We were living in Kenya at that time, which was ‘65-’67, so...oh, she had to have been about four or five. Just about Annie’s age, really.

“I got distracted with some work and she’d wandered off to play. And when I finally went looking for her to bring her home for dinner, I found her with a few other kids, all watching something from the path. And when I got closer, I realized that they were all watching a group of women helping another woman… give birth.”

Mildred couldn’t help but laugh as Susan’s eyebrows rose.

“Neither of us brought anything up until I was putting her to bed that night. And she asked, ‘Momma, did you do that with me?’ And I told her very calmly that no, I didn’t and explained that Momma and Daddy couldn’t have babies of their own.

“I told her we prayed every day for God to give us a baby, and at the same time, there was a family somewhere that was going to have a baby but couldn’t take care of it. They were praying for a family that could raise the baby and give it all that it deserved. And God heard both prayers as He does, and made it so that baby could come and live with us.

“She took a moment to think about that and then just nodded once and said ‘Good.’ Very confidently. You know the way she does that? Well, she did that then, too. And I remember being a bit relieved. And I said, ‘I’m glad you think it’s good. Daddy and I think it’s very good, too.’

“And then, she said - and I’ll never forget it - she said, ‘Yeah. It’s good you didn’t do that, because that was yucky.’”

Mildred and Susan both chuckled at the idea (Mildred of five-year-old Kerry, Susan of five-year-old Annie) informing them in no uncertain terms that adoption was clearly the preferable option as it saved them from the yuckiness of childbirth.

As their laughter died down, Mildred resumed her stroking of Kerry’s hair. Susan watched her for a moment, thinking of the way Mildred looked down at her daughter with such love and pride even knowing that they did not share the blood and DNA that usually contributed to such relationships.

“Can I ask you one other question?” she said after a moment.

“Of course, dear. You can ask me anything,” Mildred replied simply.

“Have you ever…” Susan took a deep breath, finding the question harder to ask than she thought. “Have you ever felt like she wasn’t yours?”

Mildred looked at her for a moment and then back down to Kerry.

She shook her head.

“No. Not even once,” she answered quietly as she stroked Kerry’s cheek with a gentle finger. “And that could be because we’ve had her since she was about a week old, so we’re the only parents she’s ever known. But I don’t even think it’s that. Because I’ve felt that since the very first time I held her. I just knew that this was my baby girl and there was nothing God or anybody could do to take that away from me.”

Mildred sighed deeply and then glanced up at Susan. She raised an eyebrow.

“Are you concerned you won’t feel that with Suzie?”

She could tell the answer by Susan’s hesitation alone, but still waited for the young woman to answer.

“A little bit,” Susan admitted. “It’s just… I mean, I was there when she was born, but she’s always been my sister’s daughter. And I know it’s too early to think that… that Chloe really won’t come back and I can go through with the adoption… I just worry that trying to… that trying to not get my hopes up will keep me from feeling that with her. If I am actually able to go through with it, that is.”

Mildred nodded knowingly.

“I don’t think you will need to worry about that, dear. The connection comes from pouring love into a child, which is what you are doing now and have likely been doing since she was born,” she assured Susan in as gentle a voice as she’d use with her own daughter or granddaughter. “One thing I learned early on was that people always tell you that you will love your children, but what they don’t tell you is how much you will fall in love with them.

“Children are like storybooks, but one where you get to help them fill in the blank pages. You help hold the pen or the paintbrush, getting the chance to help create the story just as much as you get to watch it unfold.”

Susan smiled slightly as she took in Mildred’s words.

From the baby monitor on the table next to Mildred came the sound of a squeak and then a cry. Immediately, Susan rose from the couch and turned for the hallway. But as soon as she did so, she paused and looked back at Mildred.

“I think I know what you mean.”

Mildred smiled and winked before Susan started on to fetch Suzie from her nap.

The older woman watched her go for a moment before heaving another sigh and picking up her book. As she did so, Kerry shifted in her sleep.

Mildred looked down at her as Kerry opened her eyes slightly, still half-asleep.

“Momma?” she mumbled, lifting her head just a bit.

“Yes, dear?” Mildred asked softly as she stroked Kerry’s hair.

But Kerry just laid her head back down and closed her eyes again. She shifted again, adjusting her head on Mildred’s lap.

“Momma,” she said, exhaling the word like a comfortable sigh.

Mildred smiled softly.

“Yes, dear.”

#kerry deserved as much background and family as any of the rest of them did #also she deserved more cuddling #eraw20 #nbc er #kerry weaver #mildred weaver #matriarchs au

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