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theregoesmylurkerstatus · 4 years ago

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So... I have a lot of thoughts on the finale. I've deliberately kept my mouth shut, more or less, on the campaign overall because I'm a firm believer that you can't pass judgement -- at least not complete judgement -- on stories until they're over and done with.

Well, it's done! Kind of crazy. I've been watching Critical Role with almost insane consistency, viewing almost every single episode live, with maybe five-ish exceptions, since episode 19, and I've been blogging it for, what, two and a half years?

It's a weird feeling. It's been such a constant thing for me that I'm always gonna have love for it and remember with a lot of fondness.

...Which is in spite of the fact that I can now comfortably say I'm pretty eh on the ending. I know not being positive about something most of us have loved a lot for a very long time can sting a bit, but I personally think it also stings when people relentlessly crow over how good they think it is or want it to be, to the point where you feel you can't voice your absolutely valid upsets or dissatisfactions. So, here goes, if anyone's interested! I'd be curious to see other opinions, too!

I actually drafted a post talking about my overall frustrations with the campaign a whole two weeks ago, and then scrapped most of it when 140 blew me out of the water. I was really touched, and really happy. I hadn't expected it, but it shockingly felt right, you know?

Unfortunately 141 robbed me of most of that satisfaction and brought me right back to neutral.

The blanket statement you have to make, of course, is that you can’t criticise this as a DnD game, and you can’t be mad at the cast for playing it in a way they think is best for them. They’re the players, Matt’s the DM, and in the end it makes no sense for them to try to make themselves act how they think the audience wants them to, and I’m sure most of the audience wouldn’t like the result anyway.

That said, there is an audience. And that’s where I see this clash coming in. As a DnD game, as long as the players and DM have all enjoyed it and been satisfied, it’s a successful game! But for us, it’s not a DnD game. For us, we’re watching a story be written in real time through the medium of an RPG. And while as a DnD game you can’t fault it, as a piece of media, I completely get why the way things have gone has sat weirdly for a lot of people.

It's not satisfying to see so many character hooks dealt with so quickly or left as an offscreen "and then you do it." If they don't want to keep playing to dive into it, absolutely, but for us who have been watching this as a story with all these character elements get so built up, it's a huge anti-climax.

Which is a lot of what this campaign has been, really.

Oh, Nott’s cursed! But through a really cool character moment that problem is completely taken care of with no consequences we see. Yay, I want her to be Veth and that was an iconic move from Jester! Still, it kind of feels like this was built up to be a big problem and at the first success it was let go... Caleb's got a really intense frightening past he tries to hide, I wonder how the Mighty Nein will respond? Oh, they found out, but it's not a difficult revelation for anyone. Looks like it's easy for them to move past it and forgive. Yeah, that's healthiest for the characters, but huh, kinda undercuts it as a storyline or point of interest. Oooh, Avantika’s back! Ah, they’ve killed her and grabbed the eye again. I mean I don’t want them to die or for Uk’otoa to be free, but I’m starting to feel like that’s not much of a threat anyway. The Traveler’s been kidnapped! Nah he hasn’t, he tried to save Jester so he was let go with no further issue, and also he wasn’t actually in any danger anyway. Oh... Cool. So... Why should I care or be worried?

And these are just the biggest ones I remember being kind of let down by. I wanted to see them STRUGGLE for the successes to have meaning. To my view, threats of failure -- real failure -- really decreased the more the campaign went on, with a few exceptions.

Because don't get me wrong, we've definitely had struggles, and those have made for some of the best moments! Molly’s death, Yasha’s kidnapping, Yeza’s imprisonment. When failures that were threatened are allowed to occur, it’s far more gratifying when it’s followed by success, because you understand that that success was actually necessary. It shows us that what they do really means something.

Honestly, that's why the final battle really shut me up, because nothing makes you quite feel stakes and failure like having two PCs die, and having a resurrection ritual fail -- AND knowing that failure would be delivered on, had it not been for a seemingly miraculous roll of the dice to turn it around. One of the greatest failure's -- Molly's death -- made the success of his resurrection put a lot of my other issues to rest immediately, because to be honest? Molly's resurrection was the biggest success of the campaign, exactly because it was originally the biggest failure.

But this episode, we got to see the other side of making threats and successes feel disappointing -- when you get the impression that success was robbed from you. Again, their characters, their choices, but to have them roll an intervention to get Molly's soul, to convince Molly to come back with his own possessions they've so loved, after so long and so many struggles... only to apparently not get Molly at all?

Changed, of course. Memories, maybe he'd never get them back, though that seems inconsistent to how the initial resurrection was played and Matt's hints. It even makes sense that not having his memories and being a bit different, he might forge a new identity, but insisting Molly was a different person entirely after such a supposed hard won success to get Molly back, especially after what his death meant to the audience and potentially healing that old wound? It robs the narrative of a LOT of catharsis, at least for me and I know many others.

Trent, too, I'm very up and down on. He was so built up -- and what fun that build up had -- and I very much disagreed with the idea that the best story would be dealing with him offscreen.

It's true that you don’t need to explicitly address, confront, or explore every big aspect of character's story hooks and background ties for PCs to move past them and grow healthily. But that does not make it a satisfying viewing experience. People quietly healing in real life is healthy. People quietly healing in an explosive fantasy setting is frustrating for the audience.

What on earth is the point of a story if you don’t get to SEE THE ESTABLISHED CONFLICTS go anywhere? A lot of the characters got distant, quiet resolutions, if that, to everything we wanted to see.

Except, we did get to see Trent. It was a really fun, inventive battle, from opening to conclusion, but much like Travelercon, much like Nott's/Veth's problem with the hag, these were things that the audience in general wanted to see be really dug into and explored, and every single one of them got, in my opinion, quickly tidied up instead. Trent got beaten in the first and only proper battle they had with him, which, after all his build up, is pretty disappointing for a villain many of us wanted to see be a big deal. It really just felt like they were trying to tidy up to get on with the epilogue, which is not what a lot of us were looking for with Trent especially.

And that's how most of their endings felt to me. It didn't feel like any of them had reached a comfortable conclusion. Literally all of them, bar Veth and Caduceus, continued on their character journey threads, without each other and very quickly. Meeting Yasha's tribe and Vandran, Caleb finally openly debating changing time for his parents, Trent and Zeenoth's trials and the changing of the guard at the Assembly... All were things it would have been so fun to have all the PCs react to and explore together, and instead they were fleeting encounters in the latter half of a seven hour finale.

Is all this, from Molly not really coming back to Trent being a finale side plot to the Nein continuing on their individual journeys, potentially realistic to how these fantastical things might go down in real life? Sure! But that's not necessarily a good thing.

Stories THRIVE on conflict and resolution. That’s what makes them FUN! Conflict isn’t nearly so fun in real life and resolutions are often frustrating question marks, so no, past a certain point I don’t WANT stories to be realistic. I want stories to be SATISFYING.

And campaign 2 has fallen far short of the mark.

I haven’t spoken... Basically a word of this for most of the campaign, because as I said I’m a firm believer that you can’t necessarily judge something until it’s over, and because I ALSO firmly believe that being negative WHILE trying to enjoy something is counterproductive. I have had no interest in spoiling or naysaying the fun of the campaign for anyone, least of all myself.

But it's done now, and all I can say is... I really have had fun. I love the characters. I love their relationships. I’m pretty okay with where they’ve ended up. I’m not mad, really, and I’m still going to think of this campaign with a lot of affection. But it hasn’t been a satisfying story, even though for a week following episode 140 I thought, despite all the brushed over story threads, it might be.

So... to try and reclaim some of that satisfaction for myself, I might ignore some aspects of the finale proper. Namely Kingsley specifically. Taliesin's choice -- but to me, it's pretty clear that who we saw at the end of 140 was Molly, and the tags on my posts will reflect that, just as my 141 tags will be for both Kingsley and Molly, for clarity's sake. I personally want to believe Molly did come back, however others might want to interpret it. The victory in 140 that meant so much to me is hollow otherwise, and it just kind of hurts that we would lose Molly after everything. I was okay with him being dead -- I'm not so okay with his resurrection being stolen.

Kingsley will always be canon, but Molly is what I choose to acknowledge. I get if you don't like that take, and that's okay! I didn't care for canon's in the end. That's the good thing about storytelling, is that no one can stop you from making your own versions.

For the people who are hopefully hyped for campaign 3, heck yeah have fun! I’m on the fence. My investment, which... I think I can objectively say was pretty substantive as this blog will attest, doesn't feel rewarded, so I’m not convinced I can faithfully keep up for over three years all over again with a strong possibility that I will once again be left disappointed. It's been a huge chunk of my life, and... yeah!

I’ll take a break, probably, view (and liveblog, if people want!) campaign 1 when I’ve had a mental stretch and vacation, and then... I might start campaign 3. I definitely won’t be able to put the same time in it I did campaign 2 (my first love no matter what), knowing that it’s likely to not be so vindicated, in the end.

I swear I’m actually writing this in fairly good humour, but I totally get its always disappointing when the people you come to for fandom enjoyment just aren't sharing your fun. Honestly I’m half tempted to write all those frigging AUs I have sitting around! But I wanted to say my piece, and try and logically outline why this ending has been lacklustre for so many people, ultimately myself included.

Episode 140 felt right because it felt like a natural conclusion -- these disparate people coming together and finally being whole, finally soothing the hurt that MADE them so long ago. Episode 141 spat on that sentiment -- they all scattered to the winds, not as happy people to live out their dreams, but as confused people chasing up loose threads towards an unknown future, with the friend they thought returned still lost to them, ultimately.

It doesn't feel like the ending we should have gotten for the Mighty Nine, who were finally, finally all together. Until they weren't. So to me? I choose to acknowledge that they were, even if I have to force it to happen post-epilogue in my head.

#critical role #cr spoilers #c2e141 #c2e140 #ramblings #long post #first time i've used that tag but i figure people should be able to block this if they want to!#molly #kingsley #trent ikithon #the mighty nein

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thebestpersonherelovesbucky · 4 years ago

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Falcon and the Winter Soldier Ep. 6 Takeaway

First let me say that I really truly enjoyed this show. I was so nervous at the beginning and I was so nervous for the end, and though there are things that I didn’t like (as to be expected with pretty much any media) my overall excitement was rewarded. I definitely give the show an A and can only hope that we keep getting things like this and WandaVision with their next shows.

Anyway.

Sam and Bucky (and Sharon) coordinating from their different spots. I always like seeing the tactical side of working together in addition to the badass fighting together stuff.

The officer not questioning Bucky’s presence and calling him Sargent Barnes made me SO happy.

The facial mask thing-y that Natasha had in Cap 2 making a reappearance. Idk why I like that but it’s nice to know that these things are still being utilized.

CAPTAIN AMERICA’S FIRST ENTRANCE!!!! my GOD did Sam ROCK that!!! Fucking AH-MAY-ZING.

Sam’s new costume is perfect like the comics!! It’s so often changed that it’s so great to see it on screen!

“I’m sorry, wait. Who are you?” “I’m Captain America.” The parallel between this is Steve’s “Um...Captain America.” in the First Avenger.

The subtitles saying “Captain America” now whenever Sam in uniform talks.

Bucky trying to talk Karli down, approaching from a different angle than Sam because it’s what he knows and honestly does want to stop her without it coming to a fight. Especially when he realizes it’s a trap and is all “oh fuck me” and needs to haul ass lol. That is Bucky Barnes to a T.

“Seriously, Bucky, you had one job.” Omg, Sharon. lmao

Sam’s fight with Batroc was so cool. No serum. Just straight up ass kicking plus the au revoir at the end. Yes please and thank you.

Redwing!!!! Yaaaay!!!! (”a little birdie told me” lmao, Sam.)

Seeing the Vibranium wings in ACTION. Bouncing a freaking helicopter off them! FUCK!!!!! SO COOL!!!

I can watch Bucky Barnes throwing himself off a motorcycle all day long.

Bucky stopping his fight to save everyone.

John Walker and his stupid Walmart Shield arriving just in time to add fire to fire. Thanks, bro.

Bucky specifically being thanked for rescuing them. He’s spent so much time with so much guilt that having just one person say “thank you for rescuing us” actually made him pause. He’s spent so much time as the “villain” that he’s forgotten he can be the hero and it’s so good to see that finally hit him.

The metal arm scraping across the ground. Good god.

Sam popping out of the water and “Boy, you earned this ass whooping!”

That helicopter scene holy SHIT is Sam amazing.

And some applause for Ayla, too!!!!

John Walker ultimately choosing to save people instead of going on with his vendetta. Very comic book in character.

Bucky watching in horror as the van is slowly going over the edge and then smiling in wonder and awe as Captain America saves them all.

“That’s the Black Falcon there! I tell you!” “Nah. That’s Captain America!” Tears. Actual tears. SO MANY TEARS. Sam Wilson IS CAPTAIN AMERICA, baby!!!

Uh, yeah, so Bucky stopping weapons mid-air is one of my favorite things ever.

Okay, Batroc, go the fuck away now, we’re done with you.

I do like that when push comes to shove, the mission outweighed their personal grudges and Sam and Bucky “teamed up” with Walker. Not that it was 100% trust on their side. I think Bucky followed Walker bc “eeeeh....can we really trust him?” and since he has no doubt Sam can handle himself, but also, we’re fighting the same thing right as of this moment so lets just keep our heads and do it.

I am absolutely not thrilled with the direction they took Sharon. Like. Not at all. I’m...reserving full judgement for what I’m assuming will come in the future but like. No. Nuh-ah. Not happy with it.

Sam trying so hard to help Karli. The fact that he legit refused to fight her and she tried so hard to get him to fight back and he just wouldn’t. So beautiful and poignant. Sam’s fighting style. Sam perseverance. Just. Everything about that.

As good as the scene was (and I think it was great. The set up. How it all went down. The raw emotion) I’m kinda bummed they killed Karli. I was hoping Sam could at least talk her down first. However, the emotion and symbolism of her dying in his arms, and whispering “i’m sorry” was so heartbreaking.

The way Bucky and Walker got the rest of the Flag Smashers was hilarious.

Sam carrying Karli’s body cradled in his arms and flying down with her like a literal angel? I mean. Just rip my heart out.

“You have to stop calling them terrorists.” and “Your peacekeeping troops carrying weapons are forcing millions of people into settlements around the world, right? What do you think those people call you.” These first few lines of Sam’s speech. God, thank you.

Sam’s Captain America Speech. No fuck’s given. I’m so glad they didn’t hold back and just let him really give that powerful speech. Unabashedly saying “I’m a Black man carrying the stars and stripes. What don’t I get?”. Admitting the weight that comes with it and the judgement he feels. Not backing down. Telling the world he is Captain America “no super serum, no blond hair or blue eyes”. Defending Karli and trying to get them to understand what she was trying to do and why she was trying to do it. Sam was 100% born to be Captain America.

Everyone watching Captain America’s speech. Bucky. Walker. Isaiah and Eli. Joaquin. Sarah. The world. Beautiful watching Captain America deliver his first speech.

“Sorry I was texting so all I heard was Black guy in stars and stripes...nice job, Cap.” That back clap Bucky gives Sam there? ((#boyfriends))

“Can you help?” “Always.”

Very happy that Zemo had another villain move up his sleeve. Didn’t really dig the whole “i’m so graceful feel sorry for me” thing.

John Walker becoming US Agent.

Oh and, excuse me while I geek out over Valentina, Walker, Zemo...@marvel, I see where this might be headed. Please don’t let me down!

Bucky making his amends with Nakajima. The overwhelming emotions. The fear of admitting it. I kinda wish we saw a little more but I’m also okay with the ambiguity of it and knowing that Bucky knows that he at least gave him closure and is coming to accept that his role as the winter soldier was not his fault.

Also liked Bucky giving the book to his therapist. I know it’s an unpopular opinion, but I take no issues with her and I do think that Bucky felt she helped him.

Eli Bradley is fucking adorable.

Sam’s conversation with Isaiah. All that hope he represents while not erasing the pain that Isiah and generations before them suffered. Still wanting to fight for what’s right just because it’s the right thing to do. Isaiah not condemning Sam’s choice. Beautiful and poignant.

Um. The museum scene? Yeah, I had to pause for a good ten minutes before I could actually continue with the show. Isaiah Bradley and all his men deserved that ((and so much more)) for so long. The catharsis so visible when Isaiah hugs Sam so tight. The zoom in on the statue. Okay, I’m crying again.

Yeah, so when Bucky’s boyfriend has a BBQ he shows up like dancing like a dork with a cake and plays with all the kids.

Honestly, happiness looks so good on him. It’s so nice to see that again.

They really ended it with Sam and Bucky embracing and walking off together in the sunset.

CAPTAIN AMERICA AND THE WINTER SOLDIER

Again, still not thrilled with what’s going on with Sharon but clearly they’re setting up for something so...I’m putting a bookmark in to hold my judgement.

Bc honestly, my biggest focus is:

CAPTAIN AMERICA AND THE WINTER SOLDIER

Seriously though, overall, I think this was one of the best things Marvel has put out there in a while and I know I’ll come back to it again and again. Here’s hoping to more Cap to come!!!!

#sam wilson #bucky barnes #captain america #john walker #falcon and the winter soldier #captain america and the winter soldier #mcu #marvel #disney plus #my stuff #long post #capws spoilers #fws spoilers

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mimosaeyes · 4 years ago

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Post-176. Jon, Martin, and Basira regroup before continuing the search for Daisy. (Or: everyone is allowed to feel their feelings.) 2.1k, hurt/comfort.

I wrote a few lines of this fic after listening to the episode, but I wasn't going to finish it until I read @dathen's post about how 176 is basically "emotionally repress or die". Then I thought, oh wait, do people actually want the self-indulgent emotional catharsis? So, with @emberidzae's enabling and beta-ing, here we are.

It takes Martin longer than it should to realise that Basira is leading them out of the domain, not farther into it. Because of the way she’d begun hurrying them along, he assumed they were only a few steps behind Daisy, about to catch up with her at any moment.

Instead, the trees begin to thin out around them. Soon there’s enough space between the trunks to render them ineffective camouflage, and Martin stops feeling the urge to check his surroundings for the silhouettes of wolves waiting in ambush. There’s still a tight feeling in his throat, but at least the prickle on the back of his neck has disappeared.

He can still feel where Trevor had pressed the knife, the sharp edge of it right up against his jugular. The man’s voice had been shaking, but never his hand. No, that had been Martin’s own pulse, throbbing sickeningly beneath the blade and rushing loud in his ears.

Lost in the memory, Martin doesn’t notice the root sticking out of the ground until he’s already tripping over it. He has a split-second to think how stupid that is, how this has probably been the downfall of many people being chased by the Hunt — then his elbow is snagged by a familiar, scarred hand.

Jon doesn’t spare him a glance even as he releases his arm to clasp Martin’s hand instead. He just pulls him along, his pace brisk but not overtly hurried by fear or panic. Martin falls into step beside him, gradually regaining his rhythm and composure.

When they finally stumble into open space, Martin senses the difference at once. It’s not that he instantly relaxes; all things considered, he’d managed to remain relatively unfazed. But suddenly it takes much less effort to breathe normally. Suddenly, tension he hadn’t been aware of dissipates from his shoulders and chest.

He looks up to find Basira watching him closely. “Good job,” she says, making no effort to deny her scrutiny. “You’ll need full control over your emotions if you’re planning on following me back in there.”

Ah. There’s the rub. Of course they’re not done with this domain yet; this is only a pit-stop for Basira to make sure she hasn’t taken on liabilities.

“So you’re sure Daisy’s here?” Martin asks, managing to sound far more businesslike than he really feels about the thought of returning to the forest. “You’ve seen her?”

A muscle jumps in Basira’s cheek. Not quite a flinch, but the shadow of one. “I’m sure.”

She turns away from them and starts fiddling with her gun, checking the mechanism even though it had clearly worked fine on Trevor. Perhaps she wants a reason to keep her hands busy. Perhaps she wants to hide her face.

Martin leaves her to it and turns to Jon. He’s about to say something at random, anything to afford Basira the illusion of privacy, but the words die on his lips as Jon lets go of his hand and throws his arms around Martin.

He’s hugging back before he has time to fully register what’s happening. “Jon?” His voice squeaks from how tightly Jon is squeezing. “What’s wrong?”

Jon mumbles something against the crook of his neck. He can’t quite make out what it is. He catches sorry and couldn’t and so scared. Jon is trembling, he realises. It makes his heart lurch. He rubs a hand over his back in what he hopes is a soothing way.

After a long moment, Jon pulls back, gripping his arm with one hand while the other goes to the side of Martin’s face. “Are you alright?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

Martin shakes his head. “I, I don’t think so.” But Jon checks anyway, running his fingers lightly over his neck to check for the smallest nick. Martin shivers at the gentle touch.

Then Jon tugs his long sleeve down over his knuckles and starts dabbing at Martin’s cheek and chin, which is when it hits Martin that the damp feeling there isn’t nervous sweat, but the spray of Trevor’s blood from the gunshot that had killed him.

He reels away from Jon — or he tries to, but Jon holds him steady. “Don’t look,” he says softly. “It’s okay, just look at me. It’s okay.” There’s something quietly insistent in his tone that makes Martin go still. Let me do this for you, it seems to say. Let me spare you this.

So he does. Instead of thinking about what happened, instead of peering at the red on Jon’s sleeve in his peripheral vision, Martin watches his face. Part of him is braced for the slightest wrinkling of his nose, indicating revulsion at his task. Mostly, he expects to see regret. They’d come to this domain hoping to find their friends and save Daisy, and instead another person has died because of them. It had happened indirectly, in that Basira had been the one to pull the trigger, but Jon had engineered the situation and Martin had participated in it, and... and it feels different, like this. Martin’s been calling it smiting when Jon turns the Ceaseless Watcher on an avatar, vaporising them. But there was nothing righteous about this, nothing neat and sterile. There is only the visceral, ignominious reality of a body left on the ground, and some of the gore still smeared over Martin’s skin.

Yet he looks, and finds only tenderness in Jon’s expression. All throughout the encounter with Trevor, he had kept his face impassive, his voice calm and in control. Only now is Martin seeing the depth of his fear for him.

Jon finishes cleaning off the blood and without further ado, rips the end of his sleeve off entirely, stuffing it in a pocket so it’s out of sight.

Half-jokingly, Martin laments, “Aww. I liked that shirt.” It’s one of his own, hence the excessively long sleeves on Jon. He’d stolen it a few days into their stay in the safehouse. Martin had teased him about it at the time, but never really minded.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says sombrely. Martin’s about to clarify that he was kidding, but then Jon continues, “I thought Trevor would go for me. I was nearly sure of it, else I would’ve told you more. I thought the worst I was asking of you was to stay calm while he threatened me, and you know nothing can really hurt me, so.”

“It’s alright,” Martin tells him. “I mean, it’s not alright, obviously; that was messed up to have to go through, but.” He offers him a slightly lopsided smile. “I trust you.”

Jon doesn’t return the smile, though. He just looks preoccupied; cagey. Like before, like he’s not telling him something. Martin frowns. “Why did you think he’d pick you? You’re not exactly without defences.” He glances pointedly at the eyes staring down at them from the sky.

“Because...” Jon sighs, shrugs, runs one hand roughly through his hair. “Because I’m the one who’d be prey in this domain. Fear of your friends turning on you? After Jane Prentiss, I staked out Tim’s house, I went through the belongings you’d left at the Institute. I was so easily made to feel paranoid, to dread betrayal. Besides—” He cuts himself off abruptly.

Martin narrows his eyes in suspicion. “What?”

Jon hesitates, reluctant. “And, well. Trevor’s a monster hunter.”

He seems about to elaborate, but then just makes a vague gesture, encompassing all of himself.

“Oh, Jon...”

But before Martin can tell him he’s not a monster, smack him, or possibly pull him in for another hug, Basira interjects. “You two do know I can still hear you, right? Honestly, you have definitely been wandering around with no other company for too long.”

Startled and sheepish, they both turn to her. She’s re-holstered her gun and is smirking at them with one hand on her hip. Martin sees the moment when her mirth reverts to steely resolve. “Enough blubbering. Daisy’s after Trevor. If we want to catch her here, we’ll have to move fast. Are you coming with, and can you handle yourselves?”

“Of course,” Jon replies, nodding and stepping out of Martin’s embrace. “Let’s go.”

Even though Martin hadn’t been around at the time, he imagines this is exactly how it went before these two ran off to Ny-Ålesund together. “Wait! Do you even have a plan?”

“Find Daisy,” Jon and Basira say in unison.

Martin resists the urge to slap his forehead. “And then what?” he asks, softening his tone from exasperated to reasonable. He addresses Basira specifically: “You promised to kill Daisy. Is that your first option, or do you have another plan?”

Judging from the way she stiffens ever so slightly at the word kill, there’s at least some doubt in her mind. Basira glances at Jon. “You wouldn’t happen to have any convenient Beholding powers to get through to her, would you?”

Jon winces. “We need a key to a lock in this situation, and I have... the equivalent of a nuclear warhead.”

Basira stares. “I don’t even want to know.”

“What about how we’re finding her, then?” Martin wonders aloud, hastily changing the topic. “If Trevor’s, uh, no longer with us, then we don’t have anyone to follow. Unless we can find Daisy’s tracks.”

“Unlikely,” Basira says. “She’s too good a Hunter to be hunted herself. I’ve been relying on Trevor, mostly.”

“So why’d you kill him?” Martin asks thoughtlessly.

Almost before he’s finished the sentence, he anticipates Basira’s raised eyebrow and sarcastic, “He had you at knifepoint. You’re welcome.”

“And the other reason?” Jon asks quietly.

Immediately, Basira snaps, “Don’t compel me. Do not look in my head.”

“I didn’t, and I won’t,” Jon says, holding up both hands placatingly. He’s telling the truth; there had been no telltale buzz of static. “But you could have shot him without killing him. You could have lamed him and waited for Daisy to come end it. So I know there’s another reason.”

Basira is glaring askance, but Martin can still feel the ferocity of that look. Then, haltingly but with more sincerity than he would have expected, she actually answers. “I found Julia’s body. Trevor is older than her, slower. Which means Daisy let him go on purpose. She — she’s relishing this too much. Trying to prolong the chase. I could’ve kept it going. Could’ve followed him for days, or what used to be days. But the longer that goes on, the longer she gets to toy with him... the less likely she comes back to me as Daisy. So. It’s better this way, with his blood on my hands.”

She takes a deep breath. Then she punches Jon in the arm — not hard, but not very lightly either. “I blame you for all this touchy-feely stuff. It must be contagious.”

Jon has the cheek to smugly say, “You’re welcome.”

Martin barely hears it, though. Basira’s words are echoing through his mind: his blood on my hands, his blood on my hands.

“I know how we can find Daisy,” he says. “Jon. That strip of sleeve? Give it to Basira.”

To Basira’s credit, she barely reacts as Jon uneasily extracts the bloodied cloth from his pocket and helps her tie it around one wrist. “This is Trevor’s blood?” is all she says.

“And now it also smells like me, Jon, and you.” Martin’s eyes flick briefly to the forest. “Daisy might’ve already found Trevor’s body. She’ll be looking for something else worth hunting.”

“It could work,” Jon says slowly. Martin doesn’t miss the worried look he gives him.

Basira holds her arm aloft on the breeze for a few seconds, letting the wind carry the scent into the trees. “Are you sure about this?” she asks them both. “You do understand that we’re making ourselves bait.”

The forest looms before them. Does it look darker than before? It never gets any later in the apocalypse, so it must be his imagination. Or his mind, already being drawn into the mentality of prey. Martin gulps. He tries to sound confident about his plan as he says, “The best bait is friendship?”

“Now I know why we never hung out,” Basira tells him, but without much heat.

As they begin walking, Martin reaches for Jon’s hand. “Hey,” he says quietly. “It’ll be okay. We’ve got this.”

There’s a flicker of recognition in Jon’s eyes. “Apparently so,” he murmurs, giving Martin’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

They hold on for a couple more seconds while ignoring Basira’s eye-roll. Then Martin lets go and sets about pulling his emotions into order. They only want one wolf to come after them.

At the edge of the forest, Basira checks her gun in its holster, glances at Jon and Martin in turn. Then she raises her arm again. “Alright, Daisy,” she murmurs, more to herself than to them. “Hunt this. Hunt me.”

[also available on AO3 here]

[my TMA fic on AO3]

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #dasira #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #basira hussain #mimofic

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confusednarcissistwrites · 5 years ago

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Teenage Dirtbag Pt. 4 (K.S.)

this one is a bit of a filler chapter?? I’m sorry it’s a bit short, but it’s very important. it’s also pretty sad :( hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless! Here is the song mentioned at the end as well; it’s always made me think of Kyle.

(cursing, mentions of death)

You really didn’t deserve Missy. The moment you walked back into your dorm with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks she knew. You broke down again as soon as you saw the concerned but unsurprised look on her face, and she promptly wrapped you up in a hug. She was incredibly petite, but somehow she had a way of making you feel safe even from yourself. She directed you to sit on the bed and handed you a makeup wipe before fixing you both some tea. You wiped your streaked makeup from your face, shivery breaths shaking your frame.

You were so frustrated. There was no way you’d so easily slipped back into his grasp after you’d spent so much time cutting away everything that endeared him to you. You fought to recall how broken he’d left you. You wanted- no, you needed to relive it. That was the only way to extinguish these feelings bubbling back up inside of you.

Missy handed you your mug, sitting next to you with her legs crossed. “What happened, love?”

You sighed, feeling so ashamed. “I just.. I just wanted to talk to him. I wanted to try and clear the air, I guess. But..” You stared into your tea, unable to meet her eyes. “We slept together again.”

“Y/N.. This has to stop,” Missy scolded, her brow wrinkled up.

You felt defensive. “I mean it was just sex! We barely even said anything.”

“You wouldn’t have come home in tears if it was just sex to you, Y/N.” Her tone softened, placing a hand on your knee.

You were brought back to that crooked, little smile he’d given you in the back of his car, your heart aching in your chest. As much as you hated to admit it, you knew she was right. You wiped a stray tear from your cheek.

“Where do you see this going? Do you think you’ll get back together?”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. It was absurd to even think about.

“Then don’t do this to yourself. You have a big heart. Don’t waste it on someone like him.” She tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, rubbing your back consolingly.

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Thank you,” you mumbled, giving her a tired smile.

“Of course, sweets. You know I just want what’s best for you always.” She pulled you into another quick hug before hopping up. “Okay, now let's watch some slasher movies to distract you.”

“God, again? Always with these things? They’re terrible!!” you protested, sipping from your tea.

“Mm, yes. But I love them and they always work.”

“Ah, yes. A good beheading is always the perfect salve for a wounded heart,” you deadpanned, throwing a pillow at her teasingly.

“Now that’s the spirit!!”

++++++

A few days passed. You’d half expected to hear something from Kyle, but the messages never came. While, of course, you overthought it all to death and still couldn’t understand him, you did find a sense of relief in the space. You had almost gotten to the point where you could pretend nothing had happened. Almost.

It was 8:30. Missy had gone out with some of her friends for the evening while you had stayed back at the dorm to work on homework. You were enjoying your solitude when a knock came from your door. Sliding the pile of books from your lap, you jumped up and answered it.

You were promptly pressed back into your room, lips you didn’t immediately recognize pressed hungrily against yours. Kyle. He kicked the door closed behind him, holding your face between both of his hands. Finally, your brain kicked into gear, and you shoved him back.

“Kyle, what the fuck?” you questioned incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He stepped closer, thumbing your bottom lip.

“No, stop. Don’t touch me.” You recoiled. He looked a bit surprised by that, even a little hurt. “You need to leave.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, but I think you’re being a little-“

“Fucking go! You can’t just come back into my life and start screwing with my head. I-I can’t take it.” Your hands shook as you fought to keep your voice steady. “What exactly do you think this is?”

“I don’t understand. You sleep with me twice and now I’m the bad guy? You came to me. What’s with this sudden change of heart? You’re choosing to be upset over this.”

Anger bubbled inside of you. “Get. Out.”

He scoffed, turning his heel and leaving the room.

++++++

Kyle arrived home about an hour later after driving around the campus blasting music till his head ached. He sat in the driveway just staring into space, avoiding going inside for as long as he could. He was angry. He knew it was truly just shame that he had to come home with his tail between his legs, but all he felt was anger. He was angry at you. Angry at himself. Angry at the world. He finally pulled his keys from the ignition, his boots heavy against the concrete steps up into his home.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“Hey, mom,” he replied, already heading toward the basement. She didn’t normally try to coerce him into talking much anymore, much to his relief. That’s how he knew something was wrong when she called for him.

“Come into the kitchen, please.”

He suppressed a sigh but obeyed, placing himself down at the dinner table while his mother bustled around the kitchen preparing dinner. She put down what she was doing and sat down in the chair next to him, placing her hand over his. “We got some news today.”

Oh god. Kyle felt his gut churn at the familiar line that was always followed by something he knew he wouldn’t want to hear. Judging by the tears already welling in his mother’s eyes, it was worse than normal.

“Dr. Tice wants to put your father on hospice.”

Kyle swallowed thickly, his brow wrinkling as he fought to keep it together.

“I know I don’t really need to explain what that means to you. The nurses will be here day and night to keep him comfortable and medicated until..” she trailed off, her voice cracking.

He continued to stare at the floor, every bone in his body fighting to keep composure. He knew this was the very last thing his dad wanted, but there was nothing anyone could do. The cancer had eaten him up until all that was left was a body in a bed. As far as Kyle was concerned, his dad had died weeks ago.

He watched helplessly as his mother sobbed at the kitchen table, a sight he’d seen more times than he could count in the last few years. He took her hand, giving it a squeeze as he clenched his jaw and fought back his own tears. He knew he needed to keep it together for her. She needed him to be strong no matter what. But he didn’t know how much more he could take. He stood, unable to stand it anymore. Long strides followed a familiar path through his childhood home.

Once he descended the stairs to the basement, he pulled out his favorite Rolling Stones record and placed it on the turntable. The needle scratched and crackled for a moment before slipping into the worn grooves. He turned the volume up, removing his shirt and tossing it onto the couch. This was all ritual to him now. The space was small, but it was all his. Crates of records and tapes were stacked against the wall, and an old leather couch occupied the majority of the space. Old sketches and sheet music scattered the floor, but he didn’t care. He laid out on worn rug that reduced the chill from the concrete floor, his limbs spread out as the intro of Sympathy For the Devil began to play. His eyes slipped shut and he let the vibrations seep into his bones, the slapping bass strings bringing catharsis to the frayed edges of his mind.

His sobs shook his body.

TAGLIST: @londonmademedoit @cathyoliveros10 @yourgoddessfromvogue

#kyle scheible #kyle scheible x reader #kyle scheible imagine #ladybird #ladybird fanfiction #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet blurb #timothee chalamet series #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet series #timothée chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet blurb #timothée chalamet imagine #confusednarcissistwrites

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il-papa-patata · 4 years ago

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Cold Earth, Cold Body

Mary visits a familiar place while they’re on tour. Swiss comes along as moral support.

Rating: T

Ghost is Ghosts AU, Mary is Special Ghoul AU, Established Swiss/Mary, mentioned Mary/Terzo, catharsis, gravedigging, mentions of death

It's just a little... detour.

Imperator packed the schedule tight around the Czech Republic, Hungary, Austria-

But...

There's some time, anyway. Just a day here.

Swiss follows behind as Mary weaves his way easy through trees, breath harsh in the winter air. The new winter coat – the Ghouls' standard wool coat with the black-fur collar – flares behind him as he moves, hanging open over his chest.

Swiss says nothing. There's no space to – there's a gnarl of trees, then a brief lash of fence; they aren't hurrying but Mary moves brisk and quick.

There's nothing to say. And Mary's been quiet since they stepped off the train and into that station – an old thing, not as old as Swiss but older than Mary. There's just. A tension.

Swiss knows why, of course, but it's not easier that he knows, and he's really just coming along to help out, although he feels like maybe it shouldn't be him, but Terzo along for this because he and Mary are made of the same stuff and understood each other better anyway-

Swiss focuses again.

Mary stops, teetering in his tracks.

“Ah.”

It's- well, it was a sturdy building at some point. Maybe. Swiss isn't sure, but Mary is, the way his mouth twists into something that's supposed to be a grin but fails to be.

It's this yard – surrounded by an old wrought-iron fence with a chain-link behind it, taller than Swiss. And then – walls, although there are more holes in them than there are walls, marks of graffiti and rubble and the roof all caving in.

Mary is scrambling up the fence before Swiss can think, and then he has to clamber up as well, landing on the other side of the tall fence with a heavy thud. And Mary again is not going slow, but he isn't rushing either, drawn forward by some invisible thread, a line that he follows like a bloodhound after a scent-

They venture inside. Here- rows and rows of old machinery, chairs thrown about haphazardly, some stacked in a pile – Mary moves past them all. There's signs of urbex around, which he thinks is fair – tags and ill-moved furniture and things with dust smeared off them in uneven clumps – but it isn't what Mary is after.

There's this area – solid holes punched in the roof that let in the thin, wintry daylight, but a surprisingly empty floor, all smooth, crack-your-head concrete.

“Ha,” Mary barks, moving further in, back into the corner of the building – the factory, Swiss thinks – to a spot on the concrete.

Now, here, it doesn't look like much. Just kind of a brownish smudge. But Mary is pointing with his not-grin and so Swiss ventures-

“Blood?”

Mary nods, his grin breaking uneven, pointing to himself.

“Oh,” Swiss says, as Mary sits down and lies out on the cold concrete, adjusting himself minutely until the blood form a halo around his head. And then almost proudly, in the way a child might celebrate first tying their shoes, Mary throws his arms out and kicks his feet up.

Swiss can't really find it all that funny.

Mary repeats the unfurling another two times, each a little more impatient, before he lies back fully, going limp against the floor, wet in places where it snowed recently. The sun shines through onto Mary's face – he turns his head away, hand limp on his stomach, almost-

And then turns back, looking up at Swiss and laughing, rolling back up to sitting, every part of him jagged and fragile at the same time.

Swiss takes his hands when Mary wiggles them and helps him up, only letting go once he's squeezed them gently, reminding Mary he's here too. Mary's weird grin falters.

He laces their fingers. Sways close to Swiss, rests his head on Swiss's shoulder.

So they breathe for a moment, in the wintry air, Mary's other hand fiddling with the buttons of Swiss's coat. Mary's hand wanders, stroking up along the seam of the coat-front, into the plush collar, up to stroke Swiss's face gently.

Mary's hands are cold, but Swiss leans into it, looking down at the ferocious man now looking up at him with quiet – but unflinching – warmth.

Swiss kisses him. Just gently. A press of his lips to Mary's, just warm, Mary's breath fanning out along his cheek as they readjust and kiss again.

Mary sighs.

Turns, and heads towards one of the holes punched in the walls, but doesn't let go of Swiss's hand, pulling him along.

They wander the grounds a bit – there's the start of a forest behind the building, with old elms and pines intermingled. There's clumps of snow around, albeit not that many. Most of it’s melted. The sun's warm despite the temperature, but Mary's ungloved hands are colder and colder.

Swiss wonders if he feels cold the same way, like a sunburn on the back of the neck, brilliant and bright. Swiss thinks many things were different after he died, but he can't really remember how he was before his death. He remembers his sister – remembers his carpentry, can still do everything he did when he was alive, still remembers watching over the neighborhood kids but-

He doesn't remember falling sick. He doesn't remember lingering as his skin blackened and swelled, until his body was consumed – he can look at his skin, blistered with the markings of where the buboes sat, and know it happened, but he can't remember a moment of it.

He doesn't remember dying, although it definitely happened.

Mary stops. Grips his hand tight.

At first, Swiss doesn't know what he looks at. There's a sort of depression in the earth, although it's not that noticeable.

But then Mary lets go of his hand and picks up a stone sitting by the dip in the earth.

“Ha,” Mary says again, “Ha- hahaha!”

Mary laughs. Mary laughs and laughs.

It's sharp and barking, but not the way his laugh normally is. This is different. This is worse.

It sounds like he's choking, the laughter worming its way around the usual rasp in his lungs, half-cough.

And then it forgets to be laughter at all. And Mary starts to sob.

Mary clutches the stone to his chest, sobbing and sobbing, heart-rending hiccups and inhuman keening, his usually sharp face crumpling.

Swiss is there. Pulling Mary into his chest, steadying the man. Running his hands down Mary's back, tucking his head into his shoulder.

It takes a little bit. The two of them in this old factory yard, on the edge of this deep forest. The factory is old and broken, but the forest old and whole, still thriving – perhaps like them. Mary just sobs, looks at the stone occasionally, his tears restarting. But eventually he stops, taking deep lungfuls of winter air and wiping at his tear-striped, blotchy face with his cold hands.

“You okay?” Swiss murmurs, reaching up to cup Mary's cheek, stroke at his sideburn.

“Ha,” Mary hiccups, face smeared with eyeliner, “Ha, yeah, I'm okay now. Thanks.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Mary sighs out another deep breath. Looks up at Swiss. Then down at the stone.

“You remember how I told you I died? How I had TB and my friends – my comrades, who I didn't think liked me that much – ha – ended up burying me?”

“Yeah.”

“It was here.”

“I guessed.”

“That brown spot was – I think now they'd call it a lung hemorrhage. I drowned in my own blood while I was sleeping,” Mary laughs, just once, “Fuckin' awful way to go.”

“You remember it?”

“Yeah. Every second. Thinking how unfair it all was. How much I'd miss. How of course I was gonna die from the thing that killed my family but I couldn't have the dignity of dying with them.”

Swiss just strokes Mary's temple again, hums.

“My- friend, Esther. The one I was in love with. She'd tried to sing me to sleep. And she- when she thought I was asleep she told me she loved me, but why would I believe-”

Mary stops. Lifts the stone and settles it into Swiss's hands.

In a brief, but beautiful handwriting, worn with age but still marked on the stone –

Mary Goore. 1863-1890. Our dearest friend and the one who gave us our name – the Repugnants. We lost today what can never be replaced. May his memory be a blessing.

“I spent-” Mary warbles, resting a hand on his throat, “So much time so sure... I crawled out of this grave and I was consumed with the need to go to Italy, to meet Copia, to- to start over. To find purpose. What else had I come back for but that? I was so sure that they all just moved on after I died, that they didn't care. Like they were burying a stray dog.”

Mary holds out his hands for the stone, and Swiss hands it back to him.

Mary sets the stone back down by the impression – no, the grave, worn down and made natural by 130 years of weather, and turns back to Swiss, coming over to him and kissing him again.

This is different.

They'd been together a long time. Swiss was quite proud to feel like – like yes, he understood Mary, and he could get at the man's depths, and they could meld together-

But this is different.

Mary's mouth is warm, and his hands are covered in grave dirt, and when they pull back for air, Mary's eyes are electric, even surrounded by washed-away eyeliner.

Mary smiles.

“Whoa,” Swiss says, pulling Mary close by the waist and kissing him again, a bright thing, “That's a lethal smile, sweetheart. Gonna knock me out over here.”

“Shut up,” Mary sighs, leaning up and lacing his arms around Swiss's neck, kissing him again.

The whole jagged line of Mary is finally – relaxed. One hundred thirty years of them knowing each other and Mary is loose and pliable and molding up along the curve of Swiss's chest, and Swiss is pulling him closer and groans when Mary sags into him.

“Hehe,” Mary giggles, nipping at Swiss's lower lip.

“Hehe,” Swiss replies.

“I wanna fuck,” Mary murmurs.

“Here?” Swiss darts his eyes to the old grave, to the winter-bare trees, to the plumes of mist that haze around their mouths.

Mary also seems to realize this, cheeks fading into a pretty pink.

“You don't want to fuck a dead man? Engage in some necrophilia?”

“Is it necrophilia if both parties are dead though?”

Mary's brow furrows and he focuses on one of the buttons of Swiss's coat, pulling back a bit. “Hm. Is it? Legally?”

“Might be. Laws are weird about us.”

“Damn, ain't that true.” Mary settles back, his cold hands on Swiss's cheeks. “We'll make some bureaucrat hard with this write-up then. Once we get back. It's cold.”

Swiss just chuckles, clutching Mary close again and kissing him some more.

#mary goore #swiss #swiss army ghoul #multighoul #patata fic #should i also post these on ao3? i have no idea what the ghost fandom over there is like #or wants #well i guess i can

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baalzebufo · 5 years ago

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afterparty

wrote this little thing last night and I figured maybe other people would be interested in reading it too? so im swallowing my nerves and posting it. heres a little 1.8k words self-indulgent gravity falls fic

wherein gideon gleeful and stanford pines have a brief talk during the twins birthday party. catharsis abound

---

Gideon wasn’t used to being ignored. He had gotten used to being the center of attention both on and off the stage, and for both good and bad reasons. Yet now he stood sweating in his suit at the edge of the Mystery Shack’s property line with a cup full of punch in one hand and a crowd mingling twenty feet away, and not a single person spared a glance in his direction. For once, he wasn’t the one they were out here to see.

The Pines 13th birthday celebration felt bittersweet. The property was still half-wrecked after the ‘events’ of the previous week, and to Gideon those days hung over the party like a dark cloud of summer rain. Nobody else seemed to care- ‘Never mind all that!’ and all. But he just couldn’t shake how surreal it felt that nobody was pointing it out. Then again, he had always been smarter than most folks in Gravity Falls. Maybe that was his curse. He wiped one hand across the back of his forehead- the heat was getting to him. It made the situation just that little bit more unbearable than it already was. Sighing to himself, Gideon unbuttoned his suit and slipped it off his shoulders, folding it over his arm. Normally he wouldn’t be caught dead with a piece of his outfit out of place, but… nobody was looking, anyway. For once in his life he had more pressing thoughts than his looks, though he still took a moment to pat the side of his hair to make sure it was holding in place. Resigned, he slumped down and sat in the roots of a nearby tree, rolling up the sleeves of his black dress shirt.

Why in God’s name was he even here? He cast his gaze out towards the crowd at the other end of the property. Townsfolk were mingling and celebrating, using it as an excuse to gossip and talk amongst themselves. Even his parents were out there. He saw Bud leaning against a keg of something and gesticulating wildly at Mayor Tyler, with his mother shadowing close behind him. He saw Dipper leaning against the side of the building, attempting to talk to Wendy. Mabel… he had to force himself not to stare. She was bouncing excitedly with two other girls- he couldn’t remember their names. She pulled them into a hug and she just looked so... happy, it kind of hurt him a little bit. He bit the inside of his cheek and pointedly looked elsewhere to ignore the nagging feeling in his gut. Stanford- No, Stanley Pines was there, of course. Talking to his handyman and whispering about something. And as for the other one… he wasn’t there. At least, not until Gideon broke out of his little trance and realised he was off in the side of his vision, walking right towards him.

A sudden fear shot through him, and Gideon rose his hand instinctively around his neck- before remembering his lucky bolo tie wasn’t there anymore. He quickly played off the motion as straightening the ordinary tie he had replaced it with, casting his eyes to the floor in mock disinterest as the shadow of the man fell over him. He cleared his throat, and Gideon was forced by polite societal conventions to acknowledge him. He looked up into the face of Stanford Pines- the author. If you had told him a year ago he’d be standing in front of the author of the mysterious journal he had kept hidden away under his bed, he probably wouldn’t have believed you- especially if you told him he was Stan Pines brother. He looked like a very tired mirror of the old man, slightly more put-together yet with a more detached look behind his glasses. Like he had seen too much. Gideon was good at noticing things like that.

‘Ah- Gideon, correct?’ He finally broke the silence with a lopsided half-smile, trying to be polite. His voice sent a shiver down Gideon’s spine- it brought up dark memories. No, no- remain composed. He took a sip of the punch as casually as he was able, making a noise of mild affirmation. Stanford seemed a little bit uncertain, as if he were expecting Gideon to say more. He tapped his fingers against his dusty coat before kneeling down on the floor next to the child. ‘I don’t think we ever got a chance to be formally introduced. I’ve heard a lot about you.’ Gideon internally cringed. Great. No doubt Stan and his family had already regaled him with all of his worst attempts on their lives and livelihoods, so there was no longer a chance he’d be able to get through this conversation painlessly.

Gideon took a deep breath before locking eyes with the man in front of him. ‘I’m sure they’ve told you more than enough. Y’here to lecture me?’ Stanford seemed to almost recoil a little bit. He probably wasn’t expecting the kid to stare him down like that, and now it was his turn to nervously avoid eye contact. He raised his hands apologetically.

‘No, no- I just figured, well… I should check up on you. It doesn’t look like anyone else has yet.’

Huh? Gideon’s icy gaze softened a little. ‘What?’ He said a little quieter, with a little less venom in his tone.

‘Well, you know- you were in the palace. You were in the zodiac. You.. had history with Bill, too.’ He half-whispered that last line, as if he were afraid to say it too loud. ‘I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. I just wanted to see if you needed any… help?’ He added that last part uncertainly, noticing as Gideon’s eye twitched a little.

‘Help?’ He mumbled, before growing angry suddenly. ‘Don’t treat me like a child. I don’t need help.’ He felt his free hand balling into a fist before he stopped himself, choosing instead to dig his nails into the grass. ‘And I don’t need your pity, neither.’ He spat- but the anger wasn’t directed at Stanford so much as it was himself. His lip quivered, and he cast his eyes down. ‘Besides, I deserved what I got.’ Suddenly, he felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders and turn him- Stanford levelled with Gideon, and took a deep breath.

‘That isn’t true. Nobody deserved what Bill had in store for them, or for this world.’ He spoke quietly, quickly, and with a stern undertone to his words. ‘You're not the only one who made mistakes. I’m the one who caused this whole mess to begin with. But that doesn’t matter as much as what you do now. You know what else I heard about you? That you stood up to Bill when you realised you were wrong. There are grown men who wouldn’t do a thing like that.’ His grip tightened a little. ‘We need to learn to live with our mistakes and be better people for them. I’m trying to do it- and I know, i’m not the best at it, either. But I just wanted you to know that you can do that too.’ He paused, almost as if he were trying to quell the rising emotion in his voice which his cloudy eyes were quickly giving away. ‘You aren’t alone, Gideon.’

Gideon scanned the old man's face. He could see it in his eyes, in his tight-lipped forced smile, in the creases in his face and in the scar running down his cheek that he meant what he said. Gideon blinked, trying not to make it obvious that his eyes were glistening with barely suppressed tears. He tried to find the words, but for once he couldn’t. He felt Stanford’s hands release his shoulders. Then, he did something he had never done before. He fell forward into the dusty red sweater that Stanford wore, wrapped his little arms around his chest, and he hugged him. He pressed his face against his front and felt the scratchy fabric against his eyelids and the way his hands balled up into fists against the yarn and he didn’t even mind when he felt his hair knocked slightly out of place. He felt the tears welling up as he buried himself into the sweater, and he didn’t try to hide them. A strong, six-fingered hand patted him on the back gently but awkwardly, and it made him let out a quiet sob. For once, Gideon was glad nobody was looking at him. For once, he was glad they were ignored.

After what felt like an eternity, the shaking child released him, and Stanford didn’t know what to say. Neither of them had expected that- not even Gideon, who was wiping his face with the back of his hand, concerned once again with appearances even now. He swallowed hard before speaking. ‘Oh- h-heavens. That was- hah!’ He laughed, fake-smiling, voice still shaking a little. ‘Heavens to Betsy, I must look ridiculous.’ He mumbled, stroking his hair down and back in place. Stanford frowned a little, concerned with how quickly he tried to brush it all off. Still, he let the boy preen, and once he seemed satisfied his hair was settled back in place sufficiently, he took a deep breath. Then he paused, awkwardly. ‘Thank you.’ He said finally.

Stanford sighed. ‘It’s okay.’ He sounded exhausted but relieved, as if a weight was lifted off his chest. He held out one hand, and watched as Gideon seemingly instinctively put his hand inside it. He gripped gently- before smiling at the boy. ‘You’re a brave young man, Gideon, despite everything. If you ever need someone to talk to…’ He pressed a small piece of paper into the child's hand. ‘.. You can always talk to me.’ Gideon nodded, quickly withdrawing his hands and slipping the paper into the pocket of his suit which lay abandoned on the floor nearby. He picked it up and slipped it back over his shoulders, brushing the dust off. Stanford knelt patiently next to him as he continued to compose himself, finally standing up. Stanford followed suit, his knee making an audible cracking sound as he straightened up. He winced, leaning against the tree, before looking back down at the waiting child.

‘Thank you, again.’ Gideon said, seemingly having gained control of himself again, as he folded his hands behind his back. ‘I, ah… appreciate you talkin’ to me.’ He glanced across the property. He had been in his own little world this whole time, he had practically forgotten there was a party going on just across the lot. ‘An’ I appreciate your discretion, keepin’ this little.. incident, to ourselves.’ He added, looking up at Stanford pointedly. ‘You better not tell anybody else ‘bout this, if you know what’s good for you.’ It had a much gentler tone to it than his usual threats. Stanford just smiled.

‘Of course. This one’s just between you and me.’ He winked. ‘Now come on. You don’t want to miss the rest of the party.’

#gravity falls #stanford pines #gideon gleeful #fanfiction #gravity falls fanfiction #the rest of the cast is also here but theyre off in the background dont mind them #im a stan for gideon getting the support he needs to grow as a person #this is... probably the best thing ive wrote in a while

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sondepoch · 5 years ago

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XXII: Saeyoung's Route (Y/N)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST

You had never sprinted so fast in your life.

It was a short distance, but you jumped as you grew close, throwing yourself at Saeran, hugging him through the gates.

By some miracle, the boy caught you, wrapping his arms around you and held you tight as you sobbed in relief.

The sense of catharsis when you saw his face was unlike anything you'd ever felt in your life. For three years, you'd been waiting for his return with Saeyoung. In that period, it felt like time had halted for you so that, at Saeran's return, the three of you would be able to move forward together.

On your left, you heard Saeyoung frantically undoing the padlock he had placed on the gate, ripping it off the second it was open.

Everything after that point was a blur. The five of you wound up in the bunker once more, no one commenting on how untidy the living room was with everyone being so damn happy to see each other.

V and Vanderwood stayed off to the side, talking among themselves as you embraced Saeran. Again. For days to follow, you would find it difficult to leave the boy's side, so relieved that he was back. Relieved that he was with you. Relieved that he was alive, and that you could hug him and kiss his cheek and feel him.

"Take your jacket off, Saeran!" You exclaimed, pulling the leather off him.

"A-ah, let's leave it on for now," Saeran mumbled, looking away. You realized there was something he wasn't telling you, but in the moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care, only hugging him tighter.

It was practically a full hour before anyone thought to ask what exactly the other group had been doing.

When all five of you were settled on two couches (there were far more in the spacious room, but you and Saeyoung refused to apart from Saeran, even in the living room), Vanderwood asked what you and Saeyoung had been doing.

"There's really not much to tell there," Saeyoung said, chuckling.

You found yourself agreeing with him, realizing that, objectively speaking, the two of you hadn't done much in the three years you'd been hiding from society.

"Except, of course," Saeyoung flashed a grin at you, "We got engaged."

You felt a flood of happiness rush through your body, still getting excited every time he said that or called you his fiancée.

"Told you so," Saeran said to Vanderwood, flashing him a lazy grin. "You owe me one hundred thousand won."

The agent rolled his eyes in response, turning to Saeyoung once more. "You set a wedding date and venue, yet?"

"Well," Saeyoung chuckled hesitantly. "We were sort of just planning on getting married here at the bunker whenever Saeran came back."

"Oh?" Vanderwood said, arching an eyebrow. "I'm ordained. I could get you two married by tomorrow if you want."

No doubt, Vanderwood had said that as a joke. But at his words, your eyes immediately darted to Saeyoung's to gauge his reaction. You'd wanted to marry Saeyoung the night he'd asked you, but the two of you agreed that nothing would happen without word of Saeran.

But that period of waiting was brutal.

And now that Saeran was back, you didn't want to wait any longer.

"What do you say, (Y/N)?" Saeyoung asked, waggling his eyes in a joking manner. But you saw the hopeful tint in his eyes.

"Nothing in my life has ever been normal," You mused. "I don't see why my wedding should be any different." You leaned over and kissed Saeyoung, briefly but passionately.

"Are you two for real?" Vanderwood inquired, definitely not expecting his offer to be accepted. He groaned in annoyance, but you could tell wasn't actually irritated. Annoying as Saeyoung must have been, it was easy to miss the redhead when he was gone. "I was planning on making Saeyoung work tomorrow, but I guess I'll have to give him the day off."

Saeyoung pouted, about to pipe up with something that would doubtlessly irk his boss, but you opened your mouth before he could.

"So how did things go on your mission?"

The three men instantly looked at each other, eyes communicating words that would never be said aloud.

"The Mint Eye is gone," V started. "None of us need to worry about that ever again."

You and Saeyoung stayed silent, expecting more, but no one said anything else.

Saeyoung coughed awkwardly. "Anything else you want to tell us?"

"You know better than anyone else here that agents never talk about some of the things they have to do on missions," Vanderwood blurted, crossing his arms. "All that matters is that our mission was a success."

"Okay," Saeyoung said, understanding. "But tell me this. Why won't Saeran take off his jacket?"

In that instant, all eyes in the room darted to the second redhead, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Saeran," Vanderwood said with a softness in his voice that you'd never seen from him before. "They'll see it eventually."

Saeran looked at V, then at Vanderwood, and then back at V, as if looking for something in their eyes that he never found. Finally, he sighed and began pulling his jacket off. When he dropped it on the ground in front of you, you had sucked your breath in, surprised at the image before you.

Sitting on his left, you knew that his right arm would be tattooed with the emblem of the Mint Eye. But directly in front of you, on Saeran's left arm, was the very same tattoo copied over but expanded over his entire arm, with new, foreign patterns trailing down to his fingertips.

You were so preoccupied with the artwork on his arm that you almost didn't look up. And then, you did.

Mostly covered by his red tank top, the boy's neck was discolored by stray whip marks and bruises that had yet to heal. You looked away, trying not to picture how scarred and ruined the boy's back must be, horrified when you realized that Rika had been far from merciful on him when he'd returned.

He opened his mouth to say something but you silenced him with another hug, one given not to satisfy your endless desire to hug him but one for his sake, so that you could comfort him. Three years, he'd been without you. And you had to make up for it.

Next to you two, Saeyoung stayed silent and bit his lip. "You've been through hell and come back," he whispered to Saeran. "I'm never letting you go again."

For once, Saeran smiled. Not a lazy half-smile or even a forced grin, but a genuine smile where the boy wrapped an arm around his brother in a strange imitation of a hug as if to say I missed you.

You didn't dare ask what Saeran had been through, not now, at least. You knew that there would come a time for that much further in the future. For now, it was simply enough to be together again.

"You're going to be living here with us," Saeyoung said, not even giving Saeran an option. "Vanderwood and V...I don't know what you guys had to do to take down the Mint Eye, but whatever happened must have forced the three of you to trust each other pretty hard. Shit's going to be tough in the bunker...and kind of weird. But you guys can stay for as long as you want. Saeran is my family and...I guess after three years with him, you're his family too. You're welcome here."

"That's a kind sentiment, Saeyoung, but I think I should head out. I need to speak with Jumin about the events that transpired." V mumbled, smiling softly through his sunglasses.

"Aw, come on!" Saeyoung groaned. "At least stay till tomorrow, won't you? You should be here for the wedding."

"You guys were being serious about that?"

"Of course," Saeyoung whispered, kissing you on the cheek. "We're going to have Saeran walk her down the aisle...or, the hall, I guess. And, oh, Vanderwood can be my best man!"

"Oh! Does that mean V will get to be my maid-of-honor?" You asked, giggling.

The blue-haired man was abashed, stuttering out incoherent syllables as the five of you laughed together for the first time, finally free from the past.

The Mint Eye was behind you now, the darkest part of your life finally sealed. You glanced at Saeyoung, your future husband, and Saeran, your greatest friend. No doubt, those two men would be with you for the rest of your life.

Things would be difficult. There were so many scars to heal—scars even deeper than the ones on Saeran's back.

But now that he'd returned, time could move onward once more, and you were ready to explore your future with the two of them by your side. It would be an unorthodox living situation, for sure. Times would get tough. But it would work out. Because it had to.

After all, didn't the three of you at least deserve a happy ending? After all you'd been through, you would do anything for them.

There was no way you could have known that Saeyoung and Saeran were thinking the exact same things, but on that couch, the three of you solidified the emotions you'd been feeling for the past three years with a vow: to sacrifice anything and everything for the sake of each other.

And with that silent promise, the future was locked in place. No matter how fucked up the past was, it was gone now. Left behind.

The future would be different.

The future would be better.

And now that the three of you were finally together, your shared future could finally begin.

Fin.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: And with that, Saeyoung's route is complete! But, dear readers, his life with (Y/N) and Saeran has only just begun. My book is titled Where Futures Begin because this is where it starts, this is where shit finally gets better for these precious characters. Their future is different. It's better. I won't write the fluffy, fun stuff because I wanted to show the journey that got them there (and if you really want to read some stuff like that, there are soo many fanfics already based around that idea).

I hope you enjoyed the ride, and I thank you for staying with me to the end~ but it's not the final conclusion because next up, we have Saeran's route! Let me know what you thought about this route and give me feedback (good and bad!) so that when I write Saeran's route, it's even better! I'm going to give myself a break so I won't update next Monday like I usually do, but instead one week from now on Thursday - so drop a comment and tell me your thoughts! I'll see you soon with Saeran ;)

Comment & Like

Next Update: 03/26/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

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unproduciblesmackdown · 4 years ago

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i am SO delighted to hear that the "detective and five people trapped on an elevator and one of them is the devil" movie is real and you saw it. also while trying to send this i accidentally clicked the Unfollow button (and then promptly refollowed), sorry about that

lmao i maybe wouldn’t’ve noticed, love Tumblr Notifications and how like, they display different on desktop vs mobile and the way it Condenses them is only so helpful cuz sometimes some of them only display for 0.2 seconds while i’m on mobile and it hasn’t Refreshed in a way that reshuffles everything and i can’t view that particular [Like from a certain person or smthing] ever again lmao like i hate this, it’s bad, just like that movie about people trapped on an elevator and a detective has to get them out and has to act fast b/c one of them is the devil

it is so stupid first of all like. it’s just overall not a great movie from Any of the angles it’s playing like. first of all the Detective is only around b/c he’s solving a nearby murder / death and making like. corny dumb “oh this is a Smart guy” observations about the Scene and someone is like “oh hey @ cops you’re already on the premises, come solve the mystery of Elevator Broke” like i don’t think that’s how it works and also i can’t even remember the reason they find this issue That pressing pre-realizing And One Of Them Is The Devil. maybe someone dies right off, idk. there is conflict on the elevator so naturally that’s a whole other thing like, we’re all trapped in this elevator together and maybe one of us is untrustworthy and liable to be dangerous to the rest of us like, i don’t know the Contrivance that makes these people think anything has to be done but just Stand Around for a while but it’s you know. that whole Thing where there’s a premise of “some shit is happening to Incite Conflict amongst strangers who are trapped in a bad situation together and they’re all apparently raring to judge each other’s moral fiber to decide who deserves Suspicion vs Protection.” but also, one of them is the devil

meanwhile on the outside it’s this dumb Cop Mystery Drama where this rando guy apparently sets aside the death he was investigating earlier to solve this elevator situation (i think eventually it’s revealed that that death was tied to the elevator situation all along. i think that the devil killed the guy. or something) and also, maybe there was Coincidentally some kind of heist going on at this place b/c i remember at some point the detective (and some partner there too involved in all this) like, find some tools hidden in a bathroom like “aha this was Used to do [whatever]” and despite having no idea what the details are i Know i remember this b/c of at the time going “oh my god that is so dumb Nobody Would Do This / this makes no sense” lol like. writing not great. and this was maybe Not the devil, but a regular separate scheme to. do something

also there’s some aspect where Main Cop has some tragic backstory and is like, not over it b/c it was so painful. i think maybe someone like hit and run his wife or something like that. you know how it goes. spoilers in that i think the person that the devil is here to kill (more on this devil assassination thing....) was Behind That somehow lmfao so it’s like really??? is that our resolution, that people’s stories are Converging in a very serendipitous way b/c the devil would like to give people emotional catharsis......idek. look, spoilers, this old lady who “dies” in the elevator relatively early on turns out to have been The One Of Them Who Is The Devil, Act Fast. and it was this weird thing where the devil is like “grr whoever i’m even here to Get in the first place is just Such A Bad Person that uhhh i guess i came here in person to take them to hell” like.....what tf kind of Lore......this is definitely going with “aaaah the devil is evil” approach, not any more kind of Neutral figure, but then in the end apparently the evil devil is just really Judgey and Disgusted by someone being A Bad Person like??? you ought to love this shit!!!!! and anyways the detective learns that One Of Them is The Devil b/c when they take him up to the security camera display hq it’s like a) look at this scary Moment where the elevator camera feed gets staticky and a scary face appears for a moment (im not sure if i could see what it was supposed to be lmfao) This Means Something and okay oh my god i reread the plot summary b/c for the life of me i couldnt remember the ending, it is so stupid oh my god

okay so first of all the Dead Person the detective was investigating had left like a suicide note like “i am killing myself b/c um. the devil approacheth” like wow okay right off the bat? amazing foreshadowing. why does this person Know this?? and why should he care b/c the devil is here apparently for a Special Soul Collection like, this has nothing to do with you, random guy?? you don’t even need to worry like. just stay home from work to avoid the fairly minor problems that occur (like MAYBE one guy dies in the course of this story but i think it’s a little ambiguous, meanwhile whoever Really Dies in th elevator was i think due to like, suspicion and infighting lmao. idk maybe the devil killed a few of them. it’s weird) but yeah the highlight is this

everyone please enjoy this scene. security guy ramirez is explaining the Devil Expertise courtesy of Where I Come From where toast falling jelly side down is evidence that the devil is hanging out in the elevator.

while looking up “devil toast” the result immediately after that one was “the devil takes the toast” which is a devil takes the hindmost ytp which i feel is really fitting

it kind of undercuts the stakes i think when not only is the devil only sorta gently radiating Bad Luck but also is just super Righteous but like. yes it turns out that the devil is here to Claim a guy on the elevator was the same dude who Hit N Run the detective’s family (wife and kid apparently) those years prior......except like, it wasn’t even like oh he assassinated them On Purpose, it’s apparently already a Known Detail that although they ~never knew~ who killed detective joe’s family (idk what his name is idc) there was a Note left on the scene like “sowwy :(” like really? this is the Big Bad that the devil made a special corporeal visit for??????? and then, get this, when the devil is like “i’m not a dead old lady, i’m the devil, and i’m here to Get you b/c you accidentally killed a couple of people and i, the devil, am really disgusted by how sinful you are for that” the guy is like “yes that was me :’( i’m sorry” and then the devil is like “ah fuck you’ve Repented. i can’t take you to hell anymore. bye” like what!!! why did he only have to feel bad about it to get out of this whole situation when obviously he Felt Bad in the first place b/c he up and left a note like “[grimace emoji] aaa my bad” like, did he have to apologize To The Devil?? the lore i s2g. Jelly Toast Rules operating here i guess.

anyways then the detective who witnessed this i guess is like “wow the guy who killed my family all those years ago but i’m still sad about it.....well i’m gonna arrest him now. but also, I Forgive Him.” oh and also for a while there the detective was so gritty he didn’t believe in The Devil b/c the vehicular manslaughter apparently made him think that human nature was evil enough to not need the extra help. so now he’s made the arc of getting uh, emotional closure on his family’s death by forgiving the dude who i guess super crashed into them on accident, And gets to know that the devil is real actually and he’s on the elevator but now Not b/c he was like “ah jeez thwarted by this guy uh, feeling bad about the accidental deaths even though he felt bad in the first place” and there was no other point to the detective being there b/c he didn’t Really do shit except i guess drive this sideplot where you are led to believe he Might figure out who the Bad Guy on the elevator is. (it is the devil. one guy has a crime record or something but, spoilers, he is trying to turn his life around with some good honest work as a security guard or something. idk)

it was amazing and very stupid and i was continually indignant b/c the writing was dumb and made no sense and just so fucking corny throughout. the entire movie is called “devil” and i remember it was like “tf is ‘devil’” and as soon as it involved an Elevator i was like omg omg is this And He Has To Act Fast Because One Of Them Is The Devil, and it was, so that was exciting. it was a dumb waste of time but also it was not b/c it was *slightly* so bad it’s good. mostly Not Even. but just watch the toast scene there b/c like. i think that’s this movie’s #1 contribution outside that post about the plot summary.

#Thank You for this excuse to go on for a while about Devil (2010)#it's also weird it feels more like. mid 00s than that #anyways i appreciate you as always #just the shot of the toast going Thwack on the floor followed immediately by other guy going ''what are you - what are you Doin...'''#SO good

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ba-responds · 5 years ago

Text

Catharsis (Villain!Deku x Fem!Reader) Chapter Three

A/n: Two chapters in one day! I’m on a roll. As you probably already noticed, this story doesn’t exactly follow the anime/manga! In this, the sludge attack takes place during their first year of junior high (7th grade)!

This story will contain dark themes! Please read the warning!

Summary: An unexpected death of a loved one can lead to a sudden influx of emotions. Those same emotions can become repressed, as denial and disbelief comes into play. In this time, one would seek a means of catharsis, a release from those strong, repressed emotions. But what would you do if that means of catharsis, the same release you sought so hard for, becomes addicting? To the extent, that you feel you can not live without it? What if it can’t live without you? **WARNING: This story MAY contain; bullying, suicide, depression, torture, manipulation, mentions of sexual assault, and MORE! You have been warned.

Masterlist

Prologue II Chpt 1 II Chpt 2 II Chpt 3 II

Chapter Three: Football Sleds and Acceptance Letters

*1 and ½ Years Later; Third Year of Junior High*

Taking a deep, soothing breath, you rolled your shoulder back, closing your eyes as you prepared. Shaking out your hands, you jumped in place for a moment, before suddenly charging headfirst at the football sled in front of you, grunting as you shoved it back across the turf of the open sport’s field. The football sled, which weighed 250lbs (pounds) itself, had an additional 50lb weight on it. The ragged thing squeaked as you continued shoving it backwards while sprinting, for a solid 20 yards; before you quickly spun around, sprinting back to your starting place, the harness strapped around your torso pulling the heavy sled along with you.

Panting, you raised your arms above your head, taking in deep breaths. Bending down, you snatched the water bottle from the ground besides you, taking a few deep drinks. When noticing that your bottle was almost empty, and the sun was starting to rise off in the horizon, you decided that your morning workout would be done for the moment; knowing that this high school’s sports team would be arriving any moment, and according to the deal you made with the school’s principal, your workouts couldn’t interfere with the teams’ practices.

Pulling the sled to the corner of the field, you then released the harness around your torso, sighing in relief at the release of pressure. With your water bottle in hand, headphones in, and phone in the pocket of your workout shorts that covered leggings, you began your jog to the closest corner store.

Stepping inside the small store, you made sure to take out an earbud, and turn down your music. Smiling politely at the cashier, you headed off the far side of the store, glancing at the sports drinks, trying to decide what flavor to get while nodding your head to the beat of your music that played softly.

After buying your drink, you stepped out of the store, pulling out your phone to glance at the time. You still had an hour before school would begin, so you had to hurry home for a quick shower, and to change into your school uniform.

School was nearly the same as it had been for the last two years. You would sit in the back, and generally ignore the world, focusing solely on your schoolwork, until lunch would come around. Then, you would sit outside, near the side of the building, and slowly eat whatever lunch you decided to make yourself.

Today’s lunch was packed with protein, fruits, and veggies, which you have been eating intermittently throughout the day. Your lunch box was still about 25% of the way full when the bell rang, telling you to go back to class. Gathering your stuff, you wandered back to class, sitting in your seat with a bored expression on your face.

Your fellow classmates hung around in groups, all talking and laughing with each other as you stared blankly out the window. When you thought about it, it still hurt; this lonely feeling that had made its home in your chest for far too long.

It wouldn’t go away no matter what you did. A year ago, you began working out, finding that the pain and burning from extensive training had worked wonders for taking your mind off the deep-settled pain in your chest. It still worked, but the intensity of your workouts had to increase over time; and as a result, you were in the best shape that you ever had been, even if you hadn't gained or lost much weight. Your muscles were more prominent, letting people who saw it know that you worked hard.

But that didn’t really matter. A nicer body was never your goal. You would give it up in an instant, if the pain in your chest would finally go away; if the ache would just disappear. The pain seemed to drain away any happy emotions you used to feel, leaving you to feel like a cold, hard shell of what you used to be.

“Alright class, settle down,” The class president announced, and not even two seconds later the teacher entered the room. You sat up straighter in your chair, leaning forward slightly, ready to give him your full attention.

Distractions. That’s what you focused on. Any distractions from the torment.

“Finally, with today’s class coming to an end, I’m supposed to pass out some career aptitude test, but why does it matter?! You’re all going to the hero course right?!” The teacher called out, the class making a ruckus with a display of quirks everywhere. You sat quietly, staring out of the window once again, watching as birds hopped along the electrical wiring outside. Bakugo suddenly spoke out, and you had to try hard to not put in your earphones, just the sound of his voice still causing resentment to course your body.

“Ah, you’re planning on going to U.A. right? Someone else also has that plan, from this class, but I can’t remember who...oh, wait. Now I do,” Your teacher said awkwardly, before glancing over to your quiet form. Over the years, after everything had happened, your teacher had become accustomed to monitoring his words, trying to avoid any...conflict within the class.

“Who the hell else is trying to get into U.A.?! None of you extras are nearly good enough to even step foot into U.A., let alone take the entrance exam!” Bakugo bellowed out, nose flaring as he glared around the class. Most people cowered away, shaking their heads. You stayed the same as you were, eyes still facing the window, gaze following the birds.

“Is it you, Shithead?!” Bakugo yelled, stomping over to your desk. Your muscles tensed, as your fist clenched in your lap, but your gaze remained out the window, face devoid of emotion. He growled out angrily, using his quirk to explode your desk away, as the class gasped in shock, your silence seeming to answer his question for you. Finally directing your gaze to him, you stood up slowly from your seat, staring him in the eye; wordlessly activating your quirk, a light glow emitted from under your clothes, your eyes turning the same color completely, which you could see reflected in Bakugo’s eyes.

He raised his hands threateningly, as if he was going to attack. A raise of a single one of your hand made nearby textbooks, desk, and even chairs, which still held your classmates, to lift off the floor, daring him to do something.

Just as the teacher was about to intervene, the bell rang, signalling the end of class. Waiting for a moment to ensure that Bakugo wasn’t going to attack, you lowered your hand, and immediately things started to go back to their place. Raising a finger on your other hand, your desk shot back into its original spot, clipping Bakugo’s hip. He let out a hiss, but reluctantly lowered his still raised hands; though he continued to hold the eye contact you maintained. A twitch of your fingers made your discarded notebooks drift into your open backpack, which then came to your hand. Grabbing it, you broke the staring contest with Bakugo, as you brushed past him, being the first one to exit your class, as the rest of the class watched in awe.

It was finally the morning of the entrance exam, and you sat on the couch in your home’s living room, an empty plate sitting on the cushion beside you. Glancing over to your phone, you realized that it was a few minutes before you should leave to make your train. Putting on a jacket, you picked up the plate, taking it into the kitchen. As you set it in the sink, your mother called out to you.

“Good luck, okay? And be safe,” She grinned, smiling at you proudly. You nodded without looking at her, muttering a quiet ‘I will’, before leaving the kitchen and heading to the front door, picking up your bag from the couch on the way out.

“I’m leaving! Bye Mom, Bye Dad!” You yelled loudly enough for them both to hear before closing the door behind you. Signing loudly, you pulled up the collar of your jacket, shivering slightly as a cold breeze passed you.

“This is it...My shot at fulfilling his dream,” You thought while looking up at the sky.

The introduction to the entrance exam was ...interesting. The announcer, who seemed to be the pro-hero Present Mic, was exuberant, to say the least; and tried to hype the crowd up, who was too nervous to respond. You sat two seats away from Bakugo, which was good enough for you. Quite frankly, you didn’t want to be anywhere near him

Paying close attention to Present Mic as he explained how the exam would be carried out, you easily came up with a plan for taking out the robots, your telekinetic quirk being extremely useful in this situation.

After being interrupted by a question, Present Mic ended his presentation, telling everyone to head out to their designated buses for each of the training grounds. Standing up from your seat, you proceeded towards the exit, following the crowd. A hand suddenly gripped your wrist, pulling your hand up.

Instinctively, you slightly activated your quirk, spinning around to spot Bakugo, who held your wrist at an angle, so he could see the card that was in your hand, probably checking what battle ground you would be in.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” You hissed, yanking your wrist away, you sent him a glare before shoving your way through the crowd, trying to get away from the blond. It wasn’t time to play stupid games with someone like him. Right now you had to focus on you, and your end goal.

You will pass.

For him.

And to make the pain in your chest go away.

Anticipation. That’s what you felt as you held the U.A. letter in your hands. It had been two weeks since you took the exam, and ever since you’ve been plagued with self-doubt. You wanted to believe in what you had done, but it probably wasn’t good enough. There were people with much stronger quirks than you.

The package was a bit heavier in your hands than you thought it would be, but you hoped that was a good sign. You shook your head, ridding yourself of the negative thoughts that seemed to plague your mind ever since you found the letter in your mailbox a few hours before. In those hours, you were too nervous to open the letter, internally fearing the worst.

Taking a deep breath, you finally willed yourself to tear open the letter, finding a small weird disk inside, along with an actual letter. Setting the disk down, you went to take out the letter, when the disk suddenly lit up, shooting a projection on your bedroom wall, making you gasp in shock, and scoot back.

All Might stood there with a wide grin, a yellow striped suit adorning his large figure. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“I am here as a projection! I, All Might, am proud to announce, that I am a new teacher at U.A! Young (L/n), you passed the written exam with an 89%, which is great! Now moving onto the physical exam, you’ve managed to score 46 villain points! While that is great in itself, there was also hidden points we didn’t tell you about! Rescue points! You have received an additional 14 points, locking you in at 60 points in total! Congratulations Young (L/n), you have passed, landing in 7th place! Welcome to U.A.”

You stared blankly at the wall the projection was once on, feeling your throat clench. You’ve made it. You made it into one of the best hero schools around. This was an opportunity many would kill for.

You did it.

You did what you promised you would do.

The last promise you made with Izuku.

But why did it still hurt?

Why did the pain in your chest seem to intensify? Guilt, anger and pain flowed out of you in the form of tears, as sobs racked through your body. Picking the disk up, you flung it across the room, a loud roar leaving your lips as you ripped your desk from its place, throwing it harshly into the wall, making a large gaping hole. All Might’s voice echoed once again in your room, as the projection replayed itself.

Your door burst open, as your father rushed in, a confused look on his aging face. Upon seeing your wailing form, he rushed over to you, pulling you into a tight hug, forcing you down to sit on the floor.

“Shh, it’s alright. You tried your be--” He consoled, but cut himself off when he heard All Might congratulate you on making it into U.A.. Perplexed, he blinked a few times before seeming to finally understand the reason you were faced with so much sorrow.

“It’s okay. I know you were supposed to go to U.A with Izuku, but now you’ve got to do it for the both of you. That’s what he would have wanted. I’m sure he’s proud you’re reaching your dream.” he muttered, his voice muffled as he buried his face into your hair, his own heart hurting at the sight of you.

He didn’t know.

You didn’t want to go to U.A.

It wasn’t your dream.

It was his.

After a few minutes of weeping, you finally calmed down enough to sit quietly in your father’s arms, as he soothingly rubbed your back. Opening your eyes, your gaze landed on a box that was left in place in the empty spot your desk used to be; the box previously being hidden under the drawer of said desk. Your heart lurched as the memories of what lied in the box came back to you.

You couldn’t breath. Your lungs screamed for air, as your legs ached painfully, but you didn’t stop running. It took you 10 minutes of sprinting as fast as you could to finally reach your destination. Rounding the corner, you spotted a police car in front of the Midoriya household, an officer standing at the open door. You dashed forward, your heart in your throat as you got closer.

Inko spotted you, and rushed past the officer to grab you into a hug, her tears staining the black jacket of your school uniform. You held her closely, as you looked at the officer over her shoulder as he walked closer, putting a hand on her shoulder gently.

“I’m sorry Ms. Midoriya, but there are a few more questions we have to ask you. There could still be a chance he is out there, and it's best if we can find his possible location as fast as we can,” He said softly, guiding her away from you, and into the house. You followed hesitantly behind, trying to hold yourself together. As the two of them went to the couch, you paused momentarily, before deciding to go to Izuku’s room, hoping to find some clue as to where he could be.

You refused to allow yourself to believe that he could have...did that.

Upon entering his room, you quickly glanced around to see if anything was out of place. A pile of dirty clothes and a laundry basket laid spread out on the floor, where you assumed Mama Midoriya had dropped it. You walked further into the room, gaze settling upon a box that seemed to be untouched on his desk. Gliding over to it, your breath caught in your throat as you saw your name messily scribbled on top of it in Izuku’s handwriting.

Picking it up softly, you carefully took it over to his bed. Taking a seat, and setting it next to you, you gingerly opened the top. Inside, was a small pile of pictures of the two of you. Most were taken when you were around 7 or 8, while a few were taken only a few months ago. Along with the pictures, there was an open notebook, and a stray sheet of paper with writing on it. Eyeing the notebook first, you recognized it as one of Izuku’s hero analysis journals.

A gasp left your lips as you read the open page, it being an autograph from the one and only All Might. Dropping the notebook, you quickly snatched up the stray sheet of paper, hoping it would have some explanation to everything.

(Y/n),

I’m so sorry it has to be like this, but I can’t take it.

All I’ve wanted to do ever since I was a kid was be a hero, but

I can’t.

I’ve come to finally accept that.

I met All Might the other day, the day Kacchan was attacked by the sludge

monster. I was attacked first, but All Might saved me.

He was even bigger than I imagined him, and he looked so awesome!

He even signed my notebook!

But anyway, I got the chance to ask him if he thought I could ever be a hero.

Y’know, for validation.

But, he told me there was no way. I’m too weak.

Useless.

There’s no way for me to become a hero.

I guess Kacchan was right.

Maybe he was just looking out for me this whole time.

I’m sorry (Y/n).

I would never mean to make you sad, but I just can’t do this.

I can’t pretend everything is alright anymore.

It’s not.

It hurts.

I just don’t want it to hurt anymore.

#bnha imagines #bnha fanfiction #bnha izuku #bnha x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya imagine #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #villain!deku #mha imagines #mha x reader

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stonerbughead · 4 years ago

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Maria watches friday night lights (#22)

ok I watched this a few days ago and haven’t had time to watch the finale yet but MAN 4x12 is an amazing penultimate episode. Here we goooo:

Omfg the panthers are literally being such snobby fucks about the East Dillon field. these fuckers are so classist and racist~~~ it’s too real

Feels like Julie is being very impulsive about trying to leave for habitat for humanity shit “It’s only $3,000.” “Only? Honey you’re hilarious.”

Ah yep and mindy’s in labor!! “Who the hell are you talking to?” “It’s tim, do you want to talk to him?” “NO!” 😂😭 I’m dead

I see what they did there, transitioning from Tim’s excitement about new life on the white side of town to Vince and the community mourning Calvin at his funeral on the Black side of town.

“Jess, if I go to the cops I go to jail.” UH YEAH he’s on parole, Jess, he literally can’t “do the right thing” bc he’ll get punished for it bc PRISON INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX!!!

ooooh Jess is *worried* about Vince; me too gurl. the concern is hot ngl

LOL Landry is so white.....he didn’t buy Jess a lock for her bike??

Testy Eric getting the field ready is SO funny omfg

HAHAHA they threw billy out bc he’s “too enthusiastic, whatever that’s supposed to mean.” omg he’s had five energy drinks Jesus this is hilarious

Ok Landry going out of your way to tell Vince he’s sorry about Calvin, that’s growth!

“Whose idea was this anyway?” The whole team down on their knees on a football field at night with the toothpicks: “Landry’s.”

Wow living in Texas sux, Tami has to compromise her values and apologize for giving a scared, pregnant teenage girl all her options if she wants to keep her job as a public school principal?!?! Damn this show is too real lol

“It’s trying to claw his way out.” “Claw?”

“Her way out or whoever is in there...its way out.” Okay, gender neutral, I see you billy riggins! (I got less proud when he just ran into the birthing room wearing the PPE hat and yelling, “I’m the dad!!!”)

Really, they vandalized Eric’s car?! Too much.

“I don’t feel safe taking my family over there.” OK RACIST

Yessss they tooth picked the field so they had to spend their time doing stupid shit on the field too?! That’s pretty clever honestly, evening the score.

“I understand it took West Dillon two hours to take those toothpicks out of the field.” LOL

Gotta love that a lawyer says Tami has a great case for wrongful termination but that the court system will drag it out so much it won’t be good for her career long term lolll sounds about right. Great society we have here.

Aww “Uncle Tim”!!! So cute!

Uh oh it’s another Riggins boy in this mess lol! Awww Steven. My heart! This show does such a good job of letting you linger in the heartwarming moments for a minute.

Anddd of course the anti choicers are protesting her. Oh Tami, my queen, you don’t deserve this.

“I don’t cook flesh, dad.” Lol I love how Eric gives a half hearted “oh alright” to Julie making dinner bc she didn’t cook meat 🤣

“Lions suck.” “Haha you know what? Go to hell.” I shrieked with laughter. Let Eric and Tami eat dinner with their daughters jfc!!!

Jess holding an iPod and saying she made Landry a playlist. Oh, early 2000s love

Vince is being nice to Landry about being with Jess, wow now that’s growth too! This love triangle could be a lot worse.

Jesus fuck are they ruining the East Dillon field now?! Should’ve known they wouldn’t take those toothpicks lying down.

Tim is so cute with his nephew!!

Jesus fuck the tension on this Wade/Tami/Eric conference call after the East Dillon field destruction. This season is so well crafted to bring everything in the town to a boiling point just in time for the rivalry game!!!

There’s like a fucking creek on Tim’s property too? This is some romantic, scenic shit!

Life is about owning land and family? Hmmm. Okay Tim.

Omfg Becky I can’t. “Tim I love you” how many times have we gone over that y’all do not work romantically I’m 🤦🏻‍♀️

“Vince, you think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know what you up to right now?” Ahhhh not Jess showing up at Vince’s door when he’s going to avenge Calvin! I love that she figured it out just from what he said to Landry alone...the tension, the chemistry, the emotion!

Jess slides down the door!! Classic move of distress~

Ah Tim was W A Y too happy, it figures that their car scheme would be discovered now. And of course Tim is gonna take the fall so Billy can be with his family oh Tim 🥺

Damn!!! Vince got out of the car as the light turned from red to green trying to flee ?!!! 😭 “My mom’s not supposed to bury me, I’m supposed to bury my mama!” Ugh such a good line. Poor Vince.

Stfu, Joe— “we called every player on our team they’re all accounted for.” of course they are, Joe McCoy, mmhmm

Ah yes, grown men arguing about toothpicks while a crowd watches outside.

“The thing we gotta remember here is that in the end this is just a football game.” And Eric’s like, “nah actually, I’m getting harassed, thanks!”

Ah Jess was waiting for Vince when he came home 🥺 (Ooooop did Jess end up standing Landry up accidentally. Well fook.)

Oh, Tim. fuckkkkk this capitalist shit show— like, Tim is taking the fall so they could make sure Mindy could deliver a healthy baby without absurd medical debt and tbh I assume they still have debt !!!! We love a functioning society right?

Ahhh Eric throwing the phone that won’t stop ringing is the inevitable catharsis mmhmm

Damn the amount of stress that Tami and Eric combined are under is...oooof! They deserve better!

Omg wait and the actual game happens next episode?!!! I love this show, it’s so well written gahhhh

(See you next time)

#maria watches friday night lights #mine #friday night lights 4x12

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rorykillmore · 6 years ago

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ok haha relevant to ur field: top 10 tv episodes of all time?

i finally sat down and tried to do this and it’s taken me all of like, an entire evening, and i’m STILL not sure i haven’t forgotten something,

that being said i tried to the best of my ability, and also big disclaimer: some of my favorite shows are just straight up not on this list. determining my favorite shows overall would be MUCH different than determining my favorite individual, stand alone episodes of something. and with that being said...

(also i gave up trying to number-rank them. they are maybe like, ROUGHLY ranked, but i could flip flop a lot of them especially towards the middle so like, whatever)

lost - “the constant”

there are so many good, defining episodes of lost that it was kind of hard to pick one but... for me this was a good example i could think of that summed up the show at the height of like. how weird it could be and how emotional it could be. it also may be one of the best stand-alone episodes of the show objectively, i think. for those who are familiar but can’t remember, this is the one where desmond is kind of jumping around through time and the one with That phone call between him and penny at the end (which frankly should earn it a spot on this list by itself). okay i rewatched that and made myself cry so we’re off to a great fucking start!

hannibal - “mizumono”

mizumono is honestly one of the most like... perfect culminations of disaster i’ve ever seen. and i mean that in a good way!, but really, it brings seasons worth of tension to a head with near-flawless execution, it’s one of the most beautifully and artistically shot episodes of an already beautiful and artistic show, and the last fifteen minutes are like... kind of beyond description. i honestly have yet to see a season finale that’s as brutal to like, its ENTIRE MAIN CAST, and because of the impact it had at the time i felt like i had to put it on here.

true detective - “form and void”

the first season of true detective as a whole was honestly incredibly influential to like... the modern tv landscape we have today and how highly regarded television as a whole has become. it’s really important and really worth seeing. the finale, “form and void”, is if i recall correctly perhaps a little divisive because of how the mystery ultimately ended up being solved (i won’t give spoilers) but it was beautiful and surreal and creepy and for me, just the right amount of satisfying. actually for me, i’m not gonna lie, it was... and still is, very important to me personally. specifically in regards to the culmination of rust cohle’s character arc and the hopeful, compassionate note it ended on. rust was essentially a deconstruction of the “bitter edgy nihilistic main character” trope, much of his characterization was about how that mentality just ate away at him, but he found this essential moment of peace in the end that just... still really stays with me.

alias - “pilot”

i had to include this because alias has, literally my favorite pilot episode to date. in general alias has a few episodes i considered putting on this list (the finale of season 2 also being one for... Reasons) but i just had to go with this one because it’s a fucking pilot. in the television industry, pilots are notoriously difficult to get right. there’s so much establishment and exposition that needs to happen all while making sure you hook your audience that it can be... really tough to pace it correctly, and i have never seen anyone fucking nail it like alias did. of everything i’ve put on this list i think this is probably the episode i’ve watched the most times. sydney bristow in that bright red wig. still iconic.

westworld - “the bicameral mind”

westworld season 1 almost felt like it could have... ended with that finale, period. i mean naturally it did not, but in some ways if you weren’t so attached to the characters and didn’t want to see how they’d evolve, you almost wouldn’t NEED more than the bleak (well, for humanity), inevitable note it ends on. there are so many gratifying answers to the questions the season spun, so much emotional catharsis and satisfaction in dolores’ awakening and self-realization and maeve making her first real, free choice in returning to the park... idk it’s a lot. and it’s executed wonderfully. there are tons of moments that never lose their impact no matter how many times i revisit them. not much more to say than that.

buffy the vampire slayer - “restless”

possibly a controversial choice even among buffy fans? i remember at least at the time people were mad that such an unconventional episode was used to top off season 4. but let’s be real, season 4′s overarching plot was, not that great. for me, i never minded that it tied up early and that we had something really... different for the finale.

it also helps that i’m a huge sucker for like, surrealism, character studies, symbolism and significant imagery, foreshadowing, that kind of thing, and this episode is thick with ALL of that stuff. look i hate joss whedon but this was him at his best. restless is still... one of the most haunting things i’ve ever watched, and such a bold choice, and people are still dissecting it today and i’m like, “how did they manage to foreshadow some of this stuff this intricately this early in the show’s run’. i could probably go back and rewatch it easily even though i haven’t really delved into buffy in forever. “once more with feeling” also gets an honorable mention to being the best musical episode of a show to date.

black mirror - “nosedive”

okay i was really tempted to put uss callister on this list because i enjoyed that so immensely, it’s one of my favorite things ever, but uss callister is so... almost movie-like that it almost feels unfair to put it on this list with more traditionally structured television episodes. so apart from that, i have this inexplicable fucking soft spot for nosedive. i think about it all the time. it’s the black mirror episode i’ve rewatched the most. i’m not even sure if i can articulate why i love it so much except that... well, firstly it is another character study (with bryce dallas howard giving a wonderful and moving and vaguely unhinged performance), but also like. i think it is perhaps one of the most insightful episodes of black mirror overall. the point isn’t to be... bleak, necessarily, but its message is important. it’s less about ~the dangers of social media~ i think and more about how people relate to one another (or don’t, and how painful it can feel to not really emote or connect or find sincerity) and just, the social media app being a vehicle for that. stories about emotional suppression and catharsis always hit me hard.

oh and since black mirror is an anthology series with all standalone episodes, you can watch this even if you’ve never dabbled in the show before! go see it if you haven’t!!

grey’s anatomy - “losing my religion”

so i knew i wanted to put a grey’s anatomy episode on this list but i wasn’t really sure... how to go about picking just one, because grey’s has so many iconic individual episodes that have really. permeated television culture at this point. i don’t know, how do you just pick one? but i went with losing my religion because 1) i do genuinely feel that it contains some of the shows best and most poignant and memorable to date, i mean, even like 13 years later people remember the culmination of the denny storyline, and 2) i distinctly remember this being the point when i was watching the show for the first time that i really... consciously, vividly, felt myself falling in love with it and appreciating it for all that it was.this is really the point where you can’t write off grey’s anatomy as a one-dimensional quirky medical drama anymore no matter how hard you try. so it’s on here for nostalgic reasons too

also, this was the episode that launched “chasing cars” as the song that reduces literally everyone to tears, so there’s that,

ahs asylum - “madness ends”

for all the shit i’ll give ryan murphy, i truly still believe that ahs asylum was his masterpiece. it is perhaps the most sincere and tender and brutally real i’ve ever seen his work get. and madness ends will always be... one of my favorite season finales ever, and something i’ll always remember so fondly and emotionally. it also, and maybe this is an unconventional opinion, but it is also the most hopeful the show has ever felt to me. the most forgiving, the most kind. the closure it grants lana, kit, and jude, and even MARY EUNICE (wait was this the episode she died in? i think. i don’t remember) was just... i don’t know if you can get more satisfying than that. jessica lange’s performance in this episode specifically, and the ending of jude’s story, is something that’ll stay with me forever (there’s a reason that i consider jude to be one of my favorite characters, like, ever). i actually haven’t rewatched it in full, let alone this specific episode in so long but... yeah that shit stays with you

and last but incontestably not least...

the leftovers - “international assassin” or “certified”

guess what! for the leftovers, i actually COULDN’T pick just one! and if there’s any show on this list that deserves two episodes... well,

“international assassin” is a lot of people’s favorite episode, from what i understand. at least, its usually the critics’ favorite episode. and it wins a lot of points with me for the same reasons “restless” does (it’s basically another instance of like, the show taking a break to do a completely different kind of surrealist episode) and it marked the first time the show really like. completely abandoned all pretense of reality and went all-out mysticism. and it fucking worked. everything about this episode is a masterpiece. to give you a basic premise if you’re not familiar, basically. the main character, kevin, has spent the entire season behind haunted by... either a ghost or a hallucination (you’re not sure at that point as an audience member, but kevin is leaning towards ghost) and is told by someone that in order to get rid of her. he essentially has to die, go to purgatory, and confront her. the end result is... something you couldn’t even imagine and i don’t think i could fully put into words, but as most things in the leftovers are, it ends up being startlingly insightful and compassionate and is 100% guaranteed to make you feel very deeply for a character that most people hated up until that point

“certified” isn’t as much as a standout but for me it is one of the most powerful episodes in an already incredibly powerful show. it’s essentially devoted to giving closure to one of the characters (who happened to be one of my favorites) and her longstanding pain and her struggles with being tied to realism in this world where you increasingly need to believe in something to survive. it’s hard to give much context beyond that but it is heartbreaking and wonderfully performed and i actually haven’t been able to revisit it many times since because it affected me so much

idk i could really put every episode of the leftovers on here, honestly. it is incredibly special.

#thanks tony!!#man theres a lot of good tv out there huh #fizzlep0p

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rhetoricfemme · 6 years ago

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Foregone Conclusion | Jean/Willy Tybur | SNK

Rated: M | 2003 words | AO3

Everyone deserves at least one charmed beginning. Unassuming meet-cutes and intentions to traipse into the future holding hands, potential disturbances far from mind and entirely unseen.

For Jean Kirschstein, Liam Tybur was just that.

Honey blond clasped at the nape of his tanned neck, slightly crooked teeth inside of a billion-dollar smile.

Class was being held outside that morning, as their instructor had deemed walls inferior to the sun-warmed seats of the university amphitheater.

Jean had shown up early, slinging his backpack onto an empty seat and cracking open a book to bide his time. Try as he might, however, his focus continued to fall victim to a small cacophony several rows over.

Right. Of course, it had to be him.

Liam spoke with his hands while regaling classmates. Elaborate and important talk of how he’d spent his summer trailing precariously elevated cliffsides and narrow mountain roads, though something about his tone somehow remained humble.

Be it the decibel of his voice, the story itself, or the way his eyes scanned the class while speaking, Jean found Liam Tybur an altogether strange creature, and impossible to ignore.

Judging by a series of blink-and-miss glances, Liam didn’t want him to.

He’d shown boyish curiosity when he finally approached Jean, all at once bold and demure. Sweet and confident.

Expectant.

Directing his eye back into his book, Jean doesn’t look up again until he sees a pair of sneakers in his peripheral vision. The white rubber soles of said shoes are almost entirely covered in Sharpie-laden sentences. Of course they are.

“What’cha reading?”

“Ah,” It had been the perfect foil to Liam’s poise when Jean had opened his mouth to nervous laughter. “Death Farm. It’s about cadavers?”

A nod of his golden head, a pursed lip smile. “Well that’s something, isn’t it?”

“Everything is something.”

“Morbid.” Jean assumes this was meant to be flirtatious, when interestingly Liam is beginning to sound apprehensive. Regardless, he summons the gall to point toward Jean’s bag. “So are you saving this seat for someone?”

Jean takes his time. Gives himself as many long-passing seconds as he needs to assess the person in front of him. Three weeks into class, and they’ve exchanged more words in this amphitheater than their collective time inside the classroom.

“Not really.” A lopsided grin and sweet hazel sparks, and the backpack finds itself moved to the ground. “Go ahead and sit.”

At the end of the day, Liam would be alright.

Jean had been watching the way he lived out one thought to the next; the way people were drawn to LIam, and he drawn right back to them. The way he found existential beauty and crisis in the smallest of things. Liam was gifted with the disposition to find catharsis in the mere act of breathing, and he’d then go on to tell all the world about it.

For as endearing as Liam could be, Jean was not proud to admit that he had long since considered him a touch obnoxious.

There was guilt pinned to the anti-sentiment. Of course there was, but there was also the guilt born from the fact that when Liam looked at Jean, there was one word left after all the others had gone away.

Loving.

This, and the fact that Jean simply could not force himself to feel the same way.

“Can’t believe you’re going to be gone all of spring break.” Liam rolls onto his side, snakes his arm around Jean’s waist as he lays motionless on his back. “Would’ve been nice to lay around for a few days. Read some books together, binge watch something. Eren’s going home, right? We could’ve…”

It’s discreet when Jean moves away from the lips grazing across his neck, compensating for the loss by affectionately trailing his fingers through long blond hair.

“You don’t like the books I like.” Jean teases, wanting for absentminded bliss, but instead settling on lazily braiding his lover’s hair.

“No, no I don’t.” Liam’s laughter is good-natured, and Jean imagines that he’s going to miss it. “It’s fine, though. Nice of you to help your brothers move into their house.”

Truth be told, Jean’s been looking forward to this. The glee in Reiner’s voice when he’d called more than a month ago now, telling Jean they’d done it—they’d actually gotten a fucking house, and the only thing that would make the deal better is if Jean drove up and helped them move in.

While Jean has no regrets about going to school in Ohio, nor does he believe he’s cut out for a lifetime of distance from the people he calls home. He’s come to discern what he believes to be an acceptable arm’s length of separation based on how quickly he can get himself home when wistfulness strikes. Or on those rare occasions that someone he cares about is in a genuine position of need.

It hasn’t escaped Jean’s notice, but more appropriately it’s hounded his mind that so much of his spare mental energy is guided toward a small number of people, none of whom are a convenient distance away.

It’ll only occur as an afterthought the following morning, when Jean is more than halfway there, that he’s no sense of longing for the arms that for the past several months have delighted in keeping him warm at night.

For the moment, Jean is still too preoccupied thinking about all the work he’ll have to keep him busy. How much time he’ll have to engage in conversation that isn’t happening in the form of a text, the long drive ahead…

“…sorry, what?”

“Whenever you get a chance to come home with me, I was saying.” Liam locks eyes with Jean, the question in his gaze contradicting the certainty of his words. “They don’t call me Liam.”

“No? What’d they call you, then?”

“Willy.”

Jean can’t help but smile. It’s the sort of name that incites images of innocence and childlike wonder, and so despite the way Liam cringes at the name, Jean can’t help but find it fitting.

“When you’re at home what do they call you?”

“Just Jean.”

“No nicknames?”

He thinks of the obvious. Of how second-nature it is to hear his parents, Levi or Reiner call him by that annoying, but well-loved nickname. Thinks of how Bertholt reserves it for quieter moments, or how Marco’s brows had raised in sweet amusement the first time he’d heard Reiner call him Jeanbo.

“Just Jean.”

“Mm.” Liam’s arm wraps tighter around his waist. “Just Jean, it is.”

The movements that once caused Jean to pulse with heat now serve to remind him of how far they’ve dropped off. How far in his own ruminations he’s come. How he’s uncertain whether the man beside him is ignoring the growing chasm Jean has struck in the space between them, or if he truly doesn’t feel it.

Despite all of this, he’s not immune to Liam’s charms. Jean’s body still responds generously to a certain degree of caresses and touch. There’s a high level of adoration worthy of being defended, even if Liam could never bring himself to press in upon request. He could never bring himself to grip or pull hard enough for Jean’s tastes.

The amped up coil in Jean’s gut has long since died. And so he reroutes the desperate, romantic attempts of lips at his neck before the rest of his drive has a chance to go cold.

Liam sighs, full of heat and lacking inhibition when his clothes land in a heap on Jean’s bedroom floor, letting Jean guide his hand between his legs.

“You’re so to-the-point these days.” Sharp commentary amid languid strokes of a tongue. “Where’s the boy who looked at foreplay as if he couldn’t live without it?”

The comment is playful, if not inquisitive, but it leaves Jean with an unavoidable chill growing in his belly.

“M’right here.” He hooks a leg behind the strong, familiar waist, unable to muster anything better, even as a going-away present. “Guess I’ve changed a bit.”

“No.” Liam sighs pleasantly, ignores the way Jean tenses as he revisits his neck. “You’re just stressed. Have you changed? Or is it just a season of life?”

“Seasons change.”

One fades off into another, and when it finally comes back around some things are never quite the same.

Jean grabs hold of him, then. Flips their bodies without warning and watches how Liam flushes at the sight of Jean hovering above him.

“No more talking tonight.” Soft eyes and insistent fingers are as incongruous as Jean’s words. “Okay?”

Liam’s arches skyward, hands grappling for purchase at Jean’s thighs.

“Okay..” He’s barely time to respond. “Jean!”

Sealing their lips together, Jean robs them of the opportunity to share words. They engage one another from the same bed, though they exist on separate planes.

Jean kisses hard but is careful when he thrusts into Liam’s heat. Takes his time, listens to the steady rise of blood and nerves, desperate to find their common ground before it’s time to go. He can’t close his eyes—please, not now—because if the sex is increasingly emotionless, fuck it still feels good.

Climbing higher, Jean drags Liam willingly along with him. Meets the wet gaze of perfectly sincere eyes, because if Jean closes his, if he so much as looks away he risks clear blue irises melting to soulful brown.

He can’t do that to Liam.

And it’s a truth he’s not prepared to reconcile himself to, yet.

Liam comes first, hot and messy across his and Jean’s stomachs, biting into Jean’s kiss hard enough to draw blood. It’s everything Jean could have wanted, but oh, not like this. Not from his Liam, who in six months has not once kissed like that.

Stumbling into an orgasm he wasn’t ready for, Jean sobs with elation before melting into the arms braced against his back.

It takes some time to reconcile themselves with reality. To remember their limbs, find their breath again before rolling off opposite sides of the bed.

Before he knows what’s happening, Jean finds himself inquiring as to where Liam is going. For a moment, the only sound is that of pink-stained tissues hitting the trash can, but then Liam hits him with a pensive little smile.

“I think I’m gonna go back to my place tonight.” Thoughtful words to accompany the slow, affectionate rub of his thumb across Jean’s mouth. “You’re leaving early in the morning, right?”

“You can stay if you want.” Jean whispers almost silently. “I didn’t say I wanted you to go.”

“I know.” Again, Liam plays at the purple blossom he’d left at Jean’s lip. Sighs. “I know you don’t want me to go, Jean. But maybe I have to.”

The grip Jean keeps on Liam’s elbow borders just on the other side of too tight, though he isn’t asked to let go.

“It’s fine.” Liam promises, grips Jean’s shoulder in return. “Go home. Come back. Maybe things will feel different then.”

The laughter that falls from Jean’s lips comes out almost sad and sardonically.

And so it goes, that after a nearly sleepless night, Jean climbs into his car at four in the morning.

At some point he finds himself driving across old, familiar roads. Doesn’t think twice when skipping the exit that would take him to his parent’s house, opting instead to drive on just a little more.

It’s just after eight a.m. when the apartment door creaks open, predictably left unlocked just for him. Jean spills inside of the tiny living room, simultaneously renewed but exhausted when he crashes onto an old couch, and quite honestly proud of himself for not landing on the floor.

Throwing an old blanket on top of himself, he settles in for however long a nap he can get before Reiner inevitably jostles him back awake.

How merciful that his brothers seem to be choosing to sleep in. How fortunate that Jean’s mind seems to agree with his body, and has no interest in staying awake.

He’s so tired, in fact, that when a hand gently tucks the old blanket around Jean’s tired shoulders, he sleeps on.

None the wiser. Entirely unaware.

#fic: scenic world #jean kirschstein #liam tybur #willy tybur #i love love loved writing this #i hope you enjoy reading it #<3 #if you have any thoughts on it #i'd love to hear them!

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ifishouldvanish · 8 years ago

Text

Nighthawks, Morningbirds

I’d like to thank everyone who nominated I Must Be Warmer Now for TEAs this year! Here’s a ‘missing chapter’ (or three) that covers the rest of Gold and Lacey’s first official date, picking up where chapter seven leaves off.

Chapter Two

Summary: Rattled by their encounter with Arthur, Gold and Lacey try to salvage what’s left of their night together. Rating: M

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Read on AO3]

Lacey pulls her eyes from the passenger window to look at Gold, and folds her arms over her chest. She's pretty sure it's coming off as more sulky than indignant however, because she feels so small. It had been a while since anyone got under her skin like this, and that asshole Arthur did it in no time at all. So much for not giving a damn.

“What did he mean?” She mumbles.

“...In regard to what?”

“He said that you were bragging about me.”

“Oh.” Gold chuckles. The light from the street passes over his face as they drive, giving her a glimpse of the small smile there. “Dr Hopper— our facilitator— asked me to share something with the group on Friday.” He says. “So I told everyone that I went to the bar and was approached by a fascinating young woman who helped me to see things differently.”

“That all?” She asks meekly.

“No. I also told them that I enjoyed her company very much and hoped to talk to her again.”

“You… you didn’t tell them that we—”

“No, no…” He assures softly. He then blanches when her meaning sinks in. “Of course not! Lacey I—”

“Are you embarrassed of me?”

His eyes dart off of the road for a moment to give her a puzzled look. “...No! Why would you think that?!”

“Most guys are.” She admits with a shrug. It's been true of her experience since returning to Storybrooke. There's no shortage of men seeking her out for some comfort at night, and she knows some of them go as far as bragging about it to their friends. But in the end, nobody wants to actually be seen with her.

“Lacey, I-I-I—” Gold stammers and returns his focus to the road. “I enjoyed the time we spent together. Truly.”

“Everyone else enjoys me too. Doesn't mean they're proud of it or that it means anything.”

Lacey notices his knuckles tightening around the wheel. “I don't know that... proud is the word I'd use.” He says uncomfortably. “But it did mean something. To me. This means something to me.”

She chews her thumbnail and looks out the window. Scoffs. “Of course it does. You haven't gotten any action in six years.”

Lacey isn't exactly expecting a snappy reply, but still finds herself discomfited when one never comes, leaving her cold words hanging heavily over the silence in the car.

She sighs and looks back at him. Light passes over his features again, which are now pinched into a stoic facade. She can see past it though, and underneath it all he looks so hurt. She just doesn't know what to make of anyone showing her kindness and vulnerability.

“I'm… Sorry. That wasn't cool, I— I didn't mean that.”

He remains quiet and she needs to fill the silence with something.

“You just— You didn't have to cut in like that.” She says. “I can stand up for myself.”

“Lacey, that man is my problem. Not yours.”

She rolls her eyes. “I'm sorry—” she snorts, “did I miss the part where he called you a mouthy slag who needs to be put on a leash?”

“No…” Gold sighs and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “Just that he and I… we have a sort of history, and I'd rather you not get involved.”

“Bullshit.” Lacey straightens her back and stares at the road ahead. “You've been seeing him an hour a week for what? Six months? History my ass.”

“Fine.” He grunts. “Not him. Men like him.”

Lacey laughs humorlessly. “And you think I don't have a history with assholes?”

“God dammit!” He slams his fist against the steering wheel in frustration. “He reminds me of my father, alright?!”

The car falls silent again, save for Gold's heavy breaths as he simmers down.

“I-I'm sorry.” He stammers. “He just— Every week, I have to listen to that bastard and it's like… I'm back in that flat in Glasgae with him. I just… I needed to say those things, alright? I-I needed to have that much.”

Lacey watches him ease into his seat as the weight of his confession lifts away. “...Okay.” She says, the word coming out as a whisper. “I get it.”

She does, truly. She's lost count of how many men she's kicked and screamed at, using them as surrogates for the real thing. For Gerard and all of his asshole, piece of shit friends. She can't imagine Gold gets half as many chances at that kind of catharsis, nor can she imagine having to spend time every week grouped with someone who reminds her of her abuser. Being encouraged to sympathize with and relate to them. Being told you're not so different from them. That you're there together because you have something in common.

“He deserved worse.” She adds quietly.

“Well, like I said. Getting my son back is more important to me than… retribution.” He says, and his shoulders slouch a little. “It has to be.”

Lacey feels something grip her chest that she supposes could best be described as shame. It's easy for her to be reckless, to not really think about the consequences, because what does she have to lose? Certainly not a child. It's an uncomfortable train of thought, that his problems aren't quite as simple as she made them sound last week, and she doesn't want to dwell on it a second longer.

��I was serious about the foot up the ass, you know.”

With a delayed reaction, Gold scoffs. “I don't doubt that.”

“Seriously. I got no problem spending a night in jail for punching an asshole.” She shrugs. “Just say the word. Call it a public service.”

She catches him smiling, and she can feel the shame in her gut being washed away.

Gold takes a deep breath and sighs. “...I like you, Lacey.” He says softly. “So much already that it terrifies me.”

The thought that he's just as fucked up and confused about this as she is is a mild comfort. “...Me too.”

He takes a hand off the wheel and rests it over the center console. His fingers seem to twitch a little the longer she stares at it there and she realizes he's offering it to her. She slowly laces her fingers in his and he squeezes ever so slightly.

Their hands are still entwined by the time they make it back to Storybrooke. He makes a right onto 3rd and she stirs.

“Where are we—” she shakes her head and wriggles her hand from his. “I thought we were going to your place.”

“We were.” He says. “But— we… you seemed upset?”

“I'm fine.”

“I just thought—”

“Well, you were wrong.” She says. “I'm fine. We can go to your place. I—” She pauses lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry for being a bitch. ...I still wanna to go home with you,” she admits reluctantly, “assuming you aren't tired of me yet.”

“Not at all.” He smiles weakly at her and nods. “I… I apologize for snapping. But, I'd like that.”

*****

Lacey’s eyes go wide with awe as Gold invites her into his oversized Victorian. “Shit. You live here all by—” She catches herself and swallows rest of the question.

“...Aye.” He answers dejectedly anyway, shedding his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack.

“It's… it’s really nice?” She offers, stepping into the sitting room and admiring the furniture, the abandoned game of chess, and the shelves full of books and porcelain figurines. “You um, you have a lovely home.” She says, the words falling from her tongue clumsily. It's what you're supposed to say when you visit someone's house for the first time, isn't it? She supposes that if anything, it's a massive understatement.

“...Thank you.” He says with a curt nod.

He glances around the room for a moment as though he hasn't actually looked at it in some time. The house is silent save for the ticking and tocking of a grandfather clock on the far wall, and Lacey recalls the loneliness he described to her the other night. She feels a sadness, imagining him sitting in this room all by himself, day after day, with nothing but the ticking and tocking to keep him company.

Gold presses his lips into a thin line for a moment and shakes his head. “I ah… seem to remember promising you some wine?” He says, putting on a friendly smile and gesturing toward what must be the kitchen.

Lacey follows him closely behind, still taking in her surroundings. Gerard's apartment was big and expensive, but it was also cold and sterile. Gold's home is a work of art; full of beautiful antique pieces that have clearly been chosen by him personally rather than ordered straight from a catalog. She feels like she has no business being in this house. Like a stray animal that has wandered in and is going to be shooed out at any minute.

“What do you like?” He asks, nodding at the massive wine cooler. “Red? White? Rose?”

“I—” Lacey blinks owlishly at it. It must hold about a hundred bottles. “What do you recommend?”

A little smirk tugs at his lips and he approaches the unit. “A cabernet sauvignon ought to pair nicely with that steak.” He says with a humored lilt to his voice, opening the door and sliding a bottle out.

“Sounds good to me.” Lacey shrugs. She watches as he carries the bottle to the counter and retrieves two glasses. He pours not much more than a splash into each one, then carries them over with a smile.

“Try that,” he nods, handing her a glass.

She draws the glass to her lips and hesitates. “Now, when you say try— ”

“You can swallow it.” He chuckles. “Though you’re welcome to spit it out as well. ...I won’t be insulted.” He winks, taking a swig and giving a little hum of approval before swallowing.

Lacey empties her glass and swirls the wine around in her mouth.

It's disgusting.

She immediately spits it back out and scowls, shaking her head.

His eyes are wide with concern for a fleeting moment before he eases into an amused little smirk. “...Not a fan?”

“Sorry, that’s—” She rakes her teeth over her tongue, trying to scrape the unpleasant taste from it. “No.”

He chuckles and takes the glass from her. “We’ll just have to try another, won’t we?” He says, flashing her an understanding smile.

“They can only get better than whatever the hell that was,” she says as he steps away to rinse their glasses in the sink.

“I admit, I’m not much of a wine drinker myself,” he says. “Much prefer my scotch.”

Folding her arms over her chest, Lacey stares into the cooler and scowls. “Then why have all this? Why not just load it with fuckin’ whiskey?”

“Because—” He glances over his shoulder at her, eyes narrowed while a little smirk tugs at his lips. “Come over and try some wine sounds much more romantic than come over and try some hard liquor.” He says, stepping beside her.

“It’d work on me.” She says flatly.

“Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?” He says, peering through the cooler again.

“Not for the wine.”

“Miss French! What are you trying to say?” He teases.

She looks at him, tracing her tongue along her lip, and is satisfied to see him blushing. He quickly looks back at the cooler with unwarranted focus for a moment and gives a small cough.

“Well then, how about this?” He says, sliding out a bottle with a light salmon color to it. “Provence Rose? Crisp, dry, versatile. Fruity notes.”

“Sure.” Lacey shrugs, but she can't help smiling at how adorable he is. He’s so small and refined and gentle and nothing like Gerard or Keith or pretty much any of the other men she’s ever been with, and she can hardly imagine him ever losing his temper and destroying anything in this house.

That's when she notices it: the empty china cabinet that's had its glass panes knocked out.

“I really think you’ll enjoy this one—” Gold says, holding out her glass. He seems to catch her gaze, and follows it to the china cabinet. “...Aye.” He mumbles, looking away in shame. “That’s... The one.”

She promptly takes a swig of her wine, not wanting to upset him by dwelling on the topic of his little transgression. “S’good.” She nods. “I like it.”

He gives her a smile that's equal parts pleased and relieved and takes the glass back. “Good. I’m glad.” He says, walking back to rinse the glasses again.

“So uh… just like, out of curiosity...” Lacey begins, fumbling her hands and stepping up to the cooler. “Which of these did you blow the most cheddar on?”

Gold scoffs. “Hm. That would be the 2005 Château Pétrus, I believe. Four grand.”

“Christ!” She hikes her brows until the sticker shock wears off. After a beat, she looks over her shoulder at him. “...Is it any good?”

“Haven’t opened it yet.” He says with a shrug and walks over. He lets out a huff and reaches into the cooler again, pulling out the Pétrus. “Was saving it for a special occasion, I guess.” He sighs, studying the bottle for a long moment.

Lacey imagines most of this wine was bought for his ex-wife, rather than himself. He's frowning at the bottle, a sort of symbol of the potential his life must have once had, that has since been foreclosed on. But then a faint smile begins to shape his lips.

“...Wedding anniversary, perhaps.” He jokes, but Lacey doesn't laugh. He lets out a scoff and looks up at her with a mischievous grin. “...Would you like to try it?”

Lacey gives him what she's certain is a deer in the headlights look. As curious as she is to find out what a four grand bottle of wine tastes like, she knows she isn't worthy of it. That he'll regret opening it and wasting it on her of all people. “Um… no,” she says, shaking her head, “that’s okay.”

“...C’mon.” He winks. He leans in and slips into a whisper, as if to share a secret. “We’ll toast to something.”

Lacey's skin tingles at his nearness. Nothing about the goofy smile on his face indicates that he's trying to be suave, but he's affecting her regardless and for the first time in too long, she isn’t sure how she feels about it. The thought of sleeping with him again is making her stomach churn with doubt. Not doubt that she wants to, but whether or not she should. “I don’t know.” She mumbles. “I mean, you should um, save it. For a special occasion.”

He frowns and studies the bottle again, knitting his brows in consideration. A smile slowly creeps back to his face and he meets her gaze again. “There's ah... no occasion more special than enjoying good company, aye?”

Lacey chuckles uncomfortably. It's the nicest thing anybody's said to her in ages and the realization makes her feel so pathetic. Her company is good and special and worth celebrating. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, immediately putting it back when she decides she feels too exposed by its absence. “Yeah, I uh, guess you’re right.”

“Excellent.” He nods and saunters off to the counter again with the bottle. “Come, Miss French. You’re going to help me do the honors.”

He pulls a knife from the drawer and swiftly tears the foil off, then twists the corkscrew through. He holds it out to her and gives her an expectant look, inviting her to fold down the levers. She hesitates, but then she remembers what he told her the night she took him home. That all the finery in his home is about his family— affording comfort and luxury to the people he cares about— and he wants to share it with her.

She smiles and pushes the little arms down, unsatisfied when the auger only pulls the cork out halfway.

“Thank you, Miss French.” He says with a little bow before wriggling the cork out the rest of the way with a pop . “You've been a lovely and most invaluable assistant.”

She huffs out a laugh at his corny joke and watches as he pours their glasses again. Their fingers touch as she accepts hers from him and he clears his throat. “To good company?”

Lacey nods and clinks their glasses. “To good company.” She says with her best smile.

They empty their glasses, each watching for the other’s reaction. His brows knit together adorably as he tastes it properly, but Lacey doesn’t feel like it tastes much different from the shit they keep on the bottom shelf at Price Rite . He shrugs and swallows, and she follows suit.

“It’s… good.” She says, more to be polite than anything else. She used to buy the shit on the bottom shelf quite often, after all.

“Hm.” He nods in agreement, seeming only mildly impressed himself. It’s a small relief, knowing she isn’t exactly missing out.

“But—” She nibbles her lip and studies his features for a moment.

He raises a brow. “But...?”

Lacey sets her glass down and traces her tongue along her bottom lip. She slides a hand over his shoulder and steps closer to him. She brushes her lips against his once— twice, before he parts for her and she can taste the wine on his tongue and it's so much sweeter that way. He rests a hand on her waist, squeezing gently before roving around to her back and pulling her closer. She sips every last drop she can from his lips before pulling away and leaving him with a dopey smile on his face.

“...It tastes even better from your mouth.” She says.

His grin widens, growing ever more lopsided. “Does it, now?”

She nods, biting back a smile.

“Well…” He brushes his fingers across her cheek and his eyes dance over her face with such warmth. “Not to challenge your connoisseurship, but I'd like to try that for myself.”

She nods and he returns the favor, and he's so gentle, always so gentle. Her heart flutters in her chest and she has to remind herself to slow down again. Remind herself not to fall too far too fast. She pulls away sooner than she would have liked and shakes her head.

“I'm— I'm pretty tired.” She says, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “I think I'm ready to crash.”

He blinks at the premature ending of their kiss and nods. “...Aye. It’s late, isn't it?” He says, clumsily beginning to recork all of the bottles. “There's a bathroom upstairs— first door on the left— if you care to wash up. I'll ah, find you something to change into?”

*****

Gold's admittedly a little relieved when she settles into his bed right away. He wasn't sure if she'd want to sleep in his room or one of the guest rooms and he was anxious and unsure over how to ask without coming off as too forward. Or too cold. Too something — he doesn't know. He just didn't want her to think he was expecting anything, nor did he want her to feel unwelcome.

“Thanks for— I don't know,” she mumbles as he settles beside her. “I had fun. …Even though that douchebag ruined our dinner and I was a bitch on the way home.”

He’s not really sure what to say to that. All things considered, he thinks their evening recovered pretty nicely. And while she had hurt him during the drive home, he understood she was hurt herself. He settles for giving her a kiss on the shoulder and a simple, “Thank you for inviting me.”

He tries to keep his distance from her at first. But her body is quivering and within fifteen minutes, he finds himself spooned up behind her, sharing his warmth.

“Cold?” He asks in a whisper. “I can get you another—”

“No.” She clips.

“Are you sure? You're shaking—”

“I just wanna fuck.” She says. “At least, my body does.”

“But... you don't want to?”

“I don't know.” She says, fidgeting under the covers. “I don't know how to sleep next to someone without fucking them first.” She mutters sourly. “That's the kind of girl I am, alright?”

He rolls away from her, trying not to pull the covers off of her in the process. “You don't have to sleep with me. I can set you up in one of the guest rooms? I-I can drive you home?”

“No.” She shakes her head and shivers. “I don't wanna sleep alone.”

“Alright.” He sighs, spooning back up to her, enveloping her. “Then you won't.”

She continues to tremble and shake in his arms and he can't stand the thought of her being like this all night. He perfectly understands why she might not want to have sex. He can't blame her after the daunting implications of what she told him in the car. He’s not sure he wants to either. But gods, he just wants her to feel relaxed and warm and safe.

After a moment of hesitation, he presses a kiss to her shoulder and tentatively drags his hand across her abdomen. She squirms and presses her thighs together in response.

“Please, let me.” He offers softly. “...If you don't—”

Lacey lets out a sigh. “...okay.” She mumbles a little reluctantly, starting to roll onto her back for him.

“No, no.” He stops her with a light touch. “You're fine. Just—” He slides his hand between her thighs, finding her warm and wet. “Let me…”

She sighs heavily as he begins stroking her, then inhales sharply when he tucks his hand into her underwear. He combs his fingers through her curls and she shifts a little so she can spread her thighs for him. He pulls himself closer, wrapping himself around her almost protectively.

Lacey’s eyes are on him, studying his face while he uses his fingers to tease and spread her folds. But in his calm, focused state, he can't bring himself to feel self-conscious about it. He slips a finger inside of her and she gasps.

“Alright?” He asks.

She nods and cants her hips into his touch. He plants another kiss to her shoulder and adds another finger, slowly pumping into her. She responds immediately, squirming into him and letting out a stifled moan.

The string of gasps and moans coming from her lips intensifies, and the rolling of her hips quickens. He rests his thumb against her hood, gradually applying pressure to her bud until her body suddenly tightens in his arms.

“That's it,” he whispers and kisses her again, “I've got you…” He continues working over her most sensitive places and she whimpers as each wave of residual tension escapes her body.

He peppers her shoulder with soft kisses as she relaxes, melting back against him with a satiated little moan.

“Better?” He asks, slipping out of her and wiping his fingers along the hem of the shirt he gave her.

She nods and quickly moves to touch him through his bottoms.

“No, no.” He tuts softly, guiding her hand away. “You don't have to— Just go to sleep, lass.”

She mumbles something he can't make out and settles comfortably against him, drifting almost instantly to sleep.

#rumbelle fic #golden lace

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abckidstvyara · 7 years ago

Link

Upgrade tells the story of a Grey Trace, a man in the near future who’s left quadriplegic after a car accident and mugging.

Following an interlude that sees Grey struggling with his new disability, an experimental computer chip called Stem is placed in his spinal cord, which it doesn’t just allow him control of his limbs again — it turns him into something close to a superhero, ready to track down the men who paralyzed him and murdered his wife.

The film, which comes out today in the United States, may sound like a straightforward revenge plot, but it was written and directed by Leigh Wannell, who’s best known for writing Saw and Insidious. (More recently, he made his directorial debut with Insidious 3.) He explained that he wasn’t interested in turning this into a superhero movie. Instead, he wanted to tell the “Taxi Driver version” of this story.

Without getting into details, it’s fair to say that Upgrade doesn’t feel that far removed from Wannell’s horror films. It also includes plenty of visceral action scenes and touches on bigger questions about our relationship with technology.

I met with Wannell in New York City last week to discuss the film, and an edited transcript of our conversation follows. There’s one passage that gets a little spoiler-y, but I’ll warn you so you can skip ahead.

Wannell shot Upgrade in his hometown of Melbourne, Australia, so we started off by talking about the rivalry between Sydney and Melbourne.

Leigh Wannell

Leigh Wannell: I’ve lived in L.A. for 12 years now, so I no longer care about Sydney-Melbourne. We shot this film in Melbourne but we actually edited in Sydney.

I was in Sydney for a few months and I absolutely loved it. I insisted on living in an apartment on Bondi Beach, which was not practical at all to the location of the editing room, but I didn’t care because I was like, “Look, if I was going to walk on ice, then I’m going to tap dance.” If I’m going to live in Sydney, I want to live on Bondi Beach.

TechCrunch: So the big science fictional idea of Stem, where did that come from?

Wannell: The idea really just came into my head, the way all my ideas do. It’s a very random process, and in its randomness it’s frustrating, because I feel like I’m always trying to think of movie ideas. And most of the ideas aren’t good, and they instantly get filed away in the drawer for terrible ideas.

Every now and again, something will pop into my head when I’m driving or I’m in the shower, you’ll just get an image and it stays with you. It doesn’t have to be much, it doesn’t have to be a story, it could just be an image. But it won’t leave your head and that’s when you know you’ve got something.

That’s how this started. It wasn’t like I read a magazine article about where tech is going. I was in my backyard, I remember that, and it was a nice day like this, and I just suddenly had this image of a quadriplegic in a wheelchair who stood up out of the chair and was being controlled from the neck down by a computer. That image and that scenario wouldn’t leave my head and I started reverse engineering a story into it. I kept writing away and making notes and then, cut to many years later, I’m sitting here talking with you.

TechCrunch: It’s interesting that it came from your imagination, because in some ways it feels very prescient. We had our own robotics event a couple of weeks ago and one of the big moments on-stage was someone in a wheelchair who was able to take a few steps thanks to an exoskeleton.

Wannell: So the exoskeleton that helps people with paralysis walk and move, this movie is the internalized version of that, where it goes one step further and there’s nothing exterior. It’s a chip.

It has been interesting to watch the world catch up to my script. Because when I wrote the first draft of this script, automated cars and smart kitchens were still science fiction. And in the ensuing years, they’ve become ubiquitous. I mean, my wife’s car parks itself and talks to her. And my daughter thinks it’s perfectly normal to have a voice talking to her in the kitchen, and she asks it to play songs and it does. So in a way I feel like I’m living in the world of the movie I wrote all those years ago.

TechCrunch: And when was that?

Wannell: God, the first draft was probably at least six years ago.

TechCrunch: You said a lot of ideas will come to you, and you’ll think: Some of these are bad, some of these are good. Obviously, you’re known for horror, so in this case, when you think of a science fiction idea, does that create any trepidation?

Wannell: There was a bit of trepidation on my part as I was gearing up to direct the movie. Not so much when I was writing it. But I started to worry about science fiction fans because I’m very well-versed with horror fans, I’ve been fortunate enough to meet a lot of them, I feel like I’m in that community, and I was a horror fan myself. But I realized that science fiction has its own community of these staunch fans who pick apart things like Star Trek and Star Wars. And I did remember having a moment where I thought, wow, are they going to see this and think that I’m a fraud, that I’m a tourist in this world?

I’ve just gone through a two week trip around the country, screening the movie in different cities, and afterwards I’ll always chat to people. And in the acceptance of the movie, I realize that these genres, they’re not the province of any one type of person. What I feel like science fiction fans respond to is just people trying to hit them with something new, something they haven’t seen. And if you do that you’ll be okay.

TechCrunch: When you were directing, did you feel like you were using a different skillset?

Wannell: The mechanics of making a horror film are so specific that I obviously wasn’t using any of that. Those quiet moments in a horror film where you really lean on the anticipation of things, this movie wasn’t using any of that. But I felt like some of the rhythms and filmmaking beats that I’d learned in horror, I think they’re just naturally ingrained in me.

So, for instance, I liked creating moments of silence that were suddenly punctuated by action. And I think I must be subconsciously looking for that vocal reaction that you get from a horror film. It’s almost like I was putting those horror beats into a sci-fi context: Build, build, catharsis. Build, build, catharsis. So maybe that’s in there, just ingrained.

[Skip the next few paragraphs if you don’t want to be spoiled for an early scene in Upgrade, as well as the general direction of the film.]

TechCrunch: That’s certainly true to my experience. For a lot of it I was incredibly tense, and the moment when his head gets cut open, I just screamed.

Wannell: [laughs] In the operation?

TechCrunch: No, in the first kill.

Wannell: Ah, yes, the Pez dispenser!

TechCrunch: God, yeah. That was very upsetting.

Wannell: If you look at that scene and you analyze the structure, there is kind of a horror-esque metronome to it, where it’s quiet, it’s tense, and then there’s an explosion of something.

And in watching it, it’s been interesting to see that that scene gets a vocal reaction. It’s not the same reaction that a horror movie gets, that sort of scream in the audience, but it’s almost like an adrenaline rush, and when he gets up off the floor, I see people clapping along. I’m like, “Oh cool, this is a spectator sport, they’re getting into it as participants.”

TechCrunch: When I read the description of the film — obviously, the marketing is emphasizing this dystopian, almost horrific element, but you still think, “Oh, he’s basically going to become this superhero, and there’s maybe going to be this dark side to it, but it’s still going to be this ultimately triumphant story.” Whereas throughout the whole film, there’s this darker undertone that feels very different.

Wannell: I feel like the superhero version of this movie where somebody is given something — a power or a computer chip, whatever it is — that’s been done, especially in this age we live in, it’s been done a lot. So I found what was more interesting was to do the Taxi Driver version of this, to do the version where you realize the bad guy is in your body and the fight is not between you and external forces. It’s actually two entities fighting over the same physical body. That was interesting to me.

[End spoilers]

TechCrunch: One of the things you also mentioned in the press materials was this idea of having the freedom of an independent film but also having the scope of a larger science fiction film. I don’t know what the budget was, but I assume it wasn’t Avengers-scale.

Wannell: [laughs] Very low.

TechCrunch: What was the overall approach you took to saying, “Well, we don’t have all that money but we’re still going to try to build a world that has scope”?

Wannell: It’s just been a real goal and a dream of mine to do that. To make a movie that enjoyed the worldbuilding of sci-fi but took advantage of the creative freedom of an independent. The problem is that one is supposed to cancel the other out. You’re supposed to need studio money if you’re going to go off and make the future-set action movie. So I really was trying to have my cake and eat it, but I was obsessed with doing it.

As a model, I used ‘80s sci-fi films that I grew up with. I used the original Terminator as a great example, because if you really study that movie scene-by-scene, the science fiction and the tech is doled out very judiciously and sparingly. It’s kind of this lean-and-mean, slash-and-stalk movie that is dressed in this sci-fi skin. And I loved that.

I feel like, if they can achieve that sort of sleight of hand in the ’80s, then we could do it now. Especially with the new advantage that they didn’t even have back then of CG. We could use CG to augment some of the scenes. We couldn’t go bananas with it, but we could utilize it at certain moments. And I guess I’m too close to the movie, I’ve spent too long with it to know if we really succeeded, but I’m hoping that audiences feel like they’re watching a bigger movie, you know? That they’re part of a bigger world.

TechCrunch: Right, and there’s a couple of things in the beginning that feel very big —

Wannell: Like, here’s the world!

TechCrunch: Which, if I go back clinically and watched it, I would see that those are doled out very strategically. But it does the job. And it also is an interesting constraint because it means that in a lot of the other scenes, you have one or two science fictional elements, but you’re using primarily a real world location or set, rather than a created world.

Wannell: Absolutely, and that was something that was a very conscious decision. Not just budgetary, but a creative decision for me was: Let’s set this movie in the very near future. Let’s build a world that the audience can see themselves in.

Also, the world doesn’t change completely overnight, it happens incrementally. In 30 years time, you’ll still have buildings from the 1800s in New York City. They’re not going to knock them down and build a glass tower. So what you’re going to end up in 30, 40 years is a landscape in Manhattan that is the future sort of jammed on top of the past and it’ll be this hybrid.

And people will still be driving older cars! That’s another thing that you see in a lot of future movies, all of a sudden everyone on the road is driving the future car. And I’m like, well no, there will still be people 20 years from now driving around in early ’90s Hondas, crappy cars, you know? That scaling of the world was important, but a bonus prize was that it helped us budgetarily.

TechCrunch: You mentioned that this is something that you started writing six years ago. In that time, the technology has evolved, but also the ways in which we talk or think about disability, and the ways we talk about being quadriplegic or paraplegic has changed. To what extent was that part of your research, things like talking to disability activists?

Wannell: I didn’t talk so much to activists. When I was writing the film, I wanted the idea that a chip could cure paralysis, I wanted that to be a tangible thing and I talked to a surgeon and he said, “Look, what you’re talking about is hypothetical, but in theory, it could be done. That gap between our brain and our nerve endings could be bridged by a computer.” And that was great to walk away with, the knowledge that the tech was credible.

Certainly when we were preparing to shoot the film, we took the quadriplegic side of it very seriously. Logan [Marshall-Green], who plays Gray, he worked with a guy who was a quadriplegic who was nice enough to spend a lot of time with Logan, share his life with him, talk to Logan, let Logan see what his daily rituals were like, let him actually use a chair.

And Logan had a lot of integrity about that. He felt he owed this gentleman that he had worked with the responsibility of portraying that realistically, and he was really watching it, the way he held his hands. It’s not a long moment in the film that he spends as a quadriplegic, but it was important for us for that moment to have as much integrity as anything else in the film. Especially with something that in real life, people are experiencing. You don’t want to push back at them some wonky cinematic version of the real thing.

TechCrunch: Part of what I’m getting at is, is there’s this opening image that you mentioned of him rising out of the chair. It’s this incredibly moving scene for him because you’ve been through all of these terrible things with him. But at the same time, you can imagine somebody who is quadriplegic watching the film and you don’t necessarily want them to look at themselves and think —

Wannell: Them thinking, “Oh, you’re presenting this as triumphant, as if that’s much better.” Yeah, that’s interesting, that is part-and-parcel of putting films out into the world, isn’t it? The world reflects back at you and I think you just have to take those slings and arrows. Nothing was done with any malice.

And I don’t think we were trying to present the idea that quadriplegia is this hellish situation that only being able-bodied can cure. What I think we were doing is speaking to the story of a guy who hates technology becomes technology. The way that we were enabled to do that in the story was through his condition, his quadriplegia. So it’s the result of an accident, he’s given this chip, and now he’s completely reliant on it, you know? It’s totally a story point for us.

TechCrunch: And again, without getting into too many spoilers, you said that this is the Taxi Driver version of the story. How much of that was trying to express your own concerns about people becoming more automated?

Wannell: I think a lot of it. First and foremost, I’m trying to tell this genre story, I’m trying to build a unique movie. And then the themes and the questions of the film sit underneath it.

But I have a foot in both camps with technology. Especially in researching the script and reading books by Ray Kurzweil and authors that talk about the Singularity and the point at which humans and tech will merge. Because I didn’t want to make a robot film. A robot film has been done before and I wasn’t really interested in that. I was interested in human beings putting tech into their bodies voluntarily. That was something I felt I hadn’t seen a lot of.

Through my research and reading these books, I saw both sides. I saw the wonderful side of our reliance on tech in regards to medicine. If we can install something in our bloodstream or our bodies that cures cancer, that’s obviously going to be an amazing, wonderful thing. But there’s the other foot in the other camp, which is our overreliance on automation. I’m wondering if our cars do the driving for us and our kitchens do the cooking, are we actually designing ourselves into irrelevance? That’s an interesting road to look down. It seems to me the human instinct is to always make things easier. We’re always leaping towards convenience: “Oh, wouldn’t it be better if a machine could do that?”

I’m wondering where that road ends. The movie was definitely a reflection of that, too.

TechCrunch: The last thing I’m going to ask, which I think I’m sort of required to ask, is to what extent is this meant to be a completely standalone experience? Have you thought about a potential sequel?

Wannell: I haven’t. The thought enters my mind and I push it away. Because this is an independent film, and it’s really hard in today’s media landscape to get people to pay attention to things. We’re releasing the movie in summer, surrounded by giant movies. I can’t imagine what the marketing budget for the new Han Solo movie is. To compete against that is almost foolhardy, so I feel like planning a sequel is an assumption of success that I’m not ready for.

Sitting there being vexed about where to go with a sequel would be a great problem to have.

TechCrunch: Well, it certainly doesn’t feel like a movie that was written with a sequel in mind.

Wannell: No, it definitely wasn’t. I remember when James Wan and I did the first Saw movie, a lot of people would say to us, “Well, you left the door open for a sequel.” And we would say, “No, we literally closed the door!” We thought it was a nice ending. Little did we know that the producers had other ideas once the film was a hit.

To us, the ending to that movie, in our opinion, was the very definition of a cut to black, no more story. But then we got a lesson in commerce.

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