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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years ago

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if carlisle and dumbledore were put in each other's respective stories / dilemmas , how do you think they would react? how would a carlisle cullen have dealt with voldemort/grindelwald? and how dumbledore would have dealt with vampirism, etc? i almost view the two of them as a sort of foil to each other, not yet able to articulate why or how though

I mean, they'd live completely different lives, because they're completely different characters. It's very unlikely they'd end up in the same situations.

But alright.

Carlisle is Dumbledore

Carlisle's born in a working class family that quickly begins to fall apart. His father's sent to prison, his mother dies, his sister has a chronic illness that will never disappear, and it's just him and his brother left with very little chance of a future between them.

Handsome Gellert Grindelwald moves in next store with grand, new, ideas concerning the muggles.

Now, this particular Carlisle won't be Christian, he's a pureblood wizard and we can pretty safely assume that the Dumbledores were no more religious than any other wizarding family is.

It's a little up in the air whether Carlisle would be seduced by Gellert or not. Gellert is learned, foreign, and has all these radical, new, theories that weren't very prevalent at the time (well, anti muggleborn sentiment was, the facism was new). On the other hand though, Carlisle is also a man who once radically changed his own beliefs to something that went against nearly every edict of his previous religion. This is not a guy who takes things for granted and is not afraid to both confront himself and the true nature of the world he lives in.

And he has a deep respect for human life that, had it been any lesser, would have undoubtedly led to him eating humans as a vampire.

So, I'm going to say no, or if he does, it lasts up until Gellert says, "We should totally make the muggles our slaves." The muggles may have irreparably damaged Carlisle's sister, they may be hated by society, but they are free thinking beings who should be enslaved to no one. Carlsile raises his pacifism flag.

As a result, Gellert probably thinks he's a tool. Hot, of course, and intelligent, but a useless tool. Without somebody to bounce ideas off of/confirm his radicalization, Gellert has little to no interest in Carlisle or any of the Dumbledores. Gellert spends his time in Godric's Hollow then goes elsewhere, Ariana lives, at least for now, unclear how long her lifespan was going to be otherwise, Carlisle does not have the Gellert incident, and he and Abeforth remain on good terms.

Carlisle graduates Hogwarts and either is a) bullied into taking Flamel's apprenticeship opportunity by Abeforth who screams "DUDE, GET YOURSELF A FUTURE or b) immediately sets about trying to find a relatively high paying job so he can support the family. In the case of B, I imagine he goes to work for the goblins who seem to hire those straight out of Hogwarts with good enough grades. In the case of A, well, he goes to study alchemy.

Knowing Carlisle, he does a bastardization of both. He studies alchemy under Flamel and then works nights as a bartender in Paris or something to that effect. When he finishes, what career he does then is out in the air.

Given that, as a vampire, he had all the choices in the world open to him in terms of education (and tried many different things) before eventually settling on and sticking with human medicine despite the dangers, I think that's telling. Carlisle probably tries to get a job in something healing related.

However, that strays more into the "What if Carlisle was in the wizarding world" vs. "What if Carlisle was Dumbledore" so we'll say that the idea of teaching appeals to him and he returns to Hogwarts for the Transfiguration position.

This all goes well except then there's a first world war on, the muggle world goes completely insane, and no one understands why Carlisle's so upset.

And now we enter the world where Carlisle starts really making choices in Dumbledore's shoes.

First, Tom Riddle. Carlisle, I imagine, makes 100,000 times of a better impression than Dumbledore on the young Tom. He does not, for one, light his wardrobe on fire and threaten him. Carlisle might think this kid is weird, but he lives in poverty and an orphanage, much of his behavior can be explained from that. I imagine Carlisle becomes determined to take Tom under his wing.

I imagine at first Tom thinks this is excellent, LOOK HOW MUCH HE'S MANIPULATING THIS ADULT! And then he realizes that, no, Carlisle is perfectly aware he's a little shit. He just likes talking to Tom after classes about how to fit in with pureblood society/weird esoteric muggle philosophy.

Trouble is, Carlisle is so damn likeable (see his friends all over the world), that Tom can't help but like him. When the Blitz begins, and Carlisle undoubtedly offers Tom (and any other muggleborn who was not moved to the country) a place to stay, that seals the deal, the wizarding world might suck but Carlisle's a pretty cool guy.

Of course, Tom still thinks the government should be reformed or overthrown, but he and Carlisle actually sit down to talk about things like communism and facism (Carlisle's not a fan though the modern, muggle, form of democracy not practiced in the wizarding world is a weird concept to him).

My point being, it's unlikely this Tom Riddle becomes Voldemort or even really aspires to become him. You want more on that topic, check out these posts.

Grindelwald meanwhile, becomes a bigger and bigger deal, and things start looking... bad. However, it's not immediately obvious that Carlisle's the one who should do something about it. He's not a duelist, he's a professor, and his job is to teach the children. He may have been alright in school, but that was decades ago now. More, unlike Albus, he feels no personal responsibility, he knew Gellert, briefly, yes, but they had no real connection. Gellert spoke about insane things and Carlisle said, "Mm, don't like". Add to that that Carlisle's a pacifist, he's going to insist that someone trained for the position do the job.

Given canon, this means that Grindelwald likely invades and takes over wizarding England and, with a strong enough foothold, enacts his "enslave the muggles" plan. Which very well might result in a nuclear holocaust as Grindelwald was likely not keeping up with muggle technology and the muggle world war.

The muggle world collapses, which in turn causes society collapse, and the world may or may not be a nuclear wasteland that Tom and Carlisle get to wander around.

If Carlisle by some divine intervention has a prophetic dream of "YOU MUST DEFEAT GRINDELWALD OR DOOM DOOM DOOM" then he goes and tries to defeat Grindelwald. Considering Grindelwald has the elder wand, he probably needs Deus ex Phoenix to win, but if it worked for Dumbledore it might work for Carlisle.

Well. No one saw that coming.

Carlisle's an overnight sensation and a national hero, the hero of Western Europe even. He's suddenly being presented medals, honors, seats of power, and Carlisle desperately tries to refuse, feeling very squeamish that he's being given these things because he took it upon himself to murder another human being (yes, even a war lord).

Tom finds this funny and Abeforth is ureservedly proud and tells everybody.

All Carlisle wanted to do was teach children and now he has to reside over trials in the Wizengamot. This is terrible.

As for what happens to the wizarding world from there, well, inertia probably carries it along for a good while. However, antimuggleborn sentiment is still on the rise an even without Voldemort I imagine there's quite a bit of unrest.

I imagine Carlisle, not wanting in any way to be a political figure, is not nearly as outspoken as Dumbledore on anything. He just wants to be headmaster, guys, leave him alone.

Tom may or may not go into politics and do it for him. But he probably ends up teaching too and just laughs as the country collapses.

Harry Potter is an ordinary student who has no prophecy surrounding him. Carlisle did not recruit children to join an illegal resistance movement nor does he have a plethora of spies and moles in the ministry.

Harry Potter canon does not happen.

Dumbledore is Carlisle

Well, Dumbledore undoubtedly also burned witches and very much believed in their existence. An irony there. He may chase the vampire, probably isn't first in the mob, in which case he remains human or dies.

If he does survive being bitten, I imagine it pains him for a while, but I don't see Albus having the same willpower as Carlisle. Or at least, not as much, Albus probably ends up eating people. He at first probably tries to be picky and eats those who harm society in some way (pick your poison for what that means) and then over time becomes less picky.

They're just humans, after all.

Albus probably isn't invited to stay in Volterra, he's not all that interesting. He doesn't become a human doctor, he's just your ordinary vampire. He might hang around libraries as much as he can but that's about as far as that extends.

He probably turns a Gellert equivalent at some point as a mate and they have a grand time together.

Edward is never turned nor the rest of the Cullens and Bella dies in a parking lot.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #carlisle cullen #albus dumbledore #meta #headcanon #opinion #harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon

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hozner · 3 years ago

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I keep thinking about how and why the break up happened and so far my theory is this:

Holt and Kevin had very strict covid protocols at home to which they adhered religiously. While Kevin could work from home, Ray still had to go work at the precinct, so Holt decided that since he had to leave the house anyway he would take care of all outside chores such as grocery shopping, walking Cheddar etc. I could see Holt shift into safe house mode where he decides that in order to keep Kevin safe from the virus, he has to keep him in designated Kevin zones. Their house is big enough. Kevin has his own rooms, they obviously can’t touch, shouldn’t be anywhere near each other - this might be the first time the verbal warning when entering a room was implemented. Of course all of this drives them nuts. Kevin wants to go out. He hates that his husband who statistically is more at risk than him is constantly in danger. He feels helpless and useless and trapped. So he probably breaks protocol at some point and they clash over that.

And then there is the murder of George Floyd and the protests. We know Kevin has always disliked the NYPD. I think at this point - given their policy to be honest with each other, no matter how hurtful the truth - he might actually tell Holt exactly how he feels about his career. He might go into lecture mode and pretty much lay out to his husband how he now thinks that the ways in which Holt has helped individuals in their community ultimately contributed to keeping a terrible system in place. I could see Kevin urge his husband to quit the force. In his opinion Holt is putting his life in danger for people who might literally kill him if they met him out of uniform - and get away with it.

Holt isn’t ready to hear it. He’s conflicted, but he has given decades of his life to the NYPD. He still wants to believe that he can change the system from the inside. He worked his ass off to make captain as a black homosexual man and he feels a responsibility to stay because if he leaves, another old white guy is going to take his place and surely that would be worse. He has sacrificed so much for this - to which Kevin is like, how much more are you willing to sacrifice? (Your marriage???) Where does it end?

At some point when Kevin is in lecture mode, Holt’s defiance is bound to kick in. How dare Kevin pretend to know what he is talking about? Kevin is white. He’s super priviliged, not just because of the color of his skin but also his entire background (given what we know about him, i’d wager he comes from money). Also, he can work from home during the pandemic. How much of the turmoil Ray is in in even affects him? Also, yes, the NYPD is racist, but what isn’t? How many students of color does Kevin have? Are they treated equally? Racism is in schools, in hospitals, in courtrooms - it is just more visible in the police because they are actually out in the streets. All of society is racist, all of society needs people like Holt in positions of power. Kevin argues that Holt and people like him are just being used as propaganda material. They didn’t give him any real power, they didn’t make him commissioner.

They fight and fight - over the phone on facetime while in the same house- I picture all of this going down pre-vaccine - and after a while they realize how tired and miserable they’re making each other. It’s already an awful time, filled with stress and anxiety. I’d like to think that at the bottom of their conflict is still the overwhelming desire to protect each other. Holt wants Kevin to stay inside because of covid, Kevin wants Holt to quit because, well, the NYPD is killing him. But at some point they both can no longer deny seeing the evidence of how much they’re just draining what little energy they have left.

So they stop talking and it doesn’t really help, but at least they spend less time and energy on fighting. They’re both deeply miserable and heartbroken, and throw themselves into their work and they tell themselves that this is better, that the other person is better off without them. They can’t stand to look at each other because it hurts too much.

After a week of silence they take stock. He looks a little healthier, a little less tired, a little less like shit, they think. After two weeks that’s pretty much scientific evidence. Can’t be ignored.

They decide to separate.

Edit: Based on what Holt said in the first ep, I think Kevin suggested the separation (secretly hoping it would wake Raymond up and make him protest, say he still loved him and needed him etc., but instead it just completely crushed Holt and when he did not fight it, Kevin was hurt and angry and went through with it).

They don’t shake hands on it because of covid.

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corpsentry · 4 years ago

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january: an art retrospective

i did some stuff last month (but it’s a lot of stuff and there’s a photodump + some Serious Fucking Reflection, so it’s all below the cut)

so ok, let’s start with this. here are some heads. each head has a red arrow. that red arrow is what i call the red line of the devil. it’s the slope of the face from the side of the eye to the cheekbone and then down towards the chin. up until like 2 weeks ago, i couldn’t draw it. i couldn’t fucking draw it. i would edit over that part of the face over and over again until i was frustrated and tired and i had a raging homosexual headache and it still never looked right. notice that each head is different. notice that each head looks wrong.

at the start of 2021 i finally admitted to myself, as per the image above, that i was deeply, deeply unhappy with my art. what was the problem? i dunno. but i decided i was going to fix it and i was going to do so via another one scribble a day event wherein for every day of january i would find a photo of a human head, and i would draw it.

january 1st, 2021. i was embarrassed to tweet this even on my private account where like 5 friends and a rock would see it. in retrospect, you can also see all of my bad habits emerging like dicks from a hole in the ground. it’s disproportionate. the brows look flat. the eyes are slanting upwards. the entire drawing looks flat, like this isn’t a 3d person but a caricature of one.

january 2nd, 3rd, 4th:

on the 2nd i decided to start a separate thread for doodles and applied learning. here’s the first set of tests

the rest of the week is kind of uneventful so we’re going to skip those. fast forward to january 11th

this one is especially bad. i am acutely aware, suddenly, that i am not changing anything at all. i’m stressed and miserable about it because i’m still trying to see people as people and trying to draw people that look attractive and proportionate and hot. my friend, leny, reminds me that i need to think about faces in terms of planes. i have a moment. my other friend masha sends me some links to anatomy tutorials. i have another moment.

january 11th. applied sketch

january 13th is when i start the troubleshooting process. the link above drives me mad because i’m pretty happy with the face but then i realize that there’s something very fucking wrong with the shape of the head LOL and then i realize that i’ve never had any idea what the proportion of the face to the rest of the skull is so i grit my teeth and i open a new canvas and i

bald studies. it seemed like the right thing to do. can’t draw heads? ok draw some heads. look at some photographs. i traced each photo but tried to stick to straight lines so that i could replicate the shapes more easily. i broke each face down into shapes. i thought about airplanes

i got really excited. i started doing studies, then applied studies, then stylized studies.

sketches. i’m not sure what’s going on (as always) and it’s very rough, but they look different from the sketches i did on january 2nd. that’s a start

january 16th’s daily study. looks more like a person now. juuuuuust a bit

more applied studies

on the 18th i take a break and go stare at some lips because i don’t understand how the fuck they work. again, i focus on shapes, on volume, on the fact that these things exist in 3d. holy fuck lips exist in 3d. holy fuck we are real

january 19th. i’m working on it.

january 22nd. some sketches + a daily study. it has finally occurred to me that heads can tilt up and down and that things look different accordingly. yes i was not aware of this before. yes i have been drawing for over a decade.

january 23rd. by this point after doing my daily sketch i almost always go back and do an applied study which is basically to say i drew a lot of fucking links. this one looks kind of okay. i’m kind of proud

january 25th. links. trying to make sense of everything i’ve learned

26th, 27th, 28th. daily studies

january 1st. january 31st

The End Of The Photo Dump (dab)

ok NOW i get to talk about what i discovered while studying the shit out of human beings

FIRST OF ALL, there is something precious and magical about drawing shit without the explicit knowledge that you’re going to tweet that shit out to 45 people later. it takes the burden of perception off your shoulders and that does something to you, or at least that’s my theory. i told myself i wouldn’t post any of this stuff until the end of the month (if i wanted to post it at all) and kept everything off my public social media accounts and that meant i could draw ugly as hell without worrying about who would point and laugh, which i absolutely fucking did. a lot of these are fucking trainwrecks. most of these are fucking trainwrecks. why do they look like that?? why??? this doesn’t look like the work of someone who’s allegedly been drawing since they were in kindergarten, does it?????

here’s why: because that person took a huge motherfucking swing at everything they’d ever known about art and spent a month building something new in its place. the abstract explanation is that i grew up on shoujo and weird old anime and my understanding of anatomy was unironically kamichama karin and while i love kamichama karin, when kamichama karin is your rule even if you try to break it, you’re going to end up going nowhere. “you have to know the rules to break them”, yeah? well i didn’t know shit. the abstract explanation is i’ve been miserable about my art for a few years now because i saw other people doing things effortlessly which i couldn’t and instead of going back to the basics, i tried to do what they did (not plagiarism, mind you, i mean i literally tried to copy the red line of the devil i mentioned above because i couldn’t even make that happen) and then i fucking failed.

the simple explanation is this. i had to unlearn everything, and relearn it again (like some kind of new renaissance clown, what the fuck is this?)

take this for example. all my life i’ve drawn faces in the order: eyes, nose, mouth, face shape, head. this works for some people, im aware, but it was something central to how i had always drawn, so i decentralized it. i said fuck you to the old me and changed the order up. now i start with the nose, then the eyes, mouth, the chin line, and the sides of the face. now i force myself to think about the human head as a series of parts interacting with each other instead of a bunch of disparate features which i want to look pretty.

or let’s use this zelda from last year. something about this looked wrong last october, the way something about all of my drawings looked wrong, but i couldn’t pinpoint it for hell the way i couldn’t articulate Any of my feelings about the visual arts. now, looking back, here’s what i see. that nose is sticking out far too much given how she’s not really facing very far away from the camera. that ear at the back shouldn’t be there. her forehead is too big. she doesn’t have a forehead. what the fuck is up with the shape of her head?

so apparently reject modernity embrace tradition has its roots in alt-right terminology and i’m not very horny for the alt-right (you understand), but the spirit survives here. you know sometimes you have to admit that you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing and draw people for 31 days. i’ve spent my whole life drawing stylized people and while again there are artists who have no issue with this, i veered off the track of the Good and the Holy and couldn’t get back on. i had no point of reference because i’d never thought about what an actual human being looks like, so i had no way to fix what i knew in my gut looked wrong but wouldn’t come out better.

this was hard. this was like oikawa tooru swallowing his worthless pride and admitting that ushijima wakatoshi had gotten the best of him for the last time in his high school career, but in haikyuu!! by furudate haruichi oikawa tooru fucks off to argentina and then joins the argentinean national team, and you know what, i think i’ve made it to argentina (not the team just the country). as per the golden rule of dont fucking move until you’re at least two thirds of the way through the month, i only started trying to draw Shit shit on like the 22nd or something, but i was happy with that i created. i am happy with what i’ve done. i’ve posted like 2 things this month that involve people with what i now call ~applied Knowledge~~ and they’re, like, not perfect obviously (perfection is an unattainable ideal), but i’m fucking proud of them. i didn’t spend 5 hours hunched over my laptop adjusting the red line of the devil because it’s not a devil’s line anymore. because i finally sorta get how people work. because i sat down and i said ‘we are not going to fuck with this misery shit anymore’ and then i did that. it’s just a line now.

here are 2 collages tracking my painstakingly carved out progress from january 2nd to february 2nd because i’m a slut for collages

and here’s what i’ve done to my art! the same person drew these but also Not Really! you know! for the first time in a year i don’t immediately hate what i’ve drawn. you know what guys? art is fucking fun. zelda’s forehead doesn’t scare me anymore because i know how foreheads fucking work now, and i don’t know everything, and i’m going to keep troubleshooting stuff as i go (i want to draw a skeleton. like a. i want to draw a goddamn skeleton guys) but i’m honestly and genuinely proud of what i’ve done in the span of a month, and i’m also in disbelief. i started this month-long challenge out as a last ditch effort to make peace with my art because i’ve been tired for a long time and i was ready to kick the bucket on drawing people altogether. i didn’t think anything would happen. nothing’s happened for years. i’ve been miserable for years.

this was the caption for january 1st, 2021. i was super, super fucking embarrassed and it looks like super fucking shit, but you know what, i think i did in fact triumph over the bullshit. surprisingly enough, when you put in consistent effort into something, You Will See Results. didn’t see that coming, did you? i know i didn’t.

this isn’t a success story. it’s a happiness story. i never gave a shit damn about the institute of art or whatever, i was just mad at myself because what i saw in my head didn’t match up with what was on the canvas. and now it’s getting better. now i’m calibrating the compass. now drawing not just backgrounds but also people is exciting to me, and i can stick my links in your face and tell you ‘they hot’. i’m going to keep doing that. i’m going to keep going until i drop off the side of the earth and then spiral towards mars like some kind of fairy, and then i’m going to create something beautiful.

thanks for reading. here’s a pr department link for sticking around until the end

#my stuff

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alirhi · 3 years ago

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okay. let's do this shit.

Guess what, bitches? Mama bear's back and angry all over again. Remember when I said I might dive into a ragepost about how Bucky's treated after completing the one about Loki? This is it. This is the post. Welcome to fucking Thunderdome.

I will actually try to keep it civil. No promises, but I'll try. and I will not be accepting "constructive criticism" about my rage. Just so we're clear.

Got it? Good. Let's dive in.

In case you don't want to read the whole thing (I know I get wordy) here's what this whole post will boil down to: BUCKY NEVER HAD A FUCKING CHOICE. NEVER. NOT ONCE IN HIS ENTIRE ADULT LIFE.

Now, quick reminder: I don't read comics. I know nothing about Bucky's comic canon, except what Sebastian liked to bring up as often as possible during TWS/CW promotions: at some point, Bucky boned Nat. XD Since Bucky only exists as a Marvel property, I won't be bitching about other source material being disrespected like I did with Loki. This is all MCU, my dudes. And honestly? That's enough, because though we don't see nearly enough of Bucky for my liking, we do manage to get a rich, deep backstory to him in the material we're given, partly thanks to better writing in the early days of the MCU, and partly thanks to Sebastian Stan's phenomenal acting. Unlike the writers of the Loki series, Seb knows how to show, not tell. And gods, what stories those eyes show...

Let's start with the army. In an old post illustrating what an absolute BAMF Bucky Barnes truly is, I mistakenly said he enlisted, and a kind soul educated me on the incredible attention to detail Marvel used to pay - in this case, Bucky's ID number. 32557038. As this kind, eagle-eyed soul pointed out to me, the first two digits of that number - 32 - signify that Bucky was drafted, specifically from the NY, NJ, DE area (that last part is rather obvious, as Bucky and Steve are from Brooklyn lol). Bucky didn't choose to go to war. He was drafted. He was forced to fight, or go to prison.

Bucky was born in 1917, which means - again, as someone pointed out to me a while back - he came of age during the Great Depression. As a child, he would likely have seen his parents living comfortably and able to shower each other and him and his sister with gifts and fun memories, and then POOF. Stock market crashes when he's only 12-years-old, and life becomes brutal and painful. He manages to have some fun with his best friend Steve, and spends his teens/early 20s chasing girls and keeping his stupid, stubborn, tiny friend from getting beaten to death.

Steve constantly has something to prove. He's absolutely got what my mom always called "little man's disease", and Bucky's just doing his best not to roll his eyes too much at this asthmatic chihuahua constantly trying to beat up Tibetan mastiffs. While Steve keeps lying on his enlistment forms (an actual crime) trying again and again to get into the army and prove what a badass he is (definitely not), Bucky's had enough trauma and upheaval in his life and he just wants his stupid friend to calm tf down and live. Enjoy the fact that he doesn't have to go to war and get his limbs blown off.

And then he gets fucking drafted. This sweet, resigned realist who knows exactly how dangerous the war really is, is forced to put on a uniform and go fight strangers alongside other strangers thousands of miles from everything he knows. And on his last night of freedom, when he just wants to hang out with his friend, see some cool gadgets, and dance with a pretty girl, his stupid angry chihuahua friend feels the need to lie and try to enlist again.

Okay. Gotta get back on track. Ragepost about mistreatment of Bucky, not how much Steve annoys me. Sorry. Anyway...

Bucky's drafted, accepts his shitty lot with a brave smile, and is shipped off to Europe, where he is captured by HYDRA and presumed by the Allies to be KIA. Instead, he's strapped down, tortured, and given the HYDRA version of the super serum against his will. Steve rescues him, and Bucky knows he can't leave his idiot friend to his own devices to get his head blown off, so he dives right back into the fray. And then he falls off a cliff, loses most of his left arm, and is declared dead...again. This one's pretty damn valid, though lol. Without the serum no one knew he'd been shot up with, there is no way he would have survived that fall.

Here is where Bucky's story gets truly heartbreaking: His autonomy, his ability to consent is stripped from him through electroshock torture/brainwashing. The trigger words are conditioned into him during this process, and boom. Ten words in Russian, and Bucky Barnes is gone. Even the confused, hurting shadow of him is gone, leaving only a perfectly obedient killing machine, with Bucky's pretty face. He's strong as all hell, though, so they can't keep him fully under their control for long, not without more torture, when the disorientation of being fucking frozen wears off on longer missions.

I cannot stress this point enough, guys: Bucky. Had. No. Choice. Not like the draft, where his choices (go and get shot at, refuse and go to jail, or dodge and run to Canada) just suck. No, he literally didn't have a choice. He had his ability to choose stripped from him. If that's too complex a concept to really sink in, try this: His brain was fucking raped. Repeatedly. For decades. Nothing the Winter Soldier ever did was Bucky's fault. Nothing. Ever. Not remotely, no matter how you fucking slice it. Bucky is not an assassin. I almost said "not a killer", but he was a soldier, and a sharpshooter. He definitely killed when he was himself, but that was in a war, not a series of assassinations.

So far, imo, so good. This is just a rundown of Bucky's pre-show backstory. I don't love what he had to suffer, but I do love how it was treated in the movies. People were afraid of him, but when they knew the whole situation, Steve, Nat, and Sam rallied behind him. Natasha had plenty of reason to want the Winter Soldier dead; he'd tried to kill her multiple times and almost succeeded. Sam had no reason to help Bucky at all; he didn't know him, didn't trust him, and again, TWS had tried to kill him. But he stood by Steve, and when Bucky showed the clear difference between himself and TWS, Sam stood by him, too, and fought alongside him.

And it's very realistic, imo, that Tony didn't give a single fuck that Bucky had no choice. He watched this man murder both of his parents on tape. If TWS had killed my dad and I saw proof of it, I'd try to kill Bucky, too. Grief wins out over logic. Most emotions usually do. And that's a very important point we're going to come back to in a few minutes.

Bucky was really only in like ten minutes at most of IW and Endgame, and for multiple reasons I hate those movies, so I'm just gonna skip them, kay? Kay. On to the main event!

Here's where I get pissed off. Even if I didn't have an unhealthy attachment to this character, or the depth of appreciation for his tragic backstory that I do, the lack of continuity between the movies and the show alone would still piss me off. It always does. Don't even get me started on Joss "Continuity? What continuity?" Whedon and his (iconic, but flawed) shows. Ahem. Back on track...

Let me just get one little thing out of the way real quick: I fucking LOVE The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I love it. This show amazed me when I first watched it, and I still love it after many more viewings lol. I have only ever watched it all the way through without skipping over as much John Walker shit as possible the one time lol but I love how Sam and Bucky interact, and I fucking adore how Sam's arc was treated. I just wish they'd show the same care and attention to Bucky.

Because what they did to Bucky in this show is a fucking travesty. There was a tiny ray of hope in the pilot, when he called out Dr. Bitchface for being a terrible shrink. I thought that would be the start of him realizing he needed to find someone else and ignore the damaging shit that woman was telling him. But...nope. No such luck.

The show really had a strong start, I'll give it that. We see Bucky having nightmares of his time as TWS and struggling to hide how his traumatic memories are affecting him as he tries to live in the world again. He befriends the father of one of HYDRA's victims, which can't be good for Bucky (and we're shown it's definitely not when he sees the shrine in Yori's home to his late son) but it's sweet, how he's trying to connect and reach out to someone who's hurting and lonely.

They drop the ball a little with the whole... Bucky can hack a fucking car, but can't figure out Tinder thing. Had they just run with the fandom interpretation of the tiger photos line, that it shows that Bucky is bi and left it at that, I'd have been okay with it (and no, that is not because I ship Sam/Bucky. it's because Bucky is and always has been a certified nerd who loves technology and has consistently shown very little issue learning to use new gadgets). The outdated flip phone he handed his terrible court-mandated shrink was a burner; I liked that theory when I read it, especially since it's the only time we see him even holding a phone that old lol. This all could have fit the "Bucky is a sassy bisexual nerd" narrative and it'd be okay. Instead, the director was like "NOOOOOO that line was just to show how old he is and how he can't figure out all this newfangled technology!" Woman, you had him remotely driving someone else's vehicle with a tablet. That is NOT a man who can't figure out a damn smart phone!

But that's just a minor annoyance. What fills me with absolute rage is how everyone - not just the shitty therapist who lashes out at and purposely triggers her traumatized patients, but EVERYONE - Sam, Zemo, people who should fucking know better ALL treat him like he's a psychopath and a ticking time bomb. Like he chose to take the serum and he chose to kill for HYDRA, and he's just seen the error of his ways. *barf*

Bucky in the movies is established to be a victim, through and through. His guilt over what he was forced to do is natural, and that he sees himself as a monster makes sense... but that doesn't mean it's correct. The one and only thing I ever liked about Steve Rogers is at least he got it. He pointed out that none of it was Bucky's fault, he tried to show him that he was worth saving. That's the other reason I refuse to talk about Endgame. This post will get a WHOLE LOT LONGER and a lot fucking angrier if I open that door.

Zemo supposedly knows everything about HYDRA and super soldiers... So why does he treat Bucky like he's a corrupt serial killer? (this, for the record, is why I don't like Zemo) Why does he never point out that Bucky was given the serum against his will, or that his actions, when he had control of them, proved that he was never corrupted? Bucky never wanted to become superhuman. Bucky didn't even want to fucking fight!

Sam, despite constantly resisting the label, is shown very clearly to be Bucky's friend. By episode 3, he cares. He worries about how Bucky is getting lumped in with the other super soldiers in Zemo's speech... But he never really defends him. He says "what about Bucky?" but he doesn't point out that Bucky's a good man, he's fought so hard to help people, he does everything he can to avoid killing... And that fucking speech in episode 5. I was with him on "you gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." I was like "YEAH! Tell him, Sam! Bucky, you're WORTH SAVING, boo! Your value does not hinge on someone else's opinion of you!" And then... Sam dropped the ball.

He not only continued the disturbing pattern of victim-blaming in this show, and in Marvel/Disney properties in general, but he gave really dangerously bad advice! No one in their right mind, mental health professional or no, would EVER tell a traumatized former assassin (whether he was responsible for his actions or not) to go confront his victims' families out of the blue with no warning and no one to mediate and keep things from going to shit. Yori already knew his son had been murdered because he was in the "wrong place, wrong time." How is it being "of service" to tell him you're the one who killed him?! Remember how I said Tony's reaction to learning the full truth about his parents' deaths was valid and would be an important point later? Hi! Welcome to later. THAT is the natural reaction to facing the man who murdered your loved one(s). And even if Yori didn't get angry and lash out, HOW IS IT "HELPING" HIM OR BRINGING HIM "CLOSURE" TO KNOW THAT HIS FRIEND KILLED HIS FUCKING SON?!?!?! This man befriended him, bonded with him, watched him grieve... And now he's learning this is the man who caused all his pain and heartache to begin with? That is so toxic and psycho I just... I can't even... UGH.

And then there's the equally toxic and damaging "deeply traumatized person just needed a stern talking to and a hug to be ALL BETTER AGAIN" ending. I loved seeing Bucky happy and socializing, but it was too soon, and it was unearned. And it sends a fucking awful message to people actually struggling with PTSD, and to their loved ones who don't know how to help them. Heaping more blame on them and then hugging it out is NOT helpful!

This show could have been damn near perfect with just two changes. That's all. Just two. 1) Someone, anyone, bringing up the reasons why Bucky was never a villain in his presence. Someone being in his corner and reminding him, like Steve did, that it wasn't his fault and he's not going to "snap". 2) More time devoted to Bucky's healing. Actual fucking healing, not the shit they tried to pass off as a magic fix-all. He can have his happy barbecue moment, just don't frame it as "everything's great now!" Healing isn't linear, and there will be both good days and bad. Some of the most fragile people in the world have the brightest smiles.

If we get a season 2, which this amazing show absolutely deserves, and they address this stuff, all will be forgiven in my book. Expanding on his story and his journey toward healing will help to reframe that "happily ever after" garbage as something more realistic. But as it stands now... Fuck Marvel.

#fan rant #ragepost #long post #bucky barnes #mcu #captain america #the first avenger #the winter soldier #civil war #tfatws #mcu spoilers #stop victim blaming #victim not villain #never a fucking villain #bucky deserved better #fuck marvel #fuck disney

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generallynerdy · 4 years ago

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One life, I thought—a thousand deaths (Jon Antilles & Fay)

Summary: On Queyta, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the only one to escape Durge and Ventress. One of the four legendary Masters, Jon Antilles, emerges from a lava stream despite knowing he’s going to die. He’s so sure of it that he crawls his way to Fay’s side, wanting to spend his last moments with the woman who he considers his Master. But she has other plans. Plans to make certain that Jon Antilles lives past today.

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, On-Screen Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, there’s both sorry, Self-Sacrifice, The Curse of Immortality, holy shit i made myself sad dude Word Count: 2,191

Prompt: Angstpril Day 2 - Sole Survivor

Author’s Note: listen I know nobody knows about these characters that are in literally one comic but I have FEELINGS about them okay?? Jon is meant to be a badass mysterious enigma but he screams sad boi and Fay is like...the greatest cryptid Jedi ever, I love her. So, of course, I decided to make them and Knol and Nico suffer. (Also I know Obi-Wan survived the mission but the Sole Survivor still applies because Jon is the sole survivor of the four legendary Masters, just in case that wasn’t clear.) I just finished this today, so the editing is minimal.

Read on AO3

Using the Force as a shield is, in theory, one of the easier skills a Jedi utilizes. That is assuming, of course, that the Jedi in question is in good health, a decent mental state, and isn’t under a severe amount of stress. If said Jedi is, say, three feet into a pool of lava, already bearing grievous injuries and the weight of the deaths of two close companions, and feeling the fading life of another, the simple task, understandably, becomes something of a problem.

Jon has finally managed to pull the Force around him like a blanket. It protects him from the bubbling lake around him now, but the first few seconds he couldn’t pull it off were torture.

As it turns out, lava burns. It burns like shame, like failure, like the nightmares Jon used to have about his Master abandoning him on a planet in Hutt space for getting just a little too mouthy. And it hurts nearly as much.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He makes a rule of not cursing, but right now feels like an appropriate time to break it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He claws at the charred remains of his robes. Contrary to popular belief, lava doesn’t melt initially, as Jon now knows. Instead of melting, he burst into flames for the few seconds it took to pull himself together, though they felt like an eternity. Red, throbbing burns litter his entire body, his hair singed but miraculously intact thanks to his hood, which is entirely ashes now. The pain consumes his thoughts, making his shielding start to flicker in and out.

And then, through the debilitating agony, a touch of something familiar.

Jon’s eyes fly open. “Fay,” he whispers.

Her light is dimmer than it should be, not flickering in and out mischievously like it usually does. But still, she makes an effort to reach out, to check on him. It sends a sob up his throat.

“Hold on, Fay, hold on.”

Clenching his fists, he opens himself up to the Force. His actions are ones of faith, not of desperation, and he lets it flow through him as he takes a deep breath. The idea of using one of his Master’s abilities would normally make him nauseous, but the disgust doesn’t even cross his mind this time as he prepares to teleport. He thinks of that open, flat space of rock that Obi-Wan and Fay ran to, their enemies close behind. Focusing fiercely on that distant image, he pulls on the Force and folds the two points—

Jon collapses on solid ground with a heaving gasp.

Every inch of his body protests the change, especially his knees, which burn when they make contact with the ground, but somehow he manages to ignore his own complaints.

Fay isn’t far, or she shouldn’t be, at least. The distance between them seems gaping when he tries to move.

Still, her light is fading fast. And he wants to be by her side.

So, Jon Antilles crawls on hands and knees, dragging his body across sharp stones and past bubbling streams of lava. He aches with each movement and cries out when it becomes too much, but he persists regardless. Something in him knows it may be the last thing he ever does.

Finally, he sees her.

She’s sprawled out, her chest hardly moving as her breathing becomes shallow. Her near-golden hair is filthy with ash and her eyes are dim. She’s hardly herself, Jon thinks, and feels his stomach sink.

Hundreds of years the great Master Fay has lived and breathed. Hundreds of years and he’s going to watch her die today.

“Jon,” she calls out weakly.

He pulls himself to her side, grabbing her hand with his own shaky ones. “I’m here, Master.”

They only met when he was a teenager, but he feels as if he’s known her all his life. They’ve travelled the Outer Rim together, following the Force, for decades now and he’s never regretted a second of it. In all but title, Fay is his Master. She was always better than Dark Woman, even when the bar was six feet under. The only record with both their names will be at the Temple, where the dead are listed, a handful of mission reports with other Jedi, and the stories the younglings share of the 4 legendary, nomadic Masters.

“Knol and Nico,” Fay breathes out, “they’re one with the Force.”

Jon grimaces. “Yes. And the Force is with us.”

She laughs, breathy and half-choked. It’s an old lesson, familiar and grounding. “And so too are they,” she adds.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?”

“Gone, with the cure.” She smiles just a little. “The Republic fights another day.”

Suddenly grim, he squeezes her hand. “But not us.”

A pause.

“But not us.”

The silence overwhelms them. The wind whistles in the distance, carrying with it nothing but smoke and ashes. Queyta isn’t the best place to die, Jon thinks absently. He would rather it have been someplace with flowers.

“I wish it could’ve been Jedha.”

He almost jumps at her voice, but her words jarr a surprised laugh from his sore lungs. “Jedha? I thought you hated cold planets.”

“Oh, yes, but not that one. Force, I should have taken you. The Force there is so...so strong, so pure, you can feel the kyber from the surface,” she explains, staring straight up at him. If anyone else were to gaze so intensely at his scars, he’d be uncomfortable, but she’s safe. She’s family. “And the Guardians of the Whills are so kind. I met a young one of theirs some decades ago. You two would’ve gotten along.”

Jon laughs a little. “You’re always looking to find me friends, Fay.”

Her smile turns sad and she lifts a hand to his face, letting it rest on his cheek. “You’re so young,” she whispers. “Too young to be so lonely, Jon.”

He shuts his eyes, lets himself be comforted by her touch. When he opens them again, she still has that gut-wrenching look on her face. He places his hand on top of hers, unsurprised at how cold they are despite the blistering heat.

“I’m not lonely,” he promises.

Jon doesn’t say that it’s because of her, Knol, and Nico, but Fay picks up the thought anyway. Her eyes fill with tears.

“I have watched so many I love die.” Fay’s voice wavers as she says it. He realises that it’s the first time he’s ever heard it do that. To be honest, he’d thought it was impossible. “Taken by age, by Darkness, by foolishness. Never have I met a soul as good as yours, Jon. And never a Jedi so worthy of love.”

“Fay…”

She shakes her head. “Your Master did not deserve you. The galaxy did not deserve you.”

Pulling her hand away from him, Jon squeezes it. “You did,” he says firmly, though his voice cracks.

“I hope so,” she admits with a rueful laugh. “I hope so.”

He smiles weakly. “I wish you’d found me first. But I thin-I think the Force knew when I needed you to save me. Because you did save me, Master. I could never thank you enough.”

She takes his word silently, holding his hand even tighter. “You never needed to.”

“Thank you,” he says now, even though it’s useless.

Fay’s grey eyes meet his pale ones and suddenly, she’s distressed. “You’re so young,” she repeats.

But Jon can see that she means something else this time.

“Not too young to do my duty.”

“Too young to die doing it.”

Jon thinks of Tan Yuster, one of four Padawans to die on Geonosis. The Jedi have experienced great loss these past months since the beginning of the war and so many so much younger than Jon have died in battle, the clones included. Of course, to Fay, they all may as well be children.

“I will go proudly into the Force,” he promises her. At your side.

Fay’s expression twists. “No.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think we have a say in it.”

“The Force let me live this long,” she says suddenly, as if it’s a realisation, “longer than I should have. Obi-Wan is gone, I’ve done what good I can, except...you’re here. Why are we here?”

“To say goodbye,” Jon offers.

She shakes her head, then tries to sit up, struggling until her would-be Padawan helps pull her up. “I’m done with goodbyes.”

“What are you—?”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his question. Fay presses their foreheads together and grabs his hands with a newfound energy that terrifies him. Chills go up his spine when her presence in the Force covers him like a blanket. Warmth climbs up his hands, then his arms, and with a glance down he finds that his skin is healing.

“Fay, no!” he cries, trying to shove her away.

She only tightens her grip. “Stay still, Jon.”

She sounds more like herself, certain and unwavering. Jon would be happy-crying if he weren’t horrified. He tries to drag himself out of her grip, but she’s impossibly strong. Her healing creeps up his entire body, soothing his burns, though scars remain behind.

“No, no, no—FAY! Fay, stop it!” His screams turn to sobs. “You’ll die, stop—!”

“I already am,” she says, just as certain in her abilities as her fate. “But you don’t have to.”

Trembling, his attempts are weaker now but still there. “Please, please,” he begs. “Not without you!”

Tears stream down her cheeks. She allows herself a moment of weakness; she opens her eyes and meets his tearful gaze, remembering the teenager she first met. He was so scared and so brave. And for a moment, she’d thought he must be a ghost. But no, he was just a boy. For the first time in a long time, she had let herself build a bridge between them, like Knol and Nico before him, even knowing she would have to watch him die one day.

Now, she thinks with fierce stubbornness, she won’t have to.

It feels like her life is leaving her for him, though she knows it’s just fading into the Force. It’s to it that she speaks, the cosmic energy she’s dedicated her long, long life to.

“If anyone is deserving of the time you’ve given me,” she gasps out, “it is Jon Antilles.”

She doesn’t see the horror in Jon’s face, but she can feel it in his quiet Force-presence, so subdued. He hides himself on purpose and it truly breaks her heart. His light is so strong. The galaxy is all the better for his existence.

“I don’t want this! Fay, I don’t—let me die, please—”

Fay only lifts her head and kisses his forehead, the sort of gentle gesture a mother might give her son. “One day,” she promises. It rings with truth, with the strength of the Force behind it. “But not today.”

Jon cries out and tries to rip himself away, but freezes when pure light washes over him. The warmth he’s always associated with Fay soaks into him, healing all his wounds in an instant and rejuvenating his fading energy. Stars burst before his eyes, like he’s seeing into the very universe beyond Queyta, beyond what he’s meant to see with his petty Human eyes. In another instant, it’s gone and Fay is slumping over.

She falls to the ground with a thump, a noise that jolts Jon back into focus.

“Master!” he sobs.

He pulls her up from the ground with the sickening realisation that she’s a complete deadweight. She’s limp in his arms, already paling. Desperate, Jon pushes her hair out of her face and finds...nothing. Her eyes are dull. With his fingers on her wrist, he can’t feel a pulse.

“Fay?”

The steady beat of her Force-presence is gone, a gaping hole in his universe. Their bond, one strong enough to resemble a training bond, is shattered, a physical pain that throbs in his skull.

Jon begins to hyperventilate, his sudden gasps for breath burning his now-perfect lungs.

“Come back,” he begs Fay’s corpse. “Fuck, please. Please, come back.”

He pulls her into his lap, clutching her robes like a child being left behind for the first time. It doesn’t hurt to move anymore and, thank the Force for it because his entire body shakes with the force of his cries.

Overwhelmed with grief he’s never experienced, Jon wails into Fay’s shoulder, rocking back and forth. The agonizing sound rings across the valley, a noise like torture.

It’s only now that he feels the frayed edges of his bonds with Knol and Nico.

He screams again, his vocal cords protesting it sharply.

The last time Jon was this alone, he was a child. And now, he’s right back where he was before he met his three closest companions. Except now, now, he knows what it means to love and to lose. It aches. It aches like nothing he’s ever felt.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely. “I can’t—I need you. What do I do? What am I supposed to do?”

He never gets an answer.

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

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missroserose · 3 years ago

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Summertime Thing

Okay, so really I should be working on the first chapter of this (which I actually have a hard deadline for on the 18th, sorta—more on that later), but I promised @laveracevia and @redmyeyes and @notwhatiam (and also an anonymous Tumblr person) that I'd post the bullet point outline for my angsty wincesty teen Sam novel so here it is, all three-thousand-plus words of it. Still tentative and with a fair amount to fill in, but that's what makes it an outline. (Has anyone yet beatified the SPN showrunners for setting the bar for research so ridiculously low? Praise be unto them! 😂) So, without further ado:

• It’s the summer of 1999 and Sam is sixteen.

• They’re living in rural Arizona for the summer, in a little town in the Chiricahua Mountains called Bisbee that I definitely didn’t live in for three years.

• Bisbee’s a weird place. It used to be a wealthy mining town, but in the ‘70s the company pulled out and the economy crashed. Some of the residents are old mining families, some are old hippies and artists who moved there due to the picturesque scenery and bargain-basement real estate, some are early baby boomers looking for an inexpensive place to retire. There's a surprising amount of live music, an absolutely thriving conspiracy scene, and the local police blotter is a smorgasbord of weirdness.

⁃ John picked it because it’s the county seat (which means lots of local records) with cheap housing and residents who don’t ask too many questions. Dean loves it because it’s straight out of the a Western—several famous movies filmed on Main Street, and the theme-park-town of Tombstone is half an hour’s drive away. Sam hates it, but in fairness, Sam kind of hates everything right now.

• Sam’s getting regular beatdowns with the puberty bat—he’s growing what feels like an inch a week, his voice is randomly cracking, he’s ravenously hungry all the time, and his moods go from happy-go-lucky kid to moody teen to full-on young-adult angst on the turn of a dime.

• Most terrifying of all, his relationship with Dean is fracturing. Dean can tell he’s having a hard time of things, of course, and tries his best to cheer Sam up. Sometimes they get on great; other times, even being in the same room as Dean makes Sam feel like his skin is three sizes too small.

• The frustrating part is, no matter how much of a shit Sam is, Dean won't give up on him entirely, just gives him space for a day or two and then reaches out, like—“hey, come keep me company while I give the car an oil change,” or “hey, sounds like there’s a hell of a party going on up the gulch—let’s go sneak in, I bet they have booze, maybe we can get you laid,” or “hey, Dad said we can take the car, let’s drive to the new mall in the next town and go see a movie. Anything you want.”

⁃ Sam definitely picks Cruel Intentions, intending to make Dean sit through something he’d find boring, but it backfires—the incest subplot ends up making him even more uncomfortable and Dean, predictably, digs watching Sarah Michelle Gellar and Selma Blair make out onscreen.

• Dean is having the time of his life this summer. The town is picturesque, the bars don’t look too closely at his fake ID, Sam’s old enough to fend for himself mostly, and he even gets an evening gig as a bar back a few nights a week, which means he has a little cash. Sure, Sam’s been weirdly moodly lately, but it’s just puberty, it’ll pass.

• Sam, meanwhile, is on his own a lot, with John either out working, out drinking, or buried in his notes; he spends a lot of time walking down to the library over the post office, which is surprisingly extensive, but more importantly, air-conditioned. If he has a couple bucks he might go to the new coffee shop by the library and buy an iced tea for lunch.

• At some point when John’s gone, Dean brings home Tina, a local bartender. Weirdly, they don’t seem to be sleeping together, at least initially; mostly they just hang out, easy with each other in a way that makes Sam jealous.

⁃ Sam hates it when Dean brings home girls (for the obvious reason that he gets kicked out of the house, of course), but he actually hates it more when Tina starts hanging around regularly, all the more so because she’s always very sweet to him—but Dean’s into her and that means Dean’s attention is on someone other than him.

⁃ Tina keeps working on Sam, and eventually he confides in her—he hates their life, hates lying to people, hates the ceaseless travel and string of anonymous motel rooms and constant scrambling for cash, but Dean loves it and he loves Dean. She mentions having a sister that she has a complicated relationship with, too.

• One day John announces that they’re taking a day trip as a family together, and they drive up to the Portal-Paradise area, which is a sky island—a mountain forest surrounded by desert, surprisingly lush and peaceful, with stunning views from the peaks.

⁃ It’s also a fairly cursed place, with bullet-riddled “KNOWN HUMAN TRAFFICKING AREA” signs and a cluster of boarded-up hovels from the ghost town of Paradise that definitely don't look like a Bender compound waiting to happen

⁃ After they've wandered around a bit, taking in the gorgeous landscape and sheer relief of being amongst so much green after months in the desert, John has them all pile back into the car and takes them up to Sugarloaf Peak. As they're climbing the mountain, he mentions that the fire watch station at the peak is a great place to watch for {insert signs of supernatural phenomenon here}. Sam gets upset at that, accuses John of using their family time for hunting. Dean points out (quite reasonably) that their family time has always been hunting together. John goes into Marine mode and shuts down the conversation, Sam grumbles something about "just because it's always been that way doesn't make it right," and goes into a sulk.

⁃ As he's sulk-climbing up the peak, Sam becomes convinced at one point that he hears running water. John tells him that’s unlikely before monsoons start, and to keep climbing. Sam keeps hearing it, though, and asks Dean whether he hears it; Dean listens, but doesn't hear anything. Sam falls further behind, trying to see the source—he catches a glimpse of something shimmering amidst the few trees and strikes off looking for it—but there’s nothing there, only a cliff that he nearly goes over. Dean comes up behind him a minute later, urges Sam back up the trail.

• The next day at the library, perhaps driven by Dean giving him shit about hallucinations, Sam starts looking into the history of water in the area—they’ve driven over the San Pedro River but it always just looked to him like a muddy creek. He learns about the 1877 earthquake that broke the water table and reshaped the water in the area, lowering the San Pedro's level and transforming St. David from a malaria-ridden swamp into a town of artesian springs.

• Later that week, Sam’s sitting outside the coffeeshop possibly reading Flowers in the Attic when he hears the older woman at the table next to him insisting that mutants are living in Paradise, only coming out at night, kidnapping people and murdering them, mutilating their bodies and leaving them for the sheriffs to find (and cover up, naturally). Sam is only half-listening—conspiracy nuts are a dime a dozen in this town—until the woman's friend asks patiently where they're getting water from, and the woman says something about haunted springs in the forest. He pretends he’s Dean for a moment, cuts in on the conversation, says he’s doing an independent study project over the summer. The woman fills him in on not just the one disappearance, but several over the past decade, mostly border-jumpers and itinerants.

• Reading between the lines, Sam starts to wonder if there’s a vampire nest in Paradise; he takes down some names, starts putting the research skills he's been learning to good use. He looks up some of the newspaper records on microfilm, finding records—occasional mentions in the Bisbee Observer (and before that, the more legitimate and much less typo-filled Bisbee Daily Review) of people missing, reading up on the history of Paradise.

• He comes back from the library, excited to tell Dean and John what he’s found, only to find John gone and Dean and Tina halfway through a case of beer she brought; they invite Sam to join them, and Sam does. Drunk!Sam ends up talking a lot about how cool the sky island forest is and trying to convince Tina to come with them to see it, but Tina seems oddly resistant. She changes the subject, tells them about her sister, how she was so dominant that she couldn’t tell where her sister ended and she began. Sam starts to feel a sort of kinship with her.

• The next morning he wakes up, discovers that Tina and Dean are gone. He wanders out to where John’s working in the living room, tells him what he’s found. John, who got in late the previous night and is singularly focused on demon activity, is a little condescending towards Sam—there’s dozens of conspiracy theories circulating through town, and besides, if there were actual vampires in Paradise he'd have found some direct evidence by now, they’ve been here more than a month.

• Sam is adamant about going anyway—"you always say it's our job to look into things nobody else will"—and maybe John's a little swayed by Sam's passion (or maybe Sam threatens to steal a car if John doesn't take him). As a sop, John gives Sam the keys to the Impala and tells him to come back if he needs help; as he's about to leave, John calls Sam back, gives him a tenner and reminds him not to head out to the middle of nowhere without supplies. Sam stops at the Circle K, packs a couple jugs of water and some nuts and jerky, and takes off; he’s a little pissed at Dean for ditching him the previous night (and also for, he assumes, sleeping with Tina) so he doesn’t bring him along.

• A couple of hours later, he’s jouncing up the road. The road is empty, as usual, the sun is hot, as usual. Sam gets to the border of the sky island, where the sun is less ferocious, and pulls off at the first group of abandoned houses. He goes to investigate; the first two are empty, barely more than hovels. The third looks empty, but he spots a table with no dust on it; looking closer, he finds a trap door down to a cellar.

⁃ Sam knows he should go get Dean, but he’s still feeling jilted, so he goes and grabs a machete from the Impala’s trunk

⁃ Carefully, he makes his way down the rickety staircase into the basement, shining the flashlight around—and is nearly jumped by a middle-aged woman, yelling at him in Spanish. He has some high-school Spanish but not much; he manages to ward her off, convince her he’s not ICE or Border Patrol. She still doesn’t trust him, but he notices the two children in the corner, the chains holding them there. In Spanish: “Why are they held?” “Coyote,” the woman spits. “Went to demand more money from my family. Should have been back three days ago. Probably drowned in a bar.” Sam doesn't 100% understand but gets the gist—the empty water jug in one corner and stinking bucket in another tell most of the story. The disappearances, the mutilated bodies—it's nothing supernatural, just people doing awful things to each other.

⁃ Sam picks the locks on the chains, tells the woman to wait a moment; he goes out to the Impala, gets the food and a jug of water, gives them to the woman. She’s still wary, but accepts the gifts. She tries to give him a warning, something about water, though his Spanish isn’t quite good enough to make it out; she also presses on him a small figurine, clearly very old, something that looks like a mermaid.

• He gets back around twilight, finds Dean and John bent over photocopies of local records. John sees him come in, asks him if he found anything. Sam opens his mouth, intending to tell him about his day…then decides against it. Just says there’s no vampires. John grunts in acknowledgement, mind already elsewhere.

• The next morning, Dean's missing again, so Sam stalks off to go swimming at the community pool. He’s doing laps, trying not to think about anything, but Dean keeps coming to mind, the way his eyes met Sam’s when Tina was talking about her sister, the way they felt almost hungry. It keeps haunting him, something about that hunger—he's walking back down Main Street, past some of the shops and galleries that sell local art to tourists, when he sees a large painting of La Tlanchana that bears some resemblance to the mermaid figurine—the woman’s warning comes to him again, and two pieces click together in his mind.

• He starts researching La Tlanchana and her various legends and beliefs about her over the years, particularly drawn by the darker and more vengeful incarnations that the Aztecs worshipped. He starts formulating a theory about the disappearances, that they’re linked to…what? A haunted spring? A mermaid? He’s so tantalizingly close…

• He comes home when the library closes, all excited to tell Dean what he’s found and get his input, but John and Dean are both gone; Dean’s bed is rumpled, and the sheets smell like…well, they smell like Dean and Tina, in a way that makes Sam’s stomach flip with jealousy. It's not that he hadn't guessed that they were sleeping together, but...he’d thought Tina liked him. He’d thought…Dean belonged to him. Little things like the hollow of his hip when his jeans rode low, or the way his knees bowed out when he walked, or the tightness around his eyes when he was trying to hide something—

⁃ —does horny uncomfortable 16-year-old Sam sit on the bed and envision his brother and Tina together and end up desperately rubbing one out right there on the bed? Oh yes he does. Afterward, roiling with several emotions (of which only some are shame), he half-considers going to the bar to look for Dean—but he has more trouble passing for twenty-one, and besides, what is there even to say?

• The next day, Sam intends to sleep late to avoid Dean, but his brother comes in at ten or so, in a disgustingly good mood. “Come on, Sammy, you’ve been cooped up in that library too long. Tina was telling me about a cave up on Mule Mountain, supposed to be a great place for a picnic.” John is still gone, and Sam’s in no mood, but can’t really say no to Dean.

• The brothers strike out over Mule Mountain, watching out for snakes and wildlife, looking for deer. Sam tries to explain to Dean his half-formed La Tlanchana theory, but Dean just humors him. Sam, nettled, starts griping about Dean’s navigation skills, about the way he sounds like their father, about all the time he’s spending with Tina, etc.

⁃ Dean deflects, but Sam’s upset about a lot of things he can’t acknowledge, so he starts in on the major sore point in their relationship—ripping on John for trapping them here, for never letting Dean be a kid, for always demanding their unquestioning obedience and loyalty, etc. Dean tolerates Sam’s griping to a point but once he starts in on their father it’s only a matter of time before he’s threatening to kick Sam’s ass; when Sam gets to the “he’s never let you be independent” part, Dean informs him with no small amount of anger that John has offered to give him the Impala, let him take jobs on his own—but he refused, because he’s been taking care of Sam—

⁃ They’re so caught up in arguing that they miss the way the sky’s going dark—it’s not until the first crack of thunder splits the sky overhead that they shut up and look at the sky, which is incredibly threatening

⁃ Sure enough, a moment later it starts pouring, with all the ferocity of a full-on faucet. Dean whoops, shedding his shirt like it’s an old skin, and dashes for an overhang that might shield them from the worst of it

⁃ Sam swallows and follows, soaked to the skin and shivering as much from fear as from cold. Cue the most miserably sexually-charged moment possible—Sam tryiing desperately not to notice all those little intimate physical things about Dean that he loves, Dean oblivious and in his element watching the storm transform the landscape

⁃ There’s a moment—maybe Dean says something like “Whatever it is that’s been eating at you, spit it out, Sammy—“ where Sam almost confesses. But cowardice, or perhaps intuition, hold his tongue—some secrets don’t need to be told. So instead, he passes it off as moodiness, apologizes. Dean confesses that he’s not actually all that into Tina—she’s fun, and all, but he knows they’ll be moving on soon enough. He lets slip that John’s halfway convinced that there’s no case here, anyway; they’ll probably be moving on in a week or two. Reluctantly, they allows things to revert to the status quo; as a consolation, they find a waterfall and eat slightly soggy sandwiches alongside it.

• The next morning, Sam wakes up to an entirely different town—the hills are starting to turn green, people in town are making plans to picnic by the waterfalls, everyone’s mood is lighter. Sam realizes he’s already looking at the town differently—as yet another place that’ll be in the rear view mirror soon, not as a place he inhabits. He’s coming to terms with that—glad for it, in some ways—when something tips him off that things aren’t right. Maybe the crackpot dude tells him the cycle is beginning again, or he overhears some gossip about how Tina didn’t show up for her shift last night, or sees something in the police blotter. Regardless, he ends up convinced that Dean and Tina have run off to the sky island and that Dean is in danger. Sam once again channels Dean, steals a county truck and floors it out to the sky island, this time forgetting to bring any supplies.

• Sam arrives in Paradise but sees no sign of Dean or Tina. He realizes he's parched (even flooring it out to the sky island, it's a good hour's drive); he listens for the water sounds. Instead, he hears Dean’s laughter, low and beckoning. He follows it, finds Dean standing shirtless in a spring, the version of Dean that terrifies him, untouchable and threatening and irresistible. For a moment he's almost taken in—but he knows Dean like nobody in the world, and thus knows a copy when he sees one. Not-Dean smiles, shimmers, reforms into the more familiar mermaid form.

• La Tlanchana (or this version of her) tells Sam how he puzzles her. She usually kills violent men, and Sam has a lot of violence in his past, and a destiny of violence in his future—but he was kind to the migrant mother, and undid some of the horror she’s seen done in her land. She sings for him, a lullaby of sorts, luring him away from his life of violence and yearning—

• Sam’s about to submit to her song when Tina appears, tells her to stop, that Sam’s destiny is his own to choose. La Tlanchana sneers at her, the same way you did? and Tina says yes—I’ve chosen you. It’s been more than a hundred years, and you’ve seen so much horror, grown vengeful—but I still love you, your kindness, the way you give life in the desert. They sing together, their voices intertwining, until they turn to water, melding together.

• Sam shakes off the daze, goes back to the truck; a few minutes later, he finds the Impala, bogged down in the rutted post-monsoon roads. He shakes him awake, questions him to see what he remembers—Dean appears to have been hypnotized, or something similar. He uses the truck to pull Dean out of the rut, tells him to return to the town, everything's over. Dean will have questions later, but for now he goes.

• Once Dean is gone, Sam goes back to the pool, now a perfectly mundane little monsoon-fed spring. He takes out the little figurine of La Tlanchana, sets it on a rock nearby, tells both Tina and her sister goodbye, and thanks them for their help.

• Epilogue: Sam is beginning his junior year in yet another new school. The smell of the school is the same, as are the lights (flourescent) and the lockers (stamped metal that echoes when it slams); he finds the guidance counselor’s office, lets himself in. The counselor looks up at Sam, comments on both his excellent grades and his peripatetic record. Sam: “So, if I wanted to go to college…”

#supernatural #sam and dean #wincest #summertime thing #my writing

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thirstythylacine · 4 years ago

Text

Stress Relief

Alright. This damn band and fandom has got the best of me finally.

Haven't written in over 10 years. Definitely never written smut before.

I've given in! There are pages and pages of smut notes in my journals, phone, and computer so I guess this is my new hobby in quarantine.

Relatively unedited so apologies there.

Yell at me here, or yell at me on AO3 under the same name.

Also I have a very limited knowledge of how the hell this cursed site works despite being on it for most of its existence. So if there's shit I didn't tag correct here let me know.

Also Tumblr apparently hates making the italicized bits appear here so I’ll reblog this in a sec with the AO3 link if you, like me, really like seeing the emphasis :)

I am otherwise too lazy currently to figure it out or fix it and I’m already reposting this since Tumblr also apparently hates outside links! Thanks Hell Site.

STRESS RELIEF

He’s been working on this project for a week straight and as usual it’s cutting into personal hours. Though that doesn’t faze him, scribbling notes in the margin of this current translation and completely forgetting to call for dinner. It’s 10:30 at night and I’ve brought him ever meal today as well as coffee multiple times. At this point it’s half just so I can make sure he’s still awake and breathing.

His dinner looks untouched and he’s got ink on his cheek. I don’t even think he noticed me come in until I was right behind his chair with my hands on his shoulders. He only startles a bit and I lean forward to peek at his progress. “You’ve gotten far today” I note, “Though dinner was over two hours ago you know.”

He sighs sitting back against me. “I know Tesoro, I know. This one is just.....very difficult. And she wants it earlier than the rest.” He drops the pen and stretches his fingers. “If I can get this one to her before Friday I think we can have a few days off finally.”

It would be a relief for us both to have a few days off. He squirms as I press at the knots in his shoulder.

"I will literally stand guard outside this office to fend people off if it will help. I was starting to think I might have to tie you up somewhere to keep you from coming into the office this weekend.” He breathes in sharply once and there's a moment of stillness before he’s laughing quietly. Interesting.

I’m solidly around the front side of his desk before I notice the flush on his face. Double interesting.

The last paper in front of him has been moved aside in favor of the dinner plate. He’s frowning at it. The dish isn’t one that would be particularly appetizing cold. “I think......perhaps a trip to the kitchen might serve us better?” I offer. “You can find something better than that and I can find something for desert. I think Papa mentioned there was pie tonight.”

Pie makes a good dinner.” He says with a quirk of the eyebrow. Problem solved.

———

“Hey!” I gasp as his teeth scrape down my neck. “Hey, I told you, none of that tonight. I have a ton of important meetings tomorrow. You know, the kind with people from Outside This Church whom I need to view me as respectable, buddy.” He isn't looking at me but growls a little against my skin.

I tangle my hands in his hair and tug sharply back to meet his wild eyes with mine. “No biting.” “You’re gonna have to save those hickeys for tomorrow, Cardinal...”

He’s adorably huffy about it but also doesn’t falter as he ruts against me. His hips grind sharply into my thighs, pressing me hard down into the cushions of his couch. His arms have me caged in below him and he rests his forehead against mine with a low moan.

At some point we’ll have to decide if we’re moving to a bed, or at least stopping long enough to take off literally any clothing instead of writhing on the furniture like teenagers. It’s so good this way though.

I came by to drop off the last few papers for him to finish and somehow convinced him they could be done in the morning. I meant to also convince him to come have another late dinner in the kitchens but he's in a mood and I can't complain. Having him over me, desperate and needy is better than any drug. I busy myself with the buttons on his jacket and shirt, impatient to get my hands into his chest hair. He hums as I run my fingers through it, and lower. His mouth is at my ear, his nose in my hair. I tug at his belt as he arches over me.

“We should go go to bed” he whispers “we should go to bed so I can fuck you into the weekend. I want to wrap you around me and make you cum until you can’t remember your name”. The words coming out of his mouth are getting deep and breathy. That voice.

Even his perfectly normal, reasonable Latin lectures make me want to get on my knees for him. I'm pretty certain the whole class feels that way. Technically, I know I’m not the only one he sleeps with either but recently I seem to have lucked out.

“You can’t” I growl back as he presses me down. “As much as I’d love to have you buried in me from now until Sunday, you still have 'homework' for tomorrow and I.... I can’t bag out of my important meetings. Sister will literally have me murdered if I leave her alone with those delegates.”

He moans low and deep grabbing at my thigh to pull me further under him, tighter against him. We press back and forth rocking against each other and making out. He’s driving against me over and over in a way that will have me undone very shortly. I have to bury my face in his shoulder to keep my whimpers quiet. Office hours are over but the door isn’t locked and Ghouls have a way of showing up when shit is about to get good.

I'm starting to lose it. “Please, Copia, please, pleaseplease” I beg. He grinds into me slower and slower pressing closer and longer and I think I could die from needing to cum. His breath is in my ear choppy and hot. Little wines, murmurs spilling from his mouth as he gets closer to the edge.

My body arcs up against him, my hands trapped against his chest as an orgasm washes over me. Head thrown back into the cushion I cry out when he sucks at the skin at my collar. I’m gasping as I come down. And then I realize.

Yanking my hands from between us to grab at his head. “COPIA, Satanus! What the fuck did I just say!” He’s a bit of a mess this close to an orgasm and only whines at me when I scold him. His rhythm is getting lost now and though I'm mildly pissed about the bite, I don’t think there’s a better time to test my new interesting theory than now.

I wind the fingers of my left hand tight into his hair and grab harshly at his hips with my right. “Bite me again and see what happens Cardinal. Don’t make me tie you down next time.”

He comes hard. Face buried in my collarbone despite my hard grip on his hair. He’s arched so hard into me I think I’ll be feeling it well into next week. We collapse slowly into the couch. It’s hot and sweaty not to mention the utter mess he's just made. Whatever. He must own 20 pairs of those black pants anyways.

I stroke his hair and laugh softly into it as he tries to regain some steadiness of breath. “Well then, Cardinal.” I arch my eyebrow at him and he's absolutely blushing. He won't quite make eye contact and I can't keep this crooked smirk off my face. He buries his face back against me and grumbles “Maybe time for a real dinner, Tesoro?” as the office door opens. A silver face peeks through, checking the desk and then turning to see us tangled on the couch. “Oh! Sorry, boss. Just, uh, making sure the, uh, lights were off in here. Yeah.” “But um, never mind if you’re still in here working!” The voice fades as the face retreats quickly.

Copia makes a tired sound. “Ghouls.”

———

The free weekend has been axed.

Delegates from the Unitarian Church apparently liked our pitch enough that they decided to hang around for a few days and view the abbey in it’s working state. On the one hand it’s great. Not completely bonkers church allies would be incredibly helpful to us. But I'm mentally tapped out from the socializing. Copia too, has been dragged into the fray. Unlike our Third Papa he can be counted on to treat our guest well without shamelessly flirting with each and every one of them. Unitarian Universalists might not immediately kick a bunch of Satanists out of church club but they still probably view married couples as a little less fair game than Terzo does.

They leave just in time for us to jump right in on the next round of translations. Some books from our archives can only be opened for a few nights a year or a decade. Some can only be opened for a few hours at a time, or only in the perfect humidity, or only by a woman, or a ghoul, or Papa. It’s a particular kind of puzzle game to schedule the translations of these texts. Plus very few people can translate them at all let alone as quickly as the Cardinal.

Imperator schedules, I ferry book and papers. He translates. I return books and papers and organize translations by type and date so we can digitize them later. It’s part of the push to get this church into a modern century. Making an effort to have other church allies is as well. Nihil is totally against it even though his sons are all for it. Or maybe that’s because his sons are all for it.

Everyone is tired. Everyone is busy. The congregation is much bigger than it used to be but still there isn't a lot of down time. We've got a horde of siblings at our disposal to help with all the cleaning, data entry, filing, etc. but someone still needs to steer the ship.

It turns out that managing people is a pain in the ass and regretfully I'm good at it.

Thankfully I still end up spending most of my day filing and organizing piles. It's boring but methodical and leaves me with enough brain space to let my mind rest or wander as it chooses.

I'm deep into sorting notes from the early 30's so we can see if anything matches up with books from that era but my mind has wandered back to the Cardinal's ass in his red pants.

He stepped away from the monstrous paper pile for coffee this morning but two moments later was back leaning across the front of his desk to scribble a note in the margins of whatever he's trying to decipher. It's a very nice ass.

It's been over a week since we've been able to do anything more than snag a kiss between meals, sleep, and work. It's fine, except that it really, really isn't. Stress relief is important. And doing it myself is currently feeling a little subpar when the alternative is so incredibly attractive.

Also. There's this whole other aspect of him that I really want to get another glimpse of. We have been mostly on equal footing or he's been in charge since we've been seeing each other, but I know that's not all there is. Not just because of the way he blushes when I boss him around but also because of that dinner months ago where a wine drunk Terzo whispered in my ear all sorts of things about how delightful and versatile a bed partner Copia is.

I think I want to know all the ways to make him whimper and beg.

Unbeknownst to him, Thursday night we're going to catch a break. Imperator is headed out of town with a few of the Emeritus family for some swearing in of a little sect or two a few cities over. Copia and I have been excused to finish up one really time sensitive book and they're going to be gone for two whole days.

Of course, I know that the book is finished already. He did the last bit around 2am and I just couldn't bring myself tell her in case she decided to dump another stack on us as she walked out the door. Two days isn't enough for a real vacation but it's definitely enough for a little rest and stress relief.

______

I feel like I'm laying a trap. Getting us out of work, convincing him to come back to his rooms to change for dinner.

There's a tiny unmarked bottle of lube tucked on the hallway table next to the Baphomet statue where he hangs his keys. Normally he never looks at that table, just drops his keys across it, puts his hat on Baphomet's head, and comes to collapse on the couch or bed.

There he is though, looking at the bottle curiously, fingers starting to unbutton the top of his jacket unconsciously as his brow creases. I have to move fast. I walk up and my hands take over for his. Unbuttoning the jacket and pushing it back over his shoulders but not taking it off of him. I push at his chest gently until he steps back all the way against the heavy wood door.

"Tesoro, I... " He looks down at my face as I'm unbuttoning his shirt. My hands work downwards and I see as he completely forgets about the bottle. "Hello there" he says with a smile and slides his hands into my hair to turn my face up towards him. I get an arched eyebrow, a little half smile, and then, a little hitched breath as I tug open his belt.

I lean in to rub my nose under his jaw and breathe him in. His arms come up to pull me close and I can feel the rumble in his chest. We stand for a moment in peace, enjoying the closeness before I tug his hands down to lay flat against the door. "Keep them there, alright?" I whisper in his ear.

He breathes out an unsteady yes while I lay kisses down his neck. His trousers are undone and he hums through his teeth as I take him out and stroke him. Lightly over and over. Teasing gently. His head is back with eyes closed which is perfect.

When I ease my lube slick hand down his dick his whole body jolts and his eyes fly open to stare at me. "Oh! Ohhh...." Hands tight against the door his hips push forward into my hand and he screws his eyes closed again as I stroke him a second time.

"F...uck. Oh. Fuck. Tesoro..." he whimpers and the sound strikes deeply hot at the center of me.

I keep my touch firm but slow. A steady torcherous pace. I wonder how long I can keep him here. Trapped between my body and the door, gasping and moaning as I tease him higher and higher.

I want to talk to him but I'm a little afraid this will end too soon if I do so I settle for brushing my lips across his, across his face, against his sideburns until he's begging. "Tesoro, pleeease. PPlease. Ah. Ah. Oh, lord, Tesoro. I need....ah, please."

His face is plastered to my neck and I dig my free hand into his hair to hold him there. He hasn't moved his hands an inch though I see them tremble and grasp.

"You're doing so well, yeah?" I whisper. "You sounds so good like this. I love it. I love hearing how badly you need this." I can feel his knees knock a little as I speak to him. "I've been thinking about this for weeks. Making you come undone for me like this. Did you think I hadn't noticed how pink you get when I tell you what to do?"

"Ah, Satanus. Por favor...." he wines. "por favor....." His hips are trying to press forward, but I've got him tight against the door. I up the pace of my strokes until he can hardly speak. Low gasps and whimpers escape him as I bring him higher.

"Are you close love? I need you to tell me when you're close. I want you to tell me when you’re going to cum." That pulls a little wail from him and he gasps, crushing his face deeper into my neck. "Oh, Santanus. Oh, Lucifer. "

"You gonna beg me, sweetheart?" I husk in his ear. "Come on. Say please?"

He doesn't manage it, curling tight over my body as he comes. His arms forget the door to crush me against him. Fingers grip my back and shoulder so hard it almost hurts and I can hear his breath stop completely for a moment. I let him hold me, pressing myself tight up against him, toes to head.

It hardly feels like he is going to stand on his own so I just clean him up with a conveniently located cloth and pepper his face with little kisses. I brush the damp hairs back from his brow and when he lifts his eyes to mine he still flushes a even brighter red.

I must look entirely too pleased with myself because he quickly closes them again and lets his head fall back against the door with a solid "thunk."

"Fuck", he breathes, "I...ah, just.....Fuck."

I am pleased with myself. Humming softly I tuck him back into his trousers and pull the edges of his collar down so I can kiss him long and hard before patting his chest and moving away back into his rooms. He doesn't follow me and I look back to see him still leaning against the door staring.

"Dinner?" I ask with a bright innocent smile.

He growls with narrowed eyes and launches himself into the room. Shrieking with laughter I race to the other side of his couch. "Come here..." he murmurs. And when I don't move he crooks a finger at me. "Topolino. Come on. Come. Here. "

It's so goddamn hot. I want to.

But.

"Make me." It's impossible to keep a grin off my face knowing that the whole wing of this abbey is definitely going to hear about when he catches me. I have the advantage of steady feet, but his eyes are dark and his smile dangerous.

I am super, super fucked.

#the band ghost #thebandghost #cardinalcopia #cardinal copia #ghost bc #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus #popia

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deprssivewriter · 4 years ago

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Errors in general and Nye in particular

Thanks to the best bro for motivation (even though you did it unconsciously).

It’s time to talk about concept and characters, yeah. Although today I will pay attention to the most unprocessed of them.

A brief digression: once upon a time there was a boy of fourteen years old and he wanted characters with angel wings. But he not only had given up on the wings, and he'd given the race the stupid name "Errors," and by the time he was twenty, he hadn't come up with anything better. So, in addition to the wings, Errors each have their own curse (there are only a few types, but more on that later). Accordingly, when they are severely or mortally wounded, the curse consumes them (who understood thay understood, who did not understand they will understand). However, even after the resurrection, the curse does not immediately go away, it torments the wearer for another couple of days (depending on the circumstances), while the body slowly recovers. Errors are born rarely from ordinary people, parents see the wings from birth, even though they are like in a hidden state. By the age of 3-4, Errors awaken their first powers, including their wings, and they can no longer keep them hidden, so for the next few years everyone can see their wings until they learn to control them. We continue to develop my insanity, Errors are immortal. You can kill them only by pulling out their wings, all other methods of killing lead only to rebirth. By the way, the Error itself can not pull out the wings, either, they will grow back in this case. It seems that all the most important things are indicated.

Let's go back to the one I originally wanted to write about. Nye. Initially, he was envisioned as a completely neutral character, but quickly enough something went wrong, and he became an asshole, which probably difficult to find. But a recent conversation with bro made me think about him. I really wanted to write something, and I asked her if she wanted to see something from the life of a certain character. She also said that she wanted Nye and Jack(another Error) to meet for the first time, and I was a little upset. It was in my mind in general terms, but I never thought about this moment in detail, however, as well as about Nye. Among all my characters, he is the only one who does not have a prototype from real life. Somehow, he just happens to exist on its own. Among other things, somehow it turned out that he was fucking special. In theory, the first Error appeared due to a freaking major failure in genetics, according to the theory, all the genes there should have been recessive (I'm not a biologist, so I don't quite understand what I'm saying, I warn you right away). Nye, in turn, was born an albino, which is also a fucking glitch in genetics, and with it came a new curse that no one had before. Nye is currently the only carrier of it (and probably the only one, I don't think that he wants to have a child). So, when I thought about him, I tried to put aside all my negative attitude towards him, and realized that in fact he is very strong, and it is quite possible that he was so twisted because of life. He had to deal with all this shit himself (Errpr’s powers, I mean). And even when he was able to find some information, he still had his curse, which no one had ever seen before. And I will remind you that he is an albino, so he periodically got severe sunburn. I also remind you that the curse begins to work when the wearer is seriously injured. His curse is carnivorous butterflies (yes, what will you do to me). They eat away at the place where the wound is, which is accompanied by hellish pain and not the most pleasant sight, in the case of death, the butterflies eat him completely, while he remains conscious for as long as possible (when I imagine what pain he is experiencing, I already wince). And to avoid suffering, he was able to subdue his own curse, which also happened for the first time in the history of Errors.

Nye has learned to spray his body on butterflies and thus travel long distances in a very short time, he has to wear a black cloak so that the sun can not burn him, and in case of which people do not see his rotten, butterfly-eaten flesh. Also, since some butterflies are extremely good at mimicry, he has learned to use them to turn into any person, which is also a great achievement. Let's go back almost to the beginning of the post, where I mentioned Jack. Nye took him away from his family around the age of 7 to take care of him, so that he would not face the same difficulties as Nye himself. Only Jack's family was good, they loved their son, even too much, perhaps even considered it a blessing that their son was an "angel". But Nye took him anyway. My main character, has a theory that maybe Jack's parents were part of a cult that hunted her once (ugh, in short, Error’s feathers are important shit and that very sect catches them as children until they can't control their wings), or at least were going to give it to them, and all their love is ostentatious, so that Jack does not master the ability to hide his wings for as long as possible. Given that I still haven't refuted this theory, it's possible that this is true, and Nye actually saved him (let's skip the point that after a dozen years, he began to treat him). I'm all for what, maybe Nye is just broken, like almost all of my characters. Yes, compared to someone else (I'm talking about the main OC, yes, her name is Tie), his suffering and pain are not so large-scale, but we all have a different psyche, none of us consists of iron or something harder. In addition, in the end, after almost a decade from the main events, Nye still comes to his senses and realizes that he behaved like an asshole.

Up to this point, I have not had any sketches with Nye, except for some very short snatches from the plot, because it is very difficult. It is extremely difficult for me to think like Nye from events of present, he is extremely adept at mixing lies with the truth, so that in the end you involuntarily begin to believe him.

"You know, I almost feel sorry for her. She has everything and nothing — no friends, no homeland, no family… She is a proud person, she never gives up, but her very contempt for death speaks volumes. She has nothing to lose, and she wants nothing but her own death, and she won't get it. Tie is smart enough to understand this and more… She hates us, fights with us, but even so, she understands that the truth is on our side. By blood, she is a person, but by birth she is tied to Errors and **. ***, Yuzuru, and even ****** can be forgiven and accepted. Tie — no, because the hatred of the traitor and betrayal is stronger than the arguments of reason… She knows how to show that she does not care, but she is a living being. She proved to everyone that she was ready to be the best, but it wouldn't change anything… She will live her life with the stamp, so she does not fall in love. Whatever she is, she is afraid that her children will turn out to be Error and live the same life. That they'll live in hell... "The good has sharp fangs" ... that's what Tie once said. Her drinking with *******, her friendship with demons, her lack of fear… God, everyone is afraid, even me, but Tie is not… She seeks her own death, and finds someone else's, " Nye said softly.

I'm sorry, some of the words are censored (?), because I'm not ready to talk about someone’s names yet. Let's go back to the other one. Will you be able to figure out where the lies are and where the truth is, without knowing anything about Tie?

While the real Nye is hard for me, I have a good understanding of the Nye of the future and, as it turned out, of the past. And all this demagoguery I spread only for the sake of the second.

When the curse first consumed me, I didn't immediately understand what was happening. Gradually, the white butterflies of “death" were killing me. I knew I was turning into food for them, but I couldn't help it. I just lay there helplessly, watching as they gradually absorbed my flesh and reached my bones. Everything happened very slowly, and I was conscious until they got to my heart.

But even after the rebirth, they have not disappeared. I didn't want to go through that excruciating pain again, I didn't want to be [eaten] again.

I tried not to get hurt, but it's very difficult, so I started wearing a black raincoat in all weathers to keep the burns to a minimum. That's something.

But in battle, it is more difficult to avoid a blow or even death. In one of these I do not know how, but just for a couple of seconds, I turned into a flock of butterflies, with the help of which I was able to avoid a blow. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but it struck me. And ever since, I've been haunted by the thought that it's Me who can control my curse, not it.

With small steps, I began to master it, first scattering the individual parts of the body, getting used to the sensations and control over each of the butterflies. Then it was more difficult, it was necessary to learn not only to scatter the whole body, but also to spend as much time as necessary in this state. It's very energy-intensive, but I'm sure it will pay off for me.

Maybe with this ability, I can become something special, something more…

#writing #original character

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hidelaney · 5 years ago

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Hi Delaney!

Ah, yes the quarantine. It’s getting to me. Definitely. Suddenly I have no office to go to. But it’s good, I think. Make the CEO realize the upper management has no literal reasons to keep us in the office. Like at all. Seriously, everyone from my team is working from home and the level of productivity is actually better. Because guess what? Not having people breathing down our necks is SUPER helpful. So HA!

Okay, about Larry Stylinson. You’re right, I did fall into YouTube Blackhole. And Twitter. And I just watched 1D San Siro concert. By watching, I mean I actually paused the work I’m doing and looked at the screen while it played. Admittedly I was also doing chores but! It wasn’t just background music! It counted!

When I said I could put Larry Stylinson in a microwave and be done with it, I mean the theories and compilation videos are so readily available and easy to digest like, comparable to instant meals.

It’s so neatly packaged, too. Like, I was introduced to Larry Stylinson basically yesterday. Now I could recite the storyline in my head whenever I please. Or when I want to please you, in this case.

Let’s see if I can get it all summarized down here. FYI, I’m borrowing your assumption that Taylor was in on it the whole time. And Eleanor, too. Because I actually know of her existence now! Character discovery! Except they’re real people so I feel the need to point out that I’m making all the assumptions all over the place. I’m doing this for you, my dear Delaney.

Keep in mind that we all need character growths and personal developments when I make non-flattering assumptions toward your favorite people here, ok?

First up! HS & TL met in a toilet.

Now it’s debatable whether it was during an X-Factor audition or Battle of the Bands. For the sake’s of my next argument, I’m going with they knew each other before X-Factor. Likely during their time in White Eskimo and The Rogue, respectively. Their (unconfirmed?) first words to each other were ‘Oops!’ & ‘Hi’

Up next, the X-Factor audition and getting put together in a band.

So here is where I kind of needed my first assumption for this to work. Their chemistry was so obviously through the roof. It made so much sense if they were already sort-of friends and then got put together in a band. Plus, I don’t think the way Louis jumped into Harry’s arms is something a relative stranger would do. And if they only knew each other out of everyone there, it’s no wonder they were both so apparently clingy and codependent. It’s like a situation where both of them went ‘I have no idea what’s gonna happen next, but at least I know you and you know me. So we’re bestie now. No take back!”

And then there’re video diaries, twitter cams, radio interviews, and other broadcasting media they appeared in. These need no explanation because you’ve probably seen all of them and I have functioning ears and eyes. So, yes, I saw videos of them being all disgustingly cute all over the place. During the so-called ‘Fetus’ phase (a wording which I personally find rather disturbing, no offense to your anatomy textbooks or anything.) They’re so sweet. Especially whenever there’s a mention of how they moved in and lived together. Their interactions must’ve been responsible for so many tooth cavities. So many aww-worthy moments. On stage, on screen, behind the scenes, potato cams. Basically everywhere in front of everyone.

Then 1D blew up and were well on their way to become their label’s biggest and brightest BCG-metrix star. It’s not hard to see why investors’d be invested (lol) in employing every marketing strategy possible to keep 1D in the spotlight.

There’s a twofold marketing exploitation to Larry Stylinson that I see from miles away.

Hard sell the heteronormative version of the boys. (To capture major market shares)

Never had Harry or Louis explicitly confirm nor deny their relationship status. (To capture additional market shares with queerbaiting)

But let’s say Harry and Louis were actually together and making 1) too difficult to achieve. Otherwise this whole thing falls apart like a wet house of cards.

Thus, here came what I’d like to call ‘dousing a fire with gasoline’. This is where there’s a sudden drop of their interactions in public and Larry Stylinson isn’t a cutesy smashup name of two boys who got along like a house on fire anymore. This is the part where a ship turned into a full fledged conspiracy theory. And it’s MEGA COOL WICKED awesome.

I say this in the nicest way possible. A tragedy is the grandest form of entertainments. Misery loves having friends.

Also, I’d like to say this. I’m having fun thinking of this as a fictional arc. Because I still feel like it will shatter my heart in to a million pieces if anything resembling what I write next was true.

Since breaking into US market was the Kickstarter into a global one, to the US 1D went.

This was where the heavy closeting got way more difficult to handle. Elounor had the excuse of Eleanor being a private citizen and therefore should be left alone for the most part. Haylor was the complete opposite. Taylor Swift was and still is an American Sweetheart. Harry Styles might have been the most famous British Harry if it weren’t for a (former?) prince and a wizard. (Seriously, we should not call any of our hypothetical future children ‘Harry’ unless you thought ‘Albus Severus Potter’ was a good idea. Poor kiddo.)

The saddest part about Harry Styles public image was how reminiscent of Emma Watson it felt. The minute they turned eighteen, their media portrayals immediately became hyper-sexualized. Suddenly, they left the human zoo into an open hunting game. Famous lives are terrifying.

Anyhow, say, Taylor Swift knew what the US music industry was like. She’s been playing the long game for quite some time. She got to know Harry and then became rather protective of him. Her conclusion was that ‘hyping up Haylor’ would: 1) increase media exposure for both Taylor and 1D which would translate to bigger channels of revenue for all involved, 2) hold the speculation about Harry’s sexual orientation at bay because, as horrible as it sounds, gays don’t sell in America.

This one fit nicely with your ‘Out of the Woods’ interpretation. Taylor wasn’t just spending time with Harry. She was actively enforcing the lock on the closet. Which explains why Louis seemed to resent Taylor quite obviously and quite a lot. His own heteronormative scripts with Eleanor had been relatively tame. Harry’s whirlwind series of romances in public had only just begun.

As Harry started gaining a womanizer reputation in earnest, so did the Almost-Subtle Couple Tattoo Sprees.

If ‘Always in my heart @Harry_Styles . Yours sincerely, Louis’ tweet was a sign that circumstances were about to go south for them. The tattoos were signs that the circumstances had already gone to shit. The tragic package had been shipped, signed, and delivered.

This is where non-flattering assumptions rise to the surface. I think 1D had been overworked past the point of exhaustion. Self-destruction as a coping mechanism became rather prevalent and pervasive within the band. The boys gleefully collected regrets as a new favorite pastime, some more than others. Consequences were nipping at their heels.

Then Zayn left right in the middle of a world tour and all hell broke loose.

Here comes the biggest Assumption Affair!

Louis and Liam, the last to release their solo debut albums, were the most prominent songwriters for the band. I’m not going to go on about Liam because I’m here to give you Larry Stylinson. And this is already way too long as it is. But, needless to say, the first discussion of a prospective solo career probably hit them the hardest.

If each song they wrote was a battle scar, Louis was still bleeding for the band when Harry, of all people, brought up the idea of a hiatus and solo careers. Realizing how many songs Harry already had waiting in the back catalogue must’ve felt like a slap in the face. Or a punch in the gut. Whichever you think is worse/more dramatic. I’m not picky.

Remember self-destruction as coping mechanism? What about relationship-destruction as coping mechanism? Louis cheated and had a baby with someone else. Infidelity at its finest.

ALERT! THIS IS A NEON SIGN OF ASSUMPTION AFFAIR! Please don’t kill me. I told you I was gonna make unflattering assumptions toward your favorite people. I just did as I promised!!! *run for cover*

Anyway...

I’m gonna take you back a little. I mentioned earlier how Eleanor was a private citizen and therefore should be left alone. At times when Louis desperately needed to be left alone, Elounor makes so much sense. If she’s a PR-only girlfriend, she’s a stellar employee. If it’s not just a PR thing, she’s as forgiving as a saint. Just, if it’s Harry and Louis, they likely both messed up and hurt each other badly. If it’s Louis and Eleanor,... I mean... Have you seen a meme where you misspell a word so badly that the autocorrect goes, ‘I don’t know what to tell you, man’?... Louis would be that misspelled word and Eleanor would be the very best autocorrect that practically brute force through every word in the Oxford AND Urban dictionary to find out what that word was. If that’s who she is, then bless her soul. However, for the sake of this argument, we will proceed with the assumption that she’s the star employee of the decade.

Losing loved ones and grieving for them are inevitable parts of human lives. Nothing put more things into perspectives than losing someone so fundamentally dear to you. When I heard Louis Tomlinson’s ‘Two of Us’ for the first time, I remembered walking through an actual forest my grandpa planted for us because he wanted to make sure his great grandkids would have a nice home to grow up in. Do you remember when you called and told me that he died the night I got on my first solo international flight ten months after the fact? I wanted to hate you for keeping something this big a secret from me. I wanted to hate everybody at home for that. But then you told me that it was what my grandpa had wanted. That he didn’t want me to be a sad sack of an exchange student. That you decided to not listen to my parents and call to tell me just before I was due home. So that I’d have time to feel hurt about being lied to. So that I could get all the angry words out. So that I wouldn’t scream at my parents when I got home and learnt the truth. So that you could take the brunt of my grief instead.

I just took a break to have a little cry. Where was I? Oh, yeah. You did the best you could for me when I lost my grandpa. I still managed to effectively shut you out for months. Just because you were the messenger of the bad news. What I’m trying to say is that grief changes people. It changed me. For the worst for a bit. And then for the better once I came to term with what it means to me. There’s a quote from Rosamund Lupton that sums it up neatly.

“Grief is love turned into an eternal missing.”

I guess this is the part where I connected the dots back to Harry and Louis. Well, their music definitely give grief different names. Both albums talk about coming to term with it and moving forward. Every songs they wrote could be woven to fit the narrative of Larry Stylinson and events surrounding them. If you buy the theory, then the good news is both Fine Line & Walls seemed to have a positive ending. One thing I know for sure, though, is that no matter how convincing a conspiracy theory maybe, it could all be built upon a faulty assumption. I’d probably have a way easier time disregarding Elouner if I didn’t have you as a solid proof in my life that, yes, people like the best autocorrect exists. It’s funny how I feel no hesitation at all in categorizing Haylor as a calculated move. Because in my head that’s just par for the course in business. And it genuinely terrifies me in a way. Who the hell I could’ve become if it weren’t for you knocking me off the ground and pouring kindness on me.

I know I skipped a lot of stuff. Missing names like Caroline, Danielle, Kendall, Freddie, Camille, Xander, etc. But HS and LT have a decade of history on public record and, frankly, my interest ran out four paragraphs ago. So just let me conclude this.

I think it’s tiring, spending this much time speculating on someone else’s relationship history. I must admit that I had to get it out of my chest because it was way too interesting to let go off. But now, I feel like I’m just going to stream Heartbreak Weather and listen to ‘No Judgement’ on repeat. Nile is my favorite non-problematic celebrity. I could spell his name so wrong and it probably won’t be an issue as long as I politely say, “Sorry, Mr Niall Horan”

This quarantine clearly leaves me with too much time on my hands.

Virtual hugs and kisses

Your Incredible Sasha 😘

#larry stylinson #haylor #elounor #aimh theory #larry #i hope you like this #in this essay i will...

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 4 years ago

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Why So Jaded? Chapter 2

And here we go, part 2. In case you missed it. Part 1 AO3 FFN

Chapter 2

A decade can be a long time.

That much time can change a person, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse and sometimes it just makes you grow up, mature you and give you perspective.

A decade ago, Bartholomew Maximillian Pine aka Buddy Pine- had built an empire fueled by his hatred and resentment for Supers and more importantly Mr. Incredible. He had become successful, powerful, on a scale beyond imagination. His creations helped topple governments, weaponize vast armies and made him more money then he could ever hope to spend in a thousand lifetimes. And with Mirage by his side, he had it all at the relatively young age age of 21.

A decade ago, Violet Parr was coming to terms with her powers, was coming into her own and finding her footing in life. She was learning to bear the load that all Supers carry.

But a decade can be a long time.

In a decade, you can see the empire you built be turned against you in a flash before it's dismantled into pieces that can never be put back together again and the people who you thought you could trust turn on you then leave you and realize their own agendas before you found yourself trying to start over and rebuild with some of the pieces you had managed to scrape together. No small feat and one made harder by extensive injuries, in not just a physical sense, but a mental and emotional and physiological sense as you attempt to rebuild yourself just as much as you rebuild your empire. Letting go of old grudges and hate in an effort to accept change and the present in order to have a future. And that is where Buddy Pine had currently found himself.

And a decade can be a long time.

In a decade you can see things that make you question yourself, your morals, your loyalties, your career and sense of right and wrong. Make you resent the burden placed on you by your parents, by your siblings and peers, your superiors, by everyone around you, and worse, make you resent the very ones who put that burden there. You got to see first hand how the world was rarely black and white and everything was a shade of gray and how even when you want to do the right thing and try to do the right thing, no good deed goes unpunished. You're struck and reminded over and over again by how profoundly fickle it all was. And how you can rise to popularity one moment and fall the next, like the waves of the sea, rising and falling and rising again as cycles began anew and how even the most altruistic super has their price. And more importantly, what yours was. You learned who your true friends were, as well as your enemies. And most importantly that the only one you could truly count on was yourself when you get pushed past your breaking point several times over and who you needed to pull you back from the edge over and over again. You become jaded and disillusioned yet worldly and discerning from your experiences and recognize patterns and cycles remarkably well. When you see enough shit go down and get covered up and how when people are wealthy and powerful enough, or hell, even talented, famous or important enough they can get away with literal murder if not atrocities that would make God himself shudder. You learn that justice was a joke but vengeance was attainable if not valid and very understandable, if not sympathetically so. Which can sadly- make you even more valuable and sought after and you become the best at what you do, even when you had no intention of being so. Until you realized you didn't have to play by anyone's rules except your own, in fact, you didn't have to play their little game at all and sometimes the smartest thing was to walk away when you had had enough and your sense of self preservation was the biggest instinct you cultivated in yourself and was sometimes the only thing that kept you alive.

That's where Violet found herself now. Not necessarily at a crossroads, but simply a spot on a map. She had been pulled back into this Super world a little over a year ago but it was supposed to be her last job. It was supposed to be an easy one, a babysitter post for a genius, billionaire playboy that had taken Buddy's place in the weaponized technology field. Only the big difference was Buddy did this all on his own, while her current employer had bought some of the pieces of Buddy's empire and was very much at the powers that be- beckon call and he was a master at catering to all of them so that he had no governmental resistance or interference world wide. So that the only ones in his way was his competition in his various markets from technology, science, medicine and most lucratively- weapons and while his ego was huge, it wasn't as haughty as Buddy's had been and if Violet had placed a bet, she would say he was a low grade Super himself, only his power was the charm and disarm anyone and gain their trust and help them feel safe so they turned vulnerable and honest and even she was not completely immune to him and his powers. It's how he learned who her true identity was and was able to get to know the real her as well as he did, or more importantly, as well as he thought he did. But for every take, there is a give because she in turn, got to learn more about him than anyone else did and thus, bred their closeness that they both got to enjoy and Phillip had sworn on his life and the lives of his family, that he would never betray her as long as she never betrayed him.

Phillip Edward Sebastian the Fifth was a European Aristobrat who had turned his family's modest fortune but grand history to his absolute advantage and with smart investing and playing the stock market, he had used that modest fortune to turn it into unimaginable wealth and power and was now on the cutting edge of all things weapons, electronics, medicine and far beyond and he had asked for Violet in particular because of her history with espionage, corporate and otherwise and the like. He was willing to pay her 15 times more for her services as his handler than he had offered anyone else and in just the short year she had been working with him, she had risen through the ranks, and was now not just as his right hand woman and personal assistant and she was a one woman security detail who he trusted with his life, his privacy, his confidence and confidentiality because of her skillset and ability. And once her own bank accounts swelled to the point that she used her former mentor's own financial staff to make sure that even in the worst case scenarios, her safety nets had safety nets and she had back up plans for her back up plans and contingency plans for her contingency plans several layers deep and learned to buy stocks in what he bought and sold what he sold on her own since he never hid that information from her and through that alone, she was one of the more independently wealthy Superheroes and she ensured that not just herself but her family would be safe and taken care of, which, in the grand scheme of things, was all she ever wanted and cared about. So she was happy and content, for now. That's why Violet could easily retire after this job. Plus she still collected her super hero paycheck. She wasn't the only one getting two paychecks for the same work, if not multiple checks.

And Phillip had always been the ideal employer, sure he had his own trust issues and paranoia, not to mention, his own daredevil antics and recklessness. But he respected her boundaries because she respected his and their relationship worked as beautifully and seamlessly as it did because they respected each other and Phillip treated her better than he treated everyone else because he knew that Violet, ultimately- didn't want or need him or his money or power and didn't ask too many questions because she didn't need to know the answers and kept her personal life very separated from her work life and didn't judge and kept her opinions to herself as closely as she kept her head and her wits. Which were all things he respected, admired and even adored and their relationship even blossomed enough to include certain "benefits" and Violet was the only one who could use Phillip as her personal fuck toy without the hassle and mess of a committed, monogamous romantic relationship and that kind of emotional entanglements even though Phillip still held out hope that at the end of her "servitude" she would stay with him because he had grown to rely so much on her and it would take a team of a hundred people to do what she did for him and do it as flawlessly as she did.

Before this job, Violet had disappeared in the far east- Hong Kong specifically, with a large city of over seven million, it was easy to disappear into but easy enough to spot agents from a mile away. She figured her superiors spent at least a million dollars trying to find her and once they did, they made her an offer she couldn't refuse and found, and named, and gave- her price, as their most highly sought after and paid agent. She was 24 now and would retire in just two more years at the age of 26 into a very comfortable life as a multimillionaire. But even she had to admit, the urge to do Super work had been getting to her while she had disappeared before The Agency had tracked her down since she had been 'in the wind' for over a year after a particularly brutal assignment gone to shit. But saving people and being a hero, even an invisible one, was an itch that most Supers, even when under ban, was impossible not to scratch. Her father was living proof of that. But she had learned from her parent's mistakes. She had learned to be careful. But being careful and playing it safe, while inherently easy for her, was getting mundane. She had taken up a few hobbies, learned a few languages along with some invaluable skills so that she could, in theory, go anywhere and support herself and blend in with any crowd and she was lucky that while she was in Phillip’s employment, she could still do a few hero jobs of her choice on the side and Phillip’s technology had made those jobs a breeze. But she was smart enough to not become dependent on any of the technology provided to her, either by The Agency or Phillip.

Invisigirl tapped on a screen as she flew her secret spy plane back to Spain to contact her employer, Mr. Phillip Sebastian.

"Do you have a report Vi?" Phillip asked.

"Yes, Mr. Pine himself has taken the nanochip, just like you predicted and is on multiple cameras doing so, he took both baits so I'm now en-route to you." Violet answered as she took off her mask and tied her hair up, revealing flawless makeup under the mask as her lipstick changed from an ultra violet to match her suit to a soft dusty rose on her pouty lips.

"What are the chances that he will follow?" Phillip furthered.

"At this point, medium to high." Violet estimated with a shrug as the plane achieved the proper altitude for a transatlantic flight.

"Excellent. Well we have him dead to rights, so he's as good as ours anyway." Phillip grinned victoriously as he rewatched the feed.

"So hopefully that objective can be fulfilled sooner than later," Violet assumed.

"We will talk about that when you get back, see you in a few hours." He placated.

"Understood," Violet said as she closed the channel since the plane was on auto pilot. She wanted to get changed into civilian attire and hopefully get a chance to relax and possibly take a nap before she would have to play babysitter again as she popped a few pills of very high level painkillers that would make Oxycodone look like children's Tylenol.

Meanwhile Buddy had made his escape and had arrived back at his compound, a different island this time since the 'authorities' literally blew up the last one. But while Buddy was getting a bit desperate, he wasn't stupid. He installed the nanochip into an ordinary laptop that wasn't connected in any way to the internet in case there was some kind of signal embedded. Fifteen seconds later he found himself staring at a melting piece of trash on fire before he put the fire out.

"And that's why we don't just hook things up into the system." He muttered aloud as he retrieved the other nano chip, the one that was on the left, he had taken both, just in case she was leading him astray. He picked up the dead computer with thick work gloves and simply dumped it into the trash and retrieved another, turning it on and repeating the process. This time, it worked perfectly.

"Well, it appears you didn't steer me wrong, this time," he mused as he retrieved the nanochip and put it into his system. Since the 'incident' aka him almost being completely shredded by a jet engine, his ability to create new technology had been hindered greatly. But he could reverse engineer anything and make it better, and that was his intention now. Once he had all the specs down it would be difficult to put the nanochip back along with another dummy one but not impossible.

Except when he came back a week later, it was a trap. The moment he opened that safe, there were more guards on him than he could count coming almost out of nowhere. He was immediately detained in a holding cell in the basement of the building and stripped of all his gear but thankfully they still let him keep his original clothes on.

Buddy wondered who would be coming, would it be the local police? The FBI? The CIA? He ended up waiting a few days when Phillip Sebastian came in himself.

"Good morning Mr. Bartholomew Maximillian Pine, I understand that you like to go by "Buddy" less formal." Phillip greeted formally with a smug smirk on his handsome face.

"Good morning Mr. Sebastian," Buddy mirrored warily as he looked down to see the hairs on his arm raise as if the static electricity in the room was getting charged as he wondered if Invisigirl was with Phillip, in fact he would bet on it as he glanced at the space around Phillip to see if he could see any distortions and he couldn't see any but he could sense her the way he could sense Mirage in the past, the way she had taught him to anyway, and realized Invisigirl was so close to him, he could reach out and touch her if he tried but he got the sense she had an invisible weapon targeted at his head and knew that if he attempted to, he'd be dead by the time he made contact with her. His heart still stung at Mirage's betrayal which had hurt him the worst and when he was seen how she married some other billionaire playboy, it had dumped his ass into one of the worst depressions of his life and almost completely broke him, but the lessons she taught him were invaluable and he was finding himself grateful for them right in this moment.

"Mr. Pine, you are either really smart or really stupid, you had the nanochip, why didn't you just keep it? Why risk putting it back?" Phillip inquired curiously.

"I need a lawyer," Buddy answered firmly.

"Why? You're not under arrest. The authorities haven't been called, however if you don't cooperate with me I will be forced to contact them but for now, let's leave them out of this." Phillip said dismissively.

"What do you want?" Buddy asked wearily.

"I want you to work for me, not against me." Philip answered simply.

"I refuse to work for anyone but myself." Buddy defied.

"Are you sure you don't want to reconsider? You would have your own lab and assistants and an unlimited budget, you could set your own hours and have some say so in your own salary and have access to all the compounds and technology you could ever dream of." Phillip proposed. "You would even earn a high percentage of all sales of whatever you create in collaboration with SEB Enterprises, you'll even get press for IRize and all your other little corporations, shells or no and more opportunities for your collaboration with me and my company and all of my associates and other collaborators, of which we share a surprising amount of them." Phillip generously offered.

"So what's the catch?" Buddy asked with a subtle tilt of his head in Invisigirl's direction and just barely registered the feel of his hair brush up against something. She was right next to him and his gut feeling told him she had a weapon was pointed at his head as he felt her withdraw just a little to keep from getting too close.

"You will have to work for me for a minimum of 3 years. You will stay on campus at all times unless accompanied by a security detail and you will be monitored at all times in all things." Phillip informed him solemnly. "So it's either this or some high security super prison for 20-life. Because the evidence against you is pretty damning." Phillip specified.

"Can you give me some time to think it over?" Buddy inquired.

"Of course, take all the time you need, simply knock on the door when you've made a decision." Phillip replied as he got up and left the room as Buddy watched the hairs on his forearms lay back down before another meal was delivered to him, this time it was breakfast. At least Phillip knew how to treat a guest. Even a detained one, because Buddy wasn't in shackles and was being fed decent food at least and his little one room cell, while bare, was surprisingly comfortable.

Three hours later Buddy knocked on the door and a few minutes later Phillip came in, ready to hear his answer.

"I'll do it, however I have a few conditions of my own." Buddy started and was pleased to see Phillip nod.

"I want everything in writing, I want my criminal activity erased." Buddy began.

"Of course, my lawyers are writing our contract up as we speak and any and all evidence against you and IRise will be destroyed and dissolved within the hour. Anything else?" Phillip reassured him.

"I will only work for you for two years, no more," Buddy specified.

"Five years then because you want to negotiate the time frame. Or that 20-life in a super max prison." Phillip countered.

"Ok fine, three years it is." Buddy huffed.

"Agreed." Phillip said as he held out his hand for a handshake. Buddy took it and shook firmly as he could have sworn he heard a huff nearby. The two left the room and walked to an elevator where a secretary was waiting for them. Her hair up in a bun and her gray business jacket accentuated her tulip skirt with patterned hose and killer heels along with a pair of glasses that helped her see things most eyes could not as she used her stylus like a pen.

"Everything is ready Mr. Sebastian, the notary is already in conference room 12A." She informed him as she continued to work on an electronic pad diligently.

"Excellent, thank you Ms. Parr," Phillip replied in thanks before turning to Buddy. "Mr. Pine, I believe you already know my colleague and associate Miss Violet Parr." Phillip gestured before getting on the elevator that opened once they approached.

Buddy had to do a double take, he hadn't recognized her, she was standing right in front of him and she might as well have been invisible at first. However, now that he really looked at her and took notice, she was stunning. Like just...knock out gorgeous, should have been a model herself kind of beautiful. Even she could effortlessly rock the sexy assistant look but now that he saw her, he couldn't quite make himself look away. She was gorgeous even with glasses and just as breathtaking out of her suit as she had been in it and most likely, just as lethal. And just like that, those butterflies were back in his stomach, fluttering away.

"Yes, we are already too well acquainted," Violet answered as she stepped on the elevator herself, standing on one side of Phillip, using him like a shield between her and Buddy as she continued to work on her tablet and actively ignored him.

"Well I don't know about that," Buddy answered with a smirk before he could feel static electricity instantly build within the elevator as the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rose again. Ha, he got her tell.

"Easy," Phillip warned Violet, his tone surprisingly gentle. Violet exhaled in a huff and Buddy felt static electricity lull, the rest of the ride was in silence, the only sound, their breathing and the dinging of the elevator. Buddy noticed her breathing was noticeably huffy and almost labored while Phillip's was calm and even until they reached the twelfth floor before Violet was the first to cross the threshold before the doors fully opened, walking quickly while Phillip walked in tandem with Buddy as Phillip subtly studied Buddy's reactions to Violet.

Violet led the way to the conference room, she tapped her ID card against a reader and the door opened, revealing a notary and three lawyers, one of them being Buddy’s. All sitting at the table in the middle of the room with stacks of paperwork around them as Buddy was allowed to have some private council with his own lawyer who basically confirmed that it was either this or super max prison before they sat down to negotiate more terms of the contract.

Buddy wasn't an idiot, he read each and every single line on those contracts before signing them.

And it took four hours, a bottle of scotch, lunch and a whole variety of snack and dessert trays.

Violet looked like she wanted to die of boredom despite playing a game on her tablet for most of it and couldn't get out of there fast enough when it was all over, signed and notarized by everyone. Another assistant came to escort Buddy to his new 'apartment' which had already been filled with his things that were taken from his new compound while Phillip and Violet retreated to Phillips office.

"Well I am so glad that didn't take too long," Violet drawled sarcastically as she crashed on the comfy couch in his office after kicking her heels off. Phillip chuckled as he tossed her a bottle of water from his mini fridge in his desk and smiled when she caught it with ease.

"He's still smart, he wanted to make sure I wasn't taking him for a complete fool," Phillip countered as he took a long pull from his own water bottle as he idly watched her stretch and relax as she reclined on his couch in a very unladylike pose, with her feet up on the arm of the couch. But he loved the fact that she felt so comfortable around him and could just be herself rather than the super secret agent she felt she had to play with him. She could just be when she was alone with him and he liked it that way. No pretenses or anything like that.

"Do you think he'll honor the contract? Or do you think he'll run the first chance he gets?" Violet inquired.

"Oh I think as long as you're around, he'll stay right here. He looked at you at least a dozen times an hour, every move you made, he tried to catch." Phillip began as he glanced at Violet who had rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Speaking of which, I have a new assignment for you, I want you to be the liaison between him and I until the end of your contract." Phillip proposed.

"Hell no," Violet immediately spat as she gave him a dirty glare.

"Oh come on, all that means is you see him once a day for only a few minutes all the days we're stateside. Make sure he has everything he needs to keep him focused and relay messages back and forth," Phillip specified.

"That's what email is for." Violet retorted.

"But email is so impersonal," Phillip playfully argued in a mock complaint.

"That's exactly it, I don't want to have to deal with him any more than I absolutely have to. He did try to kill me as a child. What kind of monster purposefully kills kids? I'll tell you. Him. He's that monster. He tried to kill me, my family and kidnap Jack..," She began to go into a seething rant.

"And take over the world, yeah I know, I was there- but, that was a lifetime ago, clearly everyone involved has changed. I mean you saw him, the man is just one failed attempt away from completely imploding. And the fact that he was desperate enough to steal from me himself says a lot." He reminded her, keeping her from going into her full blown rant because he didn't want to rearrange his office...again.

"I still don't understand why he would stoop that low," Violet admitted as she thought that over again.

"I think he lost a spark ," Phillip conjectured. Violet raised a curious brow at his choice of words. "Writers and artists have muses, engineers have sparks." Phillip explained as he came over and sat on the couch with her before he nestled her head into his lap so she could look up at him.

"But if he's lost his spark, he's no good to you, it's been a decade, surely if he was going to get his 'spark ' back, don't you think he would have gotten it back by now?" Violet questioned.

"He's searching for it, pretty hard, I've been keeping him under surveillance for the last several years once he was recognized by my software. A man can only tinker so long." Phillip soothed as he began to pet her head to calm her down further.

"So he's either going to find it with you or die trying," Violet guessed.

"Exactly, besides, I know your past with him makes this especially hard and I am so proud of you for doing your best to put that aside and try to be professional and not kill him where he stands right now. But it's you who will have the last word in the matter. It's you who will get to decide if he lives or dies after his contract is up and inherit everything he has when we're done with him. Why do you think that contract included you as his heir apparent? Because once he dies, you and your family will get due recompense for everything he's done, he owes you and your family that much at least. You can put your big girl panties on and suck it up for two years. Then you get to spend that third year devising all the ways you want to torture him to death if you still want him dead after." Phillip soothed her as he started to pet her head, letting his own super ability lull her into a peaceful state, which worked extra strongly when he was able to touch her as she rolled over and faced him and took a deep, cleansing breath and mulled it over as she simply closed her eyes and soaked up this attention from him before she seemed to come to her own decision.

"You know, if I didn't know any better I would think you were an evil mastermind," Violet teased with a smug grin as she opened her eyes and tilted her head to look up at him.

"Hey now. Keep it to yourself, Edna hasn't finished my super villain suit yet," Phillip countered teasingly, causing Violet to glare at him, unimpressed by that dig. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Phillip placated with his hands up in defeat.

"You better be, ass," Violet grumbled.

"So will you take the job or not?" Phillip asked.

"You're going to have to up my salary again, make it worth my while." Violet insisted.

"I'll match his salary 200% as your bonus salary as long as both of you are in my employment- for the "suffering" of having to deal with him and be our liaison. And to really sweeten it, how about….oh, how about I give you a percentage of whatever he touches." Phillip offered.

"Twenty percent," Violet started.

"Ouch, no, I'm thinking 10 at the most," Phillip frowned.

"Fine, fifteen, same as Mr. Pine's percentage." Violet rebutted firmly.

"Deal," Phillip agreed. "And you start now," Phillip stipulated as he offered his hand for a shake and by now Violet knew that his handshake was as good as any contract, even one written in blood before he leaned down and kissed her sweetly.

"Fine," Violet caved before gave his gut a light playful punch that was barely a tap which made him recoil and hold his gut like she had really sucker punched him as his face scrunched up in pain which caused her to laugh which in turn made him beam a proud smile at her.

"And I want it in writing by the time I get back." Violet insisted.

"Of course," He nodded in agreement.

"And you still owe me dinner because lunch sucked." Violet reminded him as she slipped back into her heels before going down to a different lab and got the appropriate hardware for Buddy and made her way to Buddy's floor, using her key card to get to the floor, since his floor wasn’t shown on the elevator and she had to press two floors and press her keycard to the reader to get to it. She thought it was ridiculous that he would have more than a bed and a lab let alone an entire floor full of equipment and an apartment that rivaled most penthouses but Phillip wanted to give Buddy every opportunity to succeed by making sure he stayed comfortable.

She came into the lab to see him already at work. She knocked on a countertop to make her presence known so as not to startle him.

"How come you couldn't do that before?" Buddy asked wryly as he looked over at her as he was still putting things away in the lab section of the floor.

"Because you weren't supposed to know I was there. We have a few details we need to discus Mr. Pine." Violet began as she watched him pause and turn to face her to give her his complete attention before he started walking towards her and joined her at the island.

"First, you are never to address me as anything other than Ms. Parr and you will always conduct yourself in the utmost professional manner when dealing with me or any other employee, partner or associate of SEB Industries. I am your liaison to Mr. Sebastian himself so if there anything in particular that you need regarding your living and your work you can tell me. These are yours, your phone has been cloned into this before it was put to sleep, you can retrieve it once your contract is up." Violet stated as she held up the phone and the tablet before putting them down on the counter and sliding them towards him. "My number is under speed dial one and is only supposed to be used in emergencies and for vital business needs and inquires during reasonable business hours. And I swear to God if I get any flirtation from you or heaven forbid dick pics, I will personally cut your dick off and shove it down your throat and watch you choke on it before I throw your body into another jet engine turbine and feed your remains to the rats in the subway and then inherit everything you have and sell it off at auction to the highest bidder. Any information mining or manipulations by you will be met with the same treatment. Is that understood?" Violet specified as her gaze bored through him with a look that if it could kill, he would have been dead already.

"Yes Ma'am." Buddy nodded with a gulp.

"Now, while at SEB Industries we suggest little to no contact with the outside world other than of course the contact with various associates and colleagues to complete projects. However SEB does understand that there are certain 'needs' that only the outside world can satisfy." Violet explained as she cleared her throat and fought not to shudder and gag when she said 'needs'. "And those will be handled by the appropriate liaison which is not me. And that proper liaison is Leslie, she's on speed dial 2 who will also take care of anything outside of the normal business hours. Now, is there anything in particular you need or want at this time? Perhaps dinner?" She offered as she noticed the time.

"Dinner sounds great, as long as you will eat it with me," Buddy answered hopefully but she narrowed her eyes as he felt the static electricity build up again for a moment before she simply took a deep breath.

"Unfortunately I have prior engagements, but you do have access to a full kitchen in the apartment side of this floor that should be well stocked, and if it is lacking feel free to create a grocery list and I will have an assistant fulfill it. We also allow take out to be delivered although anything you receive will be subjected to inspection and scans. But there is a drawer next to your fridge full of menus of all the restaurants who deliver here or you could order something online. Do you understand the terms I have dictated?" She explained as explicitly as she could and as calmly and as professionally as she could because she had to swallow all the anger and rage she felt towards him down for now because it was her job. But if he dared cross the line, she had no qualms about ending him where he stood.

"Yes," Buddy confirmed with a nod.

"Do you have any questions?" Violet obligatorily asked.

"Are you free for dinner tomorrow?" Buddy asked before he saw her slip her metaphoric mask on more tightly.

"No. Good day Mr. Pine, good luck with your work," Violet coldly replied before turning and leaving her heels clicking in her wake.

Buddy smirked and went back to work. His own plan was working well.

#Why So Jaded #Why So Jaded Chapter 2 #Synlet #Buddy Pine #Violet Parr #Corporate espionage AU #Modern AU #Bartholomew Pine

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admiralty-xfd · 5 years ago

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This is chapter 7, to start at the beginning go here on A03 because linking Tumblr posts is getting difficult and I may be quarantined at home but I’m also lazy AF. Thanks for reading!

Scully didn’t really want to go over to Mulder’s after the incident in the elevator. It wasn’t that she was upset with him, or even angry at men in general. It was because she wasn’t sure how to behave.

She didn’t want to let this bother her as much as it did, but she couldn’t get the image out of her head of that man leering at her, whoever he was, presumably having either seen the videotape or heard about it. The guy was an asshole, plain and simple. But her concerns had been valid; this thing had been released into the Hoover Building like a virus, and it would spread and spread and spread until she became some person to everyone that she was not.

In any event, as much as she enjoyed proving herself correct, this was one situation in which she had no desire to.

Mulder welcomed her in, happy to see her. He poured her wine and rubbed her feet. She had the distinct impression he was trying to distract her from what had happened in Skinner’s office by being the perfect boyfriend, and she wished she was in a mood to enjoy it but she just wasn’t. He could tell.

“Scully, are you okay?” he asked her. “You’ve seemed off all night. Is this about what happened in Skinner’s office?”

He looked so concerned she almost told him about the elevator incident, but she stopped herself, perhaps out of embarrassment, perhaps out of shame. Maybe she just didn’t want his predictable protective streak to flare up. She knew what would happen next. Mulder would ask who the guy was, and when she told him she didn’t know, he’d make it his new quest to find him and beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

She didn’t want that at all. That would only draw attention to their escalating dilemma. Besides, she never wanted him to feel like he had to save her. She was no damsel in distress. She was Dana Scully.

“I’m fine,” she said, which she really should’ve known better than to say. Mulder was well aware that was code for I’m not fine.

“It’s gonna be okay, you know?” he tried to assure her. “This will all be forgotten by Monday.”

It wouldn’t, and she knew this better than Mulder ever could. His utter ignorance and helplessness broke her heart a little. But his intentions were pure, and he was trying.

“You’re right,” she said reluctantly, something she never said to Mulder when he wasn’t.

He lifted his hand to move the hair out of her face in that delicate way of his, and she smiled. “You’re really sweet, you know that?” she said. “I had no idea.”

He shrugged. “You bring it out in me.” They were quiet for a moment, just looking at each other.

“Hey Scully,” he said, breaking the silence. “You wanna go steady?”

She burst out laughing, the moment so welcomed. Her hand went to his cheek. She couldn’t love him more if she tried. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“With me, is the catch,” he grinned.

“Still yes.”

He smiled, and in his eyes she saw the hope she’d grown so fond of seeing there. It was another huge step for them, a moment that meant something. She closed her eyes and sighed, living in that moment. Maybe she couldn’t ever fully satisfy him, not really. But he still wanted to be with her. Maybe for now, it was enough.

He moved to kiss her and she flinched, just a bit, but enough for him to notice. What was that about? She wanted him to kiss her, so why was she reacting this way?

“Is this not okay?” he asked softly. She loved him so much: his tenderness, his attentiveness. She wished she’d noticed it much sooner.

“No, it’s okay,” she said. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him close, trying to focus. This is Mulder, it’s just Mulder, she told herself, and she tried to put the events of the day behind her and give him all the attention he deserved.

He kissed her softly at first, then his passion began to build as he ran his fingers through her hair. He moaned her name into her ear as he sucked on her earlobe, pulling her body into his. She could feel him getting hard against her as he unbuttoned her shirt, and while she wanted to get naked with him she didn’t want to feel vulnerable tonight.

I heard something about you.

She tried to shake off the unwelcome image of the creep in the elevator as she pulled Mulder’s T shirt up and over his head, and started pushing his pants down. She probably did it faster than she should have because he seemed to take it as a sign he wasn’t going fast enough. He scooped her up as he kicked off his pants and carried her to his bed, tossing her down on it and in a quick motion sliding her skirt down and off.

“You’re so sexy,” he mumbled as he threw her legs over his shoulders and began teasing the fabric of her panties with the tip of his tongue. She loved when he went down on her, it was her very favorite thing, but her head ragdolled from side to side in distress as Mulder’s magical tongue was conflated with images of unwanted advances.

I like what I heard.

He slid her panties down her thighs, all the way down and off, spreading her legs and returning to his task. She wanted to tell him to stop, that this was too much right now, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want him to know how much this was bothering her. So she let him finish, or at least think he finished, by faking it.

He wasn’t fooled, however, when he brought his face up next to hers to kiss her, and saw tears welling in her eyes. She’d tried to hold them in, she’d really tried.

“Scully, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head and smiled at him through her tears. She loved him, and that she didn’t have to fake.

“Nothing, Mulder,” she said, and pulled him close to her, kissing him again. “I’m fine.”

She hated lying to him. She never wanted to do it again.

That night, as Mulder slept soundly beside her, she got out of his bed quietly, put her clothes back on in his bathroom, and with one pensive look at her slumbering partner, crept out of his apartment without a sound.

***

When he woke up, she wasn’t in his arms.

The memory of last night came screaming back in snippets, as if he were drunk or had blacked out somehow. But he hadn’t had so much as a sip of the wine he’d poured for Scully, so focused he’d been on making her feel good after what had surely been a tumultuous day for her.

I’m fine, she’d said. He'd known better, even as she’d snuggled up beside him and fallen asleep.

Something was bothering her, and while he wanted to believe it was only the idea of people finding out about them, he couldn’t shake the thought that she was in some way ashamed of him, ashamed of their relationship. That she might decide at any moment none of this was worth it and end things completely.

He got up and looked around for a note or something, some sign she’d had a good reason to leave, and found nothing. His hand involuntarily went to his crotch, which was aching for the release he’d denied himself last night on account of Scully’s comfort.

He jerked off in the shower while picturing her mouth around his cock, and when he got out to towel off he felt like shit. Everything suddenly felt complicated, when surely it didn’t have to be. Scully had never objected to having her mouth around his cock; in fact, he was convinced she quite enjoyed it from the look in her eyes whenever she’d had it there.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, then planted his arms on either side of the sink as he leaned forward to look at himself in the mirror. He was so confused about what this new chapter of his life was shaping out to be. He’d spent over a decade of his life on the X-Files, sacrificed so much for his cause. Scully had sacrificed so much for his cause that it had become her own, and he couldn’t deny his own guilt about that.

He loved the way they worked together, the way she rolled her eyes at his theories but always listened. He loved sneaking around in the dark with her, even before those escapades had any romantic potential. He loved how smart she was; he could never do any of the things he accomplished without her by his side.

He loved having Scully as his partner. But he also loved having her as more.

He’d cordoned off his life surrounding Samantha into sections: the before, the during, the after. It occurred to him that he was doing the same with Scully, only he didn’t want there to be an after when it came to Scully.

He shuddered, the mere thought of moving forward without her making his insides shrivel up like a drying rose petal. He could never, ever let there be an after.

When he got into work that day he arrived at the basement at their usual time, but Scully was nowhere to be found. Typically, he was content to spend all day down here mulling over countless case files, formulating impossible theories. But typically, Scully was down here to listen to him. He tried to call her, twice, to no avail.

He’d suspected something was off last night but now he was concerned something was very wrong. He’d been thinking about what she’d said in their office ever since it had happened. All morning he’d allowed it to work its way into his brain like a splinter, and now he still felt it, a sharp pain at his temple he feared wouldn’t subside.

Restless, he wandered up into the bullpen looking for her. Did she have an appointment at Quantico she’d neglected to tell him about? He tried over and over to come up with an excuse, a reason she’d left that wasn’t the most glaringly obvious one.

He went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, and as he was pouring it he heard some men wander in behind him.

“I asked her out once and she turned me down,” one of the voices said. “I just assumed she was frigid.”

Another man laughed. “I heard she’s a real bitch,” he said. “Maybe getting a little will help in that department.”

“I guess she’s got so few options down there,” a third voice chimed in.

Mulder got a sinking feeling in his gut. Down there. They were talking about Scully.

“Do you think she’d go out with me now? I mean, now that she’s putting out?” All of the men laughed and he heard high fives going around.

Jesus Christ, men are awful, was his first thought. He was embarrassed on behalf of his entire gender.

Part of him wanted to turn around and lay each one of the motherfuckers out. The other part, the one that felt Scully touching his forearm gently with a soft Mulder, no, won out and waited until they left.

For the first time he wondered if this was one of the reasons Scully had waited so many years to make this leap with him. He’d never had the opportunity, or perhaps the inclination, to really put himself in her shoes before. There had been barely a whiff of indiscretion and that’s all it had taken for her house of cards to come crashing down.

She was such a good person, and a great agent. She was smarter than all of those kitchen buffoons put together, and quite honestly, could probably take each one of them down without his help. But none of that mattered anymore.

An image of a holding cell in California entered his mind: the gaggle of cops fawning all over Jade Blue Afterglow. He’d joined in too, for no reason at all, other than a brief moment of male camaraderie. It was so unlike him but still, it had happened. And now it was clear the male agents in this very building were no different.

She wasn’t comfortable at work anymore, and it was because of this; of them, of the change they’d made to themselves. They’d crossed a line when they’d consummated their relationship, a line he couldn’t just step back over even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. That was a big enough deal. But for Scully, it had changed something about her fundamentally, something that bled over into her professional life. And it didn’t matter what they did, how secret their affair was, how few people actually knew the truth, because that something-- like a contagion-- had not only taken root in whoever had heard the rumors: it had taken root inside of her. There was nothing he could do to change that.

He felt like an idiot for doubting her, and as the wheels turned in his mind he could see the pieces of what had occurred last night snap into place, making sense of what was probably going on this morning. Scully, his Scully, hadn’t been in his bed last night, and that scared him. That knowledge, along with this alarming new development of her abandoning him in the middle of the night, was creating unease within him that simmered like a slow cooker.

He wondered how long it would take until his unease ratcheted up to real terror of losing her for good.

***

A few hours had passed with no sign of Scully when he was called, alone, into a meeting with several directors including AD Kersh. Skinner sat in the back of the room looking resigned.

“Have a seat, Agent Mulder,” one of the men said. He did. Mulder looked around the room and tried to recall meeting any one of these nameless men. Other than Skinner and Kersh, he couldn’t.

“I’m sure you’re aware why we’ve called you in today,” a short man with gray hair and glasses said. He shuffled some papers.

Was this about the video? Had he and Scully been outed to the entire FBI?

Mulder shook his head. They’d have to drag it out of him. “Not in the slightest, sir.”

“The bureau has been looking to make some cuts,” the man said. “Audits are scheduled and yours is the first department on the chopping block. It appears the X-Files unit just isn’t financially viable anymore.”

Mulder nodded slowly. He looked around. “And why isn’t my partner here to receive this news with me?”

“You tell us, Agent Mulder. She hasn’t shown up for work today, and isn’t responding to our calls.”

He blinked. It sounded accusatory.

“I don’t know where she is.”

It was the truth, but he didn’t seem to be fooling anyone. “I see,” muttered the man. “You should be aware it’s also been brought to our attention that you and Agent Scully have entered into an inappropriate personal relationship.”

He felt a chill go up his spine. Surely this wasn’t a coincidence. They're splitting us up.

“My personal relationships aren’t the bureau’s business, with all due respect,” he said.

“Yes,” the man said, “they aren’t. At least, they aren’t until they begin to interfere with your work.”

Mulder clenched his jaw, getting more irritated by the second. “How exactly is my personal life interfering with my work on the X-Files?” he asked.

“This is-” the man began to stumble over his words- “merely a financial decision, Agent Mulder.”

Mulder shook his head. “No, you said this was about a personal relationship a second ago,” he pointed out.

“There are many reasons we no longer condone the pursuit of X-File cases,” one of the men sitting behind the gray-haired man said, ostensibly rescuing the other. “Many reasons.”

Mulder suddenly felt ill. If the X-Files were being closed, so be it. But if the X-Files were being closed because of his and Scully’s relationship, that was something he could not tolerate.

“Sounds like there are two,” he said. “I counted two reasons.” He held up two fingers for emphasis. “Please, tell me if I’m getting this wrong.”

He knew it was probably foolish to denigrate the board’s decision this way, but he couldn’t help himself.

The gray-haired man sat forward in his seat, indicated the file on the table next to him. “Agent Mulder,” he said. “Inappropriate work relations aside, your travel expenses alone--”

“If it’s a financial issue, maybe Agent Scully and I could start sharing motel rooms. Solve one of these problems with the other.”

The board was silent. Mulder knew now wasn’t the time for jokes, but the entire situation felt so unfair. Inappropriate work relations? He wanted to scream at them, that he and Scully had maintained appropriate work relations for nearly their entire tenure on the X-Files, to a fault, he now thought, and for what? Only to trip at the finish line? They were being punished for simply following their hearts. And Scully’s punishment would most certainly carry on long after this debacle was over. It felt like everything was getting worse, not better.

The anger that had been brewing since he encountered those assholes in the kitchen started to boil beneath his skin. He could grin and bear it; take whatever crap assignment they put him on, allow Scully to get reassigned as well. Would they even allow him to go back to profiling if he wanted to? This all seemed like an excuse to get rid of him. He could see the writing on the wall.

For some reason his mind flashed to the dead girl in the strip mall, to Samantha, to the millions of faceless women whose voices had been silenced. To Scully, who, through no fault of her own, no longer felt respected or even safe in her own workplace. And this institution-- the one he’d joined as a young man with such optimism and fervor, poured his lifeblood into every single day at the expense of all else-- betraying him. Betraying Scully.

Skinner eyed him curiously from the back of the room. Moving on, he remembered. It’s what Skinner had suggested. Perhaps his boss had known this was coming all along.

“Agent Mulder, we’ve all come to a decision your time on the X-Files has come to a close,” said Kersh, speaking up for the first time. “Finish out the week, and you’ll be reassigned, along with Agent Scully, to separate departments on Monday.”

Mulder knew in this moment he had no more power, no more recourse. He’d lost the X-Files before, twice, but things were different this time.

This time, he had something else to live for.

He thought only of Scully’s face when he let his next words escape.

“Fuck you. All of you.”

Mulder took off his badge, threw it down on the conference table, and set his holster and gun down as well. Then he turned his back on a dozen stunned faces and left the room.

to be continued...

#msr #txf fic #fanfic #my fic #admiralty #up in your arms

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anchanted-one · 4 years ago

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Harry Potter Talk

Settle in everyone, this is going to be a long one.

So a couple of days ago, I saw a massive anti-HP (the character) rant that really irritated me that I wanted to address.

Before I do, let's address the transphobic in the room. Rowling. Transphobia is detestable, and not wanting to support the series while that directly benefits and enriches her is a super valid stance. Also my personal stance, we support the trans people in this house!

Now that that's out of the way.

"Harry Potter, jock from a wealthy family" or something to that effect.

Regardless of how big his bank account is, remember how Harry was brought up? And by whom?

The Dursleys. The magic-hating child-abusers. Who forced Harry to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs for eleven years. Who gave him Dudley's things secondhand. His mother's sister was so unwilling to spend a dime on him that she was dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray to use as Harry's school uniform.

His cousin Dudley, who delighted in tormenting him, and whose gang joined him in beating up Harry whenever Dudley felt bored enough that he wanted to beat him up for fun.

Is this the upbringing of a "rich jock"? He never used much of his wealth in the Muggle world and even in his school years he seems to know the importance of restraint, and sharing (in book one, he's delighted to be able to share with Ron, and in book four he gives the Twins a thousand galleons without a second thought). Dudley was the one who got thirty-six presents on his birthday and threw a fit coz it was less than what he'd got the previous year. Harry got a used tissue for Christmas. He was the one so not expecting any gifts at all that his best friend's mother packed him a hand-knitted sweater for him, and made his day.

Jock? He played the loneliest position in the Quidditch team. The Chasers and Keepers work together as a team, and the Beaters too, but Seekers are ignored by everyone--including the team--until it becomes apparent that they've spotted something.

Harry was quite popular when he joined the school, but that popularity mostly manifested as people pointing at his scar and whispering about him. Most made him uncomfortable. He only ever had a few friends he was comfortable with.

There were long periods when he was in fact an outcast. That time he lost fifty points for the thing with the dragon, or the time when the Ministry and the Newspapers had turned the entire Wizarding world against him. The time his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, all Houses except Gryffindor treated him like shit, and even the Gryffindors, while they were cheering for him, weren't paying much mind when he was saying that he didn't do it, or that he needed support. That one time, even Ron didn't stay by his side. He was all alone but for Hermione.

The only time he fit the bill of the jock was in book six, when he was too obsessed with what Malfoy was doing to give a damn about his newfound popularity. That was also when he chose the company of outcasts like Neville and Luna over popular hangers-on.

Yes, there are legit reasons to hate the character; he has a massive hero complex. He routinely gets his friends into trouble because of it. He has a very narrow and myopic perspective because of which he doesn't notice much outside of his mystery-hunter track (there was a time when I could illustrate that point better, but it's been a decade and more since I read the last book. I wanted to better read up before talking about this, but I can't bring myself to binge-read like I used to)

By contrast, yes James Potter was a 'jock'. But that's reason to hate him, not his son. Harry, when he sees Snape's worst memory, is rightly horrified. When Remus tries to make the "we were just fifteen" excuse, Harry reminds him "I'm fifteen!". (It should also be noted that Snape's memories obviously show his nemesis at his worst, whereas Remus Lupin--the Werewolf--tells Harry repeatedly that James and Sirius were there for him when no one else was. James risked his life to fight Voldemort, whereas Snape was happily on Voldy's side until that one person he cared about was marked for death by the Prophecy©. Snape was also an abusive bully well until he died--just ask Neville. Dumbledore has also told Harry that memories are fickle things, which can be changed, so the chances that Snape simmered in this memory and unconsciously distilled it to make his old nemeses seem even worse--or himself seem like the angel who wouldn't hurt a fly--also exist. As someone who's experienced bullying, mockery, etc, I know this self-serving tendency of memory quite well. Though this bit is speculation on my part. )

Regarding the sillier names like Pansy Parkinson, and mean descriptions

In addition, when the series began, it started as a children's series, hence the Roald Dahl-like non-villain bad guys of the early part, and the "hate-me-I'm-nasty" names they were given. The Dursleys. Dudley Dursley aka Dudders. "Pansy Parkinson". Everyone was more caricature than character. That's how they are in children's books.

Many people are also described in a way to make the reader immediately dislike them. Malfoy is pale, with a pointy chin. Snape is an oily man with a large beaked nose and greasy hair. Rita Skeeter has a mannish jaw. Umbridge has a face like a toad. All of this is again in keeping with the Roald Dahl theme. Whether it's Augustus Gloop, Veruca Salt, Mike Teavee, Violet Beauregarde or their mannerisms and descriptions make readers feel an instant dislike for them.

When the series became more... Mature, those caricatures can start finding their critics. Never mind that such caricatures and worse can be found in thousands of other works, like Superhero comics for instance. Yes, no one names their children "Pansy" but Slytherin was an allegory for white supremacist type people. Back in those days, JK wanted them to be hated without reserve, much as she wanted bigotry and racism to be (irony, considering where she stands today).

Death of the Author

In the text there is no real transphobia that I can remember, other than that description of Rita having a "mannish jaw" (I admit that I haven't read it in ages, but I am still certain of this). Once the material is out in print, everyone is free to interpret it as they choose. Whenever JK comes out with clarifications or retcons or something--as she is known to do anyway--it's still more of her headcanon than in-world truth. If there is no outright mention of something in the text, then it doesn't matter what meaning the author intended to convey. What matters is what each reader makes of it. In the case of Harry Potter, the enemy are clearly folks obsessed with blood purity: Purebloods.

Lazy names

I'm going to speak specifically about the Indian names here: Parvati and Padma Patil.

While India is a large country and the name is more common in certain regions than others, I had heard that Patel/Patil surname is quite common in Britain. And really in Indian cinema the most common girls' names are Priya (Big Bang Theory as well) or Pooja, many girls in this side of the screen have goddess names. Like "Parvati". Many people also keep the same first letter for names for twins, or even in families (for instance, my parents, sister, and I, all have names starting with "A"), so "Padma" is a nice choice of name. And really, Padma and Parvati Patil are much better names than "Khan Noonien Singh" (now there's a lazy name).

Everyone insists that Star Trek's Khan is supposed to be of Indian origin, but with a name like that and an actor with a Mexican accent... I don't really think so. It was because of this silly character generation that I didn't particularly mind him being played by the very white Benedict Cumberbatch.

But the Patil twins. Them I can feel that connection to.

Races of the main cast

Now this might be something contentious, so I apologise for that in advance.

No one cares what Harry is, though since Petunia is noted as being pale, and Lily has red hair, the unknown factor is James Potter. Was he black? That would make Harry biracial at best.

Ron is written as a freckled boy with red hair, and all Weasleys share that look.

As for Hermione... She is the poster child of the blood-purity bigotry bias. When reading her, people are supposed to understand that the prejudice against her is certainly her Muggle-born origin; not her skin color, not her nationality, not her sexual orientation. Which is why I feel it's necessary that she stand out as less as possible in those other ways. For this reason I think that it was a good idea to portray her as white.

Here are characters who are specifically noted as black: Dean Thomas, Michael Corner (both of whom were Ginny's boyfriends), Kingsley Shacklebolt, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Lee Jordan, Blaise Zabini (who's noted as being very handsome, and quite popular). Aside from these we have a few token people of Indian and Chinese origin. Speaking again as an Indian, I don't really mind. This is a British story set in a mid-nineties British school only accepting students from the British Isles. It makes sense to me if there are few Indians.

What does all of this translate to? There are legit reasons to hate both the character and the series. So don't make stuff up, especially if you're ignoring the text to do it. Don't confuse the author and their work, even if you have resolved not to buy that work and thereby support her.

#Harry Potter #In defense-ish of #My opinion #Bigass post

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tiffgeorgina · 5 years ago

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fuck it black monday soulmate au

this one goes out to brit pricevore and that damn quote rt about hating soulmate aus. also to all the time i wasted in the shower last night thinking about this. brit if you’re reading this i have done my part.

this fic is sponsored by the hyuna and LE collab that i cannot stop blasting. it’s called blacklist and it kind of invented music

-ok so im starting with mo and dawn because of fucking course i am

-mo spends like four years in prison starting from when he’s 20 or 21 or sum shit. around this time, dawn’s getting her MBA from northwestern. as soon as mo’s out of prison, jammer stakes the jammer group and hands majority ownership over to mo. alright so mo needs some employees he can’t do all this by himself. so he schedules an interview with dawn and meets her and realizes that this is His Soulmate.

-im not really certain what the exact soulmate au would be for this because frankly i don’t care, i don’t want to get into that rn lol. but it’s something obvious and clear-cut, like seeing color for the first time when you make eye contact with your soulmate or smth. Actually i rly like that idea so im gonna roll with it. Fuck it you see color the first time the first time you touch your soulmate (i’ll get into the general implications of this some more later on, maybe after keith/mike’s part stay tuned xx) i love me some ambiguous soulmate aus but all the relationships in this show are ambiguous enough so i’ll pass in that regard this time. also in this universe, your soulmate isn’t necessarily regarded as your romantic partner for life. some conservatives/evangelists/fundamentalists/traditionalists will consider any marriage/sexual or romantic relationships with people other than your soulmate to be an abomination or w/e, and the 80s were pretty conservative, but they were also pretty weird, so a lot of people give zero fucks and will date/fuck/marry whoever. these people tend to regard soulmates as the most important person in your life, regardless of the nature of your relationship with them. some people’s soulmates are like a parent to them, and could never imagine being romantic/sexual with them. lots of people never meet their soulmates due to distance/death/etc. basically fate is not as all-knowing in this soulmate au as it is in some others. there is more to a long-lasting, successful romantic relationship than just love. back in the 40s or whatever, people would meet their soulmates and marry like two weeks later, never having had sex or a romantic relationship with anybody else, and then two days into the marriage they realize how devastatingly incompatible they are and the relationship crumbles under the strain of resentment and confusion within a year. people in the 80s have started to learn the lessons the people in the 40s never had time to figure out, so most people have some romantic/sexual experience before they meet their soulmate. besides, who wants to wait that long to have sex? not me tf

-ok back to the plot now that we got the background is down. mo and dawn meet and know they’re soulmates. so they get to know each other, but their main focus is work bc they’ve got a lot of work to do if they want to get anywhere. the company is young, dawn’s just out of school, and mo’s just out of prison. there’s a lot of ground to cover and they’re impatient asf to be rich and powerful.

-the romance sort of happens naturally, given how much time they spend together, and they fall hard. they start dating, and when it’s great, it’s great. but when it’s bad, it’s fucking horrible. they’re both really underdeveloped as people (should i mention that they both literally just entered the workforce lol) and they just. can’t. get. along.

-they hire some more people, like keith and yassir and wayne, and even they can tell that their relationship just sucks. they fight all the time over petty shit, and their fights always go way too far and never get properly resolved. sure, the sex is good and they want pretty similar futures (lots of money and no kids), but emotionally, in the short term, they are as incompatible as it gets. they have the same argument that they’ve had a gazillion times about promoting dawn to partner, but this time it goes a little too far. the things they say are a little too hurtful, and at this point, the relationship is a little too broken to salvage. they both know that when dawn storms out that night, it’s the last time. she moves out the next day.

-but she can’t really quit, can she? at this point she’s put in like three years of work at this place, and it’s moving up the ranks, and she’s head trader. she’s not taking a pay cut because she’s too immature to work with her ex-who-is-also-her-soulmate. so she sticks around. it’s a little awkward at first, but she and mo just come to an unspoken agreement that they’ll spend less time together and let themselves detach as much as possible, because at this point, a romantic relationship just seems so impossible, so why try? they can be each other’s most important person without being romantic partners, right? of course they can! Yeah, maybe they were just destined to be platonic soulmates. this will definitely work.

-so dawn meets this guy. his name is spencer. they hit it off right away too. of course, they’re much less compatible (in terms of long-term plans and all that, especially regarding having a family) than she and mo ever were, and the chemistry is nowhere near as electric, but at least they can have a conversation about something other than how much they hate the lehman brothers without screaming at each other. despite how much she knows she doesn’t love him like she still does used to love mo, she thinks she can live the rest of her life like this. they get engaged after dating for a year, and then married after a six month engagement period.

-mo stays single for about a decade or so. the most serious relationship he has isn’t even monogamous and it’s like, barely a year. he tells himself that he’s not looking for love, and he’s much happier to just sleep around and count his money and focus on that. everybody he ever talks to knows this is a bald-faced lie. they choose not to bring it up.

-(IM REALIZING HOW SIMILAR THIS IS TO THE CANON BACKSTORY/PLOT OF BLACK MONDAY IM SCREAMING SHGLKSDFHGLKSDRGHLS WHATEVER IM HAVING FUN) so mo and dawn are still working together and their relationship is... getting better. time heals all wounds right? well, not if you keep rubbing salt in the wound by literally working with your ex-who-is-also-your-soulmate and seeing them everyday. they know subconsciously that they could’ve been really fucking great, if only they hadn’t been such idiots in their 20s. but now that chance is gone, and they both just have to accept that. they still get into fights and shit, but it tends to be over much more superficial stuff. of course, people without fifteen years of history don’t get into screaming matches over tiny shit like they do. but that’s the territory of working with your ex-who-is-also-your-soulmate.

-so mo has this stupid fucking idea that he doesn’t even run by dawn before throwing $60 mil on it, because of course he does. so she has no choice but to go with it. they hire this kid, his name is blair, because they need him to pull this off. blair finds out that mo and dawn are soulmates who used to date but don’t anymore, and he’s really not even that surprised. of course, it’s weird to find out that your bosses whom you’re weirdly close to, who seem to hate each other, used to be in love and date and the whole nine yards and all that, but it makes a lot of sense.

-so they go off to the predator’s ball bc even rich people need money sometimes. you know that scene where they’re walking back to their rooms after that wild ass night, and mo’s like “you want to call it, or?” and dawn’s like “would if i could but im married” and then they get into a fight over collateral shares? fuck that scene entirely. let dawn find out about that 30% collateral shit like the next day or some shit idfc. instead, dawn’s just a smidge drunker than she was in canon, or maybe she was thinking more clearly than she has in a while, and she just fuckin goes for it. she kisses him, and of course he kisses her, and they... sleep in the same room that night. lmfao you know what i mean. and so starts this sort of friends/business-partners-with-benefits thing.

-they are next level awkward when they get back to NYC, and blair and keith notice the fuck out of it. they aren’t exactly on speaking terms, so they don’t bring it up to each other, but fuck if they don’t bitch about to their respective soulmates (which i will get into)

-dawn feels soooo guilty it’s unreal. But she rationalizes the hell out of it. Her relationship with spencer has a textbook dead bedroom (which is actually sort of canon), and she signed up for monogamy, not celibacy. it’s not her first example of fucked up morals for sleeping with somebody other than her husband, anyways; there are worse things she can do (and has done) than cheat. It’s not fair that he gets to have all the sex he wants while she has to suffer in silence. So she keeps hooking up with mo even if it’s the worst thing she could do for her relationship with him (and her relationship with spencer, who doesn’t even know that she’s met her soulmate, let alone that her soulmate is her fuckin business partner [canon divergent, spencer does not find out about her and mo in 1x02])

-mo feels guilty in theory but really he’s just happy to be with dawn again in some way. They’re never in dawn’s apartment, so there’s no chance they can ever be caught ever. This is fine. They are fine.

-as one can expect, they are not fine and spencer notices dawn acting differently. Eventually she has a couple drinks one night and the guilt overwhelms her so she ends up coming clean. Safe to say she and spencer get that divorce.

-around this time, mo is telling blair about the georgina play, and blair is telling him to go fuck himself. Also around this time, tiff is getting kidnapped.

-dawn immediately suspects that mo did some stupid shit when she finds out mo told blair everything. So she goes to find him, only to find him at his lake house, spreading ashes. After he tells her he knows nothing of tiff’s kidnapping and he’s spreading the ashes of a friend, she relaxes and they spend the night together, just talking over all the shit they’ve been through. They don’t have sex that night, but they feel what they used to feel when they were together 15 years ago.

-in the middle of the night, blair calls dawn in a blind panic, talking about how tiff’s parents arranged her kidnapping for the press without telling her. Blair says, “Let’s you and me run the georgina play. That’s right, i know you knew, you’re too smart not to” and dawn says “no.” she doesn’t give excuses or anything, she puts her foot down because she will not let this kid she’s known for barely a year convince her to fuck up the most fulfilling relationship she’s ever had as soon as they get to a good place again. She tells him she’ll run the play with him, but it’s not gonna be against mo. either all three of them are fucked with mo and dawn $60 mil in the hole and blair out of a job, or all three of them can be filthy rich and successful. That’s the deal. Blair says he’ll call her back tomorrow.

-the next morning, mo and dawn are talking on the doorstep, and mo brings up the georgina play and how the kid fuckin hates him now, and there’s no chance of pulling off the play bc he quit. Dawn’s like “yeah, about that… we need to schedule a meeting with him” and mo’s like “what for?” and dawn’s like “i spoke to him last night, his fiancée’s kidnapping was a sham that her parents pulled off and he might be in the right headspace to fuck them over right around now” and mo’s like “holy shit you miracle worker” and they make out and when they walk back into the office, they’re hand in hand.

-they call blair into the office and they basically just yell at each other for three hours. Keith, yassir, wayne, and ronnie do not know what is going on and frankly they are too afraid to ask. Eventually, they reach an agreement: blair will pull hand over 6% of georgina jeans in exchange for 20% of the jammer group, and another 25% to dawn (after they use blair’s algorithm to grab that last 30% from the lehmans). They shake on it, but none of them leave happy.

-blair’s not exactly happy to fuck over his parents-in-law, and mo isn’t happy to lose majority control of his own company. Dawn lucked out, gaining more power and losing little in the play, but her relationship with both of them is so on-the-rocks that she can’t imagine upholding a business partner relationship with them. This is gonna go so great after blair gets married in *checks watch* like two months.

-so blair gets married and the georgina play is a thing that happens (successfully might i add) and everything is kind of shitty because there are at least two relationships to repair here, and one that’s coming back from the dead. But little by little, they all get to a better place until they’re more or less back at where they were before mo told blair everything and they were all just friends except this time mo and dawn are dating xx

-WHEW and that is that on that. And by that on that i mean that on mo/dawn for this au. Dw im gonna get to blair/tiff and mike/keith and im super excited to write those too but i’ll make sure to put those in a separate post because i don’t think tumblr could handle a +7000 word post lmfao (since this post is nearly 2500 words jesus christ)

-i hoped y’all liked reading this as much as i loved writing it!! Again i love feedback and i read everything y’all say in the tags so please put stuff in the tags bc i love that shit!! Gn xx

#black monday #fanfic #fanfiction #andrew rannells #blair pfaff #mo x dawn #maurice monroe #dawn darcy #dawn towner #fic: bm soulmates #otp: partners.#slander #a million queue lawyers a million queue years to queue out

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rockandrollstorytime · 5 years ago

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Rock and Roll Storytime #9: The Decline and Death of Brian Jones

I’ve probably made it no secret that I have a freaky-ass memory throughout the course of this series, and this won’t be an exception. Aside from many of the exact dates, I can remember exactly how I got obsessed with Brian Jones.

It started in May 2019 while I was goofing off in art class. I was trying to write about the 27 Club, being obsessed with Kurt Cobain at the time, when I found myself captivated by a certain other blonde in the club.

I don’t know what kept me around. Maybe it was the delicate features framed by silky blond hair. Maybe it was the complicated story of his life. Maybe it was his mysterious death, and my drive to find out what really happened. Or maybe it was that shitty movie they made about him in 2005.

Whatever the reason, I stuck around. I’ll even put it this way: “Came for the morbidity stayed for the music. “

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

It took me about a week or two to come up with my first theory between wondering what the hell I was getting myself into and trying to decide whether I should watch Stoned. I found out very early on that Brian had developed asthma at the age of four after a bout of croup. Knowing that asthma attacks can result in death, I didn’t think it unlikely that Brian could have drowned as a result of an asthma attack. In my research, I found an article stating that chlorine mixing with organic material can trigger symptoms of asthma attacks and allergic reactions.

I knew I’d need more evidence though but given that I didn’t want to be too intrusive this early on, that would be a slow process. If there was one thing I held on to, it was my firm resolute to not fall for another murder conspiracy so soon. It didn’t end so well for me the last time.

As I was trying to piece together what exactly happened to Brian Jones, I was also beginning to find out the story of how he got to that point in the first place.

There are many reasons I have love-hate relationships with Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, and their treatment of Brian Jones is by far the biggest one.

Where the story of Brian Jones’ decline really starts is at the Ealing Club on 7 April 1962. It was here that a young Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Dick Taylor saw Brian “Elmo Lewis” Jones take the stage for the first time. The next month, Brian put an ad in the papers for musicians to come join a band he was starting. He quickly brought together Ian Stewart, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Dick Taylor, and Tony Chapman. The band, which Brian dubbed “The Rollin’ Stones,” gave their first performance on 12 July 1962, though there seems to be some confusion over who was playing drums that night. Bill Wyman replaced Dick Taylor on 7 December 1962, and Charlie Watts replaced Tony Chapman on 9 January 1963.

In the early days, Brian served as the Stones’ manager. It ended up being this very thing that led to the first cracks in this fortuitous partnership.

First thing’s first, Andrew Loog Oldham came along, and in May, he became the Stones’ manager. He only really had eyes for Mick and was one of the ones who led the subsequent whispering campaign against Brian. Not helping anything was when, on 13 October 1963, the others found out that Brian had been paying himself an extra £5 ($5.58). These were expenses he deducted because he believed that should be his pay, considering he was doing much of the work at this time. (I can sort of relate; I’ve suffered through high school group projects).

On the economics side (lord knows, that’s more Mick’s thing than mine), Bill Wyman has since stated that the Stones were making £193 ($215.38) a week. Adjusting for inflation, Brian was deducting roughly £87.26 out of £3,608.53. For the Americans in the crowd, that’s roughly $114.20 out of $4,722.66, once adjusted for inflation. Granted, across the board, that’s roughly 2.5% of the band’s total income at this point. Still, even that much might matter when you’re a bunch of starving artists.

When Paul Trynka summarized why everybody was pissed in his book, Brian Jones: The Making of the Rolling Stones, he said that for Mick, it was because he was a student at the London School of Economics. Five pounds is five pounds. Meanwhile, Keith was pissed because he, like everyone else in the band, was under the impression that they were earning equal pay in this group effort.

Pro-tip: If you start a band and feel you should be paid more because of how much of the work you’re doing, please disclose this with your band and work out an arrangement that will be beneficial to everyone. Otherwise, shit gets ugly.

Brian also didn’t help his case by insisting on staying in fancier hotels than the others (he was a bit of a neat-freak and a narcissist).

Keith later said, “He had an arrangement with (Eric) Easton, that as leader of the band he was entitled to this extra payment. Everybody freaked out. That was the beginning of the decline of Brian. We said, ‘Fuck you…’”

Meanwhile, Ian Stewart (who had been ousted from the band earlier that year) stated, “When we started playing outside London, Brian said, ‘I’m the leader of the group and I think I’ll stay at the best hotel. All the rest of you can stay in a cheaper hotel.’ Of course, the rest of the Stones just laughed at him, and that was it from then on. It was all over for him as the leader. He started to isolate himself because of this attitude.”

With one little five-pound note (and an ego trip), Brian had set in motion his entire downfall.

It might seem petty to myself and plenty of other Brian Jones fans, but lord knows, I’m not Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, or Andrew Loog Oldham. Besides, I have no idea how I’ll feel about all this in five years.

Meanwhile, I must confess that I almost did fall into that mindset of believing Brian was murdered. In June 2019, I was in Paris, on a trip across France led by my French teacher. Somewhere between trying not to lose my mind in a big city and taking awkward selfies at Jim Morrison’s grave, I, being overly chatty, started talking to one of my peers about music-related topics. I told her Brian’s entire life story as I understood it at that time, having been obsessed with him for a little over a month at that point. In my haste though, I unintentionally managed to convince her that Brian had been murdered. Despite not meaning to, I did end up entertaining the possibility, both for her and myself, for at least the rest of the night.

Besides, at the time, I was drawing blanks in trying to find hard evidence that Brian wasn’t murdered. I had one (water-logged) book saying he wasn’t, and a (shitty) movie and another book saying he was.

And then, at some point, I regained my senses, and not because of how ridiculous Brian’s death was when depicted in the movie Stoned. (For fuck’s sake, there was a shooting star in the sky at the moment of his death and he showed up as a ghost in the last five minutes). It really had everything to do with how much I regretted believing Kurt Cobain had been murdered.

I once again gathered my resolve and decided to go back on the hunt for more clues.

The second part of Brian Jones’ decline undoubtedly involves his tempestuous relationship with German-Italian actress Anita Pallenberg. The two started dating after a Rolling Stones concert in Munich on 14 September 1965 and developed a close bond, thanks in part to Brian’s ability to speak German. She gave him the confidence he needed to go against Mick and Keith and helped him become the fashion icon he is still remembered as today.

The Who’s Pete Townshend later had this to say: “We hung out a lot from about 1964 to 1966. Part of the time he was seeing Anita Pallenberg. She was a stunning creature. I mean literally stunning. It was quite hard to maintain one’s gaze. One time in Paris I remember they took some drug and were so sexually stimulated they could hardly wait for me to leave the room before starting to shag. I felt Brian was living on a higher plane of decadence than anyone I would ever meet.”

However, their relationship was also highly abusive. They would verbally and physically abuse each other. In fact, one time, Brian broke his wrist while the two were on a trip in Tangier. Though Brian said it was the result of an accident, Christopher Gibbs and Bill Wyman have both stated that it resulted from an altercation with Anita (though sources vary about whether he broke his wrist on a metal window frame or her face).

Of their relationship, Keith had this to say, “I would hear the thumping some nights, and Brian would come out with a black eye. Brian was a woman beater. But the one woman in the world you did not want to try and beat up on was Anita Pallenberg. Every time they had a fight, Brian would come out bandaged and bruised.”

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I’d go so far as to say that the one good thing that came out of their relationship was the fact that Brian composed the soundtrack for her movie Mord Und Totschlag (A Degree of Murder).

As I’ve previously written about, when Mick and Keith were charged with drug possession in February 1967, lawyers told the Glimmer Triplets (Mick, Keith, and Brian) that since they were the most visible of the Stones, they should leave the country. So, Brian and Anita left Britain, heading for Morocco. However, Brian was already in no condition to travel, and he fell ill with pneumonia in Toulouse. He ended up spending a few days there (including his 25th birthday), while Keith and Anita met up in Tangier. There, she started an affair with Keith behind Brian’s back (Keith even confirmed in his autobiography that she made the first move).

When Brian finally arrived, he could tell that there was something going on between Keith and Anita. Keith was apparently shy around girls at this stage in his life but was more confident around Anita. Meanwhile, Anita was now a bit more open around Keith. Not much is certain about what happened next. What is known is that Brian paid for the services of two prostitutes and that there was an incident between him and Anita that night. Keith said that he threw food at her and humiliated her. Bill claimed that he beat her to the point where she was scared for her life. The less said about Stoned, the better.

Regardless, whatever Brian’s actions really were, it was over between him and Anita. Keith convinced her that if they didn’t get the hell out of there, Brian might try and kill her. The next day, Mick, Keith, and Anita fled Morocco, leaving Brian stranded for the next two days.

Brian’s father later blamed his son’s downward spiral on Anita breaking his heart. Others, such as Linda Lawrence, suggest that it was Mick and Keith’s betrayal that hurt him far more than Anita’s.

In either case, he never really forgave Keith. Beyond that, his drug and alcohol consumption only worsened.

This part of the Stones’ history is… tricky. Of course, I can’t condone Brian for his behaviour, but Keith, and especially Anita weren’t entirely in the right in this situation. Ultimately, Keith and Anita stayed together until 1980 and had three children (one of whom unfortunately died in infancy). Besides, I understand Keith’s actions the most out of everyone, given that he had a noble intent in getting Anita away from Brian’s increasingly toxic behaviour. Of course, it’s also important to note that Brian and Anita were 25 and 24 respectively at the time of this incident, and beyond that, they were young and impulsive, with unfortunately predictable results, given that they both could be volatile.

I may have an infatuation with Brian, but sometimes, something’s got to give.

Fifty-two years after that clusterfuck, I was continuing my research into the life of L. B. H. Jones as the fiftieth anniversary of his death came and went. A week or two later, I decided, despite some reservations, to get Bill Wyman’s book, Stone Alone.

Say what you will about Bill (I know at some point I’ll be commenting about the travesty that was his relationship with Mandy Smith), but I figured that if I wanted to know about the early Rolling Stones, he’d be one of my best sources. At the very least, he’s the only one who’s given Brian any sort of credit for his accomplishments instead of solely focusing on his failures like Keith tends to do. As I was flipping through random pages, I learned that Bill had written about one of Brian’s many illegitimate children. He called her “Carol,” for the sake of anonymity, and in it, he discussed the matter of her being diagnosed with temporal lobe epilepsy. She and Bill even applied some of her symptoms to things Bill observed when he was with Brian. In that one instant, what happened to Brian the night he drowned seemed to make perfect sense.

One of the things that had made putting the clues together so difficult from the very start was that Brian had punctate haemorrhages (tiny bleeds normally found in shaken baby syndrome) in his brain, which indicated that he’d been thrashing around quite a bit in his final moments.

Temporal lobe epilepsy can’t be cured, but it is manageable to a degree with medications. Brian, however, was never diagnosed, which is why we can’t be certain that he had epilepsy. There is no doubt in my mind that if Brian did have epilepsy, it would’ve gotten worse over time, given that Brian received no treatment. Carol speculated that Brian likely chalked up many of his symptoms to being hungover. Even then, he might not have realized that something was happening with his brain.

While I was typing up my theories though, I remembered that I’d found his toxicology report not long beforehand. As I read it, I found out that the drug that was in his system was likely Mandrax, which he had been prescribed in the days before he died. When I looked up Mandrax, I discovered that it was a brand name for Quaaludes. It can cause mental confusion, ataxia, seizures, and impaired decision-making, among other negative side-effects. The impaired judgment would explain why Brian decided it’d be a great idea to go swimming after he’d had sleeping pills and alcohol…

I still didn’t consider my work done, but this was the closest I’d come to having answers yet.

Speaking of Brian and drug abuse, the third key to understanding what happened to Brian, is to look at his two drug convictions.

However, I already talked about this (quite recently too), so I’ll try and keep this section brief.

As Mick and Keith were formally charged with drug possession on 10 May 1967, Brian found his home being raided by police. Although he’d been tipped off about their arrival, they still managed to find a handbag with cannabis in it, as well as methamphetamines and cocaine. It could be argued that the evidence was planted, but there is no way to prove this. In court, Brian confessed to doing cannabis but denied doing anything stronger (even though there’s pictures of him tripping on LSD early in 1967). The Stones’ new manager, Allen Klein, told him to stay away from the other Stones. However, this had the effect of further isolating Brian when he needed his bandmates the most.

On 30 October 1967, Brian was sentenced to three months in prison for cannabis possession and another nine months for allowing cannabis to be smoked in his home. He was additionally fined. After a rough night in prison, he was released the next day, awaiting appeal, though he was left shaken by that experience.

On 12 December, Brian went to appeals court, where his psychologist argued that Brian would become suicidal if he went to prison. Brian was sentenced to three years’ probation and ordered by the courts to seek professional help.

Lord knows, at this point, Brian might have been making an honest-to-God effort to get off drugs, but on 21 May 1968, police raided his house again. This time, they found cannabis hidden away in a ball of wool in the process. This usually inspires more impassioned arguments from Brian Jones fans that the evidence was planted. Brian himself said that he would swear until the day he died that he didn’t commit this second offense. Because he was still on probation at the time of this second arrest, he was facing a long jail sentence if found guilty.

On 26 September, Brian was found guilty of drug possession for the second time. However, the same judge who sentenced him to a year in prison the first time took pity on him. Instead, he fined Brian and gave him a stern warning to not show up in court again.

As you can see with the attached pictures though, the trials only helped speed up Brian’s downward spiral, and he shut down mentally.

Honestly, I think the trials are a large part of the reason Brian went downhill as fast as he did.

Meanwhile, back in the present day, it was September now, and I was starting to get into the swing of being a full-time college student. While I was procrastinating, as usual, I was messing about on Google and I happened upon Brian’s autopsy report. Fact about me: this was far from my first time reading either autopsy reports or death certificates, so I decided to give it a look. After all, I could understand quite a bit of the medical jargon, which I blame on the fact that I loved reading medical books in elementary school. Couldn’t hurt, right?

Was the report perfunctory? Yes. Were there mistakes? A few that stood out, such as Brian’s height being given as 5′9″ when he was 5′6″, and his age being listed as twenty-six as opposed to twenty-seven.

However, that report did reinforce my most recent conclusions that Brian had overdosed on sleeping pills, which was exacerbated by alcohol.

I knew now that Mandrax had once been prescribed to treat anxiety and insomnia, which Brian likely suffered from following the stress of two drug trials that both resulted in convictions. This was also a time before doctors realized the addictive properties of Quaaludes. For all I know, Brian might not have been keeping the best track of how many pills he was taking (which is also how Keith Moon died).

Going back to the long, sordid story of Brian’s collapse, the fourth major reason he found himself being kicked out of the band he founded was that he stopped contributing to the Stones’ music.

In the documentary Crossfire Hurricane, Mick stated, “You certainly didn’t know if he was going to turn up and what state he was going to be in and then, what he was going to be able to do in that state. What job could you give him? And then, one time, when we sat around, on the floor, we played, in a circle, playing “No Expectations”. And he picked the guitar and played a very pretty line on it which you can hear on the record. And that was the last thing I remember him doing that was Brian. Or, the Brian that could contribute something very pretty and sensitive and it made the record sound wonderful.”

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Some people have compared Brian to someone who wants to quit but doesn’t want a confrontation (Brian, believe it or not, wasn’t exactly keen on confrontation). Instead, he puts in the smallest effort he can, if that. In fact, Brian had wanted to leave in 1967, but Mick convinced him to stay.

Perhaps Brian’s fate might have been different if he’d gone with his gut in 1967.

Brian still contributed to much of Beggars Banquet. By 1969 though, it seems as if he’d completely given up on the band he’d founded. He stopped showing up to the studio, and if he did come, he’d be too intoxicated to play. In fact, there were points where Mick and Keith would turn off his amp, if not tell him to just go home. It got to the point where he (barely) appears on two songs on Let It Bleed: “Midnight Rambler” and “You’ve Got the Silver.”

Frequent Stones collaborator Jack Nitzsche later said “Brian came up to me, looking pretty shaky, and asked me what I thought he should do- he didn’t know where he fit[ted] in. I told him to just pick up a guitar and start playing. Then he walked over to Mick and asked, ‘What should I play?’ Mick told him, ‘You’re a member of the band, Brian, play whatever you want.’ So he played something, but Mick stopped him and said, ‘No, Brian, not that- that’s no good.’ So Brian asked him again what to play and Mick told him again to play whatever he wanted. So Brian played something else, but Mick cut him off again- ‘No, that’s no good either, Brian.’”

Marianne Faithfull, Mick’s girlfriend at the time, told a friend that Brian had sent Mick several letters over a period of several weeks while Mick was away. One that she’d opened said “Please let me come back in. I’ll play bongos, anything, but please let me come back in.”

…I need a moment to recollect myself.

Some fifty years later, I was still trying to make it through my first semester of college. I got myself a book about the 27 Club, figuring there might be something that would aid me in my research. There, I learned that, reportedly, Brian had not only been taking Mandrax, but also Piriton (hay fever medication), black bombers (which had been prescribed to him a mere ten days before he died), and Valium. That’s on top of an inhaler that would later be found to cause heart palpitations.

A couple of months later, I decided to look up the side-effects of every drug that Brian had ever taken, be it proven fact or allegation. That part of my research isn’t quite finished yet, but what I’ve found with the five medications that Brian was taking around the time of his death proved to be particularly shocking.

For the sake of brevity, I can’t list every side-effect. What I did notice is that some included side-effects of tachycardia/bradycardia, confusion, loss of coordination, impaired decision making, hyperactivity, seizures, and stomach problems. Some, like the uncoordinated behaviour, were noted by those who were there, such as Janet Lawson, who realized that Brian had taken sleeping pills that night, based on him muttering that he’d taken “sleepers”. Others could be a no-brainer, given that Brian had an enlarged heart and liver, in addition to suffering from bronchial troubles and pleurisy.

My immediate thought was, “Jesus, Brian, what the hell were you doing to yourself?”

And now for the final part of Brian’s story: the last twenty-five days of his life.

The Stones wanted to go on tour again, this being their first in two years. Due to Brian’s convictions, Stones management discovered that he probably wouldn’t be able to receive a work visa in the U.S. On 8 June 1969, Mick and Keith drove down to Cotchford Farm to tell Brian that he was fired. They brought Charlie along in case Brian decided to put up a fight. However, Brian agreed to back out gracefully, possibly knowing that he’d burned too many bridges at this point. The next day, Brian released a statement, which painted the decision to leave as being his own. He capped it off with “We had a friendly meeting and agreed that an amicable termination, temporary or permanent, was the only answer. The only solution was to go our separate ways, but we shall still remain friends. I love those fellows.”

As I’ve said though, how Brian truly felt about this turn of events will forever remain a mystery.

In the days before he died, it has been suggested by those close to him that Brian was planning on starting another band. Some believe he was going to bring in Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon. Jimi’s camp has since denied that Brian ever approached Jimi. There are also lingering questions regarding whether Brian had given up hard drugs or if he was still taking them. I doubt the latter, considering the well-documented stress of the drug trials.

The picture above was taken nine days before Brian died. Honestly, I do believe there was still some hope for Brian (I can even see it in his eyes). Whether he would’ve recovered or not and whether he’d still be alive today will forever remain up to conjecture, as that’s another possibility that followed Brian to the grave.

Wednesday, 2 July 1969 was host to hot, muggy weather that exacerbated Brian’s asthma. He spent his last day alive with at least three people: Anna Wohlin, his 22-year-old, Swedish girlfriend, Janet Lawson, a registered nurse who was dating Stones minder Tom Keylock, and Frank Thorogood, a 43-year-old builder who’d been doing work on Brian’s property at the time.

Details of Brian’s final day are sketchy, and there are some disagreements over what exactly the people involved did throughout the day. For example, there are disagreements about whether they watched television or not. Some would argue that this is clear evidence that Brian was murdered. I would posit that three of the four parties involved had been drinking. Even if everyone was sober, in a situation such as this, human memory can be extremely unreliable. For example, hundreds of witnesses were interviewed on the night Abraham Lincoln was assassinated, but no two accounts are alike. What we know had to be stitched together from witness accounts in which everyone claimed to have seen or heard something different.

What seems to be the most agreed-upon version of Brian’s death is that he decided to go swimming. Anna was reluctant and had to be persuaded to join in. Janet, the only sober person among the group, decided against swimming, most likely to keep an eye out for everyone else. Janet said in her witness report (recorded on the morning of July 3, 1969) that she strongly felt that Frank and Brian were in no condition to swim. She also recalled that Brian had great difficulty in standing on the diving board, being helped not-so-successfully by Frank. Even after that, his movements in the water seemed sluggish.

I don’t know, but if that were me, I would’ve called emergency services right there and then.

According to Janet, Anna was the first to return to the house, followed by Frank about ten minutes later. When Janet next went out to check on Brian sometime around midnight, she found him face-down in the deep end, and “immediately sensed the worst.”

She ran back to the house to get Frank and Anna, and with their help, got Brian out of the pool. She immediately began resuscitative efforts, despite knowing Brian was already dead. Anna later claimed that she felt Brian’s hand briefly grip hers. However, when paramedics arrived, they pronounced Brian dead in the early morning hours of 3 July 1969.

Brian’s official cause of death was given as drowning by immersion in fresh water, partly as a result of liver damage and the ingestion of drugs and alcohol. To be precise, 1,720 micro-gms of an “amphetamine-like substance” and the alcohol equivalent of three-and-a-half pints of beer were found in Brian’s system.

In short, it was death by misadventure.

As seems to be the case when a young celebrity dies under tragic circumstances, conspiracy theories have since risen regarding Brian’s death. The following list is taken from Paul Trynka’s book. For the sake of brevity (such as it is), some of these will be combined into one section.

1. The most predominant of these theories states that Frank Thorogood drowned Brian. Whether it was second-degree murder or manslaughter as a result of rough horseplay will usually vary between sources. Brian reportedly asked Janet to get his inhaler shortly before his death. The story then goes on to state that Frank drowned Brian and participated little in the efforts to save Brian’s life. It should be noted that Janet did state in her original testimony that she’d asked him to call emergency services.

The main reason people will give about why they believe that Brian was murdered is that Tom Keylock claimed to have heard Frank confess on his deathbed to the murder. However, Frank’s daughter, Jan Bell, has denied that such an exchange could have happened. There was never a point where Keylock had spent any time alone with her father. Furthermore, he’d only been admitted with a respiratory problem, and thus could not have known that he was on his deathbed. She also claimed that on the morning of Brian’s death, Frank saw an argument between Mick, Keith, and Brian over the name “Rolling Stones.” During the fight, Keith allegedly pulled a knife on Brian. If this did happen, it was likely earlier in the year.

In addition, Janet and Anna have since claimed that Brian was murdered. Janet later claimed that much of her original testimony was suggested to her by investigating officers and that Tom told her to hide the fact that she was his girlfriend. Anna claimed that she was spirited back to Sweden in the immediate aftermath of Brian’s death, where she allegedly miscarried Brian’s child. One of Anna’s friends later said that her belief that Brian had been murdered was a recent development. It’s also notable that neither witness came forward until after Frank died. Many of Anna’s recollections about Brian, such as him being focused on music are also contradicted by others who were close to Brian at the time.

Keith later said, “I knew Frank Thorogood, who made a ‘deathbed confession’ that he’d killed Brian Jones by drowning him in the swimming pool, where Brian’s body was found some minutes after other people had seen him alive. But I’m always wary of deathbed confessions because the only person there is the person he’s supposed to have said it to, some uncle, daughter, or whatever. ‘On his deathbed he said he killed Brian.’ Whether he did or not I don’t know. Brian had bad asthma and he was taking Quaaludes and Tuinals, which are not the best things to dive under water on. Very easy to choke on that stuff. He was heavily sedated. He had a high tolerance for drugs, I’ll give him that. But weigh that against the coroner’s report, which showed that he was suffering from pleurisy, an enlarged heart, and a diseased liver. Still, I can imagine the scenario of Brian being so obnoxious to Thorogood and the building crew he had working on Brian’s house that they were just pissing around with him. He went under and didn’t come up. But when somebody says, ‘I did Brian,’ at the very most I’d put it down to manslaughter. All right, you may have pushed him under, but you weren’t there to murder him. He pissed off the builders, whining son of a bitch. It wouldn’t have mattered if the builders were there or not, he was at that point in his life when there wasn’t any.”

(You’re telling me he can apologize for telling Mick to get a vasectomy, but not for even a fraction of the shit he’s said about Brian?)

In 2005, this version of events was turned into the appalling movie Stoned, which featured Tom Keylock as an adviser and was based on claims made by Janet Lawson and Anna Wohlin. The director, Stephen Wooley, claimed to have researched the material for this story over a period of ten years. Really, it feels less like ten years of research, and more like one week. From what I could tell, it did seem that Brian’s death was manslaughter, but honestly, it was too confusing. Frank seemed damn determined to drown Brian in that moment. The movie (quite literally) drowned on arrival.

2. In 1983, Nicholas Fitzgerald wrote Brian Jones: The Inside Story of a Rolling Stone. In it, he claimed to have been a close friend of Brian Jones (his cousin, Tara Browne, actually was a close friend of Brian’s). Not only that, but he claimed to have seen Brian’s “murder.” He claimed that he and 19-year-old Richard Cadbury (who passed away before the story came out) visited Brian at Cotchford Farm the day he died. Allegedly, Brian told Fitzgerald all about his plans to start up a supergroup with John Lennon and Jimi Hendrix, saying “Don’t say anything… it could be dangerous!”

(As keen as I am about the idea of John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix, and Brian Jones being in the same band, you can probably tell that I think this story is a load of bullshit.)

After Fitzgerald and his friend visited a pub, they returned to Cotchford Farm at about 11:15 PM, leaving their car some distance from the house. (Keep in mind, the coroner said that Brian died somewhere between 11:30 PM and 12:00 AM). There, he and his friend saw three men holding Brian under the water, whilst two other people stood by. Suddenly, a man, likely Keylock, jumped out of the bushes and told Fitzgerald to scram, lest he be next.

He refused to give a formal statement to the police. What I don’t think the dumb fuck was counting on was that police would investigate his ass, considering that withholding information could’ve resulted in him being charged with being an accessory to murder after the fact. The police determined that the evidence Fitzgerald gave was “bizarre, full of unverifiable claims that, he, too, had escaped murder attempts, that Cadbury might have been involved with the murderers, and that Cadbury, too, had died ‘in mysterious circumstances”. Detective Chief Superintendent J. F. Reece summarized it best when he said that Fitzgerald was a “Walter Mitty type person” and that he’d come up with the allegations to promote his book. In fact, the book itself had even more ludicrous allegations, such as how Tom Keylock had overseen the whole thing. It got to the point where Eddie Kramer called the story “silly.” John Lennon, meanwhile, believed that Brian was another victim of the drugs scene, and even dreaded him coming on the phone (another reason I don’t believe the supergroup was in the cards for Brian’s future, regardless). Also, Fitzgerald mostly relied on the testimony of those who had already passed away, such as Suki Potier, one of Brian’s girlfriends, who died in a car crash along with her husband in 1981. One of the few living witnesses Fitzgerald claimed to have run into, James Phelge, denied ever having met him.

Also, pro-tip, if you’re going to claim to have been a close friend of someone you’re claiming was murdered, don’t sell your story to the tabloid that got him busted for drug possession. Just saying.

3. In 1990, A. E. Hotchner published Blown Away: The Rolling Stones and the Death of the Sixties. In it, he claimed that Brian’s childhood friend, Dick Hattrell, and a random Cockney named "Marty” had knowledge that Brian was murdered. He claimed that Rich (sounds better to me than Dick) visited Brian shortly before he died and became worried about him. Later, he bumped into someone who claimed to have witnessed Brian’s murder. Marty claimed to have witnessed the murder, claiming that two other women were there, including Linda Lawrence (mother of one of Brian’s sons) who was spirited out of the country following Brian’s death.

In reality, she last saw Brian in 1968.

Similarly, Hattrell has since stated that the story was nonsense; he never visited Brian at Cotchford, and he never said Brian was murdered. Marty has since kept his mouth shut.

Really, it just doesn’t hold up when closely scrutinized.

4. David Gibson claimed to the Brighton Evening Argus that, while he was fitting carpets at Brian’s home, Brian and Anna were absent throughout the better part of the day. When they returned later in the evening, Brian begged Gibson not to leave. Gibson, meanwhile, believed Brian had been murdered and that Tom Keylock was responsible. Some, like Sam Cutler, claim that Gibson saw Princess Margaret at Cotchford Farm, which has led to speculation that Brian was killed to protect her reputation. Gibson never went to the police, and probably believed that he’d been subject to threats and murder attempts. However, aside from Brian’s paranoia and belief that someone was out to get him, Gibson’s story doesn’t line up with many of the other conspiracy theories.

5. Geoffrey Giuliano in his 1994 book Paint It Black claimed that a man named “Joe” said that he’d held Brian’s head under the water for shits and giggles (not something one would normally do for shits and giggles). The thing is though, Giuliano’s book largely recycled content from previous books on the subject, and beyond that, made elementary mistakes, such as claiming that Frank had fled the scene, when in reality, he was there when police officer Albert Evans arrived at about 12:10 AM. It was later found that the tape he’d sourced some of this information from was a fake, made for American radio programmes in New York.

6. Given that Tom Keylock was a bit of a dishonest/disliked character in life, it should come as no surprise that some of the theories focus on him too. In 2009, Sam Cutler claimed that after Brian’s death, Allen Klein (himself a sleazeball) hired some PI’s to investigate Brian’s death and that they’d discovered that Tom was responsible. While Tom did try to pin the blame on Frank and told Janet to conceal her relationship with him, and it is known that he apparently stole some of Brian’s belongings after he died, that does not make one a murderer. It’ll certainly make him a slimeball, but that doesn’t mean he’s a murderer. Meanwhile, in 2013, Cutler claimed confusion as to whether the Klein report even existed. I think at this point, it’s safe to call it a hoax.

In addition, while it is more likely that Tom would have been the murderer instead of Frank, he does have a rather rock-solid alibi in that he was at Olympic Studios and was the one who received the call that Brian had died. Really, any theories that try to say he masterminded a huge plot to have Brian killed and make it appear as an accident tend to raise more questions than it answers.

Let’s all make no mistake though, the police did jump to conclusions rather quickly, there are several obvious mistakes in the autopsy findings, and not to mention, police failed to control the area, which is likely how Tom was able to steal Brian’s belongings and possibly have some destroyed.

Meanwhile, I myself believe that Brian’s death was accidental. Likely, it was the result of a cocktail of prescription medications, alcohol consumption, maybe a side-effect or two resulting from that, and possibly even heart failure or liver disease. Perhaps Brian fainted (which, I honestly hope for, given how painful it is to drown), and with no one around to notice his plight, he quietly slipped away.

I know there’s no way to prove this, given that the police don’t have a good reason to dig up Brian’s bones and it’s probably far too late for a second toxicology report, but given the available evidence I’ve been able to find, I believe this is the most likely version of events.

Truly, a sad ending for a man, who didn’t even have a chance to get back on his feet before fate (and a lifetime of drug/alcohol abuse) intervened.

Whenever I read about Brian’s life story, I always find myself interested by the mistakes, intrigue, and betrayal that seemed to plague Brian’s life from the outset. There are a multitude of what-ifs that honestly make this tale haunting, such as what might’ve happened had Mick and Keith not bullied Brian so severely. There’s also what might have happened if both the Stones and the authorities had better understood the effects of drug use and had the resources and compassion to better deal with Brian’s situation. Most hauntingly, there’s the question of what might’ve happened had someone been near Brian in his final moments and had the opportunity to save him.

I think the biggest reason I keep coming back to his story is that his life as a whole was very conflicting. It honestly inspires both condemnation and sympathy/pity, even in me.

Even if Mick and Keith would rather forget that Brian was ever a part of their band, it is my honest belief that people will continue to discover Brian Jones, whether it be through the 27 Club or through some other means, and I hope that they take the time to learn his story.

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Sources/Further Reading: https://www.drugs.com/illicit/quaaludes.html https://asthma.net/living/swimming-pools-triggers/ https://www.drugs.com/sfx/ergotamine-side-effects.html https://www.drugs.com/sfx/valium-side-effects.html https://www.drugs.com/sfx/amphetamine-side-effects.html https://www.drugs.com/sfx/chlorpheniramine-side-effects.html Stone Alone by Bill Wyman Brian Jones: The Making of the Rolling Stones by Paul Trynka Brian Jones: The Untold Life and Mysterious Death of a Rock Legend by Laura Jackson https://clearcomfort.com/why-asthma-allergy-sufferers-should-avoid-chlorine-pools/ http://timeisonourside.com/chron1967.html http://timeisonourside.com/chron1969.html http://www.timeisonourside.com/chron1963.html http://www.timeisonourside.com/chron1962.html https://www.inflationtool.com/british-pound/1963-to-present-value?amount=5 https://people.com/music/anita-pallenberg-rolling-stones-keith-richards-brian-jones-love-triangle/ https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-lists/the-27-club-a-brief-history-17853/ https://ultimateclassicrock.com/brian-jones-found-dead/ https://www.denofgeek.com/us/culture/music/281978/the-rolling-stones-and-the-mystery-of-brian-jones-death https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/brian-jones-sympathy-for-the-devil-182761/ https://www.mojo4music.com/articles/15989/brian-jones-it-was-murder https://ultimateclassicrock.com/brian-jones-murdered/ https://www.udiscovermusic.com/stories/just-why-was-brian-jones-so-important-to-the-rolling-stones/ https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/obituary-brian-jones-189861/ https://www.oxfordtreatment.com/prescription-drug-abuse/tuinal/

#brian jones #the rolling stones #mick jagger #keith richards #charlie watts #bill wyman #ian stewart #this got long #but i felt i should explain all of this in one go #rock and roll #cw: death #cw: drugs #cw: domestic abuse #cw: drowning #man brian's life was a bit of a clusterfuck

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