#way too far ahead from how ever many years (?) post game in fanfic is supposed to be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

Text

ancient names, pt. xvi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xvi: that colossal wreck

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~6k idk man i barely go here

Rating: M/Mature; lots of blood and stuff but nothing steamy.

Warnings: blood and guts, mentions of self-harm, mentions of sexual assault, Kian is a creepy fucker and he needs to die so he gets his own warning, dog on man violence. Uhhhhh idk how shotguns work so I did my best, don't @ me. Elliot does go full feral in this and I'm not sorry.

Notes: I so hope y'all enjoy this chapter. I'm not gonna say too much about it here, but please know that every comment, like, kudos, whatever—even the tiniest bit of knowledge that y'all enjoyed it just makes me so incredibly happy. It was a bit of slog at some parts but I'm so excited to get it out for you. <3 Special shout-out to @starcrier who provides incredible input and support while I try and glean even a MODICUM of her talent; ilysm!!!

As well, @baeogorath has been such an absolute DARLING, allows me to send them memes at like 3am and scream at them about all of my feelings. And @lilwritingraven, who has been SO supportive and helpful and just all around the biggest sweetheart a gal could ask for, thank you BOTH sm. <3!

The first thing that she recognized was the desperate need to breathe.

The second was that she was wet, exceptionally wet, her lungs filling with water over and over again, like dying a thousand times without the actual reprieve of death. Two strong hands gripped the front of her shirt, pinning her under the dark surface. Elliot thought, I’ve been here before.

Those hands gripping her hauled her out of the dark, wheezing and coughing up water, and tossed her onto the riverbank like a dead fish. She might as well have been, for what it was worth; when she managed to open her eyes, the world blurred and melted around her the way water swept over a window in a carwash.

“So glad you are awake,” Kian said from in front of her. He stood in the water just past his knees, and as he made his way out and over to her, she blinked rapidly to try and clear her vision. Elliot sucked in the biggest lungful of air she could, and all of the water that had been sitting in her mouth and throat caught and ripped, forcing her to lean and choke it up. “You were sleeping for quite a while, you know, Elliot. Had to make sure you slept all of it off.”

Her name coming out of his mouth felt like a violation—sticky, wet, ruined, a thing she had not allowed him to use, and yet he did anyway. She hadn’t given him permission to know her, and it felt different still than when Ase had used her name; like a weapon being wielded against her.

They gave me so much, she thought desperately a while her body thrummed with pain, searing hot through every nerve-ending as if they’d all been rubbed raw and exposed. They gave me so much of that shit, so much more than Ase ever did. How long was I sleeping it off? Fuck fuck fuck.

Kian’s fingers gripped her throat, slotted just under her jaw, and he pulled ; hauled her straight up with brute strength until her bare feet— when had they taken her shoes?—scrambled against the slippery river bank.

“Her dress fits you well,” he continued admiringly as he held her there. His words dragged her attention back to herself; she wasn’t in her own clothes, in fact, but in a long, dark cotton dress, high-necked and slim fitting. It looked like the same dress that she had first seen Ase in. “In fact, if your hair was just a little darker, and your eyes not so fucking blue, I would think you two could be sisters.”

Dead, the wind whispered. Humidity crept under the fabric, stifling and tenacious. Dead woman in a dead woman’s clothes.

“W-Where—?” Elliot managed out hoarsely. Her own heartbeat, so loud that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear Kian, thrummed violently in her ears as panic started to really settle into her skeleton. “Where—John, and Boomer—what the f-fuck did you—”

“Now that you’re awake,” Kian continued conversationally, as though she had not spoken at all, “we can start.”

His grip loosened and then released. She barely managed to keep herself upright. The world lurched dangerously beneath her feet, and for a second, she thought she was going to have to throw up; the sensation subsided, and she swept her gaze in a single circle around her.

No John; no Boomer. Only darkly-clothed, silent figures, watching. Each face—some as old as a grandparent, some as young as what she thought could only be ten, and many of them somewhere in between—regarded her with the same kind of glassy-eyed curiosity that came with a circus attraction.

“What the fuck,” Elliot said, her voice hoarse and cracking in distress. “What the fuck did you—where are they—?”

“I’m only going to give you one tip,” Kian said. “Stop trying so hard to talk. You’ll burn through all of your adrenaline, mor.”

He had passed her up the riverbank. The intent of it all was very clear: he anticipated that she would follow, because he had something that she wanted and she was in no state to claw her way through all of them even if she wanted to. The knowledge of this—the understanding that Kian knew exactly what hand he had, and was going to play it—filled her with another sickening wash of dread.

The redhead stopped at the top of the bank and looked at her over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Shivering, Elliot wadded the hem of the dark dress up in one hand and struggled to the bank. Kian let her. He let her catch herself, dirtying her hands and the dress, practically clawing her way up as her heart rate fluctuated earnestly and without pattern in her chest, and when she made it to where he stood she could see the treeline ahead of them. Dark, drenched in nightfall, the pines murmuring every time the night’s chilly breeze rustled the branches.

“They’ll—” Talking caused pain to splinter through her jaw, radiating in spiderwebs up behind her eyes. “His b-brothers will—”

Kian waved a hand. His voice was light when he said, “They are busy.”

Fuck. Despair welled in her chest. Elliot swallowed thickly and said, “What are... What are we...”

He stared at her. She had the distinct sensation of being an ant, trapped under the searing beam of his magnifying glass, raising burns all across her skin. Then, he reached down to the ground, and from a bag, he procured a handful of papers; when he pulled them out, the familiar scent of her home wafted from them.

“You have lovely handwriting.” He scanned the page. “I hope you’ll forgive my snooping through your home. I couldn’t resist. Let’s see here: sounds like our little bunny was struggling with insomnia, feeling alone. Angry with your therapist for saying you were displaying—” Kian lifted a finger to indicate the importance of the word. “— significant signs of post-traumatic stress disorder, including—”

“S—” I want to die I want to die. The pages of her ripped journal sat in his hands, even greater a violation than the sound of his name. “Stop—”

“—intrusive memories, loss of time, irritability and aggressive behavior, self-harm. Is that where those scars are from? Hm, and… 'Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like if I didn’t let this happen to me'. Is that guilt ?” Kian clicked his tongue. “Do you feel guilty, Elliot? For what that man did to you, those years ago?” And then he paused, glanced back at the paper, and said, “Forgive me. It was one year ago. Not that far gone, I suppose.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out; something gripped her lungs, restricted their movement, until she thought she was going to pass out.

He had been in her home. He had touched her things. He’d stood among the things that were meant to be hers, rifled through them, found her journal and ripped the pages out. She’d taken up journaling about what had happened—not to torture herself with the reality of her situation, but in an effort to understand who she had become, to feel less like a stranger in her own body.

And now he held it in his hands, and there it was: everything that she was, just that small, just that insignificant. The entirety of what she was clutched in the hands of a psychopath.

“I hope she’s fucking suffering.” Elliot ground the words out, and Kian quirked a brow at her inquisitively. She plunged onward, reckless and vicious from her pain, “I hope Ase’s fucking rotting in hell, suffering, and I’m glad they blew her fucking brains in.”

Something dark flickered across Kian’s expression. It may have been a trick of the light; the clouds passed over the moon, blinking the world into darkness for a few minutes before the nighttime wind pushed them forward again. Elliot couldn’t tell if it was real, what she’d seen on his face, but she hoped it was.

But he didn’t say anything about her venom. Instead, he said, “Ase and I used to play a game together.” His tone was light, casual; he dropped the papers back into the bag dismissively, as if they were nothing. “I would give her a three-minute head start. She would run into the woods, and I would try to catch her. She was the perfect prize.”

A strange kind of affection welled in his voice. It was love, Elliot thought with a sickening kind of realization, in his voice—and it only made her more grateful that John had busted through her spine with a shotgun shell, the knowledge that maybe Kian was suffering even a tiny bit as much as she was.

Kian continued, “Now, because of you, she is not here to play the game; you will have to be my prize, Elliot.”

She was going to be sick. She wished that he would have just killed her, rather than this—this waking nightmare, this actual fucking living hell he was going to put her through. Elliot sucked in an unsteady breath, and when Kian gestured at the treeline, she turned her gaze there. It was easier to look at the sturdy line of pines than at his wretched face.

Hot breath fanned across her ear. Kian’s hand came up to the back of her neck, holding, gripping, the way a father would when he prepped his son for a baseball game. She heard the words like a sick comedy in her head: Come on, champ! You’ve got it! But his mouth was right on her ear and he said, “I hid your man out there for you.”

John.

“He’s—not,” she managed out. “Mine.”

Kian huffed out a laugh against her temple. “Then it should be easy for you to hide from me and not worry about finding him.”

Bluff called. Fucking cultist.

He stepped away from her, heading to the half-moon curve of cultists waiting idly by. Silently, Elliot tried to count them; she wanted to know how many she could kill, and how fast, if she got a gun in her hands, but the splitting headache blurring her vision uneasily made it difficult to keep track.

One of them put a shotgun in Kian’s hand. He checked the ammunition idly.

“Start running, Elliot,” he called without looking at her. “Your time starts now.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“What took you so long?”

John thought he had to be dreaming. He was certain of it, somewhere in his brain, because Elliot’s voice hummed warmly against the skin of his neck and she pressed up against him like a feline eager for his attention, and that wasn’t her. Was it?

“You’ve been sleeping so long,” she murmured into him, all sleep-warmed skin and soft lines. “Aren’t you going to wake up?”

Yes, he thought, because he wanted to open his eyes, because he wanted to see her like this. He’d worked hard for it. He deserved it, didn’t he? Yes, I’m going to wake up.

“John.” Elliot purred his name, sweet and decadent. She was so warm. “Wake up.”

“Okay,” John said, because he knew that he was ready. But the world stayed dark. He tried again: “Okay, I will.”

Her lips brushed against his pulse. He felt her fingers traced the Sloth scar on his sternum, meticulous, memorizing, slender and warm and affectionate.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you,” he managed out, “I trust you.”

Like lifting the floodgates, he pushed his eyes open. And it was a push; the effort it took to open his eyes was astronomical, like someone had suddenly stuck him under slow-moving lava that swallowed him up, ate away at the oxygen around him and weighed down his lungs in their attempt to let him breathe.

There was no Elliot. Only the slow, dark pulsing of pine boughs overhead. For just one split second, John felt relief; he was fine. Somewhere, but fine.

And then a piece of the sky lifted and peeled, drifting away. The trees bent and warped around him. He tried to struggle to sit up, fighting the urge to coil up into a tiny ball.

He said, miserably, “What the fuck,” and something at his hip buzzed static. The sound sent jolts of white-hot panic searing through his body.

“Hello?” It was a radio. A thick, dark voice came through. John didn’t pick up. He thought it sounded like Kian.

“Fucker,” he managed out, hauling himself to his feet as the world see-sawed beneath him.

“John Seed.” The voice came again. “I know you can hear me. You should be waking up any minute now.”

John wished he was still asleep. The dream had been better than this. At least in that, Elliot was—

Elliot. The last thing he remembered was her frantic hands trying to undo his seatbelt, and then her warmth getting ripped away from him, and then someone's hands on his shirt and—

“Fuck.” Bad news. Bad. “Fuck fuck fuck. ”

Steadying himself on a boulder, he came around into the clearing, trying to see through the trees. It was no good; the world pulsed and bled around him, smearing like an oil painting, and he realized with a sense of dread pitting in his stomach that they’d drugged him. Hard. The same way they’d drugged Elliot when she’d been crying into the ground like she was going to fly off.

That he knew what was going on did little to abate the irrational panic flashing through him, electrical pulses pounding through his body every chance they got. It made everything too much —the sound of the wind, the murmuring of voices that he thought maybe weren’t there, the feeling of the night on his skin. Yes, he felt it, like a garment of clothing, sitting just on him; he couldn’t tell where he ended and the rest of it began.

“I let your beast loose,” Kian’s voice crackled, seething with delight. “Gave her a head start, too.”

His fingers itched to grab the radio that had been clipped on his belt. He thought, I shouldn’t let him know I’m awake —

“Hey, fucker,” he snapped, his finger pushing down on the walkie button. His words kept slurring on their way out of his mouth, but he plunged onward anyway. “Come out here, huh? Love to chat face to face.”

Well, he’d never been that good at impulse control, anyway.

“On my way already,” Kian murmured silkily. “See you soon, friend.”

And then it went dead.

John spent what felt like an eternity staring at the face of the walkie talkie before he thought, Hey, that’s my fucking radio. And then: fuck, I can’t fight him right now.

He blinked furiously, trying to refocus his vision as bright colors started to bloom and bleed out from the ground. John kept telling himself that it wasn’t real, that there was no way it was real—and then he understood Elliot’s very real fear that night he’d tried to pull her down the hill. What had she seen then, he wondered? What had she been looking at?

“John?”

He hesitated, because the last time he’d heard Elliot’s voice it had been a dream. John’s base instinct was to stand very still, exceptionally still, which didn’t feel very still at all because he was drugged up through his fucking eyeballs and he wanted to puke.

“John—”

When she broke into the clearing, Elliot’s voice was frantic. Her hair had been let loose around her face and she was wearing a dress and bolting barefoot through the woods. Oh, John thought, a little panicked, oh, I’m dreaming again.

“Fuck,” Elliot said, her voice breaking. Her hands fluttered aimlessly, like she couldn’t figure out a place for them to land. “You don’t have Boomer?”

Maybe not dreaming, after all.

“Sleeping,” John replied, intelligently. “I was—”

Elliot stared at him as she drew closer, her eyes razor-sharp and clear and quick. The sliced right down to the core of him, but what was new, anyway? Stupid deputy, his brain chanted, sluggishly. Stupid, pretty, dumb deputy.

“... drug you?”

John blinked owlishly at her. He wasn’t in very much pain, which was good, but it probably was all going to hit him when the drug wore off and it was harder and harder to keep his attention focused; it was getting to the point where it was like being very drunk , where keeping his eyes open was becoming more and more of a chore.

Elliot snapped her fingers in front of his face. “John, focus.”

“Whose dress?” he managed out, gesturing at her.

Her eyes flickered uneasily. “Dunno.” She brought her fingers to her lips and whistled, high and fast, and John groaned; the sound rattled around in his head, echoing over and over again, splintering behind his eyes.

“Why?” he hissed. “Why are you—”

“Shut up, you fucking baby.”

Yeah, definitely not a dream.

They stood there in quiet for a moment, waiting; in the distance, John could hear a faint barking.

“He’s out there,” Elliot said, relieved. “They probably have him tied up, if they were able to get their hands on him. John—”

The blonde stopped suddenly, and he turned his gaze back to her inquisitively. She looked very much like she wanted to say something; her lashes flickered uneasily and she swallowed thickly.

“You have to get him, John,” she said finally, which didn’t sound like the thing she wanted to say.

“I’ve got a radio,” he supplied helpfully; on instinct, he reached for her, and she didn’t flinch back when his hand found the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Warm, he thought pleasantly, hazily, the breath spilling out of his lungs like a waterfall. “It’s the one from the ranch. We can—radio Joseph and the others.”

“John, I need you to listen to me,” Elliot began, reaching up to put her hand over his. Her skin was warm, but she shivered—John realized very suddenly that she was soaking wet. “I need you to get Boomer. He’s over there somewhere, close enough to hear a whistle. You can whistle, right? Or just—say his name, he’ll respond to that too.”

“‘M drugged,” he replied. “No good. Besides, he doesn’t like me.” The last half came out petulant. He thought very little of Kian’s voice crackling through the radio, or that he’d said he’d be there soon, or that someone had drugged him and left him in the middle of the forest. All he could think about was the problem being presented to him: Elliot was asking him for something, and he couldn’t give it to her.

“You have to,” she reiterated firmly. “You told me you’d do anything I asked.”

“I did,” John insisted. “Don’t you remember? I f—”

“Shh!”

Elliot grabbed his hand and yanked, hard, hauling him into some thicker brush. The whole gesture of it had his vision spinning like a slot machine.

“John, you have to go,” she whispered furiously. The sound of heavy, leisurely footsteps thudded somewhere a little ways away. “Please. You said. ”

“We can both go,” he whispered back. And then, because she hadn’t recognized his good fortune earlier: “I have a radio.”

“I can’t,” she replied. Her voice broke a little, slipping past a furious hiss and cracking on an emotion that John didn’t want to know. “I can’t go.”

“Why?”

“I have to—” Elliot paused, her gaze flickering tiredly. “John, I have to take a break, I’ve—I’m so tired.”

He paused. “I’ll wait, too.”

“You need to go.”

“I don’t want to. I’ll stay, too, and we’ll go together—”

“No,” she insisted. “Fucking— God you are so annoying—”

John heard, very faintly, the low and threatening click-click of someone pumping a shotgun. He paused, and Elliot did too, and then she pulled him forward by his shirt and kissed him hard. She tasted a little like river water, but mostly like her, and the warmth of her mouth against his made heat bloom all over him like he was green and Spring, again.

“John,” she whispered against his mouth, nearly inaudible, “please. Get Boomer, radio your brothers. We’ll catch up on the other side. I—”

Another couple of footsteps echoed in the stillness of the night. All of the birds and wildlife had fled; they knew there was a big, bad predator out in the evening, and John felt that knowledge twisting something violent and wretched inside of him.

“Do not fucking die,” he hissed at her. “You’ve stayed stubbornly alive for this long. Do not.”

She nodded faintly. “Yes, boss.”

He went to move, but she stopped him, lifting a finger to her mouth; each beat of his heart rumbled violently in his ears, and he thought he might pass out if he didn’t get moving fucking soon; each second spent crouching still and silent in the brush was swaying him viciously back and forth, trying to get him to face plant into the ground.

Elliot, back against the tree, let go of his shirt. She mouthed, Go, and then darted out, quick and fast and taking with her all of the vibrant sound and warmth in the world.

John's legs lifted him to a standing position. It felt like operating heavy machinery; every movement ground through his skeleton laboriously. But he was going; gripping the radio, trying his hardest to sprint, when he heard the sound of a shotgun shell pelting the earth in one sharp, gritty blow.

And then a familiar voice: “Where are you, little rabbit?”

Please.

Everything in him was telling him to turn around. Screaming at him—but he knew that was exactly what Kian wanted, too. To have them both there, in the same place, to make one of them watch the other die.

So, he didn’t.

He kept going, and when he got far enough away to be convinced that Kian was preoccupied with Elliot, he stopped and looked around. The night was eerily still and pulsed dimly around him. He glanced down at his feet; the grass reached up and around his shoes, coiling around him, trying to hold him down.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hurriedly stepping forward. “Find dog. Radio Joseph. Boomer?”

He kept his voice low as he crept through the woods, fiddling clumsily with the radio as he moved. When he found a channel whose numbers looked vaguely familiar—and familiar was a stretch, considering that accessing just about anything in his brain was like feeling someone’s face in the dark and guessing who it was—he pressed down on the talk button.

“Joseph? Jacob? Somebody?” He let off the talk button. “Boomer?”

No barking. Was Elliot drugged too? Had they been hallucinating the dog barking?

John had just begun to give up on the idea of doing anything other than wander aimlessly in the dark woods when he made it to the edge of the treeline and saw the dog. Unfortunately, the beast was tied up to a wooden stake, growling low and threatening the two men as they walked idly around him and to the van, busying themselves; soft music played from the car. They seemed to be waiting patiently for Kian to finish whatever it was he was doing. Killing Elliot?

Fuck, he thought hastily. Gotta hurry.

He watched as one of the men set his gun down on the bed of the open van, stretching and chatting conversationally with his companion. When he wandered back over to Boomer and said, “Here, doggy,” the Heeler lunged viciously and set off barking, teeth snapping. He sighed.

“Stupid dog.”

They turned back toward the road, and John made his way closer to Boomer. If he could get that lead unclipped—if he could do it without them noticing…

“Fucking shithole,” one of the men said, backs turned to him as they lit a cigarette that got passed between them. “Can’t wait to purge this place and get out.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, do you know…”

As their conversation drifted, so did John’s attention. He slipped out from the cover of the underbrush; instantly, Boomer’s eyes were on him. His hackles went up, and John lifted his hands, keeping them open.

In hindsight, he’d probably feel stupid thinking about this moment. The dog wasn’t holding him hostage. But it felt a little like he was, anyway.

“Hey,” he whispered, creeping closer. “Gonna let you off, beastie.”

Boomer eyed him, eyes flattened back against his head.

“You wanna get ‘em?” he continued, glancing over at the men as he reached for Boomer’s makeshift collar, clipped onto the lead. He didn’t know what kinds of gestures or phrases Elliot used to get the dog to do what she wanted. He only knew that Boomer did , sometimes without her saying, and so he said again, more urgently, “You wanna get ‘em, beast?”

The urgency of his tone seemed to spark something in Boomer. His ears pricked forward. John’s fingers found the lead clipped around his collar, pulled on the little metal clasp, and let it drop to the ground.

Boomer watched him, expectantly.

“Well, go on,” he whispered, gesturing. That seemed to be all that was needed; the cattle dog darted forward, teeth sinking into one man’s leg and yanking hard enough to unbalance him and pull him to the ground; the dog's head thrashed violently, ripping out of him guttural snarls.

John blinked, and thought, holy shit, is this what he’s been like this whole time?

There wasn’t a lot of time to spend thinking about it, because the other man was whirling angrily, shouting something, and then his eyes landed on John.

They both looked at the gun sitting on the tailgate of the van at the same time.

“Fuck,” John hissed, lunging forward and grabbing wildly; he wasn’t entirely sure that he even stayed upright, the strange back-and-forth pull in his head having only abated a little, but he reached for the gun and snatched his hand back, fumbling with the safety.

The whole thing felt like an eternity —comedically so. While the sounds of Boomer mauling the unarmed cultist echoed in his ears, John’s fingers clumsily switched the safety off and he fired recklessly; the bullet barely grazed the cultist’s calf, and as the man reached for him, John pulled the trigger again. Once, twice, three times, the bullets planted themselves in the man’s chest, jerking him back with each impact.

A heavy thud echoed in the night as the man slumped to the ground. Boomer had handily dispatched of the other one; his mouth was red and wet, and when John struggled to his feet, he saw that the man’s throat had been ripped open.

“Nice,” he breathed. Boomer regarded him warily, unimpressed with the compliment. He quickly shuffled the safety back on and tucked the gun into the back of his jeans, pushing the tailgate of the van up. When the dog whined, low and uncertain, he glanced back at him and sighed.

He pulled the tailgate back down. “Load up. We’re gonna get her back.”

Boomer leapt up into the back of the van, nails sliding on the hard plastic. It took John about five minutes of rifling through the pockets of the two men to find the car keys. While he wasn’t entirely confident in his ability to drive, he had just planted a couple of bullets in a man, so he supposed he'd be fine.

As he climbed into the driver’s side, he shut the door and settled in and carefully, meticulously slid the key into the ignition. The van purred to life as though John’s last week hadn’t been an entire fucking series of absolute fuckhead jokes, and he let out a breath.

The glint of something blue and reflective in the cupholder between the two front seats caught his eye. He glanced down, blinking.

“Hey,” he said, reaching down. “My sunglasses.” Tucking them into his shirt, he checked the rearview mirror and gently, gently pushed the car into drive.

"Alright, beastie," John muttered. "Let's get this ended, huh?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The concussive blast of bullet meeting wood rang in her ears; chips of bark and the guts of the tree showered her, the shot echoing just above her head, and she thought, fuck, I just want to be dead already. She was so tired; moving was a luxury that was not afforded to her anymore, each gesture as she struggled to her feet tipped and fettered by the bruises and wounds that littered her body.

Finding John had taken about fifteen minutes, fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds of which had been spent agonizing about where to look first. She didn’t recognize where they were, or know her way around, and she was barefoot and soaking wet and shivering and she just kept thinking about how badly she wanted to lay down.

We’ll go together. Fuck, John was so stupid. She might have actually had a moment to breathe if he’d just listened to her and did as she said. But that wasn’t ever how these things went, was it?

A calloused hand closed around her wrist and yanked her to her feet. For a second, in the blurring, thrumming night, between the whispering voices in the wind and the lurching of the great beast hunting her down, Elliot saw the dark fabric of a button-up shirt and thought, it’s John, it’s John; he came back me and now we’re going to get out.

“I win,” Kian purred.

His voice bled through her skull, stretching and warping as the agony crashed over her in a scalding wave. Kian’s fingers wound iron-like around her wrist, holding her there, and his other hand came up to grip her chin; playfully, he shook her head back and forth, like he was trying to jostle her out of deep sleep.

“Don’t look so sad. I’m not going to kill you, Elliot.” He regarded her with something like amusement, eyes glittering dark and obsidian in what little moonlight had managed to seep through the tree cover. “Do you know what mor means? It means mother. We’re going to keep you for It, and when it’s time, we’ll slice you open. You will make It so happy.”

She gripped his wrist as hard as she could and tried to push his hand from her face. Kian had discarded the shotgun in favor of having both hands to grab her, and as he gripped her face—the wide, calloused crux of his hand covering her mouth while his fingers reached the dip of her jaw—she thought, Something has to be done.

Elliot had promised Joey. Even if I have to fucking die for it. She had promised, and that meant it had to be done.

Muddling through the panic, Elliot squirmed under his hand, opened her mouth, and bit down as hard as she could. The disgusting taste of hot copper flooded her mouth instantly; the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger wasn’t meant to take teeth ripping and tearing, and she was ripping and tearing; even with the limited mobility she had, she wrenched her head anyway she could, intent on taking some piece of Kian with her.

A wretched kind of sound came out of him. He tried to yank his hand back off of her face, and she bit down harder, anywhere her teeth could catch and grip. If she could hit bone, she thought; if she could sink her teeth right into the marrow of him, maybe then she would have felt like she got some repayment for what he’d done.

Kian yanked his hand free, gripping his wrist as crimson streamed down his palm and arm. His eyes were wild and dark; for a split second they stood there, staring at each other, two beasts nursing wounds and waiting for the other to make a move.

Elliot grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him forward, slamming her face into his. It would have been nearly impossible to bodily force Kian’s to move had he not been clutching his wounded hand, and for that she was grateful—grateful, she would tell herself, around the ricocheting stars of pain blurring behind her eyes, using the hardest part of her skull to bash into Kian’s nose and mouth.

And then she ran.

The gun was around, somewhere, dusted in pine needles and nightfall; like a needle in a haystack. She heard someone spitting behind her, and she thought, I hope I broke your fucking nose, you piece of shit, just before she ducked into a thick bustle of brush and behind a rock.

Around her, the world blurred and fuzzed black. She tried to furiously blink it away, but every second spent standing still meant that her body was suddenly remembering how tired and overworked it was, how much she had done, how much she had suffered. We could stop now, the tired little girl inside of her said. We should. We should stop now.

But Kian had said it himself; he wasn’t planning on killing her. She wouldn’t get rest even if she gave up. He might have changed his mind after she’d bit through his hand and headbutted him, but—

That wasn’t a chance she could take. Not for herself, and not for Joey, and not for the girl she had been that night in her apartment, either.

Heavy footfalls echoed just a few feet away from her. Her mouth was still flooded with the taste of Kian’s blood. As she made her way to the other side of the boulder she’d taken refuge behind and peeked out, she thought, I’d do it again, given the chance. I’d rip him open with my teeth if I got the opportunity. Give me the fucking chance.

Moonlight spilled through the trees and into the clearing they had just been in as the wind pushed clouds out of the way. The glint of dark metal, threatening, caught her eye; the shotgun was there, with hopefully at least one shell in it—one that she could put straight through Kian’s ugly fucking face.

And he was nowhere to be seen, either. Even as she leaned further out, trying to see around the boulder, she couldn’t see him crashing through the underbrush; she couldn’t hear him, either. Just the sound of the wind, pine needles skittering across the ground, a twig snap and—

A second too late, Elliot’s pain-addled brain realized the breaking branch was just behind her. Fingers fisted into the hair at the back of her skull and dragged, hauling her out of the underbrush and back into the clearing, tossing her like a ragdoll. All of the already-battered ribs shrieked on impact, and she wheezed out a breath that had blood and spit flickering across the forest floor.

Tired. She was so tired. So tired, and the world blurred and tried to fizz and pop out of existence around her, a sticky-wet hand forced her eyes forward.

Blood streamed down Kian’s face from their earlier collision. When he grinned at her, his teeth were stained pink, red seeping in the gaps.

“Hello, little rabbit,” he ground out, pushing away her scrambling hands and pinning the left down. “You put up quite a fight.”

Elliot tried to search in her spatial memory—what was left standing of it, anyway—for where she had seen the gun. But it was getting harder to breathe, and to think, and Kian’s fingers dug into her jaw and cheeks. An awful, animalistic noise came out of her at the pressure—it was a whimper, but unlike anything she’d ever heard out of herself, unlike anything she’d known she was capable of making.

“I wonder—”

His voice came out in a low murmur, spit-slicked and venomous, his nose grazing the slope of her cheekbone.

“—will you feel guilty about this, too? When I drag you back kicking and screaming, and make you watch as I cut each of those fucking hillbillies open? I know some of them got out. I'll find them, too.”

It had to be close, she reasoned through the haze in her brain; the gun had to be nearby. She’d just been looking at it. Her body was trying to give up; Kian’s fingers pinning her wrist down and bruising her neck, his words hissed out against her skin, were all tripping that strange little trigger in her brain that finally wanted to give up fighting and do something else.

Quit.

“ Mor,” Kian purred against her skin. “Mother, you’ll be so good for It, I know you will.”

Joey, clutching her tight. “I never doubted you’d be able to get me out.”

“It likes it best like this, you know.”

John, mouth so close to her ear. “I said, it’s a good thing you’re more devil than woman.”

Each second that ticked by, filled with Kian’s voice, the fingers of her one free hand inched. S he felt them close around cool metal.

“It likes the ones that fight back.”

She gripped the gun hard, and swung.

It collided with a heavy-handed thump against the side of Kian’s face, and he jerked back. He still straddled her, but with room between them now, Elliot could lurch forward, bowling as much of her weight into his midsection as she could to push him off of her and send him reeling back into the hard surface of the boulder.

Her fingers worked fast as she struggled to her feet. Pure adrenaline, pure muscle memory, as she flicked the safety off, cocked the shotgun, and pulled the trigger.

It clicked.

Empty.

Kian barked out a laugh wet with blood. There was a wound on his temple that was bleeding, now, and as he struggled to sit up more she could see him wince—the collision with the boulder hadn’t done him any good. Elliot pulled the trigger again, and again, and each time it clicked she found herself getting angrier and angrier. Filling with poison, up to her brim, like someone had just uncorked it.

“It’s empty, mother,” Kian rumbled at her. “You think I brought any more ammo than those two shells?” He spat blood out of his mouth and cocked his head, regarding her with dark eyes. “I told you, I’m not going to kill you.”

I’m not, like he still thought he had won. Pure, vibrating fury radiated through her body. This was supposed to be her victory; this was supposed to be her revenge for Joey. For her life. For her.

It would be. It’s mine, she thought viciously, this fucking moment is mine.

“Yeah, well,” Elliot spit out, digging her fingers into the metal, “can't say the same.”

The weight of the gun was not unlike a bat; so when she took the barrel of the gun and swung it like one, it felt familiar. Just like when she was ten, playing rec-league softball, only this time the bat was an empty pump-action shotgun and the ball was Kian’s head.

When the dull impact send vibrations rattling up her arm, and Kian keeled to the side, wheezing and biting out something venomous in Swedish, Elliot gripped the shotgun harder and swung again.

And again.

Each collision brought it closer to the satisfying, wet crunch of blood and bone on the redhead’s face. Elliot couldn’t have counted how many times she swung if someone asked her—or pinpointed the exact moment that Kian stopped moving, stopped breathing.

She could only think about the way he’d planted his words right against her skin, gripped her, I win.

Do you know what I get to do with things that belong to me?

“Nothing,” she ground out, when her arms burned and ached and her vision fuzzed with exhaustion. “You don't get to do anything.”

“Deputy?”

Blood spray littered her face. She was sure that her teeth were stained red, too. Each breath heaved exhaustively through her body, rattling, and when she turned her head to the source of the voice, she saw John and Jacob standing at the edge of the clearing; lights blurred through the trees, the sound of trucks and voices echoing in the still night air.

Boomer darted out from behind them, immediately pressed to her legs. She held the shotgun loosely in her hand.

“El,” John said, softer than Jacob had, “It’s me.”

Her gaze flickered back to the brutalized corpse in front of her. She thought, faintly, that there was no way her life was going to be normal after this again, but that was okay. She’d promised Joey.

If I have to die for it, I will.

She’d done it. And maybe she had died for it.

Jacob had taken a few steps toward her as the thought echoed in her head. Slowly, like she was a stray dog snarling over a cow bone. When John moved to follow, she saw Jacob put his hand out and stop him.

“Put the gun down,” Jacob said, his voice still and calm. Elliot blinked tiredly.

She wanted to do it. She wanted to let go of it. But that girl that she had been—that girl who had cried under the blanket fort, who had thought, I don’t know how I let him do that to me, the girl who had sat on the floor of her bedroom in Hope County and blinked through furious tears as she struggled to understand herself—no longer wept; that girl was furious, and so Elliot gripped the gun tighter.

As though it made it any less of a weapon, she said, “It’s empty.”

Jacob looked at Kian’s face, bashed-in. Obliterated. “I know.”

Boomer whined at her feet, nosing her empty hand quietly and gazing up at her with big, brown eyes. Something strange washed over her, an emotion that made her lip tremble and her eyes burn. The Heeler nuzzled her hand again, and she sucked in a shaking breath as finally— finally, finally —the tears stung down her cheeks.

She dropped the shotgun. John said her name, and Jacob dropped his arm, and she realized that it was relief she was feeling now.

Only vaguely aware of Jacob kicking the shotgun away from her, the world blurred as Elliot felt John’s hands cradling her face. Each place where his fingers traced the bruises from Kian, that pulse of relief ran stronger through her body until it was overstimulating, overwhelming. When John kissed her, it was almost frantic—she could taste the blood in her own mouth, his fingers tangling into her hair as he kissed her again and again, until her lungs ached with the need to breathe. But each kiss brought her somewhere else. It took her somewhere that she didn't have to think about anything except John in that single moment.

“Hey,” John said, their noses brushing. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, his voice still slurring a little. “I have you. Right here with me, El, don’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah,” she managed out. Her voice wobbled, and she sucked in a sharp, stuttering breath. “John—”

His thumbs swept across her cheekbones, smearing more blood than they wiped away tears, and as the sound of voices echoed dimly around them, she lifted her hands and gripped his wrists. Through the coppery tang in the air, she could smell his cologne; her lashes fluttered and John pressed their foreheads together.

“It’s okay.” John murmured the words, tugging her against him, into his chest. “It’s all over now.”

No, she thought as his arms circled her, pulling her closer, Boomer barking at anyone who wandered near.

It’s not even close.

#ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #fic: ancient names #john seed x female deputy #john seed x original female character #far cry 5 #far cry fic #uhhhhhhhhhhh #what can i say? i love a girl who knows how to use her teeth #boomer is a good boy #per usual

10 notes · View notes

loudest-subtext-in-tv · 6 years ago

Text

A Study in Fate teaser

Here’s the first 2200 words of a novel-length fanfic that I’ll finish sometime this year. It’s a WiP on an atypical schedule: At a later date I’ll release the rest of the first chapter, but then I’ll release everything else all at once.

Some authors don’t like if you hassle them to hurry up, but I may find it motivating. I’m going to attempt to get better at answering my asks/comments so feel free to ask me things about this fic, but keep in mind there’s a lot of things I won’t answer. Please be aware that no one cares if you don’t like first person perspective.

Though a big aspect of this story is about how to manage depression, it starts in a relatively dark place and weaves in and out of it. If you can’t handle unresolved distant thoughts of suicide right now, maybe wait until the entire story is posted.

Finally, I am doing okay financially right now, but two of my fandom friends are not. If you’ve ever wanted to give me money, I now have a Patreon. Anything you give me will help me help them.

Description: After the events of The Empty Hearse, Sherlock struggles to figure out who he is now that John no longer seems willing to play a prominent role in his life. As his mind runs in circles trying to parse their relationship and determine who threw John in the bonfire, his world is shattered by an enigmatic visitor: himself, bearing bad news from the future.

Series 3 time travel remix; series 4 compatible.

Tags and warnings: first person present, agonizing slow burn, explicit but romantic, depression, suicidal ideation, NOT FLUFF, self-actualization

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

Chapter One - The Curtain Rises

One can’t get far without an organizing principle. Every man needs one drive to which all others are subordinate, a touchstone that seizes him with purpose.

I had one once.

Now I have chips.

Dreadful organizing principle, chips: once you’ve got them, there’s nothing propelling you forward anymore. Have enough of them and you hardly want to move at all. God. I was in the best shape of my life, body and mind, and now I’m turning into Mycroft.

Except Mycroft has already transcended these struggles — or so he claims. Yet again, I’m lagging behind on a path I never wanted to follow. Splendid.

Any moment Mrs Hudson will come out and start chattering away about you. That will set me back the rest of the day, yet I won’t ascend the stairs. Does no part of my mind demand control of my brain stem? I’m meant to be some kind of genius: Any visionary corner of my psyche eager to make something of me? No takers?

No. Life is now nothing more but the wandering of here to there. And thoughts like that are why everyone thinks I’m a baby, so for god’s sake stop.

I am all too stopped.

Depression is a dowsing rod: shows you where to dig. So: Why do I halt here, at the bottom of the stairs? Why can’t I face the only place I’ve ever belonged?

It’s not merely that you don’t live here anymore. Not quite. That would be too easy.

Where are you wandering now, John? You got off work an hour ago. No one's called to alert me you've been kidnapped, so there's one thing I didn't miss today.

Still figuring that out, darling. Off my game. Maybe was never on it. Against my better judgment I let romance rot my mind, and you're the one who's suffered most. But I've recovered from less noble chemical weaknesses than your company. Against all odds I still draw breath. If I make myself do nothing else, I will turn this around. I'll prove you can rely on me.

Any threatening emails? You don't just attempt to incinerate a man and move on. For god's sake, give me something.

Oh. A text. Not a threat; a video from the homeless network. Must have been delayed whilst I was on the tube.

There you are, alive and unwell, and here responds my heart but it's nothing. Mere streets away from me, and nowhere near her flat. Why do you do this, John? Is your phone broken? We could just talk about this. Give me another chance and I swear I won't come on so strong. I was too presumptuous when we last spoke weeks ago. I broke your heart, I'm monstrous; you're no longer fond. I get it.

You're no longer fond, but you're in need of a hit. Which is curious, you realize. You understand how a man would get the impression... But no. I won't presume. Life is boring and I'm dangerous and bless you, you need a hit. Just come get one. I'll pretend I'm managing, I'll find a way to switch on that whole persona for you and you can do your hero worship thing. I won't act desperate.

Just show up, and I will respect your wishes.

Do anything but pensively stop on the sidewalk in front of shops you have no intention of entering. It just screams, I'm distracted! Kidnap me! It's been an age and I know you despise me, but if you keep doing this I'm going to have to conduct surprise drills again.

Maybe you're trying to get kidnapped. I wouldn't put it past you. Maybe it would be charity to send a car around for you to blithely climb into. Do you even think about how that would make Mary feel, John?

Of course, it's me you're thinking about right now. The tension in your posture, the unconscious clenching of your hand, the conflict evident on your face even from this distance: definitely me.

You know, I wasn't the only one who presumed. The papers presumed, the entire British populace presumed, even your sister presumed and surely she'd -- No matter. You've made yourself clear. Just: spare a thought for "the best thing that's ever happened" to you. I've no talent for consoling women on my best days, and I'd hate to see how I'd fare in a worse state than her.

No, I don't know that. I don't know that I love you more than she does. She's never broken your heart.

Oh. Wait, why...? For god's sake, Pilar, why would you approach him? He'll notice.

Well. Can't complain about seeing your eyes more clearly. Not good for my recovery. And there, yes, you've noticed. Paranoia in full swing, hackles raised, and a step forward. 'Can I help you?' in your usual tone that fashions a threat from etiquette.

Not good for my recovery, no. The things you do to my blood, John.

'Got a pound?'

'For someone recording me?' You scoff, narrow your eyes. 'Are you...?'

'Say, aren't you John Watson?' Oh, clever girl. Look at him, pretending he's not pleased to be recognized.

Yet nothing is ever simple with you, John.

'Yeah.' You're either too smart or too suspicious for your own good. (Freud would presume. I'm only saying.) 'Did he...?' You look directly at the camera; at me.

Come on! You assume it’s me? When roaming bands of criminals have set you aflame? Oh here we go, that spark in your eye -- you're going all in:

'Did you put her up to this?'

Oh well.

'Who? What makes you say that, sir?'

'Uh, well he does it all the time.' I don't. 'You know what? Just send it to him.'

'Not sure what you mean, sir.'

'Oh,' you laugh, 'you're not sure what I mean. Stop bloody recording me.'

And that's the end of that.

So. Guess you won't be coming over this week either. Or will you? Are you angry enough to confront me? It's not stalking when it's for your own protection -- just ask my brother, John. God knows he could use the conversation.

I’ve got to find more discreet operatives.

> Next time don't be so obvious.

When did she send this? Ten minutes ago. No, if you were going to come over, you would have arrived by now.

I suppose you’ve already said everything you have to say. But not even a text for stalking, John? I thought we had a connection.

Or we did. Before Moriarty won.

Not your fault. All mine. I underestimated him, failed to foresee the lengths to which he'd go for his insane plan. Didn't realize how many pieces he'd put on the board. Stupid.

A ping:

i thought youd like it? before you whinged you cant hardly see him

It was only supposed to be months, John. Then dozens of pulled threads later and you'd already gone and shacked up with a woman! That's what I get for being thorough.

And not even thorough enough. But if I wasn't thorough enough then neither was MI6, John. If Moriarty still had operatives in London, that's on Mycroft. And me. But definitely on Mycroft.

I don't know. Hate not knowing.

Are we really never going to talk about this? I took down an international crime syndicate for you, and you broke up with me on your blog?

No, no -- sorry. I take full responsibility.

This is ridiculous. I don't know why anyone comes to me to solve their problems. I can't even make it up the stairs.

Ah.

That's it, isn't it? I don’t live up there anymore, either.

Yes. Everyone says you can find Sherlock Holmes just up those stairs, back from the dead and cleverer than ever! Like most things everyone says, it’s not true. I search for him in these rooms daily, and all the evidence points to this: Sherlock Holmes was a character created by John Watson. An exciting story. A fairy tale. (Dare I say a fantasy?)

People will believe anything you tell them, John, and they did. You were so sure I was a hero that even I came to believe it in the end. Now they only keep believing it because I lied. I was never steps ahead, never as infallible as you made me out to be -- and now that you've quit writing me I'll never be anyone at all.

But I'm doing it again. Getting histrionic. I'm not the first nobody to have his heart broken. They all get on with life.

Well: usually. Technically speaking, the most invested ones turn to murder or suicide. On the upside, murder is still in the cards: Assuming I can pull it together long enough to hunt down the appropriate parties, they are murderers and it would be doing the world a favor to murder them right back. In the course of any such investigation there will tend to arise situations in which I would have no choice but to murder them -- or, fortune willing, sacrifice myself so that you may live. Or both! Now that would be a power play: cleanse the board of evil, preserve the king. The ideal way to die may yet fall into my lap.

It's nice to have things to look forward to.

But say it doesn't pan out. Given my recent track record it would be foolish to place undue faith in my forecasting abilities, and after all, I don't know for certain this has anything to do with Moriarty's network. He pulled so many rugs out from under me I'm always half expecting yet another rug. I may grow as paranoid as you, John, with him skulking about in my head. For all I know everyone involved was in Moran's network, and I'm chasing after people who are already in custody. Maybe there's no grand end, no power plays, no relief.

That leaves suicide.

I'm not saying I will, John. I refuse to break your heart again. And it would be no way to honor the lengths to which you've gone to preserve my life. They're mere thoughts. They come and go -- always have, and I always haven't. I'm not going to do it, and if I am, I can always do it later.

But no appealing alternative has revealed itself. Only the obvious path for the invested: live like everyone else, and finally sever myself from aspiring to anything meaningful or exciting. Growing up, they call it.

Freud called it repression, so let's hold off on drastic measures. I made this life work before and I can make it work again.

Of course, that was easy for Freud to say: Being invested in life isn't an exercise in masochism when you have a lifelong companion. Not to be maudlin, John, but I wasn't making it work until you came along. Not truly. You were the gear that made it all click. I couldn't become Sherlock Holmes until you facilitated it.

It felt like the strength you granted me persisted during our years apart, but it's no surprise I drifted off course the moment you weren't at my side. That's not superstitious, John, that’s just a cold fact. You would have caught the little things I didn't. You would have kept my ego in check.

But what's done is done. I'll muster some strength for you. Reinvent myself again. Reorder my mind, keep myself off the needle and the pavement until I tie up these loose ends. Then... who knows.

Maybe someone else will come along.

Well. Feels good to laugh.

I’ve got to get on with it. Life may be a flight of uncarpeted stairs, but I'm sick of being down here.

'Going out, dear? John didn't call, did he?'

Will I always be this damned slow?

I sigh loudly, not that it will make any difference. 'No, and no.' You scowl like you do when I talk about him. 'Just getting in.'

You frown. 'But we were just talking.'

My heart leaps. 'You and John?'

'No, silly.' My heart falls. You tilt your head; smile. 'You and me.'

'You were talking. I was out.'

You shake your head and laugh, a cheery, infuriating tinkle. 'You had quite a lot to--'

'Mrs Hudson.' For god's sake, do not go senile on me. Not one more straw.

'Is it drugs, dear?' Terrible, hushed pity. Everyone always leaps straight to drugs! 'Oh don't get angry, I know all the signs! The nerve of him, putting you in this state. I'd say a few things to him, if only he'd come around once in a--'

Anything has got to be better than this.

'Project much?' The stairs are fine two at a time.

'I need those for my hip!’

'Adjust your dose! You're clearly...’ What?

What in the world?

'That would explain so much,' he says, and the room tilts.

Through the door. There I am. There he is.

Sherlock Holmes.

End notes:

In The Lying Detective, Sherlock tells Faith that chips are “the only perk” of being suicidal. In The Empty Hearse, he was eating chips when Mary told him John had been kidnapped.

John’s most recent blog entry before this story takes place is The Empty Hearse. It’s a mindfuck minefield for poor Sherlock, but we’ll get into that more soon. For now, know it contains this doozy: “Oh, and in other news, I’ve got engaged. But, it’s not something I’m really going to talk about much here. I want to keep some things private. I will say, though, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Sorry, Sherlock :)”

I borrowed the name Pilar from Sherlock Holmes and the Baker Street Irregulars: The Fall of the Amazing Zalindas, a novel by Tracy Mack and Michael Citrin. I’ve never read it, mind, it just seems like it wouldn’t be the sort of thing Sherlock would assign to Wiggins, and Wiggins would never be so sloppy.

Sherlock is obsessed with Freud. One Freud reference in The Abominable Bride, which was constructed entirely from Sherlock’s drugged out brain, came from Mycroft, who asked John if he was aware of theories of paranoia. Freud believed paranoid people were closeted homosexuals, heavily insinuating that Sherlock believes John is a closeted homosexual. Freud meta to come later; he’s very important.

Freud was with his wife for 57 years.

“Life is a flight of uncarpeted stairs” is from the poem “Spring” by the early 20th century queer poet Edna St. Vincent Millay. She ended up dying of a heart attack that made her fall down the stairs, which is itself poetic. Though she was a woman, I think it’s realistic Sherlock would know about her: the Casebook notes that Sherlock reads the agony aunt columns in women’s magazines because they contain all of life and are pertinent to his line of work, and in the same spirit I’ve made him familiar with all old famous love letters, for which she’s renowned. We also know Sherlock is familiar with Shakespeare and moved enough to remember entire soliloquies, so there’s no way Sherlock could read “Spring” and not retain some of it — especially as John and Mary had been aiming for a spring wedding, and the poem references April, which is just wrapping up as the fic begins.

#tjlc #johnlock #fanfic #my fanfic #A Study in Fate #this was a nightmare to format on an iPhone

134 notes · View notes

the-erudite-library · 6 years ago

Text

Villainy pt 1: The Big Bads

okay i’m going to just admit right now that this post is a little biased, but i’m a salty, overanalyzing fuck so i’m going to write it anyways.

for the sake of ease of understanding, lets pretend that all the antagonists in this story are actual villains (villainy describes a malicious intent where as antagonism describes a character who is direct opposition to the protagonist) and ignore the biased narration of the series being that it’s told from a first person perspective (more on why that makes understanding the characters in this series shitty and confusing can be found here). I care a lot about the antagonists in this series and so it just feels right that i write a fucking essay based entirely around how cool they are, their wasted potential, and why some of them are just way, way cooler than others. I’m just going to go ahead and cover all the supposed villains rather than just the big bads, and i’m probably going to massively overestimate their complexity and actually try to work out a narrative for all of them because a lot of these supposed villains are actually rather sympathetic characters when they’re looked at from the right angle and honestly the narrative kind of treats them like garbage. I’m not saying that any of them were totally justified in their actions, I just think that sometimes the plot and writing of the story is so aggressively vague, biased, and nonsensical that it can be difficult to understand them.

I genuinely think that Jeanine is the best antagonist out of all of them, and I’m sure that that can be fiercely debated because really it depends on what you mean when you say ‘best’. What I mean is that I appreciate the way that there are all these little breadcrumbs for people to draw their own conclusions about her but nothing that ever really redeems her as a person, also that she’s really the closest to an actual villain that the story ever gets. I already talked about how she’s really not in the post linked above and also in this one, how she’s really a morally gray and complex person. But what I also love about her is that she’s so incredibly straightforward about everything. For the most part, she doesn’t waste much time with theatrics or melodrama, she just does the thing (aside from that one thing with the water tank in the first book that was really kind of out of character for what had just been established about her and i could not have been more glad when they changed it in the movie). Her plan makes sense, the goals are clear and her methods are obviously well thought out; I wouldn’t at all be surprised if she spent years putting it all together piece by tiny piece without anyone ever seeing it coming but by the time they did there was no stopping it. She went to great lengths to protect her own image even after the Abnegation attack and for the most part it really felt like it was just Tris and her scrawny little army up against this massively powerful woman who had the whole city at her beck and call (if you ignore the fact that the insurgency never really lost a battle of course). She suffered no fools and for the most part seemed to keep everyone at an arms length; no one knew the full scope of the plan but her and no one could ever get close enough to eventually betray her. She built up an empire of people that she held together for quite some time. Even as the war began to tip out of Erudite’s favor, no important people ever seemed to even try to leave (Jack Kang is the only example that I can think of that didn’t die before things really began to fall apart for Erudite, which leads me to think that she didn’t have all that many important associates to begin with). She was kind of one track minded and completely relentless in chasing down her goals, and it made her terrifying because you knew that she was just never going to stop until she got what she was after. She wasn’t above using any and every dirty and underhanded tactic at her disposal so long as it got her what she wanted. She wasn’t an antagonist that could be handled easily or quietly; stopping her required amassing an army and half-destroying the entire city because anything less would have been snuffed out before it could gain any traction because she was just that powerful. She always seemed to be one step (or ten) ahead and defeating her ultimately required having not much of a plan at all or a plan that not everyone was clear on because chaos was the one thing she couldn’t break down, compartmentalize, and ultimately conquer.

Jeanine and Tris’ dynamic is interesting to say the least, and not in a shippy way but in like a very genuinely compelling way. I’m going to include movie canon in this because despite how shit the movies were about some details, others were greatly improved upon (i.e. replacing the water tank bullshit with a straight up execution, it may have been a little bit less dramatic but it was far more in line with Jeanine’s character). From the very moment they meet, Tris is full of snark and sass no matter how inappropriate it may be in the moment. What they have isn’t so much witty banter as it is Tris making really disrespectful comments and Jeanine starting off as being polite about it and she just gradually loses her patience. They clash on the deepest level, not really equals but complete opposite. Let’s be honest with ourselves; Tris was not more powerful than Jeanine, she was not smarter, in the grand scheme of things she wasn’t stronger either. Which makes the fact that she was able to best her really interesting. Jeanine doesn’t handle chaos well and Tris is almost all chaos. It’s hardly a game of chess and more like one person losing and deciding to knock all the pieces off the table...which in and of itself is a kind of victory I guess.

Evelyn is...an interesting villain. For the most part, she seems to be a person driven largely by hatred and fear as a result of years and years of suffering and pain piling up on top of each other like some sort of sedimentary rock of trauma. She very well may have started out as someone who was simply just power hungry, or maybe not power hungry but just ambitious. I highly doubt she was cut out for Abnegation and there is a lot of evidence that she’s Divergent (if she’s not then it’s kind of unclear exactly where she would fit, Erudite maybe). From the way that things are set up in the Four novellas, it sounds a lot like her plans have been coming together for a long time too and that they have been the complete and total focus of her life. She brought together potentially thousands of people, made them obey her, made them fight and die for her, but most impressively she made them stick by her for years when they had absolutely no reason to. It’s kind of insinuated, if not outright said, that Evelyn is completely self made and that everything that the factionless are they what are because she built them up like that. By all accounts, she is just as impressive as Jeanine and quite the force to be reckoned with. However, her reasons for doing what she does make her all the more interesting. Like I said, perhaps she might have started out with a simple desire to be powerful and that may have been why she picked Abnegation in the first place, in hopes of getting on the council (i’ve seen that theory tossed out in fanfic before and it actually makes a lot of sense). But Marcus’ treatment of her and the way that many of the Abnegation are just so willfully ignorant, the way that they will go to great lengths to protect their image as a faction (and by extension, Marcus’ image as a leader) even if that means turning a blind eye to the fact that she was being abused must have been much more than disillusioning. It certainly couldn’t have done any good for her emotionally and by the time Four reunites with her for the first time in his novella she is a far cry from the woman that he knew as a child because she had to become someone else entirely just to survive.

It obviously spurred a powerful desire for revenge within her, not just against the man who wronged her but against the faction system as a whole that neglected her and held her down. When she finally saw her chance to take that revenge it wasn’t her capitalizing on the war, on Dauntless’ fracturing, Abnegation’s destruction, and Erudite getting less trustworthy by the day. No, it was her perceiving a hairline fracture in the very foundation of the system that wouldn’t become anything threatening for literal years. Much like Jeanine, she stacked the deck in her favor long before anyone knew what she was doing; and in her case she had the extra advantage of nearly everyone who knew her thinking she was dead. Evelyn’s Factionless and Jeanine’s Erudite were two very powerful and very similar forces led by two very powerful and very similar women, and honestly it’s a damn shame that we got Tris constantly butting in and all but bending fate in her favor when we could have had a delightfully destructive and complex war with Jeanine and Evelyn as the central focusses.

Especially because Evelyn has a flat, kind of boring, and frankly rather irritating relationship with Tris. I think they maybe say a few sentences to each other ever, despite Tris hating her and wanting so badly to fight her. And I get it, Tris hates her for abandoning Tobias and that’s kind of understandable I guess, but given the fact that she was meant to be one of the big villains in book three one would think that there would be more of an interaction. I mean, sure, they had that one thing at the beginning of Allegiant with the interrogation scene but I’m like 90% sure that was the longest conversation they’d ever had or ever would have and it’s disappointing.

And then there’s David, the disappointment of the three big bads imo. Generally most elements of Allegiant were disappointing and frustrating, but David was honestly one of the worst elements. He was sort of cooler in the movie, and by cooler I mean a hell of a lot creepier especially regarding Tris. Combine his relationship with Tris in the movie with the fact that in the books it’s very heavily implied that he had unrequited feelings for Natalie and it makes his relationship with her both fascinating and unsettling. Of course, that’s all wasted because those two qualities are exclusive to the book and movie respectively, therefore making his relationship with her sort of flat in both. He doesn’t really have all that much “screen” time in the books at all, at least not in comparison to characters like Nita and Matthew. He had virtually no personality and the only reason I’m including him here at all is because of the role he plays in the Allegiant movie. I’m not saying that he has the same potential or deserves the same amount of plot focus that Evelyn and Jeanine do (mainly because they just have had more time for their characters to build), but honest to god if VRoth was going to make genetic damage a metaphor for oppression (don’t get me started on how badly that was handled) at least, maybe, i don’t know, give the oppressors more than a vague and distant role in the story. I’m not in any way saying that the issues between the GD and GP people should have been highlighted, because god knows that VRoth would have just handled it poorly and I would legit have probably set something on fire. And David doesn’t need to be humanized, what he needs to be is a direct counter to Tris’ ego. If absolutely nothing else that should have been the role of all the Bureau characters save for Amar and George. Tris lowkey kind of doesn’t know how to be wrong and thinks that she knows better than absolutely everyone, and when she’s revealed to be something ~special~ again in Allegiant she became even more of an asshole. She very obviously did think that the genetically pure or the Divergent or whatever were better than the genetically damaged and it goes unacknowledged to the point where i’m just convinced that it’s completely accidental. She’s completely unsympathetic to the actual oppression that the genetically damaged face.

But I digress.

David is honestly too distant and vague as a character to be analyzed very closely, which is unfortunate because he could have paralleled real people with real sociopolitical philosophies.

#divergent #evelyn johnson #jeanine matthews #david (divergent)#a little candor of me #first big analysis post in a while #theories headcanons and meta #i'll do caleb and nita and stuff later

17 notes · View notes

eerythingisshaka · 6 years ago

Text

I made this post on Monday, and just now got around to edit and post

I’m basically going through the whole plot of Endgame and how I felt, I just had to hammer it out. If you haven’t seen it yet, please come back when you have! First things first, I did not cry! I feel like I’m in the minority, and I swear I am a devoted MCU fan and love Tony and Cap and them, but I did not cry and I’m so disappointed with myself! I got more emotional thinking about it in the days leading to the premiere than I did while viewing. I think it was too entertaining for me to find it sad? Not like movies I cry at aren’t entertaining but the action and substance was making my nerd heart pitter patter so much, I was over the moon and couldn’t come down. I will say though, ever since watching Endgame, every past Marvel movie makes me somewhat emotional. This whole thing is like a high school graduation, like I’m never gonna see my friends together again like this, an era is over! All I have are memories, aaaaggghhhh!

That being said. the movie grips me from the beginning with the song Dear Mr. Fantasy by Traffic. Marvel has some pretty good picks for songs to set the tone for their movies, to this day this song kinda pulls at my heart strings because of its message

Dear Mr. Fantasy play us a tune

Something to make us all happy

Do anything, take us out of this gloom

So of course, we all felt this way with the ending of Infinity War, having so many of our faves being sacrificed to dust for Thanos’ plan of rectifying what he saw as the decrepit state of the universe. Walking away from part one with the villain winning was a fresh slap to my face and a year of agony to find out how the heroes pull this off in the end. Take us out of our gloom Marvel!

And the characters must feel the same, as the film opens with Clint and his daughter doing some archery in their yard as a very American lunch of mayo and mustard hot dogs are being served. As his daughter Lilah is putting things away, Clint calls out to her only to see dust and turns again to his family with the same result. So much for freedom from our gloom, right? In case you somehow forgot, this little scene gives us a friendly reminder of what we were left with in 2018. If that’s not enough, Nebula and Tony playing the little hand goal, paper flick game that is just darling to witness. Nebula plays like a rehabilitated puppy still unsure about being around humans as Tony instructs her like a child on every development of the game. Her little perk up when he announces her win is so cute as they shake hands, finally sealing her character development from ruthless, blood-thirsty appeaser of a sadistic father, to a more stoic, regretful soft spoken but hoarse matured version of herself. All the while, Tony is beginning to starve from being malnourished and depleting oxygen. Nebula sets him in a piloting chair as he drifts off, losing consciousness until the homie we have all assumed would be coming appears as a glow in his irises, Carol Danvers aka Captain Marvel.

Carol flies the ship back to Tony’s compound where Cap, Rhodey, Natasha, and Pepper wait for him to descend. We get a moment with him and Cap that is sweet as Cap walks him down, Tony tells him he lost Peter Parker, an obviously huge loss for this to be the first thing he mentions. The warmth is lost quickly though as the next step of Tony’s grief comes afoot: anger and finger pointing. Tony, on an IV and all, is relentless as he festers in bitterness while lashing out at Cap and company that the fight was lost and even encouraged by Cap because they were together. This optimism is obviously not enough for Tony, who grows weary of Cap’s positivity, opting that he finish the work alone or that Danvers takes on the task herself before collapsing from exhaustion.

Carol, Thor and the gang have a slight dick measuring contest on kicking Thanos’ ass once and for all before Nebula offers to take them straight to him. And where is he? Why on a farm on a planet in the galaxy, nursing his wounds from the snap. His entire right side is burned to a crisp due to the snap, and at the same time has obliterated the stones much to their dismay. Thor wastes no time in chopping off Thanos’ head, a little too late but satisfying none the less. However, in the end, the stones are nowhere to be found, the last person to have them is dead, and no one from the snaps is back yet. Cue music!

So, the gloom we are supposed to be rescued from, when does that start right? Not for another five years according to a time lapse card. Our heroes have no means of figuring out the solution to the snap; Cap forms a support group for survivor’s, Natasha has grown out her blonde hair and is constantly checking in on happenings around the world, and universe since the snap, jumping at even the mention of an earthquake. Rhodey briefs her on a terrible killing spree of gang members that appear to have a style that is well known to them as Clint Barton’s aka Hawkeye. Despite Rhodey’s hesitance Natasha insists he keeps an eye on him, inferring that she may track him down eventually. (Quick side note here, something to be seen as a possible plot flaw: Hawkeye’s bloodlust and disregard for lives after losing his whole family in the snap isn’t dug into very deeply after this. Rhodey said it’s so bad he didn’t even wanna find him! But there wasn’t any in fighting or push back after that between them. He has one instance of almost interacting with his family on a test run for time travel which is against the rules, but other than that he isn’t killing people recklessly or even triggered to tears or drinking incessantly over his loss. But more on Thor in a minute).

If it hadn’t been for that rat running across the panel in Scott Lang’s van to activate his return from the Quantum realm who knows how long, if ever, would they figure out the means of traveling back to get the stones. I was so glad I watched Antman and Wasp right before seeing Endgame, so I knew the van, Cassie, and a little bit about the Quantum Realm. I’m actually upset that I didn’t realize the realm could be used for their benefit because I was always betting on the Time Stone being the corrector in all this, but anyway. Scott returns highly confused as he realizes the state of the world since his entrapment in the realm. Seeing his baby girl become a young lady was a powerful scene to witness, and had my heart dent a little bit, but I held it together. Soon after that, Scott makes his way to find Cap and Natasha, explaining how 5 years was really five hours for him, so time is different in the realm which could possibly mean something for them getting the dusted back. At one point in the movie, I’m blanking on which comes first but for now I’ll dive into this bit, we are reintroduced to Bruce Banner as Hulk…as one person. I completely forgot that we didn’t see Bruce in trailers, which is for this reason. Comic book followers would know, but there is a iteration of Bruce Banner becoming Professor Hulk, so he functions as his normal scientist self, while also being a big green being. Oddly enough, it does not take long for me to grow accustomed to The Bruce Hulk hybrid, he is hilarious and sweet and more confident even then he was as a regular man despite his appearance. He has fans, people love him and this is a far cry from when we are introduced to him in the original Avengers as Nat tracks him down somewhere in Southeast Asia, a nervous wreck loner who is quick to anger. I could see this Hulk being fanfic fodder, not my cup of tea, but he was just that damn appealing, I could see it.

But even with Bruce’s brain, time travel isn’t exactly hammered down as an absolute possibility so they reach out to another source on the matter. Which brings me to my love/hate relationship with Tony. I ADORE that he finally had a baby with Pepper, Morgan “Cussin Queen” Stark. Tony is living his best life in the natural air in his log cabin, as off grid as he possibly can be before Black Widow, Cap, and Lang pull up to question the possibilities ahead of them. The strength of his cold shoulder gave me an insatiable chill down my spine. Tony is the King of Petty, but rarely passive so I was surprised by that moment of mean girl attitude from him. But luckily he served up something to drink (I’m thinking it’s iced coffee or chocolate milk. I’m still confused by what that held.) Tony basically tells them they are crazy and hoping for nothing, because he’s good where he is. He has his girls and no stress which is honestly what the Avengers always seem to guarantee for him since joining the group with SHIELD under Nick Fury’s insistence years ago. I do wish I could remember the theories and scientific laws he said would be fucked up with their plan, just to see if they are real ones but also I love when Tony just spouts his knowledge like it’s IKEA instructions. He makes it seem so simple until you have to break it down, and up until this point Scott seemed like the smartest one on the team but really Tony could’ve been figured this out if he wasn’t so granola now, which is great and happy for him, but he really did give up very quickly. Once again, probably good reason, self-care. But still.

Gotta say, I love a selfish Tony though. Quick shoutout to Robert Downey Jr. in showing his chops by bringing the emotional fortitude to this Disney movie. The man has been THROUGH IT and has had enough. Tony only has so much optimism in him that the cheerleading squad can provide before his is completely done and baby was DONE.

But without Tony’s help they test run moving through the quantum realm only to discover what Tony says later, that time kept moving though Scott instead of him moving through time, making him a baby, and old man, a kid again, and back to an adult. But with a fancy time GPS Tony doctor’s up on the fly after discovering that the group isn’t crazy about the time travel being an option, they are good to go like it’s day one! (Another side note to Paul Rudd aka Scott Lang giving us much needed comic relief. I have never laughed so hard at my precious baby trying to eat a taco in my life. Also, Cap’s yeehaw attire in this scene? The checkered white shirt with his dark jeans pulled up? Truly save the horse and ride the cowboy instead man.)

Now at this point we have to check in on Thor, our sweet pirate angel. How has he fared? Him, Valkyrie, and the surviving Asgardians establish their own town on Earth. Thor and Rocket go to find him, with a preview from Valkyrie of what Thor’s mental state is by the piles of beer kegs outside. So, when they enter his home, giving a wave to Korg and Miek playing video games on the couch, Thor tumbles out behind Thor and Rocket reaching for another cold on, camera to his back. By now we can see his hair is overgrown and greasy, and his midsection has a new pair of love handles we aren’t used to seeing on our svelte, brutish god of thunder. So when he turns around, audience erupts in the theaters, as do I, to see him now looking like a melted ice cream cone with a beer belly that somehow still has some toned abs on top if you look closely, paired with some man titties to complete all billowing over his pajama pants to complete his depression ensemble. This was more shocking to me than the Hulk/Banner hybrid reveal. We hadn’t seen an image of Thor outside of him giving Carol Danvers the Stormbreaker scare test in the previews, so thanks for another surprise. Despite his crumbling emotional stability at even the mention of Thanos’ name (tip of the hat to Chris Hemsworth for making my heartache with every crack in his voice), I have to get on my soapbox and say Thor’s body is beautiful! He is a supreme King, deliciously made who can still smash any pair of cheeks to ash and dust with the power Mjolnir in each thrust quicker than any counterfeit gauntlet. Just watch him later on, you’ll see! I’d have that belly slapping on top of me in a quantum realm millisecond after he takes a shower and attends therapy. A lil pudge ain’t killed no part of his power, whew. Don’t make me shout.

Back to plot, with the promise of beer, Thor the Dude tags along to start the plan of going back to retrieve infinity stones. After a synopsis of each one and where they were located, the crew drums up the plan to retrieve each stone from the past, bring them back to the future to put into a new gauntlet and snap the other half of life’s creatures back. This part of the movie is so stellar because if you have watched past Marvel movies (the first Avengers, Gaurdians of the Galaxy, Captain America First Avenger, and Thor Dark World) you will recognize the scenes that are featured with their past selves going through their past-current scenes. Natasha and Clint go to Vormir for the Soul stone, which I am surprised Nebula did not warn them that someone would have to die to retrieve it. What if two characters that didn’t love each other went for the Soul stone, is it over and done? But luckily, or unluckily, Clint and Natasha are able to get the stone with a sacrifice of Natasha’s life (who honestly sacrificed herself but it counted. And I need so much more clarity on the specs of the soul stone, it ain’t even funny. Will we ever see what the realm Gamora and Black Widow are in is like?) These two characters have been last on my list always so the scene was crazy watching them battle back and forth for a chance at ending their lives but the end result didn’t hit my heart but still great. I kinda would’ve wished little Gamora was there again to talk to us.

Then Hulk has to go see Ancient One to retrieve the time stone, which she will not relinquish until Hulk says that Strange gave it up willingly. On his word alone, she gives it to him, sensing the imminent danger that could come that is worse than the alternate reality she faces for not having the time stone with her. Then Rhodey and Nebula go to Morag for the Power Stone. So this is the first sign of overall trouble in their plan because apparently having two Nebula’s mix memory frequencies that reveal the whole entire plan to Thanos. I thought for sure at some point that Nebula’s eye was gonna have to be dug out to ensure the completion of the mission but it winds up that Nebula and Gamora take her hostage before past Nebula takes current Nebula’s place with the crew going back with their stones, none the wiser. Not even Rhodey gives her a check in like “why did you not come back with me when I jetted back to the future? what happened?” Nothing! The death of Natasha kind of takes precedent over anything else and leave Nebula to finish off bringing Thanos back with her to wreak havoc.

Lastly, Cap, Tony, and Scott are in New York circa Avengers number 1, fighting the space aliens and keeping Loki from the tesseract. And I am not exaggerating when I say this part of movie is possibly the greatest cinematic feature I have ever seen, or will ever see my natural life. You have Tony, creeping in the shadows to get Antman ready to help retrieve the tesseract, all the while admiring Cap’s ass! He does it, critiquing that his outfit does nothing for his ass, when we all know nothing holds back them cheeks from making an appearance. Scott, ever the voice of standom, downplays Tony’s critique and coins his rear end as “America’s Ass”. I EXPLODED. Ever since Captain America: the First Avenger, I have pined, no, thirsted, nay, LUSTED for that man in Marvel cinema. He has the BAWDY to be Cap, and never slacks. I have also always been a big fan of Tony and Cap having a torrid love affair that Marvel refused to implement but teases anytime they stare deeply into each other’s eyes or argue feistily until they are nose to nose, just get a room you two! Ten points to Gryffindor for feeding the fans what they want!

So, New York is the only place that doesn’t go smoothly, as Cap retrieves the scepter containing the Mind Stone after a quick “Hail Hydra” to throw off the double agent SHIELD opponents from Winter Soldier. All this time, Tony and Scott lose the tesseract in a freak incident that causes the case to fall into Loki’s vicinity, who picks up the cube and disappears to God knows where. And it is never figured out where past Loki goes, or what timeline he creates for himself now that he has the tesseract at his disposal with no one to oppose him. That is another thing I would love to know, all these alternate realities that have been constructed due to them tinkering with time, what happens? What damage is done to the Ancient One without time? What does Loki do with space? How is Jane and Asgard without the reality stone ravaging her? (Rocket got it btw as Thor got caught up talking to his mother, which was a very sweet scene and really amplified her character for me to love her more than I already had). But at least Cap got the scepter until he is met with his past Cap, leading to my most favorite fight scene in the MCU. Something about those two classic suits running at each other with the cacophony of the shields, and current Cap saying some choice expletives now and getting tired of the bullshit while past Cap still has all that giddy up and pure heart and “I can do this all day” attitude is an exceptional treat to be had. I love Cap’s development, as much as he has stayed the same, he has changed, grown more into his age even, getting weary with the world but never losing his positive outlook, just shifting his focus gradually. But to correct the tesseract blunder, Tony and Cap go back to 1970 to get the original tesseract from SHIELD in its infancy. Both Tony and Cap have a soft moment. Tony see’s his father who talks to him about his expecting wife (aka baby Tony) and Cap sees Peggy again in her youthful glory, panging our heartstrings. But in the end, the supplies are collected and they move on.

So after they get the stones, they construct the gauntlet out of Tony’s suit Iron man material and it is decided that Hulk must do the snap since gamma radiation is part of the stones and so is he. It is not a simple easy thing as he writhes in pain and burns under the pressure of power but does the snap anyway and successfully brings back half the world. This win is shortlived once Thanos bombards the compound and sends Nebula off to retrieve the stones. This is the start of the longest game of flag football/hot potato/rugby adjacent. Hawkeye has the gauntlet at first as everyone tries to pull themselves from the rubble (side note: seeing Rocket so distressed shook me. He is usually so cool and wily, getting out of so much bullshit that his helplessness when he couldn’t breathe almost sent me over).

So since they retrieved the stones, it’s not like they change their past, just create alternate realities. Once they return them, things go back to normal again. So Hulk uses the gauntlet to bring back the rest of the population again, we just don’t see them yet until later. Past Nebula gets killed by current Nebula after Gamora helps current Nebula out to stop Thanos because as we know from Infinity War, Gamora never wanted Thanos to find them all. Thor, Cap, and Tony all team up to spar with Thanos who was waiting patiently for the gauntlet to be brought to him. Much to my dismay, the fight is very even, no side truly overpowers the other. Thor really wants to put in work, but can’t quite get through until Cap does what I have been waiting for since Ultron: HE PICKS UP MJOLNIR! (which Thor took back from Asgard in his time travel). Wheew, I coulda passed out when I saw Cap wielding that thing like it’s his the star spangled banner itself, sending lightning down on Thanos, busting him upside his head and all! I was spent and feeling aftershocks until Thanos gets the upperhand again and bombards his shield with that weak ass helicopter blade sword thing. It breaks the shield up! Which is made of vibranium! THE STRONGEST METAL IN THE UNIVERSE! This how I know Russo’s were just grasping at straws; the only thing I can say is since Tony made him that one after the snap, he probably used bootleg vibranium because obviously nobody called Wakanda for input on a damn thing to make this mission happen which is a rant I can say on a completely separate post. Sure, take T’Challa and Shuri in the snap, it’s not like the whole country isn’t composed of melanated geniuses that could give y’all a lesson on quantum physics that would make your central nervous system dry out. No, don’t call Wakanda to make vibranium anything for y’all to help in the fight, it’s cool cuz y’all didn’t try and clean up anything after shit hit the fan! I wanted a 10 minute Wakanda clean up scene: I got DUST. The underutilization of such a great people while at the same time using them frivilously is a *blink blink* mindfuck. But I digress again!

Once Cap seems to be against the wall, he tightens his shield band around his arm and says slap me bitch. But before it continues, Sam gives him a quick “on your left” signaling the return of everyone, with first none other than our Wakandan royalty: T’Challa, Okoye, and Shuri. Dr. Strange’s portals open up as populations come to join the fight from Gaurdians and Asgard, Wakanda and other Marvel movies. The fight scene that begins I can’t wait to own at home becuase I know I have to pause and slow motion to capture everything. Someone said Howard the Duck is in the fight which I HAVE to see. Can you imagine getting your ass impaled by a cartoon space duck?

The game of keep the gauntlet from Thanos continues as Spiderman, T’Challa, and others all have a go at running the guantlet away from Thanos. This is a part that I kind of have to think to remember. I know that Antman and Wasp had to spark up the quantum realm van and I think the plan was to send the gauntlet into it, but I’m not sure. Eventually Tony is alerted by Strange that the one in 14 million chance at winning is upon them and Tony goes ham to get the gauntlet from Thanos, who nearly succeeds but Tony yeets them off the glove and onto his suit, proclaiming himself as Iron Man one last time before snapping the bad half of the population into obliteration. All the bad aliens and Thanos dust away, leaving the original population the watch them float away. However Tony’s sacrifice is his life as he dies after goodbyes from Peter, Pepper and Rhodey.

The funeral occurs with everyone there, even the kid from Iron Man 3. This is a really emotional scene, especially seeing Tony left a last message in case of his demise, ending it with telling Morgan “I Said What I Said” Stark that he loves her 3000. Once again, I almost got choked up there, but it just wouldn’t happen. One thing that took me out were Wakanda’s outfits at the funeral. All black everything, but the fit and the make of Okoye and Shuri’s dresses? With the gold accessories???? I can’t mourn when all that beauty is in my face!

And in the end, Cap goes back in time to send the stones back to where they belong but stays in the past to reunite with Peggy, finally bust her open and returns as an old man to give his shield to Falcon and that is it!

I almost got choked up just now thinking about that last scene but I still didn’t cry. A tear came down when the end credits showed the actors pictures and their signatures of the original Avengers though. There will never be a better Cap or Iron Man bruh, taking that to my grave.

I’ve been in this MCU life for just about the whole length of it; watching these amazing superhero action flicks for the fun of it before recognizing the structure of each film forming towards an ending so grand. “You see where you’re going? Now let’s focus on how you get there.” This is a statement that is about to be my mantra for life! This is a huge project for a studio to put together properly, having all of our superheroes in one place, sewn together with the journey of the infinity stones to take out the big purple meanie Thanos who is hellbent on controlling the universe the easy way (50% of all living creatures annihilated) or the hard way (100% gone, starting from scratch).

But Marvel has given me so much great entertainment to look forward to. Ever since I graduated high school, it’s been the May or November of each year, what’s Marvel putting out next? And it’s gonna be tough not expecting an Avengers film anymore, but I’ll be here for the new build up of superheroes, supporting Black Panther still of course as well. I will miss the Cap thirst, wardrobe really did their part in this one with the Black sweater, the grey Henley, the yeehaw outfit previously mentioned and EVERY CAP UNIFORM HE HAS WORN! I love this fucking fandom.

And now I just wonder where past Gamora went, because she came to the present and “present” Gamora died at Vormir so we have a Gamora alive now but she went MIA, or did she get snapped back when Tony snapped all the henchmen back? Thor at the end joins the GOTG or Asgardians of the Galaxy, so I can’t wait to see how they fair in I assume GOTG 3. How will Falcon do as the new Cap? What does Bucky do now?? He was the original ride or die for Cap until he became Winter Soldier, but Cap was very forgiving of him in all that. Yet, his closure seems open for anything, he got no special stuff in the end so maybe more for him? How is Spiderman and the whole teenage snap population going back to school when it is five years in the future but they are the same age? Where did Valkyrie keep her Pegasus this entire time? When Cap went back to Vormir, what was his reunion with Red Skull like? And what did Thanos do with the stones before they were destroyed? They said he used them again and that’s how they found him at the beginning but on what? Answer these questions for me please!

If you made it this far, I love ya 3000 and I owe you cheeseburgers (oh God TONY!!!)

#avenger #avengers spoilers #avengers endgame #endgame spoilers #marvel

4 notes · View notes

poeticandvaguelysweet · 7 years ago

Text

Til Kingdom Come

Jurassic World

Summary: Claire Dearing had been lucky that her father never arranged a marriage for her. But, when her brother sells her off to the Grady’s as a trade deal in a peace treaty the pressure is on to love her husband for personal happiness, bare heirs for survival and keep her sanity intact in a kingdom she was always warned contained nothing but cruelty.

Part: 1/?

Words: 2,340

Whomp. Here it is. So, this isn’t the continuation of #208 y’all have been looking for. But, it’s something hopefully just as exciting. A royal AU. Inspired by Game of Thrones ... but I can’t really call it a GOT AU anymore. I have 9 chapters written. Will post one a week, not too sure how many parts until it’s completed. We’ll see what happens.

Disclaimer: I did take a few names from GOT but they are in no way related to the characters that bore them. I was just watching the show and trying to think up era-appropriate names at the same time. AND although this is a period piece my language in some places may not display that. This is fanfic people. I’ve put in quite a few hard yards but y’all will live if I use terminolgy that didn’t exist in this fantasy time.

AO3

TIL KINGDOM COME - PART ONE

Life, as far as Claire Dearing knew it, was full of trade deals. One thing swapped for another in order to gain something better than what one previously had. She was supposed to understand that things were not permanent. What she had in her life was not always guaranteed and with that came her place amongst her father and eldest brother. As the youngest, her father kept her tucked behind his legs where no prying Lord could lay his eyes on her. He kept her for as long as he could, sending away her brothers and only sister to families across the four kingdoms while he held onto Claire.

She considered herself lucky in some ways, to be the last remaining of her father’s children. Treasured enough that he had not sent her away to some horrid, cold castle and an unforgiving man. At least her brothers got beautiful wives, Merrick marrying for love rather than advantage. She thought, perhaps, she could do the same; her father keeping her around on the off chance that Claire would find someone to marry closer to home. She didn’t. Claire was far more interested in the inside of her brother’s war room than the villages and the men within the castle's beyond. The fact of the matter was, Claire had to marry rich. As a woman, she needed her husband’s fortune to keep her comfortable, a fact she loathed when Merrick married Alyse, the daughter of a fisherman who had been trading in the citadels docks since they were children. It was outrageously unfair that her brothers had the pick of the crop, free to do as they pleased with their lives. Hers, although protected still remained under her father’s control.

Time ran out on her, good fortune drying up on the very day her father told her she would be wed. He was sending her away, marrying her off without consulting her first. The man was a ruffian, the soon to be king of his father’s kingdom on a wooded peninsula overlooking the ocean but not separate from thick forests. The Grady’s were to be feared, rough men who were unforgiving, breeding soldiers; men drawn to blood and war. They also bred wolves, large beasts stronger and taller than the woodland variety, rumoured to have fought alongside the Gods at the dawn of time. She had heard, if her memory served her correctly, that the prince kept four by his side for companionship on and away from hunting trips.

The Grady’s only held the crown due to a bloody battle, ripping the grounds from its previous owners a small decade before Claire had even been born. They kept to themselves choosing their battles wisely as they sneered and snarled at the opposition trying to forgo the bloodshed they had drenched the world with. Claire didn't buy it and until recently, neither did her father. He had sworn black and blue that Merrick was not to bargain with them. Her brother didn’t listen, now King, he could make his own decisions.

‘Leave the Grady’s be,’ her father had croaked, ‘They will keep to themselves if you do not provoke them’.

Merrick always did as he pleased. That was partly why their father stepped down as King. No man wanted to lose his title before his time but Rickon Dearing knew if he didn’t he would lose his life at the hands of his crown motivated son. The Grady’s would pass as a great asset. They were war mongers, blood hungry, their dominant traits lying dormant for half a decade. Merrick deemed them safe because they had not caused distrust amongst the Dearing’s in recent years despite their history being full of death. Her family held the throne for fifty years. Her brother was sure they would make solid allies given the right persuasions. Claire was it. Her father's last daughter still unmarried. Merrick’s own daughter was far too young to be traded off in a marriage deal. If her brother could avoid sacrificing his four-year-old, then he would do what he must to ensure it.

‘You're too old to still be hiding behind Father’s protection, Claire.’ Merrick had been stern, glaring down his nose at the young woman. ‘I can't let you stick around, arguing about whether you are eligible to go to war or not. Be thankful we’re not marrying you to the King of the East. It’s his son who will be your groom.’ She should have been thankful that her life was not going to be tied to a withering old man. Young or old, he was still a Grady and Claire didn't want that.

She had no choice. Her brother made arrangements for her, going behind their desperate father’s back as the older man begged there be some other way. Claire had been perturbed but not concerned until her father started to show panic.

‘Claire is my last daughter, Merrick. The baby! Please, don't send her away. She’s all I have left of your mother.’

Her brother showed no remorse. ‘Go with her then.’ He had dismissed their father as Rickon stood beside his daughter’s chair.

‘I will not live with a Grady!’

‘So be it! But, she will become one of them and she will give them heirs.’ Merrick threw a look towards her, the same sort of threatening look he would throw her way when she had misbehaved as a girl. If she did not comply with her brother’s wishes he would make her pay. There was no use in making everyone’s lives difficult just for her stubborn nature. She would hurt in return. It was her family’s livelihood at stake. If she did not accept this marriage, the Grady’s would retaliate taking what they felt would be an acceptable payment in turn.

They all knew it would mean death. The last thing Claire wanted was to end the lives of her family members for her own selfish and stubborn pride.

[...]

She barely had time to kiss her niece and nephew goodbye before her clothes and trinkets were packed into trunks and sent for the road ahead of her. The journey was six weeks long, the sun rising and falling on their travels too many times as Claire lost count in her boredom.

A few of her brother’s men escorted her, joining Claire and her handmaid on the long road, all involved in the trade. Some had promised Merrick that they would stay with the Grady’s for a few years, watching over Claire’s place there as they learnt as much as they possibly could about the other house and its armies. They were to gain intelligence on their new allies in case the tables turned. Claire didn’t find it reassuring that her brother thought so little of their loyalty, prepared for the second shoe to drop if the tarts at her wedding turned sour.

She would make this man the happiest he had ever been if only to spite her brother’s doubt. Claire Dearing could single-handedly keep the peace between The Kings of the East and her family, The Keepers of the Four Kingdoms.

The Citadel had been her home all eighteen years of her life. Claire knew every inch of the city and it’s passages secret or not. She had not been allowed to run too freely amongst the commoners, but there were occasions when her handmaids would lose sight of her, missing hours at a time, where Claire found herself exploring her options in her concrete home. The second she laid eyes on Grady land, the King’s Guard pointing out the large mountain ranges draped in green, declaring their feet on her new home soil, she felt lost.

‘This place will never be home to me.’ She hissed, astride her horse and indifferent. Home was the city, paved streets and neatly stacked houses. Home was the sea at her doorstep, the docks rumbling with new shipments from far off lands and travellers eager to catch a glimpse of her brother; The King.

Grady territory was wet. Damp with fresh rain and dew from the trees. She had never seen so much green free roaming without interruption of a garden bed or stone pavers. This was wilderness, wild and unconfined. Claire would be lying if she didn’t admit that she adored it just a little. It was beautiful in it’s rugged, wild and untouched way.

Grady men met them a day’s ride to the castle, trying to muster up good graces and to provide a loyal escort on the final hours of Claire’s journey. They were kind enough. Tall men with wide frames and grubby faces. They wore less than what her men did, a few not wearing shirts at all as their skin glistened in the sunlight. Most of them stank enough she did not want to get too close to them. Instead, Claire watched them, eyes boring into the back of their heads as they road ahead, leading the way as to not see their soon to be princess into the wrong hands of the villagers. Her brother told her there was nothing to fear in going to The Grady’s, they would treat her like she was more gold than they had ever seen. But, seeing the land stretch out before her, castle coming into view as the sun began to set, Claire couldn’t help but feel scared. She was sure her life was safe in the hands of these clearly capable men, they were taller and wider than that of Merrick’s guards. They would certainly be able to hold themselves in a fight. But, what if they turned on her?

Claire couldn’t help but think of her sister and the letters Karen would send. Things had been wonderful for her sister, at first, she was hesitant in her new home but her husband was friendly and willing to dote on her. It had been years since Karen left, so many changes in the leaves Claire needed both hands to count them on. Things had changed between Karen and Scott. She promised he didn’t hurt her, they had just managed to grow distant, her husband seeking out the beds of whores rather than the one Karen had warmed and filled with two sons.

It was bound to happen. The Grady’s would grow bored of her straight shoulders and tight corsets. It didn’t take Claire much to notice she was entering a vastly different world, wet heat pressing down on her as the humidity grew denser closer to the castle walls. She would not last long there unless she could make it work.

Her new home was large, spreading wider than she could see. It was an old fortress from the days of the old wars, from a time when The Grady’s preferred to live as primitive barbarians, smashing skulls together and scavenging for shelter. They had come a long way and Claire had not failed to notice. She could not recall who held the claim of this place before The Grady’s stepped in.

She couldn’t think about how many hands the old stone changed as they approached, horses hooves clipping against the dirt roads. They slowed, men on horses in front of her dismounting as they approached. A small welcoming party had gathered, mostly staff by the looks of things greeting Claire with eager smiles as one stepped forward to help her from her horse. They were excitable, women mostly, with bright grins and hushed voices behind hands.

‘Excuse us, Lady Claire, it has been too long since we last had a woman to serve.’ The eldest stepped forward, a middle-aged woman with greying hair and soft features. Next to Grady reared men, the women seemed just as commanding, Claire felt small surrounded by the. They were thick boned creatures with wide hips and kind smiles. They weren’t like the women of the city, their clothes dark, hair curled into buns and braids on their heads up and away from their necks.

From memory, Claire couldn’t recall Theon Grady having daughters. She couldn’t even remember what had happened to his wife. So far as her father was concerned, Claire did not need to bother herself with Grady history. It would have done her good now to know exactly which paths this family walked; a family she was about to become a part of.

‘Where is he?’ She asked, trying to keep the scoff out of her voice as Claire looked upon the faces in the courtyard. There was no man there, none that seemed fitting to be a King in Waiting. The woman who spoke smiled softly, introducing herself softly as Mae as she curtsied for Claire and her handmaid Zara.

‘He’s away, my lady. But, don’t you stress. Lord Owen will be back in time for your wedding.’

‘You’re telling me he’s not here?’ She asked, trying to keep her composure. It would be no use if she showed herself to them as a spoilt little child upon first meeting. They wouldn’t take her seriously after that. It would be an assassination of her character and an unjust portrayal of her true self. To be perfectly honest, Claire was hot, sticky heat making her skin sweat and her hair frizz. Her clothes felt heavier than they had ever felt before and her limbs drooped. The journey had taken her energy and now the weather was taking the last of her strength. She was impatient to meet the Grady son she would marry, her brother promising it wouldn’t be Old Man Theon, still clutching his place on his Eastbound throne.

She felt she had every right to be infuriated that her future husband could not be back in time to greet her. They were supposed to have several days to get to know each other before their hands were tied in marriage. Claire had hoped they would come to know and like each other before their wedding night and what was expected after. Owen was already setting himself off on the wrong foot.

#clawen #claire dearing #owen grady #jurassic world #til kingdom come #got au #i'll start changing that tag #my fic

22 notes · View notes

tbbt-faves · 7 years ago

Text

So it’s 5 AM and I can’t sleep so let’s just go ahead an write this damn thing.

Sheldon Cooper: A prime example of character development.

NOTE: I’m so sorry if it takes forever to load all the gifs accompanying this gigantic text post but they’re necessary to illustrate my point perfectly and remove any possible ambiguity that might get me in trouble with anon h8ers (and also, the gifs make it more interesting). If necessary just let this page load for a few minutes in the background. Anyway, let’s begin:

So, I love this character. As most people do. I remember in.. 2007/8 when this show first came out and all people talked about at my school was Sheldon. Maybe a little bit about Howard but mostly Sheldon. He was, and in many ways, still is, such an unlikely likable character. For real, like, imagine reading this character, before seeing Jim playing him. He’s a dick. But somehow, and I don’t think we’ll ever know why, we all love him. We feel this strange sympathy for him.

I attribute a lot of that to Jim Parsons’ adorableness.

I mean look at HIM. But we’re not here to talk about that.

We’re here to talk about how he went from being this guy, who hated relationships and had no interest in other human beings

to becoming this guy.

Because I remember very well how everyone was so apprehensive about the idea of Sheldon having a love interest back in season 3.

Almost as much apprehension as we feel about the Sheldon spin off right now, am I rite? *high fives u* Ok, sorry. I’m gonna try to explain, or describe how I think the writers pulled this off. And you’re entitled to disagree with me, ok? This is just my opinion.

I think the writers of this show are geniuses, a little bit. Not because they write science jokes, because it’s barely about that anymore. But because they found a way to develop a character who seemed 1000000% the most unlikely to ever change in any way.

Let’s look at Season 1/2/3 Sheldon for a second.

He’s a germaphobe.

He doesn’t even like human company.

He disagrees with everyone.

He’s (as far as we know) asexual.

Best part, he’s 100% clueless.

100%!!!

Even when a girl shows interest in him, he doesn’t realize it

Or a guy.

It was funny, yes, but then the news came out that Sheldon was going to have a love interest

And we all wondered how the hell that was going to work. This is how they made it work: They brought in a character that was exactly like Sheldon. Despised physical contact.

Only went out with him to please his mother

Was just as smart as him.

Had the same interests as him.

But the best part about Amy was.. She did not seem as much into Sheldon as Sheldon was into her.

I loved that. Because it seemed so unlikely. I think most of us have forgotten this. Because the way they played it in every other season after season 4, it was the other way around, but not at first.

Amy seemed mostly unfazed by Sheldon.

At least from a relationship point of view.

It would’ve been so much easier for these writers to have this girl be into Sheldon and Sheldon not into her at all but then Sheldon could’ve never fallen for anyone like that, because we remember how that Ramona business turned out, right?

So of course, he liked her more.

He got a bunch of cats after a fight that ended their “relationship” (their words, not mine).

He asked her out and she turned him down

He got jealous of Leonard

He liked her kisses.

But the part that remained very true to the character we all knew and loved was that he denied all of it. That was what still made him very Sheldon. The Sheldon we all loved.

He denied jealousy

He let go of her hand after grabbing it.

He denied being hurt

He denied her being more than a friend.

Meanwhile Amy was just there… a bit of a mystery. Both to us, and Sheldon. Until we got to know her a little bit She became her own character and she.. had desires.

The roles reversed but Sheldon could not let go of her at this point. He was already so into her.

She kissed him and he pretended like it never happened. But it did.

And this is something we’ve come to see from this couple over and over again, and I suspect its the reason why we’re all oddly ok with Sheldon being the way he is today, compared to what he was then. They dragged things out as long as possible. It got to the point where we were all screaming at our TV screens, GOD, JUST ASK HER TO BE YOUR GIRLFRIEND ALREADY!!!!!1 It got to the point where Sheldon just couldn’t deny his own feelings anymore.

He had to ask her out.

He had to apologize when he was wrong.

He had to allow himself to love her.

And boy, that took a while.

But Amy always found ways, because she’s THE BEST.

So patient, so loving, so understanding.

Because she was Sheldon at some point, right?

She knew what he was going through.

And yet another great example of the writers dragging things out like crazy. Even “Sheldon initiated kiss” (SIK) was a thing on tumblr. I remember the 1000 fanfics written about how a SIK could happen. It was our #1 dream

And let’s all face it, season 6 was a major disappointment. Not only did we not get our SIK, but Sheldon was just… a dick this season.

But we got a cute hug

And Sheldon kinda admitted how much Amy meant to him

So we decided to forget about it and hope the season 7 was the year of the SIK AND BOY IT WAS.

But before we get into that, let’s look at how much they dragged things out, shall we? 1

That last one was honestly just brutal.

I think all of us shamy shippers would’ve been ok if they just kissed whenever. We would’ve been fine with anything as long as he kissed her on the lips, but the writers probably struggled with the “everyday, normal, general, casual viewer” who doesn’t write huge essays like this one.

And it was so perfect man, I remember watching that scene, I almost had a heart attack.

I remember so very clearly when this scene came out and some Shamy haters (yes they exist, omg) were like “EVERYONES TALKING ABOUT HOW PERFECT IT WAS BUT ANY SCENE WOULD’VE PLEASED U GUYS” and I was like, yeah, thats true but. This kiss was on EVERY NEWS NETWORK IN THE WORLD

THIS STUPID MEME HAD LIKE A MILLION NOTES

EVERYONE WAS TALKING ABOUT IT BECAUSE

it. was. so. perfect.

Let me tell you why, this episode begins with this scene: Sheldon, once again, suppressing his feelings. He counts down until he no longer feels the need to hug her.

And he’s so betrayed when he finds out Amy was hoping for some romance, cause he does NOT enjoy romance. He tries to make a point.

But now his own body betrays him.

It’s also perfect because this isn’t like every other time where Sheldon’s actions are completely misaligned with what he says. He’s not denying something, he’s just doing it. And he doesn’t ever try to deny it.

Let’s look at Sheldon with the cats once again.

He’s clearly struggling, while saying he’s not pining over anyone.

But kissing, he’s never talked about kissing. He’s never been in a position where he really wanted to kiss her and did it but then denied it.

This, somehow, has never occurred before. 3 years in and this has never happened

And now it does, and he so clearly loves it, and he never, ever. Not even the day after, tries to deny how much it meant to him.

This, ladies gentlemen, is when Sheldon realizes he’s in love.

And he sooo wants to kiss her again, but he doesn’t do it.

Instead he adds it to the relationship agreement, of course. And he’s so willing man, it’s beautiful.

Of course he doesn’t admit he’s in love ’til a year later, but that’s how much we have to drag it out right?

And now that he’s said it, he doesn’t have to hide it anymore.

This guy is just so in love

It’s beautiful. We’re all so happy

and Amy too, and she starts to think that maybe that means Sheldon’s ready for a little bit more.

But he’s not, and that hits her like a damn truck.

She has to break up, patience’s run out, she needs some time off.

And Sheldon knew what had happened. Amy was disappointed because he wasn’t thinking about sex, so he thinks it’s the coitus part that made Amy want to break up.

I’ve said this 10 thousand times already but I love that look (JIM YOU DESERVE EVERY EMMY). It’s such a small, 2 second shot but it shows exactly his thoughts this whole time.

He thinks Amy broke up with him because of the lack of coitus, but it wasn’t that. It was so much more than that.

This whole episode was so clearly a set up to them getting back together.

They’re back to season 4 Shamy. They’re playing games, admiring each other.

Once again, we’re all going JUST KISS HER DAMMIT GET BACK TOGETHER PLEASE

And the end hit US (and Amy) like a damn truck now.

Sheldon was so hurt, he didn’t want to go through all that pain again. He decides he’d rather have Amy as a friend, now that he sees it as a possibility, rather than risk getting his heart broken again.

But then, he comes to a great realization. Amy’s only made him better since they met.

He realizes he is, once again, denying his own feelings.

To hell with that, they’re back together, and this time, for real.

Yes, that means coitus, too. And once again we all went.. “how the hell is that gonna work”. This is probably the first time, since Amy’s arrival, when something happened when we were not expecting it.

They didn’t really drag this out, I mean, in a way, they did cause it’s already been 5 years since Amy’s introduction but also.. not so much. They’d just gotten back together, and we’d all probably thought that 2 kisses were supposed to hold us for a while.

And coitus happened. Something I mysteriously haven’t talked about yet, is why this couple is so appealing to so many people. In part it’s beautiful because of Sheldon’s development, yes, but also because Sheldon and Amy are each other’s 1st love. It seems so unlikely that two people would find love for the first time in their 30s, but that’s exactly what this relationship is.

This is the first time for both of them, and I’m not talking about virginity, no. I’m talking about first time falling for someone. Watching that is so beautiful. It’s one of the best parts about this couple. It brings out a familiar feeling for all of us.

Same with them losing their virginity, it wasn’t about “oooh, Sheldon’s a stud in bed!!”, it’s about, being nervous, anxious...

But ultimately knowing it’s the right time because you love this person and know them and trust them.

It’s again, so unlikely that Amy would be the one having doubts and being nervous right before it happens, and Sheldon’s so calm and sure that this is right.

But that made it all the more beautiful for us, didn’t it?

And yes he’s a genius in bed, too. Period.

Now there’s nothing really holding them back. Coitus only once a year, sure, but that’s it.

Sheldon makes mistakes, and denies his own feelings sometimes but he’s matured enough to realize it and apologize for it, but more than that, he makes adjustments for Amy.

He moves in with her,

adjusts his lifestyle for her

he makes a real effort

Something Amy’s been doing for years now, he’s finally doing it for her.

And, as I’ve said 10 thousand times already, it’s BEAUTIFUL.

And finally, to end this extremely long text post, my favorite headcanon about this couple has always been how Amy is the ONLY person that could’ve made this happen for Sheldon.

She’s the only woman he’d ever want to date, be intimate with, kiss, etc. She’s the only one he could fall for. And I’ll be honest, I was never really sure that that was really canon on the show. Until season 10, episode 24 happened.

And it sucked seeing Sheldon enjoying somebody else’s company so much, even though he obviously did not enjoy it as more than a friendship, but

when Ramona kisses him, he realizes Amy’s the only person he ever wants to be with. It’s canon now, bitches!

Amy’s the only one.

#shamy #sheldon cooper #amy farrah fowler #tbbt #bbt #the big bang theory #long text post #complete now #idiot me

482 notes · View notes

wonderfulchaos69-blog · 8 years ago

Text

tagged!

@mikoe24 - this looked interesting, so I stayed up a bit later than intended working on it xD Thanks for the tag, love, and I’ll be having some Mikuni and Misono headcanons for you after my hiatus is up! (which will be a week ahead of time, woohoo!)

Rules: Always post the rules. Answer the questions asked, then write eleven new ones. Tag eleven people to answer your questions as well as the person who tagged you.

Pokki’s Questions

1. Do you have any OCs? If so, what are their name(s)?

I have quite a few, yes. I have an entire next gen cast for Natsume's Book of Friends, for a story I have been working on for two years. It recently hit 100k and I am still dead sure this will never see the light of day, lol. It's so self indulgent. For right now it has the working title of Elegy for the Lost One and it takes place in a future where Natsume disappeared under strange circumstances. Thrillers are what I like writing the most - suspense, the build-up to it, and then the inevitable fall as you start putting the pieces together.

Now to give you the run-down on the OCS, haha. So first up is Shiori, who I decided would be a daughter to Natori and Hiiragi. I am always curious about youkai/human relations and how they work in the Book of Friends universe, and I chose to play around with that using Shiori. She takes after her father a lot - flashy, bold, a real show stopper. But she has her mother's sensibility and loyalty. And since I'm mentioning Natori, I might as well bring up Matoba. I ended up giving him a son that develops an unparalleled obsession with the Book of Friends. Then there's Takahiro, Hiromi and Haruki who are the main cast and the ones that the story focuses on the most. They're the ones trying to solve the mystery. Meanwhile, there's Makoto, who is the would-be inherited of the Book of Friends. She is a relative to Natsume, distantly, through Natsume's cousin (Yuuto, if the drama cds are to be believed~).

Then, for an original story I'm working on, I have a few solid characters so far. Annabel, a steadfast young woman who is independant to a fault and doesn't know to ask others for help. She's thrown into a situation where she has no choice but to lean on others - or in this case, on one person in particular. A mentor, a friend, a guiding hand in a world that seems so foreign even though she's been living in it for years. Suddenly, things fail to make sense. What she thought she knew turns out to be different from the underlying reality. The Lore Keeper, her mentor, is the one to help her through it. For his own reasons, but who doesn't have an ulterior motive or two? His is simply ensuring that the future Keeper is an upstanding one. As you can see, he doesn't have a name yet. But that's both intentional and my own laziness lol. So yeah, choosing names is always the last step for me. Developing their personalities is what I tend to focus on the most when creating an OC. The name always comes last to me.

2. What’s your favorite eye color?

I love blue eyes! They're so pretty. Especially light blue.

3. How would you name your kids? Or, if you don’t want kids, what are your favorite names?

Fun fact: I was actually terrified of having children for a long time. I met someone who changed that for me, but eh. I have not given it much thought. I think naming children should be the act of both parents, something I'd want to talk over with my partner, but as for some of my favorite names ... I like short and sweet, so: Iris and Jay.

4. What’s your favorite quote?

I tend to go with Dr. Seuss a lot, heh, so I'll go with Roald Dahl this time: "A little nonsense now and then, is cherished by the wisest of men."

5. What’s the last anime you watched?

... it's been a while, uhhh. Dragon Maid probably. :3

6. Do you like cosplays?

I never personally wore any, but I deeply admire those who do. They put a lot of work into every costume and that takes skill, dedication, and sacrificing their own personal time to make it. They have my respect.

7. Do you have a crush on someone? (A real person or a fictional character, it doesn’t matter~)

Well then, just delve right into my deep, dark secrets why don't you? Hmmm, I guess if I'm being honest: I do. It was sort of an "oh shit" moment for me, but identifying the problem is the first step to finding a solution. In this case, getting my heart to agree with my mind that this is Not Allowed.

Fictional-wise ... idk, man. It's hard enough on me having real life crushes. I suppose Lily and Natori would be my type, though.

8. How many siblings do you have?

I have - had - two older half-brothers. It's complicated, too, so nope. I will not be explaining.

9. What would your ideal date be like?

Probably either a candlelit dinner and snuggling on the couch or doing something we both loved together. With my ex, that used to be hiking at the Cliffs, putting our feet in the water and play fighting with said water, and then collapsing together in the sand. It was sweet while it lasted.

10. Do you like your handwriting? Why?

I do, because why not? It's not perfect, but I've been learning that striving for perfection is a fruitless endeavor. It's also the coward's way out.

11. Now, say something positive about yourself!~ c:

Hmmm. Something positive ... my mind always goes blank when asked this sort of question. I guess, it's my persistence? Even when I play the role my own worst critic, I still keep going because sitting idle has never suited me. I have to constantly be doing something. Whether it's writing, reading, etc. If my mind is happy, so am I.

Avi’s Questions

1: What is you’re favorite series and why? (Could be anything from TV shows, books, anime, ect..)

For books, probably ... the Artemis Fowl series? That writing style is one of my favs :'D

For manga, definitely Natsume's Book of Friends. Gorgeous short stories on their own and a sprinkling of plot that's not too much, so it doesn’t take away from each story and they can all stand on their own. I admire that, since I'm primarily a short story writer more often than not.

2: What is your favorite weather and time of day?

My favorite type of weather is rain, no doubt about it. And for time of day ... night. Definitely night. I am a night owl, ha.

3: Favorite Fictional character? Why?

Why must you do this to me?! At the moment, it's Mikuni. Save me.

4: Favorite video game? Why?

The World Ends With You. Lots of reasons, and since they are personal ... I will instead just gush about how much I loved the storyline and the characters, and how I can proudly proclaim that this is one of the few games I have ever completed 100%.

5: What are your hobbies?

Writing, reading, watching anime, video games, fishing, hiking, cooking/baking, and learning new things.

6: If you could pick one fictional world to live in, what world would you pick and why?

Oh gosh, I think the Hunter x Hunter world would be cool, too, but I'd die so quickly ... I'm going to go the safer route and say Tales of the Abyss. Make me one of those NPCs chilling in the background. Just, you know, not in the town that gets completely destroyed (gdi Luke).

7: Favorite animal?

CATS. I have always been a cat person and I will definitely continue to be one looooong into the future.

8: Do you have any pets? If so, what are their names and what are they?

Snow White, my eskimo doggie. And Goldie, my orange and white tabby cat.

9: Do you have any original stories? Tell me something about them!

Since I already talked about my current story alongside the OC question, I'll instead gush about a collab story with a good friend of mine. We've been working on this story for close to ... god, eight years now? It's one of those self indulgent things. It's fun to come home to and work on. It has a super hero setting, wherein she writes the heroes and I write the villains. My alliance is called, wait for it - SASSI. Super Assholes Seeking Suitable Income. They're real particular about the destruction they cause, let me tell ya. It's sort of a goofy series that we put together to hash out why people do the things they do and put a satire spin on it. (The villains are not the only ones we poke fun at, just saying.)

10: If you have any ocs, who was your first? If you don’t have any, who was your first favorite character and why?

Oh wow, that's so long ago. My first OC was a nameless young lady from a story about black cats bringing good omens. I wrote it for English class, because I was interested in myths and old legends in regards to cats. It was around the time I discovered what a Cat Sith is.

11: You have three wishes, what would you wish for?

Is this like one of those genies that twists what we want and we have to be reaaaally careful? You know, Monkey Paw style? If so, then I would hand off the wishes to someone else. They can have them; I'mma strive for what I want with my own dedication and patience. If this is a no strings attached sort of deal, then: 1. for good things to happen to my friends and family, 2. to live by the ocean, and 3. to be able to speak more than one language. As I said, all things I can work towards on my own.

Mikoe's Questions

1. Do you draw? If yes, how many years has it been since you’ve started?

Oh gods, no. I used to be big into drawing animals, but I can't draw people and shit for the life of me. I have a few wolf pictures, still, I think. My spirit animal <3

2. Do you write? If yes, could you copy paste a line from your latest work?

Since I was 11~ And sure, I'll use fanfic: "Do I have to go?" The cat's sleepy yawn gave away its apathy to the whole thing. "Can't I just stay here and nap? You'll be fine on your own."

"Well, they did send us two tickets. It'd be rude if you didn't use it, Kuro. Not to mention," and here Mahiru flicked the cat on the forehead, "I'd kind of die if you didn't come along, you lazy cat. Or did you forget we have a contract?"

3. What is/are your nickname(s)? If you don’t have any, can I give you one?

I joke about having nicknames, because kids call me Apple (or god help me, Cabbage, from A FRIEND UGH), but nah. Not really. You can't really make a nickname out of April, lol. As for receiving a nickname, go for it. Good luck, pffft.

4. When is your birthday? If you’re not comfortable with it, then what is your favorite day of the whole year and why?

August 27th

5. What are the 5 things that never fail to brighten up your day or put a smile on your face?

My pets!!! My friends and family. Really cute pics of animal in general. Reading something sweet. Being out in the fresh air.

6. Why did you join Tumblr?

To reconnect with old friends, mainly. Then I fell into the Servamp fandom, enough said.

7. IOS or Android?

Android.

8. In the scale of 1 to 10, how much do you love yourself?

5, it's half and half.

9. Are you the type who pours the cereal before the milk or the milk before the cereal?

Cereal before the milk xD I don't want to get splashed.

10. How is 2017 treating you so far?

Hmm, to sum up: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

My internal thoughts are just incoherent screaming atm.

11. Do you like pigeons? XD

Depends. I like the pretty ones that are small and colorful and land on your fingertips.

My Questions~

1. Where do you see yourself in five years?

2. If you draw and/or write, what programs are your favorite to use?

3. Do you have any phobias?

4. Have you ever traveled? If so, where?

5. Do you have someone you admire or strive to be like?

6. What is your ideal vacation?

7. Do you have a favorite candle scent?

8. What genre is your favorite? (For movies, books, anime/manga, games, etc.)

9. Do you have something you use as a crutch/safety net? Something you couldn't live without?

10. What is a series you used to enjoy as a child? Do you still enjoy it?

11. List five things you want to improve in and make a little time for those things every day.

I tag: @crazyanime3, @stirlingphoenix, @choc0bunnyqueen, @pleasantdreamsart, @saltykarkat, @mikunialicein .... man, it’s hard to pick 11. Anyone else who wishes to do so! And of course, if you’re tagged and do not want to do it, that’s cool too.

#tag game #personal #long post #and now i must sleep

6 notes · View notes