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itwasrealtome · 16 days

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BEST BELOVED

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CHAPTER ONE — UNBREAKABLE BONDS

TW: Crying, scars, a heavy past, Carter flees his home

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Prologue

Chapter two

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LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

NOVEMBER 23, 2016

It was not Elle's first time in this kind of situation.

She was no stranger to the massive meeting room, to high stakes encounters, or even to the presence of lawyers, but sitting across from the Russo brothers and Kevin Feige, the titans of the Marvel Cinematic Universe still felt like uncharted territory to her.

The weight of the moment bore down on her, the pressure more intense than ever. She felt like on the edge of a tennis court, her eyes darting from right to left as the two-party representatives spoke about deal-making and negotiation. It was perhaps her greatest pet hate. The way everything sounded like 'money', 'money', 'money', and nothing else.

Elle rubbed her temples, the intensity of competing voices debating terms and figures threatening to pull her into a haze of exhaustion. Though, the sight of her trusted agent — Don, scowling and clicking his pen endlessly, reminded her that she wasn't actually on her own.

He sat beside her, occasionally interjecting with his own thoughts and suggestions. But the actress could tell that even he seemed weary of the lengthy discussions. Seconds on his watch were sleeping away all too slowly for Elle's liking. So much so, that she even thought of getting Don a new one in good faith. Thus, in the near future, they may regain their freedom.

The distant panorama of Los Angeles beckoned, as good a distraction as that could be. A bright sun, still in peak condition for this end-of-year season, was still shining on the high skyscrapers. With a touch of imagination, Elle could picture herself under the star's rays, her skin gleaming in the radiant sunlight. She longed for a reprieve from the relentless demands of her career. She had in mind a warm place where she would go running each morning and swimming each afternoon. And when night would come, she'd feel her lips against her neck, her hands hovering over her thighs, slowly —softly— bringing her back to life.

—Ellie, Don nudged her discreetly. Your phone.

She hummed, suddenly snapping out of her reverie. One glance at her smartphone and she bid farewell to the good vibes of her inner world, greeting a blend of worry and urgency. This, then, was being hit by sisterly duty after many years of absence. Carter had to be a young man now, something like 16, maybe. And calling was definitely not part of his routine.

"Had to leave. I'm in LA. Please, come and get me."

Elle rose from her chair, all of a sudden, stammering an apologetic stride. She was well aware it was technically unethical for her to leave in such a way, but people would understand.

Right?

A few hasty explanations and she was off down the building's long corridors. Her thoughts raced alongside her footsteps, her heart pounding with concern as she tried to dial her brother's number, again and again. But all she heard was the voicemail. She settled for a brief text instead, letting him know that she was on her way.

It was hard to remember the last time she'd been to Los Angeles Union Station. Her body guiding her in pure automatism as she held a strong grip on the steering wheel. The congested city streets were not in their favor. Elle could feel a drop of sweat trickling down her forehead, anxiety making her its prey. There must have been a good reason behind Carter's escape from Oregon. Something bad. Maybe the same thing that had made her leave when she was around his age.

Once there, she soon spotted him. A tall, brunet, young man, his face partly hidden by a Dodgers cap. One of the few souvenirs Elle had been able to send him. He stood alone amidst the bustling crowd, backpack on his shoulders, skateboard under his arm, and guitar in hand. Anyone could have easily guessed he wasn't from around town. He appeared to have fled in the middle of the night, chased by his own demons.

Elle parked the car, heart aching, hands trembling. She locked eyes with her brother for the first time in what felt like an eternity. There, in his eyes, she saw their mother's gaze again. He was indeed taller than she had imagined. The memory of him as a child was now just that, a distant memory.

Undaunted, she reached out and welcomed Carter with a warm embrace. The boy breathed a sigh of relief, his sister's scent reminding him of home. He almost broke down right there, instantly, in the middle of the parking lot. Elle withdrew at the right moment, prompting him to swallow back his tears. She studied his face, a gentle hand caressing the wounds of a torment they never wanted to experience again. Their lips quivered, the weight of their past upsetting their own harmony.

—I am so sorry, whispered Elle.

Carter flashed her a shattered smile, his eyes brimming with tears as he snorted to himself. It was hilarious if you asked him. He, years later, was asking for help from the person who had left him behind and never looked back.

—Can we just go to your place? He tightened his grip on the strap of his bag, clearly impatient. I don't want to be here anymore.

Elle guided him to her vehicle, opened the trunk, and made it her business to stow his belongings. They traveled in silence, the tension palpable. At red lights, she stole glances at him, noting the changes time wrought upon him. He had grown, both physically and emotionally, since they had last seen each other. But the scars etched across his face told a story she could only begin to imagine.

A modest house wasn't exactly what he'd imagined all the way from Oregon. Carter assumed her sister now lived in a palace, a villa so impossibly spacious that she spent her time getting lost in each room as if in some kind of labyrinth. He was surprised to see a simple one-storey house, nothing luxurious but rather welcoming. Maybe the MCU wasn't paying as well as he thought after all.

Carter followed in his sister's footsteps, his arms full of his personal possessions. She guided him upstairs, to the end of the corridor, where he found a bedroom far more spacious than the last one he had lived in all his life. Everything seemed brighter and healthier than in his aunt's house. Everything was clean, the bed was made, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of laundry. Elle hastily retrieved a forgotten sweatshirt from the bed while Carter placed his stuff in a corner, nervous about disturbing anything.

—You can stay for as long as you wish, reassures Elle. You have your own bathroom right there. If you need anything, I–

The brunette stopped, her phone vibrating in her jeans pocket. She smiled apologetically at the boy, removing the device to answer. Don's deep voice echoed in her eardrum as she made her way back downstairs. He didn't press her about the meeting, the contract, or whatever. Carter was the object of their current concern. It was clear that he needed help and Elle was ready to lend a hand.

"He didn't say much, Don. I don't know how long he'll stay or what happened."

The actress was pacing back and forth in her living room, phone pressed to her ear. She wanted to bring Don her share of news, but she had nothing more to tell him. It was all a thick fog. So she listened to what he had to say. The two sides had reached an agreement. Her paycheck for the next MCU film was at an all-time high, at least for her. And she would finally be able to resume physical training for the next production. It meant being away from home, seeing friends and old acquaintances, and getting back into the shoes of the character she once played.

Now that was a bit of positivity.

The call over, her schedule up to date, she stopped in her tracks, lost. She still had a 16-year-old upstairs who needed her help. Worry gnawed at her insides as she prepared a soothing, warm, drink for the boy. She needed to provide him comfort, to let him know that he was safe with her, that whatever he fled from could no longer reach him.

The comforting aroma of the beverage trailed her up the stairs, like sweet cocoa smoke. She knocked gently, the hot mug in her hands. Carter sat on the edge of the bed, hair damp, dried blood absent from his face. He'd found the skincare products in the bathroom. He looked up, his eyes red and swollen from the tears that had flowed and threatened to do so again.

And just like that, he broke again.

His composure crumbled, his tears flowing freely as he fell into Elle's waiting embrace. He clung to her like a lifeline in rough seas, his hands clutching her shirt in a last-ditch effort. Nothing could console the young Wiley, his prayers never to return to Oregon reaching the ears and hearts of the willing.

The actress didn't dare let go of him, a lump stagnating in her throat as she held back her tears the way she always had. She couldn't bring herself to send her brother back to where he came from, the weight of their scars far too heavy for them to part again.

His pain was hers, and thus her home would become his.

•••

Chapters and stuff here

Don't forget that one reaction, one comment, can change the mood of my whole life 🫶🏻

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#scarlett johansson x reader #bestbeloved #ellewiley #chapter one #carterwiley #scarlett johansson masterlist #mcu fic #mcu cast

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go-to-the-mirror · 1 year

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i dont want to talk about scrutiny

WHATEVER, FINE, OKAY, WE'RE DOING SCRUTINY, OR SOMETHING, FINE, WHATEVER, WHAT EVER

i love scrutiny, i do, but in the way that i love threshold, and nothing beside remains, and seeing it through, and a guest for mr spider. meaning I really do, but I also hate it with vitriol. Not really? It's complicated. I have Some Feelings Towards it. Yep. Look this podcast makes me feel happiness and sadness and anger at the same bloody time, but it's all confused because it's overridden by being Very ADHD about it, so like, they're all rattling around in there. I hate it (affectionate), I love it (derogatory), you get it?

Anyway, y'all know how I feel about Jon already, and if you don't, it's love and only love, so uhm, yeah, let's just get on with it already, rambling and mostly rambling, attempts to set aside my undying love for the Jarchivist for like a day, etc.

@a-mag-a-day

Firstly, I'd like to draw attention to the posts I made on my instagram story about this when I was first listening to TMA, because I was Not Alright.

The first was highlighting the description of the episode: "Statement of an unknown bystander, regarding an encounter with The Archivist." "The Archivist." Not "Jonathan Sims," not "Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London," not even "Jonathan Sims, The Archivist."

Just... The Archivist.

The second was regarding the first, saying that I knew it was deserved but he should be allowed to eat a few fears. As a treat.

I didn't say anything to my partner (who you should follow by the way, they're scarandjoelenthusiast), cause I think I was still attempting to be spoiler free for vex at that point, lol. And I had no other... friends. At all. Um. Yeah.

So, onto the relisten! Oh boy.

MARTIN Ah, alright, did he... did he look like he hadn't slept in about a week?

I absolutely love that Jon's descriptors are looking like shit, and looking like Jesus. That's just amazing.

Also uh,,, why did Martin immediately go to Jon? Hm..

Everything, every bit of light or sound or, or anything that changed, that said time was passing. There was nothing. Before that I never really thought about time, you know? But now… Yeah.

that must have been terrifying

So, it, it took a long time to get over that. I mean, that’s not weird, right? I me— It was a bad time. You know, it, it stays with you. Was signed off, what, I think about six months with the injuries. Had pretty bad, uh, nightmares, claustrophobia, I mean, obviously, right? But, uh, but, but I did my physio, and, you know, talked, talked with the counsellor they gave me. Look, I did everything I was supposed to and, and yeah, I… I guess I was fine. You know, once the bruises were gone I— Well, it’s easy to blame memory, right? You know, ha-hallucination, coincidence, all the classic shite you tell yourself. Life went back to normal. I— I was fine. Until about two weeks ago.

Jesus fucking christ, Jon. She was fine, trying to get over it, Floyd was fine and that's just it, because they think they're safe, and-

She was fine, she was okay, and he took that from her, he took that from her, he made it so she couldn't be fine anymore, he made it so every god. damn. night she'd experience that again, the bastard.

There’s this creep in, in the corner. Your guy. He just… keeps staring at me, like, like properly staring. Like, it is super intense and, and real weird. Like he knows me, but I sure as hell do not know him. I— I try to ignore him, look, I just, I just read my book, and every time I look up there he is, watching me.

Girls when they realise oh yes, he's an avatar.

So… Look, I’m packing up, all done and, and I just, I just sorta turn, you know, just, just to check if he’s still there and he is standing right behind— Like, like a few inches from my face. Look, it’s messed up!

That's??? Terrifying?? I mean, look, like, my sisters jump whenever I quietly stand behind them and stare intently, and they're my sisters, they know me, they know I only joke about stabbing them with a knife, Jon, that's freaky, stop being freaky, you have trauma at home. Go eat a stale trauma for gods sake.

Like, okay Mr. "I don't think it's me doing it." Who sat at a bloody coffee shop for an hour.

I. Understand. That there is a certain. Need. To cause and feed on fear. As an Avatar/Monster/Whatever. And I mean like it's pretty hard. To admit you're in the wrong for something. Even if you think you're in the wrong for other things. But like. None of this matters to Jess, to Floyd, to the three other people whose lives he ruined. He can try be better, he can never do it again, but he can't go back and fix it.

And I start to ask him, you know, what the hell, man, you know? Like— But he just starts talking. Slowly. But real intense. He says, he works here, at the, the Magnus Institute, and I say, what even is that and he says, he wants my story. He says he needs to hear what happened to me. And I— I want to tell him to jj-just go away. I want to, to, to kick him and run. But I— (long sigh) I sit down. And I start to tell him everything. About the job, about the collapse, a-about the hand. More than I told you, even, and, and as I do— it’s like I’m there again. Like I can feel it grab my ankle, th-th-that cold, dead hand and I just… I just can’t stop talking. I cannot shut up.

[ID: A blurry photo of CC!GoodTimesWithScar with his head in his hands. /End ID]

And then it was over. And he looked— He looked at me like he’d just eaten, like a perfectly cooked steak. You know what he said? He said, “Thank you.” “Thank you.” Just like that. Like, like reliving the worst parts of my whole life were just a bit of a… a favour that I’d done him. And then he left and I— I just sat there and cried for a while.

i don't know what to say im just sitting here with my head in my hands.

And he’s there the whole time, just… watching me. Watching me scream and thrash and… He’s all eyes. He’s all eyes.

I kinda want to punch him right about now, because how dare he do that to her, how dare he ruin her life just because he wanted to. Whatever, avatar, feed your god or it'll feed on you, I don't care, that's his business, not hers. She wasn't involved, she didn't have to be involved, she was fine and he took that from her, the bastard!

How dare he sit there talking about choice, how dare he feel all guilty for ruining her life, how dare he! He doesn't deserve to feel bad about it. Christ, Jon, what the fuck.

But I feel like I’m seeing him when I’m awake as well. I’ve been… I’ve been having a lot of problems since he talked to me. Since I talked to him. Since I told my... story. The, the claustrophobia, it’s back, worse than it ever was and I can’t do my job. I have these, these screaming panic attacks every time I try and— What am I supposed to do? Like, feels like, like every time I’m even slightly underground I— Can’t even go into a shop basement more without feeling that… (sniffs) hand. Every time I do, every time I get that panic just rising up my throat, I see him. He’s there. Not when I look properly, but just at the edge. The corner of my eye. Then he’s gone.

(MAG 142 - Scrutiny)

Since then, she said she’d been seeing that woman everywhere she went.

(MAG 6 - Worm Sex Episode Squirm)

✨ becoming what you hated ✨

No, but I have a lot of feelings on becoming a fear entity Avatar and the cycle of violence. Of how Avatars often only became Avatars because of previous trauma, because they had no other options. Of how they often don't see themselves as victims, for example Annabelle Cane describing herself as manipulative, even as she was a child trying to cope in an abusive household. And I think that Jon being like Jane Prentiss, following his victims like her, starting to understand her... that ties into those themes. I love this podcast <3.

MARTIN No, no, it’s— Thank you. I just— [Agitated clatter] For god’s sake, can he not just stay safe for like, like ten minutes?! DAISY I don’t think that’s an option for him anymore. MARTIN Yeah, I mean, sure. But he just… he doesn’t think! He always just immediately charges straight off into danger with whatever, whatever half-arsed plan occurs to him at the time! I don’t get it! DAISY What’s to get? MARTIN What? DAISY I, I mean, it’s pretty standard stuff. MARTIN What? DAISY Used to see it all the time back in the force, especially with the sectioned. Not like there’s ‘normal’ trauma, you know, but it’s pretty common. The most important thing becomes control, engaging on your own terms. Even when it’s stupid or dangerous. Anything to not feel helpless. MARTIN Oh god… DAISY And of course for Jon’s there’s survivor’s guilt in there too. He thinks he’s not human. Makes him very… self-destructive.

PODDED CAST!!

Thank you, Jonny.

Like hgnhhrnhhnr <3 yep. mhhnm there's another post that talks about the meaning of putting that in with scrutiny, I'll tag a mag a day in that.

Like! Aa! Thank you. Don't really have much to add, I mean I said a bunch in other episodes rambles, specifically the MAG 131, 132, and 136 ones.

I mean you know, the whole spider thing, a bit of his self-blame about... the end of season 4... could come from... if he's not to blame, then he didn't have any control, then all of this was out of his control. If he couldn't stop it, if Jimmy Magma's plan was that good then... well, then he was helpless, and there's nothing worse than being helpless.

in conclusion, disregard the above Jon did nothing wrong- no, he's... he doesn't get to be forgiven by Jess, by Floyd, by the others, not unless they choose to forgive him. But he can work on doing better, you know? He's allowed to not wallow in guilt the whole time, he's not irredeemable, he just did bad things -- bad things he can't fix -- but he can work on never doing those bad things again, on mitigating the damage as much as he can. He's not a bad person, just a person who did bad things.

I dunno, I'm more interested in the metaphysics side of philosophy. You know there's a branch of philosophy called metametaphysics? I think it's so funny.

#tma #the magnus archives #mag 142 #jonathan sims #jess terrell #tma meta #a mag a day #landscaping-your-mind-chapter-one #podded cast <3

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