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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake.

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful.

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much.

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps.

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok.

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce.

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way.

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

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bluboothalassophile · 4 years

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Merry Christmas!

Jason didn’t have big grand epic plans, Lian was with her dad, Mar'i and Jake had tentatively agreed to Christmas with B and Cat, Terry, Helena, Matt, B Jr, and Tommy were all at the Manor (he’d be there for Christmas dinner), and all his siblings were doing their grown up Christmas stuff morning on their own. Duke was at the McDuffies for the morning, Tim and Stephanie were at his penthouse, Cass was celebrating with B and Cat and the kids, Dick was in somewhere, Athanasia was with Damian who was at the Manor (her fist Christmas morning with the family), and everything was peaceful. Outlaws had split up for their Christmas (Roy had taken Lian to Seattle) and it was all quiet in their Gotham warehouse. Jason had had a lovely call from Harley and Ivy wishing him a Merry Christmas, Victor was coming by for a lunch, and Alice and her family had invited him to a dinner with them; he had reluctantly agreed to go (he still didn’t know how Alice had suckered him into that or how she had gotten his number). Apparently, Rae’s family didn’t want him alone on Christmas, which was kind of them, and concerning; she had passed away last year.

No one had left him alone long enough to really miss her, and his recovery from Joker’s attack and Grant was still fresh. Thank God for the Lazarus Pit or he’d have died. This year without Rae had been harsh. Well, except Constantine, but Constantine had cryptically said something had come up and a deal with the Devil was enacted and he’d be off grid for a while. Jason didn’t get a chance to question that before Constantine had POOFED! off the contactable world. No one in the JL knew how to reach him.

It was dawn when he got an excited call from Alina and the kids at the Manor, and now he was standing in his drafty warehouse with only Eddie for company; and Eddie was still dead to the world asleep. Eddie, next to Roy and Kyle was his best friend, but the metahuman was annoyingly certain about Raven, and Jason didn’t want to deal with him before he had coffee.

It was eight in the morning, some Christmas movie was on, and he had just picked up the Witcher series to read. He had gotten hooked on the Netflix series and been thoroughly miffed and disappointed it had ended there. Never had that happened; and he had been so pissed about the Game of Thrones ending he had actually stopped reading the books. However, the Witcher held promise and he liked Geralt; he had felt it was unnervingly easy to relate to Geralt, especially now. Jason scratched Ace’s ear as he tentatively lowered himself to his favorite chair. Black coffee in hand, his right leg was fucked up from the Joker and though the Lazarus Pit healed him up pretty well Leslie had warned him it would never feel right in the cold. And it was mother fucking cold here this time of year.

He grimaced a bit when there was a knock at the heavy steal door of the warehouse. Slowly putting his tablet aside he hefted himself up, cursing as his right leg was too stiff to want to move. He cursed the Joker’s existence again. There was another impatient, heavier knock.

“I’m coming, I’m coming he shouted. Calm you tits!” he snapped. Ace was already at the door, his entire body tense and quivering, Jason finally got to the door, cursing his feet for being cold as he opened it.

There were two men there, one about as tall as him, and the other taller if that was possible. The shorter one had dirty blonde hair, green eyes, while the taller one had shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes; they looked like brothers.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m Dean, this is Sam; we’re looking for…” the blonde started.

“Jason?” a smoky, soft graveled tone whispered, his head snapped over to the 1967 black Chevy Impala, and his eyes widened as she stepped out of the car.

He didn’t blink; she could disappear on him, he had seen her so many times.

Her hair was still long, loose and fluttering around her, her dark eyes were on him. He stared at her, her face, those lips, her nose, the cold air brought a blush to her ivory pale skin. She was dressed in a leather jacket, the thick, fluffy scarf was new, and her jeans were dark blue, the winter boots were different. He saw the Mets beanie on her head, and her Mets mittens clashing with the overall dark colors she was dressed in.

He couldn’t look away from her, if he did she could possibly not be real, he watched her slam the car door shut and in a flurry of motion she was slamming into him, her arms wrapping around him as a sob tore through her.

“Jason!” The force of her body hit him, which had him staggering back in shock; she was real, she was here, he wrapped his arms around her tightly burying his nose in her hair; she smelled of smoke, vanilla, and rain.

“Rae?” he murmured.

“I’ve been looking for you!” she sobbed as she clung to him, his leg gave out as they toppled to the ground, he didn’t care that they were making a scene as Ace excitedly raced around Raven; licking her face, his tail wagging and his fur up, she laughed as she pulled herself over him.

“Rae…?”

“It’s me, Jason, Rachel!” she smiled.

“How?” he whispered moving her hair behind her ear, he saw the two men entering his place, shutting the door. He wrapped his arms around her tighter, dragging her closer; not caring about the scene.

“Long story,” answered the blond.

“Hello,” she smiled as he finally let her pull away long enough to stare at her face. Her hair was everywhere; there was a newfound curl in the dark hair, and it fluttered around her; everywhere. Her eyes were a bit different, more distinctive this time around, not so mysteriously dark, they were violet, there were tints of blue, onyx, and silver in them, but they were most definitely a very dark violet.

“Hey,” he smiled weakly, his fingers running through her hair now.

“Merry Christmas!” she smiled.

“Happy Hanukkah,” he whispered. Raven had taken to following in her mothers’ traditions of celebrating Hanukkah. She was dazzling, and he wasn’t letting her go as her brow rested on his. He noted her chakra ruby and father’s prison wasn’t on her brow, but he didn’t care, she was here. She smelled like Raven, she felt like Raven.

“I missed you,” she said.

He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t even put into words how much he’d missed her, which lead him to kissing her brow as he looked at the two men in his warehouse.

“Luci and Maze said they’d bring Constantine around, just finishing tidying up Heaven a bit.”

“Who?”

“I have a British grandfather, and he’s the Devil,” Raven said. “I’m officially the coolest witch, ever.”

“I could’ve told you that,” he chuckled as she helped him up to his feet. Looping his arm around her waist he closed his eyes as he held her close and tight, he’d never let her go again.

“I’m glad I found you, I’ve been looking for you,” she whispered into his chest. He said nothing as he opened his eyes and stared at the men there.

#bluboothalassophile #fanfic #one-shot #hopes for a bastard #hopes for a bastard spoilers #jason todd #raven #run away bride #hopes for a bastard series: run away bride

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i-just-like-commenting · 6 years

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Themes in Luke Cage s2: The Quest for Control

What separates the good Netflix MCU seasons from the weaker ones are how well integrated their themes are into the setup of the story. Daredevil‘s first season did it well with its exploration of the thin lines between heroes and villains, the difficulty of choosing what is good. The first season of Luke Cage focused heavily on the idea of not being able to go backwards, only forwards. The first season Jessica Jones and even the deeply-flawed Punisher tried to tackle issues like sexually assault, survivor’s guilt, and PTSD. But none of them ever quite reached up to the level of that first season of Daredevil.

Then along came this season and I’ve got more themes than I can wrap my head around. I’ve only watched it through once, so take this as a preliminary digestion of what I saw and feel free to add your thoughts and nuances to my arguments.

I’m going to start with the theme that is central to Luke’s character arc for this season: the quest for control, and particularly the idea that this quest is futile. This idea that one can achieve omnipotence is the hubris of classic tragedy, and make no mistake that this season is a tragedy.

Luke’s journey is probably going to be the most controversial element of this season. I get this, to a certain degree. Sometimes you want your heroes to be paragons or to triumph over adversity. Sometimes you want them to skirt the dark side. It’s certainly best if you can have a mix of both, but there aren’t many black superheroes out there. It’s easy for me, as a white woman, to appreciate Luke’s struggle with the dark side this season because I have, at this point, plenty of representation of white women both noble and messed up available for me in media. If that is not what you want right now, I respect that. That same issue is why, as a person with a mental illness, I dropped the second season of Legion once I started seeing where it was going (though rest assured, Luke doesn’t do anything nearly as awful as what David does by the end of that show).

Luke throughout the first season was a very reactive character, partly because his story didn’t actually begin that season. It began in the first season of Jessica Jones, where Luke is a very active character, actively hunting down his wife’s killers. And what does he get for it? Well, he finds out that a woman he cared for was involved in Reva’s death and had been lying to him the whole time, and then he gets his mind controlled by a telepathic supervillain who tries to force him to kill Jessica just like she was forced to kill his wife, and he is only stopped by a shotgun blast straight to his head that nearly does him in.

It is thus perhaps understandable that Luke Cage didn’t want to be a hero anymore and was trying to live a quiet life. His arc for the first season was realizing he loved Harlem too much to do that. In the meantime, though, he was a highly reactive character. This is not always a bad thing for superheroes; go too far in the other direction of actively hunting down bad guys and you get Frank Castle. It did mean that the villains drove most of the plot rather than Luke himself. (spoilers follow...)

In the second season, motivated I believe by being so out of his depth with the Hand in The Defenders and seeing Misty lose an arm, Luke tries to take back control of his life. The problem with that no one is ever really in complete control of their lives, and in trying to get total control, Luke winds up becoming more controlled than ever.

We open with Luke attempting to hunt down every stash house selling heroin with his name on it – not because this drug is particularly more lethal than any other, but because it is using his name without his permission. This focus on controlling his image is one that hounds Luke throughout the season. He’s reluctant to sign promotional deals not so much because he doesn’t want to make money, but rather because he doesn’t want to be “bought.” He doesn’t want Nike or whoever to have any control over him. He wants to be his own man.

Yet thanks to not copyrighting an app early on, he is easily found by almost anyone, most of them armed with cameras. While Luke is sometimes able to promote himself – his “Yo, I’m Luke Cage” speech with all its chest-thumping and dabbing being the most prominent – it also means that when Bushmaster wipes him out, the video goes viral, and is sold without his permission to ESPN, leaving the narrative entirely out of Luke’s hands.

Unable to have control of his public life as a hero of Harlem, Luke shifts his focus to control of his personal life. He refuses his father’s efforts to reach out to him, and when Claire pushes for them to reconcile he dismisses her. When Claire questions his excessive force with Cockroach, he accuses her of “castrating” him. Given that Luke doesn’t much demonstrate many other signs of toxic masculinity, I think this hyperbole has less to do with her “unmanning” him and more to do with taming him, making him docile, under someone else’s control. While I firmly believe Luke was never in any risk of hurting Claire, he does get angry enough to break her wall, losing control of himself and losing her. Once again the quest for control backfires on him.

Even the fan-service-y cameo episode with Danny Rand serves toward this theme of need for control, as Luke works on self-control of his anger through Danny’s advice. To a certain degree this works; Luke is in much more control of his emotions towards the end of the series than towards the beginning, but that doesn’t solve his biggest issue, his frustration with trying to control the criminal world that swirls around him.

Much of his vigilante work involves him chafing at the restrictions and controls presented by legal options. He’s not alone in this. Misty Knight has a similar path of trying to determine how comfortable she is with following the law versus going her own way. She was this close to going full Scarfe and planting evidence when the lawful means of going after a domestic abuser weren’t working, and turned in her badge because she felt that she’d crossed a line and could no longer be police. She scorned at Ridenhour’s compromises, and started assuming a vigilante role.

Misty, however, has power thrust upon her unexpectedly when she is made the temporary commander of her precinct, and in being in actual control makes her realize how much she misjudged the people who had been in control of her before. Heavy lies the crown as they say, and instead of becoming more rogue in her new role, she becomes more conformed to the establishment, more willing to strike deals and work in the system. The downside of this is her having to accept that her “wins” might be fewer and far between. The upside is that she probably the only character in this season to come out in a more positive position than she was in the beginning. To gain control, she has to give up some control, albeit on her own terms.

Contrast this to the walking disaster that is Mariah Dillard Stokes this season. Mariah’s miserable childhood has left her unable to develop trust with anyone, and so she takes on all decisions by herself and keeps control of her assets in her hands, despite repeated efforts by Shades to convince her that he wants to help her share her burdens. Probably due to the stress of taking all of this on herself, Mariah spends about half this season drunk and thus very not in control of herself, making more and more bad decisions as the series progresses. Trusting someone else means giving up control, and when she’s done that she’s been hurt, horrifically. So she trusts no one, betrays everyone, and winds up alone and dead.

These two parallel paths offer two possible models for where Luke goes after the end of this season. This season ends with Luke deciding to take absolute control of Harlem, taking Mariah’s place as the power-broker keeping a wall around the neighborhood and making deals with the bad guys to keep them out.

Yet the utter irony is that Luke only winds up taking this position of “dictator” (more on that term later) as an option of last resort. He is forced by Mariah’s machinations to take her position, with Mariah specifically having chosen him as her “heir” over her own daughter. He loves Harlem as much as she does, and Mariah finds he is the only person to be reliable around her - reliably against her, that is. And of course she also chooses him out of spite, to see how long he can remain incorruptible if he follows her path.

It is a trap. Donovan tells him so, bluntly. But Luke walks into it because he believes he’ll finally get his control in the end, and because it is the only option he sees left.

And try as I might, I have a hard time imagining what alternative he really had. He stops a gang war by becoming the boss of crime, he ends bloodshed, and the scale of what was unleashed on Harlem was beyond anything anyone was prepared to handle by other means. So perhaps this is the best choice among bad choices – for now.

Less forgivable is his decision to turn away Claire in the final scene (and if I can criticize the show for a moment, I really wish we could have seen her to know how she reacts to that rejection). That is a decidedly Mariah move, pushing away the one who loves you because to love is to let someone else have some control over you, if only your heart. (There are direct scene-for-scene parallels between some of Luke’s moments with Claire and Mariah’s with Shades for precisely this reason).

This arc for Luke seems to borrow heavily from Bendis’ run on Daredevil where Matt Murdock declared himself the new Kingpin of Hell’s Kitchen, and established a peace by force much as what Luke is planning. It did not end well for Matt; he wound up losing all his friends, his girlfriend, and going to prison. I hope it doesn’t go that far for Luke. At the very least, he seems open to continuing to work with Misty Knight, though that door-closing shot (a direct reference to the end of The Godfather) doesn’t bode well for that relationship continuing. But we also got a glimpse of connection between him and Danny Rand that promises maybe, maybe he can be convinced to be a true dictator.

Because, as anyone who has seen The Dark Knight knows, ancient Roman dictators were an emergency position created to deal with crises, at the end of which they were supposed to give up their power. Can Luke make the hard choice, the truly strong choice, and know when it’s time to relinquish his quest for total control, to be vulnerable, to allow himself to not be omnipotent?

I guess we will have to wait and see. Though I have other reasons to hope, but that will require another post on another theme of this season: families, both good and bad, found and hereditary.

#luke cage #season 2 #review #meta #super long

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wallsinner · 6 years

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Title: So Much For Summer Pairing: Marco Bodt x Reader Warnings: None Summary: You weren't, however, expecting to see a very, very, wet Marco Bodt standing there, freezing out in the cold. “Hey.” He said, as if it was completely normal to be standing on your doorstep in the middle of a freaking storm. “Can I come in?” Notes: Old, Unbeta’d.

You stared out the window, basking in the light breeze that blew over your face as you looked up into the sky. It was dark now, but still a pretty clear night and so you could see the stars twinkling up above you. It was a nice end to what had actually been a good day and you were taking the clear sky as a good sign – it obviously meant that those stupid weather reports you'd seen earlier about rain and storms had been utterly wrong and the blissful weather that you'd been experiencing was going to continue. You inhaled one last breath of the crisp, summer air and closed the window, pulling down the blinds for the night.

This past week had been amazing, it was right in the middle of June and the sun had been out in full force every day. It'd been great, you'd been able to take enjoyable walks to work (instead of having to resort to a bus because of the rain or the wind), eat lunch in the park (instead of at your desk) and you'd even been able to sit outside in your yard with your laptop until the sun was setting. Yeah, you loved summer because it just made you feel good, you'd always been one to hate the cold, wet and rainy weather that you had to suffer through most of the year ad so you found it a refreshing change to wake up in a good, productive mood every day due to the sunlight streaming in through the gaps in your blinds.

It had improved your social life too. Sure, you were used to spending your weekends hanging around with your friends, but this week it had seemed like everyone had cleared their schedules and wanted to do something after work or classes and so you'd hung out with someone almost every night over the past week. You'd gone out for meals, watched a movie in a park last night and had spent lots of time just sitting outside chatting, either in one of your yards or your local beer garden. The summer was bringing out the best in everyone and you were currently thoroughly enjoying life and you were looking forward to being able to continue feeling like that.

Tonight you'd been to an impromptu barbecue that your friends Jean and Marco had thrown. It had been a good night just chilling together as you ate and drank with pretty much the entire group (a couple of them had had to work late and hadn't been able to make it, which was no big deal because it gave you an excuse to recreate this experience over the weekend) of your friends. It had been entertaining too, because you'd gotten to watch Jean get angrier and angrier at the grill for 'not working the right way' until Reiner had had to step in and take over for the sake of Jean's (and everyone else's) sanity. That had been a relief, because you all too well remembered last summer (well, what felt like the one day of summer you'd gotten last year) and the blackened burgers. Yeah, Jean really should just stick to omelettes.

The one complaint you had (that wasn't really a complaint really) was that things had dipped and gotten a little awkward towards the end of the evening, when everyone was all talked and laughed out and your friends had started to couple off. It hadn't really occurred to you just how many of the people you hung out with were in relationships with each other until that moment. You'd just been casually looking around and you'd noticed that Connie and Sasha were trying to re-enact Lady and the Tramp with a leftover breadstick. And then you'd seen the way that Ymir and Christa were sitting together, Ymir playing with Christa's hair as Christa looked up at her and babbled what appeared to be nonsense. And then there was Annie, sitting snuggly in Bertholdt's lap, occasionally smiling and nodding at whatever it was he was saying to her, he was keeping his voice low so that nobody could overhear them. Hell, even Mikasa – who was most definitely not one for public displays of affection – had wrapped the red scarf she seemed to wear rain or shine around Jean's neck.

That had left three of you as the only single people there – you, Marco and Reiner. Though you weren't so sure that Reiner counted at that specific moment because he wasn't concious to witness the goings on around him like you and Marco were, because by that time he'd passed out after an ill-advised drinking contest with Christa. He'd lost.

Marco had definitely noticed that you were out of place too, because he'd leant forward in his chair to engage you in a conversation and you'd longed to ask him how he felt about everything, but really the last thing you wanted to was was make all your friends uncomfortable.

Or make the raging crush you had on him too obviously.

Shortly after that everyone had started to say their thanks and leave. You'd helped Ymir bundle a sleepy Christa into the backseat of a taxi (and you suspected that Ymir would be a facing a fine, because there as no way Christa was going to make it back to their apartment without puking everywhere) and Bertholdt and Annie had decided it was best to leave Reiner in Jean's care and so he and Mikasa had dragged him inside to put him to sleep on the couch, before disappearing inside because they knew it was time to clean up. You had opted to stay a little later to help Marco, even though he'd been very, very insistent that you really didn't have to, but you couldn't leave him alone to do everything.

And anyway, helping Marco with anything most definitely was not a chore. You liked spending time with him rather a lot and the two of you tending to drift towards each other anyway. And there was a part of you that hoped he would at least mention if he'd felt awkward during the last part of the night when you'd been surrounded by couples and you'd be able to find out if he thought that it sucked to be single, because Marco always seemed kind of okay being single.

He didn't bring it up and you certainly didn't have the guts to incase he thought you were being bitchy, but you hadn't let that spoil your night. Instead you took it as a plus because you'd gotten to talk and laugh with him alone for an hour and he kept smiling at you in the way that turned your stomach into knots. And when you'd gone to leave, he'd offered to walk you home because it was getting dark and had seemed really concerned, which for a moment made you wonder if he did return your feelings.

But he was Marco. And he was sweet to everyone. So most likely not.

You threw yourself down onto your bed and unplugged your laptop from where it had been charging next to it. It was getting pretty late now, but you weren't ready to settle down and go to sleep just yet, you were still a little buzzed from the couple of wine coolers you'd drunk that evening and Netflix sounded like the best idea right now.

Besides, with all the activities and excitement of the last week you hadn't had a chance to watch the new episodes of a show you really like that Netflix had released during the week and if you didn't start it soon then there was a change that you'd get spoiled at work, or by Ymir.

You left your laptop to set up and went to get changed into your comfortable pyjamas, brush your teeth and pee and grab a bottle of water from your fridge so you'd be all set for the night and could just go to sleep when you wanted to. You grabbed your headphones so you wouldn't disturb the elderly couple next door who had probably been asleep for hours (and so if this series was as love scene heavy as the last one they wouldn't hear and think you were a pervert) and prepared to get lost in your show.

You were two episodes deep and ready to start the third one when you decided to take a bathroom break. You tugged out your headphones and stretched, climbing up off of your bed and walked into the bathroom with a yawn. As good as the show was, you probably should go to sleep soon.

A familiar sound filled your ears and you froze. You could hear the rhythmic thumping of something battering against your windows. Heavily.

No! No! It was summer, this wasn't supposed to happen! Those weather reports were not supposed to be true! You looked out of the bathroom window and sure enough, it was raining and not only was it raining, it was like the heavens themselves had opened up, it was so heavy. It seemed as if you dared step outside you'd be soaked to your skin in about ten seconds.

And was that hail?

Oh, brilliant. Well the one damn week of summer that you'd gotten had been good at least. And fuck those weather reports, was this seriously going to be the one time that they were going to get it right? Usually they promised sun when you got wind and rain. How could it have gone from being so blissful to... so... sucky in the space of a couple of hours?

And as things couldn't get any worse, you saw a sudden streak of light in the sky and jumped back.

NO. NO. NO.

Of course it was followed up by a loud rumbling, crashing noise.

No.

You stumbled back from the window in fear your back hitting the wall, as a whimper passed from your lips. If there was one thing you didn't like, it was thunder. You'd been absolutely terrified of it for as long as you could remember and your usual way of hiding from it was to cuddle up with your Mom until it went away.

Well, even if your Mom was here that wouldn't have been an option anymore, you were an adult now and you needed to act like it. It was silly to be so scared of something that was simply natural and that wasn't going to hurt you, you were inside and you weren't going to use your phone or anything. No, you could deal with this, you'd just go and get into bed until it had passed. Maybe you could put your headphones back in and ignore it. Yeah, you could definitely do that.

There was another flash of light. Followed by an even louder crashing noise. It was getting closer. You yelped out again, your legs gave way and you slid down the wall and onto the floor. You pulled your knees into your body and buried your face in them, trying to control your shaky breathing because the last thing you needed right now was an actual panic attack. No, you just needed this to be over with, now.

Another flash of light, a louder rumble, another attempt at controlling your breathing. Another flash, another noise, then another.

You were bracing yourself for the next one when you heard a different kind of loud noise. Well... more like a succession of loud noises. What the hell even was that?

Oh wait... was someone knocking on your door? Great, knowing the way your luck had been going for these past few hours, you'd probably go downstairs and open it to find someone who was using the storm as an excuse to pretend to be looking for somewhere to stay, only to turn out to be a serial killer who just wanted to murder you and steal all of your possessions that were actually worth something. You tried to ignore it but they were persistent and were rapping at your door again and you shakily got up onto your feet and gripped onto the banister as you walked downstairs to keep yourself steady.

You cautiously opened the door, not quite sure who or what would be on the other side of it.

You weren't, however, expecting to see a very, very, wet Marco Bodt standing there, freezing out in the cold. “Hey.” He said, as if it was completely normal to be standing on your doorstep in the middle of a freaking storm. “Can I come in?”

Wordlessly you held the door open and let Marco inside.

He was so wet from the heavy rain, that he dripped water all over the floor. You blinked up at him as he stood there, shivering and soaking in your hallway. “Are you lost?”

Marco shuffled awkwardly and cleared his throat before he spoke. “No, I'm not lost.”

You crossed your arms. “So, you're not going to tell me why you're here?”

He opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, then seemed to reconsider what he'd been planning to say and instead, after a pause, replied with “It was thundering.”

“And is running around in the pouring rain and thunder something you do now or...?” You frowned.

“Well...” Marco sighed. “You're afraid of thunder.”

Wait, what? Your fear of the thunder wasn't something that you tended to bring up a lot, because it was kind of embarrassing to admit that there was something you were afraid of, especially with how afraid of it you actually were. Maybe you'd mentioned it in a passing conversation or something, but it was definitely something you'd never discussed at length with Marco. “I... told you about that?”

Marco nodded. “Once.”

Once. You'd brought it up to him once and he'd remembered? You were quite touched by that, there weren't many people who'd remember something like that about you. “Oh.”

“Yeah...” Marco shivered again. “And I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay?”

Ugh, why was he so perfect? And more importantly why weren't you like... married right now? Or why couldn't he return your dumb feelings, or at least ever give you a sign that he did? “Oh.” You said. “You could have just called me instead of coming out in the weather.”

“Well... would you have picked up if I'd have called?”

You remembered the horror stories you'd read about using phones during a thunder storm and shuddered in fear. “Probably not.” You admitted.

“Well then.” He said. “You're okay?”

Ugh, this was so awkward. “I guess.” you paused. “Thank you for checking on me.”

Marco smiled his stupidly adorable smile. “You're welcome. You're sure you're okay? It seems to have stopped now.”

That was true, you hadn't heard any more crashes or seen any more flashes of light through the window in your door, so it seemed like the thundering part of the storm had at least passed over now. It was still pouring it down with heavy rain though, so there was no way you could send Marco back out in it to go home. You were sure he was already going to get sick from his little visit to you now, let alone if he went back out in it. “You're soaked to your skin.”

“Yeah...” Marco said again. “Do you have a towel or something? And uh... can I maybe hang out here until it stops?”

You couldn't help but giggle. “You can hang out here as long as you want,” you told him. “And yes, I'll go and find you something to dry off with.” There was no way that just a towel was going to fully dry him off though. You cleared your throat. “Hey you know um... if you want me too, I could throw your shirt into the dryer for you?” You could throw his pants in too, but you weren't going to mention them because you would bet money on whatever he was wearing under his pants were pretty soaked too and you definitely couldn't offer to throw those in to and there was a strong chance that they would have gone see-through from all the water and it would make things even more awkward for the pair of you if you had to see those. Though you did wonder if he had freckles on his...

“___!”

“Huh?” You blinked.

“I said are you sure you don't mind?” You blinked a couple of times trying to erase your previous thoughts from your mind and remember what he was talking about. Oh right, drying his shirt.

“Oh, no I don't mind. It's the least I can do anyway.”

“Thanks.” Marco replied as he tugged the soaking wet material from his body and over his head, exposing a toned, freckled chest to you. You kind of really wanted to throw yourself against it, maybe lay your head against it and go to sleep, but mainly just push your body against it.

“____? Are you okay, you've gone kind of red?”

Shit, you weren't drooling were you? Please say you weren't drooling. You forced a laugh. “I'm fine, just... thinking about the storm you know?” You tugged the shirt from his hands. “I'll be right back, oh and you don't have to stay in the hall you know.” He followed you into the kitchen, but stayed there and didn't follow you into the small laundry room just off it. You closed the door behind you and leant against the wall, giving yourself a second to pull yourself together. You opened the dryer and shoved it inside, setting it and grabbed a fresh towel from the laundry basket that sat on top of it. You braced yourself before you re-entered the kitchen.

He hadn't really made himself at home, he was just standing there in the middle of the room, his arms wrapped around himself to try and warm up in the cold. He looked up and smiled when you walked back in though and could he just please stop smiling at you now? Because any more and your thirst for him was going to become obvious.

You don't know why you did it, maybe because you were ridiculous, but you didn't just hand the towel to him like a normal person would have, instead as you approached him with it you mumbled; “C'mere, I'll dry your hair.” You guessed you just wanted to be a little closer to him.

He didn't seem to find this weird though, instead he just ducked a little so he was at your height and you put the towel over his head and rub at his hair. You were well aware of how close the two of you were. You were also well aware that his eyes were focused on you instead of elsewhere and it made you feel a little uncomfortable. “You know... you're cute when you concentrate.”

You immediately stopped what you were doing, feeling warmth in your cheeks and you were sure you were blushing.

Marco straightened up, letting the towel fall from his head, you watched as his opened his mouth again. “You're even cuter when you blush.”

You tried to think of a witty retort, but all you could focus on was the fact that he'd just told you that you were cute and the beating of your own heart. Did Marco even know what he was doing to you right now? You looked up at him, your eyes finding his own and breathed out, desperate for wards to come to you.

And then Marco's head was tilting to one side and you were instinctively moving towards him. His hands gripped your waist, yours around his neck and everything was the feel of Marco's damp hair as you raked your hands through it, the fast doki doki of your heartbeat ringing in your ears and Marco's soft lips on your own.

Just as quickly as it had started, it was over and you were looking at the freckle-faced man before you. “You... just kissed me.”

“Yeah...” Marco swallowed. “I'd say sorry but you kissed me back... and you don't know how long I've wanted to do that.”

“Oh, okay.” Were the only words you could find. You were feeling incredibly overwhelmed. “How long?”

“Since Mikasa introduced you to us last year.” Okay, well yeah that was quite a long time really. “Do you want me to leave?”

You shook your head. “No, I want you to stay. And I want you to kiss me again.”

Marco made no move to actually lean back in and kiss you again though. “I want to kiss you again.” He admitted. “But I want to know how you feel, because I don't want this just to be some stupid kisses we're going to forget about, okay? Because if we're doing this then I want to do it properly. Be an us.”

“Marco...” you breathed. “You could never be just some stupid kisses to me... I've liked you for a long time too, probably since Mikasa introduced us but I never thought that you would ever... Please can we be an us?”

Marco smiled that smile again and nodded. “Okay, we're an us. Now where were we?” He didn't give you a chance to reply, instead those soft lips crashed against your own in a passionate kiss that left the pair of you breathless when you had no choice but to come up for air.

“Come on,” you smiled. "Lets get you dry."

“How're you feeling?” You asked, a couple of days later, as you pushed your bedroom door open. Today it was the way mid-June was supposed to be again, the weather outside was so warm and lovely, but you weren't out in it and it wasn't effecting your mood because you'd been in a great mood anyway these past few days. You balanced the tray of soup, juice and crackers you were carrying carefully so you could kick the door shut behind you and turned your attention to the curled up lump in the middle of your bed.

It coughed and replied “I'm dying.”

You bit your lip so you wouldn't laugh out loud as you put the tray down on your bedside table. “You're not dying, Marco. You have a cold. You'll be fine in a few days.” You climbed onto the bed next to him and he fidgeted, straightening up and freeing his arms so that he could pull you against him. You laughed as you felt your boyfriend snuggle his head against you. “I made you soup.”

“Missed you,” he muttered. “And how do you know I'm not dying?”

“Because...” you turned so you could press a kiss against his messy bed head. He looked more adorable than usual with his hair stuck up and the redness of his nose contrasting with his freckles. “People don't die from colds, you're just sick because you came outside in a freaking thunder storm, got drenched and stood around with wet hair and clothes being awkward with me. Told you, you'll be right as... well... rain in a few days, now eat your soup before it gets cold.”

Marco contemplated what you'd said for a minute as you picked up the soup bowl to hand to him, you really didn't trust him with the whole easily spilt tray. “Yeah, but you know what?”

“What?”

“It was totally worth it.”

#mywriting #marco bodt #marco bodt x reader #marco #modern!au

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