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captainimprobable · 3 years

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Part 3 of that thing I’ve been posting. This is a first draft, once it’s edited I’ll put it on Ao3. There will be five parts! Part1 Part 2 ~~

Amity has a plan.

She knows her girlfriend likes meaningful gestures, especially when it’s about something important. So as she signs her name at the bottom of the pink paper, she wills herself not to be nervous. She’s doing everything right, she knows, and besides, it’s Luz. Luz is understanding and generous. She’ll love this.

(Amity hopes.)

Walking to school the next day is torture, and she’s brought back to a similar morning a few months ago, when she was clutching paper from the same notebook she used today. She didn’t go through with it then, but everything is different now. Luz will say yes.

So why can’t she stop shaking?

She walks into the building and immediately spots Luz. Her stomach flips itself over, as usual, and she nervously walks over to her girlfriend.

“Amity! I missed you!” Luz sees her and runs over, catching her up in a hug. Amity tries not to swoon.

“Luz, I saw you yesterday,” Amity says, smiling as she’s picked up and swayed a little.

Luz pouts as she puts Amity down. “Yeah, but that was a long time ago,” she mumbles. She looks down at the ground, and her eyebrows scrunch together.

“Oh wait,” she says, stooping down and picking something up. “You dropped this.”

It’s the pink paper. Amity wants to die. “WAIT,” she says loudly, startling a couple of other kids down the hall, “DON’T LOOK AT THAT.”

She grabs the paper and then stops. Wait. Things are different now.

“Actually,” she says, with as much composure as she can muster after an outburst like that, “this is for you.”

She holds out the pink paper. And Luz. Takes it.

If Luz recognizes the type of paper the note is written on, she doesn’t mention it. Amity is shaking as Luz opens the note, inspecting every single change in Luz’s face, anticipating a possible rejection.

But instead, Luz’s face morphs into a huge smile, and she turns the paper over so Amity can see the words she’s written.

“Luz, will you go on a date with me?”

There’s color high in Luz’s cheeks as she asks “Really?”

“Of course really,” Amity scoffs, her entire body relaxing at Luz’s reaction.

“Ohmygosh of course I will!!!!! Where are we going? What are we doing? Can we-”

Amity holds up a hand to stop Luz’s train of thought. “I have it all planned out,” she says proudly. “All you have to do is show up.”

Luz smiles, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes getting deeper as she does. “Of course you do,” she says. “I’ll be there!”

Amity had thought she was nervous yesterday, but that’s nothing compared to today.

Edric and Emira are trying to help calm her down, but they’re somehow making it worse. “I’m sure she’s gonna have a great time,” Ed says sincerely, nodding to himself. “Unless….she doesn’t,” he adds.

Emira hits her twin on the arm. “Ed, not helping,” she scolds, and puts her hands on Amity’s shoulders. “First dates are scary, but this is Luz. You could take her to the dump and she’d thank you.”

“I’m terrified,” Amity confesses to her sister.

“Don’t be!”

“Thanks, Em, suddenly I’m totally fine.”

“Glad I could help,” Emira winks. “Now go get your girl.”

It’s time for her date with Luz. Well, actually, it’s an hour before her date with Luz, but she’s leaving now anyway because she likes to be punctual.

As it turns out, she doesn’t have a lot of time to be nervous, because when she opens the door to leave Blight Manor, Luz is standing there with flowers.

“Hi,” Luz says excitedly, laughing a little at the look on Amity’s face. “These are for you. I got you purple ones because they match your hair!”

“You’re early,” is all Amity manages to say. She takes the flowers from Luz and their fingers touch. Normally, this wouldn’t be such a big deal anymore, but knowing they’re about to go on an actual date makes everything feel a little different. Amity tries not to jump.

“Yeah,” Luz says, hands behind her back. “But I know you, and I knew you’d be early, so here I am!”

Suddenly Amity feels like crying. Being known isn’t something she ever thought she would get to experience. Being known this well was never even a thought. She is so, so lucky.

She blinks the tears away and manages to direct a smile at her girlfriend. “Thanks,” she says. “I love them.”

Luz beams. Amity still marvels over the way Luz’s expressions are so open and extreme. She’s smiling with her entire body, somehow, exuding so much happiness just because Amity liked the flowers.

“So you have an idea?” Luz asks.

“Oh, yeah!” Amity says. “I have the perfect plan.”

Amity watches Luz’s face stealthily out of the corner of her eye the entire way through Bonesborough. They’re holding hands, and it feels like magic, but Amity is so nervous that Luz won’t enjoy what she’s planned that she can barely appreciate it. Luz looks unbothered, though, swinging their hands between them happily as she chatters on about something King did earlier in the day. Normally, Amity would be paying rapt attention, but today she’s a little too wound up.

“Okay, here we are” Amity says nervously, watching Luz’s face carefully for any sign of rejection.

Luz looks up and gasps. “A bookstore?????? I didn’t even know there was a bookstore here!”

“Yeah,” Amity says shyly. “I just thought...well, the first thing we really bonded over was Azura, so I figured maybe we could wander and…” She trails off.

Luz is jumping up and down on the balls of her feet. “Yes! I’ve always wanted to go on a bookstore date! I wonder what kind of weirdness a Boiling Isles bookstore has! Unless it’s just, like, a normal bookstore. Which would be disappointing but still cool!” She grins and pulls on Amity’s hand. “Cmon, let’s go!”

It’s going well, she thinks. Luz looks like she’s having fun as she pulls book after book off the shelf, commenting on them each before putting them back.

“I’ve been wondering about the Azura books,” Luz says at one point. “Like, how come we get them in the human realm and the Boiling Isles? How is that possible?” Luz scratches her head. “Maybe the author is from here and somehow managed to get their books to my realm? Maybe they’ve got a really good publicist? Or maybe they’re human and their books accidentally made it here somehow, like, maybe Eda brought one back one day and someone bought it and-” Luz stops. “Oh my gosh, Amity, do you think Eda is responsible for the circulation of the Azura books on the Boiling Isles???”

Amity considers that.

“You know, I haven’t really met any other people who like these books,” she says. “I always wondered why they weren’t more popular.” Her eyes widen, realization dawning. “What if I’m the only one? What if Eda sold them to the bookstore and I bought them and-”

“Woah,” Luz says. “That is some crazy coincidence.”

“Well,” Amity says bravely. “Guess it just means we were always meant to be.”

She gets a bright red Luz as a reward for her nerve, and she smirks. It’s fun to make Luz nervous. Knowing she has that effect on her makes her so happy.

Luz doesn’t say anything, just reaches out a hand for Amity’s. Amity gets it. Sometimes holding Luz’s hand is the only thing that makes sense.

“Oh no way,” comes a voice from behind them. Amity’s heart sinks. Oh no, not now, why now, why here, why-

They turn around and Boscha comes into view, scrutinizing their linked hands. “You’re actually dating the human. Wow. I thought that was a rumor, like, one so ridiculous it couldn’t even be true.” She smirks. “And yet here you are.”

Amity can feel Luz stiffen next to her, and she’s suddenly filled with rage. Luz escaped her world to avoid being made fun of, she shouldn’t have to deal with that here, too.

Amity raises her chin and looks Boscha in the eye. “Aw, what’s wrong, Boscha, jealous that nobody wants to hang out with you?” She looks around pointedly. “Looks like you’re alone, huh? Has everyone finally realized what a monster you are?”

Boscha’s face turns a shade of pink darker than her hair. “I’m not alone,” she spits. “I came here by myself on purpose. It’s exhausting, having followers all the time.”

“Sure,” Amity says, turning to leave. “Come on Luz, let’s-”

“Can’t believe she went and got a girlfriend from another species,” Amity hears Boscha mutter under her breath. And then, a little louder, clearly intending to be heard- “Guess shopping at the bottom of the barrel is easier than finding someone normal.”

Amity stops. She’s gripping Luz’s hand so hard it’s probably starting to hurt a little, but she can’t help it. Luz seems to sense the storm coming, and she scrambles to stop it. “Amity, it’s okay, let’s just go-”

But Amity is done. Done with Boscha and her stupid games, done with everyone making fun of Luz for things she can’t control, done with her girlfriend being treated lesser than because she wasn’t born a witch.

She releases Luz’s hand, whirls around, and says, quiet as the dead, “Say that again.”

Boscha seems to realize she went a little too far this time, but she’s not one to back down. “What are you gonna do, Amity? Hex me? You don’t have the-”

Before she can finish her sentence, Amity’s fingers are twirling in circles and Boscha is on the ground, angry hives crawling up and down her body.

A security guard comes over, looking bored. He gives Boscha a glance, unimpressed. “Miss,” he says to Amity. “I’m gonna have to ask you to go.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Amity says. “We were just leaving.”

Amity thinks her hands might be clenched permanently, now. The anger (coiling, rampant, hot to the touch) she’s feeling isn’t new, but it’s somehow louder now, a line of static in her ears so loud that she doesn’t hear Luz calling her name until the third time.

“Amity!”

Amity blinks herself out of her stupor and remembers, suddenly: she’s supposed to be on a date. A date with her cute girlfriend. A date that she messed up by getting them kicked out of a store.

She knew she’d mess this up somehow.

“Amity, are you okay?”

Luz is looking at her with concern in her eyes, and Amity doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve any of this. She’s ruined everything.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, not looking Luz in the eye. She’d understand if Luz dumped her over this.

“For what?” Luz asks sincerely, and Amity looks up in confusion. “Um, for ruining our date?”

Luz raises her eyebrows. “How exactly did you ruin it?”

“I hexed Bosca, I got us kicked out of the bookstore, I-”

“What I’m hearing,” Luz says, taking Amity’s hand again, “Is that you got angry on my behalf and defended me from a bully”

“But I got us kicked out of the store!” Amity insists. She feels like she owes it to Luz to admit what a screw up she is, but Luz isn’t having it.

“No, Boscha got us kicked out of the store. Besides, it’s no big deal, we were basically done anyway.”

This isn’t right. She knows she should be happy that Luz isn’t blaming her, but something inside her insists that Luz needs to know, that Luz needs to understand that Amity messed up and will probably mess up again, that she had everything planned out perfectly and it went nothing like it was supposed to and Luz should probably break up with her and-

“Break up with you?????” Luz sounds scandalized, and Amity realizes: she said everything out loud.

“You think I would break up with you over this?”

“I..I don’t know,” Amity says, closing her eyes as though that will make her disappear. “Maybe.”

“Amity, I-I don’t like you because you’re perfect. You’re only human- I mean, you’re a person, and people make mistakes, and that’s okay! I make mistakes all the time! Just today I missed a step and fell down the stairs. It happens!”

She takes Amity’s other hand and looks her in the eyes. “You’re perfect to me. But not because you never mess up. Because you’re kind, and funny, and beautiful, and you do things like hex bullies because they make fun of me. I don’t need the perfect date, Amity. I just need you.”

Amity is speechless. Nobody has ever said anything like that to her. She remembers what she told Hunter in that cave all those months ago: I grew up thinking everything was an opportunity to justify existing. But there are people out there who won’t make you feel worthless. You just have to let yourself meet them.

It’s time she took her own advice.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, smiling shyly. “You’re the best girlfriend a girl could ask for.”

“No, you are!” Luz says earnestly, and Amity realizes that, if she had the courage, she could kiss Luz right then and there.

She doesn’t, of course, but now that it’s in her head, she’s not going to forget about it anytime soon.

#the owl house #lumity #firsts and seconds #writins

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jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav · 3 years

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so since you're gonna do the avatar!mc au with the entities you think each brother would fear the most (SO excited for that btw, my friend can attest to the fact that i've basically been rambling about tma x om nonstop since the first post you made that put the two together), i'd love to hear your thoughts on which entity each brother would *be* an avatar of, if you're cool with sharing! personally i love the ideas of specifically vast!levi and dark!belphie but i'd love to hear your takes on the concept! <3

So because of how time works, despite receiving this ask on July 12, by the time you see this it’ll be August! So the entire Avatar!MC series should be out by now, which I hope you will/have enjoy/ed. I wholeheartedly agree with the concept of Vast! Levi, which I’ve talked about before (as you know ;) ), but I will happily ramble about it again!

These aren’t gonna be short fics though bc I do Yearn to save that energy for The Longfic, which is still in the planning stages because a) I can’t pick a timeline, and b) trying to match up the timelines of Obey Me and TMA is hard, especially when I tend to have a violent disrespect for actually paying attention to the timing of plot events in both. I already fucked up a part of the plotting because I forgot the order we get pacts with the brothers lmao

Content warnings: Mentions/allusions to tma-typical Spookies, yet another installation of my Cursed Crossover idea, lengthy debates about what makes someone choose to become an avatar of fear, spoilers for Lesson 16+ of Obey Me and S5 of TMA

What Entity Do I Think The Brothers Would Serve? (Cursed TMA x Obey Me Crossover)

Lucifer

So I put him as falling victim to the Eye/Beholding bc of his whole thing about Secrets and Pride being about wanting control over your own image

And he does have a creepy tendency in canon to always know when his brothers are up to some Dumb Shit

BUT! You know what we see in Lucifer’s character that we see in a certain Entity?

A simultaneous manipulation of others and submission to being manipulated by a higher power

That’s right, I think Luci would be a Web avatar

But Winter, Lucifer wouldn’t wanna take marching orders from someone/thing else! He’s too proud for that— You’re right! He doesn’t want to. But he will.

He willingly submitted himself and his family to Diavolo for eternity to get what he wanted (saving Lilith)

And from how much we see him work, it’s safe to say that he’s a pretty damn essential part of running the Devildom

If he really wanted to, he could probably successfully pull a coup on Diavolo

But he doesn’t, because he’s trapped himself by his own honour code

Thus, the sexual tension bromance we all know and love/insist is Deeply Problematic and blacklist (depending on how much you like/hate dialuci lol)

10/10, would fill with spiders again

Mammon

I put Mammon as falling victim to the Buried for pretty obvious reasons

But admittedly picking a fear he’d serve is trickier

I had to get a bit abstract with it, but I think the Hunt might suit him

Not necessarily the primal *cough* and police brutality *cough* parts of the Hunt tho

More like how Basira was considered an avatar of the Hunt in the fearpocalypse because of her mission/promise to Daisy

See, Greed can stem from fear

Fear of losing what you have, of no longer being able to support yourself, of being preyed upon by others

So people become greedy as a defense mechanism, to protect what they have

If they’re on the offensive, they won’t be targeted

Also, if you’re constantly pursuing more more more, there’s no time to think about anything else

Like consequences, or guilt, or Feelings

If Mammon let his little tough guy act go too far for too long, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to say he could start heading down the path to avatarhood

After all, people pay big money for hitmen and bounty hunters…

Leviathan

As I said last time, I can see why people would associate Levi with the Lonely first: he’s a shut in, he acts like he wants nothing to do with people/would rather be alone, and I get it

BUT! All of that actually stems from the fact that Levi has terrible self-esteem and thinks he deserves to be this gross shut in loser

While envy can make you want to bring others down to your level, so to speak, Levi tends to just shun “normies”, not actively conspire to sabotage them

He actually does crave understanding and to have people in his life, he just doesn’t know how to go about it

Boy’s got Mega Social Anxiety is what I’m saying (funny how both the Lonely and the Eye can be real bad for that, huh)

But the Vast? Nihilism? Takes all the pressure off

If everyone is a small, insignificant speck in the face of an uncaring, unfathomably large cosmos, who cares what you do? Who cares what people think of you?

Yeah, you’d be kinda weird too if you stared into the infinite abyss of the ocean and realized it was just the maw of a gargantuan sea monster too, Karen, lay off

Plus aesthetically, the great Awful Deep most people fear in the ocean is a comfort to Levi

And again, THE VAST IS MORE THAN JUST THE SKY

I WENT ON A BOAT ONCE

LIKE REAL FAR OUT, SO I COULDN’T SEE LAND FOR DAYS

IT WAS JUST ENDLESS B L U E

AND I WAS ON A CRUISE IN THE CARIBBEAN

I SAW A FRACTION OF THE OCEAN’S S U R F A C E AND IT WAS I M M E N S E

Did you know we’ve only explored like 5% or whatever of our oceans? Think about that! Every Single Thing we know about what’s in there is just the tip of the iceberg!!! GOD KNOWS WHAT’S DOWN THERE!!! PROBABLY FUCKED UP FISH IS WHAT

*ahem* anyway, fishee

Satan

Another tricky boi

I marked him down as fearing the Desolation, as a reflection of what he fears most in himself

I probably could have also gone with Slaughter, but I’d say that’s more baby/early-Satan

Desolation is also about destruction of potential, and Satan has very carefully built himself into a non-rage-monster person

So tearing that all away from him is :)))

But what would Satan give himself over to?

Ceaseless Watcher, I want that twink OBLITERATED—

Satan clings to knowledge and erudition to distance himself from the rage he was born as

“Watch and learn” is literally how he became a person

I find it deeply funny that it could also easily be how he becomes a monster once again

Also if you think the avatar of Wrath wouldn’t have a use for supernatural blackmail you’re just straight up incorrect

Couple that with Satan’s various connections and he’d be a Force to Reckon With

Asmodeus

I put him as a victim of the Corruption bc I found it extremely fitting considering the duality of his romanticized image vs the “dirty” fluid-filled nature of Lust.

Lust can be really nasty, but as licentious as Asmo’s supposed to be, he’s surprisingly coy

(now part of that comes from the fact that Obey Me isn’t strictly 18+/full-on porn, but still)

There’s a lot of Interesting Ideas to unpack there with attitudes towards sex vs sensuality and idealisation vs reality

Now as for an avatar… I debated this for a very long time, tossing around Eye, Stranger, Spiral, even Web for like one second

But I think I’ve got it

Slaughter!

Specifically the musical/random outbursts of violence side (not so much the war side)

Why? Well for one, Biblical Asmodeus is said to “"transport men into fits of madness and desire [...] with the result that they commit sin, and fall into murderous deeds (Testament of Solomon, verse 23).”

But also, Obey Me Asmo’s affair with that portrait chick from the earlier lessons started a whole ass war

Like it or not, the boy is very good at instilling manic violence in people

They don’t call it bloodlust for nothing

Beelzebub

I paired Beel with an End avatar MC bc the boy fears losing his loved ones like he lost Lilith

You could argue that Desolation would fit there too but I liked how it fit Satan better

Now as for a Vibe…

I’m tied between Flesh and Corruption tbh

Though corruption is mostly bc buge :)

So I’ll talk about the Flesh

So uh, mass consumerism, meat is meat, cannibalism… see where I’m going?

Ignoring the Hans because that was super racist, the two Flesh avatars I remember best are Jared Hopworth and The Guy Who Stuck His Arm in a Spooky Meat Grinder To Feed His Buds

I think of Jared in relation to Beel not because of the gym thing, but because his very chill/apathetic attitude towards his patron is similar to how I’d picture Beel’s approach to all this

Like “well, guess I’m here now”

I love Beel as much as everyone else, but he’s not exactly apologetic about his… habits

Not to the degree that he’d actually try and change them anyway

So if he got started on the path to Flesh avatarhood, he’d be pretty fucked

Belphegor

I put Web for him as a fear almost entirely because of the concept of Uno Reverse Card, ngl

It does technically tie into his whole thing about being trapped in the attic, since he’d denied all agency and freedom in there, but… Uno Reverse

Dark!Belphie is an interesting concept, and MAG86 “Tucked In” is iconic, but tbh I don’t really… Get the Dark

Don’t get me wrong, put me in a dark place and I will be scared, I don’t like not seeing things, but I have a hard time wrapping my head around why one would become an avatar of the Dark

It’s not a very “primary” fear imo? Like, I’m scared of the dark bc I can’t see what’s there, ie. a threat could be there and I wouldn’t know, but intellectually I know it’s just the absence of light. That’s not really spooky on its own.

I guess what I’m saying is I can attribute spookier things related to the Dark better to other Entities, so I’m not sure what its draw is specifically

According to the Entity Sexiness Survey I did a while back, there’s apparently some Catholic stuff going on with the Dark so maybe that’s why i don’t get it lmao

Anyway I’d put Belphie down for Spiral

“What lies behind a smile” indeed cowboy

Apparently it’s getting choked

Is it because MC’s entire relationship with him is originally founded on a lie?

Is it because the Spiral deals with distortions in your perception, gaslighting gatekeeping girlbossing, as well as foggy liminal mental spaces like between sleep and consciousness, death and life?

Is it because I think Belphie would absolutely delight in driving someone bananas by fucking with their dreams until it bleeds into their waking life?

Is it because being a person or consistent being at all is too much effort, consistent internal geography is hard, fuck it, just be an endless twisting series of hallways?

Yes :)

#obey me #tma #cursed tma x om crossover #obey me headcanons #tma the entities #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor

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zoopzopp · 3 years

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A post for some BAMF Izuku fics <3 (more of these will be added and the list will be updated as i read them)

Fics i've read:

The Secret Ingredient is Crime- Izuku only had a whole month to further prove himself worthy of Yuuei's golden acceptance, and he was going to do whatever it took to make it in. Yuuei would never truly know what hit them until it was too late. (The secret crime AU in it entirety is fucking amazing and what wouldn't i give to read more stuff with it)

Deku the Villain Hunter: Support Hero - We all know the story: After being told he couldn't be a Hero by All Might, Midoriya Izuku still wandered over to a supervillain attack where he could save Bakugou Katsuki. But what if he had made the other turn? The answer is a butterfly effect that would lead him on a path to paving his own future. A path of revenge, finding his own moral compass, and doing the impossible. (OKAY MANY THOUGHTS. Very cool story and aspects. I binged it overnight and lost a bit of sleep the next night as well.)

The Story of How Midoriya Izuku Asserted His Dominance (And Traumatized Japan) - The Sports Festival was supposed to be a break from stress. Shouta should have known there is no such thing as a break with his class.

making it right (for real this time) - - Izuku is a support course student at UA, and Katsuki's neighbor, best friend, and former bullying victim. After Izuku's performance at the sports festival, Katsuki realizes something. He has to make things right. -

Hero Fall (UA Civil War Exercise) - It's now the end of the first year of UA for our students. Nedzu had decided to bring back the annual Heroes vs Villain fight. The fight shall last 5 days and the villain leader is Izuku Midoriya, with the commanding officer of the hero team being Katsuki Bakugo. But, what happens when Izuku is left alone?

Hero Class Civil Warfare - Heroes lead by Bakugo. Villains lead by Midoriya. Seven days prep time. Three days for Izuku Midoriya to show why they should be glad he's not a real villain.

"I Didn't Know You Had It In You." - Midoriya goes feral rage mode in his fight against Overhaul. The beat down still happens, but with Eri no longer at his back, he gets more violent. One For All reacts in an interesting way and Midoriya commits a terrible and unheroic act - the cold blooded murder and maiming of Chisaki Kai. Shigaraki is there to watch it all unfold.

Plan C meets Plan A - Even if All Might is right and Izuku can't be a hero, Izuku refuses to be useless. So Izuku uses his analysis skills to develop Plan C: Consulting in order to help the heroes. Eraserhead is impressed by this mysterious new consultant but alarm bells in Deku's behaviour quickly have Aizawa recruiting help for Plan A: Adoption.

Q. A. B. - One month after @hawks_unofficial's initial viral post, the blog titled "Quirk Analysis Blog for the Future", otherwise known as "Q. A. B.", has gone from an average of 10 views per post to an average of 20,000 views per post. Midoriya Izuku does not know how to view the impressions analysis for his suddenly popular blog, and only notices that sometimes, people actually comment on his posts now. He does not google himself or his moniker and thus does not see the rise in online articles and speculation. He is unaware that the "kyuu-ei-bee" he begins to hear about in passing refers to his own blog. He does not have a Twitter account. At the time, Midoriya Izuku is 15 years old.

How to murder your father - It's dangerous to be a bad father when you have a life insurance. Just saying.

Negation - Passive Quirks are a bitch. Izuku is reasonably done with the situation.

Thanks For Your Support - Izuku has the talent and the intellect to be the first Quirkless pro hero, and everyone at UA knows it. Unfortunately, his desire to become a hero has long since been buried thanks to the words of his childhood friend and childhood hero.

Policed To Meet You - Izuku takes All Might's advice and becomes a cop.

Vigilante Work And Other After School Activities - Izuku is a vigilante, Aizawa likes cats and therefore kids who help cats, and sometimes breaks must be forced upon overachieving teenagers.

When the Commission Lost Total Control - The hero polls have a small part where one can suggest their own hero. This is done just because of the amount of heroes is to great to name them all. This creates a little problem for the commission because a vigilante is assumed to be a brand new hero by the public- and ranks pretty high. Because of that, this vigilante now is too popular to hide and they can't come out with their mistake either! Think of the chaos that would bring.

Izuku being Badass but like in not that grand of a way but still tearing-people-down-in-some-way kind of way

He Was Quirkless - Midoriya get's sick of discrimination against the quirkless and decides to do something about it. It leads to some interesting situations. A trilogy.

bloody, but unbowed- It's Advocacy Week for Yuuei's hero students and it gives Midoriya Izuku a lot to think about about what kind of hero he wants Deku to be.

Called Out - When Izuku is hit by a quirk that will cause him to call out the first person to be rude to him on the way to school with every mistake they've made in the affected persons presence or have otherwise effected said affected person, Aizawa is in for a rough ride. In other words, with some help from a quirk, Izuku rakes Aizawa over the hot coals until he gives out. (a great fic but i've got mixed feelings on this one because on one hand, izuku is badass but on the other its Aizawa bashing and really like him skhdskdb so yea! Read it as per your tastes!!)

The time when everyone learned that izuku respects Bakugo more than all might. - I didn't like how Bakugo was tied up during the sports festival and so izuku didn't. Badass izuku roasted all might and midnight.

Villainous Sunshine - After an innocent question, Class 1-A learns just how terrifying Izuku's analysis is. Nedzu's along for the ride.

Never understand ( and you can't ) - Midoriya is sick and tried of his classmates bias and prejudice against the quirkless community and finally breaks

Mastermind: Strategist For Hire - Izuku Midoriya never got the chance to save Bakugo from the sludge villain and impress All Might. With his dream crushed, Izuku becomes bitter and angry. It also doesn't help that he faces discrimination at every turn. All he ever wanted was to be appreciated, so when the villains are the ones to recognize his talents rather than the heroes, well, Izuku just can't resist. He might as well help those who actually want him around. Mistakes were made, and now society must face a villain of their own making: Mastermind.

Malignance - Deku is far scarier than anyone gives him credit for.

Fics in my to read list which has/probably has BAMF izuku

Young Midoriya - Izuku Midoriya couldn't help himself when he saw someone in trouble. Even at 12 years old, his instincts drive him to help those in need. So when he sees Kacchan and his goons about to ambush another student, he has to step in, right? It's not like this hasn't happened before. What is different this time though, is that he's never had an audience that consisted of the Number One Hero.

Heroics and Other Things That Don't Require Superpowers - Izuku doesn't have a quirk. That's the long and short of it. After being told his whole life he can't be a hero, General Education at UA is the best he can hope for, right? Wrong. Dead Wrong. So super wrong that his best friend from Gen Ed, all of Class 1A and a whole mess of Pro Heroes are going to prove to him how wrong he is. Izuku has the makings of a hero, and his lack of a quirk only throws those qualities into starker relief. After all, who wants to be as strong as All Might when you can be the cleverest hero in the business?

Cases of More Than - Izuku is known as Deku online. He's an analyst of quirks, sometimes even working with the local detective, Tsukauchi, on a case. He meets new friends, builds a few relationships, and slowly crushes on his best friend. But then he's thrown into the General Studies Course at U.A. It doesn't help that All for One is showing an interest in him at all.

No Regret - In this world there is no hard set villain or hero. No victim and aggressor. Everyone is at fault for something and Izuku, with his own villain group, will make everyone pay. Even the bystanders who did nothing. This is what society gets for abandoning it's people. Deku will manipulate everyone and be the greatest villain, all so the world can be a better a place. With the stakes so high there is no time for regret.

We Are a Different Kind - Mirio doesn’t think he can be a hero anymore now that he’s quirkless, Izuku calls bullshit.

Live a Hero - "You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain." Or, you're raised a villain, rebel when you're nine, and fight against the odds to become a hero anyway. That's how it is in Izuku's case.

Prodigal - After being convinced to give One for All to Mirio, Midoriya Izuku must rebuild his shattered dreams with bloody hands.

Two Sides of the Same Coin: Vigilante - Izuku is orphaned at the age of four and is sent into the Japanese Foster Care System. After multiple failed attempts at finding a forever home and some unfortunate circumstance, he ends up on the streets. Eventually, the vigilante, Deku appears. Eraserhead must gain his trust to bring Deku back to the right side of the law. If he he does, however, the untrustful but pure-hearted boy may just be a bit more than Aizawa Shota can handle.

From Muddy Waters - - but the sleeve of his tracksuit was bulging, tearing and ripping and a mass of twisted flesh, nearly as big as the boy himself and nauseatingly familiar (the arm of the man that had torn a hole in his side with a grin and left him a frail shadow of himself) swung forward and slammed into the flat face of the giant robot. Izuku wants to be a hero more than anything.

Pieces are easily sacrificed when they're nameless - Nobody ever thought quirkless, weak, weird Midoriya Izuku was dangerous. This perception carried over to his first year high school class, because really despite the super strength Midoriya didn't have it in him to be dangerous. That was their first mistake. And the one that would see them fall.

Not exactly BAMF izuku but i just wanted to rec these fics <3

In the shade of a sunflower - Being biologically quirkless came more with an extra pinkie joint in the toes and a stunning lack of vestiges mutations. It came with smaller things, like extra teeth that did virtually nothing, exploding organs, and weird exposed nerves that weren't designed to feel pain.

Throat Punch - In which Aizawa attempts to teach Izuku how to use various battle tactics and it goes just about as well as you'd expect. At least Shinsou is there with his fantastic commentary. (just a fun lil thing where izuku is really stronk and trains with shinsou and aizawa)

So Be It - He could still do good. Midoriya could show them all what a hero without powers looked like. If he had to break a few rules to do it, so be it. So be it… (as stated not exactly BAMF but its a vigilante izuku so ye-)

Never Enter a Drinking Game with Bakugo or Izuku - Izuku walks in on Kirishima and Kaminari having a drinking competition (no alcohol involved). And it reminds him of an old story.

5 Times Midoriya Taught Class 1A about Memes and 1 Time they Found a Villain that Understood Them - After being diagnosed as quirkless, Midoriya gets into pre-guirk media and finds memes. He shares them with Class 1A. Aizawa doesn't get paid enough for this. (THIS FIC???? FUCKING AWESOME. LITERALLY WHAT I WANTED TO SEE)

Midoriya: JD Version - Nedzu has decided that a play should be put on so that the students can learn how to "go undercover", an idea which Aizawa thinks is utter bullshit. They're putting on Heathers and when Nedzu chooses to cast Midoriya for JD, everyone objects. Midoriya is a much better actor than they thought.

that is a lot!! I hope you have fun reading it!!!

#fic recs #bnha #bamf izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya

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ur-not-reddie · 3 years

Text

Never Satisfied

a/n: it’s finally here! the reddie smut i’ve been working on for forever because i changed the scenario like five other times lol. anyway, i hope you end up enjoying it <3

pairing: reddie

warnings: heavy smut, slight daddy kink

word count: 1.7k

*punk/rock richie and shy eddie, somwhere in their 20′s*

Eddie sits at the back of the bar as he watches his boyfriend perform on stage with his band. Eddie hums along, swaying a bit to the music as he mouths the lyrics. This is a new song Richie is performing, although Eddie has heard and helped with some of the lyrics - knowing it like the back of his hand.

Eddie then realizes his cup is empty and walks over to the bar to refill it. He chats a bit with the bartender, making small talk with her while his drink is being made. Eddie is about to pay for his drink when someone snakes his arm around the small of Eddie’s back and dropping some money on the counter. He claims it’s ‘on him’ as Eddie pulls away quickly, feeling a bit panicked as he realizes it’s not Richie.

“Umm, it’s okay. I got it.” Eddie gives a nervous laugh as he slides his money closer to the friendly women who made his cocktail. Eddie tries to quickly walk back to his seat and watch the rest of the show when his arm is pulled, nearly stumbling backwards.

“Hey there, pretty boy.” a tall, pale looking man whose face is littered in stubble tries to flirt. Eddie gives another fake laugh as he tries to walk away again. “Oh, c’mon. I just wanna talk.” the creepy man tries more.

“I- I, umm…” Eddie’s unsure of what to say, now frozen with fright.

“What’s going on?” a familiar voice asks. Eddie whips his head around, finding overwhelming comfort as he throws himself into Richie’s arms, not caring that his drink has spilled. The other man looks Richie up and down, scoffing.

“We were just talking,” the pale stranger flashes dark eyes as he grabs Eddie’s arm and tugs him back again. Eddie shrieks, pulling away quickly and hides behind Richie.

Richie’s body fills with complete rage, taking it out on the other man’s face - knocking him straight to the ground. Eddie looks at Richie, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Richie turns to look at Eddie, a smirk also playing on his lips as he grabs Eddie’s jaw and pulls him close. Eddie lets out an escaped moan, blushing as Richie crashes their lips together. Eddie is surprised at first, but kisses back immediately and just as intensely. Richie slips his tongue in Eddie’s mouth, grabbing his ass as he proves his point to the creep that remains flat on the ground.

“He’s with me,” Richie says as he breaks the kiss, grabbing Eddie’s hand and leading him backstage. “You okay?” Richie asks with genuine concern as they enter Richie’s dressing room.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, nodding his head. “I’m a little shaken up, but I’ll be okay.” Richie embraces Eddie closely again, their lips reconnecting. Eddie sighs happily as he wraps his arms around Richie’s neck. He’s glad that he’s safe and alone with Richie now.

Richie slips his tongue back into the smaller’s mouth as he backs him into the wall. He then starts attacking Eddie’s neck in kisses and love bites. Eddie lets out another moan, his knees starting to feel weak. “You know,” Richie purrs against Eddie’s tanned skin. “If I could, I would have fucked you in front of him.” Eddie shudders at Richie’s words.

“Yeah?” Eddie’s cheeks flush red. “Well I kind of wish you did…”

“Oh really?” Richie chuckles.

“Yes,” Eddie grabs Richie’s shirt, pulling him closer.

“C’mon, let’s go home.” Richie pecks Eddie’s lips as he backs away and starts packing up his guitar and other belongings.

“I don’t think I can wait that long,” Eddie whines, rolling his eyes as he follows after Richie.

“Babe, I think you can wait.” Richie laughs as he keeps his focus.

“Richie,” Eddie whines as his jeans start to grow more and more uncomfortable by the second. “I really can’t wait.”

“Eds,” Richie warns.

“Now!” Eddie demands as he grabs Richie’s shoulder and tugs him back. Richie straightens himself out, glaring at Eddie before walking to the door, locking it and turning back to face Eddie again. Eddie knows he’s in for it by the way Richie’s looking at him. He stays cemented in place as Richie slowly approaches him.

“Oh, you want it bad, don’t you?” Richie’s tone is low and ice cold. Eddie giggles nervously, trying to form words but is unable to. Richie grabs at Eddie’s hips, rubbing his back softly before grabbing a fistful of Eddie’s hair and yanking his head back, causing Eddie to gasp. “I’ll give it to you. Right here, right now. Just like you want.” Richie pulls harder, another moan leaving Eddie’s mouth. “I wanna hear you beg,”

“Please?” Eddie asks weakly.

“Oh you can do so much better than that,” Richie taunts, letting his hair go as he drags his thumb across Eddie’s lower lip. “Now, do it correctly.”

“Please? Please fuck me, daddy. I want you so, so bad. I need you… Please? Please!” Eddie whimpers and cries.

“That’s my good boy,” Richie praises as he grabs at the bulge in Eddie’s jeans. Eddie closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. He pushes his hips forward into Richie’s touch, closing his eyes as he lets Richie take complete and total control.

Richie backs Eddie up against the couch that’s placed in the corner of the room. He gently pushes him down and hovers over him. Eddie’s tinted cheeks deepen as Richie begins to unbutton his jeans, pulling them off of Eddie’s legs. Richie tosses them aside and spreads Eddie’s legs. He pulls Eddie’s shirt over his head as well and goes back to feeling Eddie’s clothed, hard dick.

“But what about you?” Eddie asks softly as he pulls at the hem of Richie’s shirt. Richie hushes Eddie, but obliges by taking off his shirt, feeling Eddie harder. “Fuck,” Eddie groans as he grips the edge of the couch.

Richie keeps this up, slipping his hand inside and grabbing Eddie’s cock while his eyes are still closed. This makes Eddie to gasp, nails digging into the faux leather. Richie grabs at Eddie’s throat somewhat roughly and pulls him close.

“I want to hear you,” Richie growls, Eddie opening his eyes wide. “I want everyone to hear you.” Eddie feels his stomach drop, trying to swallow. He nods, keeping his eyes locked with Richie. “Good boy,” Richie praises, letting go of his throat, stripping him naked and shoving his fingers in Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie hums around Richie’s fingers, gagging himself. Saliva pools in his mouth, slipping past his lips and down Richie’s fingers. Eddie’s eyes start to water as he keeps gagging. After a few moments, Richie pulls his fingers out, spreads Eddie’s legs even wider and slides a first finger inside of Eddie. Eddie gasps, followed by a moan as he leans the back of his head against the couch.

“Louder,” Richie demands as he starts pumping his finger. He begins at a fast but gentle pace only for him to add another finger and move quicker.

“O-oh, fuck!” Eddie’s grip hardens, nails digging more into and probably tearing the couch. Richie buries his fingers deep, really working Eddie open as he grazes over Eddie’s sweet spot. “Richie!” Eddie wails, back arching as his eyes roll deep into his head.

“Say it again,” Richie hums. “Sounded good.” he smirks, repeating the action over and over, sneaking in a third and final finger.

“Daddy!” Eddie squeals.

“Even better,” Richie growls, making Eddie cry as he edges him the closest that he can.

“F-fu-fuck… R-Ri-Rich-” Eddie can’t finish his own words, about to release when Richie pulls his fingers out. Eddie opens his eyes, looking at Richie with slight disappointment as he pants heavily.

“W-why did you-”

“You didn’t think I was gonna make you cum without working for it, did you?” Richie drawls with haunting eyes. Eddie blushes as he giggles sheepishly. “On your knees,” Richie commands as he starts stripping himself from the rest of his clothing. Eddie does as told, getting on his knees as he looks up at Richie. “Don’t get me off, just enough for you to ride me.”

Eddie nods as he takes Richie’s cock in his hand, pumping him a few times before taking the tip into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around a bit, about to take more of Richie in when Richie shoves his cock all the way to the back of Eddie’s throat. Eddie gags, gripping at Richie’s thighs as Richie starts thrusting into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie keeps his mouth wide open, tears filling his eyes and streaming down his face as Richie moves his hips faster, slower, slower, then faster and faster again before stopping. Eddie coughs, gasping for air.

“You’re my good boy, huh?” Richie asks again sweetly, lifting Eddie’s chin as he wipes away the leftover drool.

“Yes,” Eddie’s voice is raspy as he flashes a smile. Richie raises an eyebrow at him. “Yes, daddy.” Eddie corrects himself.

Richie smiles as he sits down, pulling Eddie into his lap. Eddie giggles as he grabs Richie’s length again and slides himself all the way down. He moans happily, placing his hands on Richie’s shoulders. He starts off by circling his hips, Richie’s hands placed there but not directing him. Richie leans back, really watching Eddie as he starts to bounce slowly. Eddie’s noses are low and quiet but gradually get louder the faster he bounces.

“R-Richie, oh, fuck!” Eddie mewls as he feels Richie’s cock ram right into his prostate. Richie moans as well, forcing his hips to stay still as he wants Eddie to work for it. “I’m s-so fucking clo-close,” Eddie’s words are choppy as his thighs begin to quiver.

“You’re almost there, baby. I know you can do it.” Richie slips his thumb into Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie slams down three more times before cumming all over Richie’s chest and stomach. Richie praises him, gripping Eddie’s hips tighter as he starts thrusting upwards mercilessly. Eddie screams, feeling overstimulated, about to hit subspace when Richie finally stops, filling Eddie up himself. Eddie leans forward, resting his forehead against Richie’s, mumbling happy, sweet nothings.

“Satisfied?” Richie asks in a joking manner.

“Partly,” Eddie smiles slightly, causing a chorus of chuckles from Richie.

“Well, there’s more waiting for you when we get home.” Richie gives him one final kiss before cleaning up, getting dressed and heading home.

#reddie #reddie fic #reddie fanfiction #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #the losers club #losers club #losers club fanfiction #losers club fanfic #it 2019 #it fanfic #it stephen king #richie x eddie

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jmeelee · 4 years

Text

The Boy Next Door written for @averysterekfall

“Go burn that anger off doing something productive!” His father’s words squeaked past the front door before it slammed. Stiles flew down his porch steps, out onto the walkway, acorns cracking under his stomping sneakers. He halted in front of the garage, stabbed every number into the keypad.

“Why won’t you just let me get my license?!” He’d yelled moments ago. What more did his father want? Stiles had passed his permit test with flying colors, logged over 100 hours of practice driving, rocked driver’s ed, and taken three private, professional driving lessons. He was more than ready to get his provisional license, and his father's hesitation was downright insulting at this point. The garage door rolled up, exposing baby-blue paint inch by inch.

“Hey. What are you doing?” Stiles wheeled around, arms windmilling and heart racing.

The boy next door, Derek Hale, plopped a garbage bin at the curb in front of his house. Derek and Stiles lived next door to each other for years, since Stiles and his family moved to Beacon Hills when Stiles was five. Only a year apart in age, they’d been close friends once upon a time. Derek sat with him on the school bus and taught him how to play touch football. An extra place setting was always available at the Hale family dinner table for when Stiles showed up like an only-child moth drawn to Derek’s large-family flame. But when Derek left Stiles in junior high to move up to Beacon Hills High School, he’d left their friendship behind too. He’d grown muscles and facial hair and a social life that had no room for Stiles anymore. They still hung out occasionally at neighborhood barbecues, but it wasn’t the same.

“Jesus, dude. Someone needs to put a bell on you.”

Derek looked down at the bulky garbage can—the kind Stiles knew damn well sounded like rumbling thunder on it’s trip to the curb—and back to Stiles, raising one dark bushy eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” Stiles spit, breathing hard. “Don’t worry about it.” What would Derek care, anyway? He and his older sister, Laura, shared custody of a sleek black Camaro. No one forbade him from taking his road test. And middle-child Derek Hale had no idea how it felt to be the sole beneficiary of an overprotective parent’s ridiculous restrictions.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Derek pressed. “You stomped out here like you were going to kick someone’s ass.”

Anger and grief settled in Stiles’ lungs like cement. “I’m just out here, admiring my car—” Stiles waved a hand at the 1980 CJ5 Jeep parked in his garage—“which I’ll never be able to drive because my father is a controlling prick.”

Derek cut across his yard until he stood in Stiles’ driveway. “He’s worried about you. In his line of work, he’s probably seen some terrible accidents, seen the cost of teenagers driving before they were ready.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “You’re all he has, Stiles. Soon you’ll go away to college, and he won’t see you every day, and a car means he’ll see you less now when he’s probably trying to soak up as much time together as he can. Try not to be too tough on him.”

It wasn’t like Stiles didn’t know those things. He did. But his mother had left Stiles the Jeep when she died. She wanted him to have it. She taught him about the clutch and the gear shift when he was seven years old. He just wanted to roll down the windows and hear her laugh on the wind again.

Stiles didn’t have the words to say all that to Derek, so he said, “Ew. I don’t want to hear your logic, Hale.” He reached into a dark corner of the garage, swatted away some cobwebs and grabbed two rakes with worn wooden handles, and a couple of pairs of work gloves. “Put up or shut up. I’ve got rage to burn.”

Energy spilled from him like oil from a smashed tanker. Leaves flung into the air. Within minutes Stiles stood in the center of a thigh-deep pile; immense, immediate progress. It felt good. He raked on and on, across the yard and back, until a multicolored mountain stood in front of him, the lawn a green swath behind.

Derek came and stood before Mt. Stiles, surveying it thoughtfully. Then he turned and, without catching himself, fell backward into the leaf pile. He sprawled comfortably, sinking to the ground, brown, red, orange, and yellow leaves sliding over his handsome face. Stiles stepped into the pile, sat down cross-legged. They were in a nest, hidden from the world.

He looked at Derek and said, “Every day I don’t have my license feels like another day I don’t have her.” He shrugged. “It might be stupid to feel that way, but it’s true.”

Derek’s eyes softened at the memory of Claudia. “Not stupid at all.” Derek put both hands around Stiles’ waist and pulled him down flat into the leaves with him.

The kiss was long. And serious.

Stiles stared awestruck at Derek’s stubbled cheek, which pressed against his, and with amazement, brought his lips together to kiss Derek again. To start their second kiss, and choose when to end it. Derek’s heart raced under Stiles’ palm, and his own picked up speed, keeping pace.

Very slowly, Stiles’ hand crept around Derek’s face, finding the back of his neck where his dark hair lay thick over his pulse. Derek’s hand, rough-surfaced, gently touched his face. He brushed the hair from Stiles’ forehead, traced his profile with the pad of his thumb.

“Derek!” Shouted his little sister, Cora, from the porch steps. “Derek, where are you? Isaac Lahey’s on the house phone. He says you aren’t answering his texts.” She waited a few moments, and when she didn’t get a response, she reentered the house and slammed the door.

They fell apart, each lying back on the crinkling leaves, staring up a blue, early October sky. “I’d better go take that,” Derek said.

“Sure. Yeah. Gotcha.” Stiles agreed. “That guy’s pretty needy.” Derek huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. He stood first, brushing leaves off an ass that perfectly filled out his jeans. He reached down, grabbed Stiles’ hand, and hoisted him to his feet. Stiles could feel bits of leaf in his hair and down the back of his flannel shirt.

Derek kept his fingers intertwined with Stiles’, reached out with his free hand, and picked an oak leaf from Stiles’ shoulder. “Can I ask you something, Stiles?”

“Uh. Sure?” The words came out breathless.

“When you do get your license—and you will—could I be the first person you drive with in your Jeep?”

Stiles ducked his head, overcome, and stared at his feet for a few seconds. He looked back up at Derek from under his lashes. “Yeah. I think that can be arranged.”

Derek smiled. “Can’t wait.” He squeezed Stiles’ hand before letting go.

Stiles’ heart and lungs were working hard enough to power the entire county of Beacon Hills. Once Derek disappeared inside his house, Stiles picked up his rake again. Their two bodies had left imprints in the leaf pile, like angels in the snow. He raked the pile back together, until the prints were hidden, the evidence gone. Their little secret, at least for now.

If Stiles’ dad found out, he’d probably never let Stiles leave the house, let alone take a road test.

The boy next door, Stiles marveled, touching a finger to his kiss-swollen bottom lip. Who would have thought he’d be such a cliche?

Stiles stored the rakes back in the garage and briefly rested his forehead against the Jeep’s spare tire. “Soon,” he whispered. The word, the Jeep, and Derek, all held the promise of happiness. “Soon.”

He closed the garage door and went back inside.

__________

Thank you to @novemberhush for reading this over. This ficlet is based on the first kiss scene from The Face on the Milk Carton

#avsf2020 #sterek #eternalsterek #haleinski #sterek ficlet #sterek fic

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izupie · 3 years

Text

So recently I said that I would stop putting limits on myself as to what I’m writing - like, if I want to write it, and I have inspiration and motivation for it, I’ll Write It. (Despite hearing the moaning cries of my wip folder and beating it back with a broom)

So taking away my impulse control on writing stuff has resulted in me spending the last few hours writing whatever this is and I don’t even know where it’s going and yes I’m aware I have another werewolf Richie wip already and no I don’t know if I’m ever going to finish this, but please take it from my weary hands anyway

---------------

“So, hypothetically, say I had a… friend… who got bit by a dog-”

“-You got bit by a dog?”

“Wha- No, Eds, fuck- weren’t you listening? My friend got bit by a dog. Hypothetically.”

“Richie- I swear to- how fucking stupid do you think I am? When has that line ever worked for anyone ever?”

Richie peered into the tiny sink at the red still dripping down his fingers from the wound on his hand. There was a pile of bloodied tissues next to him and the wad he was currently pressing onto the bite really needed changing too. “Oh, shit,” Richie cursed loudly, as his cell phone nearly slid out of the gap that he’d wedged it in, between his shoulder and his ear.

“What?”

“I nearly lost my phone down the plane toilet.” He snorted a laugh. “Imagine someone’s walking around down there, minding their own business, and a phone drops out of the sky on them.”

“That’s not how plane toilets work!” Eddie’s voice was agitated and clipped, and Richie could listen to it all day. Even with the whole bleeding out into a tiny plastic sink thing.

“Aw, it’s not?”

“Of course not, dipshit, otherwise every time someone flushes it, it would just-” Eddie took a deep breath and Richie reached for a handful of new toilet paper to press onto his hand. “You’re distracting me. You need to apply pressure to the wound.”

“I am. I’m like, pressing a load of toilet paper on it. But it won’t stop bleeding.”

“It’s probably gonna get infected… shit, what if the dog had rabies, have you had a rabies shot in the last year?”

Richie opened his mouth.

“Of course you haven’t. Okay, just don’t think about rabies. Dog bites get infected easy because of all the bacteria in their mouths, so you need to wash it. That’ll encourage the bleeding, but you need to make sure the wound is clean. Then you’ve got to dry it and just keep the pressure on.”

It was soothing to hear Eddie’s voice in his ear, and despite the bite (that had started to feel like it was burning – that can’t be a good sign) Richie was always so happy to talk to him. He was hunched over a plane sink with his cell phone jammed onto his ear and piles of bloodied toilet paper around him, but he was smiling because he was talking to Eddie Kaspbrak and he was being a helpful but bossy little shit. God he’d got it bad. “Wash it, dry it, pressure,” Richie repeated, “aye, aye, cap’n doctor K.”

“As soon as I pick you up, we’re going straight to the hospital.”

Richie began following Eddie’s instructions as he ran his hand under the tap, wincing as the burning sensation increased and the red freely flowed down the drain.

“Wait a minute- if you’re already on the plane… how’d you get bitten by a dog?”

Richie grabbed a handful of clean, dry toilet paper and patted the wound gently, as he thought about how he was going to dance around a way of explaining what happened. “Uh…” Then he pressed down hard, applying as much pressure as he could, and hissed at the stab of pain.

“Hey, are you okay?” Eddie’s concern came loud and clear through the phone and it was so startling in its utter sincerity that it made Richie want to pour his goddamn heart out to him with an, ‘Well I got bit by a dog but that’s not the problem, I’m not okay because I’ve been so in love with you that it hurts since we were thirteen fucking years old.’

Instead Richie just nodded and realised that he wouldn’t be able to see that, so he said, “I just nodded.”

Eddie let out a huff and Richie smiled at the soft sound.

“God you’re so distracting-”

No, you’re so distracting.

“-but, really, how’d you get a dog bite on a plane, Rich? Did one bite you before you got on?”

And there was his out. He could agree to that, and it would be fine. Eddie would never know. (Though it would probably be a little hard to keep up the lie if he got any kind of magical related disease or curse or something, since he didn’t consider rabies to be a legitimate concern from a bite he received through some magical bullshit that he thought he had left behind a year ago.) But maybe he was tired of tying himself up in a web of lies all the time with Eddie, because he was always so careful to mask everything with a joke or a punchline. Didn’t he deserve as much honesty as he was willing to give sometimes – about this at least?

“Richie?”

And oh, there was the word that always brought him to his knees. The word he heard whispered on bloodied lips. Whimpered into a cave. Hands up to a blood-stained spike, piercing a chest – before waking up sobbing in his bed alone.

It was dead.

It was fucking dead. And Eddie was alive.

Richie took a deep breath, inflating his lungs as far as they could go, and let it all out at once. “I’ve been having dreams.”

“What?”

“The fucking- the Deadlights or whatever- when I was caught in them I… saw things.” Richie was gripping onto his wounded hand so hard his knuckles were white.

You died.

“And I’ve been having, I don’t know, some weird kind of messed up dreams on and off since then.”

For a moment Eddie didn’t reply and then it burst out of him in a pure unfiltered explosion of Kaspbrak rage through the phone, “You didn’t think to tell us this sooner? What if that means- like what if It isn’t really dead? ‘Messed up’ dreams? What kind of messed up? Richie, what the fuck- why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you tell me?”

(Richie could imagine the pacing and the hand movements that went with the ranting, but it didn’t make him feel any less guilty.)

“Well I mean, I’m coming to stay at your apartment for a couple of weeks, so like, at some point I’d have woken you up with the screaming or the sobbing, or the pathetic party of both at the same time, so it would probably have come up then…”

There was another long pause and Richie expected this to be because of Eddie rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“So anyway,” Richie continued, “I fell to sleep as soon as the plane took off.”

“Of course,” Eddie sighed.

Richie thought he sounded sad. But he supposed if he found out that Eddie was keeping a secret like that from him, he’d be pretty pissed off and upset about it too. (It’s not the only secret he’s keeping from Eddie, but it’s the only one he’s willing to ever let past his lips.)

“Well this dream started similarly to the others… but…” Richie hesitated, remembering what had set the dream off its usual course of watching Eddie die in that cave – he’d so very nearly told him that he loved him. It had been on the tip of his tongue, but he’d swallowed it down. Instead he’d told a weak joke and they’d both smiled, even though Eddie was bleeding out under his hands, and the whole dream had gone black. “There was a turtle,” he said eventually, remembering the darkness and the tiny point of light in it. “Which was weird.”

“You’re having magic dreams and the weird thing is that there was a turtle?”

“Well yeah, ‘cause there’s never been one there before. They tend to all go the same way.”

“So… the turtle bit you?”

“What, no. The turtle didn’t fucking bite me. Jesus. It turned into a dog, and the dog bit me.”

Richie could hear Eddie sit down.

“It was one of those tiny fluffy demon things. It told me I had to stop hiding who I am and…” Let myself be seen. “I don’t know, some other weird stuff, so I reached out to it and it fuckin’ bit me, man.”

“The… turtle… that turned into a… dog… and bit you… told you, that you had to stop hiding who you are?”

“Yep.” Richie snorted a laugh and lifted the toilet paper on his wound carefully, to peek underneath. The bleeding had stopped. He finally reached up to adjust his glasses and released his phone from the gap between his neck and shoulder to hold it up to his ear with his good hand. “But I’ve always been a Trashmouth, and I’ll always be a Trashmouth and I don’t think anyone can say that I don’t flaunt it on stage. I don’t hide anything.” Richie winced as soon as the words left his mouth, and he was glad that Eddie couldn’t see. He was in fact talking to the one person that he was hiding the most from. Maybe the turtle-dog had a point…

But their friendship meant everything to him, and to lose Eddie after just getting him back would destroy him.

In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to stay at the recently-divorced questionably-straight single-friend’s apartment that he had a lifetime’s long crush on, but when Eddie invited him over for a couple of weeks for a vacation there wasn’t a force on earth (or otherwise) that could have made him refuse.

(He really needed help.)

(But not the magic supernatural bullshit kind.)

“Okay,” Eddie said with a note of finality and decision, “okay, I’ll get in touch with Mike and see what he knows. Mike’s good with this kind of stuff, right? Or maybe Bev? She got caught in the Deadlights like you. Wait, didn’t Stan say he saw some weird Deadlights shit too? Though I’m not sure Stan would let me get past ‘Richie got bit by a dream dog’ before he hung up on me.”

Richie laughed as he felt a wave of affection crash through his chest. Eddie was clearly out of his comfort zone with anything involving magic again, but he was being practical and logical and making plans. He had always been, and continued to be, the bravest man Richie had ever known.

“Tell him I got bit by a magic pigeon and he might stick around long enough to hear a bit more.” He stuffed the bloodied toilet paper into the toilet and wiped around the sink to get rid of any traces of red.

Eddie’s voice softened, “How’s your hand?”

Richie turned his wounded hand over and examined the puncture marks – now just angry red indents. But they still burned. “It’s not so bad now,” he said, “bleeding has stopped. Thanks, doc.”

“Well, we’re still taking you straight to the hospital. I’m going to get in my car now and I’ll meet you at the airport as soon as you land. Just… stay awake for the rest of the journey, okay?”

Richie wondered if Eddie was really smiling, or if he was just doing a good job of imagining it in his voice. He smiled back anyway and ran his good hand through his messy hair. “You got it. See you soon, Eds.”

“Don’t call me-”

Richie chuckled as he pressed the button to flush the toilet and hung up the call.

#I had sooooo much fun writing their dialogue #Reddie #reddie fanfiction #werewolf richie #IT chapter 2 #richie x eddie #my fanfiction #I hope it shows how much fun I had writing this because it was honestly such a good time #IT stuff #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #I'm definitely uploading this to AO3 at some point #when it's not 1am

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anhed-nia · 4 years

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BLOGTOBER PRE-GAME 9/30/2020: 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE/CONFESSIONAL (2019)

Spoiler alert. Or whatever. It’s not going to matter, you don’t care.

So, I've been away for a minute. Just about any reason to be away from Tumblr is probably a good reason, but I have an especially good one. I'm finally working on a "real" writing project, which demands, and deserves, all of my attention. My social media abstinence isn't just a matter of time management, though. Once I had a long term obligation on my plate, I became very aware of how the short term satisfaction I get from posting mindless rants was eating away at the fuel I have available for sustained efforts. When I wind myself up with a 500-1000 word blog post, it generates a lot of electricity, but I blow it all as soon as I experience the catharsis of posting it, and I'm further pacified by ego-stroking likes and reblogs. Not to sound like a sanctimonious luddite--I mean, I'm still here, after all!--but it turns out that the staying focused on the long haul has been surprisingly revivifying. In fact, I haven't been talking about my big fancy project for the same reason; I don't want to lose any of the juice I've been storing up by wasting it on the shallow pleasure of describing it. Also such things should probably be somewhat confidential until they're approaching the publishing stage, but I digress! There is an actual reason I'm saying all this, that has more to do with this blog.

(Don’t get all excited, I’m not doing EVIL ED right now, I just need a relatable image.)

As I got deeper into my experience of "real" film writing, I started to reflect on the meaning of my personal writing. Like, the point of it. I tend to write in a sweaty, compulsive, sadomasochistic haze, in which I'm sometimes hyperbolically generous, and sometimes--perhaps more often, unfortunately--as nasty as humanly possible. Sometimes the movies deserve it, when they're lazy, pretentious, or otherwise demonstrate an open contempt for the audience aka ME. Often, though, I'm just creating an opportunity to vent my generalized rage and frustration. That can be very entertaining for myself and (hopefully) my teensy-but-devoted readership, but lately I've asked myself whether there isn't some negative tradeoff for all this amusement. In this phase of my life, it's reasonable to assume I'll make more and more friends and acquaintances who create things I don't always care for, but I don't necessarily think they deserve to be abused for it. As much as I have a right to say whatever I want, technically, I'd be embarrassed if I were caught just jacking myself off by making fun of their work in public. And more to the point, I don't necessarily want to contribute to the growing atmosphere in which people feel more afraid to try and fail, because the public so commonly misidentifies sarcasm and mean-spiritedness as intelligence and superiority, and that form of petty darkness spreads across the internet a lot faster than a movie can reach a wider audience. After all, I'm in the process of potentially turning myself into one of those well-meaning failures right now. I could stand to be a little more deliberate about how I speak, and about what, in general.

My father is an art critic, and once in an extra petulant moment, teenage-me asked him in an accusative tone what he thought the point of his profession was. He replied calmly that he wouldn't publish any comment that he didn't think the artist could make use of somehow. I don't know if he always stuck to that policy, but the thought sure stuck with me.

So anyway, over the last few months I've been giving myself a bit of an attitude adjustment, through a combination of personal reflection, and hard work on something meaningful/not for the internet. I've been feeling all proud of myself and shit, but today reminded me that any path to enlightenment is always marked by setbacks, doubt, and temptation. For today, in complete innocence (or at least a melange of innocence and ignorance, as I very much invite this type of problem), I managed to watch TWO (2) movies about an academic film-cum-psychology project, focused on a gang of college buddies who inevitably reveal what bad people they are under the unique conditions of the project, and then the project turns out to be run NOT by its presumed-dead originator, but by the originator's even-crazier lover. It's amazing how particular something can be, and still be utterly obvious and cliche. In my defense, I really tried to turn the second movie off, because it was...just instantly terrible, but the seed of suspicion had taken root--is this randomly selected movie ACTUALLY EXACTLY THE SAME AS THE PREVIOUS MOVIE?--and I just had to find out if this could be true. I suffered, deliberately, for another hour and a half, to confirm my awful hunch. I don't know how I would have felt if I had turned out to be wrong (better? worse?), but I don't have to worry about that now. Now I just have to worry about my overpowering impulse to be as ugly as possible about what I have personally subjected myself to.

(The completely deceptive poster for our not at all witchy or eerie opening feature.)

In need of a passable time-waster this afternoon, I put on 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE. Released in March of 2019, Caitlin Koller's claustrophobic black comedy feels oddly like a product of 2020. A group of estranged, middle-aged college pals of the BIG CHILL ilk--which one of the characters calls out, out loud, just so ya know--come together for a fallen comrade's funeral, only to find themselves trapped in his widow's increasingly creepy cabin in the woods. Said comrade was driven to suicide by the failure of a psychological experiment he conducted that plunged its subject into madness, and if you don't realize right away that the obnoxious and unstable cast are the new subjects of their not-quite-dead friend's renewed project, then you're firing a lot slower than 24 frames per second. The dialog is often decent, aiding a handful of funny, natural performances...but it's hard to forget that you're just waiting for the conspicuously crazy widow to reveal that the "unexplained events" in and around the cabin are part of a controlled attempt to get the guests to devolve into their worst selves, which isn't such a difficult task considering the undesirable state they all arrive in.

It just made me ask myself, what was the point of this? Why do people make movies that are entirely predicated on the shock of the twist, knowing that if the twist isn't so shocking--or is baldly obvious from the start--then the whole experience just falls apart? Why not hedge your bets with a little more depth, or purpose, or style, or really anything more reliable than a smug attempt to prove that your script is smarter than your audience? Even if you do manage to pull off this dubious accomplishment, it reduces your movie to something like the experience of having somebody jump out of a closet and scream in your ear to "get" you. I've always felt concerned that if somebody ever tries to "get" me like that, I might just automatically punch them in the face. But anyway, whatever shred of good will this movie could have accrued with its plucky performances is blown away by the final insult, when the cops arrive to clean up the inevitable bloody mess. The responding officers are hilariously unimpressed and unsurprised by the byzantine scheme that has resulted in a shocking act of violence, because the cabin's "guest book", which our heroes all filled out, was actually the signatory page of a complicated waiver form granting full permission to the hosts to, like, do whatever the hell they want to everybody. Presumably this shit just goes on all the time, leading the local law to shrug off anything that happens to or because of the dumbassed lab rats who frequent the cabin? I dunno. I mean, what can I say? ACAB, I guess!

At the time, I managed to resist the urge to take to the internet and decry the crimes of this lame-o party joke. I really don't like the sensation that a movie is just trying to trick me into thinking something that isn't true. But, this isn't, like, an affront to cinema. People make annoying, below average movies all the time, and maybe you kinda have to, if you eventually want to make better movies. I imagine myself in the shoes of the people who actually put some elbow grease into this production, having to wade through the rantings of internet ghouls like myself while they're trying to see how their efforts are paying off. Making a movie is probably a lot harder than I think it is.

But that's part of the point I'm heading toward. I'm always amazed by people's willingness to pour huge amounts of energy and capital into something to which there is ultimately very little point. I mean, I have bad, unoriginal, boring ideas every single day of my life. But I almost never DO any of them. I have a hard enough time convincing myself to just get out of bed in the morning, let alone devote blood, sweat, and money to deliver unto the world material evidence of my personal mediocrity. I can't imagine thinking it would be worth it, for myself or the unfortunate people who are subjected to my project, to actually execute on my bad ideas. I'm being judgmental, but honestly, I don't even know if my attitude makes me better or worse than someone who accomplishes the task of completing and selling a movie that's mainly a waste of time. Movies are so complicated, and realizing them requires the consensus of so many people, that it's sort of incredible that there are people capable of making one that doesn't have a powerfully compelling motivation behind it. People who are able to do such a thing obviously have something that I don't, and it isn't just "consideration for the audience."

So, I could probably stand to be more forgiving--or just, less eager to absolutely flay someone alive on my dumb little blog because they so opened themselves up to my arsenal of elaborate insults. But like...not all the time. Sometimes, a movie really fucking asks for it, and in revealing itself to me, it has effectively signed a waiver giving me patent freedom to do whatever I want to it. CONFESSIONAL is the latest movie to give me such a gift. After the final credit rolled in 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE, I looked for a little palate cleanser. As little as I like movies that put their single egg in the motheaten basket of a "shocking twist", I also have a problem with what I identify as canned theater. Not that I think all movies have to be lavish productions, but I think they should try to do something that is natively cinematic. It's very rare that I'm impressed by anything that is literally all talk. So, I went in search of some more familiar form of trash to help me recallibrate, and trash is definitely what I got.

(Me crying over my own bad decisions.)

To be fair, I kind of should have known that I was in for a challenging experience. The 2019 found footage thriller CONFESSIONAL is more or less based on the "confessional" part of sleazy reality TV shows, isolating each cast member in a soundproof stall so they can spill the rotten contents of their guts. Unfortunately, I spotted a review suggesting that the movie succeeded, against all odds, at remaining visually dynamic despite the unchanging scenery, and I was intrigued. The reviewer was correct, impressively; the monotony of the coffin-like environment with its dark foam walls was the least of my concerns. Other problems superseded that threat, immediately. The plot concerns a group of college pals who come together to remember a recently deceased friend--a filmmaker who expired mysteriously while completing a psychology-tinged project in which she recorded all of her friends' most shameful personal secrets. Now, somebody else has taken over the project...someone who "has never been identified", according to an early title card in this movie-within-a-movie (EVEN THOUGH THIS PERSON WILL BE EXPLICITLY IDENTIFIED AT THE END OF THE MOVIE SO LIKE WHY), but who seems likely to be the decedent's ex-lover...who continues to expose their subjects' most shameful secrets on film. I mean, what the fuck? Did I somehow manage to pick a second movie with almost the exact same plot??? I couldn't believe it. I didn't know if I could take it. My prospects only got worse when the cast showed up and started talking. I tried to turn the movie off. I backed out and walked away from it, twice. But I couldn't leave it alone. I had to know if it was really the same movie.

CONFESSIONAL concerns characters who are contemporaneously in college, which actually goes a long way to making everything worse. Each of these walking cliches is connected in some way to Amelia, a film student whose mysterious death has created a campus scandal, leaving shattered hearts and lives in its wake. The living have each received a blackmail-flavored invitation to speak about the deceased in a tiny "confessional booth" somewhere on campus, where, predictably, they find themselves locked in until they confess whatever they know about Amelia, and their classmates. I don't know why practically every single movie about young people has to be so miserable, but this is one of those. I assume that it has something to do with the fact that youth is simultaneously so desired and so ignored. People in their teens and early 20s are so sexually coveted, yet so easily dismissed as individuals, that we wind up with all this media that panders to them relentlessly (or at least, panders to the legions of ticket-buying perverts who enjoy watching them prance around), without almost any consideration of how they actually think and act, and look. Movies like FAT GIRL and WELCOME TO THE DOLL HOUSE may be accused of their own form of pandering, a venal form of voyeuristic schadenfreude, but at least they reflect something of the awkwardness, isolation, and incompleteness of adolescence; something more than the dissociated, pornographic fantasies of adults who have long since forgotten what it was like to be powerless and ignored, or desired by people who don't even like you.

Not that CONFESSIONAL is supposed to be a work of grim realism, but it is most definitely rooted in a fantasy about college life that makes its contrived, message-y plot a lot harder to take. With almost the sole exception of "the nerdy one", every single character looks like a Bratz doll, oozing an exaggerated indecency that belies the movie's pretentious insistence on addressing the sex & gender Issues of the Day. What you get is a really good example of what happens when millennial characters are modeled, not on any actual millennials, but on other forms of marketing that are aimed at millennials, which are themselves just based on other preexisting youth-targeted commercials, et al ad nauseam. Even setting aside the deliriously slutty wardrobe choices, makeup appears to have been laid on with a trowel, coating each actor in a thick creamy layer of spackle that only makes any scars, pits, or other evidence of individuality look utterly bizarre. Accordingly, everybody preens, pouts, and generally behaves as if they're about to take off their clothes, which might be a huge relief given the profusion of chafing, cheapo mesh and straps they're laboring under.

So, ok, not every movie can have a great costume department, but the dialog here is a perfect match for the disastrous aesthetic decisions. Actually, this is the real reason I almost walked out on CONFESSIONAL. If I may ramble briefly, without substantiating any of my broad-ranging claims: Sometime in the late 90s/early 00s, horror cinema seemed to suffer a degenerative slide away from genuine thrills and chills, and into a version of the genre that is best characterized as the Slutty Halloween Costume approach. Any sense of existential dread, revulsion, or bodily vulnerability was widely replaced by a cutesy, Hot Topic-y preference for fast fashion and sex appeal, in which bloodshed more facilitated an informal wet teeshirt contest than any real fear induction. Horror's new mall goth look came with an equally shallow, boring verbal affectation: a sullen, sleazy, tooth-sucking sarcasm, that ushered in a new era in which, instead of making fun of the scummy coked-out dialog in porno movies, we now expect everybody to just talk like that, because it's hot. There's probably a line to be drawn between this unfortunate development, and the boneheaded real-world trend of identifying "sarcasm" as an important personal selling point on dating sites, but I won't try to prove that here. For now, I will just say that as soon as I heard the CONFESSIONAL characters start to speak, with their sneering, insinuating tones, with the vocal fry, with the head wagging, the jutting jaws, the smoldering gazes, the juvenile dragging-out of horny grownup words like de-bauch-er-y...I almost lost my nerve. Listening to these little creeps hissing and spitting for 84 minutes is a lot like being hit on by some barfly who continues to bludgeon you with his hot breath and corny lines without ever noticing that you've thrown up into your pint.

Uh, anyway. So what actually happens in the movie. Why would anyone ever allow someone to record video of them revealing the ugliest, most embarrassing parts of themselves? Especially a kid, for whom popularity and reputation are often a matter of life or death--literally and specifically, in the case of this story. The flimsy reason is that the late filmmaker, Amelia, was the most awesomest girl ever. Everybody loved her, because she was so sweet, and so smart, and so cool, and so nice, and so deep, and so original, and so talented, and so sexy, and just like, the bestest most perfectest girl in the whole wide world. N.B. "The greatest of all time" is, perhaps counter-intuitively, a really bad quality that makes for really shitty, boring characters. For better or worse, Amelia is rarely on screen (and when she is, she's no Laura Palmer, frankly), so it's up to the viewer to just sort of imagine a type of person who could make you act against your best interests on account of you just like them so much. After all, so many of the characters were obsessed with her in some way, that it's like they're here to help you clap your hands and believe in this seductive, compelling part of the movie, that just isn't actually there on the screen. The anonymous antihero behind the confessional booth scheme slowly extracts from each character the selfish, destructive behavior that in some way contributed to the tragic loss of the most amazing person of all time--and part of the result is, if not a very interesting excuse for Amelia's death, then a story so wacky that I really wish they had centered the movie on it, instead of on the tawdry soap opera we're locked into. Even if that imaginary movie had been really bad, and it probably would have been, at it would at least have been entertaining.

Part of what leads up to the death of Amelia is the existence of a secret school fight club, led by a stereotypically sleazy gender studies major, named Major, who is out to prove men's inherent superiority. The club is called CFB, or Cock Fights Back, which is somehow a garbled pun relating to cock fights, and Trump's famous line of "locker room talk": "grab'em by the pussy" > "pussy grabs back" > "cock fights back". CFB is different from your ordinary fight club in that the fights are always between girls and boys, and the boys are always blindfolded, in order to prove that a fully-abled female is no match for even a handicapped male. To complicate things, a new designer amphetamine is gaining popularity on campus, called "odds-on", meaning that it makes you the odds-on favorite in your CFB fight. As awkward as that is, it also seems that men are never the guaranteed winners of these fights, which makes you wonder why Major insists on continuing to host them. As much as I would have preferred to watch a stupid movie about this stupid idea, I'm stuck instead with a movie in which Major is such an aggressive MRA because he's secretly gay, and he thinks that hating women is a great way to hide that...as if that isn't what we all openly suspect about aggro MRAs. Secret gayness is a big part of this movie, involving multiple characters, although it amounts to very little other than the perpetuation of some stale, harmful cliches about how unfulfilled homosexual urges lead to suicide, sexual abuse, and murder. CONFESSIONAL is just as reliant on this grim vision of gay life, as it is on its weirdly obtuse discussion of drug addiction, for the suffocating sense of self-importance that it uses to try to elevate itself above its porn-y trappings. None of the movie's hot button issues are given any real thought, but are only dragged through the mud to create the illusion that there's a point to all this, thus relieving the film of any sense of innocence that could have made its condescending sleaziness forgivable.

Admittedly, I can't really remember all the details of the film's tortured intrigue anymore, even though I basically just saw it. A lot of its meandering revelations just left me thinking, "Why did I need to know that? Why should I care?" I do know that about half way through this ordeal, I became really anxious about whether it would turn out that CONFESSIONAL did NOT have exactly the same plot as 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE after all, and I put myself through all this for nothing. But no, I was right to begin with. The wonderful Amelia's ethically dubious film project has been picked up by the unhinged lesbian character who loved her so much she wanted to become her, and killing Amelia and usurping her confessional project was apparently the best way of doing that. I guess exposing all the dark, violent secrets of all these tangentially involved characters was just an added bonus, or whatever. Ultimately, this ugly, ignorant PSA about something-or-other only deals itself further damage by relying so heavily on the potential of its clumsy twist to blow your mind, which it does not at all.

So that was it, that's how I burned a whole afternoon allowing my mind to implode-not-explode under the ponderous force of TWO (2) movies about exactly the same exhausted cliche that is still being peddled by certain pretentious assholes as fresh and exciting, and beyond the capacity of the audience to anticipate. There's probably a whole slew of other movies that employ this overly familiar "surprise", but I don't have it in me to dig them out of my long-suffering brain. Feel free to contribute in the comments. For now, I must prepare myself for the ordeal of Blogtober, during which I will *hopefully* choose my screening selections and words more thoughtfully than I have in previous years, when this blog was motivated by just as much abject misanthropy as these movies, which do nothing but willfully insult the audience's intelligence. Maybe today's detour into degradation will help me go forth toward more additive experiences, having purged several lungfuls of meaningless venom from my system, and this season will bring with it more interesting, provocative posts than the last. Or maybe not! In any case, I promise to keep trying my hardest to make it funny.

PS I actually love both FAT GIRL and WELCOME TO THE DOLLHOUSE. I’m “just saying”.

#blogtober #2020 #confessional #2019 #30 miles from nowhere #horror #thriller #black comedy #found footage #brad t gottfred #jennifer wolfe #jennifer bosworth #caitlin koller

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devourer--of--books · 4 years

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Callis was Gavaldon’s first witch gynecologist and here’s why

Okay so, in this post we’ll be discussing topics such as sex, contraception, and some religion in the context of it being used as a mean to control people sexually.

If you’re younger than 13, honestly, this post isn’t for you.

If you’re unlucky, like me, and your school didn't give you proper sex ed, I beg you to ask someone about it. Your older sibling, your mom, someone, okay? Ask google. It’s important stuff you need to know.

First of all, for composure’s sake, let’s all pretend I didn’t start thinking of this due to me writing a smut fic. At 4am, on my tablet notes. On my defense, tho, there’s an astonishing lack of E-rated fics on this fandom and someone ought do it, okay? Moving on.

So, where shall we start?

Let’s get context out of the way, welcome to my analyses, the actual headcanons are here, I promise, let me just bore you to death first:

The SGE book series overall is set in fantasy fairytale land (The Endless Woods), with the exception of Gavaldon, aka, the reader village. Due to this, there’s not really a time period liking the SGE world to ours, neither can it be presumed by the world building, as Soman mixes traditional medieval elements with modern elements, which I know bothers some of you too, it ain’t just me, but nevermind that right now.

The point is, the arguments I’m making on this post are based on aspects mentioned in the books, but I’m also going to draw some information from the real world.

A big chunk of the first two books rely on the world the existence of a patriarchal structure in that world, as do some plot points during the rest of the series, but if I were to dive into that we’d be here all night. Talking about the Endless Woods social structure is very complicated, specially with the ‘no labels in the woods’ stuff combined with the misogyny. It’s messy.

Thankfully for this post, we’ll only go into Gavaldon, because I feel things there are more… explicit (pun intended).

So here’s what we know of Gavaldon’s social structure pre-book 1:

It’s a decent sized village with no official government. There’s no political figure of power, such as prince or a mayor, as they eventually get in QFG. There also doesn’t seem to be an actual economic class distinction between the people of Gavaldon, other than mentions of beggars (pretty sure it’s just one tho, but I might be wrong). Everyone works and trades amongst themselves, with people having more or less the same things (except for Callis and Agatha, due to them being social outcasts).

Who has power in Gavaldon?

The Elders Council. They make the laws, they are respected, they have influence, and therefore they have power. These dudes stopped people from selling food to Stefan’s family during book 2, and threatened his new family in front of everybody during book 3. And everyone in Gavaldon loved that man. Why are they powerful tho?

Power is born out of inequality. If you have what we have not, we follow where you lead. Gavaldon has no nobles and no bourgeoisie. Geez, I wonder which powerful class we’re missing.

The clergy.

Personally, I hold no love for the church. I’m an atheist, but, as this post is about SGE and not religion, I’ll try to be as neutral as possible, as the point is not to offend or disrespect anyone. When I mention ‘religion’ or ‘clergy’ from this point on, I’m talking about religion as an Institution. As in the Medieval Catholic Church (which if you don’t agree was at least kind of very evil, I don’t know if I want you reading my posts anyway, so feel free to leave).

Most likely, the members of Elders Council of Galvadon were linked to its Church, whatever religion they may have. I can’t see any reason why they would have so much influence otherwise. Who appoints new men to the positions once one of them dies? I’m gonna guess the remaining members of the Council.

And no one said anything? For centuries. Okay. Corruption? Never heard of her.

Also, burning unmarried women as a way to solve problems claiming they were witches? Wonder where I’ve seen this before.

The fact they’re men, should get mentioned too, just in case you forgot. I bet there are women just as old and wise, if not wiser than the members of the council. Hm, wow why they’re not part of the council.

This hypothesis ties in with the fact that the education given to the kids is limited to the local school, which, given the lack of government and simplicity of work relations, is probably funded by the clergy. We don’t see any proof of this, but again, if we’re comparing Galvadon to a medieval village, it would make sense.

What is even taught at this school? Math and whatever language they speak there, sure, but like they have little to no history that we know of, geography would be pointless, there are no foreign languages, science who, and with these clowns running the village I’ll bet there is no philosophy or social studies and... Doesn’t matter, let’s not do this right now.

Callis briefly mentioned that all girls in Galvadon must marry before the end of their school education, or they are deemed witches. The Elders Council even chooses the matches, in case those aren’t naturally formed or if they disagree with pre-existing ones. These kids are what,15,16, maybe younger?

(this makes me so mad, you have no idea-)

ANYWAY. They form these child marriages, for... look I’m gonna presume is because of population reposition. They need an average of 2 kids per couple or they’ll have more people dying than people being born. Let’s just presume it’s because of this because if it’s because of some tradition stuff I’ll scream, okay?

Maybe they have a low life expectancy in Gavaldon (which is another evidence for the case that the elders are part of the clergy, they probably don’t work, so they live longer).

So have them teenage girls poping them babies, I guess.

Also, a miracle they have survived this long, because the genetic pool for Gavaldon must be the worst ever, everyone is related to everyone, ew. At least, in theory, there would be no STIs.

In theory.

Ahem… During the middle ages, all forms of birth control tended to be frowned upon, at least here on the west, including coitus interruptus (aka, pull out method), (tho it depends of who was the pope at the time, some of them were cool with this one if you already had too many kids and was like super poor), because sex was supposed to be about procreating, so a marriage with no kids was ‘pointless’.

(hear me raging in the background, this context is stressing me out, i just wanna get to the headcanons-)

We can assume this view is probably compatible with the Elders Council mindset, as they are marrying CHILDREN.

If there were any available contraceptive methods, you can bet they weren’t teaching this stuff at school. They probably have no sex ed, and if they do, it’s going to be just about periods and vague stuff. Gotta love them church schools (I never went to one, officially, but honestly, I live in Brazil, what even is Secular State).

(“Don’t have sex before marriage, you’re gonna get pregnant and die”, - one of the teachers at the Galvadon school at some point, I bet)

Let me also mention that there is an specific Gavaldon law that states that if a girl is pregnant she is going to marry the boy who knocked her up. Which, specially in Vanessa’s case, makes no f-ing sense. Could she prove it was Stefan’s? Did she sent it to a DNA lab? If Stefan was the Elders favorite why would they not take his word?

I digress, let’s say Stefan didn’t deny sleeping with her and only said he was under a spell, which, hm, how dumb do you have to be to do that, it’s lying 101, Stefan c’mon, but okay, you do you.

So they are probably super “moral” in Galvadon. You know, the kind of moral who just swipes stuff under the rug. Like, yeah, Stefan you’re now doomed to marrying Vanessa, but ain’t nobody gonna say a thing if you cheat on her as long as you don’t do it during plain daylight.

(The amount of closeted gays in Gavaldon is probably astronomical, can you imagine?)

And then you have Callis. Whom I think is probably responsible for the introduction of birth control in Gavaldon. We have arrived at the headcanons. Hear me out:

After Stefan saved Callis, she was deemed a witch. She’s a ‘witch’ doctor for the town. Only the most desperate of people seek her out.

That means she normally wouldn’t get a lot of patients. Like, Idk about you, but Gavaldon doesn’t seem big enough for her to have people looking for her everyday. And she probably had to feed Agatha somehow.

But, while her being a doctor for normal diseases wasn’t really working all that well, everyone knew she had a hand in Vanessa’s miracle child. So ‘infertile’ women and women who had been getting sickly during pregnancies start looking for her, asking for her to help them.

Callis obviously doesn’t use her magic, but as she can’t say she used magic for Vanessa, she gives them generally good advice about herbs and stuff they can add to their food to make it ‘more likely’, aka stuff that reduces stress, telling them how to eat better, stuff they should avoid, etc. She’s no big expert, but at least in the Endless Woods they had sex ed and she was witch, she just knows stuff.

So she becomes this sort of witch gynecologist for Gavaldon’s desperate women.

It works for a while, but then people eventually share these tips amongst themselves to avoid going to see her. Then, it’s back to slightly starving herself so baby Agatha could eat.

One day, a teenage girl arrives at her doorstep in the middle of the night, trading food for her help. If she could ‘make people more fertile’, she could surely make them miscarriage. Maybe this girl got pregnant by sleeping with someone the elders didn’t aprove for her to marry, maybe it was something else a bit darker, but we won’t talk about how that could be common, given you could literally force someone to marry you if they had your child.

Callis panics, because she wasn't ‘making anyone more fertile’ really, she was making them healthier and therefore more likely to have a healthy kid. If she were to tell her to do the reverse of what she told the others, not only it wouldn’t work, but it would actually harm the girl’s health.

At first she’s like, “I can’t help you…”, but then she hears baby Agatha crying, poor thing, so hungry all the time. So Callis decides, “you know what, might as well”.

There’s probably many potions made with magic one could take to not have a baby in the Woods. Even ones that cause abortions with no side effects or danger to the woman. But there also more natural ways, ones that maybe aren’t 100% effective, but would work, tho it had some side effects.

So Callis, makes her a potion to take. For real life comparisons, let’s say she used Queen Anne’s Lace, which works a bit like Plan B. The girl is thankful, and goes on her way.

Soon enough, everybody knows Callis can do these potions. You have girls sneaking to Graves Hill in the middle of the night to get help in exchange for food and while the elders know something is fishy, they can’t do much anything about it. They ask Callis what is up with that and she’s like ‘nope, just ya know, helping them have babies, plan b who’.

She tries to introduce a variation of the potion, one that acts as birth control, because it would stop people from being irresponsable all the time, but the Plan B one is the one every girl wants, because well, it’s easier. You can be unsafe and then take a potion and it’s fine. Soon, it’s not just girls. There’s full grown women there too, who should really know better.

She is pissed, so she says she won’t make them any more potions unless people stop being so careless.

Someone tries to make a knock-off potion, but it ends tragically, because people don’t really know what Callis puts in it. And well… you know what looks a bit like Queen Anne’s Lace?

F-ing Water Hemlock, that’s what.

After that incident, people listen to Callis when it came to ingesting stuff. And thus, birth control culture is born in Gavaldon. Other people started trying out other things to avoid dealing with Callis, like animal-based condoms, pull-out method and inserting acacia gum into your vagina before you had sex,but she had a good clientele overall.

The Elders? Pissed. But since they couldn’t just prove this was her fault, they just kept on hating on her from a distance.

After Agatha has her first period, Callis sits her down and pretty much gives her the talk. Agatha doesn’t really see a point to it, boys are gross, but she listens nonetheless.

Callis gives Agatha the best sex ed homeclass ever, you can bet she will teach her correct anatomy, debunk myths the school told her about both periods and her own body and even promised her to teach her how to make the birth control potion once she got older.

Again Agatha doesn’t see a point, but okay.

When Agatha comes home with Tedros, years later tho. Callis is... worried.

She tries to ask Agatha if she’s being safe but her daughter just... stops functioning. Blushing like crazy.

(“We just kissed, like, once, mom.”)

That being said… Callis doesn’t live long enough to teach her how to make the potion.

So when Tedros and Agatha’s relationship starts to progress (hm… if you wanna read something about it, maybe wait a couple of days, I might or my might not have a sin fic in the works, it wouldn’t be one of my posts if it had no self-promotion, I’m my own sponsor after all) she’s unsure of who to ask about this.

And it makes her extra sad about her mother’s death, so that’s great.

I honestly don’t know who she would ask. If you have any ideas, please tell me. Because I’m kind of inclined to think that maybe Merlin might have predicted this and handed a recipe to her as a semi-joke, but idk. Maybe Uma?

But yes, Callis was totally Gavaldon’s first witch gynecologist. And after they made Stefan mayor, I want people to remember her for the absolute legend she was, okay?

#school for good and evil series #school for good and evil #sge #Callis of Netherwood #Agatha of Woods Beyond #gavaldon

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sbwriel-cymraeg · 4 years

Text

Eddie Kaspbrak deserved better.

Let me start with this. IT, written by Stephen King, made into a movie in 2017 and then another in 2019, about a clown with a big forehead, who likes dining on children, and gets his ass kicked by a group of teenage misfits (and then again when said misfits are just about past their midlife crisis). It's a horror, it's creepy and it's gross, now you see, I don't do horrors. I'm an absolute wuss. I can't even walk into a creepy abandoned building without a plank of wood in my hand for protection, and at least two people on either side of me who would obviously be kidnapped first (and that gives me enough time to scream and run away). Anyway, I don't like horrors. So you can probably guess that there was no way in hell, or earth, that I would be watching something that involved a terrifying monster who drools as much as a bulldog (he should seriously get that checked). No way I was going to read the book, as much as I love reading, and wouldn't even consider the original from the 90s although the 90s rules the movie scene (don't argue, we all know Jurassic Park is the best movie of all time). But the thing was, I have a friend, and he can be very persuading (in the form of pizza and snacks) and also, I'm a huge McAvoy fan, and James Ransone, I've never seen that guy before but well, when I saw him in the trailer, hello handsome. And don't get me started on Bill Hader, man do I fancy that bloke... Anyway I'm going off topic. So blah blah, we end up sitting down one night, with our buffet and many cups of tea, and weirdly, we start watching IT Chapter 2 first, because he wanted to see it since it was new. I go into it with no bloody clue what was going on, who was who, why parents would let their kid out in the rain by themselves, or how nobody noticed a load of bodies leaking out of the sewer. I was asking alot of questions. But, here's the thing. Onto the whole point of this rant. Eddie Kaspbrak. Eddie Spaghetti. Eds. The cute, little, angry man who instantly caught my attention (not just by the fact that Mr Ransone is a handsome S.O.B). From the moment he sped down the road in his posh jeep, yelling at other drivers (I feel your pain Eds) to crashing said posh jeep because he was distracted by a phone call (bad Eddie!) He instantly stole my 28 year old, attracted to dark and handsome older men, heart. Of course, I had no clue about these characters, all I saw was cute, angry man, funny dork with glasses, red headed lady, that guy from New Zealand, man who lasted five seconds, handsome librarian, and Professor X, and of course that clown that lives in the drain. So, as the movie went on, Eddie became my number one (Richie following behind in second). I learnt all about him from my friend, and more about him during the film, and couldn't help but feel sorry for the little bastard. He had a wife that I could tell he didn't love who treated him like doodoo, as a kid his dearest mom was overprotective, controlling and gave him freaking placebos to make him think he was ill (the fuck Mrs K?), that made him so nervous about getting sick and paranoid beyond belief, and I mean, his job wasn't the most exciting. Not to mention he has anxiety worse than a nun in a whore house, and was obviously afraid the most out of the group. And then, AND THEN, the film decides to drop some hints about Richie. Ah, dearest Richie, who has perfect taste in men. He's in love with Eddie. In. Freaking. Love with him. You could tell by the way he was so protective of him, constantly made fun of him (we all know that's how dudes get their crushes attention) and of course, R + E. So, of course, nearing the end of the movie, there's me grinning like an idiot, having the thought of Eddie and Richie getting out of the final fight untouched, Richie declaring his undying love for his Eddie Spaghetti, Eddie admitting his feelings for his Trashmouth, getting a kiss in there, Eds declaring he was divorcing him moth- sorry, wife, and the two walking into the sunset to start a new life together, in a nice cottage in the hills, getting married, having three kids, five dogs, ten cats, and living happily ever after. But then, my hopes and dreams were shattered. Stephen, I'm looking at you. They killed Eddie. THEY KILLED EDDIE! EDDIE! Out of all the FREAKING characters they could have booted off, they chose Eddie the rage monster, the little man with a big personality, the least deserving to freaking die in my opinion. Stephen, how could you? How could you?! Why did he have to die? Why did they have to end his life that way? Why couldn't he have a happy ending like the rest of the Losers? Not including Richie of course. Oh no, they didn't just fuck Eddie over, they also fucked over Richie. Killing the love of his life, right after he saves him, bleeding all over his big ass glasses, calling his name softly, looking at him with his big, brown eyes. Yep, Richie probably went home after the Kissing Bridge and thought about Eddie every damn day of his life. But no, they didn't just kill Eddie, oh no no, they went a step further. They left his body to rot in the sewers. Yes Andy, I'm glaring at you, you evil, evil man. They didn't take the route that Mr King took in his book, or from the original IT movie (yes I watched that later on too) no, Mr A decided to have Eddie die all alone whilst the Losers finished off Pennywise, then have Richie go back and see his dead body, freak out and have hope that they can save him, hug him tight, and not let him go. And then, oh boy, and then, they have Mike and Ben literally FORCE Richie off of Eddie, and DRAG him out of the sewers. WITHOUT EDDIE. I'm sorry Mr Andy, but tell me, how could they, Eddie's best friends, the ones who were always there for him, who they loved and adored, leave Eddie there in the sewers, all alone, in the dark, dirty, graveyard that would have had Eddie crying at the thought? It didn't make ANY sense to me. If Ben and Mike had the strength to drag a struggling, six foot something Richie away from Eddie, then surely they could have picked Eddie up between them, and got him out of there. If I was Richie, I would have decked the lot of them, Losers or not. And that's where I got pretty darn mad. Eddie didn't deserve that shit. For one, he didn't deserve to die. And two, he didn't deserve to be left down there, to slowly decay. He should have been pulled out by his friends, Richie could have had a moment with him, Eddie could have been given a funeral where his friends, and especially Richie could have said goodbye. Then, they'd have had somewere where they could memorialise him, go back and place flowers and silly things like inhalers and red shorts on his headstone, have a get together and remember him and talk to him, somewhere where Richie could always go to, knowing that Eddie was put to rest properly, and somewhere were he could sit and cry to himself, remembering all the fucking good times they had as kids and how god damn hard he fell for the crazy little shit. But, nah, we'll just leave him in the sewers, under a collapsed house, somewhere the Losers wouldn't want to visit again, somewhere they can't have a funeral, can't put Eddie to rest, somewhere that has too many bad memories and would remind everyone of how exactly Eddie lost his life. So yeah, you can say I'm pretty mad about all of that. I know he's a fictional character, but damn, he didn't deserve that shit. Neither did Richie. And to make it worse, when I watched the first movie afterwards, Eddie was just as freaking hilarious, and ridiculous as his older self. Little Eddie was a force to be reckoned with, he was definitely still my favourite even as a kid. The dude who played him, huge kudos to him. How could you not like tiny Eddie? It also showed me a lot more about how Eddie grew up, by that I mean how his mother really did treat him, and boy did I hate the fact that he died even more! So yeah, I may have gone off on one a tad... I couldn't help myself, Eddie Kaspbrak has now got a big place in the fictional character side of my heart. Just goes to show just how much actors can make an impact on people's lives, and how real they make them seem! So, I've said my part, and it's pretty obvious what I think about the ending to Mr Spaghetti's story. Encase you didn't get how I feel about it, it sucked. Eddie Kaspbrak should have lived. Should have had a second chance, especially with Richie! Not all movies follow the ending of books, so why did this one have to? Why did Ben and Redhead get to have a happily ever after and Richie and Eddie didn't? Why didn't they at least make his death meaningful and give him the send off he deserved? In other words, Eddie deserved better. That should be the motto of the movie. That's me signing off, I'm going to go be mad somewhere else, because I'll never get over this movie. I'm a huge fan now, but man, the ending was as bad as Bill's endings. Oh and uh, fuck you Pennywise. Oh, also, if anyone's going to Wales Comic con this Saturday (you should, because James Ransone will be there, I know right, what are the chances?) come say hi. I'll be dressed in a yellow raincoat and green wellies, holding a red balloon... Don't ask why, I just like the colours. See you later, Losers.

#Eddie Kaspbrak #it #James Ransone #Richie tozier #it chapter 2 #reddie

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literarytrashcollection · 5 years

Text

The Model

AN: I love me a soft, fluffy Bucky. I just wanna snuggle him always. Also, spot the Stan Lee cameo.

Bucky x Reader

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I could feel my heart hammering in my chest as I approached the lounge area. Steve and Bucky were talking softly, gentle laughter and whispered memories. How could I interrupt that with something so mundane? I steeled myself at the doorway, mouthing over the words again as I rehearsed what I was going to say for the hundredth time.

I walked in, trying to be casual, and sat down in one of the oversized arm chairs.

“Morning, Y/N,” Bucky said lightly, picking up his coffee. Ever since I had joined the Avengers, I’d be well and thoroughly adopted as the baby of the group. Parker even was defensive over me, and he was younger than me.

I flashed Bucky a nervous smile and looked down at my lap. “Steve, I need to ask you a favor.” I finally blurted after what felt like an eternity of silence. When neither of them spoke, I raised my eyes slightly, meeting Steve’s. “We’re doing…” I cleared my throat. It was suddenly drier than the Sahara in the room and I wanted to run away desperately. “We’re studying the human form for art class and I was wonderingifyouwouldbemymodel.” It came out like word vomit and I swear my face was going to burst into flames from the sheer heat of it.

Bucky snorted. “Aw, Stevie, Y/N wants to get you naked.”

My eyes snapped to Bucky and I narrowed them. “I will end you.” I hissed, but he just laughed harder. “They have a model we can use at school, but I thought the bragging rights would be deserved if I got to use an Avenger. Also, the model at school is a creepy old dude.” The word vomit just kept coming. I was babbling, my nose scrunched up as the image of Stan, the art model came to the forefront of my mind.

I refused to look at Steve—or stop talking—until he said my name gently. When I looked up, he was sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, Dad-Look firmly seated on his face. “Are your intentions pure?” He asked, voice grave but I could see him stifling a smile, just the slightest sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

“That’s it, I’m gonna ask Nat. She’ll do it.” I huffed, standing to storm out of the room. Nat would tease me too, but it would be Titanic jokes, instead of “are you just trying to fuck me” jokes at least.

“I’ll do it,” Bucky said and for a minute, I don’t think me or him or Steve or God even believed what just came out of his mouth. “I mean, if you’re going to get bragging rights for doing an Avenger, it may as well be extra challenging.” He added, raising his metal arm. “Besides, I’m still grounded after I got a little too aggressive with that crime syndicate from my last mission. I’ve got time to kill.”

Steve and I both stared at each other, then back at Bucky. “You know she’s talking about getting you naked, right?” Steve asked.

“No shit, Sherlock. When has my being naked in front of a cute girl ever bothered me?” Bucky retorted. He then took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows at me. “When do we start?”

----------

Bucky came with me to school the next day. The art department was usually empty on Fridays, so we were able to find a room to ourselves easily. I locked the door, closed the blinds and turned on the lights that I needed while Bucky wandered the edges of the room, looking at the knick-knacks and half finished pieces that littered the shelves.

“If you’re an Avenger, why are you still going to college?” He asked abruptly, fingers drifting over a freshly kiln-ed abstract pottery piece.

I shrugged. “Can’t Avenge forever. Besides, I’m still just in training. I’ve got no more clearance than you do.”

I pushed a lounge chair out of the corner and into the center of the room and draped a cloth over it, then set up my easel and stool. I could calm my raging nerves with the methodical routine of my art set up, ignore the warning sirens in my head with the stability and consistency of an easel, a pad of paper, pencils, erasers and fixative.

“You can probably get comfortable now. You brought a book, right?” I asked, setting out pencils and charcoal for myself. I started some music too, just so I could zone out and work without thinking too much about the fact that I was drawing Bucky naked for a grade. I understand all of those words separately, said the voice in my mind, dwelling on it being Bucky and him being naked and the ease of which he was willing to do it.

“I didn’t know I needed to,” he said sheepishly and my heart dropped. He was going to be naked, bored, and making fun of me. I had planned to just draw him reading, but that was out the window. Fan-fucking-tastic. “It’s okay, I can amuse myself.” He said with a dirty smirk, voice dripping innuendo.

I sighed and waited while he stripped down to his underwear. We both met eyes for a moment as he dropped his last article of clothing and every inch the cloth fell from his hips was an inch of blush that crawled up my chest and over my face. I quickly busied myself with adjusting my sketch pad on the easel, making sure my pencils were sharp enough, that I had enough smudge sticks and erasers.

“How should I… How do you want me?” He asked and I swallowed thickly. Not only did I have to draw him naked, but I had to adjust him naked too?

I walked over, making a point to not look at him, but at the space around him as I positioned him, so he was mostly sitting up, one leg kind of propped up, the other stretched out, his metal arm draped across his stomach in an effort to cover his junk for my own benefit.

I tried to position him so he looked strong, powerful, but leisurely. I wanted him to look regal, a man completely in control of himself and the people around him. That’s how I envisioned him. He wasn’t a leader yet, but he could be. “Comfy?”

He nodded and offered me a reassuring smile. “Trust me, this isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve done naked.” What is the weirdest thing you’ve done naked, Barnes? I didn’t ask what my head was screaming, but I couldn’t help my wandering mind.

“That does not instill me with any kind of confidence, Buck.” I sighed, returning to my things. “Try not to move, if you can help it. I’m going to snap a reference photo, just so if you need to get up and go to the bathroom or anything, you can and we can just reposition you.” I picked up my phone and took the photo. God, this was bad. I was horrified. I shouldn’t have even asked Steve. Bucky wouldn’t have known and then I wouldn’t have been in this predicament. Natasha would have been a much better candidate.

“Y/N, this isn’t a big deal, you know? I give you shit, but this isn’t that weird. Just friends hanging out.” I knew he could read my discomfort. It’s not like I hid it at all. But I felt bad being so weird about it at the same time. “Why’d you pick Steve anyway?”

I set my phone down and got comfortable on my stool, trying to decide where to start, both with the picture and with the answer. “He’s an artistic guy. I figured he would understand what I was doing better than most of you guys.”

“But why not Wanda or Natasha? Wanda seems like she’d be into this kind of stuff.” He asked as I started with his foot. I figured the best way to start was to trace the whole thing, then work the details in.

I sighed a little. “I can draw the female figure all day long. I happen to be female, if you hadn’t noticed. So, I kind of already know what it all looks like.”

“So, what? You’re saying you’ve never seen the male figure?” He asked with a laugh. I didn’t reply, which seemed to be answer enough for him. I’d resigned myself to doing this whole assignment with a blush on my face anyways. “Are you a virgin?”

I took a deep breath, focusing intently on my work and the music. I traced the curve of his legs, with my eyes and my pencil. Then his abdomen, his arms, his chest and shoulders.

“It’s okay if you are. I just thought… a pretty girl like you with so much confidence and charisma, you know?” He chuckled, his eyes far away, like he was reveling in some memory dredged up. My heart did a flip when he sucked his lower lip between his teeth, my mind wandering to a filthy place. I had to stop myself.

I put my pencil down for a minute and shut my eyes. “Boys never really liked me because I’m so… strong.” Boyish, masculine, aggressive, independent, memories of all the rejections I’d faced flitted through like a bad slideshow of sadness, quelling any inappropriate thoughts that might’ve been forming.

Bucky actually snorted. “Seriously? No offense, Y/N, but you must be going after pussies.” When I didn’t reply again, focusing instead on his metal arm, he continued: “Doll, if they can’t see through your powers to who you are, they’re just shallow, egocentric douche bags looking for empowerment. You deserve lightyears better than that.”

“It’s hard to find guys who can see past the powers though,” I shrugged. “Guys don’t even want to get close to a girl who can throw them across a room. A lot of the ones who were into that were… weird. And that’s not to say that all men are like that, just the ones that I’ve had to pleasure of dealing with.”

“Definitely not all men,” Bucky chuckled cryptically.

I shook my head, narrowing my eyes as I drew in the slats of his metal arm, added in the glinting light that reflected off of it. I felt my heart squeeze as I drew the marred flesh at his shoulder, the place where they had so indelicately taken his flesh arm away and forced the metal one on him.

“For the record, I think you’re wonderful the way you are.” Bucky piped up awkwardly.

I smiled a little. “Thanks Buck.” I had long since accepted myself. “Dating’s kind of on the back burner. If I happen across a decent guy who genuinely likes me and isn’t put off by my powers, awesome. Otherwise, I’m happy. I’m gonna finish my degree significantly earlier than most, I’m an Avenger and if I ever decide I’m done Avenging, then I’ve got a restaurant back home to run.”

“Is that what you’re in school for?”

“I’m in school for business management and accounting, both of which will help.” I nodded. I stood up and walked over to him, frowning as I studied his chest and the criss-crossing lines of scars that interrupted otherwise beautiful skin. I could feel him watching me, but couldn’t be bothered to care. As long as I didn’t have to study his dick, I could pretend that this wasn’t weird.

“So, why the art classes then?” He asked as I hesitantly reached out and traced a particularly long scar that ran from his collarbone to his hip. Once I was content with my recollection of his scars, I went back to my stool, lightly penciling them in before I went back for the detail work.

I couldn’t help but be enamored by the strong planes of muscle and smooth skin that stretched across his body. He was beautifully constructed and honestly, the artist part of me (and maybe the girl part of me) wanted to study every inch of him from head to toe because he was stupidly perfect. I could’ve spent years drawing him and never stopped being impressed by him.

“I have always loved art. Business is practical, but art is where my heart lives.” I mumbled. It was corny, but it was true. As much as Avenging made me feel good, made me feel like I was in the right place in my life, art was always my dream. Becoming an Avenger was like walking into a tower dedicated to art models, emotions thriving and warring between these god-like beings, emotions just begging to be captured with pencils and paper and paint.

He didn’t say anything for a while and when I looked up, his eyes were shut, face relaxed. Was he really that bored? I let my gaze linger as I studied the peaceful set of his face, the smudge of his lashes that dusted his cheeks, the soft, pillowy shape of his lips, juxtaposed with the sharp angles of his jaw and cheeks, hard and soft beautifully married to make up a face so perfect, it should’ve been illegal.

Maybe that was the real reason he was the most deadly assassin in the world, taking “if looks could kill” into a reality where he was so beautiful, people just dropped dead.

“Y/N, if you love art so much, that’s what you should do. You shouldn’t do something to make your family happy. You should do something that makes you happy.” Bucky said softly, startling me out of my revere. I busied myself with my drawing again, trying to translate the softness of his face onto the page.

“That’s what my parents keep telling me too,” I sighed.

“They’re right.”

I took a deep breath. Drawing his loose hair made me want to run my fingers through it, feel the softness of it.

Should’ve asked Nat. You wouldn’t be falling in love with her if you were drawing her, came that annoying little voice in my head. My heart thumped in agreement, but it knew that I’d held a special place for Bucky there long before I’d gotten him naked and posed for a drawing.

“What’s your dream, Buck?” I asked, trying to distract myself.

He didn’t speak again for a long time, but this time when I looked over, he was staring right at me, a sadness pulling his eyebrows together and tightening his lips into a hard line. “I think, kinda like Stevie, anything I wanted from life died when I went off the cliff. A lot of what he wanted out of life died in the ice.”

“So, what, you’re just floating aimlessly right now?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m trying really hard to heal from the Solider, you know? I want to be a better man now than I was then. I guess I’m just trying to use what I learned from him for good. I guess my dream is to just be better than I was.”

My heart broke for him. He’d been through too much in his life, lost too much of his life to HYDRA and the Soldier inside him.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad. I guess I just feel kind of open to you right now,” he laughed nervously.

I flicked my eyes back up to his face for a moment and shook my head. “I’m just sad for the past you’ve had. You’re already a better man than he was.”

He chuckled and stood, walking over to see what I’d done so far, still buck-naked. I did my best not to look at him, full stretched out in all his glory as he studied my work. His fingers traced some of the lines before he moved his hand to rub my back reassuringly.

“You’re so good at this, doll.” He murmured, pressing a light kiss to the top of my head before he ducked down to grab my purse, rummaging around for the protein bar he’d insisted he would not eat, because he definitely would not get hungry during this.

----------

When we finished, we both stood back studying it. I’d waited to put too much detail into his face until I got him laughing again. The look on his face as he leaned into laughter, the crinkling in his eyes, it made my heart sing loudly. I wanted to live in that feeling, I wanted to always picture him like that, regal and proud and happy, a man marred by the past, but comfortable in his skin and in his life.

He’d hugged me tight, no words on his lips but a simple, heartfelt thank you, Y/N. That by itself made me infinitely more happy with the piece than any grade I could have received.

He insisted on taking a picture with his phone of the piece, then one of me with the piece, “so he could show off the amazing artist.” To whom he planned on showing me off, I didn’t know. He never ventured from the tower much, didn’t have any friends outside of the Avengers, certainly no one that he would be showing nude drawings of himself to. I posed, a cheesy smile on my face nonetheless. He took me out for ice cream afterwards.

----------

At the end of the semester, the best pieces of art were put on display for an art show. I invited all of the Avengers, but only Steve, Natasha, Bucky and Tony could come, just because missions still had to be completed, the world still needed to be saved.

We rolled up to the campus and Tony looked unceremoniously scandalized by the lack of paparazzi and, well, people. He made a show of going on about some of the more famous art shows he’d attended, then nudged me with his shoulder and gave me a wink that told me everything I needed to hear without saying a word. This isn’t a big deal, you have no reason to be nervous, his smile said as he swaggered towards the art department building.

The display room had been redesigned by some of the interior decorating kids. Pottery, paintings, sculptures and drawings all intermingled through out the room, pieces hung from the walls, the ceiling, sat on stands and stools.

Off in the corner, Stan sat on the same stool the students who had used him as a model drew him on, dressed in nothing but a sock to maintain some semblance of modesty. His aviator style glasses and gray mustache bristled as he talked to patrons and students alike.

“You didn’t tell me there would be nudity at this party. Suddenly, I’m much more interested,” Natasha purred in my ear as she sauntered off to examine some of the abstract art. She were trying.

Avenging was easy, I felt no nerves over that. Art? Art was something that I felt down in my bones and watching as strangers and classmates and the people I cared about most poured over it and the details I’d done my best to capture, that made my throat close and the sweat run like rivers down my skin.

Steve and Bucky both pestered me until I took a picture of them posing with Stan, his arms wrapped around their waists as they both grinned hugely at me. Frat boys tried to convince my boys to go back to their houses with them and party. For a moment, I thought maybe they would.

Tony tried to buy someone’s statue of a naked woman, one delicate foot propped up on a hog-tied bear Captain Morgan style. He said he loved the female-empowerment that radiated off it. He wanted to give it to Pepper. Natasha said no and pick-pocketed his wallet off him, waving it me before she dropped it into her purse.

We all stood before my drawing of Bucky at the same time, all of us coming together to study it. I could feel my heart rate rising the longer no one spoke.

“This is absolutely incredible, Y/N,” Steve finally said. “Your attention to detail is insane.”

“It’s scarily lifelike.” Tony added. “Are you sure you didn’t just take his picture?” It was lighthearted ribbing, and it eased my nerves slightly.

“There’s so much emotion coming from this,” Natasha murmured, lacing her fingers with mine for a moment. “It’s beautiful.”

“That’s it, this calls for a celebration. Where’s the drink service at?” Tony said, looking around pointedly. When the rest disbursed, Bucky remained, staring up at the drawing with admiring eyes.

“It doesn’t even look like me.” He whispered, not looking at me. “It does, but it’s not… it feels surreal. That’s not at all how I ever imagine myself.”

He looked down long enough to slide his metal fingers through mine, holding on tightly. “It’s how I imagine you.” I admitted.

“This is how you see me?” He asked, emotion raw in his eyes. My heart started beating wildly, nervous that I had somehow upset him. He’d seen the drawing a dozen times since I’d finished it, but this was the first time he’d seemed truly moved by it. All I could do was nod. He smiled slightly, squeezing my hand hard. “It helps, knowing someone has so much faith in me.”

I rested my head on his shoulder, not responding.

----------

Tony demanded champagne in the car home. Happy rolled his eyes slightly in the rear view mirror as Tony popped the bottle. Natasha passed around glasses and once we were all served, we clinked our glasses together.

While the ride home was short, it was well spent, all of us laughing and chatting. I was permitted to take my piece home with me. Tony told me he wanted to have it hung up in the tower, framed and celebrated for years to come. He also decided he wanted to commission an oil painting of himself, also nude, but posed the same as the statue he had wanted to buy, bear and all.

Happy and Steve had to escort Tony inside, Natasha following after them lazily, a small, happy smile gracing her lips and lighting up her tired eyes. I wanted to draw her next, but I wanted it to be candid. Something fierce and powerful to remind her of how amazing she was.

“Come with me,” Bucky murmured, startling me out of my admiration of my friends. He offered me his arm and I linked mine through it. We walked up the stairs, but we took it slow, chatting quietly about some of the other pieces that we’d seen at the show that we’d liked and pieces we’d hated or just didn’t get (i.e. female Captain Morgan with the bear). We laughed at chatty Stan who’s sock almost fell off twice, once “accidentally” as Natasha talked to him.

He led me up to the viewing deck, a nice balcony that looked over New York. The lights from the buildings and cars glittered like stars, an entire universe built into one city. Bucky moved his hand to my back and stayed quiet with me, letting me drink in the beauty below me. I could have stayed there forever, the warmth of his skin making me cozy.

“Thank you for being my model.” I mumbled after a long moment of silence.

He nodded, his fingers slowly sliding to my hip. “Since I did you that favor, I was wondering if I might have one in return?”

“Of course, anything.” I nodded, studying the way the windows on the buildings reflected the lights of the buildings around them, making everything infinitely brighter.

“Will you do me the pleasure of going on a date with me?” He asked softly, his lips almost at my ear. Suddenly the city was dull compared the beauty of the intimate moment he’d created between us. I looked up at him and was mesmerized by the way his eyes sparkled, his lips turned up into a smile as he held me closer than I had realized he was holding me.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to remember how to speak. “I said anything, didn’t I?” I replied. It was meant to come out snarky, cool and collected. It came out soft though. Even I could hear the wanting in my voice.

He smiled brilliantly, muting all the lights that twinkled below us, only for a moment as he lowered his mouth to mine, fireworks going off somewhere in the vicinity of our joined lips.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky imagine #winter solider imagine #winter solider x reader #bucky x reader #Steve Rogers #captain america #captain rogers #tony stark #Iron Man #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #Black Widow #Scarlet Witch #wanda maximoff #Avengers #avengers tower #avengers au #reader insert

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admiralty-xfd · 5 years

Text

submission

This is based off Scully’s sexual encounter with Ed Jerse. I’m the biggest MSR shipper around but I believe Scully can be in love with Mulder AND ALSO FUCK ED JERSE (these things aren’t mutually exclusive!) She’s just using him as a Mulder surrogate anyway, so there’s that. Enjoy ;)

I’ll post chapter 4 of Culmination later today for those of you following along!

(OH! Also, here’s the actual deleted scene with the sexy time for your enjoyment!)

His eyes lock onto hers and her pulse races madly. There’s a pounding between her ears and deep down between her thighs. She wants this. She wants it badly.

His hand is gripping her wrist firmly and she likes it. God, she likes it. Does he even know how much? Maybe he noticed before, at the bar. It was difficult to hide in the moment. His attention to her desires only adds to her arousal.

The inevitable feeling that’s been building up inside her all evening has reached a breaking point. She has a choice to make and she needs to make it before she loses all control.

It’s good to lose control every once in a while, Ed told her at the Hard Eight. She knows he’s right. Her time has come around yet again.

She’s so tired of waiting around for something like this to happen to her, for someone to want her like this. She only wants to be wanted. And from the way his eyes are drifting over her lips as he licks his own he clearly wants her. Does she want him, too?

Every fiber of her being is telling her yes. Want this. It’s okay to want this, Dana.

Ed moves into her and before she knows what is happening she’s pinned against the wall of his barren apartment, the light from a single lamp on the desk peering at them from across the room like a lone voyeur, watching, wondering. He lifts her arms up beside her head and holds them against the wall.

She could stop this. She has little reason to believe Ed wouldn’t accept the rejection graciously, shake her hand, and send her off uncomfortably into the stormy Philadelphia night. She could let her brain make the smart decision, win the battle against enjoying this new sensation of being dominated this way.

But instead her body does something it’s never had the opportunity to do before: it reacts.

Her breath quickens, her chest heaving, as his eyes bore into hers, and she cannot stop the wetness building between her thighs. She’s somewhat embarrassed in the moment how much this is turning her on, how much he turns her on.

Then he’s kissing her, passionately, and his lips part to hers and she’s inside him, her tongue claiming occupancy. He tastes like dirty martinis and cigarette smoke. It’s fucking heaven, and maybe not exactly what she pictures when she fantasizes at home but still… heaven to be kissing someone, anyone. When was the last time she kissed a man? Ethan, maybe? God, has it been that long? What the fuck has she been doing all this time?

Mulder. She instinctively pulls back, and for the first time in a good hour her thoughts invariably turn to the one man who’s consumed her entire world. The man who, through no real fault of his own, is still somewhat responsible for the mind numbing stasis her life sits in. Why did she pull away? Why does thinking of Mulder make her want to change her mind about this?

Fuck. Even in another fucking state he still has this much control over her. In this moment she feels rage within her; actual, palpable anger directed at her partner.

It’s good to lose control every once in a while.

Her momentary hesitancy has fortunately gone unnoticed by Ed, and he interprets her pulling away as permission to move downward along her neck, kissing, sucking. He’s ravenous, creating suction noises that echo throughout the empty apartment, a crash of wrathful thunder outside, his building hunger for her evident against her leg.

He desires her, and he’s showing her how much he desires her. It feels so good to be wanted. So good…

For a moment she worries she’s using him. Is that all this is? Some kind of sexual bandaid to cover up how lonely she is, how devalued she feels right now? But maybe none of that matters, because he clearly wants this too. He lets go of her wrists and untucks her shirt gently, moving his kisses to her stomach.

Her eyes close in ecstasy, caught off guard by his tenderness. But she does not want gentle, not tonight. Of their own volition, her hands move to his back and squeeze, hard, digging and scratching as if verifying his physical existence, an actual male body so close to hers. He’s real, she’s real, this is real.

She feels a dull ache on her own lower back: the ouroboros… raw, as raw as her emotions. She makes a choice. Gripping his shoulders, she pulls him back up to a standing position. She leaps up into him, wedged between his body and the wall, her legs wrapping around him much like the snake he watched her get tattooed onto her body. A permanent reminder of… something. She isn’t sure of what.

Her nails scratch his back again, hard, and she remembers how she felt as the needle buzzed and stung; how he looked into her eyes as it happened and how much she enjoyed the pain.

It was all foreplay, she now realizes. Everything about this night has led to this moment, right now, the moment she loses control and lets someone in. She doesn’t even care that she probably won’t see him again.

He presses her against the wall and is kissing her again, and the tattoo hurts in this position but she doesn’t mind; the pain is exquisite. He holds her up for a minute, kissing as she pulls his hair, but then slides down, dropping to his knees, the weight becoming a bit much. Her legs are still wrapped around his waist and she moves to straddle him, sitting on his thighs, facing him, looking into his eyes once again. He tears her jacket off her body and she removes her shirt with one quick motion.

This is going to be fast. And she is as ready as she will ever be.

He looks at her, sitting on his lap in her bra, and for a moment he seems to stop, as if battling with himself. She wonders why she hadn’t noticed any hesitation on his part before and it makes her even more confident about her decision.

He kisses her again, though, with even more intensity. It’s as if he’s reacting to something within, as if something is spurring him on. She hopes it’s just her.

She shimmies out of her pants as he shifts his body backwards. “Wait… do you have… protection?” she asks.

“Oh. Yeah, of course,” he says. He pulls his own pants off, then searches in the pocket for his wallet, pulling out a single condom. She smirks a bit at his preparedness and he shrugs. “You never know.”

“Never say never,” she responds. Her outward smile is at war with the relief she feels inside that he had one on his person; if he’d had to get up to find it, she might have lost her nerve.

She crawls up on top of him, straddling his thighs. He lays down completely and his hands move to her hips, and for a moment she just revels in the feeling of this, of a man beneath her, his desire for her achingly evident. She thinks of the silent battle between her head and her heart that wages constantly, preventing her from going after what she wants, all the time. She’s never been so close before and she wants this.

She pulls his underwear down, and then her own, and sits on him again. It’s dark in the room and for some reason she doesn’t want to look down, she doesn’t want to see him. She just wants to feel him.

It’s good to lose control every once in a while.

He unwraps the condom and she rolls it down, not having done this in years but remembering anyway. Like riding a bike. Then her eyes lock with his in the dim lamplight and she lifts herself up, ready.

As she sinks down onto him, though, something unexpected happens. His unfamiliar hands move to the small of her back, softly ghosting over her tattoo, and suddenly what she feels instead is a familiar hand, a different hand, one that belongs there. A hand that moves to that spot so often it’s built a home there.

And then, even more unexpectedly, she’s looking down into familiar eyes now. She no longer sees Ed Jerse.

She sees Mulder.

Ed’s hands move down to her backside and he rocks against her, his passion building, and she gyrates her hips against him, the friction so good, so needed, but combined with thoughts of Mulder it feels wrong and inappropriate. Embarrassing.

What would he think if he knew this was happening? How would he react? As soon as these thoughts enter her mind she pushes them away. He may have control over everything else but not this, not now. She wants to do this, she wants to be thinking of him.

She leans down and tastes Ed's lips again, the alcohol and bar flavor evolving in her imagination into what must be something different, maybe sunflower salt, a hint of coffee and desperation. Obsession. What must that taste like? Why can’t she ever seem to find out?

His hands leave her lower back and journey upwards, caressing her shoulder blades, and again she pictures the large, callused hands of her friend, her utterly attractive best friend and suddenly what once felt embarrassing is now incredibly liberating.

Ed mumbles “Dana” and it feels good but somehow wrong. A million thoughts of that’s how sex is supposed to feel invade her mind, her upbringing and subsequent rebellion having taught her as much, but this is a different kind of wrong.

“Dana…” he says again, and she recoils. Before she can stop the words from escaping her lips, she says it.

“Call me Scully.”

His eyes open wider, and he doesn’t understand, how could he? But he smiles, wanting to please her, and says it, “Scully…” and her eyes close again.

Her fight with Mulder is now all she can think about, how he’d made her feel cheapened, how belittling his behavior was, and now she was fucking some random guy in a strange apartment with a fresh tattoo on his spot, Mulder’s spot, a tattoo, for chrissake…

Has she lost sight of herself, truly? Or is she merely finding herself for the first time?

Despite her wild emotional state, her body reacts quickly and predictably to Ed’s touch, Mulder’s touch, oh God, stop thinking this way, she scolds herself, but doesn't know why. Her confusion is real but so is her arousal, and when the light inevitably flashes behind her eyes as she crests, she falls down on top of him, breathing heavily. He seems to have finished too but she honestly doesn’t care.

She can’t see Ed’s face at all while she basks in her afterglow, and imagines it’s Mulder’s chest she’s pressing her cheek against, that it’s Mulder’s heart pounding beneath her ear, pounding for her. She’s horribly uncomfortable and absolutely content all at the same time.

Now she knows the truth: she wants to be wanted, certainly. But she wants to be wanted by Mulder.

She rolls off Ed, onto her back. Side by side, they lay quietly on the cold floor for a moment, until he starts laughing quietly.

“What is it?” she asks.

“It’s nothing,” he laughs. “Really. Absolutely nothing.” His words are full of meaning but for himself alone, and she’s fine with that. She has plenty of thoughts she’d prefer to keep inside her head as well.

He rolls over and leans in, smiling, and she knows he wants to kiss her. She feels guilty for fantasizing about someone else while this nice guy is seemingly so enamored of her, so she relents, kisses him back.

Will I ever stop being the one trying to please some man?

“That was wild,” he says. She cannot disagree. They are quiet, and then he says into the emptiness “You’re so beautiful, do you know that?”

She doesn’t know how to respond, so she doesn’t. The person she wants to think she’s beautiful, to notice her, isn’t here to respond to.

“The storm is still pretty bad, I think you should stay,” he continues.

“...Ed?”

“Uh huh?”

She isn’t sure how to say it, but she has to. “I’m... leaving tomorrow.” She doesn’t do one night stands. She isn’t sure of the protocol. “...You know?”

He exhales deeply. “I know.”

Suddenly she feels a bit awkward, and making him feel bad wasn’t her intention. She hadn’t wanted to lead him on.

“I had a really great time tonight,” she adds. It’s the one hundred percent truth. It feels good to say it.

“Me too. You have no idea, Dana.”

They lay there for another minute on his cold, bare floor. Then he sits up, pulling on his clothing, handing her hers.

“You should still stay,” he says confidently. “I don’t feel right sending you out in this weather. You can take the bed, okay?” She pulls her shirt up to her chest, holding it there. They both seem to understand the intimacy part of this encounter is over.

“No, I’ll sleep on the couch, I don’t want to take your bed.”

“It’s fine,” he says firmly. “I want you to.” He holds out his shirt to her. “Make yourself at home.”

She takes it, and puts it on. His loose-fitting shirt will certainly be more comfortable to sleep in than her own. He smiles and turns, heading to his bathroom.

Her hand moves naturally to the small of her back, to the circled snake now resting on that spot. Mulder’s spot. It hadn’t occurred to her what she’d done until it was over. And now here it is, a permanent reminder that in some way, somehow, she will always belong to him and him alone.

What she’d done with Ed has only solidified in her mind that this feeling will not go away.

Two steps forwards, three steps back.

She doesn’t want to believe everything in her life will always revolve around Mulder, but somehow she knows it’s the truth.

Surrender is her only option.

#txf fanfic #txf #fanfiction #dana scully #ed jerse #never again #team banging #she's just picturing mulder anyway guys relax

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borderlinedennisr · 5 years

Text

fic: mac/dennis, dennis-centric

i started thinking about what dennis would do if ur heard that ms kl*nsky had just passed, and i got carried away

warnings: csa mentions, suicidal ideation, self harm mentions, alcohol abuse

Dennis is drunk. It’s not out of the ordinary. What is, however, is the fact that he’s wearing a half-buttoned suit, Italian leather shoes, and he’s sat in a waiting cell with three other arrestees.

His head is swimming. Every noise reverberating through the police station is starting to chip away at his patience. Could someone just get him some fucking ibuprofen? He’d happily comply to anything for 400 mg of Advil and a cup of hot coffee.

He tries to focus. He taps a steady rhythm on his knee. His vision is cloudy. He had a lot to drink tonight. And this afternoon. And this morning. His stomach gives a wrench and he involuntarily groans.

“Turn the other direction,” someone hisses at him. “I just bought these shoes.”

Dennis wants to laugh, but everything hurts.

“Hey, this dude’s ‘bout to hurl! Can we get a trash can or something.”

“I’m fine,” Dennis protests. He holds up a hand, but it trembles.

“Dennis Reynolds?”

He points his head in the direction of the voice, but closes his eyes against his blurred vision. He might actually throw up if he doesn’t get it under control.

“It’s time for your phone call.”

Dennis is hoisted upward involuntarily. He’s glad he doesn’t have to think about who he’s going to call. His head is pounding.

Mac’s woken up by the sound of his phone vibrating against the coffee table. The sad part is it’s only 9:30 P.M. He’d clearly fallen asleep watching some ... game. His hand grabs the phone and answers it automatically.

“What’s up?”

“Mac? It’s Dennis.”

Mac’s heart stumbles a little. Dennis sounds weird.

“Dude, where are you? Are you okay?”

Dennis heaves a long sigh. “Look - I’m a little bit drunk and I, uh - well - just come to the police station, okay? I’ll explain in person, when ... when I’m more sober.”

Mac blinks. “You got arrested?”

“I’ll explain when you get here,” Dennis insists.

“Dennis, are you okay? What were you doing tonight?”

“Mac, I’m kind of on a tight schedule, here.”

Mac doesn’t seem to register that, because he continues waxing poetic.

“It’s just - you’ve seemed off lately.”

“Mac,” Dennis says sharply.

“Yes?” Mac asks

“Just come to the police station. I have to go.”

He hangs up, leaving Mac listening to the dial tone. Mac sighs.

Nobody at the police station knows how to do their goddamn job. Mac just needs to make sure Dennis is okay. He seemed spooked on the phone. In that way that Mac knows to associate with dissociative episodes.

“I’m just looking for my roommate,” Mac presses, pleading with the officer currently on desk duty.

“Sir, you’re gonna have to wait a minute; I’m on in important call,” she snaps out.

“You don’t understand,” Mac retorts. “He’s - he’s vulnerable. I need to make sure he’s okay.”

“Sir, if you just give me one second - “

“I can’t wait a second. I need to know he’s okay. He - he gets in these moods sometimes, and well - I don’t really know what he did to end up here, but he’s usually more of a danger to himself when he’s like that, and - “

“Dietrich?! Get over here, and get this man out of my face.”

Mac watches an officer at least a foot taller than him round the desk. He falters.

“Look, I’m not trying to cause, trouble. I’m just worried about my friend - “

“Mac!”

He turns, a grin of relief spreading across his face. Dennis is walking down a hallway, hands cuffed, being lead by the arm of another, nicer-looking officer.

Mac makes a dash for it, skirting the freakishly tall Dietrich, and heading for Dennis. The officer holding his arm grips tighter.

“Excuse me, sir. Please take a step back.”

Mac does. “I’m his roommate. Just tell me what his bail is, so I can get him out of here.”

The officer sighs. “He doesn’t have a bail yet. We’re on the way to his initial hearing right now.”

“What? What are you charging him with?”

“Indecent exposure - “

“It’s not what you think,” Dennis immediately protests. “I - uh - “

“Disorderly intoxication.”

“That’s just downright - “

“And grave desecration.”

Dennis just purses his lips in respond.

“Not to mention your priors.” The officer tugs him roughly. “Now let’s go.”

“Wait - “ Mac starts.

“Boyfriend! You can come too,” the officer says. “Now, quit wasting my time.”

Mac pulls out his cell phone as he follows after them.

“I’m calling Frank,” he tells Dennis. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Mr. Dennis Reynolds.”

“That’s me,” Dennis mutters.

“You’ve been brought to council under the chargers of indecent exposure, disorderly intoxication, and grave desecration. Do you understand these terms.”

“Yes,” Dennis says shortly, “but if I could just explain - “

“You’ll get your chance in a minute. Now, - “

“Ayooooooooo!”

The doors to the room fly open, and through them walk Frank, Charlie, and Dee. Dennis groans. He’s still way too drunk for this.

“Uh - excuse me - who are you?” the judge asks.

Dennis wishes he could break out of these handcuffs. Just to give Frank a good neck-wringing.

“Not. Now.” he hisses through his teeth.

“I’m here to pay my son’s bail.”

“Right,” the judge says. “Well, that is what I’m trying to decide. If you could please take a seat and allow me to do my job, we will get there.”

She clears her throat.

“Mr. Reynolds, when you were brought in, your blood alcohol content was .25.”

Somebody whistles. Dennis doesn’t want to know who, but he has a feeling it’s his dumbass father.

“I was drinking today, yes.”

“That excessively?” The judge’s gaze bares down on him over the rim of her wire glasses.

“It’s been a hard day,” he forces out. His throat is suddenly dry.

“Mr. Reynolds, it would be easy to assume the ramifications of grief in your incident, had we only the public intoxication and the presence of yourself in a graveyard, yet -“ She makes a show of checking the police report. “You were found urinating on a grave.”

Dennis clenches his jaw. “Did you get a name on the grave?”

The judge checks the file. Her eyebrows crease together. She glances to someone off to her right, who then approaches her. They whisper something Dennis can’t hear.

“We did not get a name, Mr. Reynolds. However, the owner of the grave has no relevance to - “

“Klinsky,” Dennis interrupts.

“I beg your pardon,” the judge says.

“Klinsky,” Dennis repeats. “The name on the grave was Klinsky.”

Dennis doesn’t have to look to know that behind him, all members of the gang have become rife with tension. The judge clearly notices it too, because her expression changes. She glances at the members of his support party.

“I take it you know this person,” she says, awkwardly clearing her throat.

Dennis laughs, darkly. It probably doesn’t help his case.

“She was my school librarian.”

He lets the silence ring for a second. He doesn’t know exactly where he’s going. He doesn’t like sharing, but it feels almost involuntarily.

“When I was 14. She - “ Dennis swallows hard. This better fucking emancipate him. “She molested me, several times.”

After a long, agonizing second, the judge takes a deep breath and collapses against the chair.

Dennis feels impatience buzz under his skin. “What, you don’t believe me?”

The judge shakes her head. “Mr. Reynolds, I’m dropping all charges. You’re free to go.”

A couple odd claps ring out. Dennis doesn’t care. He shoves his wrists to his public defender, who motions for the attending officer to join them. He unlocks the handcuffs. Dennis glances at his long-fading scars while he rubs his tender skin.

Mac is the first to reach him, placing both hands on either of Dennis’ upper arms. “Den, are you okay?”

Dennis chuckles. “Why wouldn’t I be? I just got off scott-free. I don’t even know why she believed me.”

“Because you’re crying, Dennis.”

His eyes snap up to meet Mac’s. An involuntary hand feels his face. His fingers come away with tear stains.

“Oh.”

Mac wipes a fresh tear from his cheek.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dennis shrugs. “It was just a chance I saw that Facebook post. Everything after that was rage.”

Mac cups his jaw with one hand, keeps the other on Dennis’ bicep.

“Let’s go home, get you sobered up.”

Dennis doesn’t really like the idea of sobering up, but at least if he’s with Mac, there’s a silver lining.

Dennis falls asleep with ease, lying comfortably in his bed. Pleased, Mac passed out beside him, foolishly reassured.

It’s still dark outside when Mac wakes up to an empty bed. Panic floods Mac’s bloodstream. He unceremoniously de-tangles himself from the blankets and stumbles upward. He hears a violent fetching sound and hurries to bathroom.

Dennis is pale-faced on the floor, and in the fluorescent light from overhead, Mac can see the excessive damage he must have done to himself in the past 24 hours. He makes a mental not to keep on eye on the state of the wounds while Dennis regains his composure.

“I drank . . . a lot.”

Mac eases himself to his knees.

“How much are we talking?” he asks, placing a hand on Dennis’ clammy forehead. “Should I be worried?” He grabs Dennis’ chin and forces it up, trying to get a better look at Dennis’ eyes.

Dennis clears his throat. “Nah. I always thought alcohol poisoning was pretty much how I would go anyway.”

Mac frowns. “Don’t do that - “

Dennis laughs, darkly. “It’s not like I have a history or anything.”

Mac’s expression flips, and he looks at Dennis with glassy eyes and a trembling mouth. “Were you - ?”

Dennis shrugs. “Who knows.”

Mac grabs his neck, almost roughly, and cradles his hand against Dennis’ skin. “Talk to me,” he begs.

A warm, disruptive tear slips down Dennis’ cheek. He sighs. He’s tired of involuntarily crying. He’s still blasting chunks, but god does his hand itch for the bottle.

“What do you want me to say, Mac?” he asks, voice low and gruff, barely above a whisper. “That I’m angry? That I’m sad?” He offers a crooked smile. “That I’m furious at that bitch for fucking me up beyond repair? And maybe I wish I could have gotten even just a word in edgewise before she decided to croak? That now I’m so fucking depressed that I want nothing more than to just kill myself so I can stop feeling this horrible and endless hurricane of emotions?”

He spits into the toilet. “Because I’m fine. I’m glad that perverted old bitch is dead. I’m ecstatic.”

Mac heaves a deep breath. “Dennis - “

He’s saved the trauma of continuing the conversation by another wave of vomit forcing its way out.

When dawn breaks, Mac hears his name in a soft voice. It takes him a moment to register that Dennis is awake in the bed beside him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks earnestly.

Dennis’ voice trembles. “If our situations were reversed, I would remove everything sharp from our apartment.”

Still a bit bleary, Mac takes a second to digest the words before fully realizing what Dennis is saying. Then he’s on his feet.

“Is your secret blade stash still in the loose floorboard under the sink?”

Dennis blinks. “I - “

Mac nods. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

By the time Mac has packed every knife, blade, and vaguely edgy kitchen utensil in a plastic bin and dropped it off at Dee’s, Dennis is asleep again.

Mac doesn’t disturb him.

It happens when they’re eating breakfast. Mac looks up to discover Dennis crying into his eggs. He makes a move to get up, but Dennis shakes his head.

“Den?”

And he laughs. He laughs and he wheezes and his eyes start to water even more and Mac just stares, confused.

“Mac, you should have seen everyone’s faces when I walked into the funeral home drunk as shit and grabbed the mic. I made up a touching story about how I babysat her cats once and may or may not have stolen a family heirloom in a crime they cannot prove.”

Mac stares at him, half horrified, half amused. “You crashed funeral?”

“And I flirted with her grandson. Sorry, babe.”

“It’s fine. Clearly, it didn’t work out.”

Dennis heaves a stuttering breath the tears starting up again.

“I always hated you guys for bringing her up, but you were always right.”

“Dennis - “

“And, I know I’ve done a lot of bad things, and - “

He presses a shaky hand against his chest. He might be hyperventilating, but he can’t stop babbling now.

“Dennis, you don’t have - “

“Sometimes I think - sometimes I think I deserve it.”

“ . . . Dennis.”

He smiles at Mac. “You can’t argue that, and you know it.”

Mac shakes his head firmly. “You were a kid - “

“And look at me now.”

“Dennis Reynolds, stop being fucking stupid. You were a kid. You did not deserve that, and you still don’t. And I’m sorry.”

Dennis looks up, curiously. “For what?“

Mac shrugs. He’s crying. Dennis doesn’t comment on it.

“That that happened to you, man. It’s like - you know how you and everyone else kept trying to get me to come out of the closet and admit who I was to myself?”

Dennis nods, uncertain where this is going.

“It was killing me. Keeping everything bottled up, not letting myself feel things, forcing myself to live in fear everyday - it made me hate being alive. Dennis, you’ve been suicidal since we met. You have to let go of everything you’re holding inside, and this is the start. I know it hurts now, but it’ll change.”

Dennis looks to the ceiling and squeezes his eyes shut. A sob chokes it’s way out of his throat.

“I don’t even know where to start, Mac,” he whispers.

“Anywhere,” Mac tells him.

Dennis wishes he has the energy to smile, but he’s so tired. He pushed his plate away. He wipes at his eyes and sniffs.

“Can we call in today?”

#macdennis #mac macdonald #dennis reynolds #fic

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pass-the-bechdel · 5 years

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Dollhouse full series review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

96.15% (twenty-five of twenty-six).

What is the average percentage of female characters with names and lines for the full series?

45.89%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Twenty.

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 50% female?

Twelve.

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Zero.

Positive Content Status:

Very poor - this is exactly why we don’t just rely on passing the Bechdel and having a large number of female characters in the cast as ‘guarantees’ that we’re watching feminist content. If all those female characters exist to be punished, objectified, and abused by the story’s creator as an expression of his misogynistic rage, that is not a good thing (average rating of 2.76).

Which season had the best representation statistics overall?

They’re about the same, really. The one Bechdel fail was in the first season, but season two had less female character presence overall, but it was also more balanced insofar as it scored more episodes with 40% or more on the cast. Both scored equally badly on content quality, though my feeling is that perhaps season one’s sins were the worse of the two. On the other hand, season one had more guest female characters AND it used its supporting female cast more prominently, whereas season two was more male-heavy not just in numbers but in screen time and narrative attention. At the end of the day, I’m not sure it matters which you consider to be worse.

Which season had the worst representation statistics overall?

See above. I cannot recommend this show for feminist content.

Overall Series Quality:

For a first-time viewer, there’s probably still solid potential for enjoyment, and at least some of the twists should be genuinely enjoyable. The majority of the cast is very excellent, and the idea of the show is compelling. However, the quality of the series as it turned out is negligible, full of flash and little substance, the bad apples in the cast spoil the batch while the good grapple with bad writing and the woeful underuse of their skills, and the whole thing remains far better as a thought than it is in execution. And then there’s the misogynistic rage thing. That’s a problem that really messes with the overall product, to put it lightly.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

For the record: I believe, sincerely and completely, that Joss Whedon hates women. Not that he doesn’t know how to relate to them or he misses ‘the old days’ or any other such placid disdain; I think he deeply and violently hates women, and I think the evidence is written all up and down his work - all of his work, but perhaps never more clearly than in this show. He can claim to be a feminist all he wants, he can put women at the forefront of his shows and talk big game about what he believes they’re capable of, but so long as the women in his stories continue to be mistreated at every turn, beaten, raped, and constantly belittled and devalued within the text, I will not be convinced that the man doesn’t resent the Hell out of women for existing - and particularly, for existing with potential for sexuality. The misogyny of the Whedonverse is rampant, unchecked, often participated in by his ‘heroes’ as much as his villains, and treated as largely incidental, rarely acknowledged and even then, gleefully delivered as ‘just the way things are’. Characters might shake their heads about how that’s unfortunate (and Whedon pats himself on the back for making such an insightful feminist statement), but the verbal denouncement doesn’t detract from the indulgent inclusion of that misogyny, the platform provided for it to roam uninhibited, and be showcased and vicariously enjoyed. For someone who claims to be a feminist, Whedon sure does seem to be fetishistically obsessed with making women suffer, and when I compare the content of his work to that of the other creators whose shows have appeared on this blog, the result is most unflattering.

As easy as it would be to while away this post explicating the details of Whedon’s reprehensible worldview, however, I shall refrain; for one, it would be boring as Hell, it’s not a complicated reality and the truth really is in the pudding for all to see, you don’t need me for that, and for two: I already promised to at last talk about the characters and their arcs (such as they are), since that is one subject I often neglected in the posts on this show, and arguably the only subject upon which the show could hang any virtues. Naturally, we will begin at the beginning, with the much-maligned lead character: Echo.

Eliza Dushku is not a terrible actor. But her range is pretty limited, she plays variations on the same archetype almost exclusively, and that’s a terrible fit for a show where the central caveat is supposed to be that she can take on any personality and be a complete and whole different person week by week. No one should ever expect to be able to float that idea with a lead who is so very obviously not up to the task, and while I don’t think she’s responsible for the failure of the show (all of its other flaws would have soundly sunk it even if Dushku was a crown jewel of talent), it certainly does not help that she’s easily the blandest and least compelling player in the whole sorry mess. It’s a cringe every time she utters some silly line about how powerful and badass she is, because there’s nothing convincing about it, and if the creative team really believed (and believed their audience would believe) that Echo is THAT great, they wouldn’t feel the need to have her showily declare it. When season two hits and Echo’s ‘character development’ fast-tracks to full sentience, she becomes even less dynamic: all of the things which could have provided legitimate engagement with the character’s struggle are skipped over, her process of self-actualisation (anyone who read my Farscape reviews knows my love for hard self-actualisation narratives), her navigation of her role as a developing entity in a world hostile to such things (touched on occasionally in season one, thrown to the wind in season two), anything to do with her cognitive evolution is scrapped in favour of ‘she just remembers it all now’, and there’s no arc to it. I invoked the concept of the Mary Sue in one episode post, and that is exactly the problem we end up with: a ‘perfect’ character who can do everything and anything and be ~the best~ at it, who is beloved and desired by all who meet her, except for her (mustache-twirling cliche villain) enemies, who fear her awesome powers. There is no personality in Echo, no conflict, no meaning. Wild as it may sound, you could actually remove her from the show completely and easily adapt the other characters (the ones who have personality, conflict, and meaning) to fill the space, and not only would it work, but the show would be infinitely the better for it. That’s the absolute opposite of what you want from a lead character.

The other BIG mistake in the casting for this show is Tahmoh Penikett as Paul Ballard, who plays his part with all the verve and charisma of a piece of wood with eyes drawn on (ever watch Ed, Edd, and Eddy? Plank has more dynamic personality than our boy Ballard). I’m not sure how much of it is Penikett’s fault - it has been many years since I watched Battlestar Galactica, and while I don’t remember being particular impressed by him, I don’t remember being frustrated by his inability to walk in a straight line without making it look weird, either - but whether he’s handicapped by his own acting non-prowess or not, he’s certainly fighting a losing battle with an unfocused mess of a character, and if the writing couldn’t decide what Ballard’s deal was to start with, I’m not shocked that Penikett had a hard time conveying it. Is Ballard a morally righteous hero (on a show with no moral centre for him to relate to)? Is he flawed and secretly-dark, and if he is, who recognises that, is it deliberate? Is he losing control, or is that just supposed to be ‘normal person’ behaviour? Again, who notices, does he know? How much of his interiority is a white-knight cliche, and how much is supposed to be genuine, and is any of it supposed to be subversive? I honestly can’t tell, one episode from the next. In season one, he’s garbage at his job, and some characters mention it, but then Ballard himself appears to be under the impression that he’s fighting the good fight and the tone of the show seems to agree with him rather than acknowledging his self-delusion. In season two, he joins the Dollhouse at the same time as openly declaring himself to be still against it, the plot conveniently pretends he never raped Mellie so that we can uphold the idea that he IS righteous, after all, and has no dark impulses, other characters at the Dollhouse put up with him being an obvious liability for no discernible reason, and then eventually he gets rendered brain-dead, reconstructed as a doll version of himself, and then dies a few episodes later anyway. Big whoop. It feels an awful lot like they had no long-term plan for what to do with the character, so they just focused on giving him a romance with Echo and then threw some contrived death stuff on top of that for flavour. Speaking of the romance thing: eek. Again, in season one it seemed they couldn’t decide whether or not his mounting obsession with his damsel-in-distress vision of Caroline was creepy as Hell (pro tip: it absolutely was), but then in season two it all became very simple: Ballard wants Echo, but doesn’t really believe she’s a real person (for some reason this is not a deal-breaker to her), and they dance around each other for a bit but never get together and somehow we’re supposed to interpret this as the development of a wonderful love story with a bittersweet tragic end when he dies, twice but also not really because then she downloads him into her brain anyway so they live happily ever after, sort of. It’s a fucking mess, y’all, and they don’t earn it, and the utter soup that is Ballard’s personality and motivation goes un-examined. The fact that season two tips heavily in favour of Echo/Ballard scenes is something very significantly to its detriment, because it’s the worst and most shakily-developed non-relationship of the series. Ok, that, and whatever the fuck Topher/Bennett was supposed to be.

Speaking of Topher...actually, I don’t have much to say about him. Breaking pattern with the rest of the characters, Topher shows no real sign of a personal story in season one, so it’s season two which attempts to give him some function as an individual outside of being the comic-relief tech guy. It’s not particularly successful, since the attempted character development revolves around 1) moral compunctions (which, as noted ad nauseum, this show left itself incapable of engaging with in any meaningful way back when it pretended sexual slavery was a morally grey issue), and 2) throwing a love interest at him: zero actual relationship-building ensues and it’s awkward and chemistry free and then she dies (so glad Bennett could exist to tick off a bunch of Whedon’s favourite suffering-woman tropes and then die for shock value, yay). At the end of the day, Topher was just a handful of affectations, fun to watch, but hardly amounting to more of a ‘whole person’ than the paper-thin personalities of the sex-fantasy cliches he imprinted into the dolls.

If Topher is the character who suffers most from a lack of development in season one, Boyd is the hardest hit in season two, easily. As Echo’s handler in season one, Boyd was pleasant, mild-mannered, protective, and he had an ethos which governed his choices (imagine such a thing!). His former career as a cop was referenced variously, and it seemed clear that we should expect one day to learn how he came to leave the force and wind up as a bodyguard working for a secret organisation. Season two? Forget about it. Forget about it because of the idiotic ‘twist’ that turned Boyd into Rossum’s cuckoo founder and thereby unraveled his entire personality as a sham in one fell swoop, obviously, but forget about his character having even the appearance of development in the meantime, also. Removing Boyd from his position as Echo’s handler was a grave error, as it downgraded his importance and effectively stifled the natural bond he had developed with his charge which represented a nice, uncomplicated character dynamic (one far more welcome than that clusterfuck replacement which was Ballard as Echo’s handler, euch). Additionally, this led to Boyd being largely backgrounded for the entirety of season two, given no meaningful stories to engage with, and certainly not expanded upon or explored as a character. As noted, any such expansion would have been irrelevant anyway once the dumbass ‘big reveal’ happened, but that’s all the more reason to bemoan the loss of Boyd’s character, which essentially occurred a full season before he actually donned his suicide vest and exploded in the Rossum building. If you have to dump a character just to service your twist, don’t. Dump the twist instead. Like pretty much every other actor on this show, Harry Lennix deserved better.

And then there’s DeWitt...I largely covered the DeWitt issue back in the episode posts, really; she starts out an intriguing character (and I credit Olivia Williams with much of this, she created dynamism out of an oft-lacking script, in every case), but season two really did a number on her when it came to leaping wildly about different plot ideas that jerked DeWitt’s characterisation from one extreme to another with very little connective tissue to sell the change. If Ballard was the character whom the narrative couldn’t decide how to handle in season one, DeWitt takes up that odious mantle in season two; is she losing her grasp? Is she playing the game? Is she an evil, pragmatic genius? Is she foolish and deluded by an idealism that plainly has no basis in reality? Is she an alcoholic who spontaneously gets her shit together after a couple of other characters tell her off? Damn, that was easy. As with Ballard, the problem is not just that the story seems to change tone and purpose for DeWitt’s character from one episode to the next; it also robs her of the opportunity to be defined through consistent interaction with others - she has no one to bounce off in a manner which would create a baseline for her behaviour and how it is outwardly perceived (and thus, how the audience is intended to interpret it).

I’m gonna talk about Sierra and Victor together, because frankly, that’s both the way the show packages them, and there’s not much to say outside of it. For the millionth time ever on this blog, I will complain that all shows ever would be improved by being ensembles; in this case, Sierra and Victor both would have benefited from a framework which allowed either one of them to take greater precedence more often, instead of having their own narratives distilled down to a single Personal Episode each in season two. I do enjoy both, and their relationship has legitimate chemistry and charm while also following a sensible plot concept through - the idea that strong emotional connections and bonds can transcend the mind wipe. Unfortunately, the show has little functional purpose for either character outside of their relationship, to the extent that it even sidelines them almost entirely in the climax of the series (pre-flashforward). Victor/Anthony is given the least plot purpose in the show proper, which is just a criminal misuse of Enver Gjokaj - Anthony is a soldier and that’s essentially his entire personality right there, and the only thing that gives them an excuse to make him do Manly Fighter Stuff in the latter stages of season two. Sierra/Priya gets more to do, but the bad news is, it’s all about being raped, and that’s her whole story - horrible possessive misogynists abusing her so that she can embody Whedon’s favourite Broken Bird trope, with the added misfortune of changing the nature of her relationship with Victor to make it a little bit about him ‘rescuing’ her with the love of a good man. Both of these actors are so good, and their characters had such potential, I can’t believe the show fucked around and wasted them like it did.

Ok, one more before I go. I know he was never a member of the central cast, but we gotta talk about Laurence Dominic, because he was deceptively essential to the show, important to what made it work for the brief time when it could be said to work, and he was altogether the best character on the show insofar as he was the most cohesive, consistent, and logical player in the piece. I said as much when he made his welcome return in ‘The Attic’ (the best episode of season two...coincidence?), and as I noted then, it may be that Dominic’s early exit from the show was to his benefit in that he avoided being jostled across season two having all semblance of coherence torn to pieces along the way. I’m fairly certain the writer’s had no idea how valuable Dominic was to the story when they axed him (not least because they clearly had no idea how important it is to create some kind of moral framework to support a story that is inherently morally dubious), but consider the most obvious changes to the show format and the other character’s stories once Dominic was out of the picture: Boyd takes over as Head of Security, to his detriment as a character, and to the detriment of his relationship with Echo, leaving her wasting time with that dolt Ballard instead and putting audiences everywhere to sleep. And DeWitt? DeWitt loses her sounding board, the right-hand man who - for most of the first season - anchored her character by giving her someone to talk and plot and, at times, disagree with, creating that behavioural baseline that she lacked when she was being dragged all over season two. Dominic’s role was a structural pillar on the show, he held the roof up so that the rest of the characters could interact and interrelate - with each other, and with him - he had distinct relationship dynamics with pretty much all of them - and he was exactly the kind of character that you want around being a stable, unobtrusive presence. They could even have kept the idea of him being an NSA spy, just keep him working undercover, the audience knows the truth but the other characters don’t, it creates tension! Sure, it’d probably mean letting Ivy be sent to the attic under false charges, and that wouldn’t help this show’s abysmal abuse-of-women record, but considering the show did nothing of consequence with Ivy in the end anyway and she just existed to be belittled by Topher while he sent her to fetch him snacks...yeah, anyway. I could talk a lot about why Dominic was the best character on this stinking show, but it’s ultimately beside the point: the point is that nothing in this show really worked, and that had a lot to do with major conceptual issues (moral grounding is not optional! Misogyny is not tasty plot flavouring! Joss Whedon is an abomination!), and keeping Dominic around long-term would no more save the show than if Eliza Dushku possessed a modicum of acting range. It’s frustrating because there are so many good pieces there, excellent actors, intriguing character set-ups, fantastic plot possibilities, and heady existential implications. It’s just that some moron decided the best thing to do with that would be to play nasty sexual wish-fulfillment games and leave the rest to rot. I’m pretty sure the version of this show I enjoyed once was largely the version I made in my head, because the reality is a wasteful disaster. And misogynistic as Hell, too. We, the viewers, deserved better.

#Dollhouse #full series review #Bechdel Test #female representation

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sextonsharpwinhalstead · 6 years

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Chicago Med Review 4x03 Heavy Is the Head

It looks like Chicago Med is back to following it’s every other episode pattern. Last episode was the crossover, and, in my opinion, it was weaker than the premiere. This episode did NOT disappoint.

On One Chicago Day Brian Tee hinted that this was his favorite episode for Ethan to date and honestly, I can understand why. I wasn’t sure how they were going to play out the gun/dad hostage situation and truthfully, I was worried Med was entering bootleg John Q territory but the climax to that resolution was shocking! Like Med WENT there. They showed that guy blowing his brains out to save his son’s life, because profits matter more than patients (I’ll get back to that a minute). Every step, every decision, Ethan made he had to wonder if he was making the right call, handling things the only way he knows how. And he wasn’t without his critics.

April did not want him to immediately call the police and I can understand why. But he did, and the situation unfolded in a way he didn’t count on. To add insult to injury for whatever reason the writers have decided to make Emily mentally challenged cause some how she has no idea how to work a microwave and burned something which cause Ethan to fly-off the handle and yell at her. A move April caught and judged him on too. (Real quick are these two together? On a break? Or broken up?) I’m confused and so is Ethan. He snapped on her and to be honest, it was a valid assessment of the situation. April clams up when she is angry and frustrated instead of voicing her feelings about why she feels the way she does. But to be fair; that’s the writers’ fault. April has lacked agency since this show began. We don’t really know who she is. We know she’s stubborn, soft hearted, naturally nurturing, and bends over backwards for others but that’s not personality. Not really, it robs her of intellect, so we never get a rebuttal to Choi and we won’t; because they have no idea why April does what April does. Their inconsistencies don’t lend her to be a woman with nuanced thought who understands that every situation does not require the same response. That could be an answer to Choi. But like I said; it won’t.

In the end we got the same tired ass dynamics of her comforting him and us not knowing her motives or feelings about ALSO witnessing someone blow his brains out in front of them. Med do better by your women!

Let’s talk about the women in this episode because this was a heavily feminized episode if you didn’t notice. (Not necessarily executed in respect but women outnumbered the men 2:1).

First let’s start with Sharon and Gwen.

Did anyone else wonder when Stohl’s contract was up? He was gone two episodes later and in a sad new way that Med’s been doing lately his departure wasn’t even announced. In steps Dr. Lanik and out steps all protocol and common decency. I get the Lanik is Gwen’s “man” but when the hell does the COO start making the decisions she was making? The whole situation reeked and in my opinion a hospital would start asking why they needed Sharon’s position at all when nothing was put through her. Gwen is shaping up to be the Robert Haywood shaped hole in my canonical villain life. Cause she’s going to bounce out of this tragedy like it’s any other day and keep her on agenda. Watch. Lanik…I don’t know. He was shook. And to be honest he doesn’t come across nearly villainous enough to continue fostering the current climate in the ED.

Natalie, Elsa, and Daniel.

First things first. I was raised Christian for the first twenty years of my life. I don’t practice the faith anymore but when I did I never met any Christians as disillusioned as the ones Med writes. To be honest it’s ridiculous. There are few modern women, who are trying to have babies, who aren’t privy to what an ectopic pregnancy is. They are always fatal to the baby and almost always fatal to the mother if left untreated. There is no new way to be re-planted into the uterus and thus the pregnancy is not viable. I know Catholics who know and honor this too. So why they felt the need to go all the way there was lazy and took away from what could’ve been an even more impactful and frankly frightening story. Did Elsa misuse the machine, so she could fudge the test results and save the mother’s life? I’m leaning towards probably. Does Daniel have a fucking leg to stand when it comes to being manipulative when trying to control the outcome of situation? Y’all already know the answer to that question. The fact is that she didn’t bow down to the sage knowledge of Daniel Charles when he approached her in the dining hall. He assessed she was an intelligent woman who really didn’t care about patient medicine and already had her future mapped out. What Med still won’t do is allow her to be truly aloof about it. Elsa wouldn’t care if the patient decided to basically die instead of getting the surgery, she would’ve pulled an Okafor, shrugged her shoulders and walked out to find the next case. Natalie was there to play up the narrative of why what Elsa was doing and HOW she was doing it was wrong but, in all honesty, when the fuck has anyone on this show gave the patients the respect of their autonomy? Especially Natalie, but maybe she’s learned from past? If she had than they should have had her mention it (like with the orthorexic mom).

But this isn’t about that; this is about making sure that no woman on Med dares to be the smartest one in the room and it will punish any of them that attempts to own it too. The men on the show play God all the time and aside from Will none of them have gotten the jilting or stern wake-up call to cool it like the women have. Too many of the women’s arcs on this show prove they are either frauds, or indecisive. I don’t think Elsa is either, and it’ll be hard for Dr. Charles to find mistakes she’s made because her personality type is A, and those types don’t make mistakes.

The last woman I’m going to mention is Ava. Oh, how the mighty have been dragged to the ground. Did anyone else catch the way her eyes slightly watered with rage when she talked about advocating for Connor for the hybrid surgery room. Yeah…I’m calling it, she fucked his dad. All so he could kick her out of the OR. This is not what I wanted out of this character and it’s a disservice if they want her to be a fully-fleshed out lead (which they don’t). Ava is a prop for Connor and it’s an unfair and sexist storyline I’m frankly tired of. Also, how is going from an OR scrub nurse to a Charge nurse a demotion? I did appreciate the little Maggie tidbit of history. Maybe that’s how she and Sharon became close. Anyway, this story was secondary only to the growing size of Connor’s ego. Boy I miss season one Connor. This douchebag is the worst.

Finally, was the Halsteads story. I enjoyed it for several reasons; mainly leaving the hospital. I loved all the little Irish bits of history and culture weaved into the memorial. That saying “May you be in heaven a half-hour before the devil knows your dead” still runs a chill down by my spine. But they brought a light-heartedness to it that I appreciated. I personally do not see Will giving up the venue for the wedding and it’ll end up being some messy crossover event that’ll split the Halstead brothers further…only time will tell.

I will say this; the episode was good but I’m not sure who is wearing the crown that holds the weight.

#chicago med #chicago med review #4x03 #heavy is the head

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ofheroesandvillains · 6 years

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Playing To Lose (2) - Bucky Barnes

Words: 2.7k Warnings: None, AU! Summary: Bucky gets called into the principal’s office...then continues to do bad things.

(gif not mine!)

Thursday had come around quickly.

It had been a busy week for you, which was nothing unexpected considering the sheer size and reputation of the company you were in charge of. Never had you been more grateful to have Maria by your side, the woman was so on top of everything that you had to honestly question whether or not she was human.

But it wasn’t just Maria…everyone had been relatively welcoming during your first week in charge. Everyone except James, or Bucky as most people called him. You were the only one who maintained professionalism -other than Maria of course- and called him Mr Barnes. It was one of the many things that bothered him about you, despite the charming smiles he forced whenever he was in your presence.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what he must have been feeling, because you would have probably felt the same had your own father done the same to you. Despite this, you tried your hardest to be polite. Even if he seemed hellbent on breaking every rule the company had…and one in particular.

In the four days that you had known James, you had already seen him leaving the building with two different women. Now, you didn’t care about his womanising ways, it was nothing new to you. Men, particularly handsome or rich men, could do what they wanted without complaint. And there was no doubt that James was both handsome and rich.

So whenever security called you, asking what to do about the new floozy that was loitering in the lobby, you’d simply roll your eyes and tell them to call Mr Barnes instead. It had been four days and you were already certain that there wasn’t much more to James than women and alcohol. But that was okay, you could accept that.

But the one thing you didn’t accept, the one thing you couldn’t accept, was the reason he was currently sulking in your office.

“You fired her?” He asked as if it were the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

“Of course.” You murmured.

Bucky’s eyes widened in shock when you waved a hand nonchalantly, not even taking your eyes off of the paperwork before you. It was like you didn’t care at all, and Bucky scowled when he realised that you didn’t.

“What do you mean ‘of course’?” You finally looked up at his affronted tone and cocked a brow. “You can’t just fire her, how’s she supposed to…to…” he paused, stuttering as he tried to think of a reason. “Pay rent! And- and buy food, huh?”

You studied him for a moment, the way his brows furrowed and the way he held himself. Pay rent...and buy food. You mentally tsk-ed. You knew he was just looking for another reason to hate you, he was hardly subtle. Did he really think this was your fault?

“Hm, you’re angry. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” You dropped the pen, choosing to entwine your fingers atop the desk and give him your full attention.

“What did you think would happen, hm?” Your brows shot up pointedly, and he didn’t know what to say.

What did he think? It had never been a problem before, then again, his father had never been aware of his fling with the old secretary. But it seemed like whenever he wanted something you’d snatch it out of his hands. He was getting real sick of you taking things that didn’t belong to you.

“That I’d turn a blind eye to the fact that you were in a sexual relationship with a subordinate? Do you have any idea what that could do to your reputation? To this company’s reputation?”

Bucky paused, halting whatever argument he may have had. Damn it. You were right, he knew you were right and he hated it. It seemed every move he made was the wrong one, and you had all the right answers. Granted, he was intentionally trying to get on your nerves with all of his dates -he used that term loosely- showing up to the office everyday.

“Technically, I’m no longer her superior.” His sly smirk dropped the moment you shot him a glare filled with enough venom to kill a man.

But it was true, wasn’t it? You didn’t need the constant reminder, but you’d taken his job and it would take him some time to get over it.

He figured what did it matter? Either way he wasn’t going to be in charge for the next 6 months, he’d behave himself when he had to, for now…he’d enjoy his social life while he still had one. The fact that it probably annoyed you was just icing on the cake.

But you were right on this occasion. The last thing he wanted to do was get into any legal trouble, that would completely ruin everything and he hadn’t thought about that before. But the damage was already done, and firing the woman would do nothing but make her vengeful.

“Alright, I’m sorry.” He sighed, slumping in his seat. “But what? You think she’s not gonna tell anyone about it?” Bucky crossed his arms over his chest.

“No. I know she’s not going to tell anyone.” You swiftly retrieved a folder from your drawer and dropped it on the table in front of him. “That’s what NDAs are for.”

He straightened up in his chair, his lips twitching sheepishly. He’d never admit that he was grateful, but you had taken care of it all for him and he was more than a little relieved. He didn’t know what he would do otherwise. His father would have killed him.

“Have it all planned out, huh?” His voice was quiet now, somewhat ashamed at the lengths you had to go to in order to clean up his messes.

You stood up, checking your watch before smoothing your hands over your blazer. His eyes followed the movement, how could they not? The only reason he hadn’t tried to sweet talk you into his bed was because of who you were.

Yeah, you were stunning, he’d have to be blind not to see that. Exactly his type of girl, despite his feigned disinterest. Those girls he fooled around with were not the type of girls he’d care to remember. Not the type of girls he’d want prolonged exposure to. They were just a quick fix, and if you weren’t you then maybe you’d be worth getting to actually know. But you were you, and his anger and (not that he’d ever admit it) jealousy were enough to ensure you’d lost a whole lot of your appeal.

“Despite what you think, Mr Barnes, I’m not out to get you.”

He met your sincere gaze, but there was still an underlying irritation in your eyes that almost made him smile. Okay, so you weren’t that bad. You tolerated all of his bullshit and it hadn’t even been a whole week yet. But he was still hurt by his father’s doubt, and more importantly, your rejection of his work. That was something he would never forgive you for.

“In fact, I couldn’t care less about you.” His eyes followed your every move as you walked around the desk, ignoring the odd feeling your words gave him.

“I’m here to do a job for the next six months and by the time I’m gone, I’m really hoping you’ll have a little more respect for how hard it is to run this business- though I doubt anyone will be intentionally trying to sabotage you when that time comes.”

You looked at him pointedly for a split second before a knock sounded at the door. Oh good, your 1 o’clock was here.

Bucky’s eyes almost softened in apology, but you barely spared him a glance as you made your way to the door. It was a constantly battle in his mind. Whether he should let go of this grudge or stay strong in his resolve. You made it hard, because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, you were a pretty decent person…considering who your father was.

But you had wronged him too greatly for him to just sit there and accept you as his boss. You had done nothing to earn this opportunity. You came into the building, bringing your posse with you, firing familiar faces, and rejecting his ideas. His irritation had bubbled up to the surface once more and there was no changing his mind at your next words.

“Ah, Mr Odinson. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped over to the door in shock.

“Loki, please. And the pleasure is all mine, Miss Stark. My family speaks very highly of you.”

“Likewise.” You smiled politely. “Please, come in.”

Bucky scowled as soon as his suspicions were confirmed, and he sprung up from his chair in a blur of movement.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Loki cocked an unimpressed brow, but a small smirk played at his lips.

“Good to see you too, Barnes.”

Bucky ignored him, turning to face you instead.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

You sighed in exasperation, smiling apologetically at your guest and waving a hand to welcome him to a seat.

“You’ll have to excuse Mr Barnes…” You shot Bucky a stern look. “He was just leaving.”

“Like hell-“

“James.”

It was the first time you had ever called him that to his face and he paused for a moment, drawing back his anger. You seemed to have a silent conversation, begging him to leave it be, while simultaneously reprimanding him for his lack of diplomacy.

Bucky tried to regain control of the conflict raging in his mind. He didn’t want him anywhere near you. He didn’t want him near the damn building in general! Why was he even there in the first place?

But he knew that any resistance would be seen as him trying to ‘sabotage’ the whole situation. You wanted him to leave, and in order to show you that he wasn’t some petty child, he’d grit his teeth and do as you had asked. Why should he care anyway? It wasn’t like you’d listen to him. Just as he thought you might redeem yourself in his eyes, you prove once again why you shouldn’t be there. Why he needed you gone.

“Fine.”

 With a glare so strong it could have knocked down a wall, Bucky stormed out of your office, all but slamming the door shut behind him. You winced at the sound and pinched the bridge of your nose. Not a single day…he couldn’t go a single day without making your life difficult.

“I’m really sorry about that, Loki.”

The man in question merely offered a placating smile. “Think nothing of it.” He hesitated for a moment. “James and I have a tendency to not get along.”

Loki could see the curiosity in your eyes, and he was prepared for the question when you inevitably asked.

“And why is that? If you don’t mind me asking…”

He shook his head as if to say ‘of course not’. There was a reason you had arranged a meeting with him, and if it was for the reason that he hoped, he needed to be honest.

“We took a liking to the same woman a few years back, needless to say, it created some tension between us.”

Loki cleared his throat lightly when you cocked a brow.

“You get the girl?”

He chuckled at the question. “No, unfortunately not. But neither did he.”

“She told him there was another, and he believed it was me…” He elaborated.

“And let me guess, you did nothing to correct him?” You asked dryly. Men were so petty.

“I honestly doubt he’d believe the alternative. Either way, it’s all in the past now.” He offered a charming smile.

“Hm. Good.” Your small smile dropped, and you adopted a new air of professionalism. You had called him in for a reason, and it wasn’t to discuss his love life.

“You know the reason I’m asking…”

Loki nodded, he was very perceptive after all. “You want to know if placing me on the board would create conflict.”

You sighed quietly, and leaned back in your chair, eyes scanning the man before you. He was regal in appearance, high cheekbones and raven hair. The complete opposite to his brother, but you could see how they would balance each other out.

Loki was a clever man. He had excellent ideas and his family owned Mjölnir Construction - the very same construction company that had been building your father’s casinos for decades. Thor was on the board of directors where your father’s business was concerned, and you knew Loki had been trying to join the board of W & R Hotels for years now. At least now you knew why he had never been accepted.

He’d be a great asset to the company, and even if it meant giving James another reason to loathe you, you wouldn’t be missing this opportunity. With The Red Room’s grand opening in Moscow scheduled for the following year, you needed all the help you could get, and it looked like James wouldn’t be taking his advising duties seriously anyway.

“I spoke to George Barnes yesterday…” You straightened the pens on your desk absentmindedly. “He said the reason you were never selected was because he feared his son losing interest in the company if you were on the board.”

Loki hummed lightly in acknowledgement, but patiently waited for your decision.

“I personally think that if James does lose interest because of a childish rivalry, he shouldn’t be here in the first place.”

Loki’s hopeful green eyes darted up to meet your own.

“I need the best, and that’s something you can offer me and this company.”

“He won’t like this.” Loki warned, but he already knew your mind was made up and his shoulders dropped in relief.

“No, he won’t.” You stood up with a humourless smile. “Which is why you’ll leave him to me.”

“You sure you want to do this, Barnes?”

Bucky cocked a brow in challenge. “Didn’t think you’d be one to turn down a pay-day.”

“I’m not, but this is a Stark you’re going up against.” Brock reminded him pointedly.

Bucky scoffed. “What, you scared?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked to ruin a reputation, and as a private investigator he’d dug up his fair share of dirt. But like he had said, this was a Stark. You start digging into their lives and you get the damn CIA at your door the next morning.

He’d have to be careful, but for the price Barnes was willing to pay…

Oh no, he wasn’t scared at all. If he did this, he’d be set for life.

 “I’ll do it. But I thought all you rich folks went golfin’ together. What’s the deal here?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the news lately.”

Brock rolled his eyes. Rich boys like Barnes were always so…whiny. Daddy didn’t let me take over the business, big deal! What did it matter anyway? The Starks and the Barnes’ were partners, they had been together through thick and thin, and this kid was willing to sabotage that because he couldn’t wait six damn months?

Brock almost scoffed at the thought. He’d shine the lady’s shoes everyday if it meant getting the whole damn company after 6 months.

“So, you in?”

Brock threw back the rest of his scotch, before slapping the glass back down on the counter.

“Yeah, yeah I’m in. But unless you want to be suspect number one, you better lose the frosty attitude.”

Brock pointed out. The very first person they’d point their finger at would be Bucky if he didn’t warm up to the young Stark. That really defeated the purpose of keeping their deal a secret.

“Fine. I’ll work on it.” Bucky huffed.

“Then you got a deal.”

Good, Bucky thought, ignoring the stab of guilt that made his stomach twist unpleasantly. It was for the best, he tried to reason. He could apologise when it was all said and done. When he was in charge of his company, then he could maybe even consider you as a friend, but now he had to do this. If you were serious about meeting with Loki of all people, who knew what other mistakes you’d make. He couldn’t risk his company like this.

He wouldn’t.

It’s all for the best.

@marvelnersworld @bookgirlunicorn @spidey-linquentimagines @sawdustandsugar @roxytheimmortal

I’m sorry if I forgot anyone!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes au

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