Banban 7 teaser trailer dissection/theories
so banban 7 teaser trailer came out several days ago, and i decided i would try and pick it apart a bit and make a few hypotheticals about what it might mean
so the first shot is just banban on the ground covered in givanium, which is his blood. hes all scratched up, and so is the ground. his body has a new texture to show how damaged he is.
i made a seperate post about what banbans fate might be so i wont go too in depth about it here. i hope this isnt the last we see of him though.
the next scene interests me way more. it looks like youre in a cafe of sorts, with aliens. they have coffee cups, pieces of paper, and plates, and some of them are laying on the ground, maybe dead? or maybe theyre just defeated and lethargic.
more interestingly, the lollipops on the table are the same lollipops from syringeons room in banban 6, which may establish a connection. but theres more that indicates syringeon is somehow connected to these aliens.
it seems like this chapter will take place in a fake city called cityngeon, presumably made by syringeon. in the second picture it looks like the city itself is almost made out of cardboard. theres also an alien smashing its head against the wall.
in banban 6 we get information about syringeon. in case #14 update 15, it says that syringeon was likely the one to teach sir dadadoo and queen bouncelia how to make other genome beings. and in 6 we also meet the givanium babies, who refer to syringeon as their father.
the givanium babies look similar to the aliens seen in the teaser, so i think its possible that syringeon created the aliens as well, and then created the city for them to live in. maybe theyre failed experiments, and thats why they seem so miserable.
this next part is really cool. it looks to me like youre going to get to guide the drone through areas that are too destroyed for the player to fit into, and use the drone to get to places you physically cant otherwise.
i like that idea, and i hope its used for more than just this one scene. i also really like the visual style here of a more grainy, destroyed environment.
at the end we zoom in on sheriff toadster behind a fence. the room is dark but we can see a brick wall, and cardboard boxes. this adds to my theory that the city might be built of cardboard, because we see more in this trailer. i dont know what this could mean for sheriff toadster as a character, maybe hes an ally again or maybe hes gonna turn on us. i dont know.
at the end syringeon attacks through a door. this brings into question if syringeon may be an antagonist or not. its likely he wont be, because we are trying to find him and get his help to save everyone, but we also dont know much about him. maybe he will think we're a threat to the scepter and try and kill us. maybe hes a nomad that only wants to work by himself now that the queen is dead.
anyways thats just my predictions and brief analysis of this teaser. excited for banban 7 lets go
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— WIP WEDNESDAY
The Wednesdays start comin and they don’t stop comin. Just like smash mouth used to say
Tagged by @inafieldofdaisies and @adelaidedrubman thank you both!!! 💕💕💕
No pressure tags: @marivenah @voidika @simonxriley @corvosattano @socially-awkward-skeleton @detectivelokis @minaharkers @shegetsburned @loriane-elmuerto @florbelles @roofgeese @kyber-infinitygems @chuckhansen @queennymeria @jackiesarch @shellibisshe @jacobseed @unholymilf @aceghosts @nokstella @risingsh0t @jinfromyarikawa @shadowglens @sstewyhosseini + anyone else who wants to share a wip!
Well this is basically just *sees one grainy screenshot of a trailer leak and becomes mentally ill about it*
warning for a bit of a heavy mood: suicidal thoughts implied as well as talking about trauma and the like
Bix lay sprawled out on her stomach in the messy bed, appearing about as put together as her living quarters. If Imogen hadn’t heard her voice just a moment before, she would have thought Bix wasn’t even conscious. As she drew nearer, she noticed a familiar blaster rested loosely in her mechanic’s grip.
One step forward, two steps back.
A lump formed in Imogen’s throat, but she swallowed hard and sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
The first sign of life from Bix was a weak shrug. “Somewhere in between wanting to blast some Imp’s head off and my own.”
That filled Imogen with a sickening, ice-cold dread. She carefully reached for the blaster. “You know that I would never allow you to do that.”
Their fingers brushed as Imogen took the weapon out of her hand. The touch roused a reaction and the mechanic’s gaze snapped up to meet the former Inquisitor’s. Imogen expected to see anything from pain to fear, but Bix’s eyes were simply hollow. She could not bear to witness it for more than a couple of seconds.
“All of a sudden you’re so concerned with coveting life, huh?”
“I covet yours above all others, Bix,” Imogen replied.
A sigh expelled from her lungs and she dragged herself into a sitting position. “You don’t need to worry. I was just… too deep in my own head.”
Imogen nodded, but fully recognized the danger of such a thing. “Have you gotten out of this room today?”
“No.”
“One prison is enough to endure. You should not make it two,” she said gently.
Bix ran a hand though her disheveled curls and released another impatient huff. “Everyone has been looking at me like I’m some broken thing. I mean, I am, but… seeing it all over their faces makes me feel like I’m still strapped to that chair, losing my mind.”
Imogen knew she must have inadvertently contributed to that. Guilt twisted her insides. Of all people, she should have known better. “My master used to look at me differently than anyone else. Not in a way I found to be encouraging. Though she never said it, I could see she spent most of her days anticipating the worst from me. It is taxing.”
“It is,” the mechanic agreed wearily. She shifted closer, looping an arm through Imogen’s and resting her head on her shoulder.
Despite the topic of conversation, Imogen felt a light flutter in her chest as the heat of the other woman’s body warmed her. This type of candid affection they had started to share more frequently brought a specific kind of intoxication. It felt just as thrilling as any intimate touch and she hid a smile. Imogen could be content with her like this. Just like this.
Imogen turned her attention to the blaster in her hands. “I had not realized you still had this. I thought it was lost.”
Bix studied the blaster like it was the only object of importance to her. “I kept it from you.”
“Why?”
“It makes me feel less vulnerable. And because it’s yours.”
Imogen recalled when Bix had taken it straight from her holster out of a strong will to escape the Empire with her life. Perhaps the blaster was not some dark force searching to prey on an addled mind, rather the only tangible reminder of her own survival.
After a long moment of deliberation, Imogen offered the weapon back to her. “Now it is yours.”
Bix leaned back enough to meet her gaze again. Relief washed over the bounty hunter at the small spark that reignited within her rich eyes. “You’re sure?”
“I trust that you will continue to protect yourself with it. As I will continue to protect you.”
A soft smile tugged at the corner of Bix’s mouth, drawing Imogen’s gaze down for a split second. She suddenly became keenly aware of their lack of personal space. Bix took in her features as well before she accepted the blaster. “Thank you.”
“You will not be broken forever, Bix,” Imogen promised.
The movements were subtle. Fingers tightened around her arm. Bix tilted her head towards hers ever so slightly. Imogen felt even the most acute form of contact. It pulled her in like a magnet, making each short breath stutter past her barely parted lips.
“You can kiss me, you know,” Bix whispered.
Imogen had never experienced a deeper temptation in all her life. It would be as easy as leaning in an inch or two. The last time her lips were graced by a kiss was on Ferrix before the uprising. That moment felt so far away and it made Imogen ache terribly for her mechanic. This pain reached past every defense to tear at what was left of her very soul. Somehow, that only made her crave it more.
But Imogen could not bring herself to give in. Not while Bix was like this.
Wordlessly, the bounty hunter tilted her chin up and gently pressed her lips to Bix’s temple. Imogen felt her beloved lean into the kiss as her tense muscles eased. She sensed it gifted them both a moment of peace, so she pulled away and rested her forehead where the ghost of her kiss remained, feeling no rush to part from her mechanic.
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19, 23, 25
:)
19: a character you really hate
-this is so hard because i feel like a lot of characters i hate i also really love because of how those hateable qualities make them fit into the narrative. like i do like loomis and how he fits into the halloween series even if i would beat this elderly man with a brick if given the opportunity. u know. and theres a few others that i dislike in their Tumblrized Fandom forms, but in the actual films i do find them effective characters.
leslie vernon is probably one. i think he couldve been alright in a better constructed film, but he's almost intolerable to me as is and i get irrationally annoyed seeing ppl hype him and his movie up
23: a movie that you would not rewatch for whatever reason(s)
-ALSO very hard because i feel like i am very willing to rewatch just about anything. skimming through my lowest rated horror films on letterboxd, i think id honestly rewatch just about all of these with only mild complaint, no matter how abysmal/boring/painful to watch i think they are.. i can always find Some reason to justify it- thinking about why the film doesnt work for me, comparing it to others that do the same concepts better.
if i have to pick one it'd probably be something like gutterballs, lesbian vampire killers, halloweed- mediocre edgy 00s/10s horror/comedy with very little going for it if you dont think shit like homophobia or rape jokes are funny. but then, i saw stan helsing twice in the same day and would probably see it a third time if given a sufficient reason. so idk if i can say i WOULDNT rewatch gutterballs..
25: a movie that genuinely scared you
-AUGH.
again, difficult. very limited selection of horror movies that even make my skin crawl a little bit. the most recent one was skinamarink (2022), though i have absolutely no idea if i would feel the same if i rewatched it- its an 1hr40min experimental art horror film thats like... if you watch the trailer on youtube you get a good idea of what its like for the Whole runtime, nearly all the dialogue is hushed children's whispers, most of the shots are long takes of dark hallways and television screens, the film is so grainy that it looks like its alive and crawling... reminded me of the totheark marble hornets videos and similar experimental horror shorts on youtube from My Youth; feels like it'll do numbers with the ""analog horror"" side of the internet, if it hasnt already.
all of which is very effective If you manage to get engrossed in the film, but i absolutely cannot blame anyone who thinks its just boring and not worth the time to watch. it really demands your full attention with very little concrete payoff, just a lot of slow building dread with the occasional scare that often didnt live up to the hype that it had built up. every time my attention started to wander even a little bit, it was like all the magic had leaked out of it, until i forced myself to focus and it started to captivate me again. id worry that on rewatch it might not click at all for me and id think my past self was a loser for thinking this was good. still gave it 4.5 stars on letterboxd despite this. ymmv.
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Kult Fic
The Land of Static and Light
It was the rabbit hole to Wonderland, the star to Neverland or perhaps, most appropriately, the hurricane that swept up Dorothy and spat her out in a world of technicolour. She slipped through the tear where the two worlds met and found herself somewhere different.
Why had she moved back through? Did she think this was her Narnia moment? That she'd be in a better, softer place where she could point easily at the evil witch, do battle with her and win? Or did she just want out of the real world so badly that she would take any option available to her?
All around her was the hum and crackle of static, as if a million flies (cicadas, now why did that come into her head - ) were buzzing in the air. Her sight too seemed oddly grainy, as if those flies had swarmed. She blinked to clear her vision but it didn't clear, stayed identical, trying to make sense of what she could see behind the light that was not quite enough to dazzle her completely. It clicked into place that this was the place she had seen once before, curled up on the floor of her trailer. At least her delusions were internally consistent.
This couldn't be real. She knew that. Movies were movies. Things like this didn't happen in real life (except it had, hadn't it, before, when she came home early and peeked through the gap in the door and saw that thing - ). It was stress. Or it was drugs. Or it was getting an inheritance of madness that was due to her. All these options were far more likely than her having found a doorway to an extra dimensional warehouse.
Because that is what it was, she realised, looking at the shelves. The building hadn't changed completely or even significantly. It was Elsewhere but it was still a warehouse. She considered climbing up the shelves to see the lay of the land but that was asking for a broken neck and an ignominious death. So she stole instead, the odd dark statue. The weight reassured her. Nothing was more real than weight, evidenced by how often she felt like she could blow away on the thinnest breeze. She didn't feel more or less real here. She felt as she always did - that is to say, slightly to the left of herself.
When she opened her bag to find the statue to destroy, part of her was surprised that there was anything in her bag at all. That it wasn't just empty of everything but her dead mother's dress. If she was going mad, her mind had really upped the production value.
______________________________________________________________
Valium
The important thing to know was that she wasn't addicted. The doctor (a friend of her father's) had prescribed her this. To take when she was anxious or panicking, when the world seemed to shrink and feel too tight around her. Valium softened. It took away the hard edges.
She assumed it must be good for the other stuff too. She had read when she was thirteen that hallucinations can be brought on by stress and pressure. So if valium relieved those symptoms, maybe the hallucinations would fade away too.
Like whatever was on Ovid's door. Like whatever had been standing outside her own, vanishing as soon as she opened it. Her entire life, plagued by things she could half see, that half existed. She didn't believe for a moment that Cally saw it too. She was just saying that to be nice. Like everyone else did about everything, all the time. Polite lies and gentle smiles to not set her off.
Well, the pills had a delicious bitterness all of their own. They made her nicer. Less awkward, less needy. Less tense. She had been taking them for as long as she could remember, of varying doses of course, but in the past few years her need had deepened into a desperation. When she was with Brad, they were the only thing that got her through some days, the chemicals helping loosen the grip on her body and her defiance, making obeying easier. The tiny, rebellious voice disappeared all together and her life was all the more peaceful for it.
And that was what everyone wanted right? Peace?
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Trust No 1 (Part Four)
For the hundredth time in the last 18 hours, Gibson wonders why he agreed to this.
The train is busy and loud in a way he hasn’t had to deal with for a long time. Living for months crammed in a tiny trailer with Mulder’s noisy mind was nothing compared to this. Dozens of people in close proximity, only a handful of them asleep, all drowning each other out and making it nearly impossible to listen for threats. He finds himself trembling with the effort.
Jesus, poor kid, Mulder practically screams beside him.
“I’m fine,” he says through clenched teeth. “Just got used to the quiet.”
“Only a few more hours,” Mulder murmurs aloud, and Gibson nods.
A picture flares to life in Mulder’s mind, something Gibson has seen there before but Mulder’s never spoken about. Gibson doesn’t know if he’s remembering a nightmare or something that actually happened; it feels like the latter, but that’s impossible.
Mulder catches Gibson frowning at him and shrugs, sighing. “Sorry. I know it’s not the same, and I’m not suggesting I know exactly what you’re going through. I just can’t help remembering how it felt.”
“How what felt?”
Now Mulder’s the one to frown, confused. “You don’t know? I mean… You couldn’t see that memory just now?”
“People usually remember things in a kind of shorthand. There’s not always context. This memory of yours… I’ve seen it before, but I don’t know what it means or if it’s even real.”
“What did you see?”
“You’re in a hospital, I think. And you can hear people like I can. But it’s too much. It hurts, and you can’t… you’re not…”
“Yeah,” Mulder says quietly. “Yeah, that was real.”
“But how?”
There was an artifact, Mulder thinks. A piece of a ship, a spacecraft. I don’t know how or why it affected me like that, but it did. I could hear thoughts, but not like you do, not really. My mind couldn’t handle the input. It burned me up, shut me down. I almost died. Only reason I didn’t is that someone cut open my head and took whatever it was out of me.
Gibson can see images again as Mulder remembers waking up in that room, remembers Scully rescuing him. Mulder’s thoughts slide away from the narrative of the memory and latch on to Scully, and how he can’t wait to see her, and William, and there is this swell of affection that is unlike anything Gibson ever felt from his own parents. It makes him a little sad, even though he’s long since come to terms with the fact that his parents were always more afraid of him than anything else.
“They just cut it out of you?” Gibson prompts, hoping to steer Mulder back on course.
Mulder blinks. “Uh, yeah. I mean, I assume so. I used to have, well it was never a big scar, but…” He brushes his fingers over his forehead, almost like it’s a reflex. “Then later, after I came back from the dead, everything just… healed. Way faster and way more completely than should have even been possible. Can’t even feel the scar at all anymore. But yeah, that’s where they cut me open, and then when I woke up afterward, that was that. Only thoughts in my head were my own.”
Gibson wonders what it would be like to never hear anyone else’s thoughts, ever. The only way that ever truly happens for him is if he’s physically isolated, though when he’s not so out of practice, he can choose to turn the volume down by picking one thing or person to focus on. He realizes that as Mulder’s been talking (both in his head and out loud), that’s exactly what has happened; the rest of the mental chatter in the train car has faded into the background, nothing more than a dull murmur at the edge of his mind. He’s grateful for the respite, but it also means he might miss something, if there’s someone or something on this train that wants to hurt them. He really should go back to listening.
But also he’s just so, so tired.
“How much longer until the next station?” he asks, wondering if maybe, since he hasn’t picked up on the presence of any threats on the journey so far, he can afford to let his guard down a little, at least until they stop again and more new people get on board.
Mulder shifts and digs into his pocket for the brochure they picked up at the station the last time they transferred, which has a timetable with all the stops on this rail line. “Hmm, forty-five minutes, give or take? Why?”
“Can you do me a favor and just think about something really boring for a little while? Like, I don’t know, FBI protocols or something?”
Mulder chuckles. “Can’t say I’ve ever really been much of an expert on those. But sure. You gonna try to nap?”
Gibson doubts actually falling asleep is possible, but he nods anyway. Even if he can just rest for a while, that will be good. Just in case, though…
“Make sure I’m awake when we get to the next station, okay? So I can listen to the new people getting on. Just in case.”
Mulder nods, and a jumble of emotion spills out of him: pity, guilt, gratitude, regret, and something else Gibson can’t immediately identify. There’s this sense of he’s way too young to have to have to carry all this and I should be the one protecting him, which makes Gibson want to roll his eyes. Mulder still seems to think of him as the 12 year-old kid he was when they met, but he’s 16 now, and he’s been living on his own for a good long while. He can more than take care of himself. But there it is again, that flash of something else, and then it’s like Mulder makes the conscious decision to stop and focus on that one feeling because it completely takes over. It’s warm and something like affection but not quite, and Gibson puzzles over it some more before realizing, finally, that it’s pride.
Mulder is proud of him.
It’s not something Gibson has felt directed toward him many times in his life, and it makes him squirm a little bit. But it’s also nice.
“Thanks,” he says quietly, and Mulder nods again.
“You got it, kid.”
All right, let’s see. Now, unfortunately for me, I’ve had to sit through more than a few training seminars on the application of Chapter 119 of Title 18 of the US Penal Code. Fortunately for you, this is just about the most boring subject on the face of the Earth, and as I happen to be cursed with an eidetic memory, I can recite the stupid thing chapter and verse. Consider this your first class ticket on an express train to Snoozeville.
Gibson can’t help but smile a little as he leans back in his seat and closes his eyes.
Chapter 119: Wire and Electronic Communications Interception and Interception of Oral Communications. Section 2510: Definitions. As used in this chapter-- (1) “wire communication” means any aural transfer made in whole or in part through the use of facilities for the transmission of communications by the aid of wire, cable, or other like connection between the point of origin and the point of reception…
The gentle rhythm of Mulder’s bland recitation melds perfectly with the steady rocking and the click-clack of the train, and in spite of his apprehensions, Gibson is asleep in minutes.
***
From the relative comfort of his office, the Shadow Man watches the grainy feed from the station platform’s surveillance camera. It’s not exactly riveting viewing; Agent Scully paces back and forth, having arrived at the station more than an hour before the train is due. But, this is what he does. He watches. All day long, day after day, he watches and he listens.
It’s a form of omniscience, being able to drop into the daily life of virtually anyone he may choose, whenever he needs to, observing unseen from the shadows. (Not the most imaginative moniker, this one these FBI agents have given him, but he supposes it does fit.) Tonight, all he needs is confirmation that Mulder really is going to get off that train.
Scully’s posture belies not only anticipation but also fear. Her guard is fully up, but she need not worry. Not tonight, anyway. Let them have their reunion. He will call tomorrow to arrange a meeting, and then he’ll eliminate Mulder once and for all. He has waited months for this opportunity; one more night is nothing.
That is, until something happens that tosses every one of his carefully-laid plans out the window: someone blacks out the camera lens.
Ah. So. His little employee has finally started to put the pieces together, has he? He supposes it was just a matter of time, but this is particularly inconvenient. Without eyes on the platform, he loses his advantage. Despite his claims to the contrary, it would absolutely be possible for Mulder and Scully to vanish into the wind, away from his view. He cannot let that happen.
He glances at the clock and scowls. It will be a close-run thing, getting to Alexandria from Bethesda before the train arrives, but the late hour and empty roads are on his side. He’s out the door and on the road in minutes, speeding southward.
Looks like Mulder and Scully won’t be getting their little reunion after all. But they’re the ones who decided not to play along. Now the plan has to change, and that’s fine by him. A predatory grin lurks at the corners of his mouth as he presses harder on the accelerator.
This ends tonight.
***
As the train begins to slow on approach to the station, Mulder’s leg bounces with both nerves and excitement. Beside him, Gibson is still and silent, all of his attention focused on the thoughts of the people outside.
Suddenly he gasps and grabs Mulder’s arm. “You can’t go out there.”
No, please, I’m so close...
“You can hear someone out there?” Mulder asks tightly.
“Yes! There’s a man, and he’s one of them. He wants to kill you.”
“Damnit…”
Scully said we’d be safe. Oh no, Scully…
“Is Scully in danger?”
Gibson’s eyes are wide. “I don’t know. He’s… he’s got a gun, and he’s not aiming for her, but he doesn’t care that she’s in the way.”
Mulder leaps to his feet.
“Wait! You can’t!”
The three pops of gunfire are muted from inside the train car, but Mulder hears them anyway. He hurtles forward to lean over Gibson and peer out the window. There’s movement on the platform, bodies on the ground, but it’s too dark and they’re too far away for him to make out any detail.
The train picks up speed again, and a ripple of confused chatter fills the car and drowns out the conductor’s words coming over the loudspeaker. Mulder’s insides give a desperate lurch as he catches just a glimpse of Scully’s stricken face through the window. She’s on her feet, thank god. She wasn’t shot.
For the span of a heartbeat, there she is in front of him, real and solid, not just a presence in his mind. But then she’s gone again as the train whisks him past, and he wants to cry out at the injustice of it. It’s not fair. I was so close. The months of separation feel like an iron band around his ribs.
But it’s clearly still not safe to go home. He knows she wouldn’t have brought him out of hiding unless she truly believed it would be okay, but apparently whoever led her to that belief was either wrong or lying. Will it ever be completely safe? Is this what the rest of his life is going to be, this hiding and running and always looking over his shoulder? Feeling like he’s in this limbo, merely existing while the rest of his life carries on thousands of miles away without him?
It’s not until Gibson grabs him by the arm and shakes him that he realizes the boy has been speaking. He blinks.
“What?”
“He’s on the train! The man who was on the platform. He knows you’re here, and he’s coming after you!”
Mulder snaps to attention. “Can you tell where he is?”
Gibson squeezes his eyes shut, visibly shaking from concentration or fear or both. “He’s… he’s three cars ahead, but under… hanging on to the underside. I think he was on the tracks and then grabbed on to the train as it went over him.” He opens his eyes again, wide. “We have to get out of here!”
Mulder’s stomach tightens as he does a quick mental calculation. While he didn’t plan for this exact scenario, he did look up several potential places he could try to go, in case it turned out that it wasn’t safe in D.C. after all. One of them is a quarry with significant iron deposits, just south of Alexandria. The tracks run near enough that he just might make it, might be able to lead the man there, if he can manage to avoid getting caught first.
Quickly, nonverbally, he rushes to convey his plan to Gibson. He’s got about two or three minutes to jump off the train and hope to god the man follows him. He jerks open the zipper on his backpack and pulls out one of the burner phones he bought, as well as a couple of hundred dollar bills, shoving both into his pocket.
“I hoped we wouldn’t have to use these,” he says aloud, “but this is exactly why I bought them. Stay on the train for two more stops, then find somewhere to lay low. Let me know where you are, and I’ll come find you. The number for this phone is on the paper in the backpack. Got it?”
“What if something happens to you?”
Call Scully, Mulder tells him telepathically. “But I’m hoping it won’t come to that,” he adds.
Gibson nods, and Mulder gives his shoulder a squeeze before hurrying down the aisle to the door. He moves quickly between cars, into and through the one in front of where they were sitting, and then the next. If Gibson’s right, the man should be there just ahead of him, underneath the very next car.
Mulder’s heart pounds as he turns the latch to open the exterior door. He certainly doesn’t want to get caught, but he also needs to make sure the man follows him into the quarry and doesn’t get on the train and go after Gibson. Outside the ground rushes past, and he steels himself for how much this next part is going to suck.
I am getting way too old for this shit.
He grips the handrail beside the door and leans forward as much as he dares.
“Hey asshole!” he shouts into the wind. “Looking for me?!”
Taking one last deep breath, he jumps.
***
Only when she is absolutely certain that the Shadow Man super-soldier isn’t coming after her does Scully stop running. She looks around wildly. Mulder has to still be here, somewhere.
“Mulder!”
It’s Arizona all over again, with her shouting his name into the night, hoping against hope for some answering call.
“Mulder!”
But as was the case in Arizona, she receives no response.
***
The roller coaster of emotion is too much for Gibson. His own feelings are magnified by what he hears in Mulder’s thoughts, a sort of resonating loop that spirals him toward despair and exhaustion.
So he sleeps. It is, mercifully, a dreamless slumber, and it cradles him all the way back to New Mexico. Mulder gently shakes him awake, and they wordlessly disembark, waiting amid the other passengers while Mulder’s motorcycle is unloaded. Once they retrieve it, it’s a quiet ride back to the trailer neither of them had hoped to see again, though once they crest the hill and finally come within sight of it, Gibson lets out a sigh of relief.
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sudden desire
chapter three: so, maybe i’m not okay
part four of sudden desire
prologue / one / two / masterlist
in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.
pairing: marcus pike x original female character
word count: 2.5k (short lil chapter today!)
warnings: mentions of illness? other than that, none that i can think of? maybe the tiniest smidge of angst if you squint
Coraline has always been close to her father. One of her very first memories involved her perched on his shoulders at a Fleetwood Mac gig. He'd managed to sneak Cora, her brother, Daniel, and her heavily pregnant mom side-stage — the perks of him managing the venue at the time, in between jobs — and he'd cried when he'd heard her singing along to his favourite band. The show was all she'd talked about for a solid two weeks. Sure, the memories were a little grainy and probably warped by a crackly VHS tape of her mother's that she used to watch almost every day, but they were memories she held onto it as tightly as she could.
It was her father who took her first (dreadful) headshots, and him who she'd turned to when her sister died, and him who'd persuaded her that leaving everything and everyone she knew and loved back in Michigan to settle down in California (and then, later, D.C.) was a good idea. She owes her dad a lot, which is why the phone call has been playing on her mind all day.
The call came at 3am. She'd only fallen asleep two hours earlier, after Loren had arrived to pick up Maisie an hour late, hair a mess and rushing to apologise. Marcus had left a little while later and she'd practically collapsed into bed a few minutes later. She'd been woken by the low humming of her phone vibrating against her bedside table as it shot light through her dimly lit bedroom. She'd groaned uncomfortably and reached for it, cheek wedged awkwardly between her pillows and the mattress and legs tangled wildly in the sheets (Scott had always said she wriggled a lot in her sleep, but she'd always assumed he was exaggerating, until she slept alone).
She'd scowled when she'd seen it was her dad; he knew her schedule, and she'd told him she was up early when they'd spoken earlier that day. He never rings her late and it takes a moment for the frustration of being woken early by her phone to bleed away into worry and concern.
"Hello?" She'd croaked our groggily. "Are you okay? Is mom okay?"
She'd been met with a chuckle. His voice was low and gruff when it came, unusually thick and strangled. "Hey, Corrie." There was shuffling on the other end, hushed voices floating in and out of focus, until the phone went silent enough to think that maybe he'd hung up and hadn't meant to disturb her at all.
She'd scowled but her phone assured her he was still on the line. "Dad?" She'd called out to him. The panic had begun to rise when it wasn't his voice that replied.
"Coraline," her mother's soft voice breathed out. It was like a sigh of relief. "Sorry to bother you." Her French accent tipped the corner of her words. It always got stronger when she was upset or worried or scared, and it was especially thick now.
"What's wrong?"
Another pause. "Your father is in the hospital."
"What?" She’s suddenly holy upright, fear turning her blood to ice.
"He's fine, don't worry." She'd assured her. "He’s had some problems with his breathing again. They're doing some tests."
She'd almost booked a flight back to Michigan, almost abandoned filming and ran back home to make sure her dad was okay. The last time he'd been in hospital, it had been touch and go, and they'd spent an entire day huddled at his bedside in fear, just in case he'd stopped breathing. It was touch and go, and she couldn't live with herself if the worst happened and she never got to say goodbye to the man she owed so much to. She'd been in the process of scanning over the next flights on her laptop when her dad had taken the phone back from her mom and practically demanded that she stay in D.C.
Eventually, she'd relented. He'd promised to update her and she'd told them she loved them both before hanging up. But the phone call had sent her entire day into a tailspin.
She’d tried to sleep the extra hour and a half before she had to haul herself to work but her mind was running too wild for that. Even despite the reassurances, worry was plaguing her thoughts and panic was forcing her eyes open. Everything was just too much.
The last time it had happened, she'd had Scott. It was back when things were good, and he'd held her as she'd finally fallen asleep, curled up against him in an uncomfortable hospital chair.
But, now, he’s gone. Now, then, she was stood on set alone, trying her best to bite back a yawn and the tears, with so much concealer hiding the dark circles under her eyes that she can feel it clinging desperately to her skin. And, of course, life had picked the day when they had the most action scenes to film to deprive her of sleep.
Her entire body ached. She isn't sure how she's still standing after the first hour of work, with her legs protesting with every movement. Two hours of sleep and the running and the jumping and the endless stunts had sapped every last scrap of energy from her bones. She'd carried on stoically for most of the morning but she's truly never been more grateful for a lunch hour before, when she finds herself curled up against the couch in her trailer, passing out even despite the panic still swelling in her chest. She'd been surprised when she hadn't cried — maybe she was just too exhausted and her body simply couldn't muster the tears — but she's grateful she manages to keep the tears in because she doesn't want to haul herself back to set with mascara tears on her cheeks.
She’s even more grateful when she makes it home after a day that feels like five rolled into one and the scattered couch cushions look far too inviting for her to ignore.
It's an uncomfortable sleep and she wakes with the beginnings of a headache thrumming through her skull and a stiffness in her spine that she can't seem to straighten out. She's not sure how long she's managed to sleep — barely half an hour, she assumes — because she's woken by a soft knock on the door instead of the alarm she'd set on her phone. It wakes her with a jolt and she can't help but groan at the aching protests her limbs give when she stands. She shuffles across the apartment to the door and Marcus is stood there, smiling, his suit jacket and tie draped across his arm.
She's half dressed too - only he looks a damn sight better than she does, because his hair isn't dishevelled and messy and his shirt isn't twisted half way around his torso. She shouldn't have slept in her clothes but at least she had the hindsight to take off the stiff jeans. Except, now, she’s startlingly aware she’s standing before Marcus in nothing but her underwear and an unforgivably tight tank top.
"Good evening, Sunshine." He grins, that smile that makes her think that maybe he should be the one she called 'Sunshine'. "I brought you coffee." An odd offering at nine on a Wednesday evening but she’d been complaining, via text, about the lack of quality caffeine all day. Marcus offers her a polystyrene takeout cup as he steps inside.
"Lifesaver," she mumbles as she grabs it by the flimsy top and shuffles towards the kitchen to pour it into her unused Death Cab for Cutie mug — the mug her brother bought her three birthdays ago — and sips on the coffee. It's far too hot but she doesn't care; she needs the caffeine just to keep her eyes open. She grabs the blanket that she’s been sleeping under and wraps it around her waist, hyper-aware that she’s still wandering around in her underwear. She’s almost too tired to care.
"Are you okay?" It’s almost like he can tell. Though, she’s sure it probably has something to do with the dark bags beneath her eyes. She’s sure it probably looks like she’s been punched square in the face.
She shrugs. "I'll be fine. 'm just tired," She hums. Coraline slumps back against the couch cushions, pulls a thick blanket back over her body and lets her eyes flutter shut again. She groans and pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Bad night sleep?" There’s bags and piles of fresh laundry piled on the chair he usually sits on, a product of Coraline’s half-hearted attempt at productivity. Instead, he resigns and sits down beside her at the opposite end of the couch, lifting her legs absentmindedly to rest in his lap, sipping on his own drink, and smiling at her sympathetically as she stifles a yawn against the back of her hand.
Her eyes drag towards him when she opens them again. They rest on his face, studying everything from the softness of his brow and the curve of his prominent nose, to the scattering of facial hair that dances across his jaw, small patches of grey poking through at the edges. She’s glad he kept it after whatever undercover work he’d been assigned to before they’d even met. "If I tell you it was the worst night sleep I'd ever had, in my entire life, would that make me sound dramatic?"
"You? Dramatic?" Marcus scoffs and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. His free hand rests on her leg; he draws patterns against her skin but she’s not even sure he realises he’s doing it. "Never."
“Shut up.” Coraline glares at him but smiles, regardless. "Well, I think I'm allowed a pass today."
His face falls at her words. "What happened?"
She sighs and takes a hand through her hair. "My dad-" She eyes him as he watches her intently, brown eyes soft and comforting. "-he's ill again."
Cora had told him about her dad's illness, about how she worried he'd wind up back there again, in the hospital, that things would be worse this time. He'd listened to her like what he was saying was the most important thing in the world and she'd almost cried when he'd held her in a hug a little longer than usual. It was that night that she’d tried to ask him about his past; she wasn’t sure if he was trying to avoid telling her because he didn’t trust her or because it held things he didn’t want to relive. She half-hoped it was the latter, but she hated to think that he might be bottling things up, things he didn’t want her to know or didn’t feel comfortable sharing.
She wishes he’d tell her things. She’ll understand, no matter what it was. She’ll listen, like he does to her, for as long as he needs, as long as he wants.
It’s almost comical how different they are in that sense. Marcus is reserved, closed off, but in way that doesn’t suit him. It’s like whatever exists there, whatever memories lingered, had been withered by sadness, by something or someone, until there’s a barrier guarding his secrets and story that he hasn’t meant to build. She sees the softness in his eyes when she tells him her stories or shares her fears, like his heart is aching to spill the details of his past. Like he can’t let it out. It works for his job — undercover work, secrets, classified information — but somehow it doesn’t suit the smile and the softness of his words as he illuminates Coraline’s darkness.
Coraline, on the other hand, finds her words spilling from her chest before she can even hold them back. She’s not sure if it’s just him — the reassuring smiles, the soft brush of a hand, the gentle voice — but they pour from her at an almost embarrassing speed, like a waterfall of words cascading at regrettable speed. She’s not even entirely sure that she won’t spill her secrets to the next stranger in the street who offers her a smile. But that works for her job; people prying, picking her apart like vultures, scavengers of information found tucked away out of reach. It’s the worst part of the job description, to expect someone to know every detail of your private life, but she often thinks she’s open enough to sate them, until they leave her alone at last.
On paper, they make no sense. Jobs, the polar opposite, necessary privacy mixed with relentless publicity. Open and closed doors. But Coraline thinks, perhaps, that’s why they work. It balances them both out.
Marcus reaches over and catches her hand in his. There's barely any space between them because of the way they’re sat, with her feet prodding at his knees. "I'm sorry, Cora," he whispers, his thumb running over her knuckles softly.
After a shaky smile, gazes locked for maybe a little too long, Coraline stands up and smooths out her shirt. As much as she appreciates it, and appreciates him, she doesn't want to cry. Not today. "It'll be okay." She scrapes her thumb under her eyes, brushing away the black smudges that she's sure have formed underneath her eyes, and finishes the last of her coffee. "Everything will be okay."
Cora isn't entirely sure she believes that.
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Journey to the Sky
For SoKai Week Day 2 - First Meeting.
~1500 words. Birth By Sleep Era. Friendship, Gen.
“Help! Help!”
Kairi pounded her fists against the walls around her. It was dark and scary, and the scary man was walking away. He should help, shouldn’t he? Her grandma always said grownups should help—
“Grandma!” she called. “Grandma, help!” Tears filled her eyes and made it hard to see. Was she being rude? Was that why the scary man wouldn’t help?
Maybe if she was polite… Maybe if she asked nicely…
“Please!” she cried. “Please, I’m scared!”
But the scary man didn’t turn around. She wiggled and squirmed but couldn’t get out. Her hands were hurting, too. There was so much darkness everywhere. It was all around the pod and wanted to get to her. Wanted her light like those scary creatures from before wanted her light—
She looked at her neck. Her necklace was glowing with light, and she sniffed and wiped her eyes.
“Grandma? Is that you?”
The pod started shaking and rumbling, and she started crying again. Then there was a loud noise that made her cover her ears. Her stomach felt weird, and when she looked out the window, the scary man was getting smaller and smaller. Crash. She screamed and called for her grandma, but her grandma didn’t hear her. The only thing keeping her from hurting her head were the straps holding her down. The pod kept rocking back and forth.
When it straightened, the view outside the window was different. The people looked like dolls. There was lots of darkness everywhere too, and the stars were falling. Was she in the sky? All the buildings looked so small. Like the dollhouses she played with with her friends.
Her necklace was still glowing. With it she could see inside the pod, but the lights outside were going out. It was getting dark, so dark.
She hated the dark. It was always scary, but it was even scarier now. She huddled against the back of the pod because then the scary monsters couldn’t sneak up on her. She cried some more and called for her grandma, but her grandma didn’t come. The necklace got a little brighter, so she grabbed a hold of it.
When she sneaked a peek out the window, darkness was all around Radiant Garden now. She looked away and tried not to cry. Big girls were brave. Big girls were strong. But she felt so small and weak. She was alone, and no one would come for her.
The only thing left was to cry herself to sleep.
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When she woke up, her tummy rumbled, and she was really thirsty. But the scary man hadn’t put any food or water in here with her. Where could she get a quick snack or a glass of water? Looking out the window, it was night, and there were stars all around. Maybe that was why there were no snacks or cups. She wasn’t supposed to eat late at night.
Still, she wanted to move around. The straps holding her down weren’t comfortable. She found a big red button and pushed it. There. The straps released her, and she fell. Her legs were shaking, and she couldn’t stand up.
Her necklace glowed again, and the pod tilted.
“Ouch!” She rubbed her head, because it had just bonked the top of the pod. It was cold in here too. She looked around for a blanket, but there weren’t any. Sighing, she curled up in the corner and tried to sleep again.
Sleep at least was nice. She couldn’t see her grandma right now, but she was still there in her dreams. So long as the scary creatures didn’t come too. Heartless. That was what the scary man called them. Heartless. They were in the pod with her now, and their big yellow eyes made her shrink against the wall.
But then she clutched the necklace, and the Heartless faded away. A voice called to her instead, a voice she’d never heard before. A boy’s voice. He sounded so warm and kind, and she wanted to meet him.
As her eyes shut, she felt the pod tilt again.
“Please… take me to the voice…”
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When Kairi woke up, the pod was shaking again. She bumped her knee against the walls, and that hurt a lot. So she nestled in the corner and closed her eyes. The boy’s voice was louder in her head now, and she squeezed her necklace tight.
“Don’t be scared,” he said. “I know it’s scary, but you’re close. You’ll be here soon.”
“Okay.”
It was scary, but the boy’s voice helped. She took deep breaths like her grandma always told her to, and that helped, too. She wasn’t alone anymore. Even the weird feeling in her stomach wasn’t so scary anymore. When she looked out the window, she saw some new things. Lots and lots of water, as far as she could see, meeting something yellow. There were lots of green things on top of the yellow, too.
Were they trees? The closer she got, the more they looked like trees, but she’d never seen trees like this before. And the water. Was it what her grandma called the sea? Then the yellow stuff must be sand. It was close now, so close, and—
Crash. The pod hit something, hard. It opened, and she tumbled out. The yellow stuff, no, the sand was under her now, and the water kept washing over her. When she looked back, the pod was drifting away and half underwater.
The water was like her grandma’s lullabies, and the sand felt nice compared to the cold pod. But she was hungry and thirsty and tired, so tired.
“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay,” she mumbled, her face half buried in the sand. Then she let her eyes close because she was too tired to move. The boy would have to come to her.
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“Grandma…” Kairi mumbled as her dream ended. Her mouth had something grainy in it, and she blinked her eyes open. It was really bright, and a boy was kneeling next to her. He had brown hair and blue eyes and wore red shorts and a white shirt.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asked as he leaned close.
She knew that voice. It was the boy from the dream. Her necklace glowed, and she sat up and wiped her mouth.
“It’s you.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’m glad you’re okay.”
He smiled, and she felt warm inside like she did when she first heard his voice.
“What’s your name?” she asked. She didn’t know his name yet. There was another boy with him, too. That boy had silver hair and green eyes and a yellow shirt and black shorts. He was still standing up, but he was looking at her, too.
“Oh, me? I’m Sora.” Sora pointed to the boy behind him. “And this is Riku. He’s my best friend.”
“Sora… Riku…” Kairi repeated, trying out their names.
Sora smiled again and nodded. “That’s right. And your name is…”
“Kairi. I’m Kairi.”
Riku sat down, and he looked at her funny. “You’re from another world, aren’t you?”
“Another world?”
“Yeah. This is Destiny Islands, but you fell out of the sky. Me and Sora saw you.”
She fell out of the sky? Her lower lip trembled. All she could think about was the pod… the darkness… the Heartless… the scary man… her grandma… her grandma was gone, Radiant Garden was gone… her home—
“Oh no, don’t cry!” Sora said as he scooted closer. He watched her for a few seconds and scratched his cheek, then looked to Riku for help. Riku shrugged, so Sora waited a few more seconds, then bit his lip and put his arms around her. That just made her cry harder as she thought about all the times her grandma had hugged her. Sora was so warm, too. So much warmer than the cold pod.
“Riku, she’s cold,” Sora said. “Get your dad.”
“Please, may I have a snack?” Kairi asked as she pulled away from Sora’s shoulder and sniffed. “And some water too. I’m really thirsty.”
“Sure, I’ll be right back,” Riku said, and her tummy rumbled again as he left.
“Thank you,” she said. She hoped her grandma would be happy she’d remembered to say “please” and “thank you.”
“It’s okay, Kairi,” Sora said as he looked at her and smiled. “You’re safe. I’ll protect you.”
For the first time since the scary man had found her, she relaxed and smiled. “Thank you.”
She trusted Sora. He was good and kind, and her necklace had brought her to him. That nice princess with blue hair and a cool sword had said that would happen. The scary man and the Heartless weren’t here, and Sora was instead.
Riku and his dad would be back soon, and until they returned, she made up new stories and told Sora about them.
Maybe someday this would all just be a story, too.
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A/N: This story was inspired by the new cutscenes we saw glimpses of in the Melody of Memory trailer. I’ve written a story from Sora’s POV before of their first meeting, but I wanted to try a fic from Kairi’s POV this time. Hope you enjoyed!
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THE 100 GIF/COLORING TIPS
Okay, so I know nobody asked for this lmao but I’ve seen a lot of people complaining about the lighting on The 100 (which is completely understandable since it’s very bad.) And even though I’m not at all a pro, I’ve been giffing this show for awhile and I’ve found out some stuff that might be useful for other The 100 gifmakers out there.
Please reblog/like this if you save anything from this tutorial or if it helps you at all :)
WHAT YOU NEED
Photoshop (I use CS5).
General knowledge on giffing.
Patience because The 100 is a hard show to color.
COLORING PREVIEW
WARNING: This is very long. Everything starts under the cut!
GENERAL GIFFING TIPS
Get 1080p/720p downloads. Since The 100 is already a very dark and grainy show, anything lower will ruin the gifs’ quality.
Make sure you have cropped the gifs to the proper Tumblr size. Click here for reference. And get rid of the network logo when you’re cropping it! It always looks better without it.
Sharpen your gifs! I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t. Sharpening your gifs will make it look more HD and show off your coloring better. My sharpening is a smart sharpen with these settings. You can go here if you want to experiment with other actions/settings, though.
Do not have any skipping frames. Please. Your gif will look sloppy and won’t be as smooth, therefore ruining the quality of it.
Make sure you have the gif timing right. I usually go for 0.05 seconds because personally I think it looks best, but I’ve seen some who went with 0.04s or 0.07s and that also works well. Go for 0.05s! I realized now other time settings doesnt work as well as 0.05s especially with The 100.
Save settings. My usual go-to settings are these. Though sometimes I went for selective instead of adaptive and it looks okay, too! :)
+ extras: subtitle!
The font you use for subtitles on your gif will also affect the way your gif looks. Fonts that are too big or too small will make it look less HQ, but having the right font with the right size (and the right position!) will make it look good. Here are some text settings you can use that I’ve found: [ one / two / three ]
COLORING TIPS
Now that you’ve kind of gotten the general giffing tips, I’ve listed out some coloring tips that I found out specifically for The 100. All PSDs will be linked at the end of this post.
Adjust your brightness before anything else.
The 100 is generally very dark, but even with scenes that are already not too-dark, you’re still gonna want to adjust the brightness so you can work on the colors better. I’ll go detailed with this one. We’ll be working on 3 scenes, bright, neutral, and dark scenes.
1. BRIGHT/YELLOW
For this one, I used a scene of Clarke from Season 5.
The scene is already very bright, so what we’re gonna do here is to adjust it so it’ll look prettier without being too bright that it hurts our eyes. First let’s do curves. I added two curves layer, the first one is to add just the tiniest bit more brightness to her face, and the second one is to darken the background. and then I’m gonna add brightness and levels for contrast:
Alright, now that I’m already happy with the brightness, I’m gonna go and adjust the color. This is too yellow for me, so I’m gonna add a color balance layer to and pull up the blues/cyans/magentas
That’s good, but it’s too desaturated. I’m gonna go and add selective layer to make the colors pop up. I adjusted the red, yellow, and neutral and I got this:
Now this looks great already! Unfortunately, I’m annoying so I have to add more adjustments lmao. This is the final result after being added with an extra brightness layer and a gradient map on luminousity.
2. NEUTRAL
For this one, I’m gonna use a scene of Lexa (reshop heda you’ll always be missed) from Season 2. It’s not very bright but it’s also not too dark.
Now the tips with scenes with enough clarity (doesn’t have to be super bright, but if you can still see things clearly) like this one, clicking the ‘auto’ button on curves saves a whole lot of time. I did so and this is what I have in result:
The auto curves will usually brighten the gif and balance the color on it. Often times you still have to adjust it again. But still this will save a lot of time. I added some more brightness and levels before adding color balance and selective colors layer, and here’s the final gif:
Keep in mind that this will only work with some scenes. This will work alright with the Clarke gif above, but it definitely won’t with this next gif we’ll be coloring.
3. DARK/BLUE
Okay now this one requires some work. I chose Octavia’s scene from the Season 6 trailer.
The original sharpened gif (notice that I got rid of the logo! It’s really annoying for me so I always find a way to get rid of it.)
It’s reaally dark. So let’s start with brightening it up a little. I added curves, brightness, levels and more brightness because it was still dark as hell:
Now, you may think it’s already bright enough, but for me personally I can still make it brighter, so I added exposure. With dark scenes exposure works really well. But you have to take it easy with this layer since it affects the gif drastically with very minimal effort. I also added a black and white Gradient Map layer that I always set to luminousity:
Now it’s time to go and adjust the hell out of the color balance to make it less blue! I also added an extra selective colors layer to make the reds pop out and get rid of the pixelated/grainy blacks on her hair. After that I added another brightness layer. Here’s my final result:
The quality on this gif is not as good as the others since it was from the youtube trailer (1080p youtube video are still low compared to web-dl’s) but that’s basically the gist on how I work on The 100′s darker scenes! :)
Color balance and selective colors.
The 100 lighting often makes your gifs not only too dark or too bright, but also too yellow or too blue. Balancing it out using a color balance almost always helps. Selective colors layer will also help when you want to pop up certain parts of your gifs. Here’s some tips on selective colors that I got from msmarvel’s coloring tutorial.
Selective colors and color balance layer usually go in the middle or on top of brightening adjustments for me. But I found out that color balance could also be done after you’ve done your coloring, but you have to put it under the other adjustment layers to have the most effect.
I’m gonna show you how I edit this gif here of Raven and Murphy with what I’ve said above.
Without any coloring:
Yeah, I know. I can’t see anything either.
I brighten up this gif using my method above for dark blue scenes. Curves, brightness, levels, and add more depending on what you need. Here’s what I have now:
We can see both of them properly now, but it’s waay to blue. Also I’m losing some color from Raven’s skin so I’m gonna add color balance under every adjustment and pull up the reds and yellows.
Now it’s better! You can totally leave it here and post your gif like this. but I added an extra selective colors layer to bring out the red, yellows and blacks, and here’s the final result:
I should mention that when it comes to scenes with POCs, you have to be very careful. With this scene with Raven color balance and selective colors helped bring back her color, but on other scene adjusting too much of the red/neutral/yellow might ruin her skin. You are allowed to adjust the colors on a gif extremely when necessary, but be careful about it :)
Some dark scenes are supposed to stay dark.
I realized that with the 100 (or any other shows tbh) brightening up a gif with a dark scene too much will make it lose so much quality and ruin it. So, what I’ve learned to do is to let it be dark. I’ve seen some people brighten their gifs too much and even though I understand your frustration, it’s gonna be better if you just let it be as it is. But, still, make sure it’s bright enough so you can still see the things happening on the gif.
Here’s a gif of Bellamy from Season 5. You can see how dark it is without any coloring:
First, let’s brighten this baby up so we can see Bellamy’s face. I added curves and brightness, levels and more brightness:
Now I know it’s still very dark, but instead of brightening it up too much I’m gonna go to color balance and add the tiniest bit of red and yellow, and then I’ll add a photo filter. These two adjustments are done so we can have more color on his face instead of the ugly dark red we had. With those adjustments, what we have now is this:
Next, we’ll move on to selective color. This is what I mean when I say you have to be careful with this adjustment. I want to brighten up Bellamy’s face by putting down the blacks on the red selective color. But by doing so I might erase all the reds from his face and whitewash him. To prevent that, while I put down the blacks, I bring up the reds (lowering the cyan) and yellows. I also pull up a bit of neutral and black selective color so I can get rid of the grain (adjusting the black on both selective colors.)
With a little more last-minute brightness, here’s the final result:
That’s pretty much it! You can add more brightness than what I did here (I was in a rush when I made this but I would definitely add a little more curves or brightness) as long as it doesn’t ruin the colors and won’t make the grain too visible.
Now as promised, here are the PSDs I made for this tutorial! Please don’t claim them as your own and feel free to tag me (#useraaya) if you make anything with them so I can check it out :)
[ clarke ] [ lexa ] [ octavia ]
[ murphy & raven ] [ bellamy ]
I hope this helps! Don’t hesitate to message me on my main blog if you have any questions. <3
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lily liveblogs “terminator: dark fate”, part one
In which I write two thousand words about the first two minutes, which is why it takes me four hours to watch a two-hour film.
The DVD says R rated for "Violence throughout". God I hope so.
3 dvd trailers just to get to the menu. thank goodness for fast forward. You can't skip them entirely, but you can skip to two seconds before they're over.
Also I can't help but note that one of the trailers is for Gemini Man, a movie about old!Will Smith battling a digitally de-aged!Will Smih, and I cannot help but admire the irony given how de-aginging software will be used in the film I am trying to see. Another trailer is for the Top Gun sequel. More irony.
the dvd menu is just the first thirty seconds of the theme with random movie clips, which just cuts out as soon as it gets good. not a fan.
grainy video footage of Sarah Connor from T2 with her v/o recounting her vision of nuclear holocaust to Silbermann AS THE COMPANY LOGOS FLASH ON SCREEN, this is (probably) not meant to be symbolic of the destructive influence of capitalism BUT OH MY GOD THE IRONY
Ocean waves on a beach, exposing a human skull. Then slow zoom out to reveal more bones. Old!Sarah narrates the story for those of us just tuning in. Terminators rising from the ocean while HK planes hover above. They see a little girl hiding beside a downed helicopter and aim at her--
--cut to the same (?) beach in Guatemala, 1998. Old!Sarah says "That future never happened because I stopped it," and we see her sitting by the beach in a bar, watching teenage John chat up a girl.
The CGI looks good here. John's face is fuzzy and at a distance, but it works in context, and t2-era!Sarah looks great. I wouldn't guess it was CGI if I didn't know it was CGI here. And this, my friends, is the future of filmmaking right here, and I have a lot of thoughts and feels about it, but that's a rant for another time. Let's just say that it's HIGHLY IRONIC that the people who basically invented Photoshop so they could make T2 are using this face-altering business on real actors, making them effectively shapeshifters just like the Terminators in this franchise. (Iirc, in T2, the CGI was used mainly for the shifting BETWEEN the faces of real actors--not on the actors themselves.)
And then young(er)!Arnold strolls in as John turns, and you can SEE him freeze as he RECOGNIZES the T-800, but doesn't have time to react--and the T-800 fires.
Sarah pulls a gun out of her pants and fires straight into his back. If she'd been facing in the other direction, she would have seen the T-800 and started firing right away, but she didn't. And I bet the T-800 deliberately set it up that way because he knew--whether Skynet told him or not--that Sarah was a threat.
She tries to grab the gun away from the T800 and it doesn't work. He pulls her head back and tosses her away. He could have killed her, but he doesn't. I don't know why. (PLOT!) Maybe because it's not his mission. Anyway, Sarah is like three feet away from her son, down on the ground, as he's shot in front of her. It's her worst nightmare come true, just when she thought everything was okay.
The scan from the T-800's perspective as he registers TARGET TERMINATED is pretty cool. And then he drops the gun and walks away, and Sarah is left with the dead body of her son.
"I saved three billion lives," Old!Sarah says, "but I couldn't save my son. A machine took him from me, and I was terminated."
WHAM.
CUT TO OPENING TITLE AND THEME.
Okay, so this is a controversial opening, and a lot of people hated it, but I am personally okay with it. Partially, it's because I am not emotionally attached to John Connor the same way I am attached to Sarah, or even Kyle. John Connor may be the savior of humanity in the Terminator mythos up until now, but he's also a macguffin in T1 (and arguably in T2 as well). He's not an independent agent, and his actions/decisions don't drive the plot in the same way that Sarah's do. John's story after a certain point in any timeline is very difficult to write well. Case in point: movies that are ostensibly about John Connor--T3 and Terminator: Salvation--are also the ones that "everybody" thinks are terrible, and Sarah is not present. I don’t think this is a coincidence.
People SAY they want a John Connor-centered movie, and maybe it's possible to do a better job that T3/Salvation/etc, but I think it would be very challenging--and I don't think it would be a Terminator movie at all. It would be a sci-fi action/horror featuring humanity vs. intelligent killer robots, but that's a different beast from a Terminator film--which is very much a commentary on contemporary human/machine interactions and therefore NEEDS an oblivious society as backdrop for its metaphors to work. A war movie in which the Terminators are no longer secret is... not as effective.
But anyway, put yourself in the writers' shoes and imagine you want to make another Terminator movie after T2. You want Sarah Connor to be in it. What do you do to make it new and different, while still working within the established formula? More to the point--remembering the unofficial motto of this franchise, after all--what do you do to make Sarah Connor suffer?
And the answer is exactly what the filmmakers did: they took away her son. They took away the REASON she was originally targeted for termination, the REASON her life was turned upside down, the REASON everybody she ever loved was murdered by killer robots from the future. They took away everything she'd worked for, and turned it to dust in an instant. And, you know, they killed YET ANOTHER PERSON she loved. Her last connection to Kyle, even.
(ngl, if I'd been writing this movie, I would have done the exact same thing FOR EXACTLY THOSE REASONS)
Also, can I just take a moment to point out how RARE it is that a male character dies to further a female character's story arc? This happens ALL THE GODDAMN TIME with male heroes and their wives/girlfriends/family members no one bats an eye, but kill off John Connor and suddenly everybody is pissed. I can't help but notice the double standard here.
Look, I know what it's like when someone kills off your favorite character. Really, I do. It sucks. It sucks a lot. (See: Avengers: Endgame and the Star Wars sequel trilogy.) But at the same time, I can't help but notice that a great deal of the people upset about John Connor's death are cishet white males--in many cases, the same people who in other contexts are fine with somebody (usually a woman) dying to "raise the stakes" and make the story "personal" and "dramatic" or even "realistic".
There are a lot of people who gushed about The Last Jedi, calling it "subversive" and "brilliant" specifically for upending everything we knew about Luke and "making our old heroes fallible" (and therefore human). In the case of The Last Jedi, I can't help but notice that Luke's character--and Han and Leia's and everybody else in the movie--is shafted in favor of Kylo Ren, who is depicted as an attractive cishet white dude. I suspect this is not a coincidence.
I'm curious how much overlap there is between those who HATED Terminator: Dark Fate for killing off John, and those who LOVED TLJ, which has a similarly bleak premise and “subversion” of previous story beats. I wonder if the difference between the two films is that it doesn't matter to a lot of cishet white dudes how screwed up everything else gets as long as the character they personally identify with the most/view as "the hero"--Kylo Ren--triumphs.
As far as I can tell, the attitude for some fans is that it’s fine if Sarah Connor suffers, but John is sacred and inviolate. He cannot be touched. He is essential, the lynchpin of the franchise, the one character who makes a Terminator movie work, the one around whom everything revolves. Without him, everything is pointless.
And I wonder if this is the same group who personally identifies with John--one, because they grew up with him, but two, because they look like him. I suspect a lot of people latched on to the idea of John Connor as the savior, because it meant--on some level--that THEY could also be the savior. And they are mad at having that character--and that promise--snatched away from them, and re-invest that energy in anyone else, let alone someone who looks different from them.
(AKA "It's all 'subverting expectations' and 'brilliance' until it's your self-insert/favorite character getting shafted," and then it gets ugly.)
Also, I note that John's death isn't heroic AT ALL. He dies in the exact same way the Terminator in T1 kills the other Sarah Connors. It's quick, efficient, and over in seconds. I suspect this hurts people more than if he'd died some other way. In a way, this scene is probably one of the most "realistic" in the entire movie. But I'm not sure people want "realism" in their movies, no matter how much they say they do.
(and does it say something about audience priorities that this kid getting shot at point-blank range is more upsetting and controversial than ALL OF THE OTHER DEATHS in this movie combined? Like, yes, I know context matters, everybody else who dies in this movie is an adult (I think?), and we have a lot emotionally invested in John from previous movies, but... I mean, yes, I know, the background characters weren't framed as the saviors of humanity, but does that mean they don't also deserve empathy and respect and grief from us? And I can’t help but note that real-life children getting shot in a similar fashion doesn’t seem to engender the same amount of strong feelings on a massive scale, at least in the US.)
Anyway, Sarah fails. Terribly. Irrevocably. In the only way that matters. She fails, and her son dies, and she falls right back down in the abyss she thought she'd managed to crawl out of. And I think that is also hard for a lot of people to watch, because we're so used to seeing her WIN through sheer grit, determination, and stubborness. We assumed she always would. But she can’t, not if there’s going to be another movie...
(another other implication of Sarah's short-lived combat with the T-800 is that it doesn't matter how much of a badass she is, NO 100% HUMAN BEING can go head-to-head with a Terminator directly and WIN. If Sarah Connor can't do it, NOBODY ELSE COULD HAVE DONE IT BETTER THAN SHE DID.)
(and also there's the realization that if Sarah hadn't destroyed the reprogrammed Terminator at the end of T2--the only being who COULD have saved John in that moment--her son might still be alive. That's gotta hurt.)
Anyway, we're two minutes in and I find this plot twist more compelling than 90% of the entire Star Wars sequel trilogy, and 100% more consistent in terms of previously established character arcs. Obvs. ymmv, but I think it goes back to the franchise's horror roots, where everybody except Sarah dies, and it also shows very clearly that we are entering a Very Dark Timeline as we shift to the title card.
I'm honestly impressed the writers had the chutzpah to go through with this and REALLY kill John for good. Though I also see why they didn't advertise it in the trailers....
Before I move on, I want to repeat what Sarah said at the end of this scene, because it’s so gut-wrenching for me: “A machine took him from me, and I was terminated."
I emphasize that last clause because this is how Sarah sees it. It’s not just John who died that day--she believes that SHE did, too. Ever since she was 19 years old, Sarah Connor’s life has been defined as “John Connor’s mother” and she’s built up her whole identity around keeping him alive no matter what. Now John is dead, and she... cannot be that person any more. So who, then, is she?
For better or worse, Sarah Connor is now a free agent. She is liberated both from her role in the future as the mythic mother figure, and any lingering obligations she has to patriarchy. From now on, there is no fate (for her, if not humanity) but what she makes for herself. It’s an awful, ironic twist, and I think it was a valid choice for the franchise to make. As long as John Connor is alive, everybody else will always be in his shadow--up to, and including, Sarah.
Without him, we’re in new territory. Which will look a lot like the old territory because humans are sadly predictable, but different all the same.
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The Shortcut Home ch. 8
Chapter 7
Alya almost missed the dark wooden box on her bedside table when she got home. Her breath hitched when she recognized it. She picked it up and sat on the bed, fingers tracing the edges reverently. Why do they need Rena Rouge again after four years? Why isn’t Ladybug here to deliver the miraculous herself? Why leave it waiting for me? Do I get to keep it permanently this time?
She opened the lid. Instead of the orange glow she was once accustomed to, a pink ball of light flashed in front of her and flew around her head. A rose-colored kwami emerged as the light faded and opened a pair of eyes like blue marbles.
“What’s going on? Where’s Trixx? Who are you?”
Instead of the fox kwami’s throaty, sandpaper voice, this one spoke at a pitch only jingle bells had any right to achieve. “Hello, Alya. I’m Tikki. Ladybug needs you again but this time not as Rena Rouge.”
“Not Rena Rouge? Then what…” Alya trailed off as she looked into the box that had a pair of red and black spotted studs inside. “Are those...no…”
“Yes. Ladybug needs you to stand in as Ladybug.”
“But why? What happened to her?”
“She’s fine, trust me. She just needs to take a leave of absence from being a superhero. Ladybug is trusting you to take her place until she can return.”
“Whoa…” Alya gazed at the earrings. She could hardly believe it. “This is a dream, right?”
Tikki sighed sadly. “No, it’s not.”
“Hey,” Alya cupped her hands underneath the kwami, and she sank down to perch in her hold. “I promise I won’t let her down. I know you miss the real Ladybug, but I’ll do my best, okay?”
“I’m confident in you, Alya. Trixx has only the best things to say about you! And so does M - Ladybug!”
Alya twitched an eyebrow. “Why, Tikki, did you almost spill Ladybug’s identity?”
She puffed up with pride. “I am physically incapable of doing such a thing.”
“Really?”
“Watch.” Tikki started talking and bubbles immediately poured from her tiny mouth. “Same thing would happen if Trixx or I tried to say your name to someone.”
“That’s one hell of a magical insurance policy. Tikki, can you at least tell me why Ladybug needs me to fill in?”
“She trusts you, Alya. You have to trust her, too.”
Alya gingerly took the earrings out of their box. In her hand, the pattern morphed into a pair of beautiful gold discs. She put them into her ears. “I love gold jewelry.”
Tikki giggled. “It suits you.”
--
The weird jelly the ultrasound tech spread across Marinette’s abdomen was cold. She hissed and Adrien squeezed her hand. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah it’s just chilly.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for the first appointment.”
“You’ve apologized a thousand times already, it’s fine. You had to work.”
“I’m just nervous.”
“Don’t worry about her, darling,” the tech told him. “I’ve done this countless times. Aaaaand… here’s your baby.”
A steady thumping sound filled the room; the baby’s heartbeat. On the grainy screen Marientte could make out the shape of a tiny infant. It looked more human than her last appointment. She heard Adrien’s breath hitch beside her.
“So you can see the head here,” the technician pointed at the large circle that was about the same size as the rest of the body. “If you look closely there’s the nose right here. And here,” she traced a white arc on the screen, “the spine is developing.”
“Wow,” Marinette breathed. Her eyes prickled, vision swimming, and she wiped at the tears so she could still see her baby. The image spastically showed them wiggling around.
“I’ll print out some images. I can also give you the full recording, if you’d like.”
“Yes, yes, absolutely yes!” Marinette told her.
“All right, everything looks good.” The tech removed the wand from Marinette’s skin and gave her some paper towels to wipe off the gel. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Marinette turned to Adrien once they were alone. He looked dumbstruck, still staring at the black screen. “Adrien?” She cupped his cheek.
He opened his mouth but no words came out. He just looked at her with sparkling, happy eyes and she grinned at him. “I know. Me too.”
As he clasped her hand with both of his and kissed her fingers, she pictured him kissing their baby’s forehead like that. Cradling them in his arms with that speechless joy on his face. Walking into the living room to see him asleep on the couch with their baby asleep on his chest. Adrien flying a spoonful of goopy baby food into their mouth while making silly airplane noises. Getting jostled awake because he’d shot out of bed in the middle of the night to comfort his crying child.
Marinette could picture it all; warm fantasies of a life she hadn’t dared imagine since she was fourteen years old.
How could a heart so full hurt so much?
She’d come close to telling him her greatest secret so many times in the past couple days. She wanted him to know. But when she finally admitted it, she’d be taking a huge leap of faith, and she couldn’t seem to push herself past balancing on the precipice. She would lean forward, about to jump, and seize up with terror, throat closed and breath punched from her lungs. Marinette felt paralyzed from the fear that Adrien would never trust her again.
--
Alya’s costume looked different from Ladybug’s. There was still a yoyo slung around her waist. The bodice sported the same pattern of red with black spots. The biggest difference she could see in front of her mirror was her mask was solid red and her suit was completely black at her hands, feet, shins, and forearms, imitating skin-tight boots and gloves. It reminded her oddly of her Rena Rouge outfit, minus the coattails. Her hair had darkened to a deep blackish auburn and was done in a low ponytail.
She hoped Chat Noir knew she was coming to patrol tonight and not the regular ladybug. Otherwise this was going to be an awkward conversation.
Rena Rouge was used to jumping from building to building. Swinging from a yoyo was an entirely different experience, wilder and just as exhilarating. She found Chat Noir waiting at the top of the Eiffel Tower. He was perched on one of the railings.
He gave her a smirk that dripped with bravado. “‘Evening, Rena Rouge. Red looks good on you.”
Alya slung the yoyo back around her hips, relieved. “So you know why I’m here?”
“Because Ladybug needs a little medical leave and she trusts you to take up the mantle for a while.”
“Medical?” Tikki hadn’t said anything about that. “Is something wrong?”
Chat Noir bit his lip then swung off the rail. “She’s okay. But if your kwami didn’t go into more detail then I must also respect my lady’s wishes.”
She chuckled. “Loyalty. I like it. What does that make me?”
“Hmmm. I suppose you do need your own name in the meantime. How about Ladybird?”
“I’m down with that. Shall we, Chat Noir?”
“We shall.”
--
After his photoshoot, someone knocked on the door of Adrien’s trailer. He threw on his jacket. “Come in.”
Marinette came in and closed the door behind her. She looked beautiful in a dark green dress with rose accents. She was starting to really show, at least if you knew to look for it. His heart leapt in his throat; it’d been doing that a lot lately, when he saw her, like his best-kept secret was trying to escape and reach her. Adrien kept waiting for the right moment to let the words loose - I’m Chat Noir - but they’ve yet to leave his lips.
Instead, he smiled at her. “Hey, Marinette. The shoot just ended, do you want to go get dinner?”
“No. Well, yes, I’m a bit hungry, but that’s not why I’m here. I need to talk to you first. Privately.” She was fidgeting a lot. Shifting her weight, playing with her hair, chewing her lip. Something was making her nervous.
“What is it?”
Marinette walked closer to him. “Well, I’ve been thinking about this a lot and there’s something I should tell you.”
“You’re not going to tell me you’re pregnant, are you?” Adrien asked dryly.
The joke had the desired effect. She laughed her cute, surprised laugh that he loved hearing. She put a hand against her belly. “No, but it’s something just as big, just as important. I...I’m…”
Marinette trailed off, staring at him. She was one of the few people Adrien could make eye contact with easily. Instead of intimidating, her dark blue irises were oddly comforting.
And familiar.
He may not have the best track record reading people’s faces, but Marinette was very expressive, and he’d known her for over a decade. He could swear he saw the exact same apprehension in her eyes that he felt lodged in his throat. Like they were gearing up to do the same thing.
Adrien took in her cerulean eyes and her midnight hair. He looked down at her growing baby bump then at her missing round earrings - the ones she seemed to never take off until a couple days ago.
“Yeah?” he prompted her.
“I...think we should seriously consider what your dad said about getting married.” Her words flooded out of her in a rush.
He breathed out a sigh. He was just being paranoid. Women in their twenties got pregnant and changed earrings all the time; this was hardly a damning coincidence. And Miraculous holders’ hair changed when they transformed, so any similarities on a civilian meant little. Of course that’s not what she wanted to tell him, what were the odds they were both…
Marinette’s words finally sunk in. “Wait, what? You agree with him?”
“Not exactly. I probably shouldn’t have led with that.”
“A wedding is his way of controlling me, and by extension, you.”
“I know. But also...um, come on.” She sat down in one of the puffy blue chairs in his trailer and gestured for him to take the other one. Yeah, sitting’s probably a good idea right now.
“I won’t say your dad wasn’t inconsiderate on the phone. But you said before said he was being protective. It got kind of overshadowed by the job offer thing, but when he called he was, for lack of a better word, imploring me. I think he’s really worried. And I’ve started to think, for once, it’s for good reason..”
Adrien was not prepared for this conversation. “What did he say to you?”
“He made some valid points. Like it or not, you’re famous, Adrien. I want our family to be as drama-free as possible and the press will have a field day with an unplanned pregnancy.”
“The press is archaic.”
“Exactly. They’ll call us horrible names and judge us both and threaten to take our baby away. I don’t think I could handle seeing words like – like slut or deadbeat or illegitimate in the tabloids.”
“Or bastard,” he murmured.
“Hm?”
“When I told Chloe about the baby she called them a ‘bastard.’ A mistake. Those were the exact words she used and god, I’ve never been so furious in my life. I just couldn’t believe she would go there. But marriage is a big, personal decision, Marinette. Is fear a good enough reason to get married?”
Marinette’s breath hitched. Would that girl ever not haunt her? “Uh - um. M-more like safety is a good reason?”
“You don’t sound certain. Also remember it’s still giving into my father. He’s trying to take charge of our lives.”
“I won’t let him.”
Adrien raised an eyebrow at her.
“Really. I met with him yesterday and turned down the job.”
“Marinette - ”
“Wait, just listen. I negotiated with him.”
He chuckled. “Of course you did.”
“Your dad thought I was foolish for turning down a secure position in my field of interest. So I told him there was another way to ensure my job security for the sake of his grandkid.” Marinette sat up straight and flushed with pride. “He’s agreed to help finance and promote my own boutique.”
Adrien gasped. “Oh my god, that’s incredible, Marinette!” On impulse he swooped in, picked her up by the waist, and spun her around. Her musical laugh flooded him with warmth.
When he put her down, he was well-aware he was grinning like an idiot. This girl negotiated with Gabriel “my word is law” Agreste. How was he so lucky to have someone so clever in his life? He never wanted her to leave.
“I know we’re not together,” Marinette said softly. “But we’re close friends. We’re having a baby. Would…we could…it’s not like we couldn’t handle living together.”
“Do you really want that? If we got married, you’d be stuck with me.”
“You’re already stuck with me,” Marinette said while pointedly running a palm over her belly.
“What if you fall in love with another man?”
On his part, Adrien had trouble picturing herself with anyone at all. His future revolved around his baby now, so naturally it revolved around Marinette, too. She was family.
“Think of it this way. The pros of getting married: we live together, which makes taking care of the baby more convenient, as well as…” God, she’s cute when she blushes. “The public tones down the judgement and we get to have a big party in our honor. Which I’ll bet anything your dad will offer to pay for. We already get along very well so I think we’ll handle day-to-day logistics just fine. Cons: potential boyfriends and girlfriends down the road get problematic. That’s a big if. I don’t know about you but I’m not looking for a new relationship. If it comes up, we cross that bridge when we get to it.”
Adrien didn’t expect the pang in his stomach when she said she wasn’t looking for a relationship. Also, the idea of marrying this smart, vibrant woman – getting to be in her everyday life – quickly became something he didn’t think he could say no to if he wanted.
Apparently she wasn’t done talking. “I get that it feels like your dad’s controlling us. If we were strangers or something then I’d say absolutely not. But with us...it’s not how I pictured getting married, but I couldn’t ask for anyone better.”
It hit Adrien in the stomach how badly he wanted that. A family with Marinette, a future with Marinette. Waking up next to her every morning, cooking breakfast for her, watching her sketch and sew her designs, going on walks with their baby, holding her at night.
“Then let’s do this,” he agreed. “Let’s get married.”
He felt like the most selfish person in Paris.
Chapter 9
Ko-fi
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Imagine #9
*Science student|reader*
*Biology Professor tc*
The minivan rattled against the grainy road of the desert; the air conditioner barely covered all eight passengers who had been sitting in their spot for more than five hours. Tc/n was finishing his report, scribbling down on his clipboard and making sure that everything was set once they reach the site. “How long ‘til we get there?” asked a student that sat way at the back with his friends, the driver -who was also a Professor- replied to the whining young adult “We’ll be there in two hours.” There was a symphony of groan across the van which caused tc/n to smirk. A head then suddenly laid itself on his shoulder, he glanced at the young woman who had fallen asleep beside him, feeling bad for the tired girl he let her sleep on his shoulder.
The van slowed to a halt outside a fish ‘n chips shop in a small town, “Alright! Fifteen minutes break, go to the toilets, buy food, or whatever, just meet back here at two-thirty.” The driver-Professor instructed, and no sooner had he finished talking when half the van had already left to go to either convenience store or fish ‘n chips shop. You wake up having felt the van stop, you looked around confused as to why you were in a town and the van was empty “we’re having a stretch, fifteen minutes” tc/n informed the groggy student. “Oh ok, then I’ll go buy some food, do you want anything?” you asked whilst you search your bag for your wallet.
“Yeah, can you grab me a snack and coffee? I’ll pay you back.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, just give me bonus marks at the assessment” you joked, tc/n rolled his eyes but gave a low chuckle.
At the cafe you noticed a couple of your group members were having coffee as if they weren’t on a field trip. You head over to the front counter and ordered two medium cappuccinos, two water bottles, a fresh healthy wrap for him and a small box of macarons for yourself, you grab a couple packets of sugar and tissues. After about three minutes your order was completed, you grab your meal and hurried back to the van where you see the door opened and tc/n sitting with his legs up and across the seat. He looked up and noticed you “Hey, you’re back early” he sets down his leg and helped you up, once in the van you passed him his cappuccino, bottle of water, and wrap. He eyed his meal like a predator on their prey, “you’re drooling” you teased as you take a bite out of a pink strawberry macaron. Tc/n took a bite out of his meal and moaned with closed eyes “Mm~ Delicious!” he takes a single packet of sugar and mixed it with his cappuccino. You took three packets of sugar and poured it into your drink “That’s a lot of sugar.”
“I have a sweet tooth” you explained somewhat embarrassed of not being able to drink the bitter beverage as it is. “That’s cute” he commented as he took another bite out of his meal. For the remaining time the two of you eat in silence, a cool breeze cooled the two of you from the desert heat. Eventually the crew returned to the van and everyone managed to get to the campsite ahead of schedule.
After a long day of orientation and setting up in your cabins you were finally allowed some down time. The campsite was a large land with trailers that make up the building and shelters of the site, a campfire brewed at the centre, though everyone was getting drunk at the recreation hall. You head over to the campfire to warm yourself from the cold desert night, “Good evening doctor.” You greet the h/c haired man who was adding sticks and tinder to the burning pile, “good evening y/n, glad at least one student’s virtuous.” You took a seat across him and watched him across the orange flames, he looked absent-mindedly at the core of the fire as he poked it. Then your eyes met his piercing e/c eyes “what are you listening to?” he gestured towards your visible white earphones.
“Trash music.”
“Come on now, I don’t think your music taste is that bad.” You take off the earphone plug from your phone and turned up the music, the crackling of the fire muffled the music at his side, tc/n stood up and made his way next to you and had a listen. “Backstreet Boys? Really? But they’re so old!” he teased, you feel heat rise to your face as he mocked you, you gave him a playful nudge. “Sometimes I wish I could~” he began to sing along “turn back time. Impossible as it may seems.” You joined him in singing the song, the song that defined your feelings for him.
“Hang on, turn that down.” He slowly stood up his eyes stared at something a mere distance away, he left you as he went and picked something off the ground near one of the trailers, he stood back up and went towards you, his hands cupped in front of him as if he was carrying water with his bare hands. When he sat back down you notice there was a cute small mouse on the palm of his hand. “It’s a fat-tailed Dunnart, looking at it what can you tell me about how it has adapted to living in the desert.” You gently caress the soft back of the marsupial, you mention how it’s dark fur help it hide in the dark, you assumed that the small mammal was nocturnal, you talk about its small size, eyes, whiskers, tail, and snout.
“Very good! Now we’ll just let this little guy scurry off before we kill him.” He returned the Dunnart to where he found it before returning to his seat next to you. You spend the rest of the night talking about yourselves, what you planned to do when you graduate, all those stuffs. When you went back to your cabin late past midnight, your heart still danced around in your chest, your mind replayed the day over and over again, something tells you that you weren’t going get much sleep.
I might make a second part of this story, probably make it smut to practice, maybe.
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Rumbelle fic: A Sitting Deal
A Sitting Deal 4/6
A03 Link
Rating: T+
Summary: With the threat of a rent increase being held over her head, Lacey E. French makes a deal with Mr. Gold to babysit his three-year-old son. Soon however the town troublemaker finds herself getting close to her landlord and son…which just can’t be good!
Note: for my Rumbelle Secret Santa recipient…@of-princes-and-savages, based off the prompt: Hey, who’s kid is this
Lacey was positively pissed when she woke up on time the next morning. She had hoped she would have slept in late and Gold would give up on her.
Yet Lacey found herself trudging to Gold’s house, her hair unwashed, her clothes unfitting. She shot dirty looks at passersby and hoped Gold would tell her to scram when she rung the doorbell.
He didn’t.
“Do come in,” he insisted as he held the door open.
Lacey groaned as she obeyed, noticing with a snort that the expansive mess she and Bae had caused yesterday had been cleared away.
She followed Gold into the kitchen where Baelfire was munching on dry cereal. His eyes widened when he saw her.
“Bwasy!” he sang, holding his pudgy arms out to her.
Both Lacey and Gold stopped in their tracks.
“I…I thought you said he couldn’t speak yet.”
“He can’t…” Gold breathed, the corner of his mouth twitching in an almost proud smile.
“Well then…congrats?” Lacey shrugged, trying to wrap her head around the idea that a kid she hadn’t known for a full twenty-four hours would waste his first word on her.
Gold nodded with a hum and began cleaning his son off.
“I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” he said suddenly.
Lacey blinked. No one ever apologized to her.
“As you should,” she stated, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint what he was apologizing for.
“I shouldn’t have pried the way I did,” Gold said. “Your business and decisions are your own, and I have no right to weigh in on them.”
“Ah,” Lacey said, nodding, but felt empty. Though what he said had stung, it had felt nice to have someone see her potential and remind her of it.
Now he wouldn’t bring it up again. He didn’t care.
“But I stand by what I said,” he added. “You can do something amazing with your life.”
Lacey shrugged, desperate to shrug off the mixed feelings Gold was making her feel.
“And I also thought of what you said,” Gold added, bringing Lacey back to present.
“Oh?” she pressed.
“I have been rather rigorous with Bae’s schedule,” he said as he unlatched Bae from his chair. “If you’re willing, I’d like you to take him to the park for a few hours after lunch, long enough for him to tire himself for his nap.”
Lacey choked a bit. He’d actually listened to her.
“Um, yeah of cou—” she gasped when Baelfire suddenly ran into her leg, just as he had at the bar. She met his little pools of chocolate as he met her blue ones.
“Bwasy!” His little hands stretched up her leg, like a kitten still learning the ways of the world.
Lacey twitched at the knowledge of what he wanted.
Gold sensed her hesitation and came up behind Bae to lift him up.
“Hold out your arms,” he instructed. “Now place one under his bottom…yes that’s it. Now the other around his shoulders.”
Lacey obeyed, her heart pounding as this tiny creature nestled himself in her arms, wrapping those pudgy, softer-than-silk arms around her neck.
She could smell cereal on his breath and count every eyelash he had.
“Bwasy,” he said again.
“Yeah.” Lacey swallowed. What the hell was she feeling?
Gold chuckled knowingly and placed his hand on Lacey’s to guide it to the center of Bae’s back.
He stopped when Lacey’s eyes shot up to his.
And could only stare.
Lacey French was trouble in human form. She stayed out too late and drank too much and had not held down a functional job until now. Yet with his little boy in her arms, there was this strange and beautiful vulnerability to her. And though there was panic in her eyes, her posture was poised, professional almost.
He swallowed.
And Lacey looked away, swerving to sit Bae on top of the counter.
“So uh…you’ll be back by five?”
Gold blinked. Right.
“Yes, I’ll call you if anything changes,” he said, straightening his lapels and falling back into his overly professional persona. “Good day.”
“Same to you.”
“Make sure he at least does his phonics cards.”
“Uh huh,” Lacey nodded as she willed the aggravating blush on her cheeks to fade. She listened as the tell-all sound of the door closure signaled his departure.
With a groan she collapsed against the counter. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” She recalled that she was in the presence of a post-toddler and glanced at him, the smirking boy staring at her like she was a god.
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Lacey decided to take their lunch with them to the park. Bae had been strangely clingy to her most of the morning to the point where even actual educational television wouldn’t distract him.
She wasn’t angry, or even frustrated with is new-found likeness for her. It was just so odd to have a tiny person actively seek her out. Lacey had sworn since early tweenhood that she would never have children or anything to do with them.
She scoffed at the irony as she loaded Bae and a bag of supplies onto a stroller she had found in a closet.
“Belle would shit her pants if she could see me now,” she said out loud, then chastised herself for conversing with a three-year-old.
As they reached the park entrance Bae began to get antsy, excited for familiar surroundings.
Lacey released him and laughed as he made a stumbling tumble to the sand box.
“Dork!” she called after him. Lugging the stroller to the nearest bench. “And don’t get kidnapped!”
“Lacey?”
The woman in question looked up and struggled to recall the tired blonde in front of her who was pushing a little girl only a year or so older than Bae.
“Um…hi?” Lacey greeted uneasily, glancing on and off at Bae just in case this was part of a kidnapping plan.
The woman laughed wetly and took the space on the bench. “You haven’t changed a bit. You still look exactly as you did in high school.”
That one word filled Lacey’s mind with memories of a time so long ago. Chaotic lunches with her friends. Unwarranted fights with her frustrated teachers. Sideways smiles at her sister as they parted ways down the hall.
And then Ashley Boyd. The trailer park queen who thought she was the next Paris Hilton.
Lacey had been snarky, but Ashley had been downright cruel. Belle had coached her sister how to stand her ground against the blonde tyrant, but it did little to settle her into humbleness.
That is until the day her father dropped a stepmother and two stepsisters on her. She was no longer daddy’s little girl and her new sisters made her life at school an absolute nightmare.
She only seemed to spiral further when she fell pregnant and left just before graduation season. The queen was finally dethroned and the rest of Storybrooke High’s year was much quieter for it.
However, Lacey would give her credit where it was due. Becoming a young mother strengthened her. She took some night classes while she was pregnant and soon began running the local daycare.
She’d made something of her life, which filled Lacey with a grainy bitterness.
“It’s good to see you,” Lacey said half-truthfully.
“You too,” Ashley returned with a warped smile. She released her daughter from the confinement of her stroller and sat back as she ran to join Baelfire in the sandbox.
“Well look at him,” Ashley mused. “He’s absolutely adorable.”
“He’s not mine,” Lacey pointed out quickly.
“Oh, I know who’s he is,” Ashely concluded.
Lacey glanced at Bae and then back at Boyd, her stomach turning when she saw the darkness in her eyes. She had the sudden urge to snatch up Bae and run, but Lacey French ran from no one, especially not ex-bullies.
“Is that supposed to mean something?” Lacey growled, locking eyes with Ashley when she shot back around.
She shrugged so casually Lacey wanted to wrap her hands around her throat.
“Mr. Gold wanted to enroll him in my daycare,” Ashely said, her voice chirpy like she was talking about a recent vacation. “I told him not a chance in hell.”
Lacey wrinkled her nose and looked at Bae as he filled a discarded bucket with sand. Though her experience with children was slim to none, she could confidently say Bae was the most well-behaved toddler in existence.
“Why?” Lacey pressed. “It’s not like he couldn’t have paid the fees or anything.”
“I have the trust of every yoga and soccer mom in Storybrooke,” Ashley relayed. “If I let Gold or his sprawn anywhere near their children, I’d lose that trust without a second thought.”
Lacey flinched, gripping the underside of the bench for dear life. “Bae’s three. Whatever beef you have with Gold shouldn’t interfere with you giving him the same respect you give any other brat in this town.”
“I don’t expect you to understand because you’re not a parent,” Ashely said. “But those who associate with that man sink, and they don’t even have time to hold their breaths.”
Lacey rolled her eyes. “Why the hell are you bothering me?”
“Consider this a warning from someone who almost ended up just like you,” Ashley said, her smirk triumpth. “Gold is toxic, and no matter what you do his kid is going to end up just like him,”
“You’re wrong,” Lacey fought, losing her temper fast. “Gold might be a dick, but he cares about his kid,”
“Don’t let the paycheck blind you,” Ashely scoffed. “He’s a snake, and he will ruin your life if you keep your distance,”
Lacey jumped up, twirling her fingers in her belt loops. “Well, Ashely,” Lacey breathed, biting her inner cheek. “I’m more than capable of ruining my own life, so being around Gold will hardly give me damage points.” She turned towards the sandbox and whistled, earning Bae’s attention.
“Come on kiddo,” she called out, her breath catching when Bae emerged from the sand and came toddling after her, his tiny legs barely carrying him.
She picked him up, and for once the motion of swinging him onto her hip was second nature.
“The next time you want to strike up a conversation,” Lacey growled at Ashley. “Stick to the weather.”
She grumbled fantasies of taking Ashley’s face through a meat grinder as she hazardously pushed Bae in his stroller. When she glanced down she found the boy to be otherwise unfazed.
Why did she feel so strange around this little boy? Why did she suddenly feel this need to hold him, and protect him from bitches like Ashley Boyd?
Lacey scoffed in denial as she lugged Bae’s stroller up the stairs, jumbling her curses so that he wouldn’t catch on.
This was just part of the job. She was protective of her ward because she was getting paid to, nothing more.
She nodded at this thought comfortably as she undid Bae from the stroller. But the second he was free, he launched himself into her arms.
“Bwasy!” he cheered, nuzzling his face into her bosom.
“Geez kid,” Lacey groaned pushing him away just enough to give them some space. “I’m having a crisis here!”
Bae laughed gleefully, his tiny baby teeth gleaming.
“Oh come on.” She groaned. How was he so damn cute?
The boy babbled has he reached out a hand to paw at her cheek, his soft fingers pressing into her smooth cheekbone.
Lacey followed his hand as it wondered over her face. What was he trying to do? Was this something all kids did? Was he feeling her out to suffocate her later?
His fingers made a dangerous path over her mouth and Lacey took hold of his hand before they could venture past her lips.
She glared at him, hoping to deter his strange toddler affection. No one liked her except drunk slobs. Kids were supposed to avoid her at all cost.
Yet this one was staring at her like she had just given him the moon, and she hadn’t even given him lunch yet!
“Kid…” Lacey sighed, looking at the tiny hand clutched in her own.
“Bwasy.” Bae responded.
Lacey’s throat tightened. He was too cute, too good for Storybrooke and all his its self-righteous heathens.
She laughed tightly. “Damn it kid,” she chocked as she brought the tiny fingers to her lips.
“Miss French?”
With a horrified gasp she dropped Bae’s hand, turning to find Gold at the kitchen entryway, staring at her like a ghost just walked through his door.
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Endgame Thoughts
TL;DR: It’s the end of an era and a very good film.
Emotinal and tipsy thoughts after the cut
When I was in college in 07 I saw a bootleg video from the preview reel from the Iron Man panel at SDCC. It was dark and grainy but it looked promising and fun. In 2008 the big superhero movie was The Dark Knight, like it was the movie of the summer that I was excited for, I followed the Alternate reality game that they had closely and to this day, I still have a copy of the trailer on my computer somewhere. I thought it was going to be the next big thing in superhero movies, taking it to the next level and into mainstream acceptance. While The Dark Knight is amazing in its own right and groundbreaking, it turns that in the long run, Iron Man did that, taking superhero movies to an unimaginable level never thought possible at the time. It was a movie where some were excited for, but not me as I had only a casual knowledge of the character mostly from the cartoon from the ’90s. It was a movie where the crew didn’t even bother to write a final script for it when they were filming. But in that, they planted a seed in the credits, an idea. The Avengers. Due to its success, they dropped another seed into the Hulk movie the same year, and soon Iron Man 2 dropped another seed. Pretty soon all those seeds grew into one of the biggest and best films of all time, The Avengers. I saw it at least 3 times if not more when it came out the summer I graduated. It was a great way to end a troubled college career and a great way to start off the first summer of my now adulthood. While there were some missteps, Captain America: The Winter Soldier still remains one of the best films that I have seen. Marvel films, now called the MCU kept getting better and it spread into tv with sideshows. Marvel was replicating an event comic-tie-in and their comic formula into film/tv, which is why it succeeded. Like they literally did that and used what they know for it. That’s it that’s their secrete Cap. Endgame is a beautiful, emotional, kickass, humorous, and amazing end to what is now my generation’s cultural milestone. I cannot get over the ending, despite so many amazing things in the whole movie. It was a celebration of all of the past now decade of Marvel Movies and the things that made them great. The focus on the core Avengers will bring back memories of fandom jokes, theories, and fan art to those who spent their youth on Tumblr and twitter. It respects the fans and uses them for the bases of really good jokes. I can’t help but think when I was watching the end, that not only I was watching the end of a very good film, but the end of an era in filmmaking and popular culture. The Marvel Cinematic Universe might be the very first shared media experience for a generation and Endgame is a fitting end and promise of a new, expanded and inclusive future. It renewed my goal to one day work on a film that I’m proud of and have a splinter of the cultural impact as any of the last 22 Marvel films have had
I will see it again.
Excelsior
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when Remembrance was little, when her parents were still there, they worried about her. of course every parent does, but this was different. this was brought on by a very specific situation, by a series of events that they felt were out of place. careful and concerned for their new child and their bright future in their new little family. why doesn’t she smile? why doesn’t she seem happy? why does she seem so.... different. is there something wrong? they were bounced from specialist to specialist and some terms and phrases were thrown around, but nothing was concrete. don’t worry, the specialists said. just give her time. she’ll learn. she’ll fit in.
ripped from the life of her little family young, too young to remember such experiences much at all, Remembrance found herself in a new life, with an even littler family. just her and Uncle Johnny. and his crew- and the lifestyle they all led. a life hardly meant for a young child and over populated by men and testosterone, a world which, when collided with women, emphasized sex and femininity and the hotness of the models in skimpy clothes and high heels on the race track looking for a driver to take her behind the grandstands, primping her hairsprayed helmet and hoping her lipgloss didn’t melt away in the heat. two clashing worlds Remembrance never connected to, sheltered away in her little world with Uncle Johnny and his crew.
Dana was short, but always smiling. she put her long hair in ponytails and had chipped nail polish on all the time. she smelled like sweat and stale perfume from hours before, and she always had a cheerful word, even when they lost. Freddi was tall and lean, and wore combat boots that it was always too hot for. her short hair was always messy and she lived in a pair of greasy coveralls. she was quiet, but not exactly stoic. she packed a punch you didn’t cross.
Bert was stocky, with grease-stained hands and a receding hairline despite behind just behind middle age. he always had mints in his pocket but no one ever wanted any. that never stopped him from offering them. Jeff was lanky and long-legged; long hair tucked behind both ears all the time and a cigarette dangling from his lips or fingers whenever he was at rest. surprisingly determined but always a little detached; it was he who stumbled across their prodigy, Jerry. a kid just out of high-school with freckles dotting his skin and little to no experience in the driver’s seat who wanted to get in on that hot racing action.
this ramshackle, rough-edged team. they are the people that Remembrance grew up around. she trusts them, and she learned a lot of what she knows about cars and car culture from them. in a way, they helped to raise her. she respects them- she feels (mostly) comfortable with them. and she can't say that about very much of anyone, so that is saying something about their connection.
the gritty 1960s played out like a film on a grainy camera. a wide eyed, serious faced little child with her hair kept short, if a little uneven, by Jeff’s mostly steady hand, who learned what she knew about ‘women’, even if she never felt like one, from Dana in a camper trailer on the racetrack and who rode on Jerry’s shoulders to grab hotdogs before Johnny ran down the blacktop in his latest ride. a dark-haired child who handed Gary the tools he asked for, memorizing their technical names, who sat in silence eating lunch with Freddi every other day and enjoyed it. who sat stiffly in Johnny’s lap in the evenings, not because she didn’t love him but because she didn’t know differently.
was it unconventional? of course. did she regard it fondly?... of course.
and then Johnny was gone. one accident gone bad, and just like that- gone.
after Johnny's death, she sort of just faded away from them. not that they ever felt that they'd had her in the first place- but they'd had something, and then they didn't anymore.
Remembrance's car, while built for racing, is street legal. she drives it everywhere, not just on the track. it isn't that great on gas, but it does alright, and it’s the seventies- who cares. gas is sixty cents a gallon. and if she can only afford to own and maintain one car, this is going to be the one she owns and maintains.
she knows better than to take it with her when she goes to new york and heads undercover. because it's something that she, dare i phrase it so boldly, loves and she doesn't want anything to happen to it. she's put a lot of effort into it- she and Johnny put a lot of effort into it- and she wants to make sure it stays safe and loved and in good hands.
at a loss as for what to do with it, afraid to sell it and even more afraid to leave it sitting somewhere whilst she is halfway across the country, she leaves a note for Johnny's team at their ramshackle garage when she knows that they won't be in, designating a time when they can come to pick it up, asking them to keep it safe. when they arrive at the set location, the car is there with the keys, and Remembrance, unbeknownst to them, sits across the street in a coffee shop, sipping her black coffee with a mostly blank expression.
she watches as they look around to see if she’s nearby, and eventually, Dana slides into the driver’s seat and one by one, the others step into the car. as it pulls away down the street, with the last people she’d ever been connected to in it, a new sort of hardness settles in behind her eyes. when they turn the corner, her heart does too.
Remembrance never learned to fit in, and she knows she never will.
she’ll never have connections beyond the energy of her hand clenched on a shifter handle, and maybe that’s because she’s never needed them as much as it is that she’s never understood them.
maybe that ramshackle team had the only pieces she’s ever let go.
maybe she’ll never let go again.
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The Night We Met - Bughead (Requested)
~ I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you; take me back to the night we met ~
Betty Cooper x Jughead Jones
Word Count: 2862
Warnings: angst, language, major plot changes
Requested by @bughead-fic-request, in which Jughead (+ the gang) finds out it was Betty who’d murdered Jason Blossom.
A/N: Thank you so much for requesting this! It honestly wasn’t the easiest to write (which is a really good thing, because it challenges me to be better) because for me, writing stories while keeping the characters, well, in-character, is really important to me, and it was interesting to explore the “why”s and “what if”s that could drive Betty to do something this dark. I’m not sure if this was the vou were wanting, but it’s where my imagination ended up running (or writing) to. I hope you like it! Feedback is always welcomed (but be gentle with me, I’m fragile lol). As always, if you have any requests, please feel free to hmu. xx
The Night We Met
“Betty wouldn’t do that. Betty couldn’t do that.”
“She’s on the video, Jughead,” Veronica whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I wish it weren’t true, too.”
“I want to see it,” Jughead said, snatching the flash drive from Veronica’s hand, storming across the small living room of his father’s trailer toward Archie’s laptop, which sat open on the coffee table.
“Jug, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Archie tried to block him, but Jughead tore past him, plugging the device into the empty USB port. He sat on the edge of the shabby couch, elbows resting on his knees as they bounced up and down at a rate as rapid as the pounding of his heart.
In the grainy footage, Jason Blossom could be made out, sitting in the corner of the room, tied to what looked like a bar chair. The time stamp indicated it was 3 AM, the wee hours of July 11th. He was severely bruised, and the dried blood on his shirt indicated wounds. Just like his autopsy reported, he had been tortured from the Fourth of July up until his point, presumably by Serpents -- Serpents his father was covering for in Riverdale’s town jail.
The door opens, and in walks a very stiff Betty. The first thing he saw, sticking out like a sore thumb, was the pistol in her right hand, and his heart sinks into his stomach. The second thing his eyes land on is her left hand, clenching tightly, not doubt boring tiny, bloody dents into her skin. Her teeth are gritted, and he notices the sheen of sweat against her forehead.
Then, in behind her, steps none other than Clifford Blossom. He whispers something in her ear, and her hand unclenches, a single tear falling down her cheek, as she raises the gun, shooting Jason right between the eyes.
She lets out a small sob, then her expression goes blank, like she’s left herself. Clifford pats her shoulder, and a burly looking Serpent guides her out. Then, someone throws a sheet over the camera.
“Jughead?” Archie whispers, stepping closer to his best friend, trying to reach out to touch his shoulder, but Jughead flinches away from him. He stands, and his stomach heaves, threatening to empty its contents.
Betty, his Betty, who he believed to be incapable of hurting even a fly, murdered Jason Blossom. Granted, he was sure that she was in some way coerced by Clifford Blossom, but she didn’t tell anyone. She even went about an investigation to find his killer, all the while knowing who was responsible. She must not have felt too bad. She probably wanted him dead, after what he’d done to Polly.
Jughead grabbed his keys, bolting out the door, all the while hearing Veronica and Archie calling for him to come back.
He wasn’t really sure where he was driving to until he ended up in front of her house. The little two-story house his girlfriend lived in was sweet, homey, but it held a lot of secrets. The way Betty’s family crumbled almost made Jughead grateful for his own; sure things were shitty, but at least no one was trying to put on an act. No one was pretending to be perfect. He knew what to expect.
He parked on the curb, turning off the engine and getting out, quietly making his way around back to the ladder by Betty’s bedroom window. It was a path he knew well, a path he’d made on many nights when he couldn’t sleep, or when she needed someone to help chase away the darkness.
He climbed up as carefully and quietly as he could, knowing that her parents were likely asleep. Once he got to the top, he stopped, seeing her asleep on her bed. She was on top of her covers, curled up into a ball. She looked so peaceful. He couldn’t imagine someone as beautiful and sweet as she was could possibly ever do what she did, even though he’d seen it with his own eyes.
She usually would leave the window unlocked for him, just in case, and he gently pushed up to confirm that it was, opening it as quietly as he could. He climbed in and crossed to where she slept, kicking off his shoes and lying down next to her.
She gasped suddenly, and he gently put an arm around her protectively.
“It’s okay Betts, it’s just me.”
She turned over, looking up at him with adorably sleepy eyes, snuggling into him. “Hey. Couldn’t sleep?”
“Something like that,” he murmured, lightly scratching her back through her pink tank top.
He wanted so badly to confront her. Needed to confront her. To demand answers about what happened July 11th. But he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Couldn’t bring himself to shatter the fantasy of Betty Cooper.
Of course, he’d known it was too good to be true. He’d known that the universe wasn’t about to let him be happy. Everyone he’d ever loved had let him down, and he knew deep down that Betty would, too, even if she didn’t mean to. But he never dreamed it would be anything like this.
They laid in silence for a few moments, and it was so quiet, Jughead swore he could hear their heartbeats synchronizing with each other, beating as one.
Fuck, he’d never be able to not love her.
“You killed Jason,” he whispered.
“What?” Betty sat up, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “Whatever gave you—”
“I saw the video, Betty,” he gently took his hand into his, “listen, if you’re in some sort of trouble, with the Blossoms, we can help you…”
“Juggie, what are you…?”
He sighed and closed his eyes. Her denial caused his temper to rise, and the hurt and betrayal he felt manifested itself in his anger.
“It’s all on video, Betty. You did it. You shot Jason. You killed him. So please don’t lie,” he took in her blank expression, and it infuriated him even further. “I’m literally such a fucking idiot. That’s the whole reason you even showed interest in me, right? Cause you knew I was writing that book, and you wanted to make sure I didn’t suspect you, right? God, you really had me fooled, you know that? I was so happy, for the first time in so long. And it was all a lie. All of it. You never had any feelings for me. I can’t believe I fell for it. For you.”
“Juggie, I love you,” she whispered, placing her hands on his cheeks. It was the first time she’d ever uttered the words, though she’d meant them for a long time. “Juggie—” she tried to make him look at her, but he wouldn’t. Instead he coldly grabbed her wrists, moving her hands away.
Tears began to stream freely down her face. “I didn’t kill Jason! I couldn’t do something like that. No matter how he hurt Polly, I would never…”
She looked at his stoic expression and her mind wondered back to the night of “full dark, no stars”. To the things Veronica said she had done to Chuck, things she adamantly denied, things she truly believed she didn’t do. The most terrifying realization washed over her, causing her heart to jump into her throat and her chest and stomach to feel hollow. “You said there was a video?” she croaked out.
He looked at her panicked expression, and he understood.
Betty Cooper may have killed Jason, but she doesn’t remember pulling the trigger.
After the trial, it was obvious that Clifford Blossom was to blame for everything. He hoped that having someone else do the dirty work for him would cover his tracks, and for extra good measure he framed F.P. Turns out, on the morning of July 11th, he’d offered Betty ride home from her internship, knowing from Cheryl about her tendency toward spiraling. But instead of taking her home, he took her to the bar on the southside, where he had the Serpents push her and push her, saying and doing unspeakable things, until she snapped. When she came back to herself and had no recollection of what had happened, Clifford believed his plan to be foolproof. And if it weren’t for a lone security camera and some nosy kids, it would’ve been.
His exploits didn’t really serve their purpose; neither Jughead’s father or Betty ended up serving any time for their involvement in Jason Blossom’s murder and if anything, their involvement worsened his sentence, especially Betty’s, because she was so helpless in it all. She ended up being sent to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy, because she was deemed a threat to herself and others.
The plan was to get her treated so she could rejoin society, but her guilt was overwhelming, causing the darkness inside to consume her, and it hasn’t released her since.
It took Jughead over four years to go visit her. He couldn’t bear to think of Betty, the first girl he ever loved, in a mental institution, all alone and scared of her own shadow, the way he’d remembered Polly being. But in the last six months he’d finally started to see a therapist, something he probably should’ve done when he was way younger, who suggested that he should see Betty, to give him closure on the whole situation. He suggested that the lack of closure was one of the main reasons Jughead, while he was twenty-years-old and practically a man, had been unable to maintain a healthy relationship since Betty. He believed that seeing her would help put it all to rest in his mind and in his heart.
“Listen, Jughead,” Alice Cooper turned to the raven-haired boy after she’d signed them into the Sisters’ visitor’s registry, “Betty is really sick. And not the kind of sick that we claimed Polly was to keep her away,” she swallowed. “She’s gotten worse over time, so they’ve got her on a lot of medications, to help with the mood swings and the disassociation, but it ends up making her really out of it. Almost catatonic, sometimes. She doesn’t even recognize me or Polly anymore when we come to visit, and she tried to assault Hal last time he was here. It’s part of the reason he doesn’t come around anymore. Just remember that, so if she doesn’t remember you or if she lashes out, just don’t take it personal, okay?” she patted his arm gently, tears beginning to well in her eyes and he nodded. “Okay, honey. I’m just gonna wait here, so you can have your time with her.”
He knew that wasn’t why she was staying behind. She was staying behind because it hurt to see her daughter like that. To see her waste away, unable to escape herself.
“Thank-you, Mrs. Cooper,” Jughead said, before turning to follow a nurse down the long corridor and out the back door into a small garden.
“She’s right over on that bench,” the nurse pointed in her general direction before disappearing back into the building.
When he saw her, he knew it was her, even though she wasn’t facing him. She was staring at a rose bush, still as he’d ever seen her.
He approached her cautiously. “Hey, Betty. It’s me, Jughead, from high school. Do you remember me?”
She didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge him. He sat down beside her, and watched the rose bush with her.
“It’s pretty,” he noted. “I’d love roses, if it weren’t for the thorns.” They sat in silence for several more minutes, before he sighed, “Okay, so listen, I’ve been going to therapy, which I know is a shock, and I’m surprised between you and Archie that I wasn’t forced into seeing a shrink like ten years ago… but anyway he thinks I need to talk to you. To get closure. So, I want you to know I don’t blame you for anything. The night I found out what had happened to Jason, I said a lot of really awful things I didn’t mean. And I should’ve known better. If you knew anything could even possibly hurt someone else, you’d never do it, at least not willingly. I should’ve known that.”
He stared out into the distance, past the rose bush and watched the fountain that ran nearby. “How is Archie, by the way?” he paused, as though he was waiting for her to answer, but of course, she didn’t. “You know, you probably see more of him than I do these days. Your mom told me he brings his guitar out here sometimes and plays for you. Says he’s one of the only people who can actually get you to smile.” Jughead felt a little twinge of guilt. Even though he knew that Archie didn’t have any romantic feelings for Betty, he knew he loved her a lot, he knew how much it must’ve hurt Archie to see her like this, too. He shouldn’t have left him alone in that. He definitely should’ve been there for Betty, but Archie needed him, too.
“I’m sorry I’ve never visited,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “And I can’t stop imagining that if I had just been there, maybe you could’ve gotten past this, and it eats me up inside, Betty. But it hurt too much. And I know that is so selfish, and I know I’ve never really told you this, but I loved you, Betty. And I still love you so goddamn much, and it just was too much, you know?”
“I wish I could go back, Betty,” he whispered. “Not just to that night but back to when I met you and Archie. Do you remember? Good old seventh grade, when I transferred from the south side of town. It was right after I’d gotten out of juvie for playing with matches,” he laughed at the ridiculousness of it, trying to pin arson on a ten year-old, “my dad thought getting out of that part of town would be better for our family. And everybody thought I was so weird. But not you. You were the sweetest person I think I’ve ever known, even then. You sat with me at lunch, and you made Archie sit with me, too. I met my best friend because of, you know that? Honestly, I feel like I liked you since then. It may seem silly, and I definitely didn’t understand it all, but I wanted to be around you all the time. And then high school started and you started to get feelings for Archie so I stepped back, ‘cause I just wanted you to be happy. But I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had been there for you. Wish I’d known what you were going through, so that maybe I could’ve helped you, and maybe we wouldn’t be here right now. I mean who knows, maybe by this time in our lives me and you and Archie would all be off going to some college together, or on some crazy adventure somewhere.”
Jughead couldn’t tell which was lonelier: sitting on a couch with his therapist constantly responding to everything he said with a bland, “so how does that make you feel,” or sitting here, beside a woman who he used to know so well and loved so much and getting nothing.
“God, this is useless,” he croaked out, a lump forming in the back of his throat. He took off his beanie and buried his face in his hands to conceal the tears that were flowing from his eyes.
After a moment, he felt the slightest weight on his shoulder. He peered over to see Betty’s small hand resting on his shoulder. Her eyes were trained on his face, and though they were dazed, there was a tenderness in them that Jughead had missed seeing so much. The tears flowed faster.
After he’d managed to slow them down some, he gingerly took her hand into his, and gently brought to his lips, kissing it carefully, not wanting to scare her.
She looked deep in thought, and her eyebrows furrowed as she struggled with her speech, “J-J-Juggie.” A few tears began to fall from her own cheeks.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, letting their hands fall between them, still intertwined.
She let out a small smile, and Jughead knew that even though she was buried deep, way deep, the Betty he’d fallen in love with was still in there somewhere.
They spent the rest of their time together in silence, quietly holding hands, looking at the flowers and watching the birds and passersby, until visiting hours ended, and Jughead was forced to separate himself from her.
He never cried over anyone as much as he’d cried over Betty that night when he was in bed and alone with his thoughts.
He never thought it was possible to love someone as much as he loved her, so much that it literally hurt, like a hollowness in his chest where she used to be, where she was supposed to be. He prayed that maybe one day, she’d be able to fill it again.
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