#Also to important to remember that the reason Vin is ‘not like other girls’ is because it was dangerous for her to be so for most of her lif
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No Reason To (42/50)
Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.”
A/N: Part 42 !!! Brings back an interesting character, lol. ALSO! A day early cause I couldn’t wait until tomorrow :)
Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!
AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.
Please don’t plagiarize my work!
Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader
Based off of: Teen Wolf 06x05 & 06x06
You notice it out of the corner of your eye.
And for some reason, the second it happens, the thought of it won’t leave your mind.
All else seems to fade to the back of your mind. Everything else seems to just fade away as you stare out of the window, eyes focused in on a blue jeep. A jeep... just a plain old jeep that for some reason seems utterly and completely important to you in that moment. So much so, that you can’t tear your eyes away from it.
It must be... “Stiles...”
Scott hears you, and you don’t notice it but it pulls his attention on you. He watches the back of your head before his eyes drift off in the direction you’re staring at. He notices nothing off or particularly interesting about the parking lot at all, causing his brows to furrow in wonder and for him to reach forward, hand falling on your own as he gently coaxes your attention on him. “Y/N,” he whispers, so as not to bring attention onto the both of you. “Are you okay?”
You blink, slowly turning round to face your brother as he frowns down at you in concern. Meeting his confused expression, you glance back at the jeep one more time before turning to your brother. “I don’t know...” You mumble earnestly, mind a mess of confusion as you try to make sense of the feeling welling deep inside your chest. “It’s just...--”
“Is there something the two of you would like to share with the rest of the class?”
The sound of the teacher, clearly addressing you and Scott, pulls you out of your revere. Even if only for a moment. You blink, eyes widening in shock at the sternness of her voice, and for a moment, you sit there, gaped-mouthed, not really sure how to respond because for some reason, you desperately want to just get up and leave class and check out that jeep.
“No, no,” Scott answers for the both of you (thankfully). He eyes you warily as he does, clearly able to tell something’s wrong but not really sure how to help, before sending an apologetic smile the teacher’s way. “Sorry.”
The teacher eyes the both of you, slowly and warily, before she turns back to the chalkboard behind her, moving on with the lesson you’ve elected to ignore in favour of that jeep.
Which, speaking of, is currently about to be towed.
Your eyes widen, back straightening in alarm as you watch a man prepare to pull the jeep for towing, hooking onto his own truck. Instantly, you’re up on your feet, all but shoving your stuff in your bag in a haste. You’re scurrying catches the attention of almost everyone in the room, eyes snapping over to you as you rush around your desk and practically bee-line towards the door.
“I’m sorry,” you call out in a haste, not even looking at the teacher as you rush by. “I need to go. I’ll be right back.”
You don’t stop running until you’re out of the school and in the parking lot, rushing up to the tower. “Hey!” You bellow, voice slightly breathless and raspy as you desperately try to catch the man’s attention. “Hey!” He turns to look at you just as you reach the jeep, clearly confused by this teenager girl running up to him in such a haste. “You can’t tow this jeep.”
A bemused smile curls onto his lips. “Paper says I can,” he raises his clipboard, glancing at it briefly. “Reported as abandoned.”
You pause a moment, head spinning to try to find a reasonable and believable excuse as to why this jeep can’t be towed. Because... it just can’t. But all you really manage to come up with is the idea to simply place your hand on the front of jeep, as if making a stand, before tilting your head at the man. “And now it’s not.”
Letting out a chuckle, the man quirks a brow; “this is your vehicle?”
Challenging the man, you shrug; “does it matter?”
He scoffs, moving towards the drivers seat; “sound like a no--”
“It’s mine!”
Turning at the sound of your brother, hope fades into your eyes as you watch Scott lean over the car, slightly out of breath. “My jeep,” he clarifies, voice clearer this time as he pats the jeep lightly. “Thank you. I’ll move it once I...” he glance over at you, breath halting, “get the keys.” Then, he quickly adds. “From my locker. After you leave.”
“I’m sorry,” the man mumbles, “once it’s on the hook--”
“If you say you’re on the hook,” you mumble, lips pursing into one of disgust.
“Well,” he says simply, “I can’t now.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Scott calls out, desperate. “There’s gotta be something we can do. Sign something, call someone--”
Shoulders falling, you sigh; “pay someone?”
At that, the man pauses, a smile curling onto his lips. “Drop fee is a hundred-and-fifty. Cash.”
Reaching into your purse, you pull out of your wallet, pulling out every bit of cash you have. Scott, however, doesn’t take it as well, turning to you with wide eyes as he practically gags at the amount. “Hundred-and-fifty?” He breathes, “this thing isn’t even worth that much.”
Rolling your eyes, you shrug; “how much do you have?”
His eyes widen, watching you stifle through your cash. “How much do you have?”
Shaking your head at him, you huff; “just give me your money.”
Sighing, he pulls a single bill out of his back pocket, holding it before himself. “All I have is fifty dollars, and when I say all I have is fifty dollars; I mean--”
Ignoring his rambling, you take the money from his hand, combing it with your two-thirds of the amount and handing it to the man. He accepts it with a smile, one that causes you to roll your eyes in response, watching him walk past as Scott slumps next to you.
“If you need anything until your next pay,” you mumble, staring at the jeep with a frown. “Just let me know.”
Shoulders falling, Scott numbly nods.
You move to turn then, but Scott quickly catches your arm, calling for your attention. “You know I don’t actually have the keys to this thing, right?”
Pursing your lips, you shrug; “but... now we have a jeep.”
-
“You must feel it too.”
You turn, meeting Lydia’s eyes as she frowns at you.
“I feel.... something,” she mumbles, eyes stuck on the jeep just like you.
Taking a small step forward, you set your hand down on the front of the jeep, body tensing as a feeling of almost electricity runs through your entire body. It starts at your fingertips, running up your entire arm before drifting across your entire body. It’s this sense of ringing, something you can’t outright explain, but you know you’re not crazy because Lydia senses something too.
Just then, fast approaching footsteps echo. You don’t have to look to know who it is and your thoughts are only confirmed when Scott comes to a stop next to you, Malia on the other side of Lydia.
Meeting your brothers eyes, you nod; “it’s coming from here.”
Scott and Malia move around the car, moving to the drivers seat where something catches their eyes. You pull back, taking a small step forward as you watch Scott try to pull open the door, only to realize it’s locked.
“Did somebody just lock the keys inside?”
Swallowing thickly, you shake your head; “break it.” You mumble, voice small but hopeful and desperate as Scott glances over at you. All it takes is one good look at you and he listens, using a bit of his strength to break the lock and thus, opening the door.
Inside is a radio.
-
Pulling the glove-box open, you search through for anything important. Unfortunately, there’s nothing really of note or of importance. But you continue to look anyways, determined to find at least something. Even if small.
However, your attention is soon pulled on the radio as it’s comes to a quick and sudden stop. The radio silence fades to actual silence as you turn in the direction of it, the rest following you as well, brows furrowing in confusion as you glance down at it.
“Why’d it stop?”
Meeting Malia’s eyes briefly, you shake your head. “It doesn’t matter,” you dismiss, moving to the master switch and flicking it a few times repeatedly in the hopes that something will happen. Nothing does. “There has to be a reason,” you sigh, shoulders falling with a slump.
Scott shifts and you notice out of the corner of your eye as he straightens out, eyes twisting shut in confusion as he shakes his head. “What?” He mumbles, voice small, a faint whisper.
“You got a scent?”
“Yeah,” he whispers, “ours. Mine,” he points to himself, the words stumbling past his lips. “Yours. All of four of ours.”
“Mine?” Malia questions, brows furrowing in disbelief. “I’ve never been in this jeep before.”
“Neither have I.”
A glance over at Lydia tells you she’s wondering the same thing.
“Yes, we have,” you argue softly. “We just don’t remember it.”
“I thought we were done with that,” Malia mumbles.
“Uh, yeah, Y/N. Parrish checked the vin number,” Scott explains, shaking his head. “There’s no record of owner.”
Scoffing, you elect to remind them; “the jeep didn’t just drive itself here.”
“I agree with, Y/N,” Lydia nods, pulling your eyes on her as yours turn hopeful. “There’s something more to all of this.” As you meet her gaze, happy to have someone believing you, you smile, grateful.
Silence echoes, and it’s clear what Malia thinks. So, all eyes seem to fall on Scott as he hesitates.
“Whose side are you on?” Malia questions, leaning back into the car.
Scott’s eyes widen. “I’m on everyone’s side,” he appeases, moving back.
Malia turns to you then, gaze sharp. “He’s not real,” she explains, “trust me.”
Rolling your eyes, you huff, moving back to the glove-box in a fit of determination. Searching through what you had before, your eyes widen when you notice a piece of paper.
“I’ve lost a lot of people in my life,” Malia continues. “It’s a long list. And I don’t feel like adding to it.”
“You might not have to,” you mumble, eyeing the piece of paper with interest, eyes flickering across the words, processing them. Turning to Malia, the edge of your lips quirk upwards. “Not if we get him back.”
Slowly, Malia takes the slip of paper from your hands, eyeing it similarly as you, before passing it to the back for Scott and Lydia.
“It’s from ninety-six,” Scott reads out, “and... there’s no name.”
“But,” Lydia calls, leaning forward to point a specific spot on the paper. “There’s an address.”
“One-twenty-nine Wood-Bine Lane,” Malia reads aloud.
Pausing a moment, you turn to the rest; “I know that address.”
-
“I-I... I don’t know what to tell you,” Mrs. Stilinski stammers, turning to you with a shake of her head. “I haven’t seen that jeep in... almost eighteen years.”
Inhaling deeply, you pause a moment, your head tilting lightly in confusion. “But... it’s in your name,” you mumble, voice soft with desperation.
You don’t know if you can handle another dead-end.
“But it was stolen,” Claudia reminds.
“Then,” you continue, not ready to give up. “How did it end up at the high school?”
Claudia parts her lips to say something, but stammers for a response. Your attention is pulled on the Sheriff as he gestures his hands in a act of loss, shaking his head. “Beats the hell out of me,” he says simply, face scrunched up in confusion. “The thing was a junker back in the day. God only knows who’d want it now.”
Mrs. Stilinski nods. “Maybe someone dumped it there.”
You feel your eyes water, your body tensing as you try to hold yourself together. It felt like you were walking around in circles and every time it felt like you were going to get somewhere, you just ended up back at the beginning; no clues, no proof, nothing.
“Is there... um, any way to trace the history of the jeep after it was stolen?”
Stilinski’s face scrunches up, simply saying; “no.”
Swallowing thickly, feeling yourself choke up as your words become raspy, you plead; “maybe there’s fingerprints on it.”
“Y/N,” Stilinski calls gently, “is this about Stiles?”
“Honey,” Claudia sighs, handing you back the paper you’d found in Stiles’ jeep. “Don’t you think you’ve taken this far enough?” Taking the paper back from her, lips left parted, you meet her eyes as she continues. “I don’t really know what’s going on with you lately, but... maybe it’s a good time to talk to your mom.”
You hesitate, the words stuck in the back of your throat as you nod, feeling numb. “I’m sorry,” you gasp, “you’re right.”
“Hey,” Stilinski whispers, expression reading concerned. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” The word leaves your lips in a rush, it clear you’re lying but not knowing what else to say, you leave it. As your vision blurs and you feel it suddenly considerably more difficult to hold back your tears, you shift uncomfortably in your seat, gesturing towards the hallway. “I’m sorry. Can I... Is it okay--”
“Yeah,” Claudia nods, “of course. Take your time.”
You stand up with a rush, making your way down the hallway with the intent to go to the washroom. But you pause as you come across the wall, the wall where you’d seen that shadow, the wall where you’d felt something. The wall where you still felt something. And as you come to a slow stop, you turn, your eyes flickering across the wallpaper before landing on the part you’d tried to rip off. Stepping forward, your hands fall on the wall and you lean forward, that sense rushing through you as your eyes twist shut and the tears finally fall, unable to hold back any further.
A soft small sob escapes your lips as you gently tug on the rip in the wallpaper, fingering it for a moment before you turn, back pressed against the wall. Your eyes fall shut as you sniffle, inhale sharply, your legs suddenly feeling weak and shaky beneath you as you slowly slide down, until you’re completely sat. Head falling back, you press your hand against your lips to stifle the sound of your cries, shaking your head.
Everything was telling you to give up, that this Stiles didn’t exist. You felt like a fool, you felt crazy, now the last one out of your friends to even truly believe he’d ever existed. Time and time again they told you, including your own brother, to just give up. That you were chasing a trail with no end.
But, you’re not ready to give up. You don’t want to give up. Every time you felt you should, the image of a boys face that you couldn’t outright properly make would appear in your mind. And you’d think of this person, this Stiles, and feel as if there’s a long list of memories you share with him. That this love you feel for him isn’t just made up. That somewhere, wherever he is, he’s counting on you not to give up.
To find him.
To save him.
Because you know, deep in your heart, Stiles exists and you’re in love with him.
-
“We already paid you. I gave you all of my money for that drop fee.”
Rushing out of your car, you quickly shut it, picking up the speed in your step to your brother.
“And I dropped it,” the same man from before explains, “alright? Now i’m picking it up again.”
You fall next to Scott slightly out of breath, body tense as you turn towards the man. “How much?” You echo, voice breathless, shaking your head. “I’ll write you a check.” Even if you don’t really have the money to do that; this was your one connection to Stiles. And you weren’t going to give it up.
“It’s not about how much,” the man stresses, “they want it out of here, okay? It’s not up to me.”
He takes a step forward, but Scott stands his ground, puffing his shoulders out, in an attempt to look threatening. It clearly doesn’t work as the man simply just lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Don’t make me move you, kid. Okay? I am hooking this thing up and I am towing it away.”
Your eyes widen, lowering to Scott’s hand as you watch him clench his fist, clearly struggling to restrain himself.
But, before anything can happen, your attention is pulled behind the man, onto Malia. She simply pulls the hook off of the cord, not only unhooking the jeep from the man’s truck but also breaking the truck. And, as the man turns to face her, she simply shrugs; “your trucks broken.”
-
Staring at the key, you find yourself, oddly enough, hesitating. Even if only for a moment.
You hold it delicately in your hand, before slowly flickering up to glance at your brother. He meets your eyes with a shrug, but still reassuring as he gestures with his chin towards the key. Having his reassurance gives you the courage to move, slowly sliding the key into the ignition. It slides in like a perfect fit, and it only takes you a second before you turn it, moving to turn the car on but it sputters.
You fall back against your seat for a second, meeting Scott’s gaze before shifting forward, turning the key again and pressing on the gas peddle repeatedly, trying to get it to work.
“Don’t flood it,” Scott warns, interrupting you as you turn the key back, turning to him in disbelief.
“Do you even know what that means?”
Pausing, Scott’s eyes narrow in confusion. “Not really.”
Swallowing thickly, you nod slowly, turning back towards the car. You inhale sharply as you turn the key once more, practically willing it to work. And your eyes widen, a smile of relief curling onto your lips as it doesn’t sputter this time and instead turns on, the lights flickering on as you instantly turns towards Scott, the same expression of disbelief on his eyes.
You let out a laugh, a bright smile curled onto your lips as you grip the steering wheel tightly, nodding to yourself.
Then, the happiness only lasts for so long before the two of you realize... what now?
Frowning, your shoulders fall, “I thought...”
Nodding, Scott sighs; “me too.”
Silence echoes. You glance around, looking, hoping for something to happen. And like the car turning on, something or someone seems to listen to you because the familiar sound of the radio buzzing on like before causes both you and Scott to jump in response, instantly turning towards the radio as it flickers on.
Scott leans forward, moving a dial, but your hand falls on his own when you hear something. “Wait,” you call, squeezing his hand as he glances up to look at you in wonder. “Wait. Listen.”
The both of you fall silent, the next second the sound of someone calling out ‘hello’ echoes and then ‘can anyone hear me?’ follows shortly after. Your eyes widen, lips parting in astonishment as you meet Scott’s gaze.
Grabbing the walkie-talkie off the radio, you pull it up to your mouth, pausing just briefly before pressing the button on the back, lips parting to speak. “S-Stiles...?”
Scott shifts forward then, grabbing onto your arm as he speaks; “Stiles, are you there?”
“Scott? Y/N? Is that you?”
You feel your breath stop, every bit of you radiating with a burst of excitement and hope as your lips curl upwards into a bright and relieved smile. “Oh my God, Stiles...” You breathe, voice raspy and faint, but pitching in excitement. “We can hear you.”
“Oh my God,” Stiles mumbles from the other end, “you know me?”
“Stiles,” you breathe, voice cracking. “Stiles... is this you? Is this actually you?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” Stiles confirms. “Do you remember the last thing I said to you?”
Meeting Scott’s eyes through your own blurred vision, you nod, hesitating just a moment as you choke over your own words. “You said... You said, remember I love you. That... That you never stopped loving me.” As you finish speaking, your eyes fall shut, feeling as if you can picture the moment, grasp in your mind, but at the same time... you can’t.
There’s an echo of silence before Scott speaks up. “Are you okay?”
You nod, “where are you?”
“We’re coming to get you.”
“No, no, no, you can’t,” Stiles rushes, “you won’t be able to find me.”
Scott takes the walkie-talkie in his hands, covering your own as he shakes his head, stammering over his words. “S-Stiles... what-what are you talking about? Just tell us where you are. We’re...We’re--”
And even if he can’t see you, you nod.
“Look, just remember this. Just remember this, okay?” Stiles cuts in, “Canaann. You have to find Canaan.”
The radio cuts out then.
“Stiles? Stiles!”
Shoulders falling, your lips part, head shaking as your grip tightens on the walkie-talkie. Your eyes stare out before you, wanting, hoping, preying you’ll hear Stiles’ voice echo once more over the radio.
But, it never does.
He’s gone.
-
There’s screaming. And crying.
Everywhere around you there’s shadows. The shadows you’ve been seeing for days now.
You can’t really see where you are. Everything around you is blurred, a mess of colours and objects, besides the specific movement of shadows around you. You can hear their voices, hearing their pleading and crying and screaming and everything, but you can’t see their faces. Can’t make out whose saying what. Can’t make out any distinguishing details.
Black blurs flicker past you, disappearing from your eye shot in a blink. Your head spins every which way, feeling helpless and vulnerable; trying to understand. But you feel routed to your spot. Stuck. The chaos that ensues around you is one you don’t understand or know how to help. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know how you got here.
You’re scared. Beyond so.
And then, a figure runs in front of you, stopping directly in front of you. You can’t make out their eyes, but you swear the person is looking directly at you. Staring directly into your eyes. And everything just stills for a moment. It’s eerily silent as the chaos from around you fades to the back of your mind and you stare at this shadowed figure in front of you.
Then, with a blink of the eye, the figure shifts and a smoke of green erupts directly in front of you. You flinch back in response, instinctively moving to protect yourself as the cloud dissipates. And when it’s gone and you lower your arms that acted as a shield to protect yourself, the figure’s gone.
Without a trace.
It’s then you understand. The Ghost Riders.
They’re here.
But there’s something more to it. Something feels... worse. They’re not just being taken, disappearing, being forgotten... it feels, as you stand there, as if they’re being ripped from existence itself. That the idea of being forgotten isn’t all that’s happening.
Their entire existence is being erased. Not just forgotten, but erased. It’s as if their soul is being taken away.
It feels worse then death.
It’s so much worse then death.
As you look around, lips left parted, hands hanging uselessly next to you, you watch as every blurred figure around you slowly disappears. In a similar fashion of a green cloud of smoke. It keeps happening, repeatedly, over and over again. And you want to move, want to help, but you find yourself stuck, your feet routed to their spot and leaving you helpless to just watch, unable to do anything.
You’re forced to watch peoples souls being ripped from them.
You’re forced to do nothing.
Until everyone’s gone.
A gasp leaves your lips, lost and confused as you glance around. Then, as your eyes flicker around the blurred image of wherever you are, you notice one last blurred figure. One single blurred figure. A shadow. It’s stood directly in front of you, a few feet away. You want to walk towards it, but can’t. Your fingers itch by your side, and for the first time you’re able to move something other then your own head.
Your arm raises, slowly and carefully, and your fingers stretch in an attempt to reach out for the figure.
But then, a scream echoes. A loud, piercing, terrifying scream. One you swear you’ve heard before.
You instantly curl into yourself, hands pressing against your ears to try and block out the noise as you let out a cry. It’s like you have no control over yourself anymore as your eyes twist shut and your body tenses and the screaming that echoes never stops. It carries on and on and on, piercing your ears, causing your own lips to part in fright, clenching your eyes shut.
You will yourself to wake up; hoping, praying that this is a dream. That this isn’t real.
You don’t want this to be real.
It can’t be.
You don’t want to be stuck here. In a cold and barren blurred place that doesn’t make any sense. With no one left, with everyone gone. With their entire being just... erased.
Help me.
Someone. Please...
help me!
You wake with a start. A gasping breath leaves your lips as you sit up, a scream tearing past your lips. You can’t make sense of the fact that you’re safe, in your room, still in a daze from what you’d just witnessed that had felt so unbelievably real. That you wanted to be a dream, and that maybe was, but still, somehow, had been real.
A sob wretches past your lips. Your body seems to move of it’s own accord, ripping the blankets off of you and moving to stand up from your bed. You’re not sure where you aim to go, but your feet seem to be carrying you and you’re too distressed, confused and scared to really care. Because you can’t help the cries and sobs that leave your lips as you move.
Then, your door bursts open. It causes you to blink, pulling you from your own lost revere as you meet your brother’s eyes. His own are wide with panic and he looks terrified as his eyes quickly search for you. Scott doesn’t waste anytime rushing over to you, taking you in his arms as your legs give out from beneath you and you fall against Scott with a sob. His hand falls on the back of your head as he pulls you close, grip tight and reassuring as he tries to calm you.
“Y/N,” he calls, voice faint, raspy from sleep, “Y/N, hey. It’s me. It’s Scott. You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m here.”
You clutch onto the back of his shirt, bunching the material in your fingers as you feel your racing heart finally slow. The panic in you also calms as you realize you’re in your room; safe, like Scott had said.
Still clutching onto Scott tightly, you let your eyes slowly flicker open, gaze instantly falling on Isaac whose stood at the door. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even really react, even as you clearly meet his eyes. Isaac doesn’t move to comfort you like you feel he would, and instead he simply stands at the doorway, watching.
“You’re okay,” Scott continues to soothe, voice soft. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Burrying your head into the crook of Scott’s shoulder, you inhale sharply. “They took everyone... they took...--”
“Who did, Y/N?” Scott asks gently, pulling back to meet your watery gaze. “Who?”
Shaking your head, your lips tremble as you meet your brother’s gaze through your own blurred and watery one.
“They took everyone, just like they’re going to take all of us.”
-
“You saw a carousel?”
“And a big sign that said Canaan and people disappearing in a cloud of smoke.”
It’s that that catches your attention. You pause, thinking of your dream.
“Hold on,” you call gently, turning to both Lydia and Malia, setting your hand on the former’s arm. “Did you say ‘disappear in a cloud of smoke’? Like the Ghost Riders?”
Blinking, Lydia’s brows furrow. “Yeah.” She nods, “that’s what I saw... Why?”
“Last night, I... I had this dream,” you start, lips curving downwards as you recollect the dream. Avoiding either of their gazes, you fiddle with your fingers. “I couldn’t make out anything. I didn’t see the place like you did, Lydia. But I did see these figures, these indistinguishable figures disappear in a cloud of smoke.” Then, slowly raising your gaze to Lydia’s own, you frown. “I think we had the same dream. Of the same place.”
That scream... was it Lydia’s?
Her lips part, trying to look for a explanation. But it’s clear the both of you have no idea why you’ve had similar dreams. You understood why she had hers; she was a Banshee and she’s had dreams and premonitions like this one multiple times before.
You just didn’t know why you had one.
Or why the two of your dreams seem to be connected.
“Do either of you ever have nice dreams?”
Your shoulders slump, leaning back in her seat as Lydia rolls her eyes. “We need to go to Canaan.”
Pushing her computer aside, Malia sighs. “It would be helpful if we knew anything about the place,” she explains, to which you nod. “I keep calling the number for City Hall and no one answers. The only map I can find it on is thirty years old.” Grabbing the map, she unfolds it, pointing out the circled spot of ‘Canaan’. “So far the only thing I know about Canaan, is where it is.”
Pushing yourself up to your feet, you shrug, grabbing the map. “That’s all we need to know.”
-
“Scott?”
Shaking his leg gently, you coax him awake softly.
Your eyes fall on him, like Lydia and Malia, as his eyes slowly flicker open, his head jerking gently in response. He first finds your gaze, lowering to his feet which you’d allowed to rest on your lip. Sending you a soft smile, he sits up, before turning to the other two.
“Where are we?”
“According to the GPS,” Malia sighs, “this is it.”
Opening the car door, you slowly step out, appreciating the opportunity to stretch your legs, as your eyes flicker around. Some things seem familiar, even if it does properly make sense, and you figure that has to do with your dream.
“This is it,” Lydia sighs, “Canaan’s a ghost town.”
-
“I don’t hear a single heartbeat.”
“I’m not catching any scents.”
Your eyes drift across the abandoned house to your left, eyeing the broken window and the door left open. The vines that have started to grow up along the side of the house with no one to take care of it. Weeds cover the front lawn, grass up to your calves. There’s abandoned cars, streetlamps crashed into them. It’s cold, barren, and lonely.
Just like your dream.
Swallowing thickly, you turn to the others; “I wonder why Stiles would send us here.”
Just as you finish speaking, a streetlamp to your right flickers on. It’s just brief, turning on and then off again in seconds but it’s enough to catch all of yours attention. You meet your brothers eyes, unsure and a little tense of what exactly you were supposed to do here.
Then, Lydia slows, her head tilted up with her attention caught on something. You follow her line of vision, noticing the torn banner strung across two streetlamps, and you can’t really make out what it says but you have a feeling it’s what Lydia saw in her dream; Canaan Day!
“This is the place I saw in the mirror.”
You inhale sharply, glancing around before meeting her gaze. noticing out of the corner of your eye, Malia and Scott walk off to explore more. “This place feels familiar,” you mumble, biting your lip. “I just didn’t see it so clearly like you had.”
Setting her hand over your own, Lydia sends a soft smile your way. “It’s okay, Y/N.” She reassures, nodding at you.
You only sigh, shaking your head. “I just wish I understood my powers more,” you explain numbly, a deep frown etched onto your lips. “Wish I understood what it’s trying to tell me.”
“Y/N--”
Lydia’s interrupted by a loud screech. It instantly catches both of your attention, head snapping round in the direction of the noise, eyes zoning in on the carousal. With just a brief glance Lydia’s way, the two of you start making your way over, Malia and Scott doing the same from where they’re stood. Your lips part, hand coming up to cover your mouth in distraught when you notice the blood covering the carousal seats.
Scott moves to step onto it, but just as he does, it somehow turns on; effectively scaring Scott half to death.
You watch it go round and round, the music an uncomfortable screeching sound.
-
The sound of door slamming shut pulls you out of your revere.
You jump, your body spinning round in the direction of the noise. It leads to a house, and you see just the faintest glimpse of a body rushing through the doorway. Your brows furrow in concern, wondering if that was one of the others and what was wrong. Picking up the speed in your step, you don’t hesitate to pull the door open, stepping into the creaky house with a considerable less amount of confidence then you had had before.
There’s something that feels off about this place. More so then the rest of the entire town. You feel your chest tighten and your heart start to race without knowing the real reason why.
With small, hesitant steps, you make your way through the entry room, leading into the kitchen and living room, a hallway to your left. “Hello?” You call out, with the hopes of a response. At first, all you hear is silence, nothing, but then, standing completely still on your end, the floor beneath you creaks, alerting the presence of someone else.
“Hello? Lydia? Malia...?” You move towards the living room, brows furrowed. “Scott?”
“Y/N!” A voice rasps, the voice eerily close. You halt in your step, staring at the wall that now is the only thing separating you, at least by sight, of whoever is on the other side of that room. “Y/N, help me!”
“Scott?”
Rushing forward at the recognition of your brothers voice, your eyes widen, lips parting, when you see him in what you assume to be the living room floor on his back. He’s clutching his stomach, blooding pooling around him and coating both of his hands, up his sleeves. The blood is everywhere, an alarming amount, and your mouth gapes open trying to figure out what to do or say, your eyes watering in distress, but all you can do is stand there frozen.
“Y/N...” Scott cries, one of his hands reaching towards you. “Please... help!”
“You were too late, Y/N.”
You know that voice.
“You’re always too late.”
“Theo...” Your heart plummets, shoulders tensing, eyes widening in alarm at the sight of him. How... How was he--
“Y/N!”
Blinking, you turn around, a gasp leaving your lips at the sudden feeling of two hands on your shoulders. Their grip is tight and they light shake you, trying to coax your attention on them. Confusion baffles you when you find Scott stood directly in front of you, Malia and Lydia stood by the door. Your eyes turn towards where Scott had been before, now gone with no trace of blood left. And glancing behind you, Theo is gone as well.
“You’re okay,” Scott assures softly, squeezing your shoulders. “It’s okay.”
“But you... I saw you...” Your hand shakily raises, pointing to where his body had been, Scott briefly glancing at before focusing back on you. “You’d been shot and he... he tried--”
“It wasn’t real.” Scott cuts in through your rambling, cupping your cheeks momentarily to pull your eyes completely on him. “It wasn’t real.”
Blinking, your eyes flicker to Lydia and Malia, before frowning over at Scott. “It felt real.”
“The energy here,” Lydia speaks up, “it’s causing hallucinations. We can’t stay here.” She states it as a matter of fact, turning round to exit the house without a second of hesitation. You glance at Scott one last time, nodding at him as you move to follow her and Malia out of the house.
But, just as you leave, you glance back to the same spot again, as if to make sure.
“We can’t leave,” Scott argues, close behind Lydia. “Not until we figure out why Stiles sent us here.”
“Who are we going to ask? There’s no one here!”
“We can ask him,” Malia cuts in, pointing in front of her.
Glancing in that direction, your brows furrow at the sight of a little boy. Just... standing in front of a house, staring at it.
“Hey!” Scott calls, effectively scaring the child. His head snaps round in the direction of your four, before turning and running, not wasting another second.
Pacing on your feet, you look at the others; “what do we do?”
“Go after him!”
-
“You, um...” Hesitating, you glance around at the rest. “You all saw that too, right?”
“Yeah,” Malia nods, “I definitely saw that.”
“Good,” you mumble to yourself, taking the first step towards the house you’d seen movement in. “Wasn’t sure if it was another hallucination.”
The four of slowly make your way to front door; it, unsurprisingly, not locked when Scott moves to open it. He simply pushes the door open, stepping in, as you’re the last one to step in, following in after Lydia as she gently knocks. “Hello?” She calls, “anybody here?”
You take note of the oddly well kept together house. Especially compared to every other house you’d seen on the street. There’s hardly any even dust at the very least, alluding that someone definitely still lived here. How? You had no idea.
“Visitors!”
Glancing back, your eyes narrow at the sight of a woman. There’s a large smile on her face as she quickly makes her way over to the four of you, hands out beside her in excitement gestures. “I can’t believe we have visitors!” She steps into the living room, where the rest of you are stood, the brightest smile you’re sure you’ve ever seen on anyone plastered on her lips. “Caleb will be so happy! It’s been such a long time since he’s had anyone to play with.”
None of you say anything.
“Oh! You must be thirsty,” the woman breathes, “come on in! And have a seat while I go get you something to drink.”
You watch her with a frown as she runs back the way she came. Was she that... figure? The one left?
“Seriously,” Malia mumbles low as you all step forward. “What is with her?”
“She’s the one I saw in the mirror,” Lydia whispers.
-
“This was my mother’s lemonade recipe. At least, as much as I can remember.”
You reach forward, taking a glance with a polite, but somewhat forced smile on your lips up at the lady. However, you can’t help but notice oldness of the lemonade. If the frothiness, dulled colour of yellow is anything to go by. With a thick swallow, you set the lemonade back down on the table, frowning when you notice Malia drinking it all.
“We always served this when we had friends to visit.”
“We didn’t come to visit,” Malia explains, setting down her lemonade, clearly finished with it. “We’re looking for someone.”
“A friend of ours,” Scott adds, shifting in his seat. “Maybe you’ve seen him. His name is Stiles.”
The woman pauses before speaking. “It’s been a while since anyone’s been through Canaan.”
Licking your lips, you lean forward; “how long?”
She turns to you, as if pausing in thought. But never actually responds.
However, Malia does as she pulls out a piece of paper from her pocket, unfolding it to read it. “Since April eighth, ninety-eighty-seven.” Dropping the piece of paper in front of the lady, Malia glances up at her.
Your shoulders tense when you notice the terse expression on the woman’s face. “Why would you disturb those things? They don’t belong to you.”
“We need to know what happened.”
“There was a picnic,” she begun, “a community party.”
Shifting uncomfortably, Malia frowns; “seems like everyone left in a big hurry.”
“People had been leaving Canaan for a long time,” the woman says simply. “That’s the day the last of them left.”
“All at once?” Scott asks, baffled. “They all just disappeared?”
“I didn’t say they disappeared.” The woman says sharply, voice raising, as she bangs the table, “I said they left!”
Inhaling sharply, you shuffle back in your seat.
“Did they leave in a cloud of green smoke?”
The woman stands, abruptly and sharply, slamming her hands on the table hard. “They just left!” She screams, her voice hurting your own ears as well, but you can tell, somehow, it has more of an effect on Scott and Malia if they’re shocked and dazed expressions are anything to go by.
“We didn’t mean to upset you,” Lydia cuts in gently, slipping out of her seat. “We’ll go now.”
You listen without haste, moving to help your brother stand up as you notice him a little wobbly on his own feet. Malia’s at the front, trying to keep her balance as you all hastily make your way to the front door. But, just as you move to leave, it slams shut, causing you to jump back in response. You turn to Scott, frightened and with wide eyes.
“No one is leaving,” the woman gasps, “no one is leaving Canaan ever again.”
-
You stand next to Malia, keeping a close eye on the woman who remains still at her spot in the pathway between the dining room and living room. She stands there, eerily, just watching as Scott tries to use his strength to force open the door, slamming against it repeatedly with no success.
“Scott, open the door,” Malia mumbles, “you’re a werewolf.”
“I’m trying!”
Stepping forward, clearly panicked, Malia moves to the windows, pulling the curtains past, and slamming her fist into the pane. It doesn’t crack it, even as she tries again and again, the window doesn’t even crack in the slightest.
You feel your heart start to race, panicking.
Turning back to the four of you, Malia shakes her head; “what the hell is wrong with this place?”
“Y/N,” Scott calls, “try to use your powers.”
Blinking over at him, you curse yourself when you realize you’d just been standing there, afraid. Nodding over at your brother and Malia, you slip past them, glancing briefly over at the woman, before focusing your attention on the door, specifically the knob. Your hand stretches out before you, and you feel your powers surge, even if only a little. But the door doesn’t budge. Neither does the lock.
Your powers don’t work.
You try again, lips pursing in frustration, but to no avail.
Glancing at the other three, you shake your head.
“Lenore?” Lydia questions softly, “can you unlock the door please?”
“Now that you’re here, you need to stay.” Her eyes turn droopy and weird, blinking slowly as your back straightens in alarm, watching her carefully with a deep-set frown. “Caleb likes you.”
Lydia rocks on her feet before stepping forward, towards the woman. “And we like him.” she assures, moving past to the other side of Lenore. She follows her, turning her back on the rest of you. “But we need to save our town. People are disappearing-- leaving. I mean, leaving. You can really help us.”
“No one can help you,” Lenore argues. “If they want to leave, they’re going to leave. They’ll go. And they’ll go. And there won’t be anything you can do about it.”
Your eyes turn to Scott as he slowly turns his head, something clearly catching his attention. You follow his line of sight, eyes narrowing when you take note of the boy, who you assume to be Caleb, standing by a hallway. He just stands there for a moment, staring, before speaking; “come with me,” he orders, voice contorted.
He turns down the hallway, walking off.
Glancing back over at Lydia, she nods; “go.”
-
As you make your way into the garage, your lips twist in disgust as you step into water, splashing around your feet. Malia and Scott hesitate when they notice your predicament, slowly stepping down as opposed to you.
Your eyes seem stuck on the boy, not really sure what to do, as Malia falls next to you, doing the same. Scott, however, notices the window lined on the garage, quickly making his way over to it with the intent to try and pry it out; create an exit for you guys to leave through. But of course, it’s locked.
“Caleb,” you call gently, “can you help us find a way out of here?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply turns, making his way over to the old television that’s currently playing static. Your brows furrow when you watch him pick up a VHS off of the ground, sliding it into the player, before sitting back to watch whatever’s on it. A squint of the eye and small step forward, shows you that the VHS tape is a old home video of him.
Except he looks the exact same age now, in front of you. And the video tape is dated to nineteen-eight-five.
“You have to say because mommy says so.”
“We can’t stay,” Scott whispers, “we have to go home.”
The boys voice contorts again, deepening and turning choppy; “this is your home.”
And, to no surprise, the door you’d came through slams shut.
Turning back to the home video, you meet Malia’s eye, noticing the same thing. “Scott,” you call, voice a low whisper. “Come here a second.”
He listens without fault, rushing over to the two of you.
Malia explains for you. “Look,” she mumbles, trying to be discreet. “At the date.”
Scott’s eyes widen.
“Caleb,” you call, voice soft. “Do you know what year you were born?”
At your question, the boy stands, slowly turning to face you. However, this time as he turns to the three of you, he’s covered in water, soaking wet.
“Nineteen-seventy-six.”
“And when did you die?”
-
“Am I having another hallucination?”
Glancing round at the room, eyes widening at the water pouring in, effectively flooding this place more then it already had been, you swallow thickly, nervous.
“If you are,” Scott speaks up, “i’m having the exact same one.”
“Then,” you mumble slowly, glancing around. “I must be too.”
Your eyes narrow in confusion, the familiar sound of Lydia’s banshee scream echoing.
Shuffling back, Scott turns to the two of you, panicked; “we got to get out of here.”
“I know neither of you will be an eight-year-olds ass, but I will.”
Truthfully, you don’t really try to stop Malia as she races forward. You wanted out just as much as her, and the options were limited on ways to try and get out. But maybe you should of given that the minute she moves to attack, she suddenly halts to a stop, a choked cry leaving her lips as she claws at her throat, obviously trying to breathe.
She falls down to her knees as you shuffle on your feet, unsure how to help. Your eyes narrow as the boy, Caleb, simply just smiles down at her, “you don’t look so good,” he mumbles, voice threatening.
Just then, water pours from Malia’s lips, as if she’d drowned.
Just like the boy drowned.
“Maybe you should sit down.”
-
“You have to breathe!”
Crouched next to Malia, you cup under her chin, trying to help her breathe but nothing seems to be working. The panicked look in her eyes causes you to panic, and nothing you seem to do or try seems to help her as she continues to gasp and claw at her neck. Her face turns pale and puffed, clearly do to the fact that she’s running out of air.
Meeting Scott’s eyes, you nod, coaxing him to try the door again.
“Lydia!” He bellows, voice raspy with distress.
Your eyes snap to him as he collapses to the ground, making it up only one step. You call out for him, concerned and confused, but then you see the water that pours from his lips and you realize the exact same thing that is happening to Malia is happening to Scott.
“What... What are you doing to them?” You cry, wide eyes falling on the boy, pleading expression.
“You’re drowning. Just like me.”
Just then, you find your own throat closing in on itself. You rasp, crying out for breath as your hands fall to the floor, trying to hold yourself up as water spills past your lips like the other two. You claw at your neck, scratching at it, trying to coax your neck to relax, to let you breathe in air. But it doesn’t work. Nothing works.
“Now we can be friends forever.”
“Scott,” you cry, trying to reach out for him. He turns to you, but is frozen stuck, wide eyes focused on each other as you both gasp and gasp for breath only to choke more and more.
Your eyes feel as if they’ll bulge out, your entire body stiffening.
And you can’t help but think, thinking this is the end, that you didn’t want to die without saving Stiles.
It’s as you finish that thought that you can suddenly breathe. It comes in through a gasping breath, desperate for air, your eyes widening in relief as your heart calms, even if only a little, and you feel yourself able to move, able to breathe.
A hand falls on your back, meeting Scott’s eyes. “Are you okay?”
You nod, turning to help Malia as she glances at both of you, making sure you’re both okay.
Shaking your head at them, you gasp; “what...--”
“Mommy says you can go now.”
And just like that, the door opens.
Scott takes your hand in his, helping you up to your feet, as you help pull Malia up. Once all three of you are steadily on your feet, you all rush through the door, only managing a quick glance at Lenore before racing out the front door. You find Lydia on the front lawn, nodding to make sure you all are okay.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah,” Malia nods, “yeah, absolutely.”
However, Lydia slows, causing you and then the rest to do the same. You glance back at the house, lips curved into a deep frown at the sight of Lenore and her son, Caleb, stopping just at the porch.
“You know you could still come with us,” Lydia offers gently.
“I couldn’t leave Caleb.”
“Lenore, you know he’s not real.”
She glances down at her son, somber, before shaking her head. “I couldn’t leave Caleb.”
“Lydia,” you call gently, voice a soft whisper. “Let’s go.”
She meets your eyes, hesitating only a moment, before nodding, moving to walk with you.
-
“Do you think Stiles sent us here to warn us?”
Frowning at Scott’s words, you shake your head. “Maybe Beacon Hills is going to be the next ghost town.”
“If we don’t stop it?” Malia asks from the driver’s seat, glancing at you and Scott in the backseat through the rear-view mirror. “Yes. We need to get them to leave now.”
“We can’t,” Lydia cuts in, shaking her head. “Not yet.”
“Why can’t we get rid of them?”
“Because,” Lydia mumbles, “I saw what happens to the people they’ve taken when they leave.”
“Do they all die?”
“No. It’s something worst then death... I felt it in Lenore’s memory. It’s like...--”
“Their souls are hallowed out,” you finish for Lydia, breathless. All eyes fall on you as you meet Lydia’s, frowning. “It makes sense now. I felt it in my dream. They became something else. I think they became Ghost Riders. And then...--”
“They were gone,” Lydia nods.
-
What... What is he doing here?
Stood behind Scott, you halt, body frozen. Your lips part and your eyes widen in panic, feeling that familiar feeling flood your entire body at the sight of him.
“Somehow I don’t think we’re going to hug this out.”
Inhaling sharply, Scott paces on his feet, shuffling. “I hope you realize,” he breathes, gasping. “It’s taking all of my strength not to tear you apart right now.”
Your breath hitches when Theo’s eyes fall on your own, tilting his head; “Y/N--”
He’s interrupted by the sound of growling. Eyes flickering past him, you frown when Malia steps in, clearly angry as you can practically feel it radiating off of her in waves from where you’re stood. However, not a single part of you blames her for being so angry.
If anything, you support her anger, knowing there’s no bounds when she’s pissed.
“Malia,” Theo calls hesitantly, “you aren’t still upset about that whole shooting thing, are you?”
The answers pretty clear by the fangs and the glowing eyes.
-
Part 43?
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#Teen Wolf#Teen Wolf imagine#Teen Wolf x reader#Teen Wolf series#NRT#No Reason To#Stiles#Stiles Stilinski#Stiles Stilinski imagine#Stiles Stilinski x reader#Stiles imagine#Stiles x reader#Dylan O'Brien#Dylan O'Brien imagine#Dylan O'Brien x reader#Scott McCall#Scott McCall imagine#Scott McCall x reader#McCall!reader#imagine#imagines#my fics
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Cosmere characters on social media
alright guys it’s time for the Important Question: What social media would the cosmere characters use?
Kaladin: you bet his bitter ass is on Twitter. non-negotiable. the politics of it would piss him off, but the man lives for justice. he’d be bringing attention to patreons and such (for others, not himself) and maybe tweet out self defense/medical tips, or about something sweet Syl or Oroden did (or even tweet out quotes from his father). he’d have a campaign against amaram (those tweets are liked by Bridge Four and Adolin). the only reason why he hasn’t tweeted mega angry shit about lighteyes in general is because he doesn’t want to lose his job (in bursts of bitterness he occasionally likes OTHER people’s tweets about that though. he’d feel bad for jeopardizing his code. and Syl might get onto him about it. but. at least they can’t fire him for that). he’d be pretty silent about his depression on there (by that i mean he wouldn’t make posts or draw attention to it, but he’d definitely like some mental health tweets. i feel like shallan would post something incredibly vague about the matter every now and then and he’d like all that)
Adolin’s cheerful so he can’t be anywhere near Twitter. it would break him. honestly, he’d make pinterest boards. he’d like the organization of it all. being able to have a panel for fashion AND swords???
Vin: girl is reclusive as HELL. i feel like she’d use social media though. I’m surprised to say, maybe Instagram? or Twitter too? insta bc she’s got a girly side, but idk.. i don’t see her as the posing for pictures type. she’d have instagram but she’d like never post. at least, book 1 Vin would never post. Book 3 Vin gives updates of her and Elend on her story and maybe writes a motivational paragraph every couple of months about her own struggles and finding herself. her insta grows with her character development. she avoids celebrities as much as possible.
Vasher: bitter old man is also on twitter. actually, no. he deleted all of his social media EXCEPT twitter. he only goes on there to laugh at arguments. he gets involved maybe twice. opposite with Vin, his involvement declines with his age. Nightblood would prod him to log in, though. if he could, he’d hack in and just type “EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL.”
(warning you: i actually haven’t?? read?? Elantris?? yet?? or white sand??? fake fan, i know. i’m waiting for white sand at the library. and elantris is on my Christmas list.)
Shai: Devianartdevianartdevianartdevianart. she’d get blocked from there though because someone posts their art with the caption ‘mine, do not steal,” and she doesn’t, she just recreates it to near perfection and posts it as hers. so yeah. blocked. she’s bitter about it.
Hoid: man, oh man, would any of our little human sites suffice? jk, he’s on tumblr. he’s got that energy and would be able to take on multiple different personas. now that i say that, Shallan’s here too.
Wayne: Wayne doesn’t have social media, he fiddles with whatever he’s got in his pocket and that’s that.
Dalinar: whatever social media he has, he’s bad at it. especially if he’s arguing. nobody takes him seriously. even Adolin has trouble supporting some of his posts. Kaladin likes every single one though, especially if honor’s involved.
Sazed: the man has a whole blog that only two people read, but that’s enough for him. in fact, he thinks he’s famous until he asks people irl about it and refers them to his blog. when they don’t check it out, he gets dejected, but Vin--and every now and then, with Vin’s prodding--Elend will give his stuff a like.
Siri: she’d be a vlogger. idk why she has vlogger energy, but she does. “hey I’m in Hallandren~, hI BACK HOME! VIVENNA, HERE’S MY HUSBAND. YOU KNOW, THE GUY YOU WOULD HAVE MARRIED! *Susebron blushes into the camera and says nothing*”
Lightsong: i don’t know what social media he’s on, but wherever he is, he actually gives some really sound advice buried beneath layers of self-effacing sarcasm
Jasnah: she uses Twitter to promote whatever book she’s just published and to call out everyone’s bullshit now and again. also to piss people off.
Pattern’s like a bot. literally no one can tell if he’s actually tweeting stuff out or if it’s generated. he has the same shit recycled bUT every now and then he’ll post about a discovery (which Syl will like and comment on like, “Oh! I remember finding out about MATING, something Kaladin won’t do!”). sometimes he’ll post something about Shallan and.. she was Very embarassed the first time it happened. However, talking to Pattern proved to be a long and ultimately fruitless conversation. Pattern still doesn’t understand why Shallan doesn’t like that, just that she doesn’t. he only talks about it occasionally, now. at least, online.
Elend: Goodreads! He’s also got something on the side--probably Instagram, actually, to be all ‘I LOVE MY WIFE!’ Kelsier. Cannot. STAND. IT. Elend notices that every one of Vin’s posts has received a like from Kelsier. nothing of Elend’s has ever been liked.
Feel free to add onto this!
#cosmere#cfsbf#vin#kaladin stormblessed#elend venture#jasnah kholin#lightsong#The Stormlight Archive#the emperor's soul#warbreaker#mistborn#siri#vivenna#sazed#dalinar kholin#hoid#wayne#shai#vasher#syl#adolin#bridge four#social media#headcanons#nightblood#destroy evil#pattern
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You’ve probably heard of that film version of The Magnificent Seven from a couple of years ago. Maybe you know it’s based on a film from 1960, which is itself a remake of Seven Samurai.
But if you’re like 99% of fandom or even that guy I know who worked on the 2016 version, you probably don’t know that there was also a TV series starring, among other people, Ron Perlman.
(This came up because said dude and I were working on another Western starring Ron Perlman. A sucky one though. Alas, I cannot pimp it.)
Mag7, as it is usually called in fandom, was quite the little slash fandom in its day, yet it is nearly forgotten by newer fans. The show aired for two seasons from 1998-2000.
It’s one of those shows I bought, sight unseen, so I could catch up on older fandoms. I ended up liking it more or less, but I don’t think canon has aged well. It’s too bloodless for the era it came out in while making a pretense at covering serious, dark shit. It has neither the standing sets of old Western TV nor the big budgets of the 2010s Western revival. It’s too white. The one black lead gets relegated to token status along with all Native characters. The treatment of women is laughable, from the Happy Hooker stuff (gah!) to the time they try to teach the tomboy to be more girly so she can get the young dude in the cast (ragescream!). It feels more in line with what I’d expect a Western to look like in 1988 than 1998, especially on the heels of the far more inventive The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. in 1993.
Fanlore says that Mag7 suffers because current fandom is not into Westerns, but my problem is that I am far too into Westerns, and this show is not a good one.
OTOH, there is a lot of material here to work with, and work with it fans did!
It’s a super interesting fandom for a fandom historian because of how intensely AU-infested it is. Maybe you’ve heard something about “ATF-verse”? That’s a Mag7 thing. It’s not just regular AUs: The fandom is full of these shared universes with established rules for writers who want to play in them.
The “Seven” are:
Chris Larabee: The black-clad, taciturn loner with... wait for it... a dead wife and child.
Vin Tanner: The soft-spoken woobie, sentenced to death for a crime he did not commit, who has spent time amongst the Indian tribes. (It is every bit as cringey as you think.) Fandom’s #1 fave, natch.
J.D. Dunne: Horrid little twerp with a terrible hat. I wanted to stab him every time he was on screen. x100 whenever he was interacting with a woman.
Buck Wilmington: Played by Dale Midkiff of Time Trax fame! (What? Everyone important, by which I mean me, loved Time Trax!) He is Chris’s old friend and polar opposite, a jolly, good-humored man raised by a prostitute mother. Ladies, including the working girls, love him. Also he gets fake dead more than once, so he’s clearly the BEST character, and fandom ought to have loved him the best too! >:(
Josiah Sanchez: Ron Perlman plays a wacky preacher and ex-gunfighter. Is he haunted by his past? Does he make woo-woo philosophical proclamations about this? Does this show love its ubiquitous Western cliches? (Don’t answer that.)
Ezra Standish: If Vin is the quiet, soft-spoken woobie, Ezra is the woobie who hides his Tragic Pain under a mask of charm and cheer. He’s the one with the rapidfire con artist patter, the fancy suits, and the Southern accent. He has a complicated relationship with his con artist mother. His wardrobe is a thousand times prettier than anyone else’s, and he crossdresses at some point. Naturally, he is fandom’s other darling after Vin. Possibly the #1 darling in ATF-verse.
Nathan Jackson: Nathan is a former slave and a doctor. He has a girlfriend in the local Seminole village and not enough to do on the show.
Other characters include a sad widow for Chris to have sad dead partner angst at, the judge who sends them on missions, and, in the pilot, that guy who played Harper in Sharpe. The judge is played by Robert Vaughn, which I 100% did not realize until I was looking at wikipedia just now!
Anyway, standard Western hijinks happen. The mystery of Chris’s wife’s death is eventually solved as angstily as possible. Chris pretends to kill Buck as part of a ruse at one point, making them my ship of choice. (What?) J.D. and the local tomboy get set up by all the other characters, causing me to want to stab not only them but also myself in the eye.
COME AT ME BRO!
Oops. I’m supposed to be promoting Escapade, not starting fights about old tv shows. Anyway, I think the canon has some issues, but the fic... let me tell you, there are no words more likely to attract me to a fandom than “presumed dead”, and Mag7 fandom delivered, not only in the slash but in the gen. I have no idea, years later, where to find any of those fics or even which ones I read, but I remember there was self-indulgent melodrama and it was GREAT.
Sweet, sweet idfic, come to Mama!
I would link you to a vid, but as Fanlore hilariously confirms for me, there are like no good vids in this fandom. They did eventually release it on DVD, but the image quality is... uh... not great. Oh, wait, I did love this lulzy het vid about ladies being thirsty for Buck.
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Actually, that’s a total lie. I have gone looking for Mag7 vids repeatedly for the Escapade dance party. Excavating my old spreadsheets, I see a bunch of interesting ones, like this slash vid of Nathan/Ezra. The Southern gentleman and the black guy are an obvious cliche teamup for Westerns, but the fandom rarely went there. This vid is great though! The only reason I’ve never played it is that no one at the con ships this.
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Past Escapade panels include:
2001 - True pairings and permutations (Who are the "right" couples, and what other combinations are remotely possible? Video excerpts for newcomers.)
2003 - AUs! Crutch or creative lifeblood? (Are ATF stories a creative extension of the universe or a cop-out by folks too lazy to do their historical research?)
2004 - The Multiverse (Where canon is a formulaic retread of a remake of a classic, the critical mass of fan creativity has exploded in fascinating and bizarre ways. Often, richly textured parallel universes seem more attractive than stories based on the original source material. From conflict over "closed" AUs to creative in-breeding, what's really going on in the Mag 7 multiverse?) [HAH, EVEN YOU GUYS AGREE WITH ME.]
2005 - Where has the Old West gone? (Magnificent Seven has it all! Seven sexy men, horses, the old west, guns, adventure, right and wrong, you name it! So why isn't there more Old West fic? Why all the modem and future AUs? Where do we go from here?)
2006 - Cowboys- Real Life v. Fantasy (From Magnificent Seven to Brokeback Mountain, from John Wayne toughness to curtain fic. What's reel? What's fun? And how much reality do we want in our fun?)
2007 - Chris Larabee: Tragic Hero or Pig-Headed Bastard? (How worthy is Chris to lead the Seven? Does he lead them because he believes in protecting the weak an innocent, or because it strokes his ego? Does he truly value Buck's friendship and support? Vin's? Anyone's?)
2008 - M7: Need Topic! by Megan Kent [LOL]
2011 - Mag 7: Deader Than a Beaver Hat (They're gorgeous. They're archetypes. Lots of other fandoms have less to work with. So, what the hell?)
2012 - My Paring is OK. Your Pairing Sucks! (In a fandom famous for pairing wars, let's get it all out in the open and put it to bed. Come and defend your pairing of choice, and enjoy others doing the same. Inflatable lightsabers, laughter, and the ability not to take yourself seriously. All welcome.)
2013 - What holds the gang together? (The deal was simple: a dollar a day, plus room and board, for a month. And now they've been together *how* long? What holds these seven loners together over the long haul? All pairings, all points of view. Bring story recs to share.) [Duct tape. The answer is always duct tape.]
Mag7 on Fanlore (including links to many smaller archives)
Mag7 on AO3
Mag7 on FFN
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Doing Business by doing good
Fashion’s role in doing business by doing good
If you loved Julia Roberts’ portrayal of Vivian in Pretty Woman, you’ll remember the scene when she goes back to the snooty boutique that had asked her to leave. Her call-girl outfit gave her away. However, armed with cash from Richard Gere’s character, Edward, she buys out the place. Her transformation from skank to classic beauty is an enduring fashion moment.
Still a fan favorite, Pretty Woman is not where fashion lives in the minds of today’s consumers.
A combination of Covid and the growing awareness of the fashion’s industry’s impact on the environment is driving significant change. Forbes cited key trends impacting the industry as we greet 2021.
Data Analytics
“…fashion brands now use data to understand customer preferences, monitor their shopping behavior and create products that meet their needs…The benefits of using data in fashion are numerous: from only producing pieces consumers will actually wear to reducing waste and connecting the right consumers with pieces they will enjoy.”
Sustainability
“Research shows that 88% of consumers want brands to help them be more environmentally friendly…Fashion production releases 10% of the world’s carbon emissions, more than international flights and maritime shipping combined…British design company Vin + Omi harvests its own crops to make clothing from horseradish plants and chestnuts. It also features clothing items made from recycled paint containers. Levi’s unveiled a new collection of denim that uses 96% less water…a major win for clothing that notoriously requires a lot of water to produce.”
Reusable Fashion
According to Vogue, “Fashion has long operated on a linear model, and luxury houses are famous for burning excess stock. But take-back programmes are becoming increasingly popular. The labels that offer these initiatives range from Patagonia and Levi’s to Madewell and Theory. The North Face alone processed 14,342 garments through its Renewed initiative.”
Paying it Forward
It started with Tom’s Shoes. For every pair sold, a free pair was donated to someone in need. No doubt, the popularity of the brand had a lot to do with this new concept of ‘doing business by doing good.’ And the trend has only grown from there, with more and more brands making good of their promise to do business while doing good. Just a few:
· Warby Perker: Buy a pair of glasses and one pair is donated through their “Buy a Pair, Give a Pair” program
· Everlane: Works only with ethical factories who pay workers fair wages and respect the environment.
· The Honest Company: Purchases help fund healthy baby and personal care products while supporting valuable research and education
· Macy’s embraces sustainable clothing brands as a member of the Sustainable Clothing Coalition
The above is just a short list of recognizable corporations who are part of the movement to pay it forward. When it comes to “doing business and doing good,” one of the oldest habits has turned into one of the newest trends — what the industry is calling “reusable fashion.”
It began with hand-me-downs.
If you’re like me, the oldest in your family, you no doubt did the hand-me-down thing with your younger siblings. My mother was practical; she believed if you took good care of your clothes, there was no reason a dress couldn’t be just as good for the next in line. I have three daughters of my own, and the tradition continues. Each adds her own twist or style. They add their personality and spark to it. Now all the dresses are handed down to my young niece. I see a joy every time I see her in one of my girls’ dresses as it brings back fond memories. We all became expert at updating our “look.”
Today, hand-me-down fashion is hot. There are even retailers and e-commerce sites that support the trend. I remember a few years back, stopping into a store in a high-end Chicago mall where you could buy a second-hand, well cared for Chanel jacket. It was still pricy, but it was the real thing.
Today, hand-me-downs have transformed into a marketplace, with platforms such as Posh Mark, Depop and The Real Real. Not only are these apps and platforms reselling reusable fashion, they are helping fashion keep its promise to become part of what matters so much to consumers — doing business and doing good.
La Jolie MLN
I launched La Jolie MLN to give women a place to do what they love most — find a style that expresses your individual feminine power, whether in the workplace or in everyday life. Hand-picked fashion items that we’ll help you mix and match for just the right statement and for any occasion.
We’ll share stories from the front. You’ll get to hear from women in top positions throughout corporate America, entrepreneurs who launched start-ups and those sitting in power position.
So, let’s share our experiences, strength and stories. I cordially invite you to join a cohort of empowered women. We want to hear your voice. Visit us at lajoliemln.com
La Jolie MLN gives back
It is important to La Jolie MLN to give back to the community, to women who don’t have the same opportunity as others. And, for that reason, 10% of every purchase will go toward our goal to donate 100 dresses to Dress for Success, a non-for-profit organization that supports underprivileged women to achieve economic independence by providing various services - one of them professional attire for interviews and new employment. For more information about “Dress for Success” please visit their website at dressforsuccess.org.
La Jolie MLN launching in April 2021
Follow our journey on Instagram or Facebook
La.Jolie.MLN
Website coming soon: www.lajolie-mln.com
[email protected] – We would love to hear from you. Let us know your thoughts and any topics you would want to hear about.
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Questioning
This is for the anon who said they wanted more of my writing. This scene took me a long time and I hope they enjoy it. I call this section “Questioning” and it will be under a cut because it’s really long. I drew from my own experiences as a gay, bigender, polyamorous man to write this section. I drew from some of my own insecurities as well, so please do not hate on me. Also, there is a war scene in italics, so if you want to skip past that part, you can and also some gay slurs. But enough rambling and let’s get on with the scene.
Each morning I wake up with her on my mind and pain in my heart. I told myself that I could not love more than one person. That was a next to impossible feat. I wanted to love Ghost so bad, but the confines of my labels were like chains. I wanted to stay very much monogamous to Vinny and I very much so knew that I was not straight. If I went against the labels I had finally settled on after years of searching, I was sure to be labeled a faker. I was sure to be scrutinized by my peers. I didn’t want to face more rejection than I had already experienced in my life. I just knew that I was going to try stick to my labels. That was the only part of society I clung onto. It was the last shred of humanity that I had left. I owed it to myself, and to Ashley, to cling onto what humanity I had left.
I was always questioning myself and it never seemed important until now. I knew for a fact that I was bigender. But lately, it felt like I was faking the whole experience. I wish I knew what I was or who I was. I thought I knew who I was, that was until I finally began to realize that I was comfortable where I was. I was comfortable as a person who was in the middle of transitioning fully. All of my experiences were now somehow being invalidated by those around me. I guess I shouldn’t let it stop me, but it did. It stopped me dead in my tracks every single fucking time.
I looked at myself in the mirror and studied my appearance. I had once been overweight for my height at one hundred and forty one pounds. Now I was mostly pure muscle and bone. My hair was dull and frizzy. My eyes showed a lifelessness that they had never before. Those hazel eyes had seen too many people die to even properly process the individual deaths. The expression on my face was emotionless. My skin was dry and cracking as it never seemed to retain the water I so desperately hoarded and put into my body. There were scars, cuts and bruises everywhere. Though, my back and arms held the highest count of scars than anywhere else on my body. They had carried water back and forth from the wells deep within the California desert. They had fought and given up in bloody battles. Yet, these scars were a reminder of those battles that I fought in.
There was once battle that had haunted my body the most though. I don’t know if I had imagined the whole battle or not, but I could picture the whole event quite clearly in my mind. I didn’t really care if my body had fought in this battle. My soul knew I had fought in this battle. It had clung onto that bit of memory like I did with the book I found in the cathedral. Like the book, my soul knew that there was a lesson to be learned from what it went through. There was a moral to the battle’s story and I knew it. I believe that my soul knew I would need the experience of that particular battle to get through the battles I was facing right now. There was some reason my subconscious pulled up that particular memory. The memory was so clear that it was if these events happened only a few hours prior.
I just thought that I would have to nurse people back to health. Even then I could not stomach what I saw. Men blown to smithereens by the blast, their guts flying and hitting a nearby woman who screams out in horror. Nurses covered in the blood of the wounded. Their once white uniforms now a dark reddish-brown. A man screams out as he looks at his blown off leg, the first time he’s noticed the pain. Another is screaming about how he can’t hear, his eardrums burst because he was so close to the blast. A man screams that he has to go back and fight, that this was his duty and he couldn’t leave others to fight without him. That he had to help his fellow man and protect the motherland. His words fell short though, the nurses were too busy caring to him. Another man screams in agony as he sees his best friend is taken away from him just before his eyes. He runs to shelter in the hospital, screaming and crying for someone to save his best friend. The nurses knew that the man’s friend had no chance. He had taken a bullet to the heart. He was gone as soon as the German pilot laid eyes on him. Another man replies in the same groan of agony as he sees his lover shot down by a Japanese pilot, who laughs as he passes overhead. His lover was pregnant, due to have twins. A little boy and girl ready to be born.
Nurses were running about the island like chickens without their heads. They were looking to help anyone that had survived the blasts. Able men waved their arms and shouted at them, drawing their attention to the injured. They moved as fast as their limbs could take them. Their nimble fingers helping to stitch close wounds and take out shrapnel. They moved faster than any strike of lightning. They knew that other people’s lives depended on how fast they could work. Nurses called for extra supplies, blood, stitches and gause. All while dodging bullets, blasts and shrapnel. They were clearly prepared for whatever happened in the field.
I, however, was not prepared for what happened to the men out in the field. People were dying and I could not just sit back anymore. That man was one of the men who died in the cold hard winter of Russia. I couldn’t bare the thought of someone having to tell his family how he died. He was digging a trench when he accidentally struck himself in the foot. This caused a new disease called tetanus to spread through his foot. He didn’t have a shot yet as the disease was still new and the shot was just being tested. He brushed off the infection and went out to fight. That was where I saw him die as I tended to another soldier as a field nurse.
I looked up into the sky and watched as bullets whizzed past my head. I watched as the man took the last step up the ladder to go over the top. I reached out to try and stop him as I had seen a cannon whizz past him. It landed just a few feet from where he was. I shot up in anticipation and tried to pull him back down. As he turned his head to look at me, a cannon ball zipped past and took his head clean off. Blood spurted in all directions as his body fell lifeless.
I stood up and picked up the body, nurses and doctors yelled at me to get back. They told me that it was not safe to leave my position. They screamed and screamed at me. Their voices were already hoarse. They had to scream over the sounds of bombs and the whir of planes. Their voices were drowned out by the sounds of bullets. The sounds of speech were lost under the sounds of ripping flesh. Words were even lost under the stench of death and smoke from the bombs. The smell of used ammunition even drowned out their words. Their words fell short though as I walked over to the headless body in a trance. The sounds of war seemed to dim as I looked at the corpse.
No longer were there the screams of terrified barrier troops. No longer were there the whir of airplanes. The stench of death had somehow escaped me. I could no longer hear the screams of men calling out for their motherland. The sounds of ripping flesh had also escaped my senses. I could no longer hear the doctors and nurses screaming at me to get back into position. The sound of bullets whizzing past had escaped my ears. The only sound that could be heard was the ringing of my own ears as I walked up next to the body.
The body was still warm as I bent down to touch the man’s hand. I looked him over and tried to locate his head, which was only a few feet away from where the body was. I smiled a bit and walked over, picking up the bloodied head. The man’s eyes were a bright baby blue and he had long black hair with dark purple streaks. He was quite handsome if you stared long enough. I’m sure he had someone-
“Hey, my love. Have you seen Andy walking around these halls by any chance? We were supposed to have that meeting you set up for us.” Vinny’s voice snapped me out of my memory and I growled lightly. Vinny took a step back in surprise, his smile fading.
“I’m not sure why you’d want to see Andy, hun. You two are in completely separate divisions and barely work together. The only reason I could think of you talking to him is to get a better ranking.” With those sentences, I realized exactly why Vinny wanted to see the all powerful Andy Biersack. I took a step back from the man I thought I knew and shook my head.
“Babe, you always knew you were just a toy, right? That you are nothing more than a way for me to get to Andy? That you are just a pawn in this big game,” Vinny took a step forward with each question and my body began to shake.
“No, you love me. Don’t you remember your dreams of me?” I shook my head wildly, hoping that this all was just another dream.
“Those were all made up, darling. I only wanted to get to Andy. With him, I could learn all of the Wild One’s secrets and give them to Master William. We will destroy you all.” I took another step back in shock and gasped.
“Vin look, I know you think that F.E.A.R is a good organization. I used to think the same as well. I was blindsided and brainwashed into thinking that they were the good guys. Look at them, they are literally for every and all religion. But they are not the good guys. All they do is destroy,” I looked at Vinny, tears forming in my eyes.
“They promised me riches beyond belief, you low life tranny faggot. All you were was dirt to me anyways. You were nothing more than a stepping stone to get to Andy,” Vinny sneered and looked at me, pure disgust filling his eyes.
“Then get out, you fucking monster! I can’t believe you just used me like that. I can’t believe you would betray the entire Wild Ones like that. Leave me the hell alone,” I snapped and looked at Vinny. His eyes were much darker than normal. He turned on his heels and walked away as I collapsed to my knees, crying.
“Ghost, what the hell are you doing here,” I asked through sniffles, wiping the tears away from my face as she moved closer to me. She smiled lightly and looked into my eyes as I looked up at her, my eyes swollen and possibly red from all the crying that I had done. She looked down and sat next to me.
“I’m here to help you stop crying. You’ve been doing this all fucking day. What happened to make such a strong man break down,” Ghost reached out a touched my hand lightly, sending a shiver down my back. I looked down and laid my head on her shoulder, craving intimacy, even in the smallest of ways.
“Vinny and I had a huge fight and now we’ve essentially broken up. He was truly the one I loved whole heartedly. I had this guard up and I let it down, just for him. He saw me in a state that no one else saw me in. Vinny just ended up using me to get to Andy’s knowledge. He just wanted to get higher up…,” I trailed off and looked up at her.
“Vinny loves you…he’s just sorta…ignorant…he doesn’t know how to treat someone in a relationship. He’s more worried about what to do that is is actually doing anything and by doing that you ruin the whole relationship. He’ll come back; just give him time to cool down. He’s Italian; they have the one of the most fiery damn tempers I know…,” Her eyes went big as she gestured wildly. “Like Chris…the man is basically a giant fucking teddy bear…but woooo he gets mad…that’s like…teddy bear with volcano head and it explodes and…just hide…”
“I guess that makes a little sense since Vinny is part dragon. But I feel as though I can’t make him happy. You know…sexually. I’ve never really achieved that famed orgasm by myself and no one wants me to lose my sight. But I’ve been doing some research. The books say that there were some oracles who had lost their virginity and still kept their sight. Plus, I haven’t used my sight in years. It’s obsolete now that we can see the “future” pretty easily now that we have the plans for what F.E.A.R will be up to,” I looked down at my hands and shook my head. “But that’s not what I mean. Ghosty, Vinny joined F.E.A.R and he’s planning on using Andy to get secrets to give to William, the voice of F.E.A.R. He betrayed our trusts.”
“Come on, you’ll reach once one day. Maybe even with me. I haven’t really gotten my downstairs area taken care of. That has been put off until we make the world a better place. But I could always teach you a few things about your little growth and how to please yourself and Vinny,” Ghost winked and I smiled, knowing exactly what she was talking about, forgetting about the bombshell I dropped on Ghost almost immediately.
“You’re horny, aren’t you?” Ghost tried holding back her smile as I beamed at her. She smiled and pushed me back lightly before she crawled over me.
“I am very, very horny and I am willing to help you out any way that I can,” She purred, the words dripping off her lips seductively.
“You know, I have grown more sexually attracted to you lately and I kept wondering how that could be since I was gay and you’re clearly a woman. Maybe my sexuality is more fluid than I thought,” I kept smiling and Ghost giggled a bit. She swayed her hips lightly as she went down to kiss my neck.
Her lips moved expertly to find an area on my neck that elicited a response. I moaned as soon as she found it. I felt her smile against my neck. She went in and kissed the area wetly. She moved her tongue and kept attacking this spot on my neck. I moaned loudly as she sucked on where her tongue previously was. Her hands moved down my body and rested on where my hips would be, if I had any. She smiled as she came up and kissed my cheek. A blushed raised and reddened my cheeks.
“I tend to have that effect on people, babe,” She smiled and rubbed her hands up my sides slowly. I smiled and blushed even more, all of the sensations were new to me.
“What was that that you just did to me? I loved it,” I smiled and looked up at Ghost happily. She smiled coyly and giggled lightly as she pressed her body against mine.
“I just gave you a hickey, hun. Now stop talking, you’re ruining the mood.” Ghost pressed a kiss to my lips and I kissed back. This was one thing I knew how to do. I moaned a bit before pushing her off.
“This feels wrong on so many levels. I love Vinny with all of my heart. He’s the one I was meant to be with,” I stated with the tone of what you would use to state a fact.
“Of course, but I told you and I’ll tell you again, you ever gotta talk; especially about the trans world; call me. I’m just right down that hallway, in the women’s quarters. Though, I’m sure no one will let you in. Tell me to get my ass here and we’ll talk. I do understand a lot of what you’re going through Max. Trust me; we’re in a world where being trans is treated like a disease, a viral infection. Something that should be killed. We’re the ones that are truly different, and we’re the ones who get hurt the most. There’s nothing more we know about than being broken hearted or lonely or hurt so badly it took every last breath for us to get back up and keep going each day. We are the truthfully the strongest of the strong,” Ghost giggled and smiled at me.
“I guess I have to leave the couple’s quarters now that I’m down a significant other,” I sighed and looked at the wall across from me. I felt Ghost place her fingertips on the back of my hand, shockwaves moving through my hands.
“What’s the matter, love?” Her brows furrowed in concentration. She was trying to read my now emotionless face. I stared straight ahead and tried not to cry once again.
“You did hear me tell you about Vinny, right?” I turned my head towards her soft face and she nodded lightly, tears forming in her eyes.
“I knew one day he’d betray us all. Dragons only want what’s best for them. They’re selfish that way. I wish I could have saved you from all this mess, but I couldn’t. I do know that I will stay in here with you until you feel safe again,” Ghost wrapped an arm around me and I melted into her almost immediately.
She was the perfect person to cuddle with. Ghost had these special arms that were like a new form of magic. They weren’t muscular, but they weren’t chubby either. Her arms were a perfect mix between both. Ghost’s arms held so much pent up love that her magic arms made you feel like you were her only love in the world. Her arms were very warm and comforting. It was like being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket on a cold winter day with a cup of hot chocolate in your hands.
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F-8
Okay, so, THIS MOVIE guys. THIS MOVIE? This pure and wholesome movie? That I want to smush my face in and kiss and hug and be buried with? THIS MOVIE THAT GAVE ME JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING I WANT OUT OF AN ACTION FILM?
Spoilers! Ahead!
You know how Tumblr is always like ‘I WANT A MOVIE WHERE THE ROCK MAKES OUT WITH VIN DIESEL AND THEY’RE SOFT DADS TOGETHER’ well, okay, they didn’t. They didn’t make out. BUT THE ROCK GOT TO BE A SOFT, SWEET FATHER.
WHO COACHES HIS DAUGHTER’S SOCCER TEAM.
LIKE IT WAS BEAUTIFUL?
It was beautiful.
He and Jason Statham all but measured dicks. Like I’m gonna be honest, tempted to write the fic where they have hot sweaty break the hotel sex.
JASON STATHAM SAVES A BABY?!?!?! LIKE. A BABY. IT’S. IT’S ONE OF THE BEST. I MEAN. I JUST. I CAN’T. I NEED A WHOLE SERIES OF FILMS WHERE JASON STATHAM SAVES BABIES.
I mean, I knew I needed this before but I need-need it now.
Letty and Dom’s tragic relationship continues to be tragic BUT THEY STILL BELIEVE IN EACH OTHER.
FAMILY IS STILL IMPORTANT.
CHARLIZE THERON’S VILLAIN IS INCREDIBLY INTIMIDATING, RUTHLESS, AND WOW. I think part of the reason her character exists is a very deliberate ‘gonna fuck you up’ emotionally thing b/c she’s COLD. She’s a cold evil supervillain who can’t be turned into someone’s mother. Like, that’s something that often happens in fandom and movies and you really, really can’t with her.
Dom going to the ends of the Earth for family just. ALWAYS.
Michelle Rodriguez as Letting. Just. Always, I mean, I always love her in the FF films. She’s emotional, she shows her pain, but she’s also not afraid to walk up to the line and kick the balls of someone on the other side. BAD ASS ACTION SCENE.
LETTY AND RAMSEY SPEAK, THEY SHARE SCREEN TIME? TWO FF WOMEN EXIST IN THE SAME ROOM TOGETHER??!?! My mind is blown!
Tej and Roman’s friendship gives me *LIFE*. I do hate that Roman tends to be a joke, he’s teased through the movies (and let’s be honest, he’s teased b/c he’s the only one of these idiots who says ‘jumping out of a plane in a car is a DUMB IDEA’). and it gets on my nerves. BUT. Man, he had one really great shining scene where he KICKED ASSSSSSS. It was beautiful!
TEJ AND ROMAN’S FRIENDSHIP GIVES ME LIFE. Also, despite the fact they’re competing for a girl (remember Ramsey? from the last movie?) they’re never COMPETING for the girl. It doesn’t take over the plot of the movie and they’re also letting Ramsey make her own decisions.
Also, oh my god, that last fucking line from her? I died.
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The National Football League and its commissioner
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Competition Between Women - Does Beauty Cause Jealousy?
Women can be so beastly to one another. Women can also be the perpetrators of hate towards other women. Women can instigate and continue a trail of destruction towards another woman.
It can be very uncomfortable to acknowledge that women can act just as aggressively as men and cause the emotional breakdown in others, especially towards other women.
There are many diverse and oddly strange reasons for women behaving badly and jealousy is one of those reasons.
When the green eye of envy glares from the pulpit of internal vision in a woman, the results can range from mild verbal contact to being downright unbelievably heinous. Due to jealousy, a woman could temporarily appear insane. Some behaviors include verbal rages appearing irrational and incessant; her stiffened body taut from the venom squeezing from every pore. Jealousy is potent and can destroy both the holder and the receiver.
I covered my perspective on the Beauty Myth in another article but wanted to pay particular attention to jealousy in a woman because of beauty noting the Beauty Myth.
The Beauty Myth looks at the overall impact on women and I will be examining the psychological impact on women. To surmise the concept and explain the Beauty Myth, here is a quick précis.
The Beauty Myth is an allegorical ideology about what a woman should look like to be readily accepted in society. Men, for control over women, construct this ideology. The ideology of beauty as in the Beauty Myth is not defined, therefore there is no clear guidelines or demarcation.
There are many ways in which a woman gravitates towards making herself appealing and to appease men and the resulting language, spoken or not, determines how women view themselves. Women then systematically enshrine the essence of the Beauty Myth by plundering themselves to a regime of incessant grooming including the use of surgery, cosmetics, and diets. A woman does not have to be aware of the Beauty Myth to be complicit in its language. The control over women by men renders women out of control in mind and body as she strives for the attainment of acceptance. Remember, what the actual concept of beauty should look like is not defined! Whilst this is happening locally for women, the woman then sees other women as potential rivals. Women compete with other women vying for the attention from men creating a war on each other that may appear comical to some but is in no doubt very debilitating for women reciprocally.
Women readily accept striving to achieve the ‘ideal’ weight and maintain this notion even at the risk of their own health. In some contexts, this idea is nothing short of experimenting with their life. In an attempt to mask over her own lack of self-esteem, a woman may originate a furtive competition with her colleagues, peers and even friends to appear to be the better looking, therefore, more acceptable to men. Is the archetypal jealous woman real or fictitious? Just take a look around you.
Women eyeing up other women whilst measuring their own selves and sometimes leaving others feeling as though they are below standard. If a particular woman measures against another woman and feels she is more attractive than she perceives her ‘rival’ to be, just watch her physiology prolifically change in an instant. If she perceives this same ‘rival’ to be featuring an attribute she is keen to personally gain this same change in her physiology is evident but this time, she retreats within herself. The Omnipresence of the Beauty Myth is indeed powerful even if not understood by its participants. The concept of the Beauty Myth makes women jealous towards other women a certainty.
Throughout my working experiences in some companies, I have sometimes felt it was better to have a man as a manager than a woman. I work passionately to improve women’s lives so how can I possibly justify the previous statement? Well, if your female manager is managing her own set of negative self-perceptions and gracelessly views you as having something that she does not, well, put it this way, your working day can be hell. This information should not be taken out of context. Women are able to manage effectively managerial roles, I am speaking about the female manager who may allow her position to denigrate another female based on the idea of perceived threat. I am also admitting, however uncomfortable that women in ‘powerful’ positions can use this to feather their own pride by reducing another women’s intent. The inception of jealousy not just in thought but put into practice has some very untenable traits for the recipient, the acts done against her is nothing short of bullying. Even in an informal group of friends, there is always some kind of rivalry going on, some form of argument stemming from the lack of something, the underbelly being self-esteem. Yet, if we took a look back into the lives of much younger females (ages 4 – 8 years old), you can see a characteristic in them that might explain the neuroticism that follows later on.
Young girls are tenacious; they are determined and self-assured. They can appear bossy and knows how to get their wishes completed. They can manipulate others for their gains without blinking. The young female knows who she is and will fight for control in her circle. (This description is archetypically of young females before society teaches them that their voices are not to be heard, another discussion!) Many times, the young female who views herself as mentally and emotionally strong will seek friends who appear to her to be the opposite of her traits. This way, she will continue to reign. When she does befriend another young female who then goes on to outwardly presenting with the same strong traits, they may remain friends but will experience bouts of rivalry towards each other. However, why they would remain as friends needs further explaining. The need to reign is secondary in spiritual terms to the more important aspect of having, nurturing and maintaining friends. This means that whilst the need to reign is strong, this is borne from the pressures put on them from their outside world. The need for friends is borne from their inner world (subconscious) and is much stronger than the need to reign. Young females, growing females and grown females will find a comfortable place with each other that accommodates their rivalry as long as they are friends. So does this mean that the Beauty Myth perpetuates the traits already found in females and uses it against them? In my opinion, most definitely a YES.
The competition between women to beautify self to surpass their ‘rival’ is not done explicitly. There are no words that are used that determine such acts of rivalry; the competition is clandestine. There are times when a female will depict her sense of being at war when she negatively calls on the ‘flaw’ of her rival, teasing her about her perceived ‘afflictions.’ Or when a female has been perceived to have ‘achieved’ the mythological beauty, the backlash from her peers is all too evident. The sniping, the backbiting or even the silent treatments towards to the poor female are tools that are used to demonstrate the discomfort women feel towards their ‘rival’ but borne from their own lack of a positive self-identity. The need to reign (starting in early age) is ever-present but made more complex when they become older and now also vying for acceptance from men.
Young girls in the playground demonstrably sending some other poor girl ‘out to Coventry’ merely for having a super pair of shiny shoes that the reigning girl does not. The teenage female who turns on her friend because that boy she likes is not reciprocal with her attention-seeking activities. The new woman at work who makes the standardized corporate uniform look incredibly perceptively sexy even without trying. Supermodels are dicing with their health in an attempt to be the thinnest, therefore, prettiest amongst her peers. She has learned that this ensures continuous work for her. Media depict background scenes of the clichéd females behaving beastly towards each other in the same attempt to reign and be accepted. Movie celebrities all seeking the reduced weight as the camera ‘puts on pounds’ and media shouts out any imperfections on a woman in a public way. Not all publicity is good publicity! Feuds are started by women with other women just because of perceptions based on looks. Especially worsened if the female celebrity is newsworthy and over-exposed. So all women are somehow affected by beauty and can become, coupled with a typically feminine trait, extend into jealousy. The levels to which jealously can extend to is dependent upon what the attacking female feels she has to gain to extinguish her rival or equally how she much she has to lose.
Here are a few explanations of jealousy:
Fearful or wary of being supplanted; apprehensive of losing affection or position; resentment or bitter in rivalry; having to do with or arising from feelings of envy, apprehension or bitterness; vigilant in guarding something; intolerant of disloyalty or infidelity, autocratic.
The need to feel beautiful therefore accepted by self and others is inextricably linked to having better self-esteem. This increases the competition in and for women. The ‘rewards’ are both self-serving to women and for men. However, with the Omnipresence of the Beauty Myth makes jealously a sure fire win for men, whoever wins the competition, they cannot lose. Until women build their self-esteem on feelings on individualism, compassion for other women and acceptance of other women and their equally beautiful features, the war with jealousy will continue. The Beauty Myth continues to reign over the female who thinks she reigns. Until women understand that they are men’s half-witted sense of delusions and will never aspire to true equality, they remain incarcerated spiritually. The creation of ‘the woman’ needs to happen and how this is done is by understanding who they are and remove self from men’s expectation. Women then need to build up spiritually by becoming aware of their inner resources to begin the trade off with men for equality because, at the moment, men do not have to trade with women on equal grounds.
My name is Marcia Hibbert-Roye, qualified Social Worker and Life Coach. I work as a Strategic Lead Developer for Women. My specialism is developing emotional awareness in females as I am passionate about improving women’s lives. I have devised a 6 Step Program that promotes good emotional health by accessing information held in the subconscious mind to the conscious mind. The result is having more control over thoughts, feelings, and behavior.
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