#helen is actually very protective by nature and i love that about her. she's sharp and cold but she has the capacity for warmth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iron--spider · 4 years

Text

I woke up at 3am yesterday to watch The Devil All the Time and I’ve been thinking about it since. I’m gonna put my thoughts and feelings and a review of sorts behind the cut, because I am gonna talk about it freely, so there will be spoilers! So don’t click if you don’t wanna see. I’ll also be discussing the content of the film and I know that might bother people, so that stuff is in here, too! And it’ll be really long because you know I can’t shut up.

So, I loved it. I loved it loved it loved it. I read the book a long time ago when I first found out Tom was gonna be in it, and the only problem I had with the book was that the POVs would change in the middle of a paragraph lmao, but other than that I thought it was pretty perfect. I knew the movie was gonna be pretty brutal, because the book is brutal, so I was prepared.

-BUT I think the critics HIGHLY HIGHLY exaggerated how bad the content was. Like, seriously, they acted as if this was gonna be a Saw movie. I was preparing for blatant, horrific gore, but it didn’t live up to their dramatics at all. There’s blood and nasty situations, but every single episode of Game of Thrones is worse than this movie, as are most episodes of any crime drama on a paid network. I actually thought they were super, super tactful of all their horrific shit. The dog death was off screen and the shot of the body (described by the critics as literally traumatic) was so quick (enough to shut your eyes) and in the dark. I also argue that particular moment is extremely important for Arvin’s journey, because it’s the moment he truly turns on his father and turns on religion entirely, and he carries it with him his whole life (it’s what he flashes back to when he says “I know what my daddy did” because it’s the marker of all Willard’s mistakes) and it winds up being one of the last things he does before he leaves everything behind. Burying Jack’s bones. So, like, I despise dog death or any animal death in my entertainment, but it’s important here and handled well. And all the worst death scenes are either extremely fast (Helen’s and Gary Matthew’s) or shown in negative (all the photos). I think Bodecker’s headshot with Bobo is probably the worst and is also pretty quick. I don’t know if this means I’m a jaded bitch, but God the way they were all whining and crying, I thought it’d be a million times worse. It could have been, with the book’s descriptions, so it was actually pretty tame. Lenora’s death affected me the most and they cut away from that, too. I guess it’ll still bother some people, but there are many, many mainstream things that are far more violent and gory than this was.

-I thought it was a beautiful movie. I never mind films that are slightly slower but I love ones that use their time to lay things out and really show us what’s going on, build the ambiance and the relationships. I loved the narration (which I was worried about), and it really made me feel like we were visiting a moment in time that was important. Like something that was written and should be learned about. Rumors in a town you’re passing through. The ghosts of past trauma and transgressions looming over everyone that’s left.

-I liked the changes they made with Roy and Theodore because I thought that storyline kinda meandered in the book and I’m glad that Roy was actually gone the whole time and not just neglecting to come back to Lenora.

-The only real complaints I can make, I’ll get out of the way here: I wanted a little bit more time with Carl and Sandy. Carl was really creepy, but he could have been much creepier. In the book he was the one looking at the pictures constantly, Not Sandy, and that really showed that he was the one with the sickness, the one pushing them forward and orchestrating it all. I thought they did well with showing how Sandy deteriorated in her efforts with him through the years, but I would have liked to see a bit more of their personal lives together and her fear of him and her genuine feelings about what they’re doing, because the book goes into that a lot more. I also wasn’t a fan of Lee finding the picture early and knowing some about what they were doing, because I liked how it was a surprise to him in the book and yet he still did all he could to cover it up. And lastly, in the book there’s a scene with Arvin after he kills Sandy and Carl where he’s in a motel and he takes like 18 showers because he can’t get the grime of what he’s done off of him, and he looks at the picture and has a nightmare about killing Sandy, and I really would have loved if they’d kept it in. It would have been another ‘acting’ moment for Tom, and it would have been nice for us to see his direct trauma and reaction to everything that’s piling on top of him.

-BUT that’s it. I loved pretty much every single other thing and decision that they made. The cinematography was TOP NOTCH. You could tell they filmed on 35mm film, you could see the grain, and it really, really added to it. Antonio Campos is a very skilled director and I trusted him at the helm of this story. Everything looked so authentic, all the sets and the costumes. The soundtrack and score were AMAZING and enhanced the film. Technically it was just perfect in every regard to me.

-Acting! Acting! God this was like...a massive testament to the casting department and the talent of these people. Everyone was on their A game. Bill Skarsgård has been on my radar since Castle Rock (which I recommend to everybody, both seasons) and he was so natural and great in this role. Haley Bennet was absolutely adorable as Charlotte, I loved her cute face and her sweet relationship with little Arvin. Riley Keough was so great as Sandy with the limited amount of time she had, and Jason Clarke is one of my favorites but he was unrecognizable in this as creepy ass Carl. Harry Melling was a far cry from Dudley Dursley and he did a great job with his screen time, too. Same with Mia Wasikowska, who didn’t have much to do (same as poor Helen in the book) but she was able to garner our sympathy anyway. Seb Stan was slimy and gross but he pulled it off so well. Eliza Scanlen has been one of my favorites since Sharp Objects (another one that’s brutal as hell but I recommend it, she’s so scary) and she was so, so great here. Robert Pattinson was ALRIGHT, everybody talks him up over this but he felt a little hammy to me and a little too over the top, but there’s no denying his talent.

-Now, the reason we’re all here. Tom. My God. As soon as it was over I just didn’t know what the hell to do, I didn’t even know how to....go on, lmfao. We all know he’s talented, that’s why we’re here, that’s why we love him, but his performance in this is just BEYOND all that. Beyond comprehension. The man is only 24 years old and he’s out here outacting people who have been in the industry for longer than he’s been alive. He is SHOCKINGLY good. I knew he’d be perfect for Arvin as soon as I read the book, but he just completely embodied this role in a way that I couldn’t have imagined. He doesn’t show up in the movie until about 45 minutes in (which doesn’t hurt it because of the strength of the leadup, Bill’s performance and the performance of little Arvin’s actor) but God, as soon as he’s there the whole thing comes to life in a way that it hadn’t before. Tom is literally just a shining light, and he draws your eye in every single scene he’s in, and when he’s not there you’re wondering when he’s gonna come back. Arvin, to me, is a very complex character—he has been inherently changed by how his father twisted religion in his childhood, how deeply he betrayed him by his behavior, but he still has a kind heart and a protective streak and the need to be strong despite the pain nearly breaking him apart from moment to moment. Tom is just outrageously good at portraying all Arvin’s little nuances, how he clenches his jaw, how his voice breaks when he’s afraid or trying to convince someone of something or get his point across, how his hands tremble after he’s done something he wishes he didn’t have to do, how his whole body wilts when he realizes he’s emulating his father. And his eyes. Tom can do so, so much with his eyes that it’s unbelievable. He tells you so much with just a simple look, a glance, a wince, a long blink. I’m not exaggerating when I say he’s just an absolute revelation in this, he cements his place in Hollywood with a firm hand and a tender look, and I will not be forgetting what he did here anytime soon. There’s a reason that everyone called him out for being so stunning in this. He is magnificent. He has a gift.

-I wanna say, in particular, how much I love Arvin’s relationship with Lenora. Their lives were both marked by such tragedy and pain and Arvin just took up the torch of protecting her from the moment he said hello as a child. He wants so badly to be tough, and he IS, but there’s just miles and miles of love in this boy’s heart, and it manifests itself for his family—for his uncle, for his grandma, but for Lenora in particular. I loved how he just showed up when she was being harassed and just ran in there without thinking, and it’s purely devastating that he was out taking care of her bullies while a worse predator was cornering her. The scene where she was sick wasn’t in the book but it was a beautiful addition. Tom sometimes wears this very open, unguarded, honest expression, and this is the only scene in which he shows it, and it really expresses the love between them and how much she means to him. Arvin didn’t find Lenora’s body in the book, but it was the right change for them to make. Tom was devastating here, and that pain and that moment truly fuel every second of his journey through the rest of the film. “My Lenora”. The saddest siblings. Both Eliza and Tom did so beautifully with this relationship and I hope they work together again.

-Favorite acting moments for Tom: when he’s in the car in the rain after beating up the bullies, when he’s in the church crowd and realizes Preston is insulting his Grandma (the way his face changes oh my GOD), when he finds Lenora, when the cop comes to tell him Lenora was pregnant (this is just....so damn good), when he was telling his uncle to look after his Grandma, THE ENTIRE CHURCH CONFRONTATION (the way he trembles when he’s trying to get his attention, how he speaks the whole time, how he slowly gathers his strength), when he thinks Sandy has shot him, the moment where he’s over Lee’s body and just....pleading with his eyes for him to listen and realize what he’s done. And the last scene, in the car, all the emphasis on his face....once again, he can do so, so much with a look, with his eyes. Someone called out the beautiful last shot in the film, and of course, it’s Arvin’s sleeping face. And it was so beautiful (and devastating, to think of him enlisting. Tom draws so much sympathy that you just want Arvin to have a normal life so badly. He deserves it, he does, but will he get it?)

-Last thing I’ll say, I really loved how, despite turning his back on religion, that God seems to be protecting Arvin the whole time. He’s terribly afraid confronting the preacher and that could have easily gone badly, especially when he tosses the book, but Arvin was somehow able to get a shot off and get the upper hand. And with Carl and Sandy, he senses something is off immediately once they pull off the road, and he would have absolutely been killed had Carl not switched out Sandy’s bullets for blanks. And in the confrontation with Lee, he once again shoots at the same time as him, shoots without looking, and manages to come out unscathed and on top. A few spoiler reviews pointed out that the last person that picks Arvin up is supposed to be a Jesus-like figure, almost like he’s finally been saved. It hurts that everyone around him that he loved is almost forsaken by God, but he himself is protected. It’s such a complicated commentary on religion throughout the entire piece, but it’s so interesting and engrossing.

So I’d recommend this movie to anyone that loves movies, loves Tom, can deal with a gritty story that takes its time laying out all the chess pieces. It is definitely heavy subject matter but it doesn’t go overboard with the horror as it easily could have. Yes, there are triggers to look for, but the critics hugely over exaggerated how awful it was. I can probably go get time stamps for certain things if people wanna ask me after reading this, but if you can get through a Tarantino film or any HBO drama, you can do this. And Tom’s performance is one for the ages and not one that deserves to be passed over or downplayed. It is beautiful and heart-wrenching—a magnificent turn that displays his monumental ability to reach out and guide you into any world he decides to make his own.

I loved The Devil All the Time.

#tom holland #arvin russell #the devil all the time #text post #LONG #I’M SORRY

295 notes · View notes

abduct-me-helen · 4 years

Text

Class 108's Apocalypse Field Trip | Chapter 4.

“So, are we going to talk about it? Or….” Martin asked, looking at Jon with an expression he found he couldn’t decipher. The chatter of class 108 filled the comfortable silence that would usually occupy them on their journey.

“About what?” Jon avoided the question, turning his head back to check on the rest of the class. They’d originally formed two lines, headed by Jon at the front of both and Martin at the back. That had quickly fallen apart, and now they were more of a…blob, if anything.

Martin gave him a look. “I still don’t know how you’re smiting things here! I was about to ask you before we came across the school, but I decided it was best to wait until we calmed down a bit.”

“I-I killed it. I have the power, so I…so I killed it.” Jon turned his head away, facing decidedly frontwards.

“Yeah, but like, how? I’m-I’m sorry, I just don’t understand what actually happened.” Martin gestured, confused and frustrated.

“I-It’s hard to explain. We’re coming upon a domain of the,” he grimaced, memories of dirt and choking and pressure momentarily overtaking him, “buried. I would really rather-”

The sound of knocking cut him off, and the squeak of hinges made everyone silent. Static crackled, and Katie, ever alert, got out her knife just before Rosie silently directed everyone to draw their “weapons.”

Jon didn’t know what a pencil sharpener would do to the distortion, but he didn’t want to find out.

Martin turned, confused at why the quiet had set in. “What-”

“Look down, Martin.”

“Oh.” He paused, startled. “Wait, what?”

“No one get to close!” He called, running his hands through his hair and sighing. “Hello, Helen.”

“Oh, Hello! In a better mood now, are we? Feeling safer now that you know how to kill? And you’ve got a whole gang with you! How exiting.” Her eyes seemed to light up, literally.

“YEET.” Tabitha threw a pencil sharpener at Helen, but her body seemed to twist and absorb it in impossible ways, making Tabitha’s head hurt. She shook it off. “Stay away from us! Begone thot!”

The rest of the class began to recite various vines in agreement.

“GET REKT!” “YOUR MOM’S A HOE!” “WALK AWAYAHAYAHAYHAY”

Martin facepalmed. Jon exhaled, forcing down the urge to scream.

Helen blinked, then her mouth pulled into an impossible grin. “You’ve got quite a crowd here, don’t you Archivist?”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Touch them, and I will end you.”

Helen laughed and echoing laugh that hurt his ears. “Oh, Archivist. You really have grown! But no, I’m here for a chat. We are friends, aren’t we archivist? Allies?”

He gritted his teeth. “Sure.”

Martin butted in. “Will you tell me how he did it?”

“Martin-” Jon protested.

“He just keeps on being all vague about it.” Martin complained. Helen seemed to light up.

“Oh goodness. You see what you’ve done to the poor boy, Jon? He’s coming to me for answers.” She cackled, and Jon glowered.

“Shut up.” He said.

She giggled. “It is very satisfying though, isn’t it? Teasing the vague information? You can see why Elias got a kick out of it.”

“Elias?” Rosie questioned. “Isn’t that your boss?”

“That’s Eyeball Daddy’s sugar baby.” Tabitha told her. Rosie made an ‘ah’ noise of recognition.

Helen cackled in delight. “That’s what you’re calling him? Oh, I like you.” She grinned, and Tabitha made an awkward face. What was she supposed to do, when she’d somehow won the favor of an eldritch door person?

Take it like a champ, I guess, she thought.

“Don’t.” Martin said protectively.

“Don’t what, love?” Helen asked, batting her eyelashes. (Literally, bats flew out of them).

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, stay away from them.” Helen pouted as Martin finished.

“But you aren’t any fun.” She said, her mouth curled downward in mock sadness.

“Look-just, just explain. Please.” Martin changed the subject, imploring her to alleviate his confusion. Jon glowered, but stayed decidedly still.

“Well,” she began, sporting a sharp grin, “We’re all here, Martin. The Stranger, the Buried, the Desolation, all of us. But the Eye still rules. All this fear is being performed for its benefit. And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: The Watcher, and the Watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are afraid. And John, well-he is part of the Eye. A very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say, shift its focus. Turn the one into the other. And for those of us whose very existence relies on being feared, well: to be turned into a victim destroys us utterly. And very, very painfully.”

A silence fell over everyone, before Cypress broke it.

“So, what you’re saying is, the clap of his ass cheeks alerted the Eye?” He questioned, ginger curls bobbing as he tilted his head.

“Eyeball Daddy.” Raphi muttered.

Helen sported a look of delight, before cackling once again. She wiped a tear from her eye, and Rosie noted that it was the color of a highlighter. As it fell to the ground, the grass it came in contact with seemed to glow.

“You really are fun!” She declared gleefully. “Archivist, for someone so dour you certainly have lively company. Who are all of you then?” Her head twisted unnaturally in interest.

Elliot instinctively looked to Rosie, and shrugged when he met her eyes. Her own were narrowed in thought, before she shook her head. Helen grinned.

“Oh! A smart one. But no, I’m not a fae and you are, regrettably, protected by our Archivist.” She sighed dramatically.

Jon ran a hand through his hair. “She’s right.” Helen lit up. Really. She glowed.

Tabitha, ever curious, tilted her head. “I’m Tabitha. Are you with the smexy weed?”

“The smexy weed?” Helen asked, unapologetically amused, “whatever do you mean?”

Cal let out a short laugh and Katie rolled her eyes.

“The one that makes you high.” Elliot intoned (un)helpfully.

Martin groaned. “Wh-you know what. I’m just going to leave it.”

Helen was grinning now. “Yes! I’m with the Spiral, or the smexy weed, if you prefer!”

“Dope.” Elliot said, and Rosie raised an eyebrow.

“Wait a second,” Martin spoke, putting his hands up and turning to Jon, “why were you being so cryptid about it anyway? It doesn’t seem very complicated so I don’t know why you were being so coy about-”

“Because I’m ashamed, Martin.” Jon cut him off, sighing and clenching his jaw.

“Ashamed?!”

“Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I just-destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it, the fact that-I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a…fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please. The fact that I…enjoyed it, and…the fact that there are so many others that I want to revenge myself on!”

A pall of silence fell over them.

“Mr. Sims?” Cypress spoke.

Jon sighed. “Yes?”

“You said the fuck word.” Cypress informed him solemnly. The rest of the class nodded.

“That’s what you take from that?!” Jon said exasperatedly.

“Well, I mean, about what you said, I actually think you’re good on that front.” Cypress said hesitantly.

“What?”

“Yeah, I, I, I think we should go for it, get our murder on!” Cal exclaimed. They’d been silent nearly the entire time, naturally a shy person and even quieter when scared. Rosie raised an eyebrow, and Tabitha cheered, slinging an arm over their shoulders.

“Yes Cal! You go!” Tabitha high fived them.

“I agree with that.” Martin spoke, surprising Jon.

“How-what?” Jon said incredulously.

“Yes Martin!” Helen cheered, delighted by this new development.

“Th-this isn’t like it was before! We’re not talking about innocent bystanders in cafes here, John; these things are-th-they’re just evil, plain and simple, and right now they’re torturing and tormenting everyone! If you want to stop them and have the power to, then-then, then yeah, let’s do it, let’s go full Kill Bill!”

“I-I haven’t seen it.” Jon breathed in surprised.

“Oh, Martin, I am so proud of you. Can I come too?” Helen asked ecstatically.

“No.” All of class 108 intoned.

Helen pouted. “So mean! I take it back, you’re no fun at all.”

“Coming from you, I would think that a good thing.” Rosie pointed out as Sydney nodded her agreement.

Helen sighed dramatically. “Fair, fair. I think I’ll take my leave, now. Don’t be a stranger!”

The creaking of the impossible, yellow door signals her exit, and Tabitha’s eyes widen.

“Guys!” she exclaims, face bright with a new, disastrous idea. Katie groans preemptively. “We should do a Tiktok with her!”

Regrettably, Tabitha’s idea was immediately shut down, and they soon continued on their path until Jon came to a stop, gritting his teeth.

“We’re here.”

He’d explained that they’d have to cross through multiple nightmares in order to reach the Panopticon, along with the statements he’d have to give. Though Sydney had wondered, she hadn’t asked if he knew the whereabouts of any of her classmates.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

No, that was a lie. Above anything else, Tabitha needed knowledge like water. She felt incomplete without it, whatever the cost of that knowledge would be. She would rather mourn a death then be ignorant and happy.

“Are you going to…?” Martin prompted, and Jon nodded, sighing.

“You should all leave while I-”

“No.” Rosie and Tabitha intoned at once, looking at each other surprised.

“Why not?” Martin questioned, wondering why anyone would want to have to listen to that.

“I…,” Rosie breathed, “you said this was about the Buried, right?”

“Y-yes.” Jon stammered, taken aback.

She sighed, tightening her side ponytail as a distraction. She often found playing with her hair gave her comfort.

“I-I can’t explain it. It’s not like I’ll sleep any easier without,” she gestured, “this.” She finished lamely.

Jon and Martin had a silent conversation, and though Jon was apprehensive, he sighed and gestured for her to sit down. He then turned to Tabitha, raising his eyebrow.

“What about you?”

“I need to know.” She said. “I-I can’t be in the dark in a world like this. I just-I need to know.”

Martin nodded, still doubtful. He gestured for the rest of the class, who were staring at the two girls like they were insane, to follow him over to (what appeared to be) a tree.

“-Better to keep him buried, neatly away.” Jon finished, and Rosie breathed out shakily. Jon looked at her, really looked, and was confused to find that she looked almost sated.

He turned to Tabitha, and she seemed the same, though in a far more familiar way. He couldn’t quite place it, but something was…off.

“Are you both okay?” They nodded at his question, and Rosie helped Tabitha up.

“Yeah, I don’t know, I just…” Tabitha hesitated, “I feel…weird.”

“Weird?” He intoned, raising an eyebrow in concern. “Not scared?”

“No-I mean, yeah, I’m scared, but…” she shook her head. “Never mind, it’s not important. Hey, why is Katie stabbing a tree?”

As it turned out, the tree wasn’t as inanimate as they’d thought, and after being chased around for a bit, Martin got separated from the rest of the class. Not too far; he could still see them in the distance, and they appeared to have killed(?) the tree.

Where did Katie get an axe?

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, when a phone rang out of nowhere. He jumped, surprised.

It was coming from the ground.

He scowled, running his hand through his hair in annoyance, before a clanking noise got his attention from the right. A metal spade just seemed to…appear. Out of nowhere.

“A spade? Really? I mean, isn’t that a little insensitive?” He questioned irritably, sighing to himself.

“Right, so we’re doing this then.”

He began to dig until he reached the phone, yanking it up. He wasn’t surprised to find that there was no landline attaching it to the other caller.

“Hello?” He asked.

“Hello. Is that Martin?”

He cursed inwardly.

“Don’t do that.” He warned.

“Not in the mood for games?” Her voice was decidedly amused.

“You know I’m not.” He told her.

“No fun.”

“Yes, well-look, I’m talking to Annabelle Cane, right?” He said, already knowing the answer to that question.

“You never gave me yours, why should I give you mine?” Martin wondered if she was being this difficult on purpose. Knowing the Web, she probably was.

“Just-what do you want?” He asked tiredly, sighing.

“To help, of course!”

“No. Thank you.” He declined sharply.

“Oh, I think you’ll want to hear this. Marcy Schroeder isn’t dead.”

“W-what?!” He exclaimed.

He didn’t know much about the girl, hadn’t even known her last name before he’d heard Annabelle say it, but he knew enough about what had happened when one of class 108’s first expeditions had wandered into the Web.

“That’s what I said! She’s been kept alive for a reason, though I don’t know what. I suspect it has something to do with the end.”

“Where is she?”

“Now, now, that’s information you’ll have to pay for.”

“With what?”

“Good question. I’ll need to let the situation play out a bit first, and then I’ll know what you can pay me. I’ll keep in touch!”

The line went dead.

“Well, shit.”

Rosie was quiet, Tabitha noticed, as she played with her hair languidly, posture tired and face blank with a subtle confusion and scowl. She walked over casually, trying to surprising her from behind, then frowned when Rosie didn’t react.

Tabitha tilted her head, then sat on the log beside her.

“You okay?” She asked, concern blindingly evident in her voice. Rosie didn’t respond.

They sat in a comfortable silence, looking out at the green tinted world in front of them. The watchful eye of the Panopticon looked back, and Tabitha gave it a challenging glare.

“Did I ever tell you about the sinkhole?” Rosie broke the quiet, not even glancing beside her.

“No, I don’t think you did.” Tabitha replied, and was silently disgusted with her own burning hunger for the information Rosie must have been referencing.

Rosie finally turned to Tabitha, chocolatey eyes dull. “When I was in middle school-it must have been fifth or sixth grade-I was caught in a sinkhole. I was buried for two days, under the earth. The Doctor’s didn’t know how I survived, but I did.”

Tabitha’s eyes were wide as Rosie continued her tale.

“The earth…moved. And not in the normal ways. It was unnatural. It tried to choke me, but I didn’t fight back. I just, let it. And I wasn’t afraid. I was,” she spoke sourly, “comforted, by the pressure. It felt like a hug, except, an important one. The earth was hugging me, Tabitha.”

Rosie’s gaze sharpened, and Tabitha’s hunger seemed to increase.

“And I let it. My parents are-were,” she grits, remembering the loss and silently wondering which nightmare they were trapped in, “amazing to me. But they weren’t tactile people by any stretch. And the earth…it was everywhere. And I think I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. A ‘medical marvel,’ that’s what the doctors said at least.

“I’ve never told anyone before, but you of all people I feel like I can tell things. You just,” she gestured absently, “have that feel about you.”

“Are you vibe checking me?” Tabitha joked, trying to ease the tension. Rosie smiled gratefully.

“I suppose I am.” Rosie responded, before growing solemn again. “I think…well, you can figure that out.” She looked to Tabitha, willing her to fill in the blanks.

“You think it was the Buried.” Tabitha reasoned, thinking to herself.

Rosie didn’t need to say anything; they both knew that what happened wasn’t possible by any other explanation.

“…we need to come up with a name for it.” Tabitha spoke to herself, and Rosie raised an eyebrow.

“I may not have been scared of being buried alive, but hearing those words terrifies me.” Rosie deadpanned.

“Aw, Ro, I’m flattered. You say the nicest things.” Tabitha cooed, and they both laughed quietly.

“…I have an idea.”

“Oh no.”

“The Great Bondage, the Choking Kink-”

“Okay, I’ve heard enough.”

“Hey! Don’t leave me here! What about the buddy system-”

#tma #the magnus archives #teacher jonathan sims #teacher!jon #apocalypse field trip #gen z vs the apocolypse #tma spoilers #season 5

52 notes · View notes

falling-feuilles · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3

CW/TW: N/A

Early the next morning, Y/N woke; alone in the sitting room. The teaset sat undisturbed, save for the small, folded note addressed to her. Its familiar, slanting script informed her of the message’s author: Pierre. He was nowhere to be seen; all that remained of his presence was the empty teacup, placed neatly back on its saucer.

She reached for the paper, noting the looseness of her bandages as she did so. The note was simple, and the ink wasn’t completely dried; it was written recently, and in somewhat of a hurry. On the paper, Pierre expressed his gratitude for her hospitality and companionship. She smiled, reading through the note a second time, noticing he had scratched out a word. Despite his best efforts to remove the letters, Y/N could still see their outline when held up to her window. They read “Your love friendship is, as always, a great comfort…” the note continued on after that, but her eyes kept going back to the word. Love. She loved Pierre deeply, he was her closest friend, so why did she keep focusing on that word? Why did Pierre cross it out? She shook her head, blinking back into reality. Those were thoughts for another, less busy, day.

Y/N, after carefully refolding the paper and, after slipping it into her pocket, examined her wrist. The fabric was fraying slightly, with a few ink stains on the piece between her thumb and forefinger. She gently unwound the binding, carefully maneuvering the remaining cotton between her fingers. The mark was dark indigo in the center, ringed with green. She rewrapped the sprain with a clean roll of cotton, not as neatly or as tightly as Alexandra would have, but enough for the bandage to function as it should.

Her carriage was to leave at eight in the morning, arriving at the Bolkonsky residence well before noon. The dull ticking of the grandfather clock to her left reminded her of this prior commitment. Its hands read as just before seven, giving her plenty of time to prepare for the day.

The morning passed in a blur, despite the dullness of the carriage ride. She spent the majority of it worrying for Pierre and the influence Prince Vassily might have on his future. This type of thinking, she decided, wasn’t of much use; and, although she tried to think about what these next few months had in store for her, Pierre was never far from her mind.

It had been a number of years since she’d last visited the Bolkonskys, the last time being for the purposes of seeing Marya, Andrei’s sister. Marya was one of the kindest, most gentle people she had met, and it pained Y/N to see her so meek and trodden on by her father. As the carriage pulled up to the steps, Y/N saw Tikhon, the butler, outside the house awaiting her arrival. He opened the carriage door, offering her a gloved hand.

“My lady,” he began as she placed a foot on the ground, “Your sister and the Princess are in the sitting room awaiting your arrival.”

“Tikhon, you’re looking well.”

“Thank you, my lady. You are as radiant as ever.” She smiled, moving inside the large manor. The familiar lilt of conversation aerated throughout the entrance hall, originating from the open doors to her left. As soon as she entered, she was greeted with a hug from her sister.

“N/N! Finally, you’re here!” Lise was clearly adjusting well to life with Marya and Mademoiselle Bourrienne.

“Yes, yes, I hope you haven’t missed me too terribly in our single day apart.” Y/N chuckled, kissing her sister’s forehead.

“Y/N…” Marya stood from the couch, moving to embrace Y/N.

“It’s been far too long, Marya. I hope you’ve been keeping well?”

“As well as I can,” she sounded sad, and Y/N couldn’t blame her. Marya quickly smiled, attempting to change the slightly somber mood back to the joyful one it had been mere moments before, “But, much better now that you and Lise are here.”

Y/N squeezed her shoulder gently before turning to sit next to her sister, who hadn’t seemed to notice Marya’s momentary distress. They talked for a while, catching up on all the recent developments in Lise and Marya’s lives. Y/N, however, found it hard to focus on anything the two said. Her hand, subconsciously, slipped into her pocket, occasionally running Pierre’s note through her fingers.

“Y/N, are you alright? You seem… distracted.” Marya noted, halting her conversation with Lise.

“Yes, I’m fine…” Marya and Lise clearly didn’t believe her, both knowing the woman too well.

“What is it?” Lise placed her hand on Y/N’s. The pain, while not nearly as intense as the day before, was still present and showed on her face. Lise looked confused for a moment, before noticing the unusual bulkiness of her sister’s wrist. The bandage peeked out from under her sleeve slightly, catching the eye of the two other women. Marya moved to sit on Y/N’s other side, carefully rolling up her friend’s sleeve. Y/N pulled away, but a sharp look from Lise stopped her.

“Are you hurt? What happened?” Lise was clearly concerned. Despite Lise’s usually gentle nature, she was easily upset when it came to anything hurting Y/N. She was equally as protective of Y/N as Y/N was of her.

“No, no, it’s nothing,” she dismissed the thought, biting her lip before continuing, “It’s… it’s Pierre…”

“What about Pierre?” Marya had met Pierre before; he had always treated her kindly.

“Did Pierre do this?” Lise gestured to the bandage, growing more furious by the second. As protective as Y/N was of Lise, Lise was equally as protective.

“What? No, no. His… father, the Count, passed away last night…”

“I’d heard he was getting worse, I just… never thought it would actually happen, poor Pierre,” Lise sighed, while she wasn’t nearly as close to Pierre as her sister or husband, she still considered him a friend.

Marya was very far removed from most of society and hadn’t heard that Pierre’s father was ill; still, she felt bad she didn’t know. She had lost her mother when she was young, so she could imagine how he was feeling.

“What about his will? I imagine the old Count left him something, he cared for Pierre greatly.”

“You could say that,” the confused looks on Lise and Marya’s faces urged her to continue, “The Count named Pierre as his successor.”

The two’s eyes went wide, mouths parting in shock. Lise struggled to speak for a moment, taking in the vastness of this information.

“You mean to tell me that... Pierre is Count Bezukhov?”

“Yes, but it’s not that that worries me. Prince Vassily tried to destroy the will, luckily Anna Drubetskaya and I put an end to that. But Pierre is spending the day with the Prince, and I shudder to think what he may convince Pierre to do.”

Lise, who’d had encounters with the Prince in the past, knew what she meant. Not only was he very manipulative, he also had a number of friends in high positions in the government.

“I understand your concern, N/N, but I think he’ll be fine. Pierre isn’t stupid, he’ll see through Vassily’s deceptions.” Y/N didn’t agree with her sister's assessment; yes, Pierre was smart, but he was too trusting, too naive to the way high society worked. He desperately wanted to believe that the world, and all the people in it, were good.

“I suppose you’re right…”

“Besides,” Lise continued, “What’s the worst he could do?”

The next few days were uneventful. However, she quickly remembered why her last visit had been so long ago. Prince Bolkonsky. He was so insurmountably irritating. Shortly after she arrived, he had called her into his office, much like a headmaster would call in a misbehaving student. He made a number of degrading remarks about Y/N and Marya, but nothing more than talk which, although infuriating, Y/N could easily dismiss.

While he would never take out his frustrations on her, she could tell that he would very much like to do so. During the first week of her stay, Y/N joined Marya and Bolkonsky for Marya’s geometry lessons. Y/N found that Marya did significantly better when positively encouraged, and told Bolkonsky her thoughts on the matter; he did not take it well. She wasn’t allowed to help with geometry anymore.

Luckily, Marya and Y/N’s bedrooms were directly across from each other, which allowed Y/N to teach Marya in secret during the evenings.

Lise remained healthy, much to the relief of the household. Despite her initial reservations about staying in the country, Y/N could tell it suited her better; for the time being at least.

Y/N also had her reservations, and, although they weren’t as far from her mind as Lise’s were, they had been somewhat soothed. Luckily, she had had the foresight to bring Emil along. The Bolkonsky estate was large, and had much room for riding. No one ever joined her, and she preferred it that way. Life was simple and happy. Until it wasn’t.

Pierre wrote her often, first telling her of his vague plans for the considerable fortune he’d acquired, then telling her of Prince Vassily’s plans for the money. She knew the Prince wouldn’t throw money away for no reason, so that served as some comfort. Then, he began telling her of his outings with Helene; ice skating, cards, anything and everything he could do with her, he would. Y/N didn’t tell him of her feelings about Helene, she knew he was blinded by her beauty and interest in him, or, as was most likely the case, his money. Helene wasn’t one for the “misunderstood intellectual” type of man. She spent many hours dwelling on thoughts like these. Although she knew that thoughts like these were a waste of time and energy, it was hard not to think of them. But, she kept them to herself, bottling them up like she did with so many other things.

Y/N wrote him often, keeping him updated on the health of her sister and the activities of the household. He had been very busy these past few weeks. Between the exploration of his new wealth and social status, he’d had very little time to do much else. However, he always made time to write to her.

Pierre sat in his office; an elaborate room filled with the many extravagances of Russian wealth. A large, mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, holding the haphazard papers and writings of the young man. Directly in front of Pierre, a thick, sealed letter sat, unopened, in his hands. He’d finally made it through the considerable stack of letters on his desk, most of them being invitations for gatherings of some such, the kind of gatherings a newly rich, eligible bachelor would attend. Although he enjoyed the opportunities his new status had given him, gatherings such as those took up much of his energy. Today, for example; It had been long, but enjoyable. He had spent the late afternoon and early evening playing écarté with Helene.

Helene. She was beautiful. Pale skin, dark hair, perfectly feminine features. But, best of all, she seemed to care for him. He became lost in these thoughts, until the soft, gold seal caught his eye. The stamp was shaped as a very ornate, calligraphic Z, denoting its sender as Y/N. He broke the seal, splitting the Z into two, uneven pieces.

Dearest Pierre,

I hope you are keeping well! Lise is in good health. She would never admit it, but the country air suits her. I’ve discovered that our dear Marya is quite the artist! I’ve included a few of her drawings, they are wonderful! The old Prince Bolkonsky still despises me. He says I am no longer allowed to assist in Marya’s lessons. He says it is because it distracts her, but it’s truly because I criticized his teaching style. Now, Marya and I have secret geometry lessons in the evenings and the Prince is none the wiser. I’ve written to Andrei a small number of times, he hasn’t responded but that’s to be expected. I am certain, however, he is receiving the letters as none of them have been returned to my hands. Mary and I fear for his safety, as I’m sure you do as well, but we must appear unaffected for the sake of Lise’s sanity. Have you written Andrei at all? I feel as though he would be more inclined to write you than me, considering the last time we spoke I berated him. Alas, I can’t take back what I’ve said and, frankly, I don’t want to. I hope the lovely Helene is keeping you social while I’m away, I hear she’s made quite the companion for you. Keep well, Pierre.

Your Friend,

Y/N Zhudova

He smiled softly, running his fingers through the envelope to find the sketches. They were, as far as Pierre could tell, done with pencil and charcoal, and done very well. Two were of animals, Emil and an old, mangy barn cat. The other two were of people; one being of Lise and Y/N sitting on a sofa in the household, laughing and smiling. The brightness in the pair’s eyes was displayed perfectly, making the picture seem truly alive. The second image was less bright, but just as realistic. Y/N sat with her back to a tree, dress splaying out over the grass; hair loose, it cascaded over her shoulders like running water. She clearly had not been aware of the drawing as it was being made; there was no effort in her pose. It was too natural. Too her. The bandage on her arm had been abandoned, revealing the still-healing bruises on her wrist. Her hands, delicate, held the book in her hands loosely. Lips slightly parted, he could almost see them moving as she read the words on the pages below. She looked so at home, more peaceful than he had seen her in quite a while. Although Pierre had seen her in relaxed states before, it wasn't a common sight for him. He scanned over the image again, taking note of the intricate details captured in the image. The individual pages resting between her fingers, her mother's necklace she always wore, even the shading of her eyes. It was just so… her.

Pierre hadn't realized how much he missed her until he saw her face. Even though there was no color in the image, he could almost see it. E/C eyes studying the words below her, H/C hair tucked away save for the single stand over her right eye, it was all too real.

Pierre did have some form of company in Helene and the other members of the aristocracy, but there was no company like Y/N’s. His eyes lingered on the sketch a few moments longer before he placed the letter, and its contents, into a drawer, on top of a neat stack of other letters he had received from her. The door shut with a small click, drawing him out of his thoughts.

It was dark. Ornate halls lit solely by the moon, silvery beams glowing softly on the floors. Y/N moved through the hallway, bare feet gliding through puddles of moonlight. Soft light moved across her bare skin as she walked, robe cascading behind her. She slowly disrobed, leaving silken garments on the floor. Pierre followed behind her, unable to look away. His eyes caught hers, causing her to giggle and gently push open his bedroom door.

"Touch me…" she whispered, moving to the center of the room, where three beams of moonlight converged. Finally, the robe fell from her shoulders, exposing her bare flesh to his eyes. He moved forward, hand reaching out to touch her, shaking as he moved closer. The whispers became louder, reaching their climax as he ran a finger down her spine, feeling her shiver beneath the touch.

"Touch me…"

He woke, gasping for breath.

#pierre bezukhov #bbc war and peace #war and peace

9 notes · View notes

freddiesaysalright · 5 years

Text

Peace Like a River Part 6

A Gwilym Lee x Reader Story

Summary: Reader is a stand up comic with a pretty dark past. She has a three new lights in her life: her daughter, Violet; her anonymous correspondent, Dear Friend; and Gwilym Lee.

Word Count: 3.7K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @simmisblog, @assembledherethevolunteers, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @readinghorn, @riddikuluslypotter, @doingalrightt, @misslolasworld, @lemurian-starship, @ravenedges-lies, @painkiller80, @imgonnabeyourslave, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @ixchel-9275, @sincerelygmg If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: The dramaaaaaa! Also a little warning for this chapter! Mentions of abuse and sexual assault please take care loves :)

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Part 6 here we go!!!

You answered the letter promptly. You assured him it was fine and said something rather vague about meeting up again sometime. It was a relief to have things back to normal. Well, normal for you. The letters were mostly the same. Plus, you and Gwilym were maintaining a relationship that made you incredibly happy. When your tour lined up with his, you always met up and did something. Whether it was dinner, taking Violet to the park, or just grabbing a quick cup of coffee between interviews.

Violet absolutely adored Gwilym. You were sure the feeling was mutual, as he indulged her every whim. He played any game she wanted, and did whatever she said. It was very sweet. You assured him that he didn’t have to - he could tell her no, but he only gave you an astonished look and continued to follow her orders.

One night, you were getting ready to go out to dinner and Gwilym was waiting for you in your room. You were putting the last touches on your makeup and he was entertaining Violet. You heard her shrieking with laughter and giggling wildly. Gwilym was laughing too and you wondered what they could possibly be doing to make all this noise.

You poked your head out and nearly snorted. Gwil was sitting on the floor at the end of the bed. Violet charged at him, grinning as she hurtled across the room. When she reached him, he took hold of her sides before launching her up in the air, over his head, and she landed with a squeal of joy on the bed behind him. She scrambled off the bed and came around to face him once more.

“Again, again!” she cried.

Her face was red from laughing and her hair was a mess from rolling around on the comforter.

“Alright, lovie, come on then,” he encouraged.

She ran. Up and over she went, with a scream of delight. This time, she lay on the bed a moment to catch her breath. You took this opportunity to end the game. You emerged from the bathroom as you put earrings in.

“Alright, Vi, that’s enough,” you said.

She rolled onto her knees and pouted at you. “But Mommy!”

“Not buts,” you returned. “You stay with Stacy and be a good girl for her.”

“But - but all she does is text her boyfriend!” she complained.

Stacy looked at you like a deer in headlights. You laughed.

“Relax, Stace, you can have a boyfriend,” you said. “Although, I didn’t even know you were dating!”

She chuckled. “It’s no big deal, really.”

“Well, I wanna know more, but we have a reservation,” you said, turning to Gwil. “You ready to go?”

He glanced between you and Violet, who’s lower lip was quivering. He looked conflicted and guilty. An amused smirk claimed your lips as you eyed him.

“Oh, you are such a sucker,” you teased.

“She looks so sad!” he returned.

“She’s faking it!” you shot back.

“Ahhhh!” Violet cried, running over and latching herself onto Gwilym’s leg.

She let out a soft moan and sniffle. You rolled your eyes. Gwilym looked at you and disbelief before lifting your daughter into his arms and hugging her close.

“Oh, you poor dear,” he cooed. “What a mean mummy you have!”

Your mouth fell open. “What?!”

“She’s so cruel to you,” he continued, ignoring you.

Violet nodded in agreement and you groaned.

“Alright, enough ganging up on Mommy,” you said. “Violet, Mister Gwilym will come and see you another time soon, okay? But we’re going to dinner and you’re staying with Stacy.”

“But -”

You cut her off. “No, ma’am. No arguments or you’re going to bed without dessert.”

She whimpered and buried her face in Gwilym’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said gently. “But what Mummy says goes. And she’s right, I’ll come see you again soon.”

He carried her over to the bed and tried to set her down, but she clung to his neck.

“Violet!” you warned, shooting her a sharp look.

With another whine, she let go and shoved her face in the pillows. You heard her release a fake sob, and Gwilym shot you a horrified look. You shook your head.

“You’re a monster,” he whispered to you.

“She’s faking,” you repeated. “Look.”

You both turned eyes on your daughter and saw she had stopped “crying” and was peeking out from the pillows. When she saw you were watching she turned back and started the ruse again.

“You see?” you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

He chuckled. “Fine. But how do you know the difference?”

“Believe me, you know a real cry when you hear it,” you told him.

You both bid Stacy goodnight, and said goodbye to Violet, who ignored you. When you stepped out into the hall, Gwilym stopped you before you could continue toward the elevator. You furrowed your brow as you looked at him.

“You look beautiful,” he said simply.

You beamed. “Thank you.”

You walked together, hand in hand, to the restaurant. It was an upscale place (or you would have probably just taken Violet along) with a large wine menu and a bit of a romantic atmosphere. It really felt natural, like you were on a date with your boyfriend of many years. Yet, there was still a barrier. That fear of not being enough for him. And his ignorance about your correspondence.

You ordered and sipped your wine. You looked curiously at Gwilym.

“So, how are things with Dear Friend?” you asked, knowing the answer.

“Just fine,” he said assuredly. “I’m thinking of inviting her to London for Christmas.”

“That’s romantic,” you returned, trying to sound casual. You weren’t sure you’d be ready to reveal yourself by then.

“I thought so too,” he said with a smirk. “So, how are you planning on spending your holidays now that you’ve cut your family off?”

You shrugged. “I actually usually only went for Thanksgiving. Christmas is a day Violet and I spend together, just the two of us.”

“Well, perhaps you could come to London too,” he suggested. “I’d love to see you and I think you and Dear Friend would get along. You’re so alike.”

“You think so?” you asked, genuinely surprised. You felt like a completely different woman when you wrote to him as Dear Friend.

“Yes,” he said. “She’s not quite as funny as you, but you have similar opinions on things and the same values.”

“Interesting,” you said. “Although, I’m relieved to know that I'm the funniest person in your life.”

He chuckled. “Naturally. All the more reason to come to London. You can keep her amused when my wit fails me.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said.

It was an interesting idea. And you’d love to spend Christmas with Gwilym. Just the thought of it warmed you from the inside out. But, there was still the matter of Dear Friend.

Suddenly, he frowned at you. “What’s that?”

He pointed to a dark spot on your collar bone which you were normally careful to cover with clothes or makeup. Somehow, you’d forgotten. Instinctively, you moved to cover it with your hand.

“Nothing,” you lied.

“That embarrassing is it?” he joked.

“In a way, it is,” you said seriously.

He looked at you with understanding. “Henry?”

You nodded. Several jokes popped into your head that would get you out of this conversation were you in the company of literally anyone else. But you didn’t have to protect yourself from Gwilym.

“He burned me,” you said. “With a cigarette.”

“Jesus…” he breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“That was the night Violet was conceived actually,” you went on, unsure why you were sharing this detail.

Outside of lying about his sexual prowess to Helen at the gala, you and Gwilym had not discussed anything regarding sex.

“Why did you -”

“I didn’t want to sleep with him,” you said, answering his question before he could finish. “But I was afraid if I didn’t, it would only be worse for me.”

“Can I ask you something deeply personal?” he wondered.

You met his gaze and nodded.

“Why did you wait so long to leave him?” he asked. “You were married to him for years. What finally pushed you to go?”

You took a deep breath. You hadn’t told this story to anyone.

“After a particularly brutal night, I ended up in the hospital,” you began. “A nurse came in and told me I was pregnant. She asked me point blank if I was being abused. I thought about my baby and what I wanted for her and I broke down. I told her what Henry had done to me. I told her I wanted out. So she helped me.”

Gwilym looked at his plate and inhaled deeply, pushing down what you recognized quickly to be a flash of anger that crossed his face.

“Can I ask you another?”

You nodded.

“Why is he not behind bars?” he asked. “If he was that bad…”

He didn’t need to say it. You cleared your throat.

“I made a deal with him,” you explained. “If he would give me the divorce and sign away his rights to Violet, then I wouldn’t press charges. And he could never contact me or my daughter again. He didn’t want to lose his job or go to jail, so he agreed.”

“And he’s stayed away?”

“So far,” you said. “He tried to call me a few times the first year, but gave up pretty quick. I changed my name back to my maiden name and moved across the country. I wanted it to be clear there was no chance of reconciling.”

“You are incredible,” he said. “Really.”

“I did what I had to do for Violet,” you said.

“One more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why didn’t you do it for you?”

You knew the answer but you didn’t want to say it. It was a shitty, awful thing that you still wrestled with and was the cause of so much, including your hesitation with giving yourself to Gwilym.

“He made me believe I wasn’t worth it,” you said, swallowing a fresh lump in your throat. “I still...I still don’t know if I am. But I know my daughter is and all I can do is protect her.”

“You are worth it,” he said. “I know so.”

His eyes were genuine and soft. You were struck once again with overwhelming gratitude that Gwilym never looked at you with pity. His eyes and gentle smile were so sweet you almost believed him. You considered blurting out the truth now, just so you could tell him you loved him and kiss him hard.

But you didn’t.

“Thank you, Gwilym,” you said, holding back from another snappy retort that would have effectively evaded this emotion you were facing head on. But it wasn’t quite as scary with your best friend at your side.

“Do you believe me when I say that?” he questioned.

You took his hand. “I’m starting to.”

In one of the sweetest gestures anyone had ever shown you, he brought your fingers to his lips and kissed them. It was light, but friendly and warm. It made you feel like you were in a Jane Austen novel or something. It made you feel like Dear Friend.

The rest of the evening was spent in happier spirits. In fact, you laughed a lot. You found that it was true what Violet said - when Gwilym was around, you were usually smiling. Although, getting vulnerable with him was becoming second nature to you now. You knew that you had to open yourself up and let him in if you were ever going to get to a place where you could be loved by him.

He walked you home and all the way up to your door. You paused outside. You faced him, a dopey smile plastered on your face. You wanted to blame the wine, but you knew it was the company.

“Thank you for yet another great evening,” you said.

“It’s my pleasure,” he returned, cupping your face in his hand. “Thank you for opening up to me. It makes me feel close to you when I understand you better.”

You placed your hand atop his. “I feel cared for when you listen.”

He gazed at you. You were certain his blue eyed stare could stop your heart and melt icebergs. It was that warm and deep. You thought for a moment, he might kiss you. Part of you hoped that he did. Another, stronger part of you knew he shouldn’t. It seemed he felt the same way because after a few moments, he pulled away. He kissed your forehead instead.

“Good night, Y/N,” he whispered.

“Good night,” you replied.

With one last smile, he left. You watched him disappear down the hall and sighed. You wanted him so badly it physically pained you. But each time you thought you could confess to him, your Henry shaped roadbock got in the way.

Shaking your head, you unlocked your hotel room door and crept inside. Stacy and Violet were asleep. You walked around to Stacy’s side and gently shook her shoulder.

“Stace,” you whispered. “I’m home. You can go back to your room now.”

“Okay,” she yawned. “Did you have a good time?”

“A wonderful time,” you assured her. “But I’ll catch you up tomorrow.”

“Alrighty,” she agreed.

She carefully rolled out of bed and bid you goodnight before sneaking out. You went to the bathroom to take off your makeup and brush your teeth. As you did, you thought about Gwilym. He seemed to only get more perfect the more time you spent with him. It should have made you feel worse, but oddly, your confidence was growing. You felt like you could be raw and real, without following up with humor just to hide away. You were feeling healthy.

You changed into your pajamas and crawled into bed beside your daughter, who stirred and just barely opened her eyes to look at you.

“Sorry, baby,” you said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Did you have fun, Mommy?” she asked sleepily.

You smiled. “So much fun. But we missed you so much.”

She giggled. “Really?”

“Really,” you assured her. “We said ‘You know who would make this night soooo much fun? Violet.’”

“I missed you too,” she replied. “I don’t really think I have a mean Mommy.”

You pulled her close with a laugh. “I’m glad to hear it, sweetie.” You kissed her head and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Would you like to go to London sometime?”

She yawned again. “London? Where the bridge is falling down?”

“That’s the one,” you said, chuckling.

“Are you coming too?” she wondered.

“Of course,” you said. “And Mister Gwilym would be there.”

“Yes!” she gasped.

“You really like him, don’t you?” you teased.

She nodded. “Don’t you like him, Mommy?”

You poked her nose to make her laugh. “Very much.”

She snuggled closer to you and you wrapped her up in your arms. After telling Gwilym what you’d gone through for her...you felt extra affectionate towards her and wanted to hold your little girl all night. You didn’t need a father for her. You were a family all on your own. But you couldn’t help but feel it would be nice if Gwilym was there too.

The next morning, you woke to an unfamiliar ringtone. And when you rolled over to grab the phone it was coming from, you realized two things: Stacy had left her phone in your room and that it was about four in the morning. The call must have been from her boyfriend since there was just and H with a heart beside it as the contact. It annoyed you for her that he felt a need to call at this hour, but you weren’t one to judge. You swiped to answer it so you could tell him you just had to walk the phone over to her.

“He-”

“You don’t know how to answer a goddamn text?” demanded the voice on the other end.

His voice completely froze you. The accent, the tone, the aggression in it. It was unmistakable. Especially to you.

“Henry?!” you gasped.

He paused. You could feel the tension through the phone. Fear gripped you with iron hands.

“Y/N?” he questioned. “The fuck are you doing answering Stacy’s phone?”

“The fuck are you doing calling Stacy’s phone?” you shot back.

“Don’t be like this, just bring her the phone,” he said irritably.

You got up, grabbed your hotel key, and walked out of the room so you wouldn’t wake Violet. When the door closed, you took a deep breath to try and calm yourself.

“What the fuck are you doing calling my assistant?” you insisted.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he said as if it were obvious. As if it were something that was even somewhat okay. “I don’t see how it’s any of your busin-”

You hung up. Trying to gather yourself as you stepped over to the next room over, you took another deep breath. You were feeling so intensely...something. Rage. Hurt. Shock. Terror. All of them at once. Your whole body was trembling with what you had to do. With no other outlet for the emotions, you took two fists and pounded on Stacy’s door.

“Wake up!” you shouted. “Wake up! Wakeupwakeupwakeup!”

She finally yanked the door open, frantic. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You glared at her, absolutely livid that she had the audacity to be your friend and care for your child, all while having an affair with your ex husband. The man who had abused you, tortured you, and still affected nearly everything you did. And she knew about all of it. You had confided in her. Not as much as you had confided in Gwilym but she knew enough to know that this was wrong.

“We need to talk,” you said, unsure how you weren’t just shrieking at her and throwing her across the room. But you were not Henry.

“O-okay,” she replied nervously, opening the door wider to allow you inside.

When she closed it behind you, you whipped around to face her.

“How long, Stacy?”

“How long what?” she returned, and you could see she was genuinely confused.

“How long have you been fucking my ex-husband?”

The color drained from her face as you glowered at her.

“Wh - how did you - I didn’t - I’m so sorry!” she cried, her eyes welling up with tears.

“I found out because he called you a minute ago,” you snapped. “He told me you’re his girlfriend!”

“Y/N, I know it’s hard to understand, but -”

“Oh, no, I understand,” you cut her off. “He may seem charming and sweet now, but just wait a few years. All that goes away and he’s the abusive piece of shit that I told you he is!”

“He’s different now!” she cried. “He’s changed!”

“That’s a story I’ve heard before!” you returned. “But this isn’t about that. How could you do this to me? You know what I’ve been through with him! And you brought him to Boston, didn’t you?”

“I - I’m sorr-”

“Didn’t you?!”

“Yes!” she cried.

“How dare you!” you yelled. “You brought that man within feet of me! And my daughter! You put both of us at risk!”

“He’s changed, Y/N, really!” she tried again.

“I promise you he hasn’t,” you returned. “Did it ever once occur to you that he was using you to get to me?! Did you use your fucking brain?!”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. You didn’t feel the least bit sorry for her.

“Please, let me explain,” she begged.

You crossed your arms over your chest and looked expectantly at her. “Fine. Explain, then.”

“We met through Facebook,” she said. “It started off casual, but he wanted to be more than friends. I didn’t even know he was your ex.”

“Okay, and?”

“We started talking and it got flirty, and then we exchanged phone numbers,” she went on. “I met him in New York when I had a few days off and we decided to become exclusive. It was then that I found out he was your ex.”

“And so you decided that was okay?” you snapped.

“No!” she insisted. “I talked about it with him. He said he had gone to therapy and anger management was working on himself. He just asked that I give him a chance.”

“And you believed him?”

“Well...yeah.”

“You have your job on your Facebook profile, right?” you asked.

Her eyes went wide. “I...yes, I do.”

You shook your head. “That’s what I thought.”

“You think he only reached out because I-”

“Yeah, Stacy, that’s exactly what I think,” you snapped. “No, I know that’s why he reached out to you. What other reason would he have?”

“He said he thought I was beautiful…” she said quietly.

“There are thousands of beautiful women in New York City,” you said. “Why the fuck would he reach out to a random woman living in Los Angeles who also just happens to work for his ex-wife?”

Her bottom lip trembled. “But -”

“You’re fired,” you said simply.

“What?!”

“YOU’RE FIRED!” you screamed and hurled her phone across the room.

With that, you stormed out. You heard her crying as the door closed behind you. Tears stung your own eyes as well, and you couldn’t be sure why. There was so much swirling around inside you. You hurried back into your own room. Violet still slept soundly and a pang of fresh fury went through you. Stacy had brought Henry so close - so fucking close - to her. Your precious girl. You snatched your own phone from the nightstand and went into the bathroom. With shaky hands, you dialed Gwilym. You needed him. Now more than ever.

It rang a few times and for a terrifying moment, you feared he wouldn’t answer. It was ridiculously early, after all. But then, you heard a soft click.

“Y/N?”

His caring voice on the other end of the line made you weak. You opened your mouth to respond but only managed to sob into the speaker.

143 notes · View notes

occasionalfics · 5 years

Text

into you // p. 14

Summary: Just as Steve begins to wonder why he’s been sent on a mission well below his pay grade, a mysterious, unscented woman steps in and does his job for him. He’s immediately drawn into her allure, and he needs to know who she is, why she’s on a mission to take out some of the city’s most powerful alphas, and why he can’t get her off his mind.

A/N: I feel like there’s a pattern of villains in my fics just kind of making threats and not actually causing harm and like maybe I’m just too soft for that? Does anyone mind?

Also I 100% forgot to post this yesterday? Maybe that means you’ll get ch 15 sooner than you expected? We’ll see. But we’re almost done so...just bear with me, even though I keep breaking your hearts!

Warnings: Violence, blood (a little bit), reader’s in terrible shape and Steve is ALL OVER the place with his self-loathing. So that’s cool.

Word: 3,878

“Man, you have got to stop this fascination you have with Nazi prisoners,” Tony says as they board the quinjet. Steve knows it’s a misguided joke, just like most of his “jokes” about Bucky, but something about it really sticks at Steve.

All he does is glare and move to the far back corner of the jet.

It doesn’t help that his distress call from the night before bore no fruit. He was right in that he only got a few hours of sleep before the team was ready to head out, but the fact that he woke up with nothing useful form (Y/N) only soured his mood.

He’s not mad at her. He can’t blame her at all. He is genuinely infuriated with himself, might never come back from that, knows how dramatic he’s being and doesn’t give a flying fuck.

As Sam takes a seat next to him, he circles back to wondering what the hell Ophelia could want. If she’s not with Hydra anymore, then she’s running this illegal operation of hitmen herself, for her own reasons. He doesn’t want to know what those reasons are, but he knows he needs to find out.

If he’s ever going to feel like a competent alpha again, if he’s ever going to feel confident in his protection of (Y/N), he has to know what he’s going up against, how he can take it down.

Viper’s got herself quite a nice office building. Steve can’t fathom how she gets actual murder business done in a pristine, glass-covered, asymmetric building like this. But he doesn’t really care; he climbs the stairs two at a time, listening to Sam’s whisper-screams in his comm because he’s going too fast.

If he goes in without any backup, he could die. He may as well have come alone.

So Steve slows, despite every alpha instinct in him telling him to get in there - wherever there is - and save (Y/N).

He hits the sixth floor before he picks up on her scent. Not her smell. Her scent. Ocean and jasmine, mixed in perfect harmony, pulling him along up another flight and another, getting stronger the higher up he goes. He’s sure everyone else picks up on the scent too, but he’s the only one that really knows its her.

Even though she’d spent more than a week in the tower with no suppressants in her system, none of them know it’s her. Tony’s craftsmanship made sure that no lingering scents could follow anyone they weren’t meant to follow. Every apartment has its own air conditioning and filtration system on top of a soundproof setting, because the last thing the tower needs is one heat setting off every heat.

So Steve pushes his finger into his ear and says, loudly, “She’s here. Probably eleventh or twelfth floor.”

His teammates caution him to go slowly, proceed with caution, wait for one of them god damn it! But he doesn’t. Can’t actually hear them through the single-minded haze in his brain. All he can see is the hurt look on (Y/N)’s face when he told her to get out of his apartment, the cut over her eyebrow from the night before. All he can hear is the frantic speeding of her heart as she looks him in the eye and cowers, because he’d never used his power as an alpha over her before that.

He continues to ignore the team as he steps up onto the twelfth floor landing, where the scent is strongest, and knows just how much he hates himself. Not because of some romantic idea that he’s hurt the woman he loves and can somehow make it better, but that he’s hurt her for no reason at all. And that she’s in danger because he hurt her, because she had nowhere else to go but right into the arms of the Viper.

Viper, who smells of lemongrass and eucalyptus, who stinks up the whole floor to the point that Steve has to fight his own brain to focus on seaspray and jasmine.

He takes a deep breathe, kicks in the door to the twelfth floor, and marches into an empty hallway. Steve pauses, listening closely down both ends of the corridor, but there is nothing. He pulls the comm out of his ear, lets it hang around his neck, and focuses.

Very faintly, if he closes his eyes, there’s a small thumping somewhere. It’s slow and steady, and it turns his blood cold. It’s too slow.

Above it, the only sound is a second heartbeat, stronger and more sinister in its pattern. He hates how overpowering she is, how clearly she displays her alpha traits. He hates it most of all because all he wants is to find (Y/N), to save her - he doesn’t care what the fuck happens to Viper.

That’s new. He’s always been focused on taking out the threat, not ignoring it.

“Jesus, Rogers,” Sam whispers, breath heavy as he steps over the remnants of the doorway behind Steve. “Could you listen to us maybe just this once?”

Steve hushes Sam, giving him a strict glare, then reminds himself that he’s not angry with Sam. He forces his face to relax and gestures for Sam to follow him as he heads down the hallway to his right. He puts the comm back in his ear, presses in, and tells Tony and Nat, “When you get up here, go left.”

Sam follows him, neither saying anything while Steve tries to listen for that slow, steady heartbeat. It doesn’t seem to get fainter, nor does it get stronger. He wonders if the floor is set up in a circle, if the hallway he’s going down will only lead him back to the stairwell without him having to turn around.

But then, after a few minutes of slow, careful surveillance, the scents pick up. Sam notices them too, shivering behind Steve for a reason he won’t ask about until they’re out of this building. Steve only turns back to him to motion that he’ll go first, as if he hasn’t been doing so already.

He follows the scents as it brings him and Sam down a separate hallway, in another direction. He hears Sam two-fold tell the others where they’ve gone, then Tony responding with, “Yeah, I’ve got a heat signature on the both of you. Now stop talking and find the girl!”

Steve can almost feel Sam roll his eyes.

He listens to Tony without any quips back, surprisingly. He should’ve known Tony’s keeping an eye on anyone ahead of him - if there’s one thing Steve can give credit to Tony for, it’s that he’s always tried to make sure the team stayed alive.

Steve slows as he and Sam follow the curve of this hallway. Gets up on his tiptoes and creeps, because the heartbeat is louder now. Still slow, still faint in its repetition, but clearer in its closeness. And the scents are overwhelming - Steve has to force himself to shut his nose and follow the heartbeat so that he won’t fall victim to his own instincts.

They turn once more at the end of the hallway and face a glass-walled office.

And there she is. There they both are.

Viper is at the head of a long conference table, facing the other end of the table. She swivels in her chair, but never looks out to Steve and Sam. Her heels are so sharp, Steve wonders how she’s able to walk on them, even though she’s still sitting.

(Y/N) faces the hallway, her head hanging over the table. She’s tied to her seat with rope - thick rounds of it hold her in place as she notices Steve for the first time. She looks up, eyes wide and bloodshot; her skin is sallow and covered in a sweaty sheen. The cut over her eyebrow has scabbed over, but it still unsettles him. He sees her lips form his name through the glass, hears her heartbeat speed up.

He’s in the room before he can think twice about it. Viper laughs a low, obnoxious chuckle, but it doesn’t draw his attention. Steve takes a step toward (Y/N) as if he’s going to walk out of the office with her without causing trouble, as if Viper...Ophelia isn’t there at all.

“Oh, I wouldn’t touch her if I were you,” she calls in a heavy Slavic accent.

Despite his nature, despite his desperate need to touch (Y/N), he listens. Because the last thing he wants is to put her in any more danger.

“Why’s that, Greeny?” Sam asks. Steve’s grateful he has someone there to speak for him when his brain is shouting to get (Y/N) out, get her to safety, apologize and beg for her forgiveness until she deems him worthy of it.

He glances at Viper out of the corner of his vision and realizes her suit is green. And shiny, like scales.

Like a Viper.

“A depraved little omega, in the hands of an enhanced, hyper-masculine alpha?” She sits forward in her seat, elbows on the table as she puts her chin on her knuckles. “You’ll only do her more harm than good.”

Steve is far enough away that, normally, he shouldn’t be able to hear (Y/N)’s breathing. Especially if he’s not focusing on it.

But he can. Everything about her is labored, fighting to stay awake and alive and in control of herself. He doesn’t have to look back at Viper to know that depraved means off her suppressants, and that without a heat to fall into, she really is going through withdrawals. And if Dr. Helen Cho had been concerned with the dose (Y/N) was on…

A shudder runs through him, then through (Y/N), like she can feel what’s happening inside his body. Maybe she can. He growls at the thought.

“What do you want?” he asks, feeling pathetic even as he says it. Even with as much alpha power as he can put behind the words, his command does nothing to her.

Sometimes he’s noticed that other alphas cower at the sight of him because he’s Captain America, not because he’s an alpha. This is one of those times, only instead of cowering, Viper shakes her head in defiance.

She stands from the table, walks over to (Y/N) and runs a single finger across her arched shoulders. Steve growls, low and deep in his chest, his body refusing to give up the fight, refusing to back down.

“I thought it was quite clear, Captain,” she says, coming closer to Steve and Sam, the latter of whom has backed toward the door.

Steve wonders where the hell Nat and Tony are. They couldn’t have been that far behind him and Sam.

But he can see in Viper’s eyes - her vertically slit pupils, again, like a Viper - a sprig of mischief.

“I want you.” She dares to reach a manicured hands - green fingernails - out to Steve’s face, but he’s fast. He catches her palm, twists her arm, and holds her against him, his chest to her back. She laughs as if she’s expected this. “You’re so predictable,” she roars, not even bothering to fight back.

He lets out another growl, this one so powerful that (Y/N) whimpers at the table. The sound cuts off in Steve’s throat, and when he looks at her, she casts her eyes as far from him as she can get.

She’s scared of him, he knows. And it breaks him just a little.

“You lured me here just to torture me?” he asks Viper, tightening his grip on her arm.

“Oh, no,” she says, fake-innocence on her tongue. “I lured you here to kill you, Steven Rogers.” She wiggles in his grasp just to rub it in.

His blood boils under his skin, burning as anger fills him. If Viper’s not careful, he’ll do something he regrets.

It occurs to him that maybe that’s what she expects.

Something sharp bites into the skin of his wrist - just the little bit between his sleeve and his glove, just where Viper can reach. The sting is enough to let out the steam from his skin, loosen his grip on her, and bring him to his knees. It takes over his entire system, far too quickly for his liking. He bends in on himself, maybe yelling out in pain, maybe doing nothing but shutting his eyes, gripping his wrist with the opposite hand, and holding both to his stomach.

There isn’t much blood. The second he forces his eyes open, Steve can see little drops, but no gushing. She hasn’t hit a vein or anything - so, he wonders, why does it hurt so fucking much?! He has no idea what’s happening around him. His ears are ringing and his mind is racing and his whole body is inflamed in pain and heat, but he still manages to pull his arm out to examine his wrist.

She’s barely scratched his skin, but the mark is red and irritated already. A little line of blood drips onto the floor below him, but it’s slowing, the wound healing itself already. Not closing, just clotting.

A scream that shatters all the thoughts and feelings in him stills the room. He takes in a deep breath and looks up to see Viper, across the room with (Y/N)’s hair in one hand, the other wrapped around the chair and her torso. She’s brought the whole thing over with her to the window, has the chair tipped back toward the glass, and that same easy, teasing smile on her face.

“Tell your flightless friend to put his weapon down, Captain,” she says. “Or your little omega meets the concrete, twelve stories away.”

He winces as he sits up enough to look at Sam over his shoulder. He’s got a glock pointed at the women, and it takes everything in Steve to nod, a Do as she says, please gesture that he knows Sam won’t miss. Knows doubly that Sam won’t like it, either.

Slowly, hesitantly, Sam puts the gun down but not away. Just at his side. Just in case.

Just as slowly, Steve forces himself up onto his knees. He uses the edge of the conference table to push up, nearly turning the table over before he gives up on it. Sam catches him - barely - and helps him onto his feet, though he can’t force himself to stand any further than hunching forward.

Viper puts the chair down on all four legs, but she doesn’t let go. (Y/N)’s heart is beating so fast, Steve can almost feel her pulse vibrating out of his wrist. Or maybe that’s just his own pulse, his own body dealing with whatever infection Viper’s passed to him.

“They don’t call me Viper for nothing,” she says, almost too conveniently.

Steve doesn’t bother taking note. He steps forward, falters, and grunts out, “Let. Her. Go.”

Viper pops her lips, hums as if she’s considering the command, then shrugs. “I don’t think so.” Her hand leaves (Y/N)’s hair, grips her chin tightly, and forces the omega to look at Steve. “I’d rather let her watch you die.”

“Now what’s the use in that?” Sam asks, sarcasm lining his every word.

“There isn’t one,” Viper responds. “And there doesn’t need to be.” She repositions her hand on (Y/N)’s chin, forcing her to look at Viper now. “Poor little Reaper. A bringer of death, still unable to stop it.”

Steve is almost proud of the glare Viper gets. He thinks If looks could kill, this mission would be so much easier.

“On the other hand,” the green woman cuts in, “won’t it be so sweet watching the man who broke your heart and left you vulnerable to me die? Call it poetic justice, my girl.” She presses the pad of her pointer finger to (Y/N)’s nose like she’s speaking to a doll or a dog, and Steve struggles in Sam’s grip before his body is ripped apart by more pain.

“Cool. So we’re doing this the hard way,” Sam mutters. Steve thinks he’s the only one that’s heard.

He takes a deep breath and tries to steady himself. Stands a little taller, pushes Sam’s arms from his shoulders. He feels his nose flaring as he asks, “What is it that I’ve done that makes you want me dead, Ophelia?”

That gets her attention. Her head turns sharply to him, and she grits her teeth. “I think you know, Captain. You’d have to be more daft than I’d given you credit for not to.” Her arms fall from (Y/N) entirely, and she takes one daring step toward Steve. “I was Hydra’s best. I did my work, groveled and fought and bartered my way for years. And when I reached the top, they gave me the Asset.”

He quickly realizes, through context clues alone, that she means Bucky. And his body flares with pain again, but this time, he holds it in, keeps his breath in too.

“And at every turn, whether from the inside or out, there was one thing standing in my way of doing my job the way it was meant to be done. Any guesses?”

Me he thinks. Steve knows he was Bucky’s link to escaping Hydra. They’ve had long conversations about their meeting on the bridge in D.C. before.

“When the Winter Soldier escaped, I was sent to find him. To bring him back, wipe him, and put him back on ice. To bring him back to the life he was always meant for.”

Steve’s one good fist clenches at his side. He has a thing about hitting women, but this one is so fucking close, running her mouth about Bucky that way.

“When I returned empty handed, Hydra shut me out-”

“Hydra was gone after he left.” It takes Steve a second to realize Sam’s spoken up, not himself, and that Sam has moved to his opposite side, as if he’s making a circle around the room.

Viper shakes her head, chuckling maniacally, never looking from Steve. “Hydra survived the Allies winning the war. Hydra survived Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan, and 9/11. Hydra will never die. Not truly.” She takes another step forward. “Even without the Asset, Hydra survives. Only I will pay a price for his desertion.” She laughs - no longer a chuckle, but a throw-her-head-back-and-cackle laugh - and something on her sharp, pointed nails gleam in the white light of the room.

Vipers are venomous Steve thinks. He looks at his wrist, which still hasn’t closed but is no longer bleeding. It still pulses and shoots out pain in droves, though. And he knows - she paints her nails with venom.

“Hydra will never have me again,” she continues, rather mindlessly if Steve’s opinion is concerned. “And so, I’ve made it my mission to take out any alpha who’s made that so.”

Steve’s mind immediately goes to Bucky. Viper, apparently, expects that, too.

“Without Hydra, your friend is nothing. Get over yourself, Captain.” Her face turns dark, and she stomps toward him in her loud, dangerously sharp and impractical heels. “I formed the Reapers to take out the alphas who wronged me. My girls grew into much more than I could ever have expected - much more than Hydra ever would’ve allowed me to become. And yet, it still is not enough.”

He’s only hated a handful of people more than he hates Viper. And yet, he continues to listen, hoping that if he stalls and hears her out, Tony and Nat will burst in and help him sometime this year.

And he sees that Sam has moved to be equidistant from him and Viper.

“My heart will only fill when your head is served to me on a Vibranium platter, Captain,” she says. “The satisfaction of knowing the woman you love watches helplessly as you die is a nice addition, don’t you think?”

Steve knows he’ll regret it, but with her so close, he has to take a shot. With (Y/N) across the room, he has to.

He takes a heavy, jagged breath, and launches himself at Viper, yelling all the way as his body ignites again. Pain spreads from his wrist outward, but he moves anyway, mostly kicking, keeping his hand in close to chest. If he could coordinate his good hand without leaving his bad one vulnerable, he’d reach back to grab his shield, but he can’t let her make him any worse than he already is.

He still has to get (Y/N) out. Still has so much to say to her, so much to apologize for, so many I love yous to whisper to her. And he has no idea what the venom in his system will do to him first - if it’s real or something synthetic and what that might mean.

But it doesn’t matter, because it only takes one hit back from Viper to wipe him out. Steve slides back across the floor while Sam charges forward, and the world swirls between dark and light, sound and silence, confusion and stability. Steve isn’t sure how much time goes by before he finally sees a bright blue beam of light flit across the room, then Nat is leaning over him, her bottom lip split but otherwise she looks fine.

He tries to say something to her, but she doesn’t let him finish. Or his body doesn’t. It’s really hard to tell what’s happening.

“You need to get up,” he hears her say. “I can’t carry you twelve flights down, Rogers.”

Flashes of memories fill his head - of Bucky pulling him from water, mostly - and he groans because everything is happening and nothing is being processed. He has no read on (Y/N); there are too many people in the room now, too many bodies moving, and he’s too weak to focus on her.

All he wants is to be wrapped up in her. That’s it.

But suddenly a second set of hands are on him, and they’re definitely not (Y/N)’s. They glow red - red not green he thinks - and suddenly his legs weigh nothing. They feel nothing. No pain, no strain - nothing. He realizes he’s glowing red, too, and he shakes his head.

“No- I,” he gets out, but Nat glares at him. Wanda does, too, from his opposite side, as they work in tandem to lift him onto his feet.

“We’re getting her out,” Nat says. “But it won’t mean anything if we don’t get you out, too.”

He knows that’s not true. (Y/N) would be alive, with or without him. That means something.

But his heart is racing, and all he can imagine is (Y/N), tied to a chair, scared out of her mind, completely out of control of herself and undeniably in withdrawal. In pain. Suffering, because he was too stubborn, stupid, and quick to anger to think. Wanda keeps her hands on him, keeps his feet light and numb, manages to make him walk despite weighing twice what she does easily.

What good is this stupid fucking alpha body if I can’t even save my omega?

Tags!

Global: @wonderlandfandomkingdom @samanthasmileys @sunigyrl @mysweetcookie99 @punkrockhufflefluff @lady-thor-foster @the-resal10 @rogrsnbarnes @xxashy999xx @badassbaker @frenfics @feelmyroarrrr

Steve: @girlwhoisfearless @mrsdeanwinchester19 @cherrysfandom @captainradicalpassion @patzammit @coffeebooksandfandom @angryteapot

Series: @whatdoyxumean @part-time-patronus @theunsweetenedtruth

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #alpha!steve x reader #into you fic #a/b/o

66 notes · View notes

minaminokyoko · 6 years

Text

The Incredibles II (A Spoilertastic Review)

Oh, there’s just something special about the feeling you get when you wait an extremely long time for something and it’s completely worth it. It’s rare, especially in films. Most of the time an ultra-late sequel is a cheap cash-in that gets rid of all the original movie’s charming aspects and just regurgitates nostalgia all over your face in the hopes that you’ll mistake it for quality. However, one thing I appreciate about Disney/Pixar’s collaborative films is that for the most part, they give a damn. They don’t always (*side eyes the Cars franchise*) but when they give a damn, they give a good goddamn.

I’m in the camp with many people who would argue The Incredibles is Disney/Pixar’s best film. Granted, I also waffle back and forth between Incredibles and Toy Story 3, but I’d be happy to say either film wins the title as their Best in Show. Thus, the bar is set extremely high for the sequel, and I can see why D/P would be hesitant to follow up what is not only their best film, but a film so well written and executed that it stands toe to toe with some of the best superhero stories period, like Captain America: The Winter Soldier, The Avengers, or The Dark Knight. 14 years is a long damn time (almost reaching the infamous Syndrome line of “15 years too late”) but I can happily say they weren’t just sitting on their hands. They actually knocked it out of the park and made a worthy sequel, leaving the ending open enough for a third film if they so desire to go after it.

Overall Grade: A-

Pros:

-Well, any of you who know me know what’s got to go here first: Helen fucking Parr. She was already a bomb ass bitch in the first movie when she infiltrated the facility to rescue Bob, and then throughout the rest of the movie busting heads protecting her family. They take Helen Parr’s general badassery from a 10 and crank it up to 10,000. Helen is ridiculously talented, sharp, acrobatic, intelligent, and amazingly adaptable. It was an absolute joy to watch her on missions. She wowed me over and over again with how she handled the emergencies that came about because of the Screenslaver. Helen is a force to be reckoned with. I love her genuine enthusiasm and confidence. I love that she knew something felt off about the missions even though she was just a little too trusting to stop our villain before she got to her. I’m really excited to know that little girls are going to grow up with this three dimensional badass mom out there breaking glass ceilings and subverting expectations. Helen Parr is the best of the best and no one can touch her. That’s the biggest takeaway I had for this movie. I appreciate her in a whole new way after seeing what she’s capable of just on her own.

-Married to Helen’s badassery is the action sequences. Wow, wow, wow. From Jack-Jack fighting a freaking raccoon in a death battle to the final Avengers-style climax, Incredibles II rocks it with some truly inspired fight scenes and chase scenes. I loved it. I wish I wasn’t broke right now so I could go right back in and see it again. It’s some fantastic action from start to finish, and each piece is well thought out and well staged. It’s never too close and it doesn’t cut away. You’re in the front seat for all of it and it’s incredibly engrossing, to use an inevitable pun.

-The return of Edna Mode. I was worried that since she was somewhat of an Ensemble Darkhorse in the first movie that they wouldn’t be able to make her as funny and charming as her first appearance, but I fell right back in love with Edna in this film. She’s just fantastic. I was in tears when Bob came back for Jack-Jack and the baby was actually mirroring Edna, and Edna loved him so much that she gave the baby clearance to her design lab. It was just the cherry on top of an already wonderful sundae. God bless Edna and Jack-Jack’s interactions. It was just too funny.

-Bob learning to be a stay-at-home dad, while cliché, was amusing and ultimately (mostly) heartwarming. The exhaustion was just so realistic and I know there were some hearty guffaws from the parents in the audience of my theater last night seeing his antics with the kids. I really did feel for him when he collapsed on the couch next to Violet and admitted he just wanted to be a good dad. It hit me right in the heartstrings, as I’ve spent many a late night on the couch with my exhausted father in the past. Bob also got a bit of development in terms of setting an example for the kids and not letting his impulsive nature get the best of him, i.e. with the car.

-The heroes that were gathered together for the climax. I really enjoyed seeing their different powers. None of them were anything I’d never seen before, but I just appreciate how each of them were used and presented a damn credible threat. I also like the smaller touches of their designs, like how I’m pretty sure the little belcher guy was an homage to Ernest Borgnine (who sadly passed away in 2012) and the crusher guy I think was an homage to Mike Tyson (but don’t quote me on that, he looked like him to me). I loved Void and I have a prediction from my time on Tumblr that she’ll be the new fan favorite aside from the villain Evelyn. They were colorful and competent and interesting, and I’d love to see them in the next movie if there is one.

-Violet was both more and less annoying here than in her first appearance. I don’t know if I can put it into words, but I’ll try. In the first movie, she was weak and whiny, and while she ended up becoming competent, I was still sort of just irritated by her. She’s still whiny here, but at least she’s not weak. She had a reason to be upset and it’s good that she stepped up to the plate when it was time to go to work. My suggestion is that they go ahead and do a time skip if they choose to make a third movie so she can outgrow her irritating preteen qualities and be a full blown early adult to resolve those lingering things about her that annoy me. Just let her grow up already and I think she’ll be a fine character on her own.

-Jack-Jack in general was handled brilliantly. I didn’t get tired of the slapstick. He was genuinely surprising the entire time and it almost makes me wonder how they’re going to proceed with him in the future because once he grows up, he might be the most powerful Super we’ve ever seen at all. I mean, someone’s going to do a count of how many abilities he has, but seriously, it would be good fuel for a sequel for Jack-Jack to get older and people want to take advantage of all the things he can do. Though if I were writing it, I’d write that he can only do these amazing things one at a time only for a limited amount of time a-piece, so like he can do them for less than 60 seconds. That would at least help resolve the overpowered problem he could create. But I digress.

-Is it weird that I just really think the Screenslaver is like the most clever villain name and schtick ever?

-I liked the monologue that the Screenslaver gave while Helen was tracking him. It did bring up an excellent point about consumerism and hero worship. I for one know I’m guilty of the latter to a ridiculous extent, but I also have some pretty deep emotional and psychological problems that cause me to fixate on fictional heroes so it’s probably why Screenslaver’s rant hooked me. It’s intentionally ironic and brilliant commentary from the writers.

-I loved the small touch of including Helen, Bob, and Lucius’ theme songs at the end credits. So cute.

-The short film before the movie was also very creative. (Though another reason I think humanity is destined to die out by self-destruction is the whole audience laughing when the mother ate the dumpling baby. I sat there stunned thinking, “What the actual fuck, guys. I don’t think that’s the emotion that they were going for. I think it was supposed to be upsetting, not funny.” It was awkward as hell and I think humanity is doomed even more than I usually do.)

Cons:

-Bob Parr’s aborted character arc. This wasn’t a fully aborted arc, but it was definitely a partially aborted arc. I think that the biggest criticism anyone could throw at this movie is Hero Decay for Bob Parr. He’s broken down pretty badly and he only gets to do hero work twice in a two hour film. The rest of the time he spends as the comedic Butt Monkey stay-at-home dad, and while that’s fine, it rubs me the wrong way that the film sort of picks up a big central issue with him and then drops it entirely. First, I was irked at Bob’s implications when the Deavors wanted Helen. She gives him a dirty look, but I don’t like that the film doesn’t have Helen confront Bob about almost insulting her in front of their potential employers and implying that she’s not as good as he is or not as right as he is for the job, and I further don’t like it that he’s so selfish and egocentric when she does a great job that he doesn’t really congratulate her and actually mean it. Helen pretty much did the impossible. When the movie shows us what she’s able to stop, there’s no way in hell Bob could have done what she did. Yeah, strength is great, but it’s not everything. That’s what the first movie showed us, that Bob has great uses, but he needs to be complemented by other heroes to be effective. Helen is fully capable on her own and doesn’t need help. So it irks me that Bob’s so dismissive of what she’s able to accomplish. Second, it felt a lot like Bob just assumed he’d temporarily be doing the stay-at-home dad thing until Helen opens the gateway for him to do what he really wants to be doing. It didn’t feel like he was ready to make the sacrifice for hero work to raise his kids. It didn’t feel right to me. I thought the film would offer a choice where Winston said he could join her in hero work and Bob says no, he’d rather take care of the kids and let her do her thing because she’s great. I think that was the biggest missed opportunity in the film. I don’t feel as if Bob learned anything. He cares about the kids and Helen, but it still felt like he just wanted self-gratification in the end. He wants to be a hero because it’s all he knows how to be, and the conflict just sort of vanishes once the third act kicks in. I’ll see if anyone else notices this or if it’s just me, but I found myself disappointed in him this time around.

-Evelyn was way, way too obvious as the villain. Granted, it’s not like the first Incredibles was subtle. We were thrown right in with Syndrome and he was a Card Carrying Villain with zero regrets. I just didn’t think it would be so obvious that it was her, but nope, it was her. As soon as Winston told us the backstory, it was like there was a huge blinking sign over her head that it was going to be her. There was an off chance it was Winston, but after a certain point I figured he really was just a big excitable kid who wanted heroes legal again, so by default it was Evelyn. It was too transparent, so the whole movie I was just checking my watch for her to turn evil, and she finally did. There was no attempt to make her seem like she wanted anything other than to see the heroes fail based on that rotten attitude of hers, so maybe it was just a rare spot of laziness from the writers not to hide her very clear intentions.

-Frozone felt a bit underused. Once he put Helen and Bob in contact with the Deavors, I thought maybe we’d see more of him, but he just disappears until the third act. Odd. Not a dealbreaker, just odd.

-I actually though the bodycam thing would be used in a different way than to eventually tip Helen off that something was wrong. I thought that Evelyn was going to manipulate the footage to make it seem like Helen attacked the ambassador and went rogue so she’d be hunted down or something. It just ended up falling short of my expectations, I suppose.

-Although it’s accurate to our actual society, the cops yelling at Bob and Helen for not catching the Underminer really ticked me off. Are you telling me there were zero casualties when he blew the bank through the ground? I find that hard to believe. And it also sounded like they were just mad they didn’t catch him, not that they were mad about them violating the law. Look, fuck off. Cops can’t even handle simple burglaries sometimes, and you want to give these heroes lip about trying to stop someone who drove a drill the size of a building up through the ground and then blasted a whole-ass bank? Whatever. Y’all sippin’ the same Kool-Aid as the people who came up with the Accords in Captain America: Civil War. Your argument is dumb. Go sit down somewhere.

Honestly, I’m really looking forward to seeing this film again and to finding out if they intend to follow through with a third film to make it a trilogy. After all, if anyone can make three phenomenal movies instead of two good ones and a dud of a third like the status quo, it’s Disney/Pixar. I suggest you run right out to see Incredibles II, because it was well worth the wait.

#The Incredibles #The Incredibles 2 #Helen Parr #Bob Parr #Disney #Pixar #film review #movie review #spoilers #spoiler alert

34 notes · View notes

coldtomyflash · 7 years

Note

I've been thinking about this for a while Mick seems to have easier and stronger friendships with women on LoT. Sara, Leonard & Mick all found kinship in s1A together. In s2 Amaya pushed past Mick 'dumb muscle/wild animal' masks & they are good friends. He talks sincerely & openly with her or openly hugs her. Zari trusted Mick with info on Helen. Ray loves him & wants closer relationship always. Nate & Jax are friendly. Martin & Rip are assholes to him. part one

2/2 On the Flash, Lisa was one to calm Mick down when he took things too far with Cisco. I just feel like Mick puts up less resistance with relationships with women then men. He has a thing for strong women. He’s attracted to them, he respects a certain type of women, usually strong-willed, take no BS or criminal type, or has something views as worthy. Ray & Nate try hard to break down his walls and connect and only sometimes get let in. What you think Mick’s relationships with men vs women?

I think he definitely does form easier relationships with women, and I think a lot of what you said hits the nail on the head. If we delve a bit into Mick’s background, that also makes sense.

To start, with men, we know he has a very tense relationship with his father, who was abusive. If we think about the fact that he went to juvie and was probably around a lot of other authoritarian men, not to mention violent men his own age and older for most of his life after that… I can see why he doesn’t get close to men easily.

Is Dick even older than Mick is in this scene? Honestly though…

And stemming from that, I think it actually makes sense that he’s let pretty much only Len and Ray, and eventually a bit Nate, close over time. Len because Len was a childhood friend, smaller and younger than him when they met and in need of protection. Though Len grew up into someone formidable and dangerous and cold, he and Mick were always even, and Mick was always capable of taking him (i.e, of kicking his ass) though Len never truly gave him a reason to for most of their lives. There was a unique level of lifelong trust there.

Pictured above: my heart fucking shattering. Every time.

With Ray, it was more… Ray is not like most of the men that Mick has interacted with in his life. Ray is soft and emotive. He’s confident and capable and certainly doesn’t lack strength, but he’s unshy about having feelings and caring deeply and wanting to hug, wanting to befriend, wanting to be kind. His earnestness in all those ways is part of what allows him and Mick to get along in the way that they do. Where Ray eschews toxic masculinity and embraces healthier masculinity (and indeed, many aspects of femininity) is often where they actually mesh.

Pictured above: Mick reconsidering every life choice he’s ever made.

(Eventually, Nate starts to fit into this pattern a bit as well, as we saw in Lot 3x07, though Mick doesn’t let him in emotionally in the same way).

But women. I love the way Mick relates to women.

And we can do the same time of analysis here. It’s clear he loved his mother. The way he looks at her photo in 3x07 is very telling. He doesn’t regret killing his father, but nothing is said about his mother. And when we saw Mick’s younger self in season 1, he’s very clearly shaken by the fact that he burned down his house with his family inside, so we can surmise he has a lot of regret over her death. He also mentions the music she used to listen to in the Legends pilot, so I gather that he still thinks about her now.

Mick’s favorite thing: bar fights to the tune of Captain and Tennille.

I imagine she was a bold woman in a lot of ways, and that the emotional strength and fire in her is part of why he appreciates those qualities so much in other woman.

It is kind of hilarious to stack up Mick’s interactions with women too. I’m sure I’ve talked about it before, but all the times he makes a comment about being into a woman, it’s often after she’s done something aggressive or if she’s particularly powerful and confident in herself.

There’s so many examples. From his “nice” when Lisa busts him and Len out of the prison transport, to seeing Kendra punching Rip in the Legends premiere, to him respecting the daylights out of Sara and loving watching her kick people’s asses in that bar. It even dates all the way back to his interaction with Caitlin in The Flash 1x10, really. The way she rebuffs his whole “the fire reveals what’s inside you” and she’s having none of it? I feel like that intrigued him a bit, the way it made him want to push and see how much mettle she really had.

He’s secretly nice, Caitlin. Honestly. Somewhere… deep, deep inside.

And then we see it time and again in Legends S2 and S3 as well, from commenting on the president being hot, from going from thinking Supergirl is ridiculous to being her new number one fan after seeing her kick some ass, and onward. Him calling Agent Sharpe of the Time Bureau hot is just… the cherry on top of that pie.

Number one fan. Or fanboy?

But the friendships he makes with women are different than all that too. There’s an attraction he has to power and grit, to be sure, but his friendship with Amaya goes so far beyond that, and his friendship with Lisa I imagine did as well.

Hug number one for Amaya. It was a bold sneak-attack.

With Amaya, he was at odds with her because he saw her as a rule-follower and she saw him as a man without a code. And yeah, he might be a little into her after she knocks out half (all?) the people on the Waverider and threatens to kill him with that knife and stows away on board, but their friendship doesn’t really start until she sees beneath the surface with him. The way it clicks for her, that he’s in pain, that he’s struggling, and that he has so much fire and rage burning inside him, whipped up like an inferno he can’t control right then.

When she tells him that she sees him, gets him, and is there for him, a lot changes. He starts to trust her, and in turn she ends up trusting him. It’s not wholly dissimilar from his friendship with Ray, and how Ray and him got closer once Ray displayed insight into who Mick is and what’s going on beneath the surface, proving that he sees him as a unique individual and not just as a ‘dumb violent criminal’ more or less.

Aka another episode where the whole fandom wanted to hug Mick.

And Amaya continues to believe in him and that’s just so important. He considers her a real friend and she’s never betrayed him even though he’s betrayed her (not that that Mick exists anymore, thanks Doomworld) and that’s honestly something special?

So… I can see why he lets women in easier (he has a much better history with them in general) and in his experience and line of work, I can see why bold, powerful women who take no shit are women he respects and admires and indicates an attraction toward. Mick likes mettle, and he likes people who can hold their own.

I think for a friendship though, for a real one, regardless of gender what it really takes is someone proving that they understand him and his depths (Ray in the Russian prison, Amaya in the old west after seeing his semi-suicidal state of being). It also goes a long when when they’re willing to do things his way sometimes (Ray playing getaway driver, Amaya stealing that booze for him in 1920′s Chicago).

Aka the moment Mick fell in love with this smol.

And yes, those friendships definitely look different across gender, Mick is much softer with women, hugging them, less abrupt and angry unless his back is up, but he does express vulnerability with men too sometimes, even if he’s not quite as “touchy-feely” (as I imagine he would put it :)).

Amaya vs. Ray hug score: 2 and 0. Poor Ray.

He does express his care for men too, in the ways he knows how (”no one’s allowed too kill Ray but me”). But on the whole I’d say his relationships with women take less work and those friendships come more naturally to him.

#mick rory #characterization #legends of tomorrow #lot commentary #child abuse mention #also truffles if you end up seeing this #i 100% copied your format for meta #because picture captions are hilarious and underused in meta #long post #long post for ts #angelfireeast #replies #gif-sourced analysis #edit: i'm mad because one of my gifs was the wrong one :(((#anyway i fixed it but whoops #ah well

251 notes · View notes

abriellelogog · 7 years

Text

The Early Days

I was born on a ship. My father said it was one of the best sailing days he had ever experienced. The sky was clear and blue and the sun was hot in the sky. The gulls were loud and the wind swept them up, helping them glide over the gentle waves. Mother told me that the labor, while painful and long, was the biggest success of her life. She told me stories about my first cry being strong and my grip holding her tightly. That is all I remember them telling me, I was too young to remember anything else or get all the real details.

I was raised on the ship till I was six. My first memory is of my father. It was the day after the seas were very angry so the deck of the ship was soaked and the cold temperature had iced it over. My father, Acostas, held my hand in his. It was rough and calloused and I remember that I felt safe. He pulled me around, me holding his shirt, laughing on the slick deck. Of course, I fell a couple of times but my father was always there, his tanned face smiling down at me. We played soccer with a hunk of ice. That is all I remember. I was four.

With my mother, Cherine, I remember her voice. It was so sweet and melodic even when she was not singing. She also had this power in her presence and from what I remember, she was the ship captain. She took control and the men on the ship listened to her carefully. I was quite nervous around her and I also made sure to listen carefully and learn fast. My mother had this wild red hair that was wonderfully waved and she would always leave it down. It smelled wonderful, like sea and sun.

I also remember the day that things started to change and I became aware of our true nature. My mother was steering the ship and we were singing along together. Then, she stopped and for the briefest moment, I remember seeing the glint of eagerness in her eyes. It was then that I was scooped up by a crew member and told to go down into the bowels of the ship. I remember the sounds of yelling and metal clanging against metal. I was not afraid. This was life but for the first time, I wondered about the nature of the activities above my head. When I emerged, the men were sorting and counting money and the crew was mopping the deck. I remembered looking to my father and he knew. All he said was, “We are pirates. Abrielle, you are surrounded by men who kill.” He did not hide the truth from me beyond that point. I was six.

These seemed to get worse from there. There were loads of moments when I would be ushered down below the deck and I would hear the swords clanging against other swords, only to emerge and help with the sorting of the riches. I would laugh with the crew members who would dress me up in the jewels and things. I was their princess. However, there came a point when they needed to get rid of me. A pirate ship is no place for a child and my parents realized this after a particularly hard battle. It was a battle where some of our crew lost their lives and a cannon blew a hole in the lower deck of the ship, near where I was eating supper.

One night, I was awoken by my mother. We were docked at a secluded beach and my things were packed in a small knapsack that she strapped to my back. “It is time to go Abrielle. You will not be coming back.” My father and mother led me up to the top deck where the crew had gathered to send me off. I remember lots of head pats and hugs from the softer members of the crew. I remember that I cried. I begged them to let me stay but all of them pushed me away. I know now that they meant to protect me but to this day, I hate saying goodbye.

That same night, we were on the road. I don’t remember much from the journey other than that we only walked during the night.

I also remember the first time I saw Uncle Lewis. He was and continued to be, quite portly. He also had these tiny little glasses and fly away hair. He was only thirty at that time, but he looked the same until he died. I remembered he was surprised to see my mother, his sister but he let us into his home. I don’t remember much, but when I woke up, both of my parents were gone and I was wrapped in a blanket in my Uncle’s chair. I cried for three days, without a break. Uncle Lewis let me have the time and when I stopped, he sat next to me. “Now what will you do?” He asked.

Within the next year, I learned to read. Lewis would help me sound out each of the letters. It was a time that I remember fondly because I really learned about his intelligence. He was the town doctor. There was only about fifty people in town so there wasn’t much work for him to do but he was skilled. I would read aloud to him and tell him about the pictures in my mind. He would always ask for more details and I would share with him all that I imagined.

He then taught me how to draw those thoughts. He bought me fine pencils and thick paper that he bought from Calormene merchants. The paper smelled like the sea. It reminded me of home. I never became talented at drawing but I did enjoy it from time to time. I enjoyed making what I though closer to my reality. This artistic outlet then led to me learning embroidery.

I learned how to garden by accident. There was this little old woman who lived next door who love to garden and I thought it was such a sweet activity and I loved spending time with a woman who I felt, genuinely cared for me. Lewis loved me, that much was true, but I felt more like a student under his roof. This sweet woman was named Helene. She taught me how to sow seeds and pick the vegetables at their peak and, most importantly, how to keep the animals away. One of the best things she taught me was about men. “Honey, women are like pancakes. They can think of everything all at the same time! Men are waffles. They have compartments and they can only think of one thing at a time.” I loved that bit of wisdom, and I have gladly accepted it.

Helene died when I was thirteen. Lewis helped me overcome this time in life by creating a little garden on our plot of land. I cultivated it from the time I was thirteen till I was eighteen and we moved to Coghill. It was one of my greatest joys and it is during my time in the gardens that I would sing.

I always wanted a voice as good as my mother’s and Uncle Lewis said it was similar. Most of our town liked to listen in during the festivals and during the harvest season. The first time I got a compliment about my voice was from my childhood friend, Cassie. She told me, “Abrielle, you are a songbird!” It was one of the sweetest compliments I have ever received. After that, I told Cassie all my secrets.

Cassie was not like all the other girls. She was actually more boy than girl and I followed her around like a puppy. We met when I first moved to town and meeting her was one of the things I will never forget. All of the town children were invited to see a travelling show. The man was from the Calormene dessert and was a well-known snake charmer. I had gone down to see this man all the boys were talking about and I was entranced by the understanding between the man and the snake he was charming. I watched, fully invested in the sounds of the music and the movements of the snake’s head. The respect the man had for the art what profound! However, the boy of the town were not as respectful. After the show, the boys found the snake and took it’s box with them into the woods. I was picking some mushrooms when the boys came to me with the snake. Things escalated and I was dared to touch the snake. “Oh yeah Abrielle! If you know everything, we dare you to grab the snake and hold it for 40 seconds!” I couldn’t say no. I took the dare and the snake swung up, biting me in the arm just on the inside of my elbow. That is when Cassie jumped in.

She had seen everything as it unfolded from the trees and flung herself down. “Look what you boys have done! She is bit!” The boys continued laughing while I held my arm, the snake long forgotten. Cassie began to suck out the venom and, after a while, took me home to Lewis who took care of the rest of my healing. Cassie came to talk to me everyday. I still did not care for her much, as she seemed too wild like my mother...that is until she gave me the best compliment I have ever received. Cassie had long brown hair that she tied into braids and she had green eyes. She died when we were both sixteen. She fell out of a tree and broke her neck. No one was there to rescue her.

When I turned Eighteen, after years of acquiring new skills and attending festivals, learning about loss and love, I decided it was time to move. Uncle Lewis, now forty-nine, had begun to lost his sharp mind. I would find him wandering around in the woods, talking to himself and to various animals. He would speak of things I could not see and share memories I had not heard in all my years of living with him. It was a complete loss. My intelligent teacher and loving Uncle was losing his mind and I was powerless to stop it.

I decided we need a change, a change that would protect Lewis from himself. I made the decision to move to Coghill, a town South of ours were we I could work and Lewis could retire to his thoughts. Leaving home was very hard for me. Lewis had made it a point to avoid making me say good-byes, and here I was, leaving the only real home I knew for a new home. I was very sad to leave but I was also determined to succeed. We left in the fall, after our last harvest.

0 notes