#Adam Scott fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shesjustanothergeek · 1 year

Text

Ruined

|Jacques Le Gris x Fem!Reader|

Short Story

Summary: Once you come of age, you're sent to your brother-in-law's estate to find a husband. After months of deflecting and denying suitors, old and young, you encounter the dangerous squire Jacques le Gris.

Author's Note: Jacques le Gris is a rapist. No matter which point of view you look at, he is a rapist. I would also like to say that I personally hate him. He embodies everything I hate about men and victim blaming in the modern world. Still, at the same time, I am so incredibly enamored by him, primarily due to Adam Driver's acting. Initially, I didn't want to write this story, but it would not leave me alone. Without further ado, here is Ruined. I hope you enjoy it!

WARNINGS: Mentions of rape, period-accurate sexism, noncon elements, extremely toxic masculinity, orgy (non-participating), the reader is a virgin, slight blood play, violence, degradation (Jacques receiving), rough sex, Jacques is not nice until the end, sexual blackmail, unprotected sex, PIV.

(I wrote this story almost a year ago but realized I didn't publish it here for some reason. You'll definitely see how much my writing has changed for the better.)

The obnoxious noises of people chanting draw you out of your trance, sipping wine from a silver goblet periodically to drown everything out. These parties were never your favorite, but you came, observing the party-goers dancing drunkenly as if it was your duty to attend.

You roll your eyes as the crowd cheers, Count Pierre yelling above the rest, a woman on his lap, and bringing your gaze to where the sound is directed.

A young man with raven hair draped around his neck stalks towards a maiden, a smirk on his lips, untying his white tunic. His chest is broad, a sheen of sweat glittering on his skin in the candlelight. He would be so much more attractive if this were a different situation. You could even imagine yourself being the one to pleasure his cock. You roll your eyes, understanding the intentions of this whole charade.

"Jacques, my boy, get on with it," Pierre says, growing impatient with the lack of excitement.

He nods, making wide steps to the woman, circling a wooden table as she runs in the opposite direction he follows. You can't help the groan of distaste that releases, tilting the cup to your lips and turning away, not wanting to see the show.

How could anyone like this? It was blasphemous in the eyes of the Lord. Mary would be weeping for what her son's followers do for fun. You must mention this in your confession, receiving penance for witnessing hedonistic actions, drawing the sign of the cross, wiping the stray dribbles from your lips, and making room for your bed chamber.

Pierre sticks his leather boot out, nearly tripping you as you huff, putting your hands on your hips.

"Where are you going, sister," he questions. "The party has just begun."

Your lips curl into a snarl, your white teeth reflecting the flickers of light.

"It is quite late, my dear brother-in-law. I need to rest my weary body."

Pierre tucks his leg back, a wave of shock washing over you. He fakes a pout, his eyebrows scrunching with a wet lip out. You shake your head, disbelieving his ridiculous antics. Indeed, he wouldn't let you go that easily.

"Awe, my dear sister," he pats his free thigh, "won't you find your rest here on my lap?"

The room erupts with laughter, everyone watching the exchange unfold, wondering how this will end. Your stomach turns inside, revolted by your legal brother's detailed proposal in God's eyes. Hot words of hatred sear your tongue's end, begging you to be free, but you bite it. He was, after all, above you, gifting you a home while searching for a husband. You were indebted to him. Saying no was not an option. Your eyes meet Jacques, a look of surprise as if he never knew you were here in the first place— a typical man, keeping his head trained on one hole at a time.

Pushing all the bile and anger, you plaster a smile, accepting the offer and sitting across from the finely dressed lady. Pierre runs his calloused fingers along your spine, turning you into stone as you set your gaze on the floor.

Everyone's eyes had left except for one, the only pair you didn't want on you as you sat in defeat, cheeks fuming. Jacques was intense, his facial hair dusting around the hard line of his mouth, shining with the wetness of the wine. It almost seemed you were his prey now, not the maiden with the ornate burgundy dress. You had no intention of being hunted by him.

With the clap of Pierre's hands, the merriment commences again, Jacques halting for a split second before his pupils are set back to where they were before. The woman is shouting no, over and over again, excitement barely laced in it. Your heart went out to her, a feeling of protection for the circumstance. She had no choice in who fucked her; a status of nothingness gave men the right to do what they wanted. Your gender had just as much value as theirs. Breasts and warm heat should not matter.

The position in a society fueled the eternal flame of fury in your soul, always wanting to rebel and speak your truth, but the consequences of disrespecting a man were deadly. You were just as helpless as the woman being thrown over Jacques's shoulder and flipped onto the bed, held down by other waiting women.

A hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to watch the poor woman be soiled.

"Watch," Pierre commands, saying your name. "Watch him fuck her, and maybe you will learn how to be a good wife for your husband."

You clench your teeth, growling in protest as you watch Jacques enter her from behind. The iniquity of the sounds is enough to stir your core, but the cries of her protest ring louder, maybe laced with a hint of pleasure as the meat from the large feast threatens to exit your throat.

"Here." Jacques's voice was smooth, rolling out his chest like a baritone into your ears, caressing them. "Take some evil inside you," he says, aligning his hips with hers.

Your body jolts, either from the erotic sounds of his words or the disgusting act he was committing on her, as you put a hand over your mouth, jumping from your spot before Pierre can stop you. Incoherent noises were mumbling out of you as you ran to the doors, bursting them open with weight. The onlookers are quiet once more, waiting for a cue from the Lord. Jacques is the only one not paying attention, his vision trained on your retreating form as the girls giggle.

You order your handmaids to draw a bath, telling them to put as many herbs and oils to soothe your racing heart. They listened, bowing their heads in respect as they went off to do their respective duties, and you were in the scented waters in no time.

Take some evil inside you.

The words echoed in your brain, fuzzing all concise thoughts and morals. These parties were always like this, orgies were the most common, but they all seemed consensual. You never heard a woman shout no until tonight. Pierre ordered him to almost rape, teetering on dubiousness and assault.

Why would someone participate in that so willingly?

Jacques could say no and leave, not chase her around like an animal until he jumped on her. He was so attractive and sensual in his movements that even Christ would be shy.

You reached over the top of the tub, picking up the leather-bound book on the stand next to you, attempting to distract your mind from the man that was viciously pounding into as many women as he could in the other wing. A book of poems written in Latin was always your choice.

You had been lost in the pages for hours; the water had turned lukewarm and your skin pruney, but you were too focused as you felt the door slam. You jumped, nearly dropping it into the tub. You were surprised to find visitors, especially this late in the night. You lift your gaze with a quizzical raised brow. The person standing in your bathing room was Jacques Le Gris. You squeal, dipping into the water and covering your chest.

"What the Hell are you doing in here?" You nearly scream, forgetting your place.

He takes a few steps closer as you turn away more, his boots thudding, sending vibrations through the floor as he bends over, picking up your book. He reads the name aloud, almost like a question, and turns the pages, looking for a certain one. Jacques reads it aloud.

"Bibe mihi nisi oculis tuis et ego confirmo in oculis tuis." (Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine.) He says, eyes flickering to your submerged body. "Vel osculum sed in poculo relinque, et vinum non quaeram." (Or leave a kiss but in thine cup, and I'll not look for wine)

Your muscles relax as you listen to his voice. It sounds the same, but the feeling of it is so much better than before.

"Sitis, quae ex anima oritur, divinum potionem petit." (The thirst from the soul doth rise, doth ask a drink divine.) You turn your body towards him, still covering your chest as you study his lips, how they pucker slightly, and his pink tongue touches his teeth.

Jacques begins to read the following line, but you interrupt him, having read this poem many times, as you peek over the side of the brass tub.

"Sed, ut potui, lovis nectare supponerem, Nolo tuum mutare." (But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.) He lowers his head a few inches above yours. His intense honey-brown eyes bore into yours.

"Sera tibi roseo misi, non tam honorante, quam ut spem dare non posset arescere." (I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, not so much honoring thee, as giving it a hope that there it could not withered be.) He reads the line, inching closer and closer.

You lick your lips, lifting yourself as you recite. "Tu autem ibi solus respirasti et mihi remisisti." (But thou thereon did'st only breathe, and sent'st it back to me.)

"Cum crescit et olet, non per se, sed te." (Since when it grows and smells, I swear, not of itself, but thee.)

Jacques closes the book with a slight slap, the tip of his prominent nose gliding across yours as your mouth parts for him. He closes his eyes, leaning in.

"Take some evil inside you."

You pull back, standing in the tub quickly as the water splashes out. Jacques's face turns pale at your rejection, embarrassment clouding his mind. You turn your back to him, grabbing a large towel.

"You know, Sir Le Gris, that poetry would sound heavenly if it wasn't for your filthy mouth." You flip your hair over your shoulder, bending slightly to wring the water out as you hear Jacques approach.

Fear stuns you for a moment, freezing, unsure of what to do or where to go because you know he will not take no for an answer if he reaches you. Suddenly, you spot a mounted dagger over the fireplace. You stroll as if you planned to walk over all along. He catches up in no time, pinning you to the stone, his form pressed into your back as he buries his nose in your neck, sniffing. You try not to cringe, even though everything in your body tells you to do so. You can't show him you're afraid.

"Would you like to rub my oils on Sir Le Gris?" You try to hide the tremble in your voice, staying frozen in place.

"Mmm," he moans, "I would love to." He moves away from you, finally giving you the chance to breathe.

"They are over there." You point to the shelf with glass bottles and vials as he nods. Turning his back on you, you reach for the dagger, silently prying it off the display. "You can pick whatever oil you want, Sir."

Jacques studies each one, popping off the corks and glass lids, smelling them until he finds something he enjoys, and walks back over. He opens the bottle, the smell of roses wafting in the air as he pours some out into his hands, massaging your neck.

If this was any other circumstance, you might adore basking in it, but it isn't. You're with a man who has no concept of consent, a man who would bend you onto the hearth and fuck your weeping body. He reaches down to your shoulders, halting when he feels your resistance on the cloth; not letting him remove it, he overpowers you, pushing it down. You clutch the dagger closer to your bare chest as his fingers glide down your biceps and back, slick with the oil.

"You are so stiff, my sweet."

You shudder at the endearment, trying to relax your tense muscles. Jacques's hand travels down your chest, encompassing the small flat area as his fingertips touch the top of your breast.

"Stop," you command with a flat voice. Jacques ignores you, continuing to massage your intimate parts.

You turn around, flying at lightning speed, and put the dagger's tip to his throat, only enough to draw a trickle of blood.

"When a woman says stop, you stop, Jacques. When a woman says no, you listen." The words fly out of your mouth, anger for seeing the filthy action he committed on that woman from the party.

His lack of terror frustrates you. Even with a knife to his throat, he radiates arrogance. You push him backward across the room, still at his throat, pinning him to the large wooden door. He stands there in surprise, his arms up in surrender, more startled than afraid.

"I could end your life in a second, you scoundrel, yet you show no fear."

Jacques laughs. He laughed dark and deep, his perfectly crooked teeth sparkling as his Adam's apple bobs. You slide the blade with your neck craned; the edge is now piercing. Your face scrunches with fury bringing your knee up to his stomach, causing him to laugh more, slightly doubled over.

"Do you have such a low view of women that you take it in jest when they threaten your life?" You spit. His joy subsides a bit, chest still slightly bouncing.

If you slid the blade across his neck at this moment, his throat would slit, spilling his tarnished blood on your naked body, yet he still doesn't seem to care. His eyes travel down you, still damp from the bath. You slam his shoulder into the door with your fist, trying to assert dominance over him, not allowing him to look. You suppose this is a precarious pose, leg hiked up, hand on his shoulder, giving him perfect access to your womanhood.

Your stance falters at the thought, Jacques taking it as the perfect opportunity to grab you. The blade slides across his arm, flinching for just enough time to run, but he grabs you at the waist, the soles of your feet sliding across the stone floor. You yelp as he flings you over his shoulder, your legs and arms kicking as you scream for him to stop. He doesn't listen, opening the door to your bed chamber and throwing you down on your mattress.

Your body displays perfectly for him, with a slight sheen on your flush body. He devours the sight of you, ripping off his sweat-stained tunic as you push yourself off the sheets and away from him, running towards the exit. Jacques cuts you off, hunched over in a stance that resembles the one at the party, his arms out. You step to the side, and he mirrors it. You step to the other, and the same thing happens again.

"If you run, I will only chase you," he says with a predator's grin.

You look around desperately for anything to help you escape him. You spot a candle stick, sprinting to it, knocking the lit wax onto the floor as it rolls to Jacques's feet; his boot steps on it, snuffing the flame.

"Oh, my darling, you must be careful. You wouldn't want to cause a fire. Our fun might end." His voice is condescending as he stalks you.

"I will set this whole castle on fire before I ever have fun with the likes of you, swine."

A glob of spit flies out of your mouth, landing on his cheek. The pads of his fingers touch it, wiping it on them and bringing them to his mouth, sucking. He hums, popping them from his lips with a smile.

"You taste so sweet." He closes the space between you. "I would shun Jove's cup away every chance if it meant I could taste your nectar instead."

You grip the brass candle stick tightly, offended that he would reference a poem so dear, ready to swing at any moment. Jacques notices, smiling to himself. Your legs rub together at his words, a mind of their own.

His lips crash on yours, destroying any thought that you might not want this, and you drop your weapon, wrapping your fingers in his raven locks. You can feel him grin, happy to have won, his hand lacing itself on your neck.

You part for air as Jacques spins you around, sliding his other hand down your body to your aching mound, parting the wet folds with his digits. You gasp at the contact, your knees buckling as his grip holds you up.

"For a lady who put up so much of a fight, you are impossibly weak under my touch," he mocks, relishing his victory.

You glare at the wall with the brutal honesty of his words. You didn't put up much of a fight when his mouth finally met yours, even dropping your only form of protection.

"Silence." You demand, not wanting to hear any more of his taunts.

An exploratory finger glides over a sensitive spot on your heat, causing you to gasp and grip Jacques's trousers. He swipes over it, and you cry out at the foreign sensation, panting. You can feel the pride radiate from his demeanor at seeing your weakness, slowly rubbing circles on the bud.

You have never felt like this before, being taught never to explore that private area of your body, leaving it only for your husband to use. This pleasure wasn't something that society taught you. Yes, you watched many people fornicate at Count Pierre d'Alençon's gatherings but never allowed yourself to participate. He would have loved it if you did, but you had one duty to attend: finding a husband.

It was already so tricky finding anyone you could stomach, all the suitors decrepit and at death's door. You wanted to marry for love when you were younger. The idea of a fairytale romance clouded your eyes as a child, but once you bled for the first time, you were sat down and told of your duties. Accept whatever man had the most money, influence, or power and fill your stomach with his kin. But you wanted something else. The suitors also knew it, as you destroyed any notion of a small and obedient wife.

At times you were sure Pierre would throw you out as you brushed off and disrespected every man that came, but some of you knew he liked the entertainment. If only he could see you now.

Naked and moaning like a whore as Jacques assaulted your heat with his fingers, you loved the sinfulness of it all, Jacques breathing heavily into your ear as he worked you like a loom, rubbing in circles as pressure began to build in your stomach. Your hips were moving, seeking more friction. You can't control your body, the lust of the devil taking over your mind, a he kept touching that exact spot.

It was so intense, the new feeling, almost too much, you wanted to scream obscenities and thrash around, but he held you firm. Your toes curled as you stomped on the ground, a wave of ecstasy crashing into you as you screamed. Your body caved in on itself as you struggled in Jacques's grip, still rubbing the used nub. You twitched and spasmed as the aftershocks of your high jolted through your body, mumbling to yourself.

"It's-it's too much. Please. Stop." You beg as tears form from the overstimulation.

Jacques shushes you with kisses along your face, calming his fingers slightly, and you breathe a sigh of relief, head dropping as his hand still chokes.

"Have you ever experienced this before, a man's touch?" He whispers seductively, nose burying in your hair.

You're too dazed to think of a witty retort, Jacques pulling your consciousness away.

"No. I have to save myself."

"For who?" Jacques asks, removing his paws from your naked skin.

"My husband." You answer plainly.

Some of you have always wanted to explore your features this way, but you are always too scared, never taking the risk. You felt they would know what you had done by the look on your face, throwing you to live with pigs for the rest of your life. He chuckles at your lack of restraint, happy to have brought your defenses to a standstill as he slowly sways you to the bed, closing your eyes. You think he might leave you there, tucking you in for the night. You wouldn't protest with your achy limbs.

"You're still intact?"

You shoot up, eyes wide, as you realize what will happen. What?" That is all you manage to say, scared to admit the truth. Maybe if you didn't, he would lose interest and leave.

He rests his knees on the bed, your legs between his as he repeats.

"You are still intact?"

"Sir le Gris, I beg you to leave my chambers." Your voice weavers, sobering up, trying to keep a modicum of strength.

You slide off the bed, Jacques grabbing and flipping you as you swipe the candle stick from the floor. He crawls over the top, dragging his hair along your back as you feel his hands dip the bed, stick biting into your chest.

"I will ruin you for every man," Jacques whispers, face centimeters away from your ear, his facial hair tickling your skin as he peppers kisses along your neck.

The logical part of your brain wanted to stop this, realizing that you would fail if your future husband wanted to see if you were still a virgin. They'll declare you a whore, a harlot, sabotaging every suiter who enters the door. With your personality, you knew that your virtue would appeal more than money to them, and Jacques Le Gris would take it away. But the way his lips delicately kissed your skin, his hair lightly stroking it, taking the words out of your mouth as he reached your hips.

He removed his body from yours, shucking his black trousers onto the floor. You grip the candle stick tighter. This was your chance to fight back, stopping him from taking your only decent quality in man's eyes, but you didn't. You just lay there, waiting patiently for him.

A part of you wanted this, to know what it felt like and to discard any chance of finding a betrothed. You couldn't be tied to domestics, organizing feasts, caring for little ones, and then laying down to a man you could never love. It would be pure Hell, and you could not accept that. You would rather die alone without your honor than live a day under a man's boot.

Jacques grips your hips again, pulling you towards the edge of the mattress, legs hanging off the end as he spits on his shaft, stroking it. You turn your head to take a peak. The length is impossible; you had never seen one this long or wide, glistening with his seed at the tip. He catches you staring, smirking at your shocked expression, glad to have finally put you in your place.

He positions himself at your entrance, rubbing his hands on your ass almost gently as he pushes into the hilt. You scream, silencing it into the blankets as he pulls out, only to slam back in again. Tears burst from your eyes at the blinding pain of being stretched, his blatant disregard for your comfort.

"Jacques, it-it hurts." You beg, body shaking, the salty streams of water cascading down your face and into your mouth. "Please, slow down."

Your trembling voice breaks him from his trance, realizing he can't treat you the way he does with other women, not if both of you were to enjoy it. He pulls out, turning your body, seeing your tear-stained face and the candle stick you had been hiding, throwing it off to the side. Jacques smirks, proud to have won your mercy. He didn't know how long he would worry about you trying to kill him. He was proud of the magic his cock could work, but he didn't think it was that powerful, willing someone as strong and aggressive as you into submission. He bent over your body, kissing you, sucking on your lips gently, as your fingers combed threw his hair.

"I'm sorry, my darling, I should have remembered you are not like the rest. So fragile and delicate." He smiles, getting a waft from the oil he put on you earlier. "Like a rose. Ma rose. Beautiful and elegant, but if you aren't wise, she will prick you with her thorns."

You're sure his terms of affection come from pure physical attraction, trying to calm you so he could get back to fucking you like a rabbit. But the feeling that crept into your bones and heart at his words wanted to tell you something different.

He slowly drags them across your velvet walls, relishing in the tiny moans and whines he pulled from your chest. This time, his hand went down to your womanhood, using your juices to coat his fingers before he slid in, stretching you but not as comprehensively as his cock. You gripped onto the arms that caged you, your fingernails digging into the toned muscles as he dipped his head into the crook of your neck, softly biting the flesh.

You felt your peak rising quickly as he stroked you with curled fingers, your heat clenching and twitching around him. Jacques didn't need you to say anything to know you were close. Your body told him everything he needed as he quickly exited before your climax, ignoring your protests. He brought the digits to his mouth, coated in blood and nectar as he sucked, eyes rolling back at the tangy taste.

You watched in awe as his tongue licked it, dipping into all the crevices. He leaned down, hesitating momentarily as he reached your lips before you parted them and then dove in, mixing the taste of you and him. You moaned through your nostrils, eyelids fluttering as your tongues danced together, wrapping your legs around his waist. You were tired of waiting now that he showed you what sex could feel like, frustrated by its denial. You pulled his hair, tugging his face away as you looked into his hazel-brown irises.

You had never been this close to Jacques to appreciate his beauty truly; the freckles and moles dotted his cheeks and around his nose. He almost looked like the Roman statues you had seen in books, with his face and body chiseled from stone.

"Please," you whispered on his damp skin, "I need you inside me."

Jacques had waited for those words his entire life, eyes rolling back at the wave of arousal he got from them. He positioned his cock at your abused mound again, sliding in slowly as he watched your expression.

It was painful again, tensing and scrunching as he held back the best he could, bottoming out. The feeling of him so impossibly deep made you gasp. You were sure he was in your guts. You slowly ground your hips against him, trying to seek the pleasure you now knew he could give you. He smiled at your eagerness, happy to have turned the stiff woman into a puddle in his hands.

He finally gave you what you wanted, pulling back and sliding back in. Your walls finally adjusted to his overall size, welcoming him in. Like earlier, he worked that sweet spot inside you, stoking the fire smoldered inside into a small flame. You wanted more now that you realized what was possible, snatching his body close to yours as you angle your hips up, inviting him to go the pace he wanted. And Jacques did, slamming into your body as he fucked you deeply, breasts bouncing from the force.

You moaned loudly, head rolling to the side as the pleasure took over, Jacques wrapping a large palm around your throat again to hold you in place.

"Oh Lord," you shouted, "please forgive me. Now that I know of this sinful ecstasy, I may never stop."

Jacques smiled, happy that he ruined and corrupted you like he said he would, a new wave of primal desire controlling him. He yanks you to the end of the bed again, slamming your body into him as he stands upright, grabbing your waist and fucking into you as hard as he can, gritting his teeth.

You pant, excited by the new position he thrusts into rapidly, the now familiar pressure quickly building in your stomach.

"I am going to ruin you for every man." Jacques reiterates from before. "So, when your husband is fucking you like an untrained dog, all you will think of is me."

His black mop of hair sticks to his sweaty forehead as he continues pumping into you, holding himself back until you climax for him. He hikes your leg over his shoulder, pistoning in you impossibly deeper, hitting the same spot repeatedly until you snap. Your vision goes white as you arch your back, screaming at the bursting pleasure in your stomach. Jacques grins, proud to have you writhing under him as he spills inside you, seed filling up your hole as you both continue panting.

Jacques pumps into you carefully, slowly riding your highs together as your pulse slows, breathing calmly. His hand slowly snakes its way to yours, hooking a cautious pinky. He pulls out, gently dropping your leg as he collapses beside you, spent from the activities together, staring up at the ceiling.

His digit is vast compared to yours, the size of your index, as he takes the invitation to wrap all of them under your plan, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. You stare at him, an eyebrow raised at the unexpected display of affection.

"Thank you for giving yourself to me, ma rose. For letting me have your virtue." You look down at the intertwined hands and then at his face, skeptical, seeing his sincere expression.

"You are welcome," you giggle. "Though I always imagined it would be my husband, now I don't think I need one for that anymore."

Jacques laughs, a naturally bellowing whole-body one, and shakes his head.

"With all due respect, my lady, I don't think you needed me to show you that." You mirror his emotions, silently agreeing with him as he gets up, searching for the lost garments during your adventures.

You attempt to stand, legs faltering as pain shoots through your core, using the bed for balance. Luckily, Jacques is in the bathing room collecting his tunic as you walk over to the candle and holder, putting them back.

Cold, wet fabric on your back causes you to jump, turning around to see Jacques fully clothed with a wash rag in hand. You wince at the freezing temperature of it, grabbing his wrist. You look at him perplexed as he leads you back to the bed, parting your legs as he drags them across your core, cleaning up the dried blood and fluids.

"I can do that, Sir." You protest, uncomfortable with the amount of concern he is showing you.

"I know you can." He chuckles to himself, shaking his head, and continues. You don't stop him, letting the man care for you this time.

Once he's done, you reach for the cloth to discard, but he yanks it out of the way, folding it and stuffing it in a pocket. You put your hands on your hips, shaking your head.

"And what are you going to do with that le Gris?" You ask in an admonishing tone.

"Oh, this?" He questions, feigning innocence. "This is just for me... and any other suiter who decides to court you."

Your face pales, your playful expression dropping as you go to grab for him, his body surprisingly fast for the bulk of it. You try again, and he expertly dodges towards the door.

"Give it back, Jacques," you demand, done with his games.

He smiles and shakes his head, patting where the tainted fabric is stored. You reach for it once more as he opens your bed chamber door and slips out, shutting it on your naked body. He knows you can't leave, or everyone will see you; although some might be pleased, you still stay inside, pounding on the door as you yell his name.

***

You sit silently at the table with Count Pierre d'Alençon and his wife, your sister, eating the day's first meal. You needed that after last night, still fuming after what Jacques did.

That damn scoundrel.

Pierre puts his knife down with a "clang," causing your sister and you to perk up, expecting an explanation for the sound as he wipes his lips.

"Jacques le Gris came to my chamber last night," he begins. A lump forms in your throat as you freeze, terrified about what his following words would be."I found it very odd, him being here that late after the party, but nevertheless, he said it was necessary."

Indeed Jacques didn't blast Pierre about what you did last night; he already had proof enough that he didn't need to say anything.

"You came up in the conversation, my dear sister," he says as he points a jeweled finger.

You swallow, plotting all the terrible things you will do to Jacques the next time you see him.

"He proposed a marriage to you."

You drop all your silverware on the floor, face in shock at the reveal. Jacques has already ruined all chances of future courtiers, even going a step further and ruining your prospects of freedom. Why the Hell would he do that?

"I, of course, said that he would have to follow the process like any other man. He would get no special treatment just because he is my friend."

He steals your virtue and now your only chance of freedom.

"What do you say, my dear sister?" He asks, ripping your mind for your thoughts.

You stare blankly, unsure how to respond to something as ridiculous as that and clear your throat.

"Jacques le Gris is like all of the men from before and will be like all of the men after," you reply.

Pierre smiles at your answer, happy to know the two most headstrong, fiery people he knows will go toe to toe. This will be a duel for the ages.

178 notes · View notes

skymaiden32 · 1 year

Text

Toxicity

AO3 link here

Fandom: Thunderbirds

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn (Please ask if you would like to be updated when I update or write new stories)

Why hello there. It's been a while since I updated this... ^^'

Tomorrow also happens to be this fic's one-year anniversary, so really hope you enjoy this chapter! >:3

------

Virgil waved from the edge of the runway as the police team arrived on the Island. They’d only announced they were coming today early this morning, and three hours later they had blipped onto the radar, getting closer and closer to the sanctuary of the family’s little hideaway. The second eldest brother took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was going to happen here, whatever it was. He was sure everything would be fine. Operation Cover-Up was fully operational, Kyrano had gotten some late lunch together for their visitors, and Virgil knew enough about distracting little brothers to hopefully apply it to a group of officers.

“Welcome to Tracy Island.” He greeted the police chief, warmly shaking his hand.

Chief Adams grinned at Virgil, shaking heartily back. “Pleasure’s all ours, Mr Tracy. What do you say about us having a chat about what happened first, and then me and my boys will have a look around?”

“I’d say you’ve got yourselves a plan.” Virgil turned around, gesturing for the group to follow him. “The main house is this way. And please…" The Chief raised an eyebrow. “Mr Tracy is my father. You can just call me Virgil.”

“Of course.” Adams smiled understandingly. “Lead the way, Virgil…”

What they failed to notice as they were walking towards the villa however, was that one policeman had broken off from the group, and was going the exact opposite way.

------

John had been following the convoy for some time now, and although he knew he was in stealth mode and far behind them, he was certain the Hood knew he was there. Why wouldn’t he? The criminal always seemed to be one step ahead of them when it came to this particular scheme of his…

Thunderbird One’s radar screamed at him, and he forced himself to take his eyes off the convoy to take a look. “Well,” he could’ve cursed, “that’s not good…” He swerved sharply in the air. The rocket ship shook as the missile just managed to miss the cockpit and hit the back engines instead. The Hood had definitely known…

John gritted his teeth as he struggled to control the damaged ship. Instruments wailed all around him as Thunderbird One went down, down, down, falling in a nose dive towards the tree line. No matter how hard he tugged the controls, he couldn’t pull her upright. All he could do was utter his final words before hitting the ground. “I’m sorry, Scott…”

------

Gordon had perked up as soon as he’d heard Thunderbird One’s distress beacon, wondering if John had managed to either catch up and get Scott back, or tracked the Hood all the way back to his next base of operations. But now, as he approached the ship’s location, dread was starting to set in. It was impossible to deny the heat of the flames around the silver rocket plane his eldest brother seemed to almost worship sometimes. The symbolism of the moment didn’t escape his notice.

But for now, he only had eyes for the big brother he could reach. “John!” He ignored the stifling heat, pushing through the narrow entrance and grabbing the astronaut when he managed to find him in the pilot chair. Gordon breathed a sigh of relief when he felt for a pulse, finding it relatively easily. “Come on big brother… No way are we losing anyone else today…” He grunted as he pulled John away from immediate danger, to behind a boulder at the edge of the clearing the crashed ship had made. He knew there was no way the ship would outright explode, as the fire was nowhere near the reactor, but he still wanted to be careful.

Eventually, the fire behind him settled as he treated John’s head wound and set his broken arm. Once that was over and done, Gordon looked behind them, grimacing at the carnage the missile and fire had caused. Repairs would need to be done on the Island; the damage was far too extensive to fix here. He would have to call Virgil now if they were going to see Thunderbird Two make an appearance anytime soon, and even then, the pilot had said something about a police team on the Island. They’d have to wait for them to leave before launch, and who knew how long that would take?

As Gordon groaned, pondering their dilemma of lack of transportation, John blinked wearily, eyes adjusting to the growing darkness. “Heya, Gords…” Stars, he sounded awful.

“John!” The space monitor soon found himself being squeezed to death. Once his shock subsided, John tentatively hugged his younger brother back. “You’re okay!”

“Mostly…” The blond chuckled, wincing at the sharp pain in his arm. “What happened? Everything’s so fuzzy…”

Gordon sighed, launching into exposition mode. “The Hood hit you with a missile.” He pointed to Thunderbird One. The state of her made John grimace. “There’s no way we can fly her home, so we gotta call Virgil…”

John almost hesitated to ask his next question. “We… We didn’t get Scott back, did we?…”

“No…” John had never seen their normally happy-go-lucky fish so despondent. “We didn’t…”

------

“Alright, Virgil.” Adams grinned at the man in front of him. “That’s about it.” He snapped his notebook shut. “We’ll be out of your hair now. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate as it is…”

Virgil buried his anxiety as his watch beeped at him for the sixteenth time in the past ten minutes. He’d managed to explain it away to the police as it needing servicing, but the fact that Gordon and John were after the Hood niggled him. They could be in danger, or worse, captured. His only consolation was that if they were still trying to contact him, they were still alive, at the very least.

Pushing his protective instincts down, he reached forward to shake Chief Adams’ hand one more time. “Thank you. I’m afraid I have some work to do, so I won’t be able to escort you out, but I’m sure Kyrano would be happy to show you the way.” He nodded in the manservant’s direction, who was looking out to the horizon with a far off look in his eyes. Virgil raised an eyebrow, and made his way over to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Kyrano, are you oka-” Kyrano jolted in surprise at the touch, and immediately turned apologetic when he saw who it was.

“Ah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I am sorry, Master Virgil. I must’ve been lost in thought…”

Virgil inwardly sighed. Since the reveal of the Hood being Kyrano’s family, their friend had been on edge. Their father suspected it was a fear he would be kicked out and abandoned by the Tracy’s, but assured the manservant that it would never happen. And Virgil, as well as everyone else, was inclined to agree. He was sure Scott would too, if he were here…

“It’s okay, Kyrano…” Virgil soothed. “Would you mind showing Chief Adams and his team back to their plane, please?”

“Of course.” Kyrano nodded, but his face still held a nervousness the pilot couldn’t quite place. “But I need to talk to you about something afterwards...”

Ignoring the questioning gazes of Chief Adams and his officers, Virgil nodded. “Sure thing.” He watched the manservant and trio of police officers leave, raising his watch up as soon as he was sure they were out of earshot. “International Rescue Headquarters calling Gordon. Come in please.” His brother faded into existence, alongside John. “Geez, you guys look awful.”

“We feel awful.”

Virgil frowned. “I take it the mission didn’t go well?”

Gordon gave him a look. “It was a raging dumpster fire.”

John’s voice could just about be heard. “And all we have to show for it right now is my concussion, broken arm, and a shot down Thunderbird…”

“Not to mention a direct confrontation with Hoody boy and him escaping with Scott.” Gordon huffed. “Long story short, we need a ride home…”

Their older brother grimaced. “We’ll definitely talk about this, but for now, I’m just glad you’re okay. Police team are just leaving now, and then I promised Kyrano I’d talk to him about something. Sit tight guys, Thunderbird Two is on the way.”

“FAB…”

------

“You won’t get away with this!” Scott snarled, fighting whoever was keeping a tight hold on him as they made their way through the temple. No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn’t break free.

The Hood examined his fingernails nonchalantly as his captive was thrown into the room that would be his new prison for the foreseeable future, landing on the floor with a pained grunt. “Normally I’d retort with the good old fashioned, ‘Oh, but I will.’ But I tire of this endless game of cat and mouse that we seem to be playing, Tracy.” He smirked. “If you won’t give me what I want to know, I guess I’ll have to look elsewhere…”

Scott froze, immediately catching on. “You can do whatever you want to me, but leave my brothers out of it…”

“Interesting thing to say, considering my men just shot one of them out of the sky…”

The criminal chuckled darkly. Scott forced himself not to retort, staying silent this time. He sent a silent prayer out. Please, please let John be okay… “Well, I guess this is as good a cue as any to take my leave…” The Hood turned, waving nonchalantly as he left and closed the door. “Farewell for now…”

Scott was left in the dark once again, feeling more and more hopeless by the moment. He trudged over to the bed made of hay in the corner, trying his hardest not to cry. If the Hood was watching, Scott wanted so badly not to give him the satisfaction. But he’d reached his limit a long time ago, and seeing Thunderbird One shot down with one of his precious brothers inside pushed him over the edge.

That night, he cried for his brothers, his father, his friends, and his freedom. Everything he’d already lost, and was on the verge of losing forever. He clung to the locket that was still around his neck after all this time, hidden from the prying eyes of the Hood. If his mother was watching over his brothers and father, there was still hope. Just the tiniest bit made all the difference to him…

And then his eyes widened. He pinched the bridge of his nose, huffing. “Dang it, Scott Tracy.” He whispered as he rebuked himself for forgetting, hoping none of the Hood’s lackeys, or stars forbid, the Hood himself, would hear him. “I’m such a dummy…” Opening the locket, he quickly found what he was looking for even in the low light and brought it up to his eye level, smirking. It was so small, almost invisible. But it was the key to him getting out of this mess alive. One that he couldn’t afford to lose.

That fact wouldn’t stop his brothers teasing him endlessly for forgetting his edible transmitter existed though…

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds 1965 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderfam #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #kyrano thunderbirds #scott tracy #the hood #police chief adams (oc)#sky writes stuff #story: toxicity

17 notes · View notes

phantomstatistician · 2 years

Photo

Fandom: Power Rangers

Sample Size: 8,341 stories

Source: AO3

#kimberly hart #trini kwan #billy cranston #zack taylor #tommy oliver #jason lee scott #adam park #kira ford #chase randall #riley griffin #power rangers #fanfiction #ao3 #statistics #phantom statistician

49 notes · View notes

the-real-tc · 1 year

Text

Fic Update! Bad Business: Ch. 12 A Place Called Heartland

Chapter 12:

A Place Called Heartland

***

To the childless wife he gives a home, and gladdens her heart with children.

- Ps. 113

***

[draft]

Hudson Hawk: Your Eye on Hudson

A BLOG

Bad Business in Hudson

If you've been following the local news lately — and it's hard not to — you'll be very aware of all the sinister events that have unfolded in our fair town over the past few weeks. Thanks to the dogged efforts of the Hudson Police and that of the neighbouring Calgary Metro Police, however, it looks like justice will prevail in the sordid murder and murder-for-hire cases that have come to light.

To recap: Mrs. Valerie Stanton of Briar Ridge Stables was shot to death while horseback riding up at Lookout Point. Also targeted for death was one Lisa Stillman of Fairfield Stables. One detail that came to light was that the horse Stanton was riding at the time of her death belonged to Stillman. This raised a troubling question: was Stillman the intended target with Stanton being the unfortunate victim of mistaken identity, or was it all a terrible hunting accident?

Nothing could have been further from the truth, as the culprits turned out to be much closer to home; their reasons much more disturbing. Facing various and sundry criminal charges are: Tanner Gunn, Theresa Haywood, Stanley Belmont, Jesse Stanton, and William Ulrich.

I know what you're probably wondering: Is Jesse Stanton related to Valerie Stanton? The answer is a resounding "Yes". He's the son of the same late Valerie Stanton, and Briar Ridge heir. He's been charged with soliciting a killer-for-hire to murder his mother. His reasons for so doing will probably come to light in the upcoming trial, or not. Whatever his reasons, what makes things all the more troubling is he decided to try to kill Lisa Stillman when the insurance payout for his mother's policy was held up due to the police investigation into her death.

Adam paused as he tried to summarize the facts of the case as he knew them. He stared at his laptop screen, wondering now if he had the right to be typing this story in his blog at all. After all, he knew the people involved. By now Georgie must have told the family at Heartland Ranch the Hudson Hawk was his chosen sobriquet.

An unconscious frown tugged at Adam's mouth. His conscience was nagging him. It had been easier when he could hide behind the anonymity of a screen name; he could pretend there was some distance between himself and the subject of his blog posts. Now...

So while he had the blessing of his parents to continue this blogging endeavour, Adam closed the file without saving it. Instead, he decided to check with Alberta Fish and Wildlife to see if they had anything new to report about the elusive bear that had been implicated in the attack on Herring and the man whose body he and Georgie discovered at the Dude Ranch. Doubtless when it was eventually found, it would be destroyed. Such would be the fate of any wild animal that targeted humans instead of other wild animals.

***

Monday, May 13, 2019

Somewhere on Highway 2, Due North.

"I'm glad she's finally feeling up to having visitors," Rachel said as Lou navigated the SUV to the hospital.

Lou glanced at her, then chanced a peek back at Ben, who was staring out the window at the passing scenery, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

"It was driving me crazy having to wait," Rachel continued. "I still can't wrap my mind around everything that's happened. It's like some bizarre dream I'm waking up from. Well, nightmare is more like it. Thank God it's over."

"I can't believe everything that's happened, either," Lou quipped, thinking back to the night Amy shot Jesse, and how Chief Parker had been able to tell the rest of the family Lisa was alive.

Rachel's joy at learning her only sister had indeed survived the attempts on her life was tempered by the fact she had been led to believe the opposite.

"I thought I was coming out here to say 'goodbye' to her," Rachel commented, her voice just above a whisper. "I thought I was never going to see her again. And I know I shouldn't be upset the police couldn't tell us the truth right away—to protect her and all that—but I wish..."

"But it's gonna be okay now," Lou said reassuringly, filling in the silence when Rachel did not verbalize the rest of her train of thought. "She'll be so happy to see you two."

The rest of the family had elected to stay back at Heartland for the time being so as not to overwhelm the recovering patient. It was expected Lisa would be discharged within the week, anyway, and Georgie and Katie were already excitedly making plans for a 'Welcome Home' party of sorts, and the imminent arrival of Aunt Evelyn.

From his position in the backseat, Ben quietly spoke up: "I keep going over in my mind the time I spent at Briar Ridge. I remember being jealous of Jesse Stanton at the time because of all the 'toys' he had. He seemed to have anything and everything he wanted. I remember thinking how much I'd love to have a Ducati like his, and how my parents' splitting up meant I might be able to guilt one or both of them into getting me one. Then I thought, hey, maybe my rich aunt could. What she did buy was jumps for Red so I could practice at Heartland. It took me days to finally thank her. Days. What a shallow, ungrateful idiot I was.

"To think... to think Jesse was riding that same damned bike when he shot my aunt..."

"For what it's worth, Ben," Rachel eventually uttered with a smirk, "There's no way I would have been giving you a Ducati back then, no matter how guilty I felt about the divorce, and neither would your Aunt Lisa."

***

South Calgary Health Campus

Lou tapped her knuckles lightly on the door to Lisa's room.

"Yeah, come on in," Jack called from within.

Upon hearing this response, Lou let Ben and Rachel go ahead of her. Despite expecting this visit from her family, Lisa felt a lump forming in her throat at the sight of her sister and nephew, and instant tears flooded her eyes. Rachel crossed the floor quickly to her sister. Lisa readily received the gentle but fervent hug that lasted several seconds.

"Hey, Rachel," Lisa uttered. "Thanks for coming. I'm so glad to see you."

"I thought I'd lost you," Rachel murmured, voice choked with emotion as her eyes brimmed.

"I know," Lisa responded as Rachel released her. "I'm sorry. You know I never wanted to put you—any of you—through that. But the decision to keep you in the dark wasn't mine. I never wanted to cause you any grief—"

"We're just glad you're going to be okay, Aunt Lisa," Ben put in hurriedly, also approaching Lisa for a hug of his own.

"Ben," Lisa said warmly while accepting his embrace, "it's so good to see you."

"Ben's right," Rachel said. "All that matters is you're going to be okay. The people who did this to you are in custody and you're still with us. That's what's important. Oh, my goodness, let me look at you..."

Rachel spent a few moments taking in the bandage that still graced the left side of Lisa's forehead, and then noticed the sling on her arm. What she could not see beneath the hospital gown were the sutures sealing the incision where the chest tube had been inserted, and the additional bandage covering the patched-up bullet wound.

Shaking her head, Rachel said, "I'm so glad you're alive, sis. You look like you've been through hell and back."

"I feel like it, too," Lisa uttered wryly.

Jack rubbed her forearm in a comforting manner at this comment. He could not abide thinking she was in any discomfort.

"Rachel, I'd like you to meet Jack," Lisa said, motioning towards her husband.

"Jack," Rachel said with a wide smile, moving to hug the man her sister married. "At long last, we meet in person. I'm sorry it took something like this to bring us out here."

"Good to finally see you in person, too, Rachel," Jack said heartily, holding her tightly for a few moments before releasing her.

"Hi, Jack," Ben said, reaching over to shake the older man's hand. "It's been a while."

"Yes it has!" Jack rejoined, grasping his step-nephew's hand. "It's good to see you again, man."

"Jack... I want to thank you for being there for my sister when that monster tried to... you know..." Rachel trailed off. "You saved her life."

"Yes, Jack," Lisa said, sending a broad smile in his direction. "My hero..."

Jack did not wish to think about or speak any more of the night he found hitman Earl McCann trying to suffocate Lisa, so he quickly shifted the conversation to a more mundane topic.

"Well, I guess Aunt Evelyn should be getting in soon?" he asked, doing his best to sound upbeat about it.

"Yes, Grandpa," answered Lou, also sensing his discomfort about the former subject. "Her flight gets in tomorrow night."

"Oh, Aunt Evelyn," Lisa groaned, closing her eyes. "She'll never forgive me for putting her through all this!"

"Of course she will," Rachel rebutted. "I talked to her yesterday. Lisa, all she cares about is that you're alive and safe. You said it yourself: the decision to keep what was going on confidential wasn't in your hands. You were at death's door at the time, for heaven's sake! Nobody's blaming you."

At this, Lisa nodded. "Thanks, Rach. I needed to hear that."

"Anytime," Rachel said. "Someone's got to knock some sense into you."

"Right," Lisa said. "And thank you for not making cracks about my 'hard head'."

"Oh, rats! That was going to be my next joke," said Rachel, feigning disappointment.

"Well, I, for one, am glad for your 'hard head', Lis," Jack said with a small smile. He traced a thumb near the bandage below her hairline, once again so grateful the weapon Jesse had used was not as deadly as he intended it to be.

***

A Couple Days Later

Heartland Ranch

"They're here!" Katie cried excitedly, rushing from the porch into the house upon seeing Jack and Lisa pulling up into the yard.

"We're home, Lis," Jack said, putting the truck in park.

"Hmm," Lisa murmured, slowly peeling open her eyes. She had not intended to fall asleep during the drive home, but too many nights of poor sleep in the hospital meant her body craved rest. Jack's steady driving and the purr of the truck's engine proved to be a fairly good natural sedative.

"Wow, how long was I out?" she asked.

"About half an hour," Jack chuckled. "I didn't realise my company was that boring."

"Oh, you," Lisa said, realising he was jesting. Now that she was coming to full awareness after her brief nap, she finally noticed the yard was not quite as empty as it normally was. "Um, Jack... What's with all the cars and trucks..?"

"You have a lot of people who wanted to welcome you home, Lis," Jack explained. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

Jack opened the door on Lisa's side and carefully eased her down. "Slow and steady, now," he advised, gingerly supporting her on the way to the house.

Though she was feeling miles better than when she first woke in the hospital, Lisa allowed Jack this expression of care for her well-being. After all, she knew first-hand how challenging it could be when the person you loved most was resistant to help of any sort.

Almost as soon as she entered the house, Lisa was met by Evelyn.

"Darling," the older woman uttered, taking her niece's face in her hands before hugging her tenderly. "I'm so relieved you weren't taken from us like that... When Jack called me... oh, I thought my heart wouldn't be able to endure it. But you're here. It's a miracle."

"I'm so sorry I had to put you through that, Auntie," Lisa said sincerely.

"Nonsense," Evelyn stated flatly. "Lou and Rachel explained everything. The police did what they had to do to keep you safe and to flush out the guilty parties."

"Then I'm so glad you understand," said Lisa with relief.

"Jack, don't be a stranger," Evelyn chided, at last noticing him. "Come here. I want to kiss the man who saved my niece's life."

"Hello, Evelyn," Jack said, allowing her to give him a peck on the cheek.

Evelyn leaned in to Lisa. "Doesn't he ever shave, darling?" she asked in a low voice, though Jack managed to hear, anyway.

"Only when the mood strikes him," Lisa answered with a chortle, patting Jack's face playfully. "But I love him, anyway."

"Yes," Evelyn said seriously. "And he loves you. And that's really all that matters, isn't it?"

Tim approached just then. "Everybody's waiting in the living room," he announced, somewhat impatiently, then amended his tone. "Is Lisa okay?"

"I'm fine, Tim," Lisa replied. "I just didn't expect something like this when I got home."

"Let's go," Evelyn said perkily. "Can't keep your well-wishers waiting."

Lisa sank into the middle of the couch, deeply touched by the gathering of dear family and friends that afternoon. She was further impressed by the efforts Katie and Georgie put in to decorating the space to enhance the celebratory mood of her return home.

"Do you like what we did, Lisa?" asked Katie with expectant enthusiasm, grinning widely. Georgie stood by, also waiting to hear what Lisa would say.

"It's beautiful, both of you," Lisa responded, taking in the large 'WELCOME HOME, LISA' banner, streamers, balloons, and cheery tea lights. "This was so very thoughtful of you. So special."

Heartened by this praise, Katie zipped over to where Peter stood with Lou and happily told them that Lisa loved her handiwork.

Everyone took time to express to Lisa their happiness that she was going to be okay after her brushes with death. But there were two people in particular Lisa knew she was more than obliged to see and to publicly commend.

"Ty; Scott," Lisa spoke up, grabbing the attention of everyone. The two veterinarians looked uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny of the others.

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your quick actions that day out on the road," said Lisa. "I don't remember any of it, but I'm eternally grateful you stopped and helped."

"Of course, Lisa," Ty said.

"We would have stopped for anyone in distress, Lisa," Scott added. "It just so happened we knew you."

Neither man was able to say anything further, as memories of that incident were still difficult and disturbing.

"We're just glad you made it, Lisa," Ty said.

"Right," Scott said in agreement.

"Thank you, both of you," Lisa said, once again fighting back tears.

An hour or so slipped by. Lisa could feel her energy starting to wane; friends such as Caleb, Jen, Mitch, and Scott made their departure. At length, only the family remained in the living room.

Before it got to be too late, and before Lou lost her nerve, there was something she had to get off her chest. "I know we don't always see eye-to-eye, Lisa," Lou said tentatively, "but the truth is you're very special to me, and to all of us here. It felt like losing my Grandma Lyndy and my mother all over again when we thought the worst had happened to you..."

Lou suddenly could not continue.

"I felt the same way, Lisa," Amy put in. "After my miscarriage, and after everything you shared with me, I was devastated at the prospect I was facing another personal loss... but you're here, and I'm so glad."

"And I..." Georgie started, but was unsure if she could continue. She looked to her mother, who nodded some encouragement. "I didn't know what to think of you when I first met you, Lisa. I thought you were some rich snob who was going to take Jack's time and attention away from me—"

"Oh, Georgie, honey..." Lisa murmured.

"I never got to say I was sorry for that," Georgie went on in a rush. "And Lisa, I'm sorry for all the mean things I said about you. I'm so sorry. I-I never knew my grandparents or my great-grandparents, for that matter, but you've been everything I could have ever wanted in a great-grandmother, and more."

"Thank you for that," Lisa said, eyes misting, looking at the family that had been grafted onto her heart. "Thank you all. And I want you to know I feel the same way. You know, I had a full life before I met Jack. A life I thought I loved. I thought I was living my dream life. But I look back now and see I didn't realise how sad and empty my heart was. I love you all very much. My life and my heart are full now."

***

Later that Evening

Dinnertime was over. Jack helped settle an exhausted Lisa into bed where she dropped off to sleep in minutes. It was early still, and after all the social activity of the day, Jack decided he needed to clear his head for a bit, so he brewed a cup of tea and escaped to the porch.

He had been there only a few minutes when he heard the sure creak of the door. Someone was coming outside and he turned expectantly to see who it was.

"There you are," Rachel said to Jack, softly closing the screen door while exiting the house.

"Hi, there," Jack said amiably from his position on the porch bench. "Have a seat."

"Thank you," Rachel said, and joined him. A few seconds later, she added: "It's every bit as lovely here as Lisa and Ben described, Jack."

Jack merely nodded.

"We haven't had a chance to really talk yet," said Rachel.

"No, we haven't," Jack said in agreement, though he wondered what Rachel might want to talk about.

"It's years too late, but I want to thank you for offering to put Ben up when I was going through my divorce," Rachel said. "At first, I wasn't thrilled with the idea when Lisa told me that 'plans had changed'; that he wasn't going to be at Fairfield; that he was going to be boarding at some place called 'Heartland'. But after Ben got over his own issues, he admitted he actually didn't mind this place so much, and he was sorry he didn't appreciate it enough at the time."

Jack nodded again, thinking back to how sullen Ben had been in those days. "Divorce is never easy on anyone, especially when there's kids in the mix," he said, remembering some of the ways Lou and Amy struggled to cope in the wake of Tim and Marion's divorce.

"I love my sister to bits, Jack," Rachel said. "She's my big sister, you know? I idolized her growing up. I was relieved she would be the one to take over the family business because I sure didn't want to be responsible for it. She seemed to be happy when she married Dan and moved to the U.S., but we both know how that all turned out. That time in her life changed her, Jack, and not for the better. I wish only happiness and love for her, and I'm so glad you're in her life, because it's clear you're the one who can provide those things for her."

"Well, I'm glad she's in my life, too," Jack admitted, though that hardly covered the length and the breadth and the height of things when it came to expressing how he felt about his wife.

"I don't know what fair wind blew you two together," Rachel said, "but I pray you two stick together."

"That's the plan," Jack said, thinking back to that evening at the Open House when he first laid eyes on Lisa Stillman. Never in a million years would he have guessed what the future would bring him after that chance encounter.

"You wouldn't happen to have a brother who's just like you out there somewhere, eh, Jack?" Rachel said with a laugh.

"No, no. Just me," Jack responded with a smile and a quick laugh of his own. "I think they broke the mold when they made me."

Rachel looked over at him, seeing his features in the light streaming from the kitchen window. "I think you're right about that, Jack. My sister is a very lucky woman."

"I think I am the lucky one," Jack said with sincerity. How many people get a second chance at love in their lives?

"Yeah..." Rachel said. "Well, goodnight, Jack. Thanks for loving my sister the way you do. You've saved her life in more ways than you'll ever know."

The younger Stillman sister leaned over and gave Jack a kiss on the cheek.

"Goodnight, Rachel," Jack replied.

***

Epilogue

6 notes · View notes

fanfoolishness · 2 years

Text

The Barrens (Severance)

(Mark Scout goes camping to clear his head. It doesn't really work. Angst, grief, alcohol use. Set about 6 months after Mark takes the job at Lumon. 2000 words.)

It’s… wrong, right away.

He tries to ignore the feeling. Everything looks normal. The tent stands proudly, put together in record time by his own hands. Camp’s set up, with the gas stove on the end of the picnic table, the weekend’s food safely packed away in the bear box, a single camp chair unfolded by the fire pit, the cooler filled with cold beer.

But the only reason he got the tent put up so quickly is that Gemma isn’t here, teasing him and pretending to “help.” Sometimes her help consisted of tickling him. Sometimes it was pulling her shirt down to flash some cleavage. Other times it was jumping in to sincerely lend a hand and accidentally dropping all the poles.

He misses every bit of it.

Mark settles heavily into the chair. It squeaks under him. He looks up at the pitch pines filling his view, notes the afternoon sunlight slanting through them, listens to the sounds of little birds in the treetops. She’d know what they were. He doesn’t. One of them lights down from the trees, landing in the dirt near his feet. It forages for bugs, looking utterly unconcerned with him, focused on the task at hand.

“Hey there,” he says, his voice rusty in his throat.

The bird, startled, takes to the air in a flash of black and yellow. He watches it vanish up into the trees, joining its flock. Their songs are tiny whistly things, sharp in his ears.

The pines blur. He blinks, eyes stinging. Stupid allergies.

He reaches for a beer.

He’s trying, he really is. He tells himself so as his boots dig into rich loam and grip on cool stone. Blue skies and vast puffy white clouds rise overhead. Butterflies flash in the small meadows that open up here and there among the trees. Birds chitter in the pines.

Other hikers pass him by with broad smiles or the nod of “hey, I see you” or a quick wave. Sometimes they’re families with teenagers straggling behind looking at their phones; sometimes they’re gung-ho seniors with trekking poles and bulging packs. Sometimes they’re couples, and Mark looks away from them, focusing on the trail instead.

His therapist thought getting out in the woods again would be good for him, or at least, he’d said so the last time Mark saw him over a month ago. A thread of guilt uncurls within him at the appointments he’s missed. It’s hard to keep them, even though Lumon has said they are always happy to accommodate their employees' needs. More than once Mark made it halfway to the man’s office building, called him and told him he couldn’t make it. There’ve been a few cancellation fees, but that’s fine. With Gemma’s life insurance, he can afford it.

Devon had been pushing him to get outside again too, though she’d asked more than once if he wanted to go with her and Ricken. He didn’t -- doesn’t -- feel up for that. Sometimes he can handle Ricken in small doses, but it’s gotten a helluva lot harder the past few months. Devon is easier, of course -- he doesn’t know what he would have done without her -- but there are times she looks at him with so much fucking sorrow in her eyes he cannot stand it. So he’d told her that, this first time since the accident, he just wanted to be alone.

Maybe it’s not so bad. The fresh air’s good, anyway. He breathes deep of it, notes the difference between the musty air in his own place, the close woody atmosphere of Devon’s house, the cold sterile air of the Lumon building. For a fleeting moment, he wonders what it’s like on the Severed floor. Is the air any different there than what he knows before the elevator drops?

But that’s something he doesn’t like to think about for long, and his mind slides past the errant thought, focusing once more on the trail ahead.

The miles slowly add up, his legs starting to ache. It’s been almost a year since he’s done anything like hiking, and it shows in his sluggish pace and the sweat slicking his shirt and hair. He’s even getting passed by birdwatchers now. But this is a good ache, a clean ache. Isn’t it?

More people pass him by, and he finds himself on a little stretch along a ridge, no one else in sight. He doesn’t care for the quiet. The ghost of Gemma’s trail chatter, bright or giggly, or cranky or tired, or utterly determined, makes his ears ring.

Dinner’s not much. He’d brought some hot dogs and some macaroni and cheese. Kids’ crap. Gemma and Ricken both loved grandiose camp food -- Ricken had brought a charcuterie board one time, with each meat packaged separately in its own biodegradable wrapper, and Gemma loved to forage for handfuls of plump weird mushrooms that no one else was ever brave enough to try -- but Mark and Devon both enjoyed more prosaic food outdoors. Something about the open air and the scent of pine and the hunger on the trail always made even basic mac and cheese taste incredible. A beer to wash it down with? Even better.

He sits at the picnic table, chasing chunks of cheesy noodles and hot dog meat of dubious origin with his fork. He stares into the distance at nothing in particular. A mosquito whines in his ear and he smacks the side of his head reflexively. His ears ring, but the mosquito is squished in his palm. Score one Mark.

Twilight seeps around the edges of the pines. The bird calls fade away -- except for one owl, resolutely hoo hoo hoo, hooing -- to be replaced by cricket chirps. Fireflies flicker near the ground, chasing each other in little zaps of light. He watches them idly, remembering how he and Devon used to have firefly catching contests. He smiles a little at the memory. She was always speedier than he was, more delicate. He’d squished more than one in his haste, but she usually beat him anyway, waving her jar of glowing beetles around in victory.

He could’ve invited her. Hell, he could have even stood Ricken for a little while. It’s only one weekend, anyway. But he didn’t invite them, and he sits alone at the picnic table in the growing dark, and he finishes another beer.

Mark stirs in his camp chair, blinking drowsily. His mouth tastes of stale beer. He glances down, notices the empty six-pack at the foot of his chair. His fire has sunk to glowing red coals, though it’s still managed to blow plenty of campsmoke into his eyes, judging by the way they feel tight and swollen.

He stands up, shuffles his way to the cooler, and grabs another six-pack. His head feels muzzy and his calves ache and his nose twitches at the humid summer air. He opens another beer and sinks back into his chair, squinting and trying to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark.

Campfire time had always been Gemma’s favorite. She loved the exploring and the hiking and the nature, of course, but here around the campfire, something about the firelight always seemed to bring out her inner philosopher. She’d sit there quietly for twenty minutes, then utterly blow his mind with a sudden treatise on the meaning of life or the interconnectedness of humanity and Earth itself. Sometimes the campfire got him going, too, and the lessons of history seemed clearer than ever, the patterns of humanity and its rise and fall and rebirth plain to see. They’d talk hours into the night, pausing only to stare at the stars overhead or the flames rippling before them.

He never got tired of hearing her voice.

His lip trembles, tucks in at the side, folds tight. He blinks back tears.

“It’s not fair,” he mumbles into the cricket chorus. He’s breathing too hard. “It’s not fucking fair!”

The shout echoes among the trees, fades into the night. At another campsite, somewhere in the dark, a dog barks frantically. Mark stares at his boots, abashed.

He’s too old for this shit.

Despite carefully scouring his campsite for the smoothest possible section of ground, he is somehow laying on an enormous tree root and approximately forty jagged rocks. He tosses fitfully in his sleeping bag. Even Gemma’s yoga mat under his back provides little respite from the cruelties of nature.

He shifts in the dark, groaning. The crickets still sing, but what had seemed pleasant around the campfire sounds like a cacophony now. He wonders, briefly, if part of it is the headache creeping up around his temple and the taste of beer still on his tongue, but he shakes the thought away.

He rolls over, yawns, stretches out one arm. But there’s no Gemma soft and warm beside him, no Gemma nuzzled into the crook between his neck and shoulder. He whips his arm back as if stung.

What is he doing out here?

It’s not okay.

It’s never going to be okay.

He rolls back onto the tree root and the forty rocks. He buries his face in his pillow, his breathing ragged, and when he does fall asleep, he dreams of long hallways and a bright white hospital room, a roaring campfire at the foot of the bed.

Mark takes a deep breath as the elevator lands. Something is different, but it takes him a moment to place it. The elevator doors open with a soft ding. He takes a step and winces, his calves aching at the stretch. Is that the difference?

He walks the familiar path to MDR on autopilot, limping just a little as he veers left, tilts right as indicated. He checks his watch and notices red bumps on the back of his hand. He rubs at one experimentally and is taken aback when it triggers a fierce itch. Shit! He scratches at it, but when that makes it worse, he shoves his hand in his pocket and tries to ignore it. Maybe that’s the difference.

He rounds the last corner into MDR territory. Petey’s the only one here so far, and he raises his mug of coffee to Mark. “Hey there bud, good to see you.” Then he gives Mark an appraising look. “What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” Mark asks.

“Go take a look in the mirror,” Petey suggests. “Looks like your outie went on an adventure. Or something.”

That doesn’t seem like something my outie would do -- He doesn’t know where the thought came from. He doesn’t know anything about his outie, of course. “Are you fucking with me?” he asks instead.

“Would I do that to you?” Petey asks, mock-injured.

“Well, yeah.”

“Fair enough. But seriously, check out the mirror, dude. Maybe it’s your elevator allergy cranked up to eleven.”

Mark dutifully heads to the bathroom, fully expecting one of Petey’s pranks, but he’s mystified at what he sees in the mirror. His face is beet red, with dry and peeling skin at his temples. Was he burned? “What the fuck?” he mutters. This has to be it, the thing that feels different.

He heads back out. “Yeah, I don’t know what the hell happened this weekend,” Mark says.

Petey shrugs. “Outies are mysterious. Just the way it is. You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he says. Mark sits at his terminal and boots it up, checking to make sure his Allentown cube is spotlessly clean. His face stares back at him, the lucite-etched smile somehow both comforting and coy.

Something settles into the pit of his stomach, and he swallows. Oh. There it is. He realizes what felt different.

For a moment, distracted by the red bumps and the leg pain and the burned face, he hadn’t felt it. That feeling he always woke up with in the elevator. That awful, aching heaviness, roiling deep in his gut, filling him up from the inside out. It’d taken him just a moment longer to feel it today. That was all it was.

His terminal blinks, waiting for him. He scrolls through the files, selects Mount Tabor, watches blankly as the numbers populate and float before him. Over the top of the divider, Petey’s watching him, looking worried. Mark ignores him and scans the shifting numbers, and the feeling presses, hard, against his chest.

He wonders if he’ll ever find out what it is.

#severance fanfiction #severance #mark scout #mark s.#adam scott #my macrodata refinement #if you're wondering he's in new jersey #or someplace new jersey-esque #i've never been so my apologies if i utterly got the vibe wrong

7 notes · View notes

sisiofthemultifandom · 10 months

Text

My Massive SHIP LIST

The following is a LONG list of all the ships I enjoy from a moderate to an extreme amount and have probably looked at fanfiction for at some point. Keep in mind this doesn't include every movie and/or show I've ever watched and I may make edits to this at a later time. Godspeed you unfortunate witness.

Agents of SHIELD

Coulson X May

Daisy X Lincoln

Fitz X Simmons

Bobbi X Hunter

Mack X YoYo

Arcane

Caitlyn X Vi

Arrowverse

Oliver X Laurel

Roy X Thea

Diggle X Lyla

Barry X Patty

Wally X Jesse

Caitlin X Ronnie

Kara X Mon-El

Alex X Maggie

Brainy X Nia

Attack on Titan

Eren X Mikasa

Falco X Gabi

Bertdholt X Annie

Ymir X Krista

Levi X Hange

Avatar the Last Airbender/Legend of Korra

Katara X Zuko

Aang X Toph

Sokka X Suki

Aang X Katara

Bolin X Korra

Avengers (MCU)

Steve X Natasha

Tony X Pepper

Thor X Jane

Wanda X Vision

Peter Q X Gamora

Scott X Hope

T’Challa X Nakia

Matt X Karen

Luke X Jessica

Peter P X MJ

Bucky X Sarah

Ben 10

Ben X Julie

Kevin X Gwen

Berserk

Guts X Casca

Bleach

Ichigo X Rukia

Uryu X Orihime

Tatsuki X Orihime

Gin X Rangiku

Toshiro X Momo

Boku no Hero Academia

Izuku X Occhako

Todoroki X Momo

Bakugou X Kirishima

Eraserhead X Present Mic

Castlevania

Trevor X Sypha

Alucard X Greta

Class of the Titans

Jay X Theresa

Atlanta X Archie

Critical Role

Percival X Vex’ahlia

Vax’ildan X Keyleth

Scanlan X Pike

Sylas X Delilah

Fjord X Jester

Beau X Yasha

Caleb X Essek

Imogen X Laudna

DC Comics

Clark X Lois

Bruce X Selina

Diana X Steve

Barry X Iris

Wally X Linda

Hal X Carol

Carter X Shiera

Oliver X Laurel

Arthur X Mera

Constantine X Zatanna

Dick X Barbara

Tim X Stephanie

Garfield X Rachel

Conner X Cassie

Kate X Maggie

Hank X Dawn

Garth Ranzz X Imra Arden

Nura Nal X Thom Kallor

Jo Nah X Tinya Wazzo

Val Armorr X Princess Projectra

Kara Zor-El X Querl Dox

Lar Gand X Tasmia Mallor

Demon Slayer

Tanjiro X Kanao

Zenitsu X Nezuko

Giyu X Shinobu

Digimon

Taichi X Sora

Koushiro X Mimi

Takeru X Hikari

Takato X Jeri

Rika X Ryo

Izumi X Junpei

Disney Animation

Mulan X Shang

Eric X Ariel

Simba X Nala

Tiana X Naveen

Tarzan X Jane

Rapunzel X Eugene

Hercules X Meg

Aladdin X Jasmine

Doctor Who

11 X Clara

Dota - Dragon's Blood

Davion X Mirana

Evangelion

Shinji X Kaworu

Fairy Tail

Natsu X Lucy

Erza X Jellal

Gray X Juvia

Wendy X Romeo

Final Fantasy

Zack X Aerith

Cloud X Tifa

Squall X Rinoa

Tidus X Luna

Lightning X Snow

Noel X Serah

Noctis X Luna

Fire Emblem

Byleth X Dimitri

Fullmetal Alchemist

Ed X Winry

Roy X Riza

Ling X Lan Fan

GI Joe

Snake Eyes X Scarlett

Garo

Kouga X Kaoru

Ryuga X Rian

Raiga X Mayuri

Gatchaman

Ken X Jun

Gundam

Domon X Rain

Shinn X Stella

He-Man (OG Continuity)

Adam X Teela

Adora X Sea-Hawk

Duncan X Sorceress

InuYasha

InuYasha X Kagome

Sango X Miroku

Sesshomaru X Kagura

Kohaku X Rin

Invincible

Mark X Eve

Kamen Rider

Hongo X Ruriko

Godai X Ichijo

Shoichi X Hikawa

Shinji X Miho

Takumi X Mari

Kenzaki X Hajime

Yuuto X Airi

Wataru X Mio

Tsukasa X Natsumi

Shotaro X Tokime

Ryo X Akiko

Eiji X Hina

Gentaro X Nadeshiko

Ryusei X Tomoko

Haruto X Koyomi

Kouta X Mai

Kaitou X Yoko

Shinnosuke X Kiriko

Gou X Reiko

Takeru X Akari

Alain X Kanon

Emu X Poppy

Sento X Banjo

Kazumin X Misora

Gentoku X Sawa

Sougo X Tsukuyomi

Aruto X Izu

Fuwa X Yua

Touma X Kento

Rintaro X Mei

Keiwa X Neon

Kingdom Hearts

Kairi X Sora X Riku

Aqua X Terra

Lea X Isa

Roxas X Xion

Riku X Namine

Lucifer

Lucifer X Chloe

Maze X Eve

Magic Knight Rayearth

Hikaru X Lantis

Umi X Clef

Fu X Ferio

Marvel Comics

Steve X Sharon

Tony X Pepper

Thor X Sif

Hank X Janet

Reed X Sue

Peter X MJ

Wanda X Vision

Jean X Scott

Kitty X Colossus

Rogue X Gambit

Rachel X Kurt

Black Bolt X Medusa

Clint X Bobbi

Bucky X Natasha

Matt X Elektra

Luke X Jessica

Warren X Psylocke

Miraculous Ladybug

Adrien X Marinette

Alya X Nino

Naruto

Naruto X Hinata

Sasuke X Karin

Sakura X Rock Lee

Neji X TenTen

Shikamaru X Temari

Ino X Sai

Choji X Karui

Gaara X Matsuri

Kakashi X Might Guy

Asuna X Kurenai

Tsunade X Dan

Yahiko X Konan

Ouran HighSchool Host Club

Haruhi X Tamaki

Persona

Yu X Rise

Chie X Yukiko

Kanji X Naoto

Ren X Makoto (or Kasumi if we're going with Royal canon)

Power Rangers

Tommy X Katherine

Jason X Trini

Adam X Tanya

TJ X Cassie

Andros X Ashley

Karone X Zhane

Leo X Kendrix

Carter X Dana

Wes X Jen

Cole X Alyssa

Taylor X Eric

Tori X Blake

Trent X Kira

Sky X Z

Doggie X Kat

Nick X Madison

Mack X Rose

Casey X Lily

Dillon X Summer

Ziggy X Dr. K

Kevin X Mia

Mike X Emily

Troy X Gia

Tyler X Shelby

Eddie X Vesper

Marv X Chloe

Amelia X Ollie

Ranma ½

Ranma X Akane

Revolutionary Girl Utena

Utena X Anthy

Rurouni Kenshin

Kenshin X Kaoru

RWBY

Ruby X Penny

Blake X Sun

Weiss X Marrow

Yang X Weiss

Jaune X Pyrrha

Ren X Nora

Qrow X Summer

Sailor Moon

Usagi X Mamoru

Ami X Zoisite

Rei X Jadeite

Minako X Rei

Makoto X Nephrite

Minako X Kunzite

Saint Seiya

Seiya X Shaina

Hyoga X Eri

Shiryu X Shunrei

Shun X June

Ikki X Esmeralda

Deathmask X Aphrodite

Aiolia X Lyfia

Yato X Yuzuriha

Sasha X Tenma

Koga X Yuna

Souma X Sonia

She-Ra (Netflix Version)

Adora X Glimmer

Catra X Scorpia

Star Wars

Obi-Wan X Satine

Anakin X Padme

Ahsoka X Lux

Luke X Mara Jade

Han X Leia

Finn X Rey X Poe

Din Djarin X Bo-Katan

Super Sentai

Ryu X Kaori

Sasuke X Tsuruhime

Chisato X Kouichirou

Shun X Miku

Yuri X Tatsuya

Yosuke X Ikkou

Isshu X Nanami

Mari X Ban

Sen X Umeko

Doggie X Swan

Sakura X Akashi

Masume X Natsuhi

Rio X Mele

Sosuke X Miu

Chiaki X Kotoha

Takeru X Mako

Alata X Eri

Hyde X Moune

Marvelous X Luka

Joe X Ahim

Daigo X Mikoto

Tokatti X Mio

Hikari X Kagura

Yamato X Sela

Amu X Tusk

Lucky X Hammie

Balance X Naga

Keiichiro X Tsukasa

Sakuya X Umika

Koh X Asuna

Bamba X Asuna

Shigeru X Sayo

Tarou X Sonoi

Sword Art Online

Kirito X Asuna

The Dragon Prince

Callum X Rayla

Amaya X Janai

ThunderCats

Lion-O X Cheetara

Bengali X Pumyra

Transformers

Optimus X Elita-One

Arcee X Hot Rod

Bulkhead X Wheeljack

Silverbolt X Blackarachnia

Ultraman

Ken X Mari

Voltron

Shiro X Matt

Keith X Allura

Lance X Pidge

Hunk X Shay

Winx Club

Bloom X Sky

Musa X Riven

Flora X Helia

Stella X Brandon

Tecna X Timmy

Layla X Nabu

29 notes · View notes

joyce-stick · 5 months

Text

I didn't like Scott Pilgrim Takes Off all that much. I feel like elucidating on why, a little bit. so. Anyway.

First, letterboxd review I wrote within a few hours of finishing the show (read this first please):

So, I read all of the comic (finally) prior to watching Takes Off. Having seen the movie several times before, I found the comic interesting in how it develops its characters further over a longer timeframe and ties up a few loose ends that the movie sort of left open in weird ways that don't make sense. Ramona has more agency, Knives shows more maturity, Scott and Ramona are more explicitly on equal footing and make for better foils for each other in the comic than in the movie. Scott regrets his life choices and runs away for a while. Ramona regrets her life choices and also runs away. They both come back and beat up Gideon together with, y'know, mutual agreement that they both kinda equally suck and deserve each other and are going to both try to get better for themselves and one another and it's fine

It's not like, groundbreaking feminist storytelling, but it sure is a lot MORE gender equal than the movie which just goes like. Ramona is mind controlled! Scott must save her! Scott beats up Gideon sorta unilaterally (with a little bit of help) and then gets Ramona because he does! It's okay. It's fine. I mean, both the movie and the comic are fine. The movie is a hyperinventive visual feast and a stellar adaptation as far as faithfully replicating its source material in the target medium. I love it. Anyway.

Both the comic and the movie are fairly complete stories which really don't need more elaborating on. They're done. They exist. People either like them, or hate them, and have been discoursing on them for years. People discuss how bad of a person Scott is or isn't, or how transgender of a reading you can apply or not apply to Scott.

(I mean, you can! You're allowed to!)

It's all well-worn. And stuff. I don't know that Scott Pilgrim is a trans girl. I mean, it's plausible fanfiction. You can do it if you like. I wish that Takes Off had played with that idea, instead of what it did do, or, in addition to what it did do? And what it did do is just. Weh?

Weh.

Okay where do I start. Um.

spoilers for Takes Off below this point

Takes Off starts by taking Scott out of the picture. He is assumedly presumably made dead. Coined. Whoo.

Okay so obviously Scott isn't actually dead, he comes back later, but him being presumed dead for a bit does open the door to the rest of the cast to get some attention. Which you'd think would be good. Alright. So, we have Matthew Patel, still here. He's an incel, it turns out. Beats Gideon in a fight being like "man I got the bigger dick here." Wins totally! Okay! The league of evil exes is all either like "wow good going Matt" or "man screw this shit" and leaves. That's amusing for a minute.

Roxy shows up for an episode, fights Ramona, and is like "YOU LEFT ME RAMMY! I HATE YOU!" And we get some delicious flashbackiness to their relationship, and they kinda reconcile. Then Roxy kisses Kim, and is like "nah I don't care Kim" and dips. Yay.

The fight between Ramona and Roxy is well animated and fun to watch. I enjoyed it. It's alright.

What else... Um, Gideon has a backstory! Gideon isn't even his real name! And he's become the mega incel that he becomes because he got rejected by some girl in high school and this turned into his supervillain origin story. Okay

Lucas Lee does skateboarding and skateboards some paparazzosi to coindeath! Go him! That is genuinely a fun sequence and I enjoyed it, I guess

Wallace Wells seduces Todd Ingram and they have a lot of hot gay vegan sex! He and Envy Adams sorta fight about it! How wacky! Okay

The Katayanagi Twins get some speaking lines in this show! Their robot (which appeared in the comic but not the movie if I remember right) is around. Um.

Julie! Julie is an old school friend of Gideon. She lets him stay at her house. Gideon/Gordon and Lucas Lee do some bro shit. Cool man

All of this is like, fine, and fun, and stuff. I'm fine with it. I liked it. I enjoyed it. Oh and I guess there's a meta subplot about the Scott Pilgrim movie becoming the Scott Pilgrim movie but failing to become the Scott Pilgrim movie because the actors keep having too many video game fights on the movie set

Okay so this is all stuff that Ramona finds out or sorta bumbles into while looking for Scott, who she's surmised has disappeared and is not actually dead. Of course, Scott is not actually dead. He's just been kidnapped and displaced in time by an older version of himself, who is having a midlife crisis because his relationship with Ramona is going badly and he wishes that it had never happened, so he kidnaps young Scott to make it so that it never happened. This does not really work. Also future Ramona does some of her own intervening in the past to counter the plot of future Scott. She has Delorean rollerblades that time travel at 88 miles per hour *rolls eyes*

Anyway, then older older Scott has a fight with younger younger Scott, future Ramona intervenes and merges with younger Ramona to become a super form Ramona and they're just like "my beloved Scott, please, just go back to the future and sort out our marriage, like a responsible adult," he is teleported back to the future, all the exes are not coinexploded, and we get a final scene implying that Julie and Gideon/Gordon are planning something which will lead into a second season, and I don't know why

Why is any of this?

I could analyze it. I could try to tell you why any of this is. But like. I really can't. I don't know.

None of this really advances or develops the characters in any way that wasn't already adequately explored in the existing material. Like, Roxy's hangup over Ramona is fleshed out a bit more, sure, and that's the part of the show I really liked, but... is there anything to that? Does it add anything to Roxy's character that we didn't already know? Not really. We could already pretty easily infer from the comics that Ramona left Roxy, just like she left all her exes, and that Roxy is mad about it. Is it nice that they talk about it? I guess. Sure. It's nice to have a version of that conversation without Scott being the third wheel. But does it meaningfully change her character?

...No

And this is the same for all the characters. Our understanding of Matthew Patel and Gideon Graves is not particularly deepened by their incel dickmeasuring fight, or Gideon's origin story about getting rejected in high school. Our understanding of Lucas Lee is not especially enhanced by the newly revealed detail that he's a headache for his agent because of his reckless wild free devil may care skater dude attitude causing PR risks. Our understanding of Wallace Wells is not amazingly additioned by seeing him seduce Todd Ingram and piss off Envy Adams. Our understanding of Knives doesn't change when she learns how to play music and gets along with Kim and Stephen... And such and so forth.

And our understanding of Scott does not meaningfully change, either. There's really no radically new character interpretation to be drawn from "Scott divorces Ramona and then tries to undo his past". That's just kind of a thing you'd figure he'd do. And of course Ramona would try to set him straight! And look for him! And. Yeah

So yeah, Takes Off feels like, almost, the definition of that phrase that Dan Olson used in that one video

"No meaning, only lore."

I cannot fathom why this show exists other than that Netflix wanted a Scott Pilgrim show, and Bryan Lee O'Malley decided to pitch one because he's sure as hell not got any other big hit comics being cross-media franchises right now, and the plot that ended up being there feels like his end of the entire writing process was spent wracking his brain, fighting for his life to come up with a reason, any reason, to write more of fucking Scott Pilgrim

And the best he could come up with was, I guess, Scott has a midlife crisis, and also more superfluous character detail, and the fanservice angle of getting to see Ramona fight Roxy, or Gideon fight Matthew, or Lucas Lee skateboard more

I had a lot of fun seeing all that but I don't know why I watched it. I don't know who wanted this. And I definitely don't know who wants a second season of this. Who would want more of this? The season we do have was already grasping for straws to do more with this setting and these characters as it was. What would they even do?

Anyway. If I was gonna rewrite this and write this smarter. I'd probably tell y'all about the moment when Young Neil is trying to write a screenplay, and some mysterious figure (later revealed to be future Ramona) shows up in his room and types up the screenplay for the Scott Pilgrim movie for him. And then he wakes up, the screenplay is on his desk, and he's like "WHOA I don't remember writing this! I totally wrote this!"

And I'd say, if I were trying to be smart and write some smart video essay analogy in a better more polished review, that Takes Off feels like Bryan Lee O'Malley wished that the script for the show would similarly emerge fully formed from nowhere from the future for him.

Or something.

Anyway, thanks for reading this impromptu, review rant something. If you liked whatever this was, and want to see us write more, better things, then, giving us money would be cool.

Patreon | Ko-fi

#scott pilgrim #scott pilgrim takes off #joyce stick #audrey (of the joystick system) posts #essays #reviews #I didn't like it very much

10 notes · View notes

princeescaluswords · 10 months

Text

Unsolicited Tips for Fanfiction Writers #1: The Lecture

I want to preface this with the idea that I'm not writing this from some position of authorial scold. This is a problem with my own writing about which I have had to be very careful.

Every author experiences moments when they need to deliver exposition, elucidate a theme, or provide context for an action for their story. This is especially true in fanfiction, when a writer feels enormous pressure to relate the work before them with the original source material. Having one character explain it to another is not only an effective solution but in certain genres expected. Characters who don't know certain things often have to learn about them.

But it can get tricky, especially when it comes to fanfiction. Sometimes the reader can suddenly become aware that they're being addressed by the author telling them what to think, and that's usually not the reason why someone reads a story. While some readers are in tune with the author so much that it doesn't bother them, a lot of readers will feel that they're the ones being lectured.

In my opinion, the key to delivering a useful and non-intrusive lecture in your story is the relationships between the speaker and their audience. Is there a reason for the speaker to be delivering the information? Are they an authority on the topic? Is there a reason for the audience to listen to the speaker? Do they respect the speaker or need the information being delivered? If these things don't exist, the curtain parts and the reader experiences the author talking directly to them.

I'll give you an example. In a recent Teen Wolf fanfiction I came across, a crossover with Hawaii 5-0, Stiles went to the islands and became involved with the team, and Steve Garrett returned with him to Beacon Hills for other reasons, but Stiles wants to "give Scott a chance" to make things up to Stiles. It really should have been labeled "Bad Friend Scott McCall" but no one really labels things correctly.

Plot events occur, but the latest chapter has a scene where Steve Garret lectures Scott on how badly he's been treating Stiles, calls him a spineless coward, and threatens him with violence if Scott hurts Stiles emotionally. It's a lecture all right. But here's the problem (as I put into the constructive criticism comment I left for the author).

Why the hell would Scott not just turn around and walk out of the hospital room after his first sentence? Who the hell is Steve Garrett to Scott? We, the readers, know who that is, but Scott doesn't know this person from Adam. Scott, of course, doesn't defend himself, because in these types of "The Author Hates Canon and Will Make It Your Problem" stories, the characters they dislike never get a chance to defend themselves. But the real important point I feel is -- what in Scott's characterization implies that he would listen to a white male stranger, however dangerous and threatening, scold him on how he has to treat Stiles? It's not like that exact thing hasn't happened before.

I should have realized that this story would be full of the "Author Telling Me Why I Shouldn't Like Scott." In an earlier chapter, Peter says this gem to Stiles:

“Isn’t he? How much easier would your life have been, your father’s life had been, if Scott had accepted what he became sooner? How better would your lives be if he hadn’t tried to ignore the insane, serious change he went through and put all of your lives at stake just to pretend he was a normal boy to be able to get the girl he confused lust for love for? And that’s not even touching on who said girl and her family even were!”

I let that go, because this is not out of character for Peter to be a manipulative douchebag. And since Stiles had come to Peter, it wasn't completely out of line for him to listen. I was surprised that Stiles didn't respond. "I did wonder how much easier my life would have been if you hadn't tried to mind-control Scott into killing me, so there's that." But this is an older Stiles, so maybe he's not as sarcastic.

But the lecture from Steve Garrett was the breaking point. I was out of the story permanently. Even if you think Scott is the stupidest werewolf that ever lived, it's still part of his characterization -- which the author never bothered to change because the purpose of this story was to express their hatred of Scott McCall -- that he doesn't let weird strange white men tell him what to do.

I mean, what's left at this point? If Scott's this bad -- a spineless coward who is completely in the wrong but wont' recognize it -- why does Stiles even care? He lives thousands of miles away in Hawaii! If Scott's this bad -- someone so selfish and oblivious that Peter Hale is a better person and a overly-tanned white cop from another state has to threaten him -- why does Scott even care? What is this story but a 30k (so far) lecture on why the author didn't like the show? I'm pretty sure I know the answer already -- either Scott will be killed/maimed/humiliated or he will throw himself at Stiles feet and apologize for not centering his life around Stiles's needs. Either way, Stiles will go back to the big island, having defeated his nemesis (Scott, in case the audience wasn't paying attention) and live happily ever after.

You can write stories like this, but if you want to reach an audience larger than the people who already agree with you, it might do well to make sure that the characters are characters, and not mouthpieces.

#fanfiction problems #my writing #teen wolf fandom problems #scott mccall defense squad #fandom racism

18 notes · View notes

broomsticks · 1 year

Text

ten books to know me

Rules: 10 (non-ancient) books for people to get to know you better, or that you just really like.

tagged by @landwriter, who has some gorgeously soft recs [like their sandman dream/hob fic] here! mine are uh, mostly not, so. be warned XD

where the sidewalk ends by shel silverstein. probably the oldest book i physically own, gifted me by a family friend. such memories of chatting to her about danny the champion of the world and the phantom tollbooth and etc, it was formative in so many ways! crediting this book for the fact that i’ve never been scared of poetry, for one.

the city & the city by china mieville, introduced to me by my current partner. the one before that was a mitch albom kinda guy and the one before that was a carol ann duffy and the one before that was a jeanette winterson. all of whom there is a place in my heart for but yes: scifi/low fantasy spec fic! if i could only read one genre of fiction it would be this. no i have not read babel and i will soon!! also: oryx and crake and mmmm cloud atlas.

the little prince by antoine de saint-exupéry. fun fact: i first read this book in chinese.

the ender’s game series by orson scott card — if i had to pick one it might be xenocide, han qing-jao my baby. the other formative childhood fave i don’t talk about enough: artemis fowl!

we need to talk about kevin by lionel shriver. idk i am frightful and this book is a comfort read. my complicated feelings re. possibly ever becoming a parent, don’t ask me about them!

chronicle of a blood merchant by yu hua. love some horrible histories x blaaaack humor.

the time traveler’s wife by audrey niffenegger. my kinda romance 🥰

neil gaiman’s short story/essay collection view from the cheap seats. picked this up secondhand, gave it away, would love to own again someday. one of my fave essays in this book: all books have genders. also: the salmon of doubt by douglas adams and ursula le guin’s the found and the lost / the unreal and the real.

ted chiang’s exhalation gets a special mention for being my desert island book. every single story is so thought-provoking.

battle royale the manga. enjoyed the novel too, oh lighthouse massacre my beloathed.

AND on that fun note: tagging people with cool fic taste @allalrightagain @bluesundaycake @consistentsquash @fanfiction-thesis @lumosatnight @mblematic @phantomato @slashmarks @sleepstxtic @thistlecatfics @unspeakable3 gimme books! talk to me about the Books That Made You! anyone else who wants to play, too, tag me if you do :D

#tumblr games

34 notes · View notes

skymaiden32 · 2 years

Text

Trade Secrets

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn(Please ask if you would like to be alerted when I update or write new stories)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

------

Captain Black grinned evilly as the island came into view, the Mysteron plan he was supposed to enact planted firmly in his mind. Something else though, or rather, someone else, seemed especially resistant to carrying out this mission. Occasionally, the agent still felt remnants of the man he used to be before all this started. Conrad Turner was still inside his mind, buried deep, but he seemed to be surfacing a lot more recently. It was getting harder for the Mysteron agent to stay in control…

Black shook his head. He couldn’t worry about that now. He had a job to do, and he knew just how to do it…

------

“Oh my baby!” Orchid just had to be reunited with her grandmother before her eldest and youngest brothers, didn’t she? “You’ve been away from all of us for so long! Have you been eating properly? You haven’t been doing anything too dangerous have you?” Orchid looked pleadingly at her father, brothers and colleagues. Every single one of them just gave a look that told her she was on her own. She returned the look, roughly translating to, ‘You will pay.’

She spun back to her grandmother, giving her a hug. “I’m fine Grandma. Everything’s fine.”

“That’s good to hear, dear.” Alan cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “We’ll talk more when this is all over, Pam. You go talk to your brothers…”

Once Ruth stepped back, the Spectrum officer found herself with an armful of little brother. “I take it you missed me then, Allie?” She chuckled as Alan squeezed as hard as he could.

“It’s pretty much all he’s talked about since we found out you were coming…” Scott stepped forward to join the hug, trying and failing to hide a snort of amusement.

“Hi, Scooter.” She mumbled into his shoulder, taking in the calming presence that the eldest sibling always seemed to have. Just knowing they were all here made her feel so much better about the success of Spectrum’s mission…

“Hey!” Alan yelled in protest. “I’ve talked about other stuff.”

Gordon smirked, bumping Alan with his elbow. “Oh, really?” Oh no, that was the tone he always had when shenanigans were being planned… “Like what?”

“You know…” Alan gave him a look. “Things…”

“He means he’s just talked about you.” Virgil cut in, also with a mischievous grin on his face. “It really is good to see you, Pam…”

Pamela smiled as she shifted her gaze from brother to brother. She really was lucky to have them. “It’s good to see you guys too…” She sighed. They’d stalled enough. It was time to get a plan together. “If we wanna see each other again after the twenty-four hours is up, though, we need to figure out what to do.” Everyone immediately noticed her persona change to military, and automatically stood to attention. “And to do that, I’ll need to talk to Dad. Alone…” Jeff perked up, knowing what this chat would be about already.

Her brothers immediately understood the subtext as well, and all nodded. The Spectrum officers were more than a little confused as the father and daughter disappeared into a separate room in the bunker. Grey turned to Gordon, who was still looking at him curiously.

“What’s… What’s going on?”

Gordon sighed, and all of a sudden, Grey saw a look that he recognised all too well. It was the look Orchid had when she was hiding something. “Hopefully, something we can reveal to you when they come out…” The ex-aquanaut raised an eyebrow at his former colleague. What did that mean? He hummed thoughtfully. “Oh, and Brad?” Grey froze at the mention of his real name. His colleagues and the other Tracy brothers looked on, wondering how Gordon knew. Neither of them had quite gotten around to telling people who they used to work with… “Don’t think we’re not gonna talk things through when we get out of this mess alive…”

------

“First of all, who was supposed to be up on Five?”

“It was Alan’s month. We tried to get him to stay; he probably would’ve been safer up there. But he insisted on coming home. Said if he was going down, he was going down with us.” Her father sighed. “John wanted to meet you on the runway, so Scott and Tin-Tin picked him up. They touched down just as your plane came up on the radar.”

“Sounds like me and Alan have a similar approach to this threat…” Pamela chuckled without humour. “How’d you guys find out about it?”

“Thunderbird Five has been monitoring transmissions from Mars.” Jeff explained. “There hasn’t been a single threat that International Rescue hasn’t known about.”

“And you haven’t done anything?” Pam asked almost accusingly. Jeff gave her a hard look.

“Sweetie, you know as well as I do that we couldn’t. That’s Spectrum’s job. Not ours. International Rescue hasn’t gotten involved for a reason. We’re reactive; Spectrum is proactive…” Jeff explained. “Besides, you fight for your life in this conflict daily… It’s not something I want your brothers doing…”

“No need to explain, Dad. I get it.” Pam sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t want them anywhere near this war. Heaven knows you guys have enough going on…”

A moment of silence passed between them before Jeff spoke again. “I already know what you’re going to say.” Pamela raised an eyebrow. “Usually, I would say no right off the bat. You know why IR is a closely guarded secret. If I am going to say yes to you letting them in on the secret, I’m gonna need a little convincing…”

Pam nodded, clearing her throat before speaking. “When Spectrum is put in charge of protecting an organisation, we have to know everything. The blueprints, the floorplans, what kind of weapons they have. We need to understand what the Mysterons might use to attack their target. Tracy Island is no different.” Jeff raised an eyebrow. “If the Mysterons know the Tracy family and International Rescue are one in the same, which they probably do; they seem to know everything about everyone, they could easily send one of their agents in to destroy the Island using a reactor on one of the ‘Birds, or worse, the Island’s main reactor.”

“If they know, couldn’t you patrol the hangars yourself?”

“Dad, there are like, three of them. And even One’s hangar is too big to patrol alone.” His daughter shook her head, grimacing. “No, I couldn’t do this by myself. I’d need people all over the place. Preferably with partners. There’s just no way our family can do this ourselves. My colleagues are here for a reason, Father.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “How can they do their jobs if they don’t know what to look out for?”

“Okay. Thanks, honey.” Jeff nodded. “But I’m still not sure. It’s such a closely guarded secret…”

“Dad. If it helps, no one understands International Rescue’s secrecy more than a Spectrum officer. Our code names are in place for a reason.” She chuckled. “Technically speaking, we’re not even supposed to reveal our real names to each other, but we do because we trust our fellow officers not to pass it on…”

Jeff paused, resting his chin on his hands. “I’ve made my decision…”

------

The room was dead silent when they came back in, both stone-faced. Emotionless. Everyone gave Orchid a questioning look.

She smiled as Jeff nodded, giving his family the all-clear to reveal it to the Spectrum officers. A sigh of relief spread across the brothers. Gordon grinned from ear to ear, smirking at Grey. “Looks like we get to tell you guys after all…”

Scarlet and Blue exchanged looks. “What is this about, Orchid?”

“What we are about to reveal goes no further than this island.” Orchid began seriously, causing her colleagues to nod with equal determination. Orchid spun round to Brains as her family joined her up front, ready to give additional information when needed. “Brains, show them what Tracy Island is really all about…”

Brains nodded, grinning as he pressed a hidden button on the wall. Several panels slid open, revealing live camera feeds of the first three Thunderbirds, as well as an IR symbol in the middle. The Spectrum officers looked on in shock, utterly speechless.

“Gentlemen…” Jeff began. “Welcome to International Rescue Headquarters.” He smirked when he saw the stunned faces in front of him.

“Wait…” Blue was pretty much the only one who wasn’t totally speechless. “What?!”

11 notes · View notes