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vagrantblvrd · 3 years

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Shenanigans/Adventures in which truth serum is involved?

Like.

Din out and about and gets caught by Imperial remnants because reasons.

They don’t know who he is at first, this little group of holdouts on a backwater planet in the Outer Rim, just know he’s a Mandalorian who was trying to dig them out of their little compound/bunker.

Because Grogu and Gideon and experiments an so forth, but his plans and whatnot didn’t work out this time and anyway, anyway.

It’s all an excuse to have the whole Bad Guy Monologue before they break out the interrogation droid and Din manages to take down another trooper before they get him pinned down and then it’s truth serum time.

But, you know, Din.

Not the chattiest guy around most of the time and stubborn as anything and it’s an ordeal trying to get anything useful out of him.

What they do get -

“...I keep telling him it needs to stay on the ship, but he doesn’t listen.”

Behind the helmet they allowed him to keep Din pauses, frowns. Things about the little metal ball he tucked into a pouch he usually keep on his person. Meant to give it to Grogu, but things have been hectic to say the least. “Guess it doesn’t matter anymore, though.”

Because no more Razor Crest and all.

And so on, and by this time they realize that hey, wait, it’s that Mandalorian because contact with other Imperials and this sudden interest in the Mandalorian they captured, and anyway, Plot Reasons.

So the interrogation turns toward the Rebel operaticve -

“Who?”

There’ a long moment of silence, followed by a conversation in lowered voices Din can’t quite make out but he hears something about dosage and how much did it give him and the unmistakable sounds of a blaster being fired and a body hitting the ground

(That old joke about the Empire and firing methods and so on, not that Din ever found it funny, but you know.)

Anyway, his interrogators want to know about Luke and Din is like :DDDDD inside his helmet because bot, does he have him some thoughts about Luke, let him tell you.

Awkward little silence and then a sigg from the lead interrogator/Bad Guy.

“Enlighten us, would you?”

Din cocks his head because he’s 99.9% sure that was sarcastic, but hey, they asked.

He then launches in on a long, passionate rant about Luke and all the ways he’s an idiot.

Like, while he’d been in awe and more relieved than he can say because he was under no delusion he and the others would have succeeded when Luke saved the day, it’s like. The fact Luke came alone to find Grogu and then boarded an Imperial cruiser and took on a platoon of Dark Troopers - it was all kind of dumb of him, because what idiot thinks that’s a good idea?

(Luke, clearly.)

And that’s not even scratching the surface because there have been many, many Adventures since then in which Din suddenly understood how Cara and Karga must feel dealing with him?

Just.

Wow.

“I see,” Bad Guy says, clearly regretting So Much, but wait, there’s more!

A comment about...something or other from of the Imperials has Din go on a tangent about how frustrating dealing with Luke, which forkes off onto a tangent about his eyes?

Because pretty, and so, so blue, a shade Din’s never seen before...

Which, you know, is when the Rescue happens, Luke (and Grogu) tearing the place apart - but precisely, both of them honing in on their Mandalorian with unerring accuracy.

There’s a standoff then, Imperial blaster against Din’s throat where the helmet ends.

Din still a bit loopy staring at Luke who looks -

Din’s not sure how to categorize the look on his face, but angry is a good place to start.

Bad Guy lays out the terms of what he thinks will be Luke’s surrender - Jedi and all, noble, self-sacrificing sorts - and its clear the Mandalorian cares quite a great deal about him. Surely the reverse must be true?

In the silence that follows that comment, cold and cruel and all, Din laughs.

Because, you know, Pining idiots and half the time he doesn’t think Luke likes him all that much, tolerates his presence at his school for Grogu’s sake, and -

The blaster at his throat dips, barely noticeable, and Din knows everyone in the room is looking at him now because he put too much of himself in that inrcedlous laugh, and anyway.

The drugs are starting to clear from his system and he’s a Mandalorian and disarms the Bad Guy, shoots one of the troopers aiming at Luke’s head as he turns to focus on the sudden renewed threat Din poses and then Luke’s moving.

It’s over quickly after that, Luke staring at Din over the bodies for a long moment before the blade of his lightsaber retracts and he stuffs whatever emotions gave rise to the confusing expression on his face down for the time being to go over to Din.

Injured from his capture and rough treatment during it and truth serum and whatnot still in his system and Luke helping him out of the imperial base and out of the base.

Artoo and Grogu appear somewhere in there, Artoo towing a sled holding the rest of Din’s armor and whatnot, with Grogu’s tiny little hands gripping the pauldron with their clan signet on it and soft, sad little noises at the state Din’s in.

Luke watches Din from the corner of his eye as Din does his best to reassure Grogu he’s alright, he’s fine, really, and Grogu squinting up at him because really, is that so, dad?

Luke snorts, hauling Din the rest of the way to a non-descript ship waiting for them, nothing much to look at, really.

(Feels a pang of regret because the ship he got to replace his Razor crest is in pieces now, shot down a few miles away and all, and he’ll have to replace that one as well.)

Luke shrugs because hey, X-wings are super recognizable and one-seaters and anyway, he needs a bigger ship for his school anyway, you know?

Din isn’t really following along, anymore, but sure, sure, makes sense.

Luke sighs, but it’s quiet, soft, and then Din’s sitting...somewhere, Luke patching him up and the whatnot as Artoo stows the sled with his armor somewhere and Grogu hands Luke medical supplies before he asks for them.

Luke looks at him for a long, impossibly long moment once he’s done.

“We need to talk,” he says finally, something like a smile playing on his lips when Din points out they’re doing that now. “Later, once you’ve rested.”

And then Din gets escorted to the sleeping area and tucked into one of the bunks, Grogu climbing up beside him, little hands patting Din’s face as he makes sure his dad rests.

Din and Grogu falling asleep becuase tired, and Luke watching them for a little longer before Artoo yells at him to get them off the damn planet because never a good idea to stick around an Imperial base.

They shoot off a message to New Republic forces in the area and head back to Luke’s Jedi school.

And then! When Din wakes up later he has the moment of man, what did I do -

Followed boy the moment of oh, no because he remembers and also Angst and the whatnot.

Tries to avoid Luke but while the ship’s bigger than an X-wing it’s only sightly bigger than the Crest and therefore not that many places to hide.

Din holding Grogu in his arms, tiny crunchcrunchcrunch noises of Grogu eating those cookies he likes as he watches the most awkward exchange of FEELINGS ever.

And forehead touches, Luke blushing because Din chooses to continue his education of Mandalorian culture by being, “That’s ho we kiss,” strangled quality to his voice even though (because of?) the awkward exchange of FEELINGS, and Grogu’s tiny, cookie crumb covered hands patting their faces and making happy noises and anyway, anyway, yes.

BUT ALSO.

Luke and a visit from Han, Lando and other assorted miscreants at his fledgling Jedi school and a late night game of Sabaac in which drinks are had and Luke gets to be the dumb kid Han ran into on Tatooine all those years ago again instead of all his responsibilities and it’s really kind of great?

Chewie making sure Luke gets back to his and Din’s place safely, rib-creaking hug and fond ruffling of hair that has Luke laughing and smileing ans Aw, no, Chewie, c’mon before he says goodnight.

Smiling fit to burst when he checks in on his family via Force shenanigans, Grogu asleep and a point of light, happy, content, dreaming of frogs he’s going to eat or something, and Din -

Big old dopey smile because Din is this constant, steady in the presence, stone in the middle of a river while the Force moves around him, eddies and ripples and makes his way to their bedroom.

“You’re drunk,” surprised, but fond, amused.

Luke can’t be changing his clothes, barely manages taking his boots off before climbing into the bed next to Din. Rolls on his side to look at him, familiar, lvoed face and crooked smile as he tries not to laugh at Luke as Luke gives him a Very Serious Look and tells him, also Very Seriously. “I like you. A lot.”

Because just a little drunk and a more than a lot happy with his life and especially the places Din and Grogu hold in it and feels Din needs to know that at this very moment because utmost importance, Din, it’s a very serious matter!!1!

“I should hope so,” Din tells him, pulling Luke closer, which Luke allows because he really, really, likes Din, and also sleepy. “We are married.”

Because of course they are, and also Han and Lando never let Luke live down the fact he waxed poetic about his husband the last few hands of Sabaac out of revenge for Luke cleaning them out while wearing the wide-eyed, naive farm boy look that’s worked out pretty well for him if he says so himself.

#star wars nonsense #dinluke #idk #i lost the thread early on and it turned into nothing but cliches #sorry???#technically not a fic #vagrant fic

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claudiasjeancregg · 3 years

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we can find each other this way, i believe

for the tww flowershop au, created here!!

for ariel and bianca, and everyone who’s helped create this lovely universe<3

title from Come and Find Me by Josh Ritters, a song @aerielz introduced me to that we both now think should be this au’s anthem. seriously, listen to it.

Toby opens every morning, bright and early. Comes with the job of owning the shop, he supposes. But still, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for Sam to relieve him of the duty for once.

He hears a shuffle at the door, keys jingling, and looks up without a word.

“Morning, Toby!” Donna breezes in, all sunshine and cheerfulness even at 6 AM— she’s exactly who people expect to work at a flower shop. He is decidedly not.

“Hey, Donna,” he mutters, lost in thought. Something’s happening this morning, something big that’s lying in the back of his mind, almost close enough to remember but just out of reach.

“Is there- do we have a big order we’re doing today?”

She frowns. “No, not that I know of, at least. Why, do you want me to do something?”

He shakes his head, giving her a sideways look. “Aren’t you busy enough?”

“Yeah, I really am,” she sighs, dropping her keys on the counter and jumping onto it, like his remark had been some invitation to vent. It had not been, as a matter of fact.

“I love my job, don’t get me wrong. But Josh doesn’t let me do anything! I’m stuck working on bacon in the back-“

“Bacon? Is that some tattoo shop slang I'm not aware of? Or— Donna, please don’t tell me it’s a sex thing.”

Donna gives him a petulant look, eerily similar to how his older sisters looked as kids when they hadn’t given what they wanted. “You’d think so, but it’s actual bacon. They seem to think I’m training to be a butcher, not a tattoo artist.”

Toby lets out an uncharacteristic laugh and sits next to her, mind filled with images of a future Donna with dyed hair and full tattoo sleeves.

She shoves him off the counter. “What?”

“Come on, it’s funny! You’re Donna Moss, you really want to work at a tattoo parlor?”

She turns her head firmly, staring straight at him. “Yeah! Yeah, I do. I want to work everywhere and learn everything and not just be Donna Moss, the blonde ditzy girl who can’t stick to a major.”

Well, he can understand that. Donnatella Moss is an interesting girl, the opposite of what he had expected to find in someone as— well, as blonde and sweet and young as her. But ever since she had walked in, incessantly asking questions about his shop and practically begging for a job, Donna hasn't stopped surprising him. She’s eager to learn everything about everything, flower meanings and proper bouquet arranging and the ins and outs of running a small business. She’s a business major— well, sort of. He said that tentatively because Donna had changed majors over and over again through the years he had known her. But this one seems like it’ll stick. She has a knack for business, enough of a knack that she had been able to talk herself into jobs at two stores on the same block.

As much as Toby judged her at first, he has to admit that she knew what she was doing. And he doesn’t want to lose one of his best employees— not that he would ever tell her that— but he isn’t about to hold her back from something that for some reason, she seems very interested in.

“Okay. Then I say do it. If that’s what you want, the shop can operate without you.”

“Uh, you know I’ve already been working there, right? I don’t need your permission for everything, you ass.”

The combination of Donna’s snark and the ridiculously big grin on her face almost makes Toby laugh.

“Hey, I’m still your boss. I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance,” he groans.

“I mean, I already have a job lined up! It’s been like two weeks, I’m sure they’d take me full time if I asked—“

“Shut it, Blondie.”

“Don’t call me that.” She rolls her eyes, but the whisper of a smile on her face gives her away. “Speaking of working at a tattoo parlor—“

A smile grows on her face as Toby shifts uncomfortably in his spot.

“Donna, I swear—“

“Oh, don’t even try and deny it, just tell me how you're going to woo her.”

“Woo her? What is this, one of your Cary Grant movies? This isn’t the 1930s.”

“Um, Cary Grant was the 1940s. Well, and 50s. And I know what year it is, the year doesn’t matter,” she says with a bright smile, pushing herself off the counter and landing solidly on the tile. “Every girl wants to be wooed, Tobias. You work at a flower shop, she’s upstairs, give her a rose or something!”

“God, it’s like I haven’t taught you anything. A rose is nowhere near the most romantic flower, it’s too cliche,” he mutters. He’s barely listening to her response, though, too busy imagining what would happen if CJ knew the full truth behind the bouquets he gives her every morning. His gift for her every single day, love and adoration and strength, placed delicately in a vase and arranged to perfection. And she still thinks it is just a decoration for her shop, a way to brighten up the waiting room in between the burly guys and terrifying girls who frequented the tattoo parlor. CJ had no idea what the flowers really meant.

Donna grabs a handful of blood red roses, camellias and carnations from the shelf— a handful that had probably been painstakingly put together and shelved by him, or Sam, or Ginger, or even Donna herself two days prior— and threads one through her hair with a concentration and precision Toby envies. She holds the rest out to him with a knowing look.

“Sometimes cliches are cliche for a reason.”

A retort dances on the tip of his tongue, a retort that will surely remind Donna he isn’t about to take romantic advice from a woman whose only experience is with douchey ex-boyfriends and her new boss— the boss she had pined after for years, long before she had been given a job.

But he doesn’t get a chance to answer before the old bell rings on the door, pulling him out of his thoughts. Toby looks up— and in less than a minute, he’s finding the customer the exact right flower to give to a new neighbor (forsythia, for anticipation of good things to come, apple blossoms, for good fortune, and peppermint, for cordiality).

It reminds him of the flowers he gave to CJ when she first moved in, after they met for the first time. He still remembers the way she looked, walking into the shop, her ever-present grace and fire shaking him to his core. The customer leaves and he’s left to stare at his wall of flowers, nothing to focus on but Ginger and Bonnie’s quiet whispers in the storeroom and the pounding rhythm from the deafening music upstairs. He only sits for a minute before his mind drifts back to thoughts of CJ.

And in a second, like someone had whispered it into his ear, he remembers exactly why today was a big day. Six months ago, she had started her tattoo shop. Five months and three weeks ago, he’d seen her face through a glass door and his heart had practically stopped. She said she likes surprises— a small detail that’s managed to stay in his memory for all these months, like a diamond buried in sand waiting for someone to come along and lift it out. And if his father had been able to charm her with flowers, so can he. He’s a hell of a lot more likable than his father. But that isn’t the point, Toby reminds himself. The point is to celebrate his friend’s victory. If there was ever an occasion for flowers, this is it.

He decides to create a bouquet that reminds him of her— daffodils and dahlias and daisies, gladiolus and ivy and yellow jasmine and kennedia. He doesn’t dwell on what they mean for too long, the sentiment behind the flowers obvious to him but hopefully not to anyone else. His plan fails in a remarkably short time.

“Hey, boss— well, that’s a very romantic bouquet,” Ginger points out with a curious glance, poking her head out of the back room.

“Boyfriend or crush?” Bonnie adds on as she hugs her girlfriend from behind.

Toby doesn’t answer. He’s too busy trying to think of a way to get out of this conversation— apparently, the sentiment was obvious to everyone. The downside of working in a flower shop was that the romantic flowers never went unnoticed. They all know the bestsellers, of course, the red roses and tulips and orchids, typically bought by a regretful boyfriend who they all knew was going to be dumped in 2 to 6 business days. But a bouquet like this either means a customer had done a hell of a lot of research, or someone in the shop had picked the flowers themself. So, in a few seconds, Toby’s private, meaningful bouquet is about to become everyone’s business.

“I don't know,” he mutters. He can’t even think of a feasible lie— he’s too busy trying to calm his heartbeat that’s pounding in his chest, faster than the most enthusiastic drummer in a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

“Uh, I think it’s a crush,” Ginger notes. “Gladiolus and daffodils? Seriously—“ She shakes her head, the amused reaction of someone in a happy, stable relationship who had forgotten what it was like to be one of the lonely hearts. “—It screams unrequited love.”

Toby’s head snaps up at that. “Love?” he sputters. “That’s just- I don't know. I think it’s just a crush.”

He’s showing all his cards, now, and one of the girls is bound to figure out who put together the bouquet in a minute or two. But he doesn’t care. He turns around, about to walk to the cashier and hoping no one stops in.

“So,” Donna steps into his path with a knowing glance, the glance of someone who’s very obviously been listening this whole time. “You made the bouquet, right?”

“Donna—“

“Oh!” She lets out an excited squeal and throws her arms around him, before realizing exactly what she was doing.

“Donna,” he sighs.

“Right. Sorry. But is this-“ she lowers her voice. “This is you wooing, right?”

Toby lets out an exasperated groan. But she’s right, of course. This is, in some twisted way, his idea of wooing. Donna spends the rest of her shift giving him tips on what to say to CJ while simultaneously filling orders in the storeroom, a combination that leads to more than a few mistakes on her part.

But eventually, she leaves, and he’s left with a too-long lunch break to contemplate how to give CJ the gift. They’re just flowers, he reminds himself. Don’t make it weird, Ziegler. But his gift is more than just flowers, it’s a reminder that there’s someone rooting for her. A reminder that he’s proud of all she’s done in this past six months. Well, that’s what he hopes it’ll be.

Toby hears the bell ring and looks up— for once, he’s not expecting to be CJ. But it is. She stands outside and meets his eye with a careful glance, more anxious than usual. This is the moment he’s been waiting for, he thinks as she comes in.

“I got you coffee,” she says without a greeting.

He can’t stop staring at her. God, she’s beautiful. Tattoos dance down her back like battle scars, tangible reminders of her strength every time she walks into a room.

“Thanks, CJ.” Donna swoops in with an easy smile and gives Toby a nudge, silently telling him to stop staring like a pervert and to say something. Or maybe her look said none of that, and he was just projecting.

“You’re- uh, thanks for the coffee,” he says abruptly, turning back to the task at hand.

“It wasn’t for you.” She smirks as she says it, eyes dragging over his body in a way that made Toby feel like a live wire. He can feel her eyes sparking with electricity as she watched him stock the new shipment of flowers.

God, she makes him act like such an idiot.

Toby can't imagine what CJ must think of him, the owner of the shop downstairs who has a huge crush on her and couldn’t form more than a few sentences when she was in his line of sight. She’s just so strong, so pretty— not that beauty is all that mattered to him, but it’s practically impossible not to notice her deep brown eyes and hair that flowed down her back like a cascading waterfall. And her grace, the way she commands all the attention when she walks into the room, how she is sharp but never cold, never mean. And her genius amazes him— he isn’t one to be overly complimentary of another person, but she’s taken a part of the building that hadn’t had customers in years, and turned it into a lively, successful tattoo parlor. He knows they’ve only talked a few times in the months since she had started her shop, but her very presence brightens up his store.

She is like a sunflower, light following wherever she goes.

And maybe she has no idea who he is, beyond someone she talked to occasionally who brought her flowers for her shop. But for some reason, he still finds himself desperately wanting to know more about this woman with a million tattoos adorning her arms, this woman who knew his father and loves Donna as much as he does and has turned a lifeless corner into a booming business. He wants her, and it feels inevitable, a predestined fate that was sealed the moment he first saw her.

CJ leans her arms on the counter and lets her head fall. He isn’t sure what to do. So he doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t press, just pulls out a chair and motions for her to come sit in it. That lifts the awkwardness out of the room, thankfully, as she collapses into the chair next to where he’s working. They sit there for a while, just like that. And then he feels her breath on his shoulder and suddenly can’t think of anything but how good she smells, and how easy it would be to turn around and pull her closer. She’s like a magnet, this woman. It drives him crazy.

“Toby?” Her voice is soft, delicate, nothing like the steely way she usually speaks.

“Yeah,” he swallows, preparing to answer a question about why he acts so weird whenever she’s there.

“What’s the bouquet for?”

He turns around and follows her eyes to the bright bouquet of flowers still on the counter— the bouquet he made for her less than 20 minutes ago.

“You,” he manages to say. Her eyes widen, a delighted smile growing on her face. “I mean, it’s your sixth month here. I figured you deserved a gift for the shop’s anniversary. I know it’s not much, but—

“No.” She stops him, hands over her heart like he’s touched her deep inside, in a place behind her walls and behind her cool facade, the place where her strength lives. It pulls on his heartstrings, the thought of her choosing to trust him with that. It lights him up inside— the thought that he made her happy, even for a minute, hits him in a place he didn’t know was able to feel so deeply.

“I- really? I mean, thank you, it’s beautiful.”

“So are you.” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Who said stuff like that? He isn’t some cheap hack trying to pick her up at a bar, he’s her friend.

CJ’s eyes are wide as she tries to pick out the meaning of his words. He worries he stepped over the line, ventured into the unknown territory they have yet to allow inside their newly-forged friendship.

“Well, you certainly are a gentleman,” she laughs a little bit. It didn’t feel like a joke. The air between them is taut, filled with more tension than a magnetic field. CJ leans in, just a little bit. And suddenly Toby wants nothing more than to lean into her, to pull her close and show her how much he had meant his words. But instead, he pulls away. She was like the sun, and he knows that if he leans in, they will collide. They will burn bright and flame out in an instant. She matters too much to him for it to be a fling, and right now, that was all they would have. Toby grabs the bouquet and holds it in between them.

“Here,” he breathes, hoping she’ll stay for a while longer but also knowing that if she does, his resolve will crumble in a second. “Congratulations.”

CJ gives him a cautious, slightly confused, smile— “Thanks.”

She takes it from his hands, fingers brushing as he lets go. She blushes, the pink on her cheeks complimenting her black camisole. He watches her go, the bell ringing as the door slams shut. He hears it again a few minutes later, a few customers filing in to fill the stretch of emptiness that happens in the hours when he’s the only one in the shop.

He doesn’t love CJ. He barely even knows enough to like her, but that is something that happened without him even noticing. Like a wave crashing against the shore, he didn’t realize until he was drowning in it. CJ Cregg is an enigma, a woman who can make anything happen and does, a woman who makes him feel like he’s breathing in electricity.

Life’s a funny thing, Toby thinks. No one ever sees the big things coming, until suddenly your estranged father is dead and you’re the sole owner of his flower shop.

It’s startling, how much the last year has changed him. The thing he always was ashamed of growing up, something he never quite understood as a kid, has somehow become his solace. It’s grasped onto his heart, this lively little corner of DC, and refuses to let go. He even finds he’s minding the shrill bell above the door less as the months go by, and the silence more than more. A customer walks in, and Toby rises to help him. He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind— his unnecessarily morose self-reflection can wait. He has a job to do.

#ahhhh i did it!!!#i’m sure there are many mistakes but. here you go. this is obviously for the #tww flowershop au #tww #tww fic #my fic #fic tag #cj x toby #aleena writes #okay guess i’m doing this!!

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kreekey · 4 years

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what's your opinion on the Yoko Julien stuff? Like how she treated him after John died

I have no definitive judgement of it, to be honest. Julian (and Cynthia) would’ve, ideally, been treated with the utmost kindness after John’s death, and their relationship with Yoko would’ve been better. That was not the case. However, Yoko also experienced great trauma after witnessing her husband’s death, and her relationship with John’s first family was not very close. @withthebeatlesgirls smade an excellent post on this here: X. I agree with a lot of what they say, and the screenshots from Sean’s Twitter are telling.

I recently found a Reddit comment on this subject that I found interesting, please read all. Credit to /u/texum for the fantastic write-up. (Link to original thread).

Oh, neat, a bunch of hearsay that's been proven wrong.

>Yoko made Julian, John's first born son, buy back his letters from his deceased father.

This isn't true. First of all, they weren't letters, they were postcards. As Julian wrote in his book Beatles Memorabilia: The Julian Lennon Collection:

>"I had to buy all the postcards back. It's more than likely that when we [he and his mother] moved house stuff got lost or somebody would steal something."

He lost them in a move in England with his mother, some collector got them, and Julian bought them back at auction. John and Yoko never had them--the book reproduces photos of all the postcards and you can clearly see the UK postmarks on all of them. They're all dated 1971 or after, and John never set foot in the UK after that, and neither did Yoko until years after John died.

But at the same auction Julian bought these postcards, he also bought a sheet of recording notes for the song "Hey Jude" that had once been in the possession of Yoko. The recording notes are also reproduced in the same Memorabilia book. These notes had been in a suitcase of memorabilia owned by Mal Evans which Mal's book publisher had lost after Mal died. They turned up in the New York book publisher's basement about 15 years later, and the publisher gave them to Yoko to return to Mal's family, which she did. Mal's family then sold all the memorabilia at auction, and Julian bought those "Hey Jude" notes. Later interviewers conflated the two events, and Julian didn't bother to set the record straight, but if you notice Julian's wording in those interviews, he always carefully sidesteps the accusation that he actually bought the postcards from Yoko. He just says he's been using his father's money to buy his father's things back at auction.

If you think about it for two seconds, it's never made any sense: how would John have postcards he sent to Julian if Julian lived in the UK and John lived in the US? The answer is, he didn't. Julian received them, lost them, and then ended up buying them back from a collector at auction.

>John's will left nothing to Cynthia and Julian, and Yoko...fights him in court for years

First of all, why would Cynthia be part of John's will? Who puts an estranged ex-wife in their will? She already got a divorce settlement and was receiving alimony. Though she had got pretty screwed in that settlement, that's not Yoko's fault, and no second wife I've ever heard of has ever forked over money to a first wife who already took a part of their husband's earnings.

But secondly, this isn't actually true. Julian was included in John's estate. It's just that John didn't leave much of a will. It was basically a boilerplate, "If I die, my wife gets everything" except that John had set up a trust fund for Julian and Sean to start withdrawing from when they each turned 21. Julian John had started by contributing $100K per year for Julian, and then when Sean was born, he upped it to $250K per year to be split between the two of them.

But John died early, and had only been contributing to this trust fund since his divorce from Cynthia, so only about 10 or 11 years. There's was only a couple million dollars in it, and it was supposed to be split between the two sons.

Julian sued on the basis he would have got much more than that if John had lived, and he was trying to take as much as he could get. As far as Yoko was concerned, anything taken by Julian was taken away from Sean, so it took them about a decade to settle the lawsuit. In the end, Julian walked away with about $20-25 million, which was about 10% of the value of the estate at the time of John's death. He was also the sole heir to whatever value of John's estate had already been given to Cynthia through the divorce (which was considerably less, but again, that's not Yoko's fault, that's Cynthia's lawyer's).

Another really interesting comment from the same user, very much related. (Link to thread)

What did Yoko do to Julian? Julian wrote in his book Beatles Memorabilia: The Julian Lennon Collection that the postcards he bought at auction were ones he likely lost, or else were stolen, during a move from one house to another while living with his mother in the UK. The four postcards are reproduced in that book, and three of the four are also reproduced in Hunter Davies's book The John Lennon Letters. All are postmarked as received in the UK. The earliest of the four is from late 1971, where John sent his new address and phone number in New York to Julian. Meaning, those postcards were never in the possession of John or Yoko once they were sent to Julian in the UK, since John and Yoko never stepped foot in the UK between John's move to New York and his death.

There were some interviews in the late 1990s where interviewers said that Julian had to buy these postcards from Yoko, but if you actually listen to Julian's responses, he's always careful to avoid accusing Yoko directly, instead saying something more general about how Yoko never gave him anything for free and he was now using his dad's money to buy stuff he received from his dad. (Well, by his own admission later, he should have kept better track of the postcards.)

In Davies's book The John Lennon Letters, there is a letter that John sent to his cousin Liela in Scotland that details some of the drama. While Liela's letter to John isn't in the book, John is responding to her letter discussing some failed get-together between Julian and John's sister Julia. It seems that Julia wanted to visit Julian, and John had made some arrangements for it to happen, but when Julia arrived on the arranged date, Cynthia said that Julian wasn't there and turned Julia away (who had driven several hours to make the trip). John goes on to say in the letter that this was part par for the course, and he suspects Cynthia was keeping him and Julian from talking. John made weekly phone calls to Julian, and when John was separated from Yoko, these calls went right through. Julian and Cynthia even came to the US to visit once for an extended vacation. But as soon as John was back with Yoko, Julian never seemed to be there whenever John called, and John suspected Cynthia wasn't relaying his messages to Julian that he'd called. In the series of letters between John and Liela, it seems that Julian had an open invitation to come visit in New York any time he wanted to (John couldn't leave for most of the period due to visa issues) but there were only a handful of actual visits between 1971-80. John believed Cynthia was deliberately distancing Julian from him.

That's not to say John was a good dad. He hadn't been a good dad before the divorce and he did move to a different continent. But Yoko wasn't the issue. It seemed to be rather run of the mill arguments between the divorced parents, John and Cynthia.

The only other "bad" thing Yoko has ever been accused of regarding Julian is the lawsuit over John's estate. But again, this isn't really Yoko's fault. John died without any estate planning, just a boilerplate will that said his wife gets everything. He had started a trust fund for Julian and Sean, but at the time he died, it had a couple million dollars in it, or thereabouts, to be split between the two sons. Julian sued to get more, and there was surely some settlement offered along the way, but any smart lawyer is going to try to get as much money for their client as possible. It eventually was settled, but it took ten years. The amount was undisclosed, but the rumor is that Julian got around $20 million, which was around 10% of the value of the estate at the time of John's death. Maybe that's "unfair", but keep in mind also that John had already given a large chunk of his estate to Cynthia during their divorce, so Julian was heir to that, too. (Though Cynthia did get pretty screwed in that divorce - but again, that has nothing to do with Yoko, and everything to do with John and Cynthia's divorce lawyers.)

Overall, though, Yoko never really did anything in particular to Julian. Julian may have been upset about some money issues, but again, that's due to John's shortsightedness more than anything. Yoko and Julian never had much of a relationship from 1971 on, when Julian was still only eight years old, because there wasn't much visiting going on. And the reason for the lack of visits doesn't seem to be attributable to Yoko.

Unfortunately, there’s been a lot of misinformation or conflation about Julian and Yoko’s relationship. Sorry I quoted a whole bunch, but this user put it better than I ever could and actually made me aware that I held a bunch of assumptions that were actually incorrect about how Yoko and Julian's relationship functioned.

Here, Julian states that he’s forgiven Yoko:

youtube

I would assume that Julian and Yoko had time to reconcile and if he’s forgiven her, then fans should respect that and I think their relationship has bettered. And I think that if he had forgiven her, there must be a reason. Fans may not know the exact details why Julian forgave her, but there is no obligation and I’m just happy to hear that peace has been given a chance, using that same cliche from the video haha.

I do not think Yoko’s relationship with Julian makes her an evil person, though, not at all. I earnestly think she tried to do her best, but after seeing her husband's death, it changed her for a while. But her actions regarding Julian are sometimes twisted to make her sound like a deliberate villain, which I disagree with.

#julian lennon #yoko ono #the beatles #support yoko #the beatles fandom #long post #quote #John Lennon #anon #asks

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

bad idea (let's keep kissing) [ninex] - pinkgrapefruit

A/N - welcome to ninex and waitress - otherwise known as my love letter to meggie (she’s like my mum and i love her). thank you to beanie and mac for betaing and advising! please let me know what you think and enjoy!

It’s a bad idea, me and you

I know, I totally agree

It’s a bad idea, me and you

I’ve never known anything so true

It’s a terrible idea, me and you

They’ve always been electric. Neon sign, Blackpool illuminations, Times Square electric. At one point the director asked if Nina could play the Doctor instead - if they could gender-bend the entire production just to have the chemistry play out on stage every night and she would have agreed, given up the possibility of ever playing Jenna just to kiss Monet for money eight times a week. Like she said back then, she wouldn’t have complained.

No one ever asked what Monet thought. Yes, her eyes were pretty obvious, the blown pupils and the way her tongue darted out every time Nina stepped on stage but it was just a bit of chemistry (ironically, the exact justification used by a teenage Monet to explain why her science grade had dropped when she got the lead in a school play - it never worked).

So they skirt each other, wait till there is the acceptable three feet of space to avoid an electric shock. Insulate. Protect. Avoid.

Until they don’t.

Somewhere between the avoidance and ignoring, Monet hasn’t looked at Nina in months and then suddenly, she looks even more beautiful.

You have a wife

You have a husband

You’re my doctor

You’ve got a baby coming

It’s a bad idea, me and you

Let’s just keep kissing ‘til we come to

“This is a terrible idea,” exhales Monet as she leans back into her chair, Nina straddling her legs and leaving sweet cherry kisses on her neck. “We work together - God, this was supposed to be a show.”

The other woman sits up a little on her legs, moves her lips from her neck to place a long, tender kiss on Monet’s lips. She smiles shyly as she pulls away, reaches a hand from where it was placed on her hip to wipe the stray lipstick away.

“God we’re a cliche,” Nina giggles softly, biting her lip as she says it before sliding off Monet’s (very crumpled apron) and onto the chair opposite. She links their fingers with a smile. “I think this was possibly a rather bad idea,” but as she says it, she smiles like it’s the best idea she’s ever had.

“If people find out- “

“We deal with it.”

“But - “

“Monet, I’m supposed to be the nervous mess - Calm down, honey.” She squeezes their intertwined fingers with a finality that tells the other woman the conversation is most certainly over for now.

A knock on the dressing room door causes them to jump apart, hands splitting as they both move to reapply their lipstick (to look like they were doing anything but making out). “Come in,” one of them calls and Brooke opens the door looking unimpressed.

“You know it’s a bad day when you can’t find either of the Jennas,” She sighs, obviously turning off her headset and tapping her clipboard. “I won’t say a word of this to anyone,” she then hisses, almost conspiratorially, “But lord help me if we don’t have a Jenna for act two - Nina you’re a swing for a reason.”

Monet chuckles as she finishes checking herself but sees Brooke’s pointed glare in the mirror and changes her mind. She squeezes Nina’s hip before following the Canadian muttering something about ‘the power of showbiz’ and how ‘these aprons don’t get ironed.’

Nina sinks back down into the chair, hovers a finger over the ghost of the other girl’s lips and wonders how the hell she got on Broadway in the first place.

Heart, stop racing

Let’s face it, making mistakes like this will make worse what was already pretty bad

Mind, stop running

It’s time we just let this thing go

It was a pretty good bad idea, wasn’t it though?

They sneak out of stage door after the show, wait until the fans have all left and hope none of the production team spots them. It’s New York in the winter and so both are bundled up warm in layers upon layers. Monet’s clothes are almost sleek - she looks put together and expensive as she hurries Nina down the subway stairs. Nina, on the other hand, looks like a walking craft fair - and Monet wouldn’t have it any other way.

They hold hands on the subway and neither of them flinches when they get dirty looks from the eleven o’clock perverts - simply keeping their heads low but together. Monet places a chaste peck on the top of Nina’s ear and the girl damn near swoons.

They hurry up above ground where they await the warm safety of the streetlights and patrol cars - dodge between drunk men and frisky couples to wander home. Somewhere along the way, it starts to snow and Nina sticks her tongue out tentatively - trying to catch the fleeting remnants of winter, taste the memories.

When they reach Monet’s apartment, Nina is pushed against the inside of the door. Monet firmly places a knee between her legs, holding her in place to suck a row of neat kisses onto the exposed collarbone. It’s flushed red from the sudden heat and patches slowly turn purple under the pressure as Nina’s fingers thread through her partner’s hair. She sighs contentedly and Monet stops to peck her lips before dragging her through the nearest door and pushing them both gently onto the couch.

It’s a bad idea, me and you

Hold me close while I think this through

Yeah, it’s a very poor idea, me and you

Nina wakes up on the couch. Her hand is numb under the weight of Monet, who is still fast asleep tucked between her and the back of the sofa. In the early morning light, she looks almost ethereal. The glow of dawn casts shadows across her face that only make her look younger, more innocent, less burdened with the pressures of being one of Broadway’s up and comings.

Nina is sure she looks like none of the above, feeling the way her mascara makes her eyelashes stick to her under eyes every time she blinks. She supposes that it could symbolise the way her heart sticks and tugs a little every time she looks at Monet but she’s always been a poetic theatre kid and real life doesn’t work like a story book. Romance is an idea to be bought and sold with ticket stubs and a rosé.

She prises herself off the sticky leather of the couch, rubbing her exposed leg gently where it had stuck, and cracks her neck as she sits up. She grabs her belongings from where they had been strewn on the floor and runs a hand through the stiff hairspray residue of her hair. When she leaves she tries not to look back. Her conscience is too precious.

Heart, stop racing

Let’s face it, making mistakes like this will make worse what was already pretty bad

Mind, stop running

It’s time we just let this thing go

It was a pretty good bad idea, wasn’t it though?

It’s scary how easy it is to return to avoiding each other. It doesn’t take much - maybe a different hallway here, a change of side there and you’re all good. No awkward encounters or long glances into all-too-revealing eyes.

Nina’s conscience weighs heavy on her shoulders for a while, like she’s carrying the weight of the world on tight muscle and blue fabric. She rubs her neck with the pads of her thumb trying to loosen the knots she got from overthinking and lack of sleep, ignores how the rise and fall of her chest aches on a level that’s not quite pain. It hurts like a breakup and yet it had never really started.

The real pain comes from the way Monet cannot look her in the eye anymore. There is no flirting, no banter and no electric connection. The sparks fly like a faulty wire - they are unintended and dangerous and go nowhere - yet they could burn.

I know it’s right for me

It’s the only thing I’ve ever done

What if I never see myself ever be anything more

Than what I’ve already become?

She tells Brooke halfway through January when she can no longer shoulder the burden alone. Nina falls onto an arm chair looking forlorn and feels as her chest fragments into a china teacup and a saucer. And then she watches as Brooke skillfully tapes and glues her back together with love and affection and a listening ear.

She tells Brooke about the months of pining and how it had led to a magical night that couldn’t seem to make it to morning. How the night had flown like a raven out of the window and Nina had felt hollow when she awoke, achy and cold.

Brooke tells her she’s stupid and makes another cup of tea.

She posits that the emptiness came from fulfilment rather than absence and the cold was simply the lack of clothes. She tells her it’s simple and then she kicks her out of the office with nothing more than a sigh and a knowing smile.

Nina damn hopes Brooke knows.

I need a bad idea

Just one

It’s a long empty hallway. The same one kids sit in before they make their big breaks in New York. It’s an audition office - the air heavy with the weight of lost dreams and regret, but it smells like Cinnabon and heavy cream.

Nina finds Monet there like she knew she would. The air feels sticky and warm like the AC broke in the middle of summer but it is still only January and the windows are condensated and sparkle in the early afternoon sun. She presumes that the hallway means the same thing to Monet that it does to her - new hopes, new beginnings, new dreams.

She has dreams.

“Monet,” she calls out, something in her voice breaking a little in the hard silence.

Monet turns her head ever so slightly, there’s a sad smile on her face and it hurts Nina to see it.

“Can we- Can we talk?”

She pats the seat next to her and Nina moves slowly as if not to scare her off. They end up side by side on a cold wooden bench facing a casting board. It has eleven or so pictures on it - headshots of a few of the actors - and Monet’s and Nina’s are right next to each other.

“I remember the day this was taken,” Monet states broadly. It sounds almost as if she’s thinking out loud but there’s a certain conviction to the words. “Bob’s balcony, the light comes from his old monitor with the screen turned on.”

“It’s a beautiful picture.”

“I know.”

Nina sighs and readjusts herself so she’s leaning against the concrete wall behind them, hands either side of herself.

“Summer twenty-fourteen,” she laughs nervously, the Ohio twang returning as she says it. “Virginia took it on my last trip back home.”

“You look…” starts Monet before she trails off.

“I look?”

“Younger. More naive,” she eventually finishes.

Nina’s hand moves of its own accord to cup Monet’s chin, a move bolder than she’s ever really done before. She turns the girl’s head gently so they’re facing each other and takes a quiet inhale.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I was an asshole.”

“It’s okay,” Monet smiles, tilting her head, and the sad look in her eyes fades a little. “You were scared.”

“I was.”

“I still am.”

They kiss slowly like Nina’s always wanted. She wonders if this is what romance feels like when it’s raw and pure. Distilled essence of love, bottled and sold to the fools in the hallway, hands clasped in Monet’s lap like the other will run again.

It’s not an unfair worry.

Heart, keep racing

Let’s make mistakes

Let us say “so what?” and make worse what was already pretty bad

This secret is safe

No reason to throw it away when there’s love to be had

“We kissed again!” gushes Nina, sat on Brooke’s desk while the other woman tries to fill out some paperwork. She looks up with a quirked eyebrow and a faintly proud smile as Nina seems to be bouncing out of her own skin - excitement bubbling.

“And you’re telling me because?” she asks, still flicking through the document, scribbling her signature by the tabs.

“Because you’re you.” Nina stands up, lamenting slightly, “and I’m me, and you and Ness are sooo good!” Brooke smiles at the sound of her wife’s name, glowing a little just thinking about her. “And you’re having a baby and if I can’t ask you for your help who can I?”

Brooke stands up, closing the book and looking Nina in the eyes. She is wiser than she should be at twenty-something and Nina values her opinion above anyone else’s.

“We got through this shit because we talked. There was no walking out, no nothing. When she wanted to have a baby, I made a cup of tea and we talked.” Nina nods slowly. “Now I’m going to make a cup of tea and we’re going to talk, capisce?”

“Yes.”

Hold me tight as I tell myself that you might make sense

And make good what has been just so bad

Let’s see this through

It’s a pretty good bad idea

Nina wakes up between two warm cotton sheets. Her bare back presses against a warm body and she can feel cold toes pushing into her calves. As smoothly and quietly as she can, she turns onto her back, moving an arm so the other woman stops spooning her back and wraps around her side, head nestling into the crook of her shoulder.

She sighs contentedly. Monet snuggles into her even more. Nina reckons staying over was a damn good idea.

Me and you

#rpdr fanfiction #ninex #nina west #monet x change #waitress song fic #angst #fluff #hopeless romance #musical theatre challenge #fic challenge #bad idea #pinkgrapefruit #concrit welcome #musical theatre au

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diloph · 5 years

Note

Pardon me, but it seemed from some of your posts on KOTM that you didn't like Mark Russell that much. I know he was a cliche everyman type, but what exactly made him any worse than others in these movies?

I apologise if this isn’t my most coherent answer. I’m a little bit stressed at the moment, trying to finish the next chapter of IIID and create relevant, if poorly assembled memes before the Invader Zim movie is released.

To be honest, some of it is a bit tongue-in cheek. Making fun of the most visible character in the film, considering that he hates Godzilla with a burning passion, is just a little bit of fun. It’s like how I refer to Rick Stanton with disdain sheerly because he’s somewhat based on Rick Sanchez, who I don’t dislike either.

The film isn’t about Mark: King of the Fathers anyway, so if I completely despised him, I could just zone out during his scenes, or skip them when the DVD comes out.

But… some of it wasn’t so jokey. He’s still an okayish protagonist, I’ve got nothing against the actor himself and his acting is fine. Still, Mark was loud, abrasive and hated Godzilla; you know, things that grate on my nerves when it comes to a 2+ hour Godzilla movie and that made the character… trying.

We’ve had them before, but Godzilla was generally more villainous and obviously, we feel sympathy and camaraderie with him as the title character and we are here to see him do cool things. Having a human protagonist who hates our cool monster protagonist makes sense in universe, but ultimately, it’s not what we’re here for. We can tune that out.

As for what makes me dislike Mark… for starters, he’s kind of a prick. I once saw somebody describe him as the type of guy who thinks that if he speaks loudly enough, shouts enough, he’ll get his way. I can’t say I blame them, in that first meeting with MONARCH, he’s downright hostile.

He’s also, for whatever reason, the guy that everybody turns to in the crisis. He might have a background in bioacoustics like his ex-wife and animal behaviour besides, but apparently nobody else at MONARCH is capable of doing things without the express instructions or approval of everyman Indiana Jones. Military procedures, common sense, the desperate plan to revive Godzilla; everybody seems to defer to him really quickly.

It took me out of the movie. I understand that he’s meant to be our relatable protagonist, but it’s a little bit jarring and it happens multiple times. Mark is either issuing instructions or is along where he shouldn’t be, given control of a situation where by all rights he shouldn’t have any other than spur of the moment hero stuff.

It’s like he believes that nobody has any common sense and frustratingly, a couple of times the narrative agrees with him or at least proves his actions right. For example, when Colonel Foster tries to brief MONARCH on the actions of Jonah and the terrorists, he shoots down her theory and proceeds to go on a rant as to why we should Destroy All Monsters.

He’s right, as Jonah wants to free King Ghidorah, but he has this frustrating “protagonist only” habit of noticing threads that other characters really should (nobody seems to notice that the Titans are attacking capital cities or at least very densely populated areas until he points it out), then speaks about it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Which when MONARCH is meant to be staffed with scientists of multiple disciplines veers back into the incredulous. I can suspend disbelief when it comes to giant monsters, I don’t excuse people not seeing what’s in front of them.

And as for the moments where he really shouldn’t be issuing instructions, take a look at when Rodan is freed by Emma Russell. Serizawa instantly defers to him (I think that Mark might have been his senior before he left MONARCH and BOY do I want to talk about that plan later on) to cook up a plan instead of… himself (Director of MONARCH, or at least I assume so) or again, Foster, who controls the planes and men he wants to send at the giant pterodactyl that just shrugged off a molten lava flow.

Given his characterisation as an angry, driven father who is desperately looking out for his family after being bereaved by monsters and is butting heads with the scientists at MONARCH, I think it was an attempt by Legendary to recreate Joe Brody. Bryan Cranston’s character in the previous film was killed off too early and was featured in a lot of the trailers, giving a wonderful performance. When he died to be replaced by his son, Ford, it caused a backlash as a result.

Mark being that angry, snarky character definitely shares some similarities. But while Joe was a crusader for the truth and more than a little bit obsessive, he was trying to pierce the veil as to why his wife died, without realising that it drove his son away from him. He was trying to reveal this great coverup to the world and spent the rest of his life doing so with such conviction that he appeared crazy.

Mark… doesn’t have this driving force. He lives in a post-San Francisco universe. Monsters Exist and everybody knows it.

Now, that’s not to say he doesn’t have reasons for acting as he did. He lost his son and has driven a wedge in between his family via his drinking problem (but let’s face it, compared to unleashing the Titans by starting off with Space Dragon Satan, he’s taken it comparatively well) but he acts as if he’s the only person who has ever lost something to Godzilla and the rest of the monsters.

Even when that happens to characters in the film, Mark still acts like that and it doesn’t make him look like the grim, determined hero, it just makes him look like an obnoxious dick. It isn’t his way of coping with the trauma of loss, he just… does it.

Part of me does get why he’s annoyed and angry with MONARCH’s attitude towards the Titans. He’s correct that they’ve been keeping secrets, dangerous ones at that, but equally the kaiju are living things. They’re dangerous and unpredictable, yes, but MONARCH have been taking precautions; killswitches are present in even the supposedly benevolent Titan’s chambers like Mothra and as far as they know, all of the Titans bar Godzilla are dormant and those that aren’t are kept in check by him. Had the Ghidorah Crisis never arose, we may never have seen any other Titans for the rest of human history.

But he treats everybody around him like an idiot with little to no prompting. Mark is brought on as a consultant and he then proceeds to dominate the scene, either through his decisions in universe or the part written for him out of it. He gets the last word, the last say on a plan or a witty remark or whatever.

And some of that costs lives. Actually, no, a LOT of it costs lives.

So, to start off, when the operation in Antarctica goes tits up, Mark grabs a handgun and goes into Outpost 32 by himself (though what he and the central nervous system of MONARCH were doing on the ground and not supervising from the Argo remains to be seen, but I digress). He stops Jonah and the terrorists on the walkway… screwing up Foster’s attempt to take down Jonah, forcing her to snipe his henchman in order to save Mark’s life.

This leads to King Ghidorah waking up. Not going to extend him a great deal of blame for this one, as with a sniper present, Emma or Madison would have been forced (or “forced” in the former’s case) to retrieve the detonator and the Six-Eyed, Six-Horned, Flying-Golden-People-Eater would have gotten loose regardless. Hell, I spotted clues that he was gearing up to wake up without Emma Russell’s help.

In a narrative sense, its his character that also sets up Vivienne Graham’s death. If he hadn’t been stuck in the tangle of wires and metal aboard the Osprey, she would never have needed to stay behind to help and subsequently got singled out by King Ghidorah.

I’d definitely agree that this is more of a personal thing on my part, as I’d wanted to see more of Vivienne’s character thanks to her actress’, Sally Hawkins’ work in The Shape Of Water and that in the previous film. But in a way, he is still sort of responsible for her being written out and replaced with the vastly less interesting replacement characters of Rick and Mor- erm, Sam.

That said, I know that Ghidorah is 100% to blame in universe. He killed her because he was a bastard and I wanted to him to be a bastard, so the monkey’s paw curled a finger there, so that’s egg on my face. It certainly did wonders for establishing him as a monstrous villain who we love to hate.

I’m not wholly unsympathetic to Mark. Like I said before, the pain of loss over the 2014 attacks hurt him badly and the film doesn’t shy away from this. Mark’s descent into alcoholism is noted by both himself and his family as a rough time for all involved, part of the reason he left MONARCH in the first place. Having his daughter and ex-wife seemingly kidnapped by dangerous ecoterrorists who plan to unleash giant monsters to mass-cull humanity also wears his patience thin, as you might expect it.

But he keeps this… horrible attitude throughout the movie. The world is literally going to shit, another monster is about to be unleashed and he asks if MONARCH have had enough common sense to evacuate the town of Isla Del Mara and if Rodan has had a cutesy name all picked out from mythology for him ahead of time.

Fuck me, if I was Serizawa, having just lost my protégé and quite a few well-meaning soldiers who were trying to rescue somebody who turned out to be a massive ecoterrorist nutjob, I would have floored him. There is a time and a place for snarky comments and it is not after at least twenty people you worked with are dead and BILLIONS MORE MAY FOLLOW.

But now, one of the points that really got me disliking Mark Russell follows here. The scenes that start at Isla Del Mara and the luring of Rodan to King Ghidorah, all the way up until the detonation of the Oxygen Destroyer.

Rodan emerges from the volcano and asides from spreading his wings and roaring, doesn’t do much. He spots the incoming Argo and its entourage and narrows his eyes. Uh oh! Surely, at this point, the dastardly destruction god would leap from his perch in an attempt to chase this challenger from his territory?

Um… no. No, actually, he stays put.

Now, I get that Rodan might not have stayed that way for very long. From the ensuing chase scene, I can gather that the Monsterverse’s version of Rodan is a bit of a dick, but he still didn’t start the fight.

Instead, what happens is that Serizawa asks Mark what they should do and Mark comes up with the plan to get Rodan to fight King Ghidorah in the hopes that one will kill the other and that would at least solve one of their problems.

Sound in theory, yes, but it is not sound in execution. At all.

So, that little town that Mark kicked up quite a fuss about? As you might have noticed, it’s lying between Rodan and the Argo and is part of the reason that the big ol’ bird should be lured away, to complete the evacuation.

Mark’s brilliant plan has the jets surrounding the Argo to blast Rodan and 180 the superplane in order to get him to chase… without factoring in THE TOWN BETWEEN THEM AT ALL.

I get King Ghidorah was closing in. I get that Rodan is a wild, unpredictable animal who could go off the chain at any moment. But there was absolutely no time to get the ARGO to move a little ways around the island before beginning the attack? At worst, Rodan would make a dive for them anyway, but that’s what the jets are sent in to distract him are for. To grab his attention and then lure him to the Argo, which would then take him to Tricephalopathic Terror Town anyway.

As a result, Rodan utterly OBLITERATES Isla Del Mara simply by passing over it and so many of the people they were trying to evacuate die a horribly pointless death. It never once passes his mind (or let’s not beat him down solely) or that of anybody aboard the Argo that a creature with wings that size that can fly would generate an unbelievable amount of force simply by flapping once to create lift? He’s also dripping lava, so even if the hurricane level winds that follow him weren’t an issue, having something with that amount of residual molten rock passing overhead doesn’t seem like a healthy thing to expose Isla Del Mara to.

Further dislike ensues when one of the miraculously surviving Ospreys issues a mayday during the Rodan/Ghidorah fight and the cargo doors are jammed. Mark the Hero leaps up with gritted teeth and desire to get things done, asking the way to the hangar. After all, he’s had miraculous problem solving abilities so far, why not?

“Which way to the hangar?” he asks.

Sam, a character who I’m even less fond of, stands up and offers to show him the way. Fairly brave, considering that the Argo is rattling like a leaf in a thunderstorm as two daikaiju battle nearby. I found the character annoying and sort of… pointless, but I admire that bit of bravery.

“Anybody else?” Mark asks, making a face.

Dude. The man just offered to help you and people need that help. Get off your high horse, swallow your pride and just go without comment. God knows how many people your stupid plan just got killed.

The two run to the hangar and a crewman explains the door is jammed. Mark decides to drop a hanging Osprey onto the doors to get them off… without suggesting it to the crewman. He just fucking goes for the buttons, expecting his usual “my plan will work” attitude to succeed.

At last, one of Mark’s harebrained schemes is met with reasonable resistance for the first time and the crewman attempts to wrestle him off, before Mark Is Proven Right Again. But even suggesting it, getting a refusal and then doing it is more heroic than just going for the damn buttons like a lunatic.

He would have looked damn stupid if the weight of the Osprey wasn’t enough to open the doors and it instead just blocked them. The falling aircraft also almost hits the airborne one with its civilian payload as it also wasn’t warned, so again, he took an unnecessary risk that came off lucky because he couldn’t find the time to say “I have an idea”.

To round out the trifecta of what makes me dislike Mark in these scenes is what happens when the rest of the scene plays out:

Gravity Beams spew from Ghidorah’s mouth and blast Rodan into the ocean, defeated. Not satisfied with just this victory, the Golden Demise locks his terrible gaze on the Argo and with a sickening, gleeful cackle, closes in on the plane and its freshly arrived civilians.

All are stunned into a horrified silence. Even Mark, who has been having Unreasonable Protagonist Luck up until this point, bricks it.

“Oh, God.” he pleads.

God answers and he erupts from the ocean.

With a deafening roar, the mighty form of Godzilla slams into King Ghidorah with the force of a collapsing mountain. His dynamic, mid-air leap is enough to drag the foul hydra into the depths of the ocean and Godzilla proceeds to hold him there.

Ghidorah attempts to resurface and fly away, or at least lash out at the Argo in spite, but there Godzilla is again, yanking the head back underwater, biting and rolling like some mountainous crocodile, pinning the alien dragon under his weight.

Unbeknownst to our hero (Godzilla, obviously), the military has deployed the terrible Oxygen Destroyer in an attempt to Destroy All Monsters, giving only a cursory warning to the Argo to get out of there and fast. Mark makes his way onto the bridge and is informed of the decision.

“But he… he just saved us!” says Mark.

No, wait, he didn’t say that. Hold on…

“They… they didn’t even let us get clear?” says Mark.

Uh, no, sorry, trying again.

“Well, it’s not the worst idea.” he says.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUCK. YOU.

I get that you’re mad with Godzilla. I get that as the title character with a long history, we root for the kaiju more than anybody else. I get that he took your son from you, but twice… TWICE NOW, he has saved you and the people around you with PERFECTLY TIMED ENTRANCES. Even if it was just a coincidence, I’d be at least slightly more forgiving of the lion that killed my brother by accident if it jumped in front of a tiger that was slaughtering people left and right before it leapt at me.

Twice.

There’s not even a hesitant “oh, but he did help us”. Not even a shocked disbelief that the military has a weapon that they think will kill not just one, but two (because I’m willing to bet he thought Rodan was dead) Titans, much less them firing it without warning right on top of their position. Just a “well, fuck ‘em” shrug.

Godzilla nearly dies, Ghidorah seizes control of the Titans and sets about starting the apocalypse. Finally, Serizawa says what I’ve been thinking for quite a while and says “Well, it looks like you got your wish, Mark.” with a mixture of anger, sadness and disgust.

I could go on; the Titans are rampaging and Mark goes to leave Castle Bravo to strike out on his own and rescue Madison, despite the fact that he knows that Emma will probably try to keep her safe in whatever secure hidey hole she and the Kaiju Cultists have holed up in. In the novel, he’s outright going to steal one (also his first instinct when confronted by an alpha wolf in the novel, is to blow it away with a sidearm, before realising that’s absolutely callous and horrible and tries submissive behaviour tactics instead. So hey, Movie Mark is a slightly better person than Book Mark).

Mark suggests the nuke plan and goes down with Serizawa, Chen and Rick Sanch- Stanton. Everything goes sideways and he doesn’t even fucking blink when Serizawa decides that somebody’s gotta do it manually.

Back aboard the Argo? How does he break the news to Sam, the only member of the MONARCH team that wasn’t there? Shoving Serizawa’s notebook into his chest, saying that they better not screw this up and not even fucking pausing to tell him what happened.

Mark’s self-centred attitude keeps coming back and it gets people killed. My second time viewing this film, during the two confrontation scenes with Godzilla, I wasn’t getting the “There is a massive threat in my territory!” vibe from the King of the Monsters, I was getting a “Who the hell is this asshole and why does he hate me so much?” feeling from Our Glorious Boy.

It’s a recurring theme too. Mark experiences loss, but he feels as if his loss is the only one that matters. Both he and Emma do this to Madison and it makes me mad that in trying to cope with their own loss, they shunned the one remaining child they had left. By the time they realise that, the world is literally about to end and they’re still bickering at one another.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m very vocally critical of Mark and Emma’s treatment of Madison. Both she and Mark decide to put their own ways of coping with their son’s death (constructing a device to allow for the orchestration of mass human death and convincing oneself that it’s the correct course of action/drinking booze) above Madison’s own well being.

When the chips are down, of course, they care for her and ultimately risk their lives to save her, but… congratulations for the bare minimum parenting, guys? Physically, they want her out of harm, but mentally she should either fall into line with Emma’s thinking or be there for Mark.

Godzilla and Mothra feel more like her bloody parents in this film (Godzilla saving her life when she was facing down the literal fucking devil and Mothra’s gentle interaction at the temple and reviving her from death when she appeared to have died in the novel) than the other Russells do. Both fill the archetypes of “Father” (tough, stern, but ultimately your protector) and “Mother” (gentle, nurturing and wonderful) better than the people do.

…yeah, alright, that one is a stretch, but I had that idea a while ago and I wanted to put it to paper.

In short, I’m mad at Sad Mad Dad because his character shoves the waaaaaaaay more interesting, compelling and sympathetic characters of Serizawa, Graham and his own daughter (and the actual goddamned non-monster hero of the movie), Madison out of the way of main character-ness, just so we can have somebody who is about as pleasant to interact with as a cactus.

King of the Monsters is a film that has a lot of sacrifice in it, good and bad. Emma wants to sacrifice most of humanity to save the planet. Serizawa sacrifices himself to save Godzilla and thus, the planet. Mothra sacrifices her own life to save Godzilla from King Ghidorah and so does Emma, to save her family and as redemption for her sins.

Even Madison was also ready to at least risk her own life to distract the Titans and King Ghidorah if it would even slightly disrupt his efforts to conquer the planet. She goes against terrorists, her own mother and a demonic, nigh-omnipotent being of malicious intent and faces him down with a defiant roar of her own when it looks like the end.

But Mark doesn’t sacrifice. He wants his daughter back, but he never takes a hit. Other people die for him, as a result of him and he doesn’t even recognise it. The world is at stake and he keeps his focus on his own desires, ignorant to the people around him because only his loss matters.

He might not be the genocidal monster in the film that Emma was, that Jonah and of course, Ghidorah certainly were. But he has a very narrow and dispassionate world-view and outside of certain cartoons with comedic circumstances, I don’t care much for that at all.

TL;DR: Madison should have been the central protagonist, because I like her more.

#Godzilla #Godzilla: King of the Monsters #Mark Russell

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johnsbleu · 6 years

Text

Hold My Hand: John Wick & Reader Chapter 4

Warnings: None

The next week drags on as you're not able to talk to John. The store is having its annual fall sale on Saturday and you've been busy getting everything ready for the weekend, which luckily you have off. Thankfully, Tess works with you, making the days fun and not as long. It's a Friday afternoon, and you and Tess are rifling through the books for the sale.

"Hey, I haven't really gotten the chance to properly ask you, because of all this," she waves her hands around all the books, "how was your date with John?"

“It was good." you sigh and frown.

You missed him, and the sound of his name made the ache in your chest hurt even more. You hated how quickly you were falling for him.

"Good? That's it? Come on, tell me more." Tess begins pushing you, knowing that you'll give in and tell her everything. Sliding the books aside on the table so she can sit, she looks at you until you finally begin to speak.

"It was really nice, we went to this fancy restaurant that I can't even begin to imagine how much it cost. The hostess kept giving John looks and flirting with him. Didn't like that." you look over at Tess and she's nodding, encouraging you to keep going. You shift on your feet and pull up a chair sitting down.

“Keep going!”

"He held my hand, that was pretty cute. Found out he restores books, who knows, he could have some books here. Then, we went for a walk along the river before the rain ruined that."

You look around the dingy little shop in which you work before you look down and start playing with a loose thread on your sweater. Tess can tell something is bothering you and she scoots closer to you.

"What's wrong? Oh, my god, was he creepy at the end of the night? I hate when that happens, you think they're all nice and sweet and then..." she starts rambling on, presumably from past experiences. You let out a laugh and reassure her that she was a perfect gentleman the whole night.

"No, no, no, it was just...when I asked about his job, I don't know, he seemed a little restrained. It was almost like he wanted to tell me more, but he couldn't or something. All he said was that he restored books..." you get up from the chair and distract yourself with your work, “It's probably nothing, maybe he just hasn't dated in a while, so he isn't sure how to talk about himself."

Tess gets up and grabs a stack of books in her hands, “Don't be so hard on yourself. He's totally into you. Remember, I know everything” She winks at you and places them on the table.

It's a little past 2 when the bell above the door alerts you of the customer entering the store.

“I got it.” Tess hops up and heads to the front of the store.

You hear Tess calling your name and as you round the corner, you look up and see John standing looking at some books on the rack. Having no mirror you fix your hair as best as possible, tucking it neatly behind your ear and walk over to him. When he turns to see you, his face brightens and you can see the adoration in his eyes.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” you ask and he pulls you into a hug. Against his warm chest, you feel safe, and you realize this is the first time you've hugged. Backing away so you can look up at him, he looks around your store.

"I just wanted to stop by and ask if you maybe wanted to go with me tomorrow to Central Park. I bring Bleu there sometimes and let him run around. I thought we could pack a picnic." His dark locks look especially soft and fluffy today, and you want so badly to run your fingers through his hair.

“Yes, I'd love that.” You feel a smile tugging at your lips and you blush.

“Perfect, I thought you could come by around noon and we can make some sandwiches to take.”

He takes a book off the shelf and carelessly flips through it and places it back where he got it, then moves over to you, pulling you into a hug that lasts long enough to cause Tess to clear her throat.

“I'll see you later.” he says, with his lips pressed against your head. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air after he’s gone.

“He is so into you,” she starts to fan herself, “I could feel the sexual tension from this side of the counter.”

You laugh and roll your eyes at her, retreating to the back office to continue divvying up the books for the sale.

The next day, you wake up and hop in the shower taking your time to get ready for your date with John. Peeking out the window and checking the weather, you see it’s warm and sunny.

You pull out a thin sweater and some black leggings, and pull on your favorite boots and give yourself a once over in the mirror. You reach over to your phone and check the time. 11:46. You grab your bag and head to the door, knowing you'll be a little early, but you can help make the food, plus it's extra time you get to spend with John.

You knock a few times and hear the familiar sound of his footsteps as he makes his way to the door. He opens the door so fast, the sudden rush of air blows his hair away from his face and you notice a light bruise near his hairline.

“Hey, come in, I was just getting the stuff out for sandwiches.”

When you walk into the bright white kitchen, you see all the fixings for sandwiches laid out on the center island.

“Wow you really went all out,” you say and John looks over at you. For a moment, he almost looks sad and you reach out to touch his arm reassuring him, “You could have just had peanut butter and jelly and I would have been fine with that, but this is good too.”

Packing everything into the wicker basket, which you assume John purposely went out and bought just for today, you grab Bleu's leash and tuck it under your arm. John grabs a brown leather jacket and puts it on and fishes his keys out of his pocket.

Opening the door, John gestures to the front porch, “After you...”

After walking for a few minutes, you find a nice little spot under a tree and unfold the blanket that John had packed and sit down. John groans as he sits down next to you and rubs his knee.

You furrow your brow and look at his knee then back up at him, "Are you okay?"

John looks at you, a little shocked that you even noticed him rubbing his knee, "Oh, yeah, it's nothing. Just work..."

He looks up and readies himself for your questions. You shrug it off as Bleu starts whining for your attention. He's growing more and more impatient as he sniffs the wicker basket, knowing there's a sandwich John had packed for him. John opens the basket and hands you a sandwich, then places Bleu's down on the grass and he begins to devour it happily.

He looks over at you and perks up, “Favorite flower?”

You pretend to give it a hard thought, tapping your finger on your chin, “Hmm, well, I really love sunflowers and as cliche as it is, I love roses too.”

John looks as if he's filing all the information away in his mind, “How about your favorite color?”

“Blue. Every shade of blue, really.”

He nods, agreeing it's a great color and pats Bleu on his head.

There's a lull in the conversation and you look over to see a couple getting their pictures taken for what you assume is their engagement announcements. John notices you staring and turns around to see what you're looking at.

At the sight of the happy couple posing, he clears his throat and it brings you back to him, “Tell me about your family?”

“Well, I grew up with a single mom, no dad. Long story. But I do have 1 brother. They live back home, so I don't get to see them much, but I talk to my mom quite a bit. I actually told her I was going out on a date today.”

John smiles to himself and pops the last bit of his sandwich in his mouth, then wipes himself clean with a napkin.

“She asked what you looked like, I told her that you're very handsome and that I'll have to snap a picture because I don't think describing you would do you justice.” you look over at John and smile. His eyes are kind and appreciative at the sound of your compliment and his cheeks become flushed.

Finishing your lunch John suggests running the basket back to the car which is parked on the street only a few feet away. You stand up and brush the crumbs off your pants and grab Bleu's leash hooking it to his collar.

As John makes his way back over to you, his hair is blowing in the wind and you catch a glimpse of the bruise on his forehead again. He notices you staring and you look away.

“How about you, what about your family?” you ask, as he takes the leash from you and grabs a hold of your hand, and it feels so small compared to his and butterflies start floating around in your stomach.

He clears his throat, almost hesitating, “I, actually, uh..don't really have a family.” You stop walking and John stops and turns around looking at you and smiles, “What?”

Shocked, you shake your head, “How do you not have a family?”

“I was put into foster care when I was young, and kind of just drifted from home to home. When I was 19, I was lost, so I joined the Marines.”

You look at him up and down thinking about how this man, who is soft as can be, was once a tough Marine. Then, you remember the day you touched his bicep and nod to yourself.

“I met a man named Marcus while I was in there and he helped me out a lot. He was the closest thing I ever had to family.” he looks down at you as process it all.

“I mean, at least you have him. That's good.”

As soon as you speak, John looks off into the distance and you immediately know you said something wrong.

“Actually, he passed away a few years ago.”

Your right hand comes flying up to cover your mouth, and you let go of John's hand and sit on the bench that's nearby.

“Holy shit, John. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories.”

What an idiot.

You start to ramble like you do when you get nervous, apologizing profusely and John sits down next to you while Bleu lays on the ground at your feet. He grabs your hand and brings it to his mouth, pressing a small kiss onto it and his lips linger there for a moment.

“It's okay. I know you didn't mean to. I brought up your family first.” John laughs and squeezes your hand.

You let out a big breath and lean back on the bench scooting closer to John, resting your head on his shoulder. You sit there in silence for several minutes before John pulls a tennis ball from his pocket, and at the sight of the lime green ball, Bleu is standing and waiting for John to throw it. You stand and walk with John over to the patch of grass, and you take turns throwing the ball for Bleu.

On the way home, you're stuck in pesky New York traffic and the car is silent, but outside, you can hear the city booming with life. You begin to apologize to John again, feeling like absolute shit.

“John, seriously, I'm sorry if I brought up any bad memories. It certainly wasn't my intention. If I had known, I never would have asked.”

Rubbing your forehead with your hand, John looks over at you and takes your hand in his. He keeps his eyes on the road, and when you're at a stand still again, he shifts in his seat and leans over pressing his hands against your face.

“Seriously, it's okay. I promise.” he smiles.

As his hand descends back down to find yours, it grazes your left breast slightly and you both look at each other. John's lips part as he starts to lean towards you, and a loud horn ruins the moment as the jerk behind you is getting impatient. You burst out laughing when you see how red John's face has gone, clearly embarrassed.

Pulling up the long gravel driveway to John's house, you half expect him to say goodbye when he invites you into his house, “If you want, I can show you some of my books.”

Touched that he'd even offer such a thing, you immediately agree, also knowing you want to spend as much time with him as possible.

Following behind John down the stairs, you reach the bottom step and see all the books along the wall to the left and immediately, a smile begins to grow on your face.

“Wow, you..really have a lot of books.” you gasp when you see Thomas Bewick's Fables of Aesop. “No way, you have this? And it's a first edition.”

You're impressed, realizing how much it probably cost him.

“Yeah, these are just some I've collected throughout the years.” he gestures over to the other shelf and pulls out a book. A book full of fairy-tales. “I don't know why, but I feel like you'd like this.”

He hands the heavy book to you, opening it you notice his stamp inside the cover. You're becoming more impressed by the minute.

“I want you to have it.” he says as he looks you deep into your eyes.

You shove the book into his chest, “I can't. You worked so hard on this, I can't just take it.”

“You're not taking it, I'm giving it to you. There's a difference.” his voice calm and soothing to your ears.

He starts to move in closer and when he's inches from your face his phone rings. You sigh and close your eyes as he excuses himself to answer the phone.

You bend down to look at the books on the lower shelf and find Bleu standing next to you begging for your attention. You scratch the dog on his head and rub his ears. You can hear John's deep voice coming from upstairs but can't make out the words. Is that even English?

Finally, you hear him making his way back down the stairs apologizing for having to take a call. Standing up, you cross your arms in front of you, holding the book tight against your chest.

“It was just work. Something has come up and I'll need to go out of town for a week or two. Could you possibly do me a favor while I'm gone?”

He spreads his legs out and lowers himself so you're almost at eye level. He places his hands on your elbows and you feel your knees giving out from under you. Willing to do just about anything for this man that you barely know, you nod your head.

“Would you watch Bleu while I'm gone? He hates staying in the hotel and he doesn't like staying at any of the boarding places. And he obviously loves you.”

You both look down to see Bleu looking up at the two of you wagging his tail. You gladly accept knowing April and Tess will love having a dog around, especially one as cute and cuddly as Bleu. John thanks you and you head upstairs where he starts packing a bag for Bleu.

“I usually bring him for a walk in the morning and once again in the evening, but if he only gets one walk, that's fine too.” John makes sure to pack all of Bleu's favorite toys and hands it to you, “I figure you can take this now, I won't be leaving for a few hours, so I'll bring him over before I leave.”

The realizations that you won't see John for a while starts to set in, and John can see that you're getting upset and is making his way over to where you're standing. He grabs your chin with his index finger and thumb and raises your head slightly so you're looking at him.

“Hey, I'll try to get this done with as fast as possible and I'll be back before you know it.”

You start to pout and he laughs, leaning down to press his lips against yours. Firm, but soft. You feel like you're floating and your hands trail up his chest and around his neck to keep yourself in place, and he pulls you in deepening the kiss.

His hands are engulfing your ribs and are slowly moving down your waist to your ass. Finally, you break away from his kiss, almost gasping for air and he presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek and finally back on your lips.

“I should probably go pack.” he says, softly

You nod, not wanting this moment to end yet, but know he needs to pack. He lets go of you and backs away, and you find yourself missing his touch already. You grab Bleu's bag and your book from the kitchen table, then make your way to the front door.

“I'll be by with Bleu in a little bit.” he smiles at you and gives you one last kiss.

A few hours pass and you're laying on your bed looking at the book John gave you when you hear a knock at the door.

“I got it!” April yells out as you quickly got up and walked over to the mirror making sure your hair isn't too bad.

You hear John introducing Bleu to April when you start making your way down the stairs. You can't help but get butterflies when you see John in a dark blue three piece suit and his hair slicked back out of his face.

“He doesn't beg much, but sometimes he put on his sad face in hopes it'll help him get some food.”

April kneels down to pet Bleu and looks back up at John, “I have a feeling you're not one to turn him down. It works, doesn't it?”

John takes a big breath and lets out a laugh moving his hand to cover his mouth, “Yeah, actually it does.”

As you reach the bottom step, John turns to face you and you raise your eyebrows and point at his suit and then his hair, “Not bad. You look very handsome.”

A slow redness creeps onto his cheeks, and he looks down at his feet and smiles. You look over at April who is already on the couch with Bleu showering with him cuddles and kisses, and both of them loving every minute of it.

John looks over at his dog and walks over to say goodbye. He grabs his face and plants a big kiss on his head. “I'll be back soon boy, I think you're in good hands.”

Walking onto your porch, you close the door behind you and turn around to face John who is standing on the sidewalk. You're standing on the steps and you're at eye level for once. He wraps his arms around your waist and brings you in close. Placing your arms around his neck you stare into his eyes as you both smile.

“Oh, I want to give you this before I leave,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key, “I thought you could get my mail for me and leave it on the table. I have a lot of books too, you know if you're bored or something.”

You take the key from John and smile as you walk John over to his car and prepare for goodbye.

“Again, I'll try and call you. Hopefully I can get all this done and be back sooner.”

You lean against his car and cross your arms, “What are you going out of town for?”

He swallows hard and looks away from you, “There's a client that needs me to, uh,” he starts playing with his car keys, “Come check out some of his books, and he wants me to track some down as well.”

Even though you work in a book store, you don't know much about tracking down rare books so you shrug it off. You reach out to grab his hand, “Okay, well I'll see you soon.”

He takes both your hands in his and brings them to his cheeks to cup them, feeling his scruff against your delicate skin. His big, calloused hands on your back and he pulls you for a hug, and you stand there for what seems like an eternity before he lets go and kisses your temple. He gets in his car and you lean in the window pressing a messy kiss on his lips.

“Don't forget about me, okay?”

“That's impossible.” He says smiling against your lips.

#John Wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #fic: hold my hand

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cooperjones2020 · 7 years

Text

What’s Past is Prologue, What to Come, pt. 4

Summary: He wanted to hit whoever made Betty cry. He wanted to hit Betty so she’d keep crying. Interrelated vignettes from Jughead Jones’s obsession with Betty Cooper. Dark!Jug, Creepy!Jug, Stalker!Jug, generally Sociopathic!Jug.

A/N: We’re ditching the Shakespeare. Instead, I leave you with this quote which is delightfully creepy out of context: “Since he longed to take possession of something deep inside them, he needed to slit them open” (Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, 215).

TW: implied child abuse (for this chapter specifically, check the other tags on ao3)

(parts one, two, and three)

ao3—>http://archiveofourown.org/works/11394858/chapters/26628525

By the time he stood across from her in the dusty classroom that housed five ancient PC monitors, two typewriters, and a microfiche reader, Jughead had given up fighting his obsession with Betty Cooper. He had given up fighting the way it hurt when she looked at Archie. He liked the hurt, liked the pain, liked the reminder he was alive.

When Betty and Archie seemed to be alright, after the disastrous night of the back to school dance, Jughead felt the embers in his stomach die down. But that ease of tensions came coupled with a new awareness of Betty. She seemed lighter to him. Not that she felt that way—he could still sometimes see her struggle with the ashes of her feelings, could see her face fall when she thought no one was looking. But the air around her seemed to be lighter, as if some of the threads that tied to her to Archie had been cut.

When he appeared in the doorway of the student newspaper office, he did so silently, so she didn’t notice him where she was bent over her work behind one of the ancient computer monitors. She wore a burgundy top today, new, one he hadn’t seen and that provided a marked contrast to her normal colour palette. He liked it. He liked the possibilities it represented.

“If print journalism is dead, what am I doing here?” he asked her, leaning against the doorway with one leg crossed over the other.

“The Blue and Gold isn’t dead, Juggie. It’s just dormant,” she replied, pressing her hands together in front of her heart, before running a finger along a dusty keyboard. “But waking up. You’re writing a novel, right? About Jason Blossom’s murder?”

“I am. Riverdale’s very own In Cold Blood.” He plucked a magnifying glass out of a pencil cup and held it up in front of him, looking at Betty through it.

“Which started out as a series of articles. I’m hoping you’ll come write for the Blue and Gold.” She looked so hopeful, so earnest and untouchable, he was a goner before he even walked in.

He tried anyway. “I just don’t think the school paper’s the right fit for my voice.”

“Juggie, Jason’s death changed Riverdale. People don’t wanna admit that, but it’s true. We all feel it. Nothing this bad was ever supposed to happen here, but it did. I wanna know why.” Every time she called him Juggie, his heart rate slowed down. It had been her nickname for him since they were kids and its effects were just as strong and just as addictive as morphine.

“Would I get complete freedom?” It was a feint, but he was interested in her answer.

“I-I’ll help and edit and suggest but it’s your story. It’s your voice.”

“Doesn’t sound like complete freedom but I’m in.”

“Okay, great. Um, in that case, I have your first assignment.” She did that thing with her hands again, like she was in an old episode of the Donna Reed Show and her body just couldn’t contain its joy. “There’s one person who was at the river on July 4th that no one’s talking about.”

“Dilton Doiley and his scouts.”

“Exactly.”

He brushed his thumb off his nose in gesture of camaraderie and conspiracy and turned to leave. He didn’t need complete freedom. He’d lost it long ago in any case. But, since the dance, and the night he and Archie had joined her and Veronica at Pop’s, he did need increasing access to Elizabeth Cooper.

We crave absolutes. They comfort us. But life is infinitely more complex than that. He was still attempting to untangle the threads that used to bind Betty to Archie when he discovered Archie and Grundy in the music classroom and it fucked everything up. It threw off his entire world axis in which Archie was deserving of Betty and he, Jughead, was not. Then, Betty found out about it. And with that, she threatened to slip back out of his control.

Closer access to Betty Cooper meant many things for Jughead Jones. It meant re-memorizing the smell of her hair and analyzing all the micro expressions that gave him insight into her moods. It meant resuming his game of guessing which underwear she was wearing that day, double points if he figured it out before he saw her bra strap.

It also meant seeing the places her enamel was wearing thin. After Dilton had left and they’d discussed the connotations of Archie being with Grundy at the river’s edge, Betty snapped a pencil in two with the force of the grip of her left hand. But she kept talking as if she hadn’t noticed.

He cut her off, “Betts, promise you’ll sleep on it before you go off the rails. We don’t know for sure what happened.”

She was staring at the cork board over his left shoulder. He could count the veins in the purplish skin beneath her eyes. He knew she wasn’t sleeping.

He slowly reached forward and unclenched her hand, removing the broken pencil pieces and brushing away the splinters that clung to her palm. She didn’t flinch, or even blink, when he touched her fresh half-moon cuts.

He wasn’t really sure how he wound up in a booth at Pop’s with Kevin and Veronica. He’d been typing away on his laptop, content as he was capable of being, when Betty walked in. Next thing he knew, he was ranting about the drive-in to a semi-captive audience. At least she’d bought him a burger again.

“The drive-in closing is just one more nail in the coffin that is Riverdale. No. Forget Riverdale. In the coffin of the American Dream. As the godfather of indie cinema, Quentin Tarantino, likes to say—”

“Please, God, no more Quentin Tarantino references,” Kevin cut him off.

“What? I’m pissed. And not just about losing my job. The Twilight Drive-In should mean something to us. People should be trying to save it.” The drive-in, the diner, the friendly neighborhood Hitchcock blonde to his right, all of the pieces of Riverdale that looked so great on paper. That, cliche as they were, kept him from sliding into the darkness that loomed.

Veronica interrupted his thoughts. “In this age of Netflix and VOD, do people really want to watch a movie in a car? I mean, who even goes there?”

“People who want to buy crack.” Trust the sheriff’s son to dismiss such an iconic emblem of working class Americana and Jughead right along with it.

“And cinephiles and car enthusiasts, right, Betts?” Betty knew what he was talking about, she knew what the drive-in meant to him.

“Totally.” But she wasn’t paying attention to him. He began tapping out a staccato rhythm with his foot.

“Anyway, it’s closing because the town owns it but didn’t invest in it. So when an anonymous buyer made Mayor McCoy an offer she couldn’t refuse—” Jughead stared out the window as he spoke.

“Anonymous buyer? What do they have to hide? No one cares.”

“I do. Also you guys should all come to closing night. I’m thinking American Graffiti. Or is that too obvious?” He directed it at the three of them, but he looked at Betty.

“I vote for anything starring Audrey Hepburn. Or Cate Blanchett.” Surprise, surprise.

“Or The Talented Mr. Ripley. Betty, your choices?”

“Everything okay, B?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just thinking. Um…Maybe Rebel Without a Cause?” Betty flicked her eyes at him and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling at her.

He turned his attention back to his dinner and contemplated the possibility that maybe one or two of the threads that used to connect Betty to Archie might now connect to him instead. He vaguely registered Veronica getting up and returning and the sound of the bell on the door jingling behind him.

“Now that’s an odd combo of people,” Kevin said.

Jughead and Betty both turned to look over their shoulders in one motion. It was Archie, Fred, and Grundy. Fuck. He glanced at Betty. Her mouth dropped open.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Betty, no. Don’t.” He made a half-hearted attempt to reach for her, his hand closing on empty air. He wanted to protect her, but what more could he do? She needed to snip the rest of the threads on her own. And truthfully? Archie needed a Betty Cooper-style kick in the ass.

Jughead grimaced at the two of them out of the window.

Again, Veronica’s voice intruded. “What’s happening out there? Do we know? Is it about me?”

Archie’s back was to him, but he could see the hurt and concern all over Betty’s beautiful face. “I have a strong inkling. And no. Also, I’d let it go.”

“Yes, but you’re you and I’m me. You do you, girl. I’ll be back.” He rolled his eyes at Veronica and settled lower in the booth.

“What was it like before she got here? I honestly cannot remember.”

Jughead didn’t respond. He sneered and ate the strawberry off Betty’s milkshake.

His final attempt to save the drive-in had been a bust. Mayor McCoy shot him down and even Fred wouldn’t help him. So, Rebel Without a Cause played to a full house. Of course. Nothing like nostalgia to pack them in.

Jughead watched from the projection room. She didn’t come. Whenever she came to the drive-in, she’d come up to the booth and drag him down to socialize for a while. Or she joined him up there with a blanket and some snacks.

He texted her, a little while after the movie started, but she didn’t respond.

She didn’t come.

The chill woke Jughead early the next morning. Indian summer had faded and no one had ever bothered to insulate the projection booth. He registered that he had a novel of a text from Betty sitting unread on his phone. He wasn’t ready to answer her yet.

He ate a stale pop tart and, from his seat next to the projector, he surveyed his dilapidated kingdom. A plastic bag blew across the empty lot. Discarded soda cans and spilled popcorn decorated the grass like some kind of fucked up Christmas tree.

When he could delay it no more, he stood to finish packing.

The Betty box had grown over the years. It took up more than half his backpack space, but he wouldn’t risk leaving it at the trailer. A drunk FP was an unpredictable FP.

Jughead watched the last reel finish winding then did a slow turn around the room that had been his only safe haven the past few months. He grabbed a shirt he’d missed packing, shoved it in his backpack, and, with an old photo of him and Jellybean in hand, closed the door.

He didn’t exactly need to add vandalism to his record, but seeing as Fred was the one tearing the drive-in down, he reckoned he was pretty safe. So he marked out “JUGHEAD JONES WUZ HERE” in black spray paint along with an outline of his crown on the side of the concession stand.

Then he tossed the can of spray paint away, to join the litter on the ground. When he turned to leave, FP was standing behind him. Jughead looked away so they wouldn’t make eye contact.

His father and the Serpents had been hanging around the drive-in for months, but he only sought him out when he hit the level of drunk of slurring his words and talking about reuniting their family. It was a little early, even for FP, but Jughead still didn’t want to talk to him.

When his father spoke though, his words were clear: “They’ll tear that booth down too. Raze the whole place, send it to the junkyard. And us with it.”

“Yeah. Or maybe they’ll save it. All the pieces. Store it in the town hall attic and rebuild it in a hundred years. Wonder who the hell we were.” The image made him smile. Then he remembered who he was talking to and cut his eyes away to frown at the ground.

“So where you gonna live now?”

“I’ll figure it out, Dad. I always do.” He just barely stopped himself from checking his dad with his bag as he walked past. That kind of aggression never worked out well for him with FP, and he didn’t need any more surprise injuries that needed explaining away to Betty.

#bughead fanfiction #riverdale fanfiction #bughead #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #mine #wpip #canon compliant #tw: child abuse

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beckytext · 7 years

Text

Okay, so we’re doing this.

The Mary Sue discussion is happening on Twitter again. I don’t know what set it off (this was the first tweet I saw about it; here is my own thread). The points I have made in short are:

1: I think it’s a good thing that teenage girls are imagining stories where they are the awesome center of action;

2: I don’t care if the quality of those stories is bad, because most of the people writing them are still learning to write, and anyway, bad stories on the internet hurt no one;

3: “Mary Sue” is a super gendered, sexist insult that has nothing to do with actually critiquing characters and is instead a way of policing teenage girls, women, and the characters they write.

So to get into it a bit, here is the story of How I Realized Mary Sue Critiques Are Total Bullshit.

So some history: when I was in sixth grade, Sailor Moon aired in the US for the first time. Needless to say, I loved it, and it had an enormous impact on me. A couple of years later -- somewhere around 1997, seventh or eighth grade -- my family got AOL. Somehow, early on, I stumbled onto the Cartoon Network message boards and discovered other people who loved Sailor Moon, and from there, found mailing lists of yet more likeminded fans. One of those mailing lists held a Sailor Moon fanfiction contest.

(Hey, this got long, so the rest of it is -- as we used to say in the LJ Days of Yore -- behind the cut.)

The thing was, I’d been writing fanfiction in my head for as long as I could remember -- but I didn’t know that was the kind of thing that people actually wrote down. So I did, and my terrible story got an honorable mention, and I was hooked. I spent the next few years of my life living in fandom, creating OCs and spinning epic stories and making friends with other people who did the same. It was awesome.

But the one cloud that hung over it was this attitude I kept running into that all original Sailor Scout characters were Mary Sues -- especially if they were Sailor Earth characters (which, uh, mine was). And not one but several communities sprang up to mock those characters. The characters were written by earnest girls like me, who wanted to be part of the show we loved, to have fun imagining ourselves that way, and to share those stories with other people who were also having fun that way.

Those communities were... well, terrifying. Some mocked line by line, MST3K style; some linked to character profiles with mean commentary. Sometimes they were clever! But mostly they were just kind of nasty. And they all came with lists of rules about what did or didn’t make for Mary Sues. You were never allowed to have a character who was: too powerful, too confident, had a weird hair color (even though canon characters had blue and green hair?!), was named after you, used Earth powers, used star powers, was best friends with any characters on the show, was romantically linked to any characters from the show, could sing well or was otherwise talented, was too clumsy, was too smart, etc, etc, etc. And oh yeah, She Had To Be Flawed.

Viewed in a charitable light, I can understand it. The basic gist of “these are cliches, avoid them” is not a terrible thing. But I was 13, 14, 15 and just starting to share my writing, and that advice was not shared in empathetic ways, and there was not yet much backlash advice of “actually, most writing advice is bullshit, do what you want.” (Which I think we do see more of now, which is a good thing.) I took it seriously. So did my friends. So yes, we worried a lot about Doing It Wrong, which meant that instead of being able to go wild with our imaginations and write the stories that delighted us, we were shrinking into what was acceptable. Trying to write within parameters that other people had set for us, trying not to cross any boundaries into what was Bad and Mockable, treating someone’s kind of mean rules as gospel. (There were literal quizzes you could take, with ticky boxes, to test if your character was a Mary Sue -- score too high on it and you’d better Give Her Some Flaws!)

Okay, so, fast forward a couple of years. One of the best things fandom gave me was contact with other writers my own age, who, like me, were writing both fanfic and original fiction, who had daydreams of being published someday. We shared those stories, too. And because we were young and just learning (hey, did you know it’s okay to be just learning how to do something?!) a lot of them were pretty bad. But we supported each other, and that was the first taste I had of other people reading and enjoying my writing. It was awesome.

But the scourge of Mary Sue Mocking had spread. It wasn’t ever really just Sailor Moon fandom, but the who idea had expanded. Every fandom had its own variety of Mary Sue test, and yes, people began looking at original fiction as well. (And this was well before the days of “Batman is Mary Sue!” counter arguments. Is it clear yet that I am an Old?)

So I’d known for awhile that I felt kind of ooky about the Mary Sue mockery. I’d grown out of Sailor Moon fandom, and into and out of a few others, all of which had their own patterns of Mary Sues (and mockery there of). I was just... increasingly uncomfortable with it. And then one day I ran across another litmus test of the ticky box variety. It was for characters in original fiction.

I thought about my sprawling fantasy epic, the one I’d been sharing online for a few years, the one I had a few friends who’d drawn art for. The one with pretty half-angel boys and angry warrior girls. The one I’d been pouring my heart and soul into.

Nervously, I took the quiz.

Hooooo boy, was my awesome female OC a Mary Sue. (I just did some googling; I’m not positive but I think this may have been the one I took.) Here are some examples of questions my character “failed” by answering yes:

5. Is your character a teenager?

6. Does your character have a tragic past?

17. Is your character the sole surviving member of some great tragedy, genocide, or the last of a house or species?

23. Was your character adopted, orphaned, a runaway, stolen at birth or in any other way raised by someone who is not the character's own parents.

31. Is your character any sort of nobility or royalty?

33. Does your character have strangely coloured hair, or hair that changes throughout the story?

35. Are there prophesies about your character? And okay, I’m not going to claim my teenage fantasy epic was a brilliant feat of characterization. I wrote it from roughly ages 16-20; it was a mess. But it wasn’t a mess because my protagonist had survived a massacre of her home as a child and was raised by her grandfather, and also turned out to secretly be a long-lost princess. It was a mess because, you know, I was still learning to write.

And all of those things I ticked off on the quiz? They were staples of the fantasy genre. Because I was writing a fantasy story. And the character ticked off all those boxes because she was the protagonist. It was her story, so of course she was the character of legend; of course she was the survivor of tragedy; of course she was the long-lost princess. The story wasn’t warped around her to make her super special. The story was built around her, because protagonists are supposed to be super special.

(Yes, even “everyman” protagonists. I mean, which is more reality warping -- the idea that a character who survived a tragedy and was raised to be a warrior ended up leading armies against the oppressors who’d murdered her parents, or the idea that a bland normal dude is going to suddenly fall in with a group where everyone else is super special and unlock his own super special powers that eventually let him save the day? H I N T: he can only do that because he’s also super special, no matter how bland he is. /tangent)

In short (ha, too late!), what it came down to was this: I realized that stories of all kinds revolve around their protagonists. That is, actually, good writing -- no one wants to read a story without decent characters. And if that makes the protagonist special, well, yeah. That’s kind of how stories work. And if the protagonist is a girl, people are going to call her a Mary Sue and hate her for some reason. (H I N T: misogyny.)

So at that point I decided, fuck it, if that’s a Mary Sue, then I’ll read and write Mary Sues to my heart’s content, and defend the rights of everyone else to do the same. Because while I was driven by spite to keep writing, it could easily have gone another way, and gotten me to stop all together. I saw that happen to a lot of my fannish friends back in the day, and that really sucks. Again: learning to write is a process. Being mean to people who are beginners doesn’t actually help most of them, it’s just discouraging.

Bad writing -- at least, when we’re talking about “bad because Amethyst Orbs” and not “bad because Racist Caricature” for example -- doesn’t hurt anyone. Writing is a skill; like any other, it takes practice to get better.

And you can get better if you keep working at it. How do I know?

*points to Bound by Blood and Sand, AKA the fulfillment of my teenage daydream, AKA a book about a teenage girl who is definitely the most special person in her world, AKA a book I freaking wrote that’s published by freaking Random House*

Just sayin’.

Spite is a great motivator. Write the story you want, teenage girls, and fuck anyone who doesn’t like it.

#writing #writind advice #mary sues #original characters #this is the hill I will die on #beckytext

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vagrantblvrd · 4 years

Text

Superhero/supervillain AU where Jeremy’s power is shapeshitfing something along the lines of Mystique.

Pair that with his incredible ability to mislead/lie/etc., and there’s an amazing AU of superhero!Jeremy who is recruited by government agencies/superhero teams for undercover work and so on.

Spends 99% of his adult career in the superhero field as someone else - guy has henchpersoned for the most vile superheros on Earth (and other worlds, because why not) and all that?

Maybe his bosses take advantage of his skills/abilities - God knows younger Jeremy wasn’t super bright - and maybe he’s responsible for a few injustices. (Wrongfully convicted people that begged him to think about what he was doing and he just thought they were trying to flip him?)

And you know at some point one of his bosses is sekritly a baddie and frames Jeremy for some horrendous incident.

A bus of nuns chaperoning orphans on their way to adopt kittens and puppies rescued from breeding mills that featured in a news segment with Sarah McLachlan in the background because someone on the news crew forgot to put their phone on silent and it’s their ringtone because they love sadness or some shit, idk, but it makes Jeremy look awful, okay?

He has to go on the run and the only one he can turn to is, you know, this supervillain type in Ryan?

Former superhero0ish government agent/whatever Jeremy was who got burned the same way and fakes his death to come back as a masked supervillain.

He was supposed to be Jeremy’s next assignment but Ryan got a new head henchperson in Gavin instead, and just.

Yes.

The three of them working together to expose the baddie who framed Jeremy because common enemy/goals?

And Jeremy realizing how he’s been used all this time.

Ryan is like.

Obviously doesn’t trust Jeremy, but he knows what it’s like to be in his position? But he can’t go easy on Jeremy so he and Gavin basically haze him?

Send him off to do the grunt work when something like that needs doing. (Lol at him over the cameras they’ve got watching him as he has to slog through the sewers looking for an entrance to some facility or other they plan to infiltrate. One not on the blueprints - and doesn’t actually exist because someone gave them bad intel and the knew that? But they don’t let Jeremy in on it until he returns to the base/lair and is like no success, guys.

AND.

Sparring sessions with Gavin on the sidelines on his laptop or whatever and Jeremy and Ryan really going at it?

Ryan intentionally provoking Jeremy, needling him about all his past missions and how many times did he do the baddie’s dirty work for him? How many lives has he ruined and so on until Jeremy mcfreaking snaps.

Has been trying not to think about that until they stop the baddie and he can wallow all he wants? But Ryan won’t let him.

Ryan totally lets Jeremy pin him, this close to actually killing him in his anger?

But then Gavin’s there, calm and cold and ruthless with this knife or what have you at Jeremy’s throat and a polite, “Perhaps you should rethink things, Jeremy,” or “I don’t think so,” or something else super cool sounding my brain won’t cough up right now, but like.

The first time Jeremy sees Gavin as the threat he is and not just this somewhat bumbling henchperson?

Also.

He looks at Ryan and the isn’t gloating like he thought he would be? Hes just. Got this look on his face that’s a bit satisfied because you know the same thing happened to Ryan before, something that made him take a good long look at his life and the things he’d done thinking he was in the right and just, idk.

Then that whole sequence of Jeremy really re-evaluating his life up to that point. All the shit he did as a government agent/superhero/??? and how everything went wrong when he was framed.

Even the way he’d been looking at Ryan and Jeremy as temporary allies, useful in the moment but no real reason to give a fuck about them once everything was over? (Except there was this part of him that had grown to like them, even if they were bastards to him at first?)

While this is going on one of his old bosses finds him and offers him a deal - help them put a stop to the baddie and they can clear his name. Reinstate him, promote him, whatever, because they’re desperate and think Jeremy’s just going to fall in line that easily now. (Oh, and when Jeremy mentions Ryan and Gavin he’s told they have to be stopped as well because supervillains??? Duh, Jeremy.)

Anyway, Jeremy tells them he’ll think about it and goes back to the base/lair.

Ryan has this look on his face like he knows something happened, but he doesn’t mention it. Turns back to Gavin who’s briefing him - and other henchpersons - about some new intel they got while Jeremy was gone.

Gavin glances at him, and Jeremy has the feeling he knows something is up too, but like Ryan doesn’t bring it up.

This intel that will help them get the baddie for sure this time and everyone works on some plan to that end.

Jeremy feeling guilty as hell the whole time because on one hand he could have his life back, get a damn promotion he should have gotten ages ago in the bargain and all that?

And all he has to do is betray Ryan and Gavin and the others who took him in when his life got all fucked up.

He keeps getting these looks from Ryan and Gavin - and like. Other henchpersons, but no one says anything.

The sparring sessions and whatnot continue and one day Jeremy’s like oh, fuck me, because Ryan and Gavin are going at it in the training room, right?

All Ryan’s power and strength up against Gavin’s speed and agility and it’s the cliche of it looking like they’re dancing rather than fighting?

Because, look.

There’s probably some history between them too, you know?

Former agent/superhero Ryan and this absolutel fucking bastard in Gavin who’s some internationally renowned thief/assassin and their flirty/sexual tension-filled encounters over the years?

Gavin being the one to help Ryan when he was betrayed by his bosses/whatever and all this trust and the whatnot, and of course they know one another’s fighting style forwards and backwards and all that.

Anyway.

They’re having a fucking blast, trading quips and pithy one-liners and it’s like. Jeremy doesn’t even know because it goes so far beyond the oh, no, he/they’re hot thing into something completely else.

And then!

The day of the Final Battle and the three of them at the forefront and Jeremy being forced to choose between getting his old life back, or....not.

Baddie’s been stopped/killed by his own hand because of course, and now it’s this one last choice on Jeremy’s part.

Ryan took a bad hit in the fight and Gavin protecting him with his body and -

He’s not even giving Jeremy a pleading look, with Jeremy standing there and choice to save them or destroy them in the pal of his hand (to be all fricking poetic about it), no.

He’s just watching Jeremy like hey, no, he gets it, he does, and also after all this, what’s your decision gong be, hmm? like he’s expecting Jeremy to betray them.

So of course Jeremy gets angry, fucking pissed, because he didn’t do all this personal growth shit for nothing, you know?

Turns his back on the people who went to him for help, expected him to fall in line like a good little sheep or whatever and tells them to fuck off.

Causes a distraction and calls in some of the henchpersons for a emergency exctraction and they hightail it to a sekrit bunker or whatever Ryan ha set up somewhere.

Jeremy sticks around long enough to make sure everyone’s going to be okay and then gets the hell out of there. (Guilty as hell and thinking he’s more than worn out his his welcome with Ryan and Gavin and it’s just better this way?)

Roams aimlessly around for a bit, does acts of superheroism and whatnot when he runs into a bad situation and then moves on.

And then, of course, there’s this time he superheroes his little heart out abd gets abducted by these henchpersons?

Doesn’t know who they work for because nondescript clothing/armor, and gets taken to some base/lair and put into your standard interrogation scene?

Uncooperative as hell with the asshole using the voice modulator asking him all these questions? (Kind of thinks this is it, this is how he dies in some assholes hidden base/lair/bunker like a loser.)

But then!

One of Jeremy’s answers is just an incredibly creative way to tell someone to fuck off an die? And the asshole with the voice modulator fucking loses it, starts laughing like an asshole and the modulator gets turned off or something because after a moment Jeremy recognizes the laughter.

Fucking Gavin.

Wheezing and squeaking until he turns the PA or whatever off, and the enforce type in the room with Jeremy sighs.

Looks up at the observation window that goes does cool high-tech shit to go from foggy white/reflective mirror to see-through glass and Gavin waves down at them, stupid grin on his face and still laughing.

The enforcer type sighs again and reaches up to pull off the mask/helmet/whatever and of fucking course it’s Ryan.

Him and Gavin looking all over the damn place for Jeremy all this time.

Well, okay. They gave him a few months to get his shit together, but when he just went on with his moping and it stopped being productive/whatever, they decided enough was enough.

Which is how they got to this little point in time.

Ryan sits down across from Jeremy and just. Looks at him.

Jeremy who hasn’t been taking the best care of himself and all that and just.

“You’re an idiot.”

Which Jeremy knows full well?

Doesn’t get the feeling Ryan and Gavin are going to kill him, because nah, but. There’s probably some yelling in his future.

Which, yes?

But also smooches.

First though, long involved talk. Awkward flirting with Jeremy - fucking finally - realizing Ryan and Gavin are all oh, no, he’s hot about him and have been for a while. Didn’t do anything about it before now, because no way to know if he’d turn on them or not, and best not to complicate things further?

Once Jeremy picked them/their side over getting his old life back they thought it might be okay to test the waters and see if he was likewise interested in them?

But then he ran, and they were like, well okay, thinking that was as good as an answer? (And then they found out he was just. Getting himself in deeper and deeper in all the moping and going nowhere good, and just. Yeah.)

But now!

Awkward flirting and awkward dates and someone being daring enough to kiss someone goodnight on the cheek and all the dumb idiots in love shit I love.

And then the smooches and the whatnot.

Also the three of them being ~supervillains and the whatnot, because yes.

#ragehappy #jerevinwood #superhero aus #looik #idk #i lost the thread early on and it turned into nothing but cliches #sorry???#technically not a fic #vagrant fic

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simplyleez · 7 years

Text

But I don't know nothing 'bout love - Reghead

Jughead and Reggie have been 'enemies' for years now but there's definitely something more. Accidental make out sessions and secret meetings force them to admit they've seen a different side to the other and, well, it might not be too early to call it love (but it's definitely lust).

For the Riverdale Kink Meme: Reggie/Jughead, "friends" with benefits. Despite their apparent dislike for each other, Reggie & Jughead start having totally platonic, not-at-all serious sexual encounters. No one can know, of course. + If they have sex in the school showers/locker room ++ If one or both of them develop ~*feelings*~

Find it here: http://riverdale-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1356.html?thread=45132#cmt45132

Title from 'Accidentally In Love' by Counting Crows (from the Shrek soundtrack).

The first time it happens it is a complete and utter accident. At least this is what Jughead tells himself. He’d been skipping class, again, and wandering aimlessly around the back of the school when he bumped into Reggie. With clearly nothing better to do with his time he provoked the taller male, perhaps more than he should have because after a bit of back and forth ‘banter’ Jughead found his back slammed up against the rough brick wall.

Jughead was convinced that he’d get beaten severely or at least come away with a broken nose. But nothing happened. Reggie’s hands were twisted in his jacket, holding him up just high enough so Jughead was on his toes. Expecting a hit any minute, Jughead was surprised to feel a pair of lips on his own. Soft, warm lips against his chapped, cold ones. Reggie fucking Mantle was kissing him.

A muffled gasp left Jughead as a delayed reaction, leaving room for Reggie to slide his tongue impatiently into the shorter male’s mouth. Jughead moaned weakly and reciprocated. Multiple swears filled Jughead’s mind as his hands gripped at Reggie’s shoulders, a fruitless attempt to bring him closer.

Reggie got the message, removing his hands from Jughead’s jacket in favour of lifting the shorter off his feet. It was all going a bit too fast for Jughead to keep up with, finally wrapping his legs around Reggie’s waist and locking his ankles together. “Shit, Reggie!” It a cross between moaning and scalding on Jughead’s behalf, the other just smirks in return, pushing their bodies closer and kisses him deeply.

Jughead can feel all of him. His strength overpowering him, holding him up like he’s nothing. And, well, it’s turning Jughead on like nothing before, which is quite evident from his hard on pressing against the front of his jeans. Jughead feels slightly less embarrassed feeling Reggie’s half hard cock rub against his ass.

The ring of the school bell is piercing, causing both boys to jump slightly and pull apart. Reggie is still so close, their noses touching and breath mixing, an ever present smirk on his, now kiss swollen, lips and his hands still firm on Jughead’s ass. “Later Jones.” With that Jughead is dropped back to the floor, his feet stagger before he finds his footing, then Reggie is walking back over the yard making his way to the football field like nothing has ever happened.

And Jughead is still so hot, and hard, and now frustrated. That fucker has got him turned on then just upped and left. A small part of Jughead wants to hate Reggie even more, it completely fits with his player facade. The larger part of Jughead wants to sneak into the public bathroom to jerk off before having to meet his friends. And that’s exactly what he does. Although he does get comments from Veronica and Kevin for being late, in the long run he doesn’t care.

The second time it happens it’s completely purposeful but still surprising to Jughead. He’s staying behind to work on the Blue and Gold when he hears a knock at the door, then it opens, he assumes it’s Betty or maybe another one of his friends (yeah, amazing he has more than one friend).

He’s not exactly stunned to see Reggie leaning against the door frame, holding the door open with one foot, looking like he owns the place. But his heart sinks slightly from anticipation, he’d deny that it skipped a beat but it was damn close, and his palms grow sweaty. “You going to stand there all day Mantle? Get in or get out. Either way shut the fucking door.” His attempt at playing it cool falters through the crack in his voice but he pretends to focus on the computer nevertheless.

“Sorry, am I letting the breeze in, Gerard Way.” Jughead just rolls his eyes, Reggie is no where near sorry but he doesn’t particularly care because the taller closes the door behind him when he enters the room. It takes all Jughead’s will power not to look at the other as he sits atop a desk, his legs open so Jughead can see his thigh muscles twitch through his tight jeans.

And he’s been staring for too long, Reggie’s eyes catch his own and they’re practically shining with mischief. “Like what you see, Jones?” Reggie’s voice is less cocky than usual, or maybe he’s imagining things, but Jughead doesn’t dignify it with a response, and if eye rolling was a sport he’s sure he would win gold.

“What no sarcastic remark? Nothing? You might have lost you touch, Jones.” That’s it. Jughead can’t pretend to work any longer. He wants to have some loud, argumentative outburst full of ‘who gave you the right’ and ‘why me’ but he remains calm.

His voice doesn’t falter this time, he pushes his chair out from beneath the desk. “You think you’re hot shit Mantle-” He doesn’t get far before he’s interrupted. “I know I am but continue.” His smirk has grown and he gets up from the table, walking over beside Jughead. “But what are you doing here? Why me?” Jughead internally winces at how soft and vulnerable he sounds but he sounds so detached and of course Reggie picks up on it, not stating anything aloud though but he backs off slightly.

Reggie is hesitant to touch him, when he does it’s a surprisingly gentle hand on his cheek. Then, not so surprisingly, a rough kiss. Jughead is pulled up more gently, hands on his face and arms rather than his clothes, like he’s an actual person. The kiss is still rough and demanding, all teeth and tongue.

They break when Reggie hikes Jughead onto a nearby table, standing in between his legs, before kissing again. It’s not the answer Jughead wanted, it’s not an explanation, but Jughead doesn’t want him to stop by any means. Hands are on Jughead’s waist, gripping him tightly, pushing up his shirt to get underneath. His own hands are everywhere; in Reggie’s hair, around his neck, roaming down his chest.

Jughead curses mentally, hoping Reggie won’t do another disappearing act on him as he feels his cock twitch, and he groans both because of the kiss and his despicable teenage hormones. Clearly it’s the right thing to do because now Jughead is practically lying down on the table, Reggie towering over him and supporting them both with one arm.

“Fuck, Jughead.” He knows he must look a mess from the way Reggie almost gasps his name but now it’s Jughead’s turn to smirk, he knows just how turned on Reggie is by this and that feels like a win in his books. Being just as cocky and confident as the taller is also a right move, Jughead’s beanie is dragged from his head and lips are at his neck, licking and sucking gently. Fuck. He never would have thought Reggie would do gentle.

Jughead can’t help tilting his head back and groaning slightly, giving Reggie more space to work with. And boy does he get to work. Smirking into Jughead’s skin, Reggie bites gently down his neck, kissing softly at his shoulder, then harshly sucking a his collarbones to create bright, prominent hickies.

Multiple of them. On both collarbones. Jughead makes a mental note to wear something with a high collar tomorrow. Or maybe not. Maybe he should show them off, get people guessing, they’ll start spreading rumours quickly. But he likes the secrecy of it. It might wear off in time but right now it’s just between the two of them.

They break apart, the distant sound of footsteps and laughter getting distinctly louder. Reggie all but jumps off of the shorter, straightening his clothes and taking a moment to appreciate the sight of a disheveled Jughead before moving to the door. “Looks like we have company,” he states, peering out of the small window in the door, “so you might want to straighten up.”

The words aren’t mocking, or sarcastic, or mean and Jughead is too taken aback by this to even make a straight joke. Instead he readjusts his jacket, jumps down from the table, and puts his beanie back on. “Looking good,” it’s said jokingly but still fondly, again something Jughead wouldn’t associate with Reggie, before Reggie slips out of the door, unnoticed by whoever’s there, he utters a quick “see you next time.” And that gets Jughead.

Next time. There’ll be a next time. Reggie wants this. Wants it to be constant not just a joke. Well, shit. Now Jughead doesn’t mind so much that he’s been left with hickies on his collarbones and his cock hard in his pants if there’s going to be a next time.

Next time comes a week later. Jughead’s a bit late exiting the school door, by the time he’s out on the tarmac most students have gone home, only really the teachers and extracurricular pupils behind. Surprisingly a few footballers are still hanging around near their cars - and, yes, of course, Reggie is there - Jughead doesn’t really want to stare at them but he does so unintentionally.

He’s only pulled from his thoughts when they’re all jumping into their cars and speeding out of the gates, all but one that is. Reggie is practically strutting towards him but stops short of reaching him, veering to the right of Jughead to move around the side of the school. He stops before he’s completely out of sight, calling out “you coming or what, Hayley Williams?” Jughead grins slightly and moves to follow the other.

Just when Jughead thought that this, whatever this is, couldn't get any more high school romance movie cliche, it did. Of course he’s still going to go along with the seemingly obligatory making out under the bleachers. His somewhat criticising thoughts of the situation stops when Reggie throws his bag to the ground and turn to face Jughead, who throws his own bag down in response.

“Are you going to finish what you’ve started, Mantle?” Jughead’s voice is calm, teasing, and doesn’t crack, which he is proud of. Reggie grins in response, it’s not his usual cocky smirk but maybe a genuine smile which makes Jughead’s steps falter as he makes his way to stand opposite the taller.

Hands are on Jughead’s waist in seconds, gripping and possibly bruising, as their mouths are crushed together. It’s not exactly a private place but it’s secluded enough that Jughead doesn’t worry about anyone seeing them, if someone did though that could cause all sorts of consequences. And Jughead would be lying if the thought of being caught in such a situation didn’t do anything for him, hell, if anything it turns him on more. Not that he’d admit aloud, especially not the the footballer who has his tongue down his throat, that he has a thing for exhibitionism.

Jughead can feel Reggie’s cock through his jeans and decides to take action before he decides that’s enough for one day and leave him again. Reggie pulls away from the kiss, taking in a sharp breath as Jughead grabs him through his trousers but bucks into the touch nevertheless. “Jughead,” Reggie’s voice sounds so soft and fragile that it startles Jughead, the heel of his hand pressing against Reggie’s cock.

And, shit, Jughead wants nothing more than to reduce Reggie into an absolute mess if it means he hears more broken and gentle sounds from his mouth. So, Jughead intends to do so, opening the front of Reggie’s jeans as quick as his shaking hands enable him to do so and slipping his hand in, past his boxers, to wrap his hand around his shaft. Jughead smirks into Reggie’s shoulder, where his t-shirt meets his skin, as his breath and hips both stutter.

Jughead aimlessly moves his hand up then down in a repetitive motion while placing kisses along Reggie’s neck, casually as if the way the other boy’s breath quickening and quiet moans spilling from his lips do nothing for him. That’s far from the truth. He wants nothing more than to get himself off right now, maybe rut against the other’s hip in time with the strokes of his hand. But he doesn’t. He wants Reggie to want to give it to him.

“Shit, shit, Jughead!” Reggie practically hisses into his ear, one hand moving into black locks that peak out from under his beanie, “close, fuck, yes.” Jughead never would have imagined Reggie would be this vocal, maybe he imagined he’d be more of a stereotypical masculine grunt when he orgasmed but this was so much better than he could have imagined.

“You going to come, Mantle? Go on. Come in your pants like the hormonal teenager you are, do it, I dare you.” Jughead’s voice was teasing, vicious, and so dominating that it has Reggie gaping and breathing heavily as his come spills into his jeans and over Jughead’s hand. They stand there against each other for a few minutes, Jughead pulls his hand from the other’s jeans, wiping excess come on Reggie’s trousers which he, surprisingly, doesn’t complain about.

“You want to return the favour?” Jughead doesn’t particularly give a choice in the matter, pulling Reggie back by his hair to look him in the eyes then Reggie can see just how bad he needs this. He obviously isn’t as stupid as Jughead perceived him out to be because his hands are undoing Jughead’s belt and shifting his jeans down slightly to free his cock. Jughead gasps as the fresh air hits his exposed skin but is quickly covered by Reggie’s hands.

Reggie is somewhat hesitant, moving slower than Jughead would like. “Can I-?” Reggie stops to breathe and swallow but when he doesn’t continue Jughead prompts him, “can you what?” And Jughead swears to god Reggie blushes and he can feel his heart stop momentarily, “can I suck you off?” That’s it, Jughead’s brain is broken. While he wants to give a sarcastic, witty remark, and make Reggie work for it he can’t help but cave in immediately.

“Fuck, yes.” In an instant Reggie is on his knees, and this makes Jughead feel somewhat powerful but so turned on to have such a cocky, player at his feet, suching his cock no less. It fills Jughead with confidence that Reggie seems just as hesitant and inexperienced in this field as he is, though he disregards this thought in favour of tangling his hands in Reggie’s hair as he sucks on the head of his cock, working the rest of his length with his hand.

It takes little time for Jughead to come, which he’s less embarrassed about when he reminds himself Reggie still has his cool come in his pants, he pulls at Reggie’s hair to warn him but he only quickens his actions. “Shit, shit, Reggie!” His come spills partially into Reggie’s mouth, the rest onto his hand and down his chin making him look like he just came straight out of a porno. Reggie doesn’t seem to care though, rising from his knees he wipes his hand on his own jeans, then wipes his chin with his hand and wipes that on his jeans.

Jughead gives him a lazy grin and does up his own jeans, Reggie gives him an overly sarcastic grimace before he drags him into a kiss. It’s sweeter than before and more lazy, Jughead can taste himself on his tongue and he just smiles. And Jughead’s heart does skip a beat this time when Reggie holds his face and kisses him sweetly, gently, as if he’s fragile.

He knows at that moment his feelings for Reggie are more, so much more than just fuck buddies, more than a fling. And he hopes, maybe prays, for Reggie to spurt out this love confession but it doesn’t come, they just keep kissing. Reggie pulls away, his smile still genuine and lazy, then he’s picking up his bag and walking away.

Then Jughead’s alone. The air is getting colder and he just needs to talk to someone, which is a very strange feeling for him. He doesn’t know why he does it (yes he does) but he texts Veronica.

Jughead: hey

Jughead: i know it’s short notice

Jughead: and we’re not really friends

Jughead: but can i meet you at pops

Veronica: Jug, of course I can. And don’t you think for a second that we aren’t friends.

Jughead: k

Jughead: see you in 10?

Veronica: Yep. I’m buying.

Jughead grins at his phone, he can count on Veronica for relationship advice even if this isn’t exactly relationship advice but it’s as close as he’s ever gotten. His legs quickly carry him on the familiar route to Pop’s, Veronica is already there in their usual booth sipping her milkshake with one for Jughead in front of her.

“I’ve ordered your usual,” Veronica states as he approaches her, sliding into the seat opposite her and taking a sip of his own milkshake then uttering a quick ‘thanks’. “So, Jughead Jones what brought on this spontaneous meeting?” Veronica inquires, getting straight to the point which Jughead is somewhat grateful for because right now he doesn’t think he could handle small talk.

“Veronica, I know this is going to sound absolutely ridiculous and cliche and so not be but,” he stalls slightly on purpose to see Veronica getting wound up, her eyebrows furrowing and lips pursed “I think I’m falling in love.” Her face drops for a nanosecond before she grins madly, Jughead would make a comment about her looking like the cheshire cat if his heart didn’t feel like it was going to give out any minute.

“Oh. My. God. Jughead. I’m so happy for you, who are they? How do you know this? When did you-? Why did you-? Did they-? Oh my god, it’s too much.” Veronica overexaggerates her breathing, pretending to hyperventilate. “Calm down Veronica, one question at a time,” he smiles at her, his voice much quieter than hers not wanting to announce it to the whole restaurant.

“Tell me who it is,” she inches forward on her seat, dying to get the gossip, but Jughead just shakes his head, not willing to reveal that information yet. Veronica lets out a defeated sigh, “do I know them?” Jughead knew that he was going to have to give some information and in turn Veronica will give him some advice. “Yeah, you know him,” he sighs quietly, slightly relieved when the food is brought over to their table so he can distract himself eating fries.

“Hmm, he goes to our school?” He feels a bit like it’s an interrogation, just less intimidating, and Jughead nods his head in response. “Oh my god, can you just tell me who it is, please,” Veronica practically begs leaning over the table slightly, he wants to tell her really but she might give biased advice so he shakes his head.

She sighs loudly, attempting to guilt him into telling her but it’s fruitless, “fine then, do you want to tell him how you feel?” She just looks at him, a honest and thoughtful expression on her face, “I don’t know Veronica, I’m not sure if I even love him, just, how do you know?” He puts his head in his hands, food forgotten which is rare, and Veronica just looks at him sympathetically.

“I think you just know, even if you just have the inclination of a feeling. I think it’s different for everyone though but you’re heartbeat should quicken, maybe you start sweating, you just want to touch them and be around them constantly.” Jughead could have sworn she sighed dreamingly. “You sound like you’re also in love Veronica,” he laughs lightly, trying to divert the conversation elsewhere, and Veronica gives him a tight smile which is pretty much confirmation.

“Just tell him when you’re ready, okay? Then tell me who he is immediately afterwards!” She exclaims, her positive energy returning, “only if you do the same.” He grins when she nods in response. The rest of their meal is full of their usual banter, conversing over some stupid shit Archie did today or what Betty’s decided to do to piss her mother off now.

Jughead doesn’t necessarily avoid Reggie for the next week but he refuses to go any further than making out, he’s sure Reggie has picked up on his odd behaviour now. So, he decides it’s time to tell him. Not a full love declaration but he needs to do this, he wants to keep what they have but he needs to know what this is.

He puts on a sarcastic, uncaring face when Betty and Veronica insist that he comes to the football game saying both them and Archie would be grateful if he was there, plus Veronica hints that ‘all of our year will be there’ raising her eyebrows at the same time. He knows she thinks he should confess tonight, so he agrees saying it’s just to support them. Betty’s fine with that answer but Veronica smiles knowingly.

He does go. But it’s cold, ends up raining, and he sits next to Kevin who doesn’t shut the hell up throughout the whole thing. It’s okay though, he’s using today as a means to an end, it’s an excuse to corner Reggie afterwards. The game finishes, the home team has won (not that he cares particularly), and they players are running off the pitch. They spot Betty and Veronica standing at the edge of the pitch, probably waiting for Archie as well as him and Kevin.

Kevin’s the first to speak, “you girls did great.” Both girls start smiling and talking about how hard the routine was, they’re already changed from their cheer uniforms, Jughead stopped paying attention though. He’s watching the steady stream of football players exiting the school, looking for one Reinald Mantle in particular. Veronica prods his arm with her precisely manicured finger and looks in the same direction as him.

“He a football player then?” Veronica knows Jughead too well already, he looks nervously to her and nods wordlessly. “Is it...” she wants to guess, but she doesn’t want to embarrass Jughead incase she’s right, and Jughead knows what she’s thinking. “It’s not Archie,” he means to sound playful but it comes out so seriously, his mind is just somewhere else, focused on someone else.

“Hmm, okay,” Veronica seem stumped, which she shouldn’t because she’s good at the whole reading people thing and Jughead’s pretty sure all his emotions are on show right now, “regardless of who it is, I think you should go tell him before he leaves, then totally tell me how it goes. Do you want me to distract the others?” He nods again in response, Archie’s just approaches the group when Veronica announces they need to go to Pop’s to celebrate, of course everyone agrees.

Then he’s off in the opposite direction, hoping Veronica’s cover story for him is good enough. Once inside the school it doesn’t take long to get to the locker rooms but he stands outside, just around the corner from the door and on the opposite wall so he can see anyone who leaves, which does look a bit shady, quite drug dealer-esque. Reggie finally emerges, his bag thrown over his shoulder, he immediately notices Jughead and makes eye contact.

The look he gets off Reggie is questioning, asking what he’s doing here, and Jughead just beckons him closer with a tilt of his head. He takes Reggie’s hand when they’re close enough, he moves them completely around the corner so his own back is pressed against the wall and they’re out of sight. Reggie drops his bag to the floor, his now unoccupied hand coming to rest on Jughead’s waist.

“Reggie, I need to talk to you, about this, about us.” Jughead’s sure he has never sounded so serious in all his life, “what about us?” It makes Jughead’s stomach sink that Reggie sounds defensive and hurt, he thinks he wants to break this off, this gives Jughead the extra courage to confess. “I think I’m, uh, falling in love with you.” Jughead averts his attention to his shoes, “I just, I can’t help but feel so off, and vulnerable, and nervous, yet ecstatic all at once when I’m with you, like this, just.”

Jughead knows he’s rambling, his voice is cracking, tears are threatening to surface because what if Reggie doesn’t want to be more than this, maybe that’s all he is a casual fuck. “Jughead,” his name is said so softly and with such care that he looks back up, “you don’t need to explain, I feel exactly the same.” And holy shit Jughead is sure he’s dead and gone to the non-existent heaven.

Then they’re kissing again, lips moving and tongues sliding in a familiar fashion. Their bodies are pressed close, slotting together, Reggie’s knee pressed between Jughead’s legs. And it’s all very fast but a bit too public, even for Jughead, “you think the team’s gone?” he asks when the kiss breaks. “Probably.” that’s the only response before their lips collide again, Jughead moans lightly when Reggie’s knee makes contact with his crotch and he can’t help but grind down slightly, feeling the taller boy’s cock hard against his hip.

“Mantle, as much as I’m enjoying this, we cannot do it in the middle of the school hallway,” Jughead scolds the other, pushing him gently off him but instantly missing the warmth. “Locker room sex?” Jughead is both astounded by himself even suggesting it and that he managed it with a straight face, but it’s worth it when Reggie grins and drags him back around the corner.

The metal door shut with a bang but neither boy is concerned, they kiss furiously with serious intent and passion, only faltering and breaking away to remove articles of clothing. They’re naked in what seemed to be only seconds, the back of Jughead’s knees hit a bench then he’s on his back, Reggie towering over him with what could only be described as a predatory grin.

Their cocks are sliding together with the aid of Reggie’s hand, the one currently not holding him inches from Jughead’s face. Lips are barely touching, they’re just breathing into each other’s space, and as nice as it is, it isn’t enough. “Reggie, Reggie, my jacket.” Jughead’s unable to give proper directions but Reggie’s reaching for his jacket regardless, “left pocket” he almost whispers, watching the taller fumble with his jean jacket from his place on the bench.

“Kinky, Jones.” Jughead just blushes, still watching Reggie pull lube from his pocket and make his way back over to him, placing his hands on Jughead’s spread knees. “You been anticipating this the whole time?” Then Jughead gives in, nodding his head, watching his hair obscure his vision. “It’s been a long time coming. I want to you fuck me Reggie,” Jughead states rather calmly even when he takes Reggie’s hand in his own, clicking the top off the lube bottle.

“Turn around. Kneel on the bench.” Jughead obeys quickly, on his hand and knees which he’ll admit is uncomfortable and an embarrassing position but ignores it. Instead focusing on Reggie’s hands, one firmly placed in between his shoulder blades, not pushing just holding, the other teasing his hole. Fingers already wet with lube pressing into him so slowly, and it feels so much different from his own fingers, a good different.

Although Reggie’s careful and slow he’s also brutal, pushing his now three fingers deep and dragging them out, repeating the process several times. “Reggie, god dammit, s-stop. Just-” he falters, his breath hitching when Reggie hits his prostate, and he can practically feel the other’s victorious smile. “Just what Jones?” Jughead grits his teeth to avoid moaning aloud when Reggie’s purposefully avoiding the spot Jughead really wants him to hit.

“Just fuck me already!” Jughead gasps loudly when Reggie quickly removes his fingers, “like this Jones?” Jughead grips the edge of the bench so hard his knuckles turn white when Reggie inches his cock slowly into him, so slowly, too slowly in Jughead’s opinion. “Fuck, yes, faster,” he whimpers, knowing he probably looks as wrecked as he sounds and it’s clearly doing things for Reggie too.

The taller obliges, placing his hands on Jughead’s hips and thrusting quicker and sharper. Jughead can’t help the words that spill from his mouth, “yes, yes, Reggie, don’t you dare stop. I-I want you to fuck me s-so hard till I come, I want you to, to jerk me off, yes Reggie, a-and I want you to come inside me, fuck.” Now Jughead’s pushing back, his thigh muscles protesting, meeting Reggie’s thrusts, he can’t help but shiver as Reggie grabs his cock.

Jughead’s knees are burning from the friction and pressure, they’re both covered in sweat and so close to coming. Reggie’s hand remaining on Jughead’s waist moves to his chest, pulling his up so he’s flush against him, consequently driving his cock deeper. Then he’s pressing sloppy kisses to Jughead’s shoulder, which turn into light bites, turning into multiple hickies.

And it’s too much for Jughead. He’s coming into Reggie’s hand and onto the bench, Reggie’s coming shortly after, head burying into Jughead’s shoulder. Jughead feels somewhat disgusting now covered in sweat, come, and so many hickies that he’s physically not going to be able to hide them from his friends.

“Love you.” It’s quiet and muffled but Jughead’s heart stutters regardless and he smiles. “If I tell you I love you too will you take your dick out of my ass?” Jughead’s back to his sarcastic, coherent self and Reggie just laughs and pulls out of Jughead. He just winces slightly in return and holds out his hand to be helped down, Reggie grabs his hand, pulling him down steadily then into a soft, chaste kiss.

They dress as quick as possible to the sound of their breathing slowing. “I’m going to an after game party, if I thought you were interested I’d invite you,” Reggie smirks, back to being cocky and confident, all Jughead does is roll his eyes. “Yeah I’d love to but I do have plans of my own,” Jughead does want to meet his friends at Pop’s but maybe he should shower first, Reggie smiles again but more fondly now, dragging a hand through Jughead’s beanie-less, sweaty hair, he kisses him again.

“Well, see you later then Brendon Urie.” Reggie picks up his bag and is out the door before Jughead can respond. Jughead can’t stop himself smiling, even when he unlocks his phone seeing multiple messages from Veronica.

Veronica: Jughead? What’s happened?

Veronica: OMG it must be going well if you’re not at Pop’s already drowning your sorrows in a milkshake!

Veronica: Jones I swear on my life, I can’t keep your cover story going for this long.

Veronica: The jig is up. The crew know something’s up.

Jughead’s smile falters slightly at thoughts of the group knowing his business, the only thing he can do is threaten them into silence because he knows if he tells Veronica that she’ll tell the rest of them.

Jughead: Veronica. you’re not going to believe this shit.

Veronica: Bitch spill the goss.

Jughead: i confessed i totally did and he didn’t hate me he was just like ‘same’ i was so happy man Veronica you’re going to freak at the next part.

Veronica: Then tell me. Stop keeping me in suspense.

Jughead: he may or may not have completely just fucked me in the locker room ;)

Veronica: Oh sweet baby jesus!

Veronica: I’m getting weird looks from the gang :/

Jughead: man. go ahead tell them \_(-_-)_/

Veronica: Are you for real?!?! I don’t want to disrespect your privacy :(

Jughead: srrs do it but tell them that if any of them spill (especially Kevin) i will personally murder them.

Veronica: You finally going to tell me who?

Jughead: k…

Jughead: Reggie ;)

Veronica reads the texts with anticipation, sure Betty’s giving her worrying looks, and Archie looks slightly scared, and Kevin as ever wants to know everything. She glances over the last text Jughead send and she chokes on air, slamming her phone onto the table and just looking straight ahead of her at Betty with wide eyes. “V are you going to tell us what this is about?” Betty, bless her heart, sounds so concerned and worried that Veronica can’t help laughing.

“Jughead, oh my god, Jughead just confessed his undying love for, for fucking Reggie Mantle and, oh god, and they just totally got in on in the school locker room,” Veronica’s careful to keep her voice low, aware of other customers, but can’t help but stop and laugh a few times, unable to comprehend everything right now. There’s repetitions of phrases like ‘what’ and ‘you’re joking’ but Veronica quickly shakes her head, showing them all the texts until she receives a new one.

Jughead: i’m on my way, order a shake and a burger for me

Jughead: and for the love of all things that are holy don’t mention the hickies!

#riverdale #riverdale kink meme #reghead #Jughead isn't ace in this #jughead x reggie #mine #simplyleez

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terryblount · 5 years

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Days Gone – Review

From the makers of Syphon Filter and… Bubsy 3D, Bend Studio is now back with a new IP, Days Gone. On the surface, it seems like “that video game again”. As in, you’ve probably seen various elements of the game in other games before. Open world. Zombies (but not really). Survival elements. Crafting and upgrades. Three skill trees. Shooting and melee. Clearing outposts. You get the idea.

But Days Gone is better than the sum of its parts, though it barely held the parts together at times. Yet somehow, it’s still a hell of a ride from start to finish.

Note: Review based on version 1.02 and version 1.03 (pre-release, before the day-1 patch version 1.04), played on the base PS4

Presentation

Days Gone takes place in the wilderness of Oregon, USA, 2 years after “things went to shit” as it colloquially referred to. Society falls after an outbreak killed billions and turned many of them into Freakers.

The open world is gorgeous. There is a dynamic time and weather system that dramatically changes the environment as well as impacting gameplay. Heavy rain turns the side roads muddy and slippery while the night brings out most of the nasty Freaks.

If you like taking screenshots, there’s plenty of beautiful (and gross) sceneries. And the Photo Mode is decent.

The open world feels small but dense but over time, it becomes larger, with some changes reflective of the story.

The zombie-like but not-zombie Freakers look and sound gross. Blood and gore do spill, with body parts falling off the Freakers, or human enemies when heavy force is applied. Like shooting at the face with as shotgun.

Days Gone has plenty of cinematics with great performances by the actors. Though I find it jarring to see a few seconds of a loading screen, a cut-scene plays, and then another loading screen to go back to gameplay. It ruins the flow a bit, especially when the scenes are just a few seconds long.

It’s really enjoyable riding on the open road (when nothing is out to kill you). The excellent soundtrack kicks in slowly on the longer, uninterrupted journeys. That particular song, which starts and end dynamically, is emotionally charged, swooping and atmospheric as it is soulful and mellow. Perfect for a biker traveling the open roads.

When the faced with the horrifying Freakers however, tunes of dread and suspense pipes in. Whilst the tender, emotional moments are just heartwarming to hear. The overall soundtrack, including the choice of licensed music, is astoundingly well put together.

Unfortunately, the game is crippled with performance issues. The pre-release version I played through saw massive dips in framerate on the base PS4. Slowdowns, textures not loading in, and sometimes even assets not loading in will happen if you move fast enough. Especially while riding the bike.

You will definitely notice the slowdown. At worse, the game crashes.

I can’t tell whether the performance issues are due to the modified Unreal Engine they are using, or a sign we have reached the hardware limits of the PS4.

Gameplay

In Days Gone, you play as Deacon St. John, a former biker gang member (or for you Malaysians: an American Mat Rempit) who is now a Drifter. He does odd jobs for various encampments, either clearing up hideouts or finding lost people or taking out bounties. While the plan was to head out north, circumstances lead to Deacon losing his bike and having to keep doing jobs with the camps he wanted to get away from.

From there on, an overarching story of multiple threads will unravel, weaving various subplots in and out as you progress. You don’t have quest lines, you have storylines, where one mission may advance one or more storyline as it is being completed.

Though for the most part, it’s a story of a man still clinging to the past. Heck, the in-game day tracker counts starting from two years (more accurately, 734 days gone) since he last saw his wife.

The map is packed and there’s really not much downtime going to point A to point B. But the fact that the roads are all windy, filled with obstacles to avoid and danger lurking, you are really on your toes while riding the bike.

If you go on the road for too long, then you better start expecting trouble is coming, either a sniper ambush or swarms of Freakers.

Fiddly (By Design) Controls

You will need to spend some time getting the hang on Days Gone’s controls. R2 is for melee and you need to aim with L2 to use your gun, no blind fire. Grenades are tucked within the Survival Wheel, which requires holding L1, select the grenades category, wait a bit, then select the grenade of choice. Combat is not that fluid, but I guess it’s a deliberate design choice- it’s a survival game, after all.

Weapons are pretty inaccurate at the start, ammo is scarce, and powerful melee weapons break. You will need to use stealth and loot for resources, but you definitely can go gung-ho once you’ve got most of the skill upgrades and stat buffs.

Loot

If the survival elements sound dreadful, just take the solemn that Bend Studio took lessons from Red Dead Redemption II. Looting is quick and easy to do- some enemies like Freakers don’t even need a button prompt to loot.

Resources and melee weapons are scattered around the desolate buildings in the world. They are plentiful but don’t expect them to respawn immediately. Thankfully, gas cans and gas stations have infinite gas.

There’s a sense of permanence in Days Gone. I had a firefight in a small town but didn’t get to loot the area properly as I was locked in a story mission. Revisiting the area not long after (within the same in-game day) and all the bodies and missed crafting components are there as I remembered.

Some Bugs

Alongside the framerate drop and texture loading issues mentioned, the AI pathfinding also frequently bugged out. I’ve seen enemies stuck behind geometry, and even friendly NPCs during missions getting stuck because a Freaker body is in the way.

This game sure has some production values but moments when such issues pop up, coupled with the controls, make it feel like a janky, cobbled-up together game at times.

The Bike

The bike is the star of Days Gone’s gameplay. It’s your only mode of transport, and it needs to be taken care of. You need to keep it away from damage and make sure you have enough fuel or face some big issues. You don’t want to be on foot for too long with Freaks roaming around ready to maul you.

It really makes you consider your traveling plans. In the early game, you’ll have to stop by a gas station for fuel or find a gas can in one of those NERO checkpoints. I spent the first few hours lifting and coasting a lot to save fuel while driving very carefully not to hit anything. And I love that I have to do that.

But later on, you get to upgrade the bike with cosmetics and performance parts, either of which changes the bike’s look, You get to see the Engine III upgrade is a bigger engine block with a different, deeper engine tone. Even racing games don’t go that deep with customisations these days.

Welcome to the Freakshow

The Freakers come in various archetypes. From the little ki- I mean Newts, to Runners, infected wolves that will chase you down even when on a bike.

But the Horde is the big selling point for Days Gone. As those early trailers showed, they are indeed vicious and they are huge. The biggest Hordes have hundreds of these Freakers roaming together.

The early game is spent on avoiding the massive Hordes unless you have a death wish taking them on. But as you progress, Deacon will get more skill points, better weapons and also stat buffs that will allow you to mow them down. Yes, it’s a lot of just running around, then looking at the back taking pot shots but the areas you fight them in do have multiple routes and explosives to use to your advantage.

Crafting all the gear needed, stocking up ammo, and laying up all the traps before engaging the Horde is both the most exhilarating and the most cathartic experience in Days Gone. Nothing like mowing down hundreds of not-zombies after hours of just gasping looking the sheer size and wondering: “How the heck am I supposed to kill them all?”

Content

Days Gone is longer than you would expect. The game has about one hour worth of tutorial before opening up the world for you to explore. The fact the open world only opens up gradually means the size, and the number of side-missions available, will not overwhelm you as a result. Side-missions like clearing marauder camps each have a small reward, which can be tracked in the menus. And finding them is easy, just explore the map and it will mark the spot when you are close enough.

The story does feel cliche. “Sons Of Anarchy meets The Walking Dead” is a rather apt description, but the plot is more than just the biker life and post-apocalypse melodrama.

There are many interwoven subplots coming in and out of the main progression, all focusing on character interaction. Deacon is a dick, the name checks out, but a generic white-man protagonist he is not. Seeing him bouncing off with the rest of the cast, some with great chemistry, others with clashing personalities, is entertaining to see. And the poignant romance story, of how he is dealing with the loss of his wife, is gripping. With a great payoff.

Outside of the surprisingly good story, expect the same-old side missions and collectibles. It is an open world game, after all. Though taking down the Hordes is really fun to do by the end game.

It took me around 41 hours to finish Days Gone and see the credits. Though completionists will definitely spend more than that.

Personal Enjoyment

Days Gone sure sounds like just another open world game on paper with technical issues. But somehow, I really like it.

I am a stickler for games running at its intended framerate cap. So there’s a lot of moments where I just reel back and cringe seeing all the slowdowns. Despite that, the pros outweigh the cons. I enjoyed seeing Deacon’s story unfolded. The number of optional camps to clear is just enough- and with enough variety- to keep me engaged.

I enjoyed customising, upgrading and maintaining the bike. Plus, there’s enough wiggle room in the systems to see something dynamic happen. I tried taking down an ambush camp but forgot to put silencers on. That caught the attention of a nearby Horde and ravaged the camp for me while I cowardly hide in a bush. That’s neat!

Verdict

Days Gone is an ambitious open world survival game that is almost bursting at its seams. The dynamic open world is lovingly crafted to not only look good, but serve gameplay purposes. The customisable bike rivals those seen in racing games. The tension coming from facing the Freakers and managing your crafting resources won’t get old. The story is amazingly well told filled with great character moments.

Yet technical issues, from noticeable framerate drops to the various glitches and crashes are a letdown. It makes you think whether the PS4 is at its last legs… or the game is just too ambitious for its own good.

Whatever the case is, should you persist through the jankiness, Days Gone is the best open world biker survival game, that happens to have sort-of zombies, out there.

It’s a hell of a ride.

Review based on version 1.02 and version 1.03 (pre-release, before the day-1 patch version 1.04), played on the base PS4. Review copy provided by the publisher

Days Gone – Review published first on https://touchgen.tumblr.com/

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newstfionline · 7 years

Text

Outside coastal bubbles, to say ‘America is already great’ rings hollow

Chris Arnade in Youngstown, Ohio, The Guardian, 21 February 2017

Anthony Rice’s house in Youngstown, Ohio is a mile away from a river valley once filled with factories offering jobs. Many of those left in the 1980s, and with them, many residents.

His home is one of the few occupied on the street. Empty lots or boarded-up homes make up most of the block. He points to those remaining, listing his neighbors and their age. They are all over 70. “This neighborhood is okie-dokie, although not much goes down here”, he says. “Stores used to be all around here, but they mostly gone. The people left are either too old to move or waiting for someone to buy them out.”

The road itself is a patchwork of potholes. “This street hasn’t been paved in like forever. They just don’t care about us. But we used to that.”

Youngstown is the largest city in Mahoning County, Ohio, where Donald Trump narrowly lost a county Barack Obama won twice easily. That was partly because turnout in Youngstown--which is lower income, younger, and close to half African American--dropped by roughly 15%.

It was a blueprint replicated across the US--getting just enough working class, older, and wealthier suburban whites to flip and turn out for Trump, while a small enough sliver of minorities and younger white voters did not turn out. It was achieved in just the right places: Ohio, Michigan, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin.

I ask Anthony about the election. “Most people in this neighborhood sat idle. We didn’t have a dog in this fight. It is like we had our president, and it is time for them to have their president. I voted for Hillary. But I don’t mind Trump, although I do think he is crazy. He is jamming a stick in the beehive, and some think it will break their way.”

Did Trump’s win surprise him? “No. Obama promised a lot and only a little came of it. Maybe New York City got delivered promises. This street here is still filled with homes falling down.”

A lot of the US is like that. I have seen it all over, when I put 100,000 miles on my car before the election. I have heard and seen the frustrations of countless people--of all races and faiths--in wildly different places, from Nebraska to Louisiana.

To get out beyond successful neighborhoods in DC, New York City and the elite college campuses--beyond where prevailing socio-political opinions are made--is to see another America.

It isn’t a more “real” America--a glib and offensive cliche--it is simply a different one. It is an America that values and experiences different things, emphasizing local community and faith, rather than career or educational status. It is an America that has been on a downward trajectory for decades, hurt by the loss of jobs and with downtowns emptied of energy and filled with drugs. It has made staying in these communities harder.

In this America hope is fading, not growing. People’s lives are a constant tangle of changing and uncertain jobs. The path that offers a way out--education--requires threading a narrow needle of opportunities from an early age. If that small chance is missed it means a lifetime of feeling looked down on by the “other America.”

In these towns, “America already is great” rings hollow and offensive. Trump exposed and exploited that, coming into these communities with a simple and angry message--one that effectively said: “This ain’t working for you. So let’s knock it all over!”

He also came with a message of division and fear. Some registered their frustration by simply not voting.

Hattie Wilkins, 66, witnessed that. She is a former steel worker and union president who is now a community activist.

She hates Trump but also doesn’t like Hillary Clinton. She actively supported Bernie Sanders in the primaries. Frustrated and angered by Clinton, she eventually voted for her, but as a vote against Trump. “I had to,” she says. “It hurt but I did.”

She had trouble convincing many of her neighbors to get out and vote: “I ran into a lot of people who didn’t like either of them, so they weren’t voting.” Despite that, she worked hard to get as many people registered as she could, even trying to coax the drug dealers in her neighborhood to do so.

Despite the intensity of political passions, Youngstown is a small, close and extra friendly community.

Enthusiasm for Trump wasn’t hard to find among the white voters in Youngstown. George Beshara, the owner of The Gold Exchange pawn shop--a store that sits between two boarded-up shops, was also born and raised here. He has seen the changes the town went through.

“When the steel shut down in the 1980s it kicked the s--t out of Youngstown,” he says. But he is optimistic, and Trump’s message fits his optimism. “We could use some manufacturing jobs, good paying ones, not these minimum wages ones. When we put tariffs on steel and start manufacturing again, we got a shot.”

When I asked him if he voted for Trump, he shoots back: “Oh yeah.” When asked why, he says: “I just think everyone wanted a change.

“I don’t think it is specifically Trump. We were in purgatory for eight years. Nothing happened, no growth, no GDP. I mean nothing! And nobody wanted to work because you were getting enough money from welfare, why go get a job? I think Obama made people lazy, he made it too easy not to work, and that is not the American dream.”

He also notes how surprising it was Trump came within a nudge of winning the county: “This is a monstrous Democratic community. If you even talk Republican here 25 years ago, they might have shot you!”

Things have changed, however, and plenty of lifetime Democrats voted for Trump. Bill Golec, 60, is one of them. A city police officer, he also runs a lawnmower repair store on weekends. After high school, he earned both a law enforcement administration degree and a small engine repair certificate from local schools.

He is a life-long Democrat, and when I ask him if he voted for Trump, he quietly responds: “Hate to say yes. Couldn’t vote for Hillary. I wasn’t going to vote for anyone at all.”

He adds that Trump was the first Republican he has ever voted for. “It has been going on for too long, for too many years,” he says. “Something has to change.” He pauses: “These people on welfare, they’re living better than what I am. I am working two jobs. I like what Trump is doing with the auto factories. We need jobs here, in the United States.”

When I ask why, despite all the problems with Youngstown, he hasn’t moved, he looks confused. For him the question is silly, because the answer is obvious. “I like it here--my family is still here,” adding that he initially stayed to take care of his mom after his father died.

That is the thing about places like Youngstown: people often stay where they are born. For many it is simply what you do, and the community’s health is dependent on it. You stay not to just build a life, but also to support older family members.

Places like Youngstown are also more diverse than usually acknowledged. Including having growing Muslim populations.

I went to the Islamic Society of Greater Youngstown for Friday prayer. I came early and the first man I spoke to greeted me with a big handshake. He was rushing out the door but stopped to welcome me.

I started explaining I had come to talk about politics, cautiously dancing around the issue of Trump and the recent executive order, when he quickly interrupted.

“OK. You want to talk about Trump? I voted for Trump!” I asked him if he was pulling my leg. He laughed. “No way. I may be a Muslim, but I am a businessman first and I am not stupid. Many Muslims here did. Under the table.” He added with a big smile: “We are Americans. We have diverse views also.”

In Youngstown the past decades have been a slow decline, yet the town has maintained a warmth, friendliness, and a strong sense of community. Being here means being pulled between wanting to stay in a place that values you, but worried the future might only offer more decline.

One morning, I meet Daisy as she stood in the sunshine waiting for a ride from a relative. She watches me taking pictures and shyly smiles. I go over to talk with her and she tells me her story. She is 18 and was raised by her grandmother after being taken away from parents who were drug addicts. “I went through hell because of all the drugs around me”, she says.

She left briefly to try and make a new life for herself but returned to stay with her grandmother. When I asked her about the election, she says: “I voted for nobody. Both are liars. I can only pray that Trump is the right president for us.”

#Youngstown Ohio #Donald Trump #US economy

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terryblount · 5 years

Text

Days Gone – Review

But Days Gone is better than the sum of its parts, though it barely held the parts together at times. Yet somehow, it’s still a hell of a ride from start to finish.

Presentation

If you like taking screenshots, there’s plenty of beautiful (and gross) sceneries. And the Photo Mode is decent.

The open world feels small but dense but over time, it becomes larger, with some changes reflective of the story.

You will definitely notice the slowdown. At worse, the game crashes.

I can’t tell whether the performance issues are due to the modified Unreal Engine they are using, or a sign we have reached the hardware limits of the PS4.

Gameplay

Though for the most part, it’s a story of a man still clinging to the past. Heck, the in-game day tracker counts starting from two years (more accurately, 734 days gone) since he last saw his wife.

If you go on the road for too long, then you better start expecting trouble is coming, either a sniper ambush or swarms of Freakers.

Fiddly (By Design) Controls

Loot

Some Bugs

This game sure has some production values but moments when such issues pop up, coupled with the controls, make it feel like a janky, cobbled-up together game at times.

The Bike

Welcome to the Freakshow

The Freakers come in various archetypes. From the little ki- I mean Newts, to Runners, infected wolves that will chase you down even when on a bike.

But the Horde is the big selling point for Days Gone. As those early trailers showed, they are indeed vicious and they are huge. The biggest Hordes have hundreds of these Freakers roaming together.

Content

The story does feel cliche. “Sons Of Anarchy meets The Walking Dead” is a rather apt description, but the plot is more than just the biker life and post-apocalypse melodrama.

Outside of the surprisingly good story, expect the same-old side missions and collectibles. It is an open world game, after all. Though taking down the Hordes is really fun to do by the end game.

It took me around 41 hours to finish Days Gone and see the credits. Though completionists will definitely spend more than that.

Personal Enjoyment

Days Gone sure sounds like just another open world game on paper with technical issues. But somehow, I really like it.

Verdict

Whatever the case is, should you persist through the jankiness, Days Gone is the best open world biker survival game, that happens to have sort-of zombies, out there.

It’s a hell of a ride.

Review based on version 1.02 and version 1.03 (pre-release), played on the base PS4. Review copy provided by the publisher

Days Gone – Review published first on https://touchgen.tumblr.com/

0 notes