we were rooting for you ward

Memories [Pt 2] (Ward Meachum/Reader)

Woah, double update, you guys! I just really love Ward, don’t blame me;; Enjoy

Taggin them nice peeps that seemed to like part one (which is HERE): @bekaperk @ladybella-l @decaffeinatedeaglefart @favrielle @vandrheim

Warnings: Talks of breakup, flashbacks, Ward being nice??, diners (again), food, alcohol mention, drug mention, reminiscing, and even more swearing

Words: 1229


“He doesn’t deserve the crying, (Y/N)… Here, look, dad gave me my allowance early, so I’m going to stay and get something, too,” he had said, giving you a small, supportive smile. You could only nod slowly and watch him call the waiter over.

“What will you be having today?”

“Can I please get the biggest, spiciest burger the cooks can make with a side of the crinkly cut fries?” You had been so confused— Ward hated spicy food more than he hated math class, which was a ton, so why was he getting something that he wouldn’t like?

“Will that be all?”

“Yes. Oh, wait, (Y/N)?” He turns back to you, then asks, “Do you want anything else? Really, anything on the menu. I’ll pay for it.”

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Big Walder the Builder

Endgame speculation is, of course, ambrosia. But it tends to revolve around who will die (and how spectacularly) in the final pushback against the Others, and not what the world will look like once they’ve gone. Bran seems to me the character most intimately connected with the world to come; he’s already come somewhat unstuck in time, his consciousness is gradually transcending his body, the physical world at large, and possibly mortality itself, and he seems the best poised to grasp the totalizing meaning and weight of the collective story of ASOIAF. He’s the time capsule, the memory-vessel, the true narrator.

But that’s at the cosmic level; there are surprisingly few hints as to what Westeros and Essos would actually look like on the ground in the wake of a successful second war for the dawn. This is especially true because most child characters, the generation that will inherit what’s left, are either a) utterly doomed to die before they get there (Tommen, Myrcella, Sweetrobin, Shireen…) or b) suffering in a manner that imprisons them in the present; speculating on the future is time wasted when you’re so busy surviving just to have a future. As such, we don’t necessarily get a good sense of what kind of adults they’ll turn out to be, beyond generally traumatized. 

…there is this one exception, however, and it would probably piss Bran off something awful.

Big Walder Frey is my favorite minor character. This is true in large part because while ruthless ambition is generally corrosive in adults, I find it oddly charming in little kids. Big Walder knows exactly what he wants to do with his life–rule the Twins–at the age of nine, and is committed to that long game with a murderous zen that is adorable and utterly terrifying in equal measure. The great joke of House Frey is that it’s this hateful backbiting snake’s den full to bursting with the worst adults in Westeros, but at the very bottom there’s this little kid that all that venom has just drained into, and he’s entirely composed of it, and he’s going to regurgitate it on anyone between him and his prize…and no one around him seems to notice, even though he is so confident and so ready and so sure that he simply announces what he is going to do to his family, over and over.

“We’re cousins, not brothers,” added Big Walder, the little one. “I’m Walder son of Jammos. My father was Lord Walder’s son by his fourth wife. He’s Walder son of Merrett. His grandmother was Lord Walder’s third wife, the Crakehall. He’s ahead of me in the line of succession even though I’m older.”

“Only by fifty-two days,” Little Walder objected. “And neither of us will ever hold the Twins, stupid.”

“I will,” Big Walder declared. [Translation: I’m going to kill you.]

“Ryman is old too,” said Little Walder. “Past forty, I bet. And he has a bad belly. Do you think he’ll be lord?”

“I’ll be lord. I don’t care if he is.” [Translation: I’m going to kill him…if he doesn’t get himself killed first.]

“Did you find your cousins, my lord?”

“No. I never thought we would. They’re dead. Lord Wyman had
them killed. That’s what I would have done if I was him.” [Translation…not required on that one.]

There isn’t even a little foreshadowing moment like “Maester Luwin looked at Big Walder for a long moment, his eyebrows raised” or “Reek wondered if Hosteen and Aenys knew what they had in their young cousin” or anything like that. The only explanation, of course, is that he’s nine. So no one makes the connection when his cousin turns up dead. 

Snow slid from Ser Hosteen’s cloaks as he stalked toward the high table, his steps ringing against the floor. A dozen Frey knights and men-at-arms entered behind him. One was a boy Theon knew—Big Walder, the little one, fox-faced and skinny as a stick. His chest and arms and cloak were spattered with blood.

The scent of it set the horses to screaming. Dogs slid out from under the tables, sniffing. Men rose from the benches. The body in Ser Hosteen’s arms sparkled in the torchlight, armored in pink frost. The cold outside had frozen his blood.

That’s the other reason to love Big Walder: the classic I May Be Evil But That’s Just Fucked Up moment. Big Walder is willing to kill or let die dozens of his fellow Freys, but the gratuitous pleasure Ramsay takes in inflicting pain is simply beyond his moral event horizon:

Little Walder swung down from the saddle. “You can see to my horse too, Reek. And to my little cousin’s.”

“I can see to my own horse,” said Big Walder. Little Walder had become Lord Ramsay’s best boy and grew more like him every day, but the smaller Frey was made of different stuff and seldom took part in his cousin’s games and cruelties.

Reek paid the squires no mind. He led Blood off toward the stables, hopping aside when the stallion tried to kick him. The hunters strode into the hall, all but Ben Bones, who was cursing at the dogs to stop them fighting over the severed head.

Big Walder followed him into the stables, leading his own mount. Reek stole a look at him as he removed Blood’s bit. “Who was he?” he said softly, so the other stablehands would not hear.

“No one.” Big Walder pulled the saddle off his grey. “An old man we met on the road, is all. He was driving an old nanny goat and four kids.”

“His lordship slew him for his goats?”

“His lordship slew him for calling him Lord Snow.”

(Note that Big Walder talks to Theon as though Theon is, in fact, a human being.)

Of course, Big Walder primarily killed Little Walder because the latter stood ahead of the former in the succession, and because Big Walder realized how easy it would be to frame the Manderlys. (He immediately and intuitively grasps that Wyman had his relatives killed, and uses that information to cover his own murdering. How can you not love my brilliant baby boy) But Big Walder may also have acted out of growing horror at Little Walder becoming “more like [Ramsay] every day.” What was it Lord Wyman said, beholding the corpse and musing internally on recipes?

“So young,” said Wyman Manderly. “Though mayhaps this was a blessing. Had he lived, he would have grown up to be a Frey.”

Perhaps Big Walder feared Little Walder would actually grow up a Bolton.

This sort of thing is necessary, of course, to establish Ramsay’s place at the top (or bottom, I suppose) of ASOIAF’s taxonomy of villains; like Joffrey, he freaks even the other killers out. But GRRM is also emphasizing this contrast between the Walders as a preview of the world to come. Little Walder exemplifies the Westeros that makes me, at some deep horrible level, glad the Others are on their way. The corrupt, arrogant, sadistic Little Walders of the story…well, as usual, Stannis puts it best: 

Stannis glowered up at Theon where he hung. “You are not the only turncloak here, it would seem. Would that all the lords in the Seven Kingdoms had but a single neck… " 

And certainly, most of the Freys will suffer for the Red Wedding, those that haven’t already. But as the noose tightens, the incentives will change for the Freys determined to survive above all else: they will sell out their family.

“A little spittle on Lord Walder’s tomb is not like to disturb the grave worms,” Qyburn agreed, “but it would also be useful if someone were to be punished for the Red Wedding. A few Frey heads would do much to mollify the north.”

“Lord Walder will never sacrifice his own,” said Pycelle.

“No,” mused Cersei, “but his heirs may be less squeamish. Lord Walder will soon do us the courtesy of dying, we can hope. What better way for the new Lord of the Crossing to rid himself of inconvenient half brothers, disagreeable cousins, and scheming sisters than by naming them the culprits?”

It was like to be every son for himself when the old man died, and every daughter as well. The new Lord of the Crossing would doubtless keep on some of his uncles, nephews, and cousins at the Twins, the ones he happened to like or trust, or more likely the ones he thought would prove useful to him. The rest of us he’ll shove out to fend for ourselves.

But Big Walder’s still a little young to wield power at that level; I have another candidate in mind.

…[A]nd after Ryman came his own sons, Edwyn and Black Walder, who were even worse. “Fortunately,” Lame Lothar once said, “they hate each other even more than they hate us.”

Merrett wasn’t certain that was fortunate at all, and for that matter Lothar himself might be more dangerous than either of them. Lord Walder had ordered the slaughter of the Starks at Roslin’s wedding, but it had been Lame Lothar who had plotted it out with Roose Bolton, all the way down to which songs would be played. Lothar was a very amusing fellow to get drunk with, but Merrett would never be so foolish as to turn his back on him.

Lame Lothar Frey, charming and courteous and utterly devious, has no sons of his own, but he does have a nephew; if Lothar were to follow his father as Lord of the Crossing, his heir would be the little boy everyone instinctively calls Big. Remember Osha’s insight into Little Walder?

“The big one they call little, it comes to me he’s well named. Big outside, little inside…”

The reverse is true of Big Walder. My baby contains multitudes.

Even Bran, much as he resents both young Freys for being able to run and play with Rickon, grudgingly recognizes that Big Walder is the worthier of the two.

“These threats are unseemly, and I’ll hear no more of them. Is this how you behave at the Twins, Walder Frey?”

“If I want to.” Atop his courser, Little Walder gave Luwin a sullen glare, as if to say, You are only a maester, who are you to reproach a Frey of the Crossing?

“Well, it is not how Lady Stark’s wards ought behave at Winterfell. What’s at the root of this?” The maester looked at each boy in turn. “One of you will tell me, I swear, or-”

“We were having a jape with Hodor,” confessed Big Walder. “I am sorry if we offended Prince Bran. We only meant to be amusing.” He at least had the grace to look abashed.

Little Walder only looked peevish. “And me,” he said. “I was only being amusing too.”

“Was it Lord Tywin he defeated?” asked Bran.

“No,” said the maester. “Ser Stafford Lannister commanded the enemy host. He was slain in the battle.”

Bran had never even heard of Ser Stafford Lannister. He found himself agreeing with Big Walder when he said, “Lord Tywin is the only one who matters.”

Ser Rodrik reminded him to send something to his foster brothers, so he sent Little Walder some boiled beets and Big Walder the buttered turnips.

(Ok, that last one is a little subjective, but I’d much rather have buttered turnips than boiled beets…no, fuck it, that’s objectively correct. Beets are tolerable as paper-thin splashes of color in a salad. Otherwise, they are hideous alien roots and are never to be trusted.)

The endgame in my head is, in some sense, all about how Big Walder ends up with the Twins, and Skahaz Shavepate ends up with Slaver’s Bay (in retrospect, foreshadowed from his very first appearance), and the Tyrells end up with most if not all of the south. It’s not about the world taking a massive leap forward to utopia or even democracy; it’s about the “long and slow boring of hard boards.” It’s about things getting incrementally better. I will so very take the Tyrells over the Lannisters, the Shavepates over the Sons of the Harpy, and Big Walder over Little Walder. Choosing the lesser evil isn’t a sad half-measure, not in a world where the greater evils are the likes of Ramsay, Gregor, Craster, Rorge…or the Others, above them all. Sometimes, it’s enough to kill the ravaging monsters at the door, and hope the little nine-year-old monster at your side is “the right kind of terrible,” the kind who will rebuild the world…if for no other reason than so he’ll have something to rule.

To Rise Again

What if Belle had picked up Rumpel’s dagger by the Dark Vault instead of Zelena? What if they escaped back to the Dark Castle with Neal? What if there were another way to bring him back from the brink of death? A fix-it for episode 3 x 15, Quiet Minds. Inadvertantly inspired by the lovely phoenixfeatherquill!

                                ———————————

“You can’t hold on to them both,” Zelena declared triumphantly.

It was an easy decision, this time. “Belle, take it!” he called as he tossed the dagger that controlled him in her direction.

Quick as thought, Belle leapt forward and snatched it off the ground, not even having to think about what was needed. Time, and safety. “Rumpelstiltskin, I command thee to transport myself and Neal with you to the Dark Castle!.”

A swirl of purple smoke later, and the witch’s cry of rage rang out over the empty snow-filled clearing.

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anonymous asked:

shoot prompt: “I’m beginning to feel like we didn’t think this through…”

“You think?” Shaw jammed her gun into the sliver of air between the wall closing in on them at then stationary exterior wall.

A loud screech sounded and the barrel of the gun became bent. Root leaned back on the opposite wall, looking up toward the ceiling for a way to escape, “I got a bad feeling about this.” 

“Please tell me you’re not quoting Star Wards when we’re about to be crushed to death,” Shaw rolled her eyes, pulling out her sidearm and putting it on the ground, trying to catch the incoming wall in another place.

Root grinned, “I can’t believe you recognized that.”

“If we don’t find a way to stop these walls, you better hope there’s a trash compactor monster that eats you,” Shaw watched Root looking around. 

“A trash monster won’t be necessary,” Root spotted something promising. By then the wallles were slowed significantly and only a few feet apart. Root pressed her hands to both sides and then hopped up, using her feet to brace herself She continued propelling herself up the wall with surprising speed and then pushed at the ceiling. A panel gave way, “Come on up princess.”

“Don’t for a second think that I am Princess Leia in this,” Shaw started to climb up, “I’m Han Solo.”

“Does that make me Leia?” Root pushed herself out of the open panel and out of danger. She sat down on the edge of their escape to help Shaw up before Shaw was crushed. 

“Yeah and we’re at the part where I want to kill you or I’m beginning to like you. I’d like you more if you could point us out of here,” Shaw watched the barrel of her gun snap and the walls crush closed underneath them. 

Root smiled and began crawling through the vent way from Shaw,  “Right this way you scruffy looking nerf herder.”

“Born and raised here in the ninth ward, I’m a Vietnam vet, I’ve been gone for a long time… I’m home. I missed it, all of it. I’ve been in Texas for ten years. I finally came back three or four months ago.”

“Were you still rooting for the Saints when you lived in Texas?”

“I’m gonna always be a Saints fan!!! ALWAYS be a Saints FAN! The best thing for me, my team winning the Superbowl and a black president. I’m 63 years old. I thought I’d never see that. Dream come true. They used to call us the Aints when we were having a losing season. Everybody used to put paper bags on their heads and turn their backs. I’m not doing that. I go down with the home team. I’m a die hard fan. I don’t flip flop, none of this. If they’re losing, I’m still with ‘em, if they’re winning, I’m still with ‘em. I’m a Saints fan.“

A Summary of Tokyo Ghoul:re Chapter 98

- Amon seems to have been drinking a shit ton of red bull

- Jeez everybody in this manga like piggyback rides

- 180 seconds a new movie where someone else gets crushed by a rock

- Y’all someone is gonna die because someone just had to go home

- Amon spreading “ the world is wrong” like a cold

- Cool band name Ghost of the 20th Ward

-Jeez CCG a 98 is still an A

- Matsuri: One-Eyed King more like King of Dumb ideas

- :re slogan you got a friend in me

- Marude the little Mermaid

- Marude graces the chapter with snot

- Kimi I was rooting for you, we were all rooting for you

- Matsurie becomes another victim of the clown epidemic 

-Next Time on Tokyo Ghoul:re: We finally leave this extremely long beach episode

I was rooting for you, we were all rooting for you! How dare you! Learn something from this! When you go to bed at night, you lay there and you take responsibility for yourself, because nobody’s going to take responsibility for you. You’re rolling your eyes and you act like it’s because you’ve heard it all before—you’ve heard it all before—you don’t know where the hell I come from, you have no idea what I’ve been through, but I’m not a victim; I grow from it and I learn. Take responsibility for yourself!
—  Phil Coulson to Grant Ward, “Beginning of the End”.

anonymous asked:

Root/Shaw: "Why do you stare at me?" "You're so beautiful. I like to look at beautiful things." (idk if you're still doing these, but I thought I'd give it a shot anyways)

“I really don’t care that you’ve been drugged. I’ll still kneecap you if you keep saying shit like that,” Shaw closed the door of their train car. 

Root laid down on the bench seat and closed her eyes, “Where are we going?”

“I can’t tell you,” Shaw took off her coat and sat down opposite Root. 

“Why not?” Root pushed her hair out of her eyes. 

Shaw looked at Root, trying to decided exactly what to say, “Samaritan has a worm in The Machine and since you’re the Machine’s eyes and ears, the less you know, the better.”

“So I have to stay drugged?” Root asked, pushing herself up in a sitting position. She leaned on the wall and curled into a ball, staring out of the window.

Shaw quickly got up and pulled down the window shade. “Yeah, you have to stay drugged. At least until we get where we’re going.”

Root sighed, “I hate this. It’s like the first time they put my in a psych ward.”

“First time?” Shaw quirked an eyebrow.

Root nodded slowly, lulling her head onto the wall next to her, “Are you really surprised?”

Shaw was honest and shook her head. 

Root smiled humorlessly, “The first one was an underfunded state hospital in rural Texas. Actual treatment wasn’t really an option because no one knew what they were doing. So I was drugged twenty-four seven until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Shaw swallowed, “Look, this is just…I trust you, but…”

“You can’t trust the voice in my head,” Root raised an eyebrow. 

“As soon as we’re there, I won’t have to drug you anymore,” Shaw saw how small and sad Root was, leaning against the wall with her arms wrapped around her knees. 

Root nodded solemnly, “I trust you Sameen.”

There was nothing but the Search. No roots, no name, no home. This did not bother her duly. It was natural for a Guardian to Search, and it was natural for a Wind dragon to roam. 

She did see many things that were worth protecting, of course. Ruins in the Light Flight’s territory with mysterious and awe-inspiring engravings. Water Flight seers who could glean things far in the past or future. A modest, fragile sapling that had pushed its way through the cracked earth of Dragonhome. An ancient, massive tree in the far corner of the Tangled Wood. All valuable and wondrous things, in their own right, but not hers. Not her Ward.

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agentdunhamsarchive  asked:

(i love your aos meta! and also i miss fringe too, always) what do you think of people calling ward a "misogynistic asshole" after the finale? granted, his behaviour towards both may and skye in that episode was awful but like he's never been a misogynist? that behaviour was consequence of him closing up (and being lost w/o garrett's orders) and trying to assume he's a 'monster' rather than facing the truth

Oh, queendunham, it always warms my heart to see a Fringe fan in a new fandom. 

With regards to the name-calling - Ward is guilty of a lot of things, but being a misogynist is not one of them. He has never once undermined Simmons, Skye, or May’s value to the team because of their gender. 

I said it in this meta and I’ll say it again - everyone is so quick to demonize Ward for calling Maria Hill “eye candy”, but no one is really pissed that she called him “Garrett’s lapdog.” The sentiment behind the two phrases is exactly the same. Ward is calling Hill weak and undermining her value as an agent, and Hill is calling Ward weak and subservient and undermining his ability to think independently. And in the finale, people are pissed that he said he would take what he wanted from Skye, people are pissed that he asked May if he hurt her feelings, but when May tells Ward he was never on top, that’s suddenly okay. What May says to him is just as emasculating as what Maria Hill said to him. They are undermining his status as a strong male. Just as it’s not okay for Ward to make sexist remarks to them, it’s also not okay for them to make sexist remarks to him. These double standards have got to stop. We have got to stop demonizing men for saying anything remotely negative about women while not caring when (or even rooting for) women say negative things about men. 

And specifically about what he said to Skye - he was not threatening to rape her. I’ll repeat myself again, this time from this post. I am not blinded by my defense of Ward. I see how problematic his words were, but if you just look at the semantics, it’s clear he’s not threatening her with rape. He says you woke up a weakness inside me, and we know that the one thing he views as a weakness is love. He continues, and for the first time in a while, I wanted something for myself. Maybe I’ll just take what I want. What he wants is love, what he wants specifically from Skye is her love. 

If that’s not enough proof, let me use the hypothetical to explain why he’s not threatening rape. At its core, rape is not about sex, but control, so if Ward wanted to rape Skye, he would have really wanted to control her. But he specifically says wake up something inside of you. That’s not control, that’s freedom. He doesn’t want to control her, he wants to set her free, to reveal her true nature. And in the heat of his emotions, he’s hoping her true nature is as “monstrous” as he is.

GRANT WARD IS NOT AS BIG OF A JERK AS HE COULD BE, YOU GUYS. And considering he was raised and manipulated by some big fucking jerks, this is a big fucking deal.