Is anyone up for a group rewatch of the week two scenes on Sunday night (Jan 15th)? It will probably be in OUaT’s regular time slot again– 8:00 pm EST.
Our group rewatch last Sunday had mixed results….several people joined in and contributed to the discussion during Skin Deep. And after that, it sorta…fell apart. Based on feedback I got after, the problem seemed to be that people didn’t know which youtube video to watch next in the list.
Also, some suggested that it might be easier to take a bathroom break–which would also be used as a discussion break–once every few scenes. Not everyone likes to liveblog while watching.
I’m working on the links for week two now, and will attempt to compile links that are all from the same person so we won’t have to switch to a different page. I’ll also note when we’re taking a discussion break between scenes, so everyone has time to queue up the next scene. Hopefully that will help.
Note: that’s a total of 75 minutes (approximately) of video time; add in the discussion time and we’re looking at almost two hours. If that’s too much and everyone knows they can’t commit to that block of time, we can move the Lacey scenes to next week. If I don’t receive feedback, I’ll leave it.
Whoops! Sorry I have not been keeping this updated. Was sick and then I had people keeping me occupied. Not an excuse though! I am disappointed in myself! So here we go again. I did the first one, 1000 Point, last night and it nearly killed me. Fuck. But will be doing Apex tonight and we’ll see how the rest of the week goes. Remember to rest a day in between every now and then. Wish me luck.
Title: Maybe it was everything. Word Count: 3385 Written by: anonymous until reveals Summary: One month, three months, four months, nine months after their breakup. (Inspired by “Last Kiss” by Taylor Swift)
Absolute Disco - Alle Tiders Stoerste Disco Hits (CD 2)
Natalie Cole - This Will Be (An Everlasting Love)
The very song that skyrocketed Natalie Cole to fame, though she was already well known as Nat King Cole’s daughter. This song came out in 1975 and became one of her biggest hits, reaching number one as an R&B single.
It takes a long time, but slowly I begin to sing again. The bittersweet melodies I sing become clearer as the days pass and I slowly regain my voice, harsh and grating from weeks of minimal use.
I’m hesitant about it at first. Singing is painful for me. It brings back too many memories of a better time, one where I had nothing more than whether or not my father would bring me to the woods after school that day, or whether or not my mother would let me make our tea for our small family. Later memories of post-war tragedies surface. And such memories plague me, draw me into their depths and cause me to rage needlessly at the unfairness of the world.
Singing has saved me twice before, though. It kept me alive after I killed Coin, even if at the time I wanted the exact opposite. But deprived of human contact and feeling, I found myself searching for my voice again, if only to hear something else besides the dull sound of pills in their container made and the clink of the silver spoon against my plate.
Singing gave me Peeta. And in that, I’m most graceful to the gift for music that I inherited from my father.
Even now, it keeps his memory alive. That particular memory, one of a whole and healthy Peeta, is one I wouldn’t mind surfacing a little more often, blotting out the image of the deranged man he was before he was given a second chance at life.
Unfortunately, that chance didn’t include me or his - our - children, or any of the people he once held close to his heart.
For months I wanted to regret my decision. Living without Peeta almost killed me, and I found myself wondering why I ever thought I could manage alone. For all intents and purposes, I couldn’t. Haymitch was over almost every day, spoon feeding me warm broth and making sure Celia and Rye went to school.
Thirty-six weeks after I left the Capitol, a letter came in the mail. I had forgotten it was scheduled to come, but as soon as I opened the envelope and saw the hospital seal on the paper inside, I remembered what it was for. I threw the letter away, but I kept the picture that came with it.
In it, Peeta leans against a tree, smiling. He’s perfect and looks as wonderful as he did a year ago - ten years ago. In his hand is a scrap of paper, embossed with a gold symbol at the top. Even though I couldn’t see what was written on it, I knew immediately where it had come from. I could picture the word in my mind, colored a dark blue.
“He would live,” Dr. Aurelius said.
Granted, it’s another life, and the smile in the picture isn’t for me. But he lives.
His memory is enough for me.
Always. Hotel Paper by Kattomas
“So yeah, this fic completely killed me. I don’t think I’ve shed as many tears from reading a fic as I did reading this one. It’s beautifully written, heart-wrenching, and one that I will never forget.” - pookieh
It was supposed to be an easy op, in and out, just intel gathering. They were ambushed, some new terrorist group masquerading as an intelligence outfit. They were looking to make a big statement, and ambushing some of SHIELD’s finest was certainly a great coming out party.
They had barely made it out. No one realized until it was too late that Jemma had been hurt. Adrenaline had kept her going, but she collapses shortly after making it back to the Bus. Grant carries her into the lab, and he and May worked furiously to staunch the bleeding from her abdomen. She catches his hand and whispers “I love you” just as her eyes flutter closed.
She hasn’t opened them since.
Grant wakes with a start, not realizing he had even fallen asleep. He leans forward and brushes Jemma’s hair off of her face. She’s pale and gaunt. With all of the tubes coming out of her, helping her breath, keeping her alive, he can’t even pretend that she’s sleeping. He tenses and relaxes his muscles trying to work out some of the stiffness. He gently picks up her hand with his, his thumb absent-mindedly stroking small circles into the back of her hand. The beeping of the heart monitor and the compression of the respirator are quiet, yet deafening. He stares at her face, willing her eyes to open. He talks to her, but refrains from telling her “I love you”, he thinks she ought to be awake the first time he says it. He was so scared of loving her that it took him too long to even realize he did love her, and even longer to find the right time to tell her. He still hasn’t found the right time.
“Ward.” Skye’s gentle voice breaks him from is reverie. She walks up to him and puts her hand on his shoulder. “AC wants to see you”
He ignores her.
“It wasn’t really a request,” she continues. He still doesn’t take his eyes off of Jemma.
“I’ll stay with her,” she offers. He tears his eyes from Jemma and glances at Skye.
“I’ll sit right there,” she gestures to his chair, “and keep her company until you get back.”
Recognizing the futility of denying Coulson, Ward reluctantly stands, leans forward, and kisses Jemma’s forehead. “Be right back Jem,” he whispers and then passes her hand to Skye.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Sit down Ward.”
He doesn’t and Coulson doesn’t push it, but continues as if he had.
“Do you know…Did Simmons ever indicate…” Coulson rarely struggles to find the right words. He pauses and finally settles on a sentence. “Did Jemma ever make her wishes known? Formally, I mean”
It only takes a moment to realize where Coulson is going and when he does, his rage, the rage he thought he had exorcised after the berserker staff incident, is stronger than ever.
“IT’S ONLY BEEN A WEEK AND THOSE BUTCHERS N MEDICAL WANT TO GIVE UP?” He’s shouting and it only adds fuel to the fire. The rage Jemma helped him conquer seeps into his blood, further fueled by his grief. It’s growing stronger and stronger, and part of him thinks he should fight it, thinks Jemma would want him to fight it, but she’s not here. He lets it consume him and the conversation takes a sharp left turn.
“They need to pay,” he says. Coulson looks perplexed.
“The people that did this to her,” he clarifies. “They NEED to PAY. I need to MAKE them PAY.” His body is shaking as tremors of rage radiate through him.
“Ward calm down. You’re losing control.” Coulson knows this is going to end badly. His eyes dart to the Night Night pistol on his desk.
“No Sir, they need to be put down.”
They both dive for the gun at the same time and they grapple for it. Ward wins and turns the gun on him. The last thing Coulson sees before passing out is the gleaming rage in Grant Ward’s eyes.
After shooting Coulson, Grant tosses the gun aside. He has no more need of it as there will be no mercy, no reprieve. He schools his features and makes his way through the Hub. He’s been a dark cloud since they brought Jemma in so no one tries to speak to him. He ducks into the small arms locker nearest the car port. He suits up and drains the locker of anything he thinks will be helpful. The rage is fueling his sharp focus. He will find them and make them pay. He should be scared of the rage coursing through his veins but he’s not. He lets it take over. It makes him judge, jury, and executioner. It turns him into an avenging angel.
As he speeds away from the base, he glances back through the rear view mirror.
“I love you, Jemma.”
He doesn’t care what happens after it’s all over. If he lives, he’ll ask for forgiveness, but for now there isn’t a safe place to hide.