#impulsivemanneriisms

[savethewcrld]

@impulsivemanneriisms

Heart was surely battling its way through her ribcage. Adrenaline rush caused by Simpson’s pills had nothing on this feeling. They were finally free, Jessica was finally free. There would be scars, there always are, but the imminent death was lurking around just a little bit less today.

The two of them have been sitting in silence for a while now, car parked just outside Trish’s building. What would happen now? The three words uttered just the night before still hung between them like a giant elephant, yet every time they would cross Trish’s mind, the corner of her lips would curl into a smile.

“Do you want to come up for a celebratory drink?” She spoke, still not looking in Jess’ direction. “Or do you want me to drop you off home? You must be crashing.”

[altarbov-a]

@impulsivemanneriisms liked // not accepting

God, this will be a BITCH to explain. Jessica thinks he’s dead. Danny and Luke think he’s dead, the whole city probably thinks he’s dead, too. Even he thought he was dead. He surely was supposed to be, right? He thought there was no way he could get of of Midland Circle alive before the whole thing had blown up.

He SHOULDN’T be here. Not only here as in standing here, alive. But also here as in the doorstep to Alias Investigations.

Still, it’s easier to talk to Jessica about this than it would be with Foggy or Karen, even with the risk of her throwing him across the room.

“Hey.” He says as he hears her answer the door. There isn’t much else to say. ‘I’m alive’ just sounds too cheesy. “It’s a long story. Can I-- can I come in?”

[touchofhell]

@impulsivemanneriisms

    “You’re disturbing my customers, Miss Jones,” he says, politely. Too many times has Neel spotted the P.I. spying on his club and its clientele. One step closer and she could unravel everything he has built. Word of mouth and even local news has prattled on about Jones’ determination, her spunk. Neel can’t risk her blowing the whistle.

[imjustanauthor]

@impulsivemanneriisms continued from [x]

Honestly, Jessica would like to say she expected this. Jessica would like to tell Christina she told her so. That John couldn’t be trusted. That John couldn’t be trusted that John would get jealous and want her dead and gone and SHE KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN.

( She wishes she speak, truthfully. Laugh and sneer at their faces because she knew all along this would happen Christina why didn’t you fucking listen to her or trust her she knew John couldn’t be trusted. )

It happens in a blur, she’s walking out of the kitchen, absently juggling a half-empty bottle whiskey, debating on actually throwing it out for the sole purpose of attempting to be better. Christina was putting Cadance down for his nap, and John – well, Jess didn’t know exactly where John was right away.

But – she finds very quickly where he is, mouth to start some sort of conversation ( how’s the pups? How’s the husband? Something to fill the silence because she would rather engage in awkward conversation than silence. ) But the words don’t have time to really leave her lips.

The gunshot is loud – loud loud and loud and sickeningly her first thought is that it’ll wake up Cadance. It’ll wake up Cadance and he’ll be fussy and borderline impossible to put back down. The sound rings in her ears, drowns out everything else and she’s stumbling and falling back and barely manages to avoid knocking her head against the coffee table as she hits the floor.

Blood instantly stains the flannel shirt, welling up and staining the dark blue plaid black. It’s wet and she’s sickeningly use to the metallic taste that enters her mouth. Makes her sick. Makes her want to throw up and spit and get it out of her mouth.

But she can’t really move, shock and surprise has paralyzed her into a dull roaring of I TOLD YOU SO and HOW IRONIC IS IT THAT THE PERSON WHO HAS ATTEMPTED TO KILL HER IS HER WIFE’S BEST FRIEND?

She wants to say I told you so, really. She does. She wants to say that John couldn’t be trusted, but something doesn’t quite connect in her brain. Doesn’t quite make sense because for all of John’s annoyances and faults, he is not a murderer. Jessica knows murderers, John doesn’t have the GUTS.

There’s that deep grunt in her throat – hurts to let out a sound – bullet slipping into her ribs and she can feel the bone crack under the pressure of the bullet entering. A gasp leaves her, perhaps a little hitch of breath enters briefly before it halts because it hurts to do that.

A glance at John, angry angry eyes and – oh, perhaps there’s that mix of utter betrayal in her eyes. A sense of utter anger and hurt hurt hurt in her gaze. How weird is it to feel betrayed by someone you never trusted? Perhaps she did trust John, once upon a time, but right now? She doesn’t know.

This is not what she expected at all but perhaps this is a life lesson to never trust anyone even if they’re best friend’s with your wife.

It wasn’t John’s fault. He’d gotten talking to a man while he was grabbing coffee and, next thing he knew, there was a gun tucked into his jacket and he was heading back to Jessica’s with one thought in mind.

Once he got inside he pulled the weapon out. The weight felt familiar in his hand and, deep inside his mind, a small part of John began to panic - but as much as his heart began to race, his brain didn’t seem to connect. It felt like he was dreaming in a way - moving, but not actually making the decision himself.

He silently stalked through the house, listening to try and pinpoint where people were. It sounded like someone was in the kid’s room so, with that target in mind, John heading in that directly. Thankfully (or not so, depending on the point of view) he bumped into Christina before he reached his destination.

There was no hesitation - he shot before he even know what he was doing. John didn’t aim, he just pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. The second he did that and the house echoed with a loud bang, the author snapped out of whatever trace he was previously in.

What? Blinking, confused, John’s mind rapidly tried to catch up with what was happening. Oh fuck. His face instantly broke into one of fear as he automatically dropped the gun and dropped to the ground, shuffling back into the corner as he looked at the sight in front of him.

Fuck. Was she dead? John knew he should really check - that he should help - but he’d frozen up. His breath came out heart and fast as his heart felt like it wanted to escape his chest. He’d shot her! Why had he done that? That wasn’t John. John could barely look at a gun, let alone pick one up and actually fire it. And why would he shoot Jessica? He liked Jessica! Sure she was a dick sometimes, but she was his friend!

There had been a man, hadn’t there? Or maybe he was imagining that? John didn’t know. His mind was running too fast to remember anything reliably - to even think sensibly.

For a second his eyes met the other’s, but he had to quickly pull them away again. John couldn’t look at Jessica. She was hurting and it was all his fault and she could die and- God, what had he done?

“Christina!”

Yelling for his friend was the only thing John could think of doing - the only thing he could will his body to do. Christina would know what to do, right? And she would believe him when he said that he hadn’t done it on purpose? What if she didn’t? Anger and fear could do things to people, and maybe it would make her not want to like him any more. To be honest, maybe he deserved that? He had just shot her wife, after all.

“Christina, call an ambulance!”

@thiefofnobility

[randiisms]

           he doesn’t know what he just ate, but he really wishes he could un-eat it.    “ did i do something to offend you ??     because if i did, i’m really sorry. ”    that taste feels like a punishment, but he doesn’t know what he did to deserve it.

                                                @impulsivemanneriisms

[altarbov-a]

leaked scene from when matt still refuses to get jess a new camera after he comes back in s3

jess: months ago i lost my dear salt mate matt murdock matt: quit telling everyone i’m dead jess: sometimes i can still hear his voice

it’s true @impulsivemanneriisms and i have seen the script

[supercatburglar]

@impulsivemanneriisms continued from x:

The air is knocked out of her as she hits the mat, rough and hard and she feels more ALIVE than she has in – well – MONTHS. Trish is stronger now – she take much more a punch and has constantly told Jess to not hold back but – she can’t help but hold because –

Well admittedly she finds Trish being able to just completely overpower her really hot.

“Jesus –” A breath out, a bit raspy because she can taste iron in her mouth and she’s a bit – just a bit – exhausted ( okay a lot a bit ). but that’s doesn’t stop the thoughts from surfacing, really. Doesn’t stop the idea of Trish throwing her into a wall and – Then, slight grin, a bit cocky and she moves to kick Trish’s legs out from under her, moving fast to crawl over her, pressing with a bit more pressure than she use to too hold Trish down.

“– Buy a girl dinner first before you start that shit, Trish.”

It’s sly, and yes she realizes the hypocrisy in her statement – considering she has just attempted to gain the upper hand in – whatever this was. She doesn’t care.

“Not –” Her chuckle is a bit winded. She tilts down a bit because the sight of Trish looking completely unkempt like she is – well it takes a lot of self restraint not to ask Trish to just throw her into a wall and kiss her. Lips brush just barely, slight smirk. “– That I mind it of course.”

Turns out? Being resurrected from HELL has its advantages.

Like being able to finally-- FINALLY!! wipe the floor with her superpowered fiancee. It’s cathartic and oh so satisfying. Because Jessica hasn’t believed her. Hasn’t trusted that Trish can take her these days. And it’s utterly thrilling to be able to shove it back in her insufferably beautiful, if surly, face.

Her guard is admittedly down. That’s the only reason Jessica’s flailing leg sweep ( the woman is not trained one iota, Trish has observed, so her fighting style is really just STRONGBRAWL until whatever she’s hitting doesn’t get back up ) connects. The air rushes out of her lungs on the way down and then--

Oh. 

Hi.

The scent of Jessica fills her nose and holds in her lungs when the brunette leans down close, and Trish relishes it. She even relishes the faint taste of blood on her lip when their mouths touch. ( She got in good, didn’t she? ) Smirking, she reaches up to swipe her finger across the split in Jessica’s lip and pops the finger in her own mouth.

“Of course you don’t.”

[supercatburglar]

Number 15. Canon. While Jess was captured by Kilgrave. Fuck me up.

There are a lot of places– behaviors, really– of the past that Trish Walker doesn’t enjoy revisiting. It’s part of the reinvention process. Rebirthing. Whatever term her therapist wants to call it. In becoming who she is now and who she will eventually be ( whenever it happens that she’s actually happy with herself and doesn’t see something loathsome looking back at her in the mirror every day ) she’s had to leave behind who she was. And part of that process is ditching many a handful of bad habits and poor behaviors. 

See, the thing is… being a ridiculously wealthy, in-demand, coveted child then tween then teenage idol… you don’t often hear the word ‘no.’ You often get exactly what you want when you want it and, in the event someone doesn’t realize that the sun and moon and stars in the sky revolve around your every whim, you pitch the most dramatic, crazed of tantrums until they come around to your way of thinking.

Over the years, Patsy Walker threw a lot of tantrums. Occasionally with her mother. Rarer with directors. Often with co-stars. FREQUENTLY with boyfriends. ( And girlfriends. ) She just didn’t appreciate someone who didn’t bow down to her every whim.

( Being SPOILED is very literal for something people often say metaphorically. )

So she’s used to the feeling of desperation that comes from ignored phone calls. She knows what it’s like to be blocked and to buy a burner phone just to let the blocker know how displeased she is with their immaturity. She’s used to frantically dialing the same numbers over and over again– leaving screaming, wailing, caterwauling, incoherent ( don’t do drugs, kids! ) voicemails. 

But that’s not who she is anymore. 

It’s NOT.

Yet somehow…

She’s lost count of the times she’s yelled at Jessica’s voicemail. It doesn’t matter that Jessica calls occasionally and tells her things are fine. Trish knows the difference. If there’s anyone on planet Earth she knows better than she knows herself or her mother, it’s Jessica. She knows that things aren’t fine. That Jessica has never in her life deserted her like this. She’d never. Patsy might have, once upon a time, but Jessica was always there.

This isn’t right. Nothing about this is right.

And the feeling of abandonment by the one person she thought would never… It’s put Trish in a darker place than she’d like to admit. It hasn’t pushed her to relapse, but it feels close. It feels like the little whispers that are always in the back of her mind are just a little bit louder. Because her support net is gone. Her one person… Her Jessica…

It’s all so FUCKED.

Call her a masochist, but she can’t leave it alone. 

So she sits in Jessica’s long cold room, atop sheets she can’t bring herself to make because Jessica never would, and stares at her phone. She’s slept here for four days now. Four straight days out of the thirty or so Jessica’s been gone. Four days. Thirty days. A hundred calls. Seventy voicemails. One bottle of klonopin she’s had hidden behind a loose tile in the bathroom for a year. Honestly she can’t keep track.

Cross-legged and sad– sadder than she can remember being– Trish presses the numbers again. It’s an exercise in futility, she knows, but still…

Blonde head hung, knuckles gripping white as she tugs in frustration, there’s so much she wants to say, but she feels like she’s already screamed it all. Yelled it. Argued it. Anything for Jessica to listen. For her to snap out of it. For her to come home. What’s left for her to say when she knows she won’t stop calling and everything else has been said seven times over?

“…please…”

@impulsivemanneriisms * THIS MEME ( selective )