#it leaves me cold. but maybe a version on screen will sell it for me

[mzannthropy]

I suppose I should start on some The Count of Monte Cristo adaptations now. I think I saw the one with Richard Chamberlain sometime years ago, but I don't even remember if I finished it. I see the 2002 film mentioned a lot, which to me seems well liked by some people but not everyone, so idk... Which one is your favourite?

[technicolorfamiliar]

Technicolor Familiar Watches Too Many Conrad Veidt Movies Part 2 of ?

(More on what this is all about in Part 1)

Disclaimer: I think I get into more plot spoilers here than I did in my last post, incase that matters to any interested parties reading this.

We're getting into the titles where I mostly went in cold, no expectations or even general ideas of what these movies were about beyond brief descriptions on IMDB or Letterboxd.

Oh and, Disclaimer #2: If the creators/editors/scanners of any images used see their work here, please let me know so I can give you proper credit! 🖤

The Thief of Bagdad, 1940 Dir. Ludwig Berger, Zoltan Korda, Tim Whelan, Michael Powell, William Cameron Menzies ⭐2/5 Watched Oct 24, Max Ehhh, I don't know. A lot of people really love this movie. I did not particularly enjoy really anything about it. Sure, it's a groundbreaking technological marvel that set the standard for a lot of future fantasy films. But the story is messy in a way that couldn't be rectified by Movie Magic. All those directors probably account for some of the problems there, but I haven't done a ton of research into the making of the film (what is it with large scale, big budget movies made around this time all having multiple directors?). And, I have to say, putting white actors in brown face is always a tough sell. The third act was partially saved by Sabu and Rex Ingram, two actors of color, having some extended screen time, but only just barely. And frankly, I think Connie, although absolutely glorious in Technicolor, was largely wasted on this one.

Der Student von Prague (The Student of Prague), 1926 Dir. Henrik Galeen ⭐4/5 Watched Oct 29, Archive.org Poor Balduin. All he wanted was a hot, rich girlfriend and what did he get? His evil double chasing him around Prague like Michael Myers. I really loved the old school mirror effects and filming tricks. The updated score in the version I watched was pretty good, too. The final act was excellent. The suspense, the build up -- it's all so well-crafted. And an excellent bridge between high German Expressionism and dramatic period romance. We love to see Connie as the tormented romantic hero. Especially when he's giving face, he's giving eyes, he's giving shapes. I'm having a hard time finding anything negative to say about this one. My only gripe is that it's just a little long, could have had maybe 20 - 30 minutes chopped off (but which 20 - 30 min I could not say).

The Passing of the Third Floor Back, 1935 Dir. Berthold Viertel ⭐4/5 Watched Nov 1, Archive.org This film... it's timeless, actually. I may be a grumpy old so-and-so, but stories where one kind and gentle character comes in and leaves a lasting influence on a bunch of deeply flawed or even outright awful people always get me. For some reason, this is the first of Connie's films from the 1930s on my watch list. Not sure what took me so long, but I was really pleasantly taken aback by his delicately nuanced and subdued performance here. His measured gestures and restraint are so great in this film, and so appropriate for the character. I really appreciate the way the Stranger takes time to consider and see the folks at the boarding house in a way they're clearly not seeing each other. I also love that there's not a lot of exposition or explanation like there usually is in similar pictures: Why is the Stranger there? Who/what is he? Where did he come from? The audience kind of gets an answer at the end, but ultimately nothing more than what we're given matters and wouldn't affect the story anyway.

The Last Performance, 1929 Dir. Paul Fejos ⭐4/5 Watched Nov 4, Youtube Gooped and gagged! Somehow we go from adding a fourth to Erik's polycule to MURDER? I'm so mad so much footage (and a voiceover??) was lost. Can we please talk about the big bisexual energy Connie has in this movie, maybe more than any other film on my list so far? From how he physically handles his costars to how he's styled with the heavy makeup, the tails, the dressing gown, it was a lot to take in, and I am living for it. I'm realizing that, as a performer, he really is a master technician, somehow without anything he's doing on screen coming off as inauthentic or too studied, without "showing the work." Erik's face journey when he kisses Julie's hand and wishes her all the best with Mark is worth watching the whole movie for.

Dark Journey, 1937 Dir. Victor Saville ⭐3/5 Watched Nov 12, Youtube Please believe me when I say I really tried very hard to pay attention to the plot of this movie. But it was extremely difficult as I nearly swallowed my tongue because of how stupidly attractive Connie is as Von Marwitz. He's charming, intense, vulnerable. He really has the range, darling. He's kind of using his lower vocal register a bit which apparently does things to me. (Sorry for all the parentheses in this post, but I was shocked years ago when I saw Casablanca and heard that voice come out of that person. It… it does not go. He's like a early 20th century German Jeremy Irons and I guess I half expected him to sound like that too.) Also, I wasn't into monocles before. I am now. So I have to apologize, I know I said I was going to keep the thirst posts to a minimum but can you blame me? Really? But uh, the movie itself? The story is fine, the script is just ok. There's lots of eye candy with the production design. Vivienne Leigh is doing Vivienne Leigh. And she got that man, so good for her I guess.

Part 3 is going to be all over the place in terms of genre and tone, so we'll see how that goes as I piece together all the stuff I wrote.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Iron 10 (Peter Parker x Fem!Oc)

Words:  3, 238

Masterlist

Chapter 9

"And how am I supposed to learn to control them if they forbid me to do anything?" Lily asks from the back seat.

“We’ll talk to your father. Depending on what happens, we’ll send them the necessary equipment,” informs Fury.

"Depending on what happens?"

"Legal aspects.”

"As which?"

"Lily, one problem at a time," Nat interrupts.

“Fine. Where are we going?"

"Do you want a donut?"

"Sure!"

The van pulls up outside the Randy’s Donuts store, Fury comes out. They both look at him from inside the car. Tony’s sitting on the huge donut.

"Why did we come for him?” She grits her teeth, remembering the annoyance towards her father.

"You two should talk," Nat says.

"I don’t want to.”

"If you want us to help you, that is the condition.”

Lily turns away from the window and folds her arms looking at the redhead.

"You didn't say anything about conditions.”

"Now there are.”

"It's not fair,” She sighs and then looks at Nat's outfit. "Why do you wear that? Is it your super spy uniform?"

 "Something like that. You like it?"

“You look weird, but I like it. Do you have weapons or explosives?"

“Perhaps."

The agent receives an order from her intercom. She responds and returns to the girl.

"Come on, I'll buy you a donut."

They both get out of the truck and enter the premises. Nat asks Lily a chocolate donut and walks to the chairs where Tony and Fury are, while the girl takes the donut from her and sits in an armchair away from them, with her back to them.

"Huh!" Tony says when he sees Natasha in a new outfit "You're... fired.”

"That's not up to you,” answers the redhead sitting down.

"Tony, I want you to meet Agent Romanoff,” adds Fury.

“Hi."

"I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. shadow. Once we knew you were ill or out of control, I was tasted to you by Director Fury. Besides taking care of your daughter in risky situations,” She tilts her head towards Lily.

Tony frowns and looks away to meet the little girl, eating a donut while she swings her legs. He goes back to the redhead.

"I suggest you apologize,” answers Tony.

"You've been very busy," continues Fury. “You made your girl your CEO, you’re giving away your stuff, you neglect your daughter without taking into account the high priority over her powers, you let your friend fly way with your suit. Now, if I did’nt know better—”

 Tony rolls his eyes. Again, someone else scolding him for whatever stupid thing he does. Although he now knows that he did screw up, he doesn't want to hear it again. He has enough with his own mind.

"You don't know better. I didn’t give it to him. He took it."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, He took it?" asks Fury. “You’re Iron Man and he just took it? The Little brother walked in there, kicked your ass and took your suit?" He says. “Is that possible?"

“Well, according to Mr. Stark’s database security guidelines, there are redundancies to prevent unauthorized usage,” answers Nat.

Tony snorts.

"What do you want from me?"

“What do we want from you? Uh-uh,” Fury says as Natasha gets up. “What do you want from me? You have become a problem, a problem I have to deal with. Contrary to your belief, you are not the center of my universe,” He scolds him.

In that, Natasha injects something into Tony making him scream. The conversation is overheard by Lily, but only when he complains does she turn around.

"Oh, god, are you gonna steal my kidney and sell it?" Tony asks.

Natasha moves Tony's head and Fury sees the lines on Stark's neck slowly disappear.

Fury explains what the substance they just injected does to him.

“Give me a couple of boxes of that. I'll see right as rain."

"It's not a cure, it just abates the symptoms,” Nat explains.

"You need to get back to work, Stark," Fury says and Tony sighs. "And by Stark, I mean both," He points back.

Lily realizes that he sees her and turns away.

 "I don't think she wants to work as a team now."

“She has her reasons. You are a terrible companion.”

***

They all return home to Malibu. Tony and Nick sit on the terrace, now destroyed. They both talk about the reactor, the technology that Howard Stark couldn't finish, and about Vanko father and son.

Fury takes it upon himself to explain everything to Tony, while Lily returns from her room after making sure that no one had destroyed her. Nat had told him what happened with Rhodes and Tony.

The little girl walks to sit on the stairs that lead to the terrace, listening to the adults.

“You told me I hadn't tried everything. What do you mean I haven’t tried everything? What haven’t I tried?" Tony points out.

"He said that you were the only person with the means and knowledge to finish what he started.”

"He said that?"

“Are you that guy? Hmm? Are you? ‘Cause if you are, then you can solve the riddle of your heart. Or maybe, I should be discussing this with your daughter."

Tony winces and shakes his head. Lily frowns.

"I don't know where you get your information, but he wasn't my biggest fan," says Tony.

"I'm not either," adds Lily, resting her chin on her arm. Tony glances at her.

"What do you remember about your dad?"

This catches the girl's attention.

 “He was cold, he was calculating. He never told me he loved me. He never even told me he liked me, so it’s a Little tough for me to digest then you’re telling me he said the whole future was riding on me an’s passing it down. I don't get that."

Hearing that, Lily feels a little sorry for Tony. Only a little. She imagines how  could be her grandfather when Tony was her age.

"You're talking about a guy whose happiest day was when he shipped me off to boarding School.”

"That’s not true.”

"Well, then, clearly you knew my dad better than I did.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. You can believe and think many things about him, but knowing all that, do you really want Lily to think the same about you?" says Fury and then finishes his drink. More agents appear to drop off several suitcases. "Well then, what else will I know about one of the founding members of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

"What?"

All three get up. Lily walks over to see the suitcase.

"What’s this?" Tony asks pointing at her.

"You got this, right?" asks Fury.

"Got what? I don’t even know what I’m supposed to get,” answers Tony nervously.

“Natasha will remain a floater at Stark with her cover of her intact. And you remember Agent Coulson, right?"

“Yeah."

They both greet each other.

 "Oh, and Tony,” says Fury before leaving. "After you fix this whole mess, we should talk about Lily's new training, she needs it more than you do. And remember, I got my eye on you.”

The latter makes Lily laugh.

Natasha and Coulson explain to Tony what to do and what not to do, while Lily walks over to the suitcase.

Property of H.Stark

"Okay, time to work, Kid," says Tony.

“No," Lily walks away. "We've been together for several hours and you haven't even apologized, and now you're just hoping that I'll help you?"

Tony raises an eyebrow, shifting uncomfortably.

“Basically."

Lily looks at him in disbelief.

"I don't want to, I won't help you,” She says and then returns to her room.

***

The truth is that Lily does want to help him, but she knows he doesn't deserve it. Moreover, she cannot be alone in her room doing nothing. She wants to know what’s in that suitcase, but she doesn't want Tony to find out about her.

An idea crosses her mind. She may not be the stealthiest, but she is the only thing she has. She goes into the living room of her destroyed house and presses the hidden button on the emergency elevator that goes alone to the workshop. She enters it and after a few seconds arrives at the workshop.

 All the lights are off and Tony is sitting in an armchair facing a projection. Lily sneaks up behind the old project.

They both watch the old Howard Stark tapes, rehearsing the presentation of what is now Stark Expo. The man has several mistakes with words, but something else calls him the attention to the girl. Just as a little boy comes out the other side of the desk where Howard presents a model. The boy takes one of the pieces and Howard notices.

“Tony, what are you doing back there? What is that? Put that back!” He scolds him.

Lily leans in to get a better look at the boy version of her father. Now she can see the resemblance between Howard and Tony when scolding their children, but is also fun to watch.

Several takes with more errors follow.

“So, from all of us at Stark Industries, I’d like to personally show you my ass,” says Howard. Lily can't help but laugh at his words, giving away her presence. Although Tony had listened to her since she arrived.

"I know you're in there, kid. You're too curious to miss this,” She comes out of her hiding place, crawling on the ground until she reaches the other side of the projector.

"I'm still mad.”

Tony sighs.

"I know,” He leans in the chair and sets aside a notebook.

“Tony," says Howard causing both of them to return to the screen. “You’re too young to understand this right now, so I thought I would put this film for you. I built this for you. And Someday you'll realize that it represents a whole lot more than just people’s inventions. It represents my life’s work. This is the key to the future,” He shows the model and the reactor. “I'm limited by the technology of my time, but one day you'll figure this out. And when you do, you will change the world. What is and always will be my greatest creation… is you,” The tape ends.

 "Do you think Grandpa Howard would love me?" Lily asks when the lights come on.

Tony laughs when he hears ‘Grandpa Howard’, he’s sure he wouldn’t like to be called that.

"I don’t know. Maybe he would love you more than me,” He looks at Lily.

"I am more adorable than you.”

Tony nods, unable to fight back. He sighs. He thinks about the words of his father and wonders why he was never like this with him when they were together. Why does he have to find out about this from a tape or from other people? Then he thinks of his own daughter and Fury's words come back to him.

Tony doesn't want Lily to grow up thinking that he was worse than Howard, he knows what he did.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you that day," He begins.

"And?" She says crossing her arms.

"And sorry for what you had to witness at the party.”

"And?"

Tony purses his lips.

“I'm sorry I failed you. I shouldn't have left you alone, or yell at you, or lie to you.”

"Nat told me that your chest was killing you,” He nods. "Didn't it occur to you to ask for help?"

“It is somewhat complicated. When you say that you are dying, everyone panics.”

"But then they help you.”

 "I guess so.”

Lily feels a lump in her throat. Just remembering that, she again feels afraid of losing her father without even knowing something about what was really going on.

"I don't like that you hide things from me or lie to me," she says with a broken voice.

“Sorry."

"No, you must promise that you won’t do it again,” she interrupts him.

Tony watches Lily's determination.

"I promise.”

“Mr. Fury said we are a team. You must do your part,” she says as she gets up.

"Mr. Fury?"

"Dad!"

"Okay, okay, I got it!” He argues. In that he remembers an unfinished business. Tony stayed for a moment in the destroyed mansion and as he passed through the kitchen he saw a burned box on the sides.

He walks over to his desk with Lily following him. He removes the remains from the box and carefully takes the gift from him.

"It's a good try…”

"But you didn't even open it," she complains.

"I'm sorry, but you were missing some details.”

Lily rolls her eyes.

 "I put it together by watching a video, it's not as if you had explained each part to me.”

“That can change. Do you remember the rules we agreed upon the first time you were in the workshop?" She nods. “Forget the question limit. From now on, you must ask.”

Lily can't help but smile.

“Agree."

"So, are we good now?"

"Yup, but if you do something wrong, I'll tell Mr. Fury to scold you again."

"He didn't scold me," He complains.

"Whatever you say. Now what shall we do?"

Tony sighs and then winces.

“I must go to Pepper, stay here and cover me with the secret agents. I will not be late.”

"Good luck.”

***

After a few hours, Tony returns with the demo that his father had shown on the tapes. He arms it on various tables.

“Cool," says Lily approaching.

Tony orders Jarvis to scan every detail so he can manipulate it, he takes the hologram and moves it away from the table.

“Open your eyes wide, Kid. The answer to our problems is here,” says Tony giving her a bench and he sits on another. They both look at the model.

"What do we have to look for?"

"A new element.”

“Easy," she says sarcastically.

"My father put it here, we just have to move some things,” He brings the projection towards the center, a sphere.

"He must have something at the core," Tony whispers.

Lily sees what is around.

"What if…?”

"What?"

"What if we put everything together?"

Tony frowns, but an idea crosses his mind.

Little by little, Tony is gathering the important aspects towards the center of the Expo and in each step, he’s explaining Lily. In the end he manages to find a new element, the possible solution to the problem of intoxication.

"Dead for almost twenty years, and still taking me to school,” He says watching his creation. "Nice work, Kid.”

She smiles.

"How will you make it work?" She asks.

"Unfortunately, it’s impossible to synthesize," reports Jarvis.

Tony gets up from his chair.

“Get ready for a major remodel, fellas! We're back in hardware mode. C’mon, kid.”

Between Lily and Tony - mostly Tony - they break down some walls, open the floor and use any energy source in the mansion to connect it to the workshop part. They both open some boxes that S.H.I.E.L.D left them and use every material they have on hand.

"Hold the lamp," Tony tells her.

"It's what I'm doing,” Lily claims while she also tries to see what Tony is doing.

"More to the right.”

"What does that do?"

“Gives more energy. Bring the lamp closer…”

In the meantime, neither of them notices that Phil walks into the shop.

"I heard you broke the perimeter,” says the agent.

"Whoops" says Lily.

"Uh, yeah. That was, like, three years ago. Where have you been?" Tony answers.

"I was doing some stuff.”

"Yeah, well, us too, and it worked.”

Coulson checks the boxes. He pulls out some kind of unfinished shield.

"What’s that?" asks Lily.

“It’s exactly what we need to make this work. Lily, take it,” She obeys. "Lift the coil,” He says to Coulson and between them they lift it up a bit. Enough for Lily to put it under. Tony sets the leveler. “Perfectly level. I'm busy what do you want?"

 Coulson warns him that he must go on another mission and says goodbye.

"Glad to see you are a part of it, Lily.”

"It was not easy,” she answers making him laugh.

The hours pass and they both go back to work. In the end, Tony gives Lily some special glasses and explains what they will do.

The energy is concentrated in the device.

"Initializing prismatic accelerator," reports Jarvis. Suddenly a fine laser is projected and reflected off a material.

"Get behind me,” Tony orders him.

Stark operates the machine with the laser, but not before cutting part of the wall where he directs it.

"Oh oh.”

“Oops!"

With difficulty, the laser reaches the small inverted triangle that Tony prepared so that the power would be trapped there. After a few minutes, they turn off the machine. Tony approaches and with tweezers takes the triangle and puts it in the reactor. The item’s accepted.

"We did it?" Lily asks.

“We did it."

She sighs in relief, right now she feels the exhaustion. She walks over to the couch and sits on it.

"Wake me up when we're in trouble," she warns him.

"Why would we be in trouble?"

 "Rhodey says we have that talent.”

"Makes sense.”

In that a beep is heard.

"Incoming call and with a blocked number, sir,” warns Jarvis.

“My phone privilege is reinstated. Lovely. Kid, we have the phone back!"

“Great," she answers from the couch.

"Coulson. How’s the land of enchantment?"

"Hey. Tony. How you doing?” The voice is unknown to Lily so she settles in the chair and leans out. "I doubled cycle."

"You what?"

“You told me double cycle’s more power. Good advice.”

"You sound pretty sprightly for a dead guy.”

"What?" whispers Lily. She gets up and walks over to Tony. He makes a sign so that she doesn't make noise.

"You too,” answers the man.

Tony removes his microphone from the call.

"Trace him,” he orders Jarvis.

“Now, the true history of Stark name will be written. Your secrets will be revealed at any moment."

"What is he talking about, dad?"

Tony ignores her and keeps checking the call.

 “What your father did to my family over forty years, I will do to you in forty minutes and I will make sure your offspring disappear. I hope you're ready,” He says, and then hangs up.

Tony sees Justin Hammer's announcement at Stark Expo on another screen, and based on the coordinates of the call, Vanko may have something planned for the event. He gets up and takes the new reactor.

"Dad?"

Stark replaces the reactor in his chest, after coughing a bit, the man feels the difference.

"Time to go,” He says walking towards his armor.

"Hey! No. You promised—”

"I have to go, Lily."

“But, you must tell me what happens. You promised not to lie to me,” She gets in her way. He sighs.

"Vanko, the man who tried to kill me in Monaco, wants to do something at the Expo and I have to stop him.”

“What does he plan to do?"

"I'm not sure. You must stay here. I'll talk to Fury about sending agents here. Turn on the TV, I'm sure they'll put it on,” He continues on his way.

“Dad," He turns again. "Be careful, please.”

Tony smiles and nods.

"Stay in the workshop in case I need your help.”

"You got it.”

Taglist:

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[younghoax]

Sunday 20th June • Somewhere in Midtown

He’s only going for a piss. Ain’t gonna let a bunch of bozos put him off going to the bathroom in his own damn apartment, but he ain’t about to humour them, either. The bathroom door is right outside his bedroom. Just a short turn to the right and there it is. Easy fuckin’ peasy.

In theory.

“J!” Marco calls just as he reaches the handle. Spies him from the couch and waves him over. “Come light up kid. ‘Ey-- Benny’ll roll you one.”

The doorknob is already under his hand and Jordan twists it. Ignores the half-strangers that try to lure him across the room. Around half a dozen of them smoking in his living room with some kinda rap music playing from what he’s pretty sure is just a cellphone. Fuck that. He could go his whole life without facing these dickheads again and it’d still be too damn soon.

Dissatisfied with being ignored, Marco stands from the couch, steps over a couple legs and shoves the rest aside to get through until he reaches Jordan by the bathroom door. “Vieni qui piccolo,” Marco drawls through a grin, the guys sat around him on the couch repeating, “sì vieni qui piccolo,” laughing around joints and Jordan just stands there, arms crossed over his bare chest as he squints. Marco snides, “we got space. Sit on Benny’s lap if you gotta.”

With nothing else on Jordan’s body to grab, Marco tugs at the waistband of his shorts, the other hand reaching for the side of his neck. J squirms out from under his hands though, palms shoving the man’s chest. He hadn’t picked up on it until now, but his roommate must be on something.

Piccolo. He ain’t Marco’s fuckin’ baby. “Fuck outa here,” he grunts, letting them whoop and cackle like he just gave ‘em something to crack up about as he turns to continue his short trip to the bathroom. Not fuckin’ short enough.

“Come smoke with us, J,” his roommate tries again. “So tense all the fuckin’ time these days.”

“Yeah, well, got shit to worry about. A job and shit, y’know?” Nah, he wouldn’t know. “You ever heard o’one?”

Another audible reaction from their audience and Marco’s raising his voice slightly over the other voices. “What, like sellin’ those pills? Yeah, real good fuckin’ job you did of that, J. Complimenti!” The man cheers and his clowns cheer along. Probably aren’t even listening to what’s being said, just following their divine leader.

Sure, it took him a minute, but he wasn’t gonna sell to just anybody like Marco’s boys do. He gives a shit about the people that take it off his hands. Besides, they’re gone now. So what? “Stop fuckin’ speaking Italian, you were born in Staten Island from a schmuck from Texas, y’fuckin’ clown.”

“Fuckin’ talk about my old man, J.”

It’s Fathers’ day which is a laugh. Or, it would be if Marco weren’t so high that the irony’s lost on him. Got no fucking idea what day of the week it even is.

“A’right. Where’d you want me to start?”

There’s a single, “oh, shit,” that Jordan guesses the rest of the gang decide against humouring, Marco’s face going cold in a second. He doesn’t even get within six feet of Jordan when he says, “shut your fuckin’ mouth.”

“Nah, he was an alright father,” J tells him with a shrug, hands slipping into the pockets of his basketball shorts as his head lulls to one side. “Kept you fed, ‘ight? Soda and cigs by age fourteen. A nice, rounded fuckin’ diet.”

Looks like Marco thinks that’s the end of it because he gifts him with a short laugh, head shaking as he turns and swats one of his boys off the nearest armchair. Leaves him to find a new place to sit as he claims the space for himself. “Y’funny.”

J ain’t finished, though.

“Kept you safe too, eh? Got you a nice group of friends. Doubled as your babysitters. Oh neat!” He cheers. Nobody cheers along. “What was your favourite activity? Mine was a tie… Either counting cash and weighing coke with the boys or going to the park to play collect the syringes on the playground whilst daddy’s friends did their deals.”

“This meant to be hurting my feelings, J? Cause last I checked, you never had a dad.”

“How about the part where he beat you before bedtime? Bet that knocked you out like a light, eh? Get your eight hours, Marco? Yeah, he was the man.” A pause. “Y’just like him.”

Marco’s not moved. His friends ain’t said a word. Except one, who asks, “you takin’ that, Coney?” but he’s ignored by all parties. Marco scoffs, arms folded over his chest now, slouched back in his seat. “You wanna pretend like you hate me? It make y'feel better?”

“I do. I do fuckin’ hate you. You had me fooled back then Marco, but I see you now, doll. You ain’t shit. You’re suffocating me. Y’spoilt yourself. I realised how much of a fuck-up you are, and you ran outa people who gave a shit about you. Think these guys’d be here if not for your old man?” A roll of his eyes and J’s turning yet again to enter the bathroom, his words muttered. “Is that why you used to keep me at such a distance back then? In case I saw the light and stopped fucking worshipping you? Well, I see you in all your glory now, Marco, and it’s fucking ugly.”

Marco just scoffs behind him. “You still worship me.”

Jordan shakes his head, turning back again crossing the room to where the man is slouched in his chair, this dopey fucking smile on his face like he’s got him with that one. Like he didn’t spend years pushing J away, scared he’d see all the wrong sides of him. Spend years pining when Jordan moved states. Spent years in Jordan’s pocket when he got back, scared to be left alone with the big, bad wolves of the city again. As if he ain’t one of them. Worse, because at least those guys know what the fuck they are.

Jordan pauses in front of him. Spits. Tells him, “rot.”

That's all it takes to get a rise. Not a jab at his late father or his pathetic friends. Just the reality that Marco, himself, ain’t shit. To Jordan or to anybody. Marco’s out of his seat, arms around Jordan for long enough to get the leverage he needs to slam him to the ground, then it’s a rush of fists and nails. J grabs at the back of his shirt, trying to tug him off himself but has more luck shoving his elbows between them as a fist makes the first real impact to his side.

He can’t hear what’s happening around them, just hears his own breath punch out before Marco grunts and does the same again. J’s off to a shitty start with two punches to none and he’s still shoving to no avail at Marco’s torso until he finally gets a decent jab in and has his roommate doubling over. One quick manoeuvre and they’re flipped. J doesn’t hesitate, gets a good hit to Marco’s jaw and soon the guy’s reaching around, punching at his back and sides.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” he spits, doesn’t know what exactly it is that he’s seething about, but it’s months -years- or built-up anger exploding out of him as his hands land around Marco’s throat and the guy keeps punching, but J tenses his body. Tenses his hands, squeezes, and feels Marco abandon his punches in exchange for shoves much like Jordan’s own; all elbows. He feels the man try to shift – try to turn his head, wondering where the fuck his so-called friends are whilst his roommate grits his teeth above him, squeezes harder like he’s trying to break his neck. And maybe Jordan is, he’s not sure, but—

There are half a dozen hands-on him outa nowhere and Jordan’s torn away from Marco with such strength that he lands halfway into the bathroom, bare back skidding against the floor, bruised skin burning from the friction as he stops in the room he’d been trying to get to all along. Only this time there are three pairs of fists punching as he curls up on himself.

There’s a kick and, somewhere in the back of his mind, Jordan thinks that’s a low fucking blow, three against one and now somebody’s kicking. But then there’s a couple more, simultaneously and, with his arms wrapped over his head, shoes pummelling into his sides and his arms and his legs, Jordan can’t tell how many of them are standing over him. Doesn’t know how the fuck they all piled into the tiny bathroom. He hears himself grunt, hears his own heavy, wretched breathing, hears his pulse and hears Marco choke, “stop. Get off him. Get the fuck off him!”

And just like that, they stop.

---

Everybody’s gone. It’s just the two of them sat beside each other on the couch, the kitchen light on and just barely illuminating the room from where it stretches to their side of it. Silent, watching the screen like it’s on. Like it’s not just black.

They haven’t been alone for long. Someone shot out an offer to take care of J. Something about getting him outa Marco’s hair for good. Marco lost his shit. J didn’t really have it in him to listen. Just paid attention for long enough to confirm that his roommate wasn’t about to confirm a kill order on him. He just lay there, the side of his face pressed against the bathroom floor, arms around his waist and knees drawn up and Marco cleared the room out. Then he’d knelt beside Jordan, hooked an arm under each of his, and pulled him up and towards the couch.

Honestly, considering there was a handful of them and they’re meant to be the big, bad wolves of Manhattan, J ain’t really hurting half as bad as he’d expected. All fuckin’ talk. Don’t mean he ain’t hurting, though. He’s pretty sure nothing’s broken.

“I crossed a line,” Jordan mutters now, a bag of frozen corn pressed to his side as he tries to breathe short and hollow. Tries not to move more than he has to. “I’m sorry.”

The freezer’s otherwise empty, so Marco decided to be courteous. Let J take the bag of frozen food whilst he suffered. “They won’t touch you again,” the man replies, his voice hoarse. His own version of an apology, Jordan’s pretty sure. “I’ll kill ‘em before they do.”

“What about you?” Jordan asks, and the man looks confused. “You gonna put hands on me again?”

“You started it.”

“S’just a question.”

A small laugh leaves his roommate's lips then; jaw slightly swollen and growing darker, and he shows his teeth for just a second before he closes his lips around a smile. “Probably. Can’t stand you.”

“Yeah?” Hard not to smile. J wishes he could explain why. He elbows him lightly and they both hiss in discomfort. “Back at you.”

Marco’s face ain’t so bad other than the welt on his jaw, but his throat is starting to bruise, and he hasn’t spoken above a mumble or a whisper since he called off his army. He’s a little hunched too, probably isn’t aching even half as much as Jordan is, but enough that, when they both fall into a soft bout of laughter, mostly huffing out breaths, they’re also both sucking air back in between their teeth again in pain. The synchronicity only pulls another chuckle from both, until they’re shaking their heads in unison and pulling their eyes from each other, looking back at the blank screen.

“I know,” Marco mutters before he slowly, carefully leans back into the couch. “I know you don’t fuckin… Worship me anymore.” Well, no shit. “We’re barely even friends.” Barely? That’s generous. “But I do regret what I did. Back on the Upper West Side. I think about it all the time.”

Jordan just nods. They’ve never talked about it. Somehow, it’s just never been brought up since. Both men as embarrassed as the other.

“Why’d you do it? Why’d you blame me?”

Lower lip between his teeth, Marco’s eyes are scanning the walls when Jordan looks over to him again. He looks a lot like he did that afternoon, nodding and repeating ‘yes, sir. Yes, sir. No, sir. I’m sorry, sir,’ as his dad spoke in that tone like he wasn’t gonna hit you but he might just kill you.

He looks guilty as sin. And his voice cracks when he speaks.

“I knew you’d run,” he tells him simply. “I was too scared. Saved up all that money to get outa there and never fuckin’ did it, but I knew you would.”

“Bullshit. You took a swing and then you passed the bat. You left me for dead. Y’thought I was gonna die just as much as I did.”

“I didn’t know what to do! What was I meant to do? His boys were downstairs, he was so fucking angry. I was scared, J.”

“Yeah, well so was I.” Jordan scoffs. “While you locked yourself in your bedroom to fuckin cry about it, your dad was beating the shit out of me upstairs for your fuckin’ lie. I didn’t know you stole those drugs, Marco. Fuckin’ asshole. I mean—what were you doing, eh? When I was up there. Counting another wad of stolen bills you had laying around?”

“I called Danny,” Marco snaps. “Put my fuckin’ neck on the line for you, calling him.”

That’s fucking rich. Jordan’s fucking hero picked up a phone and whispered an S.O.S down the line. “Well, then. I guess everything’s fine, then. Ain’t it?” Another scoff and he has to tear his eyes away from the man. Can’t fucking look at him, the way his brows bow like he’s got something to feel sorry about. “You only cared about yourself.”

“I was in love with you!”

“You’re pathetic.”

The light in the kitchen has something loose. A filament that rattles and makes the faintest tingling sound. It took a couple months of convincing himself that he’d accumulated tinnitus before Jordan figured it out. One of the many annoying fucking sounds in this apartment, right after the ticking boiler and the sound of Marco’s voice. There’s a long silence that he welcomes though. Is glad to hear the sound of the damn light if it means not listening to--

“You loved me,” the man decides, his voice level. Factual. “You were obsessed with me-- Don’t look at me like it ain’t true, Jordan. Fuck you. You loved me and you were fucking scared, too.”

Their first kiss was in a fucking storage container, full of cocaine and lit by a solar lamp. They fucked on the ground, lasted no more than five fucking minutes. And they’d talk back then, sure. Jordan’s mom would be off somewhere, and Marco’s dad would be making his next big deal, and they’d find themselves alone, watching TV or tryna cook their own food or navigate the ferry when they were a little too high. Back then Jordan would pretend they were a couple. In his head, they were cooking after a long day of work. Sitting down and watching TV. Putting their feet up after a long day. Making out when it was late and nobody else was around. Finally a moment alone.

And yet.

“You’re right, I was obsessed with you,” Jordan admits. “Everything you did was like… Fuckin’ genius. I wanted to be you. With you. Whatever.” Marco’s eyes light up, still needing to hear Jordan say it, after all these years. Still needing someone to tell him he ain’t nothing. “But I can honestly say, hand on fuckin’ heart, that I wasn’t in love with you. Not even for a second. Not even a little fuckin’ bit. I was fifteen and I was horny and I was bored of being scared all the damn time. So I picked the first asshole that kissed me and I latched onto it.”

“You’re full o’shit. You don’t even know what love—”

“I fucking know, Marco.” He doesn’t realise that he has it in him to stand until he’s on his feet, wincing as he forces himself to straighten up. “Y’really got yourself convinced that my life stayed miserable when I got outa here, huh?” Jordan accuses, bare arms crossed over a bare chest, soggy, defrosting bagged corn soaking into the couch. He could tell him about how he fell in love and it wasn’t even close to the shit Marco put him through. Could tell him that what happened in Massachusetts hurt more than what happened in Marc’s attic. Could tell him that he just fucking wants to go home but his home died in a prison cell with a needle in his arm.

Thing is, he ain’t sure Marco deserves to hear it.

“I didn’t fucking love you,” he tells him. “And I’m moving out.”

[29-pieces]

Whumptober Day 10 - The Musketeers

Day 10: Trail of Blood Fandom/setting: The Musketeers (BBC), S1E2 alternate version Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

"I'm going to check on d'Artagnan."

Athos had expected the young recruit to be sitting in a jail cell with Vadim. He'd expected he would have to either avoid being seen by Vadim or else pretend to have no interest in d'Artagnan, to keep their cover of having abandoned the boy to his fate. He had expected maybe even some play-acting of harsh words between them while he determined for himself that the Chatelet guards—who after all hadn't been in on this plot—hadn't actually roughed him up too badly.

What Athos had not been expecting was the sudden surge of escaping prisoners as the guard at the door let him in, or to be overwhelmed in a matter of seconds by the horde.

Both Athos and the guard were seized and dragged inside and to the ground before he was even aware of what exactly had grabbed him. Athos's eyes widened as he registered the mob, as well as Vadim's cruelly pleased expression. Merde.

Athos scrambled for his pistol, but two prisoners were holding his arms while several more had him divested of every weapon he had in seconds, piranha picking a slab of meat down to bone. Beside him, the guard was similarly disarmed. Have to get d'Artagnan out of here, Athos barely had time to think before his gaze connected with the lad in question to see an expression of horror looking back at him.

A second later, even that was driven from his mind by the sound of a gunshot and the immediate agony following after. Athos shouted in both surprise and pain, looking down to see, as though in slow motion, the well of blood pooling up from a smoking hole in his upper thigh. It seemed one of the prisoners had shot him with his own pistol.

Merde.

"Grab them!" Vadim shouted to d'Artagnan as more pistol shots cracked through the air, this time from the guards outside now trying to contain the escaping prisoners. Both of them dove forward, bowling other escapees out of their way as Vadim yanked the guard up and to his feet, looping the chain of his manacles around the unfortunate man's throat and holding him close as a shield.

A second later Athos found himself also hauled off the ground, choking back a hiss at the stabbing pain in his leg. Athos saw a flicker of apology in d'Artagnan's eyes but of course he had to stay in character no matter where this led. All too soon, Athos was pressed back against d'Artagnan with cold metal cutting into his throat from his friend's chains.

"Vadim, there's no way out this way!" d'Artagnan shouted, forcing Athos forward several paces until he was in the doorway, his predicament now clearly visible to the others fighting in the courtyard.

A clever move, Athos thought with approval, catching Aramis's eyes for the briefest of seconds before d'Artagnan pulled him back inside again out of the line of fire.

"Don't shoot!" he heard Aramis bellowing. "There's a musketeer in there!"

The warning came too late; another crack echoed in the enclosed stone chamber, just as Vadim had been shoving his way forward to see for himself. The guard serving as his shield performed his intended function, jolting with a gurgling cry as he took the bullet that would have otherwise killed Vadim. The guard dropped, lifeless body dumped carelessly from Vadim's arms.

Athos felt d'Artagnan pull him in tighter, either in nerves or reassurance.

"Now what do we do?" the boy yelled to Vadim over the continuing chaos.

Vadim gritted his teeth, skewering Athos with a furious glare before jerking his head back over his shoulders and gesturing to d'Artagnan. "Bring him," he barked. "And follow me!"

Every step was agony on Athos's leg, still bleeding profusely. He felt the hot blood dripping down his leg, spotting the ground, and tried not to make any sound or hint at his pain, loath to give Vadim that satisfaction. There was no time to protest, at any rate, dragged along with the two escapees as Vadim grabbed a torch from a wall sconce and led the way farther back past the row of cells, past the deeper, older dungeons. Athos frowned, baffled despite his perilous situation. Where could Vadim possibly be leading them?

"Do you know where you're going?" d'Artagnan demanded as they reached a dead end.

"If you're going to tag along, then tag along," Vadim returned, seemingly unconcerned. He held the torch aloft, looking over the plain rock wall. "Otherwise, turn back."

D'Artagnan didn't move, so neither could Athos, who really wanted nothing more than to pass out at the moment. The fire in his leg was only intensifying from being forced to stand and half-run on it. He could almost feel d'Artagnan wavering. Athos frowned. They couldn't stop now, no matter the danger to either of them.

"I told Treville you would never amount to a musketeer," he seethed, thrashing against the boy in hopes of reminding him they still had a job to do.

It seemed to do the trick as d'Artagnan tightened his grip and wrestled Athos back against him. "Shut up!" he snapped with clear vitriol. "None of this would be happening if you hadn't turned your back on me! One more word and I'll put a bullet in your head."

A fairly useless threat when he hadn't grabbed a pistol, Athos thought with droll amusement, but he stayed silent as though d'Artagnan had won. By now Vadim had found what he was looking for, a rock that seemed no different from the others in the wall, and pressed it. The rock slid back into a hidden recess and a passage opened before them. Interesting.

Vadim smirked and nodded to the pair.

"We'll take him a little further," he said. "Just in case."

But Aramis and Porthos had seen him be taken and would be following them; they would have no idea where to go after this point. Thinking quickly, Athos reached down to the bullet wound in his thigh and, despite the pain, squeezed his hand around it. It was more than he could stand, his leg buckling from under him. Athos gasped and sagged, nearly taking d'Artagnan down with him.

"No you don't," d'Artagnan snarled, hoisting him back up again and shoving him towards the wall.

Athos reached out to catch himself, bloody hand marking the stone that Vadim had pressed. He really would have to commend d'Artagnan to Treville, if any of them made it out of this: the boy was quick on his feet and seemed more than capable of picking up on Athos's ideas with only the slightest of cues. With the way now marked, Athos permitted himself to be forced along into the passage as the wall closed in again behind them.

They continued on at a near frantic pace, none of the three speaking, until Athos could go no further. Every step burned like flames licking his leg and his vision was growing dark at the corners from the blood loss. But at least he'd left a clear trail, scarlet droplets illuminating the path to find him. Athos felt himself tumbling to the ground and heard the rattle of chains as d'Artagnan released him.

"He's finished," the boy snorted scathingly. "Good riddance."

"You could always kill him," Vadim suggested. There was an excitement in his voice, but also a shrewdness, clearly waiting to see what d'Artagnan would do. A obvious test. D'Artagnan would have to sell it in order to convince him...

D'Artagnan's face was blurred in Athos's waning consciousness as he stood over the fallen musketeer. "But I like this even better," d'Artagnan replied, an unsettlingly cold edge to the words. He squatted down in front of Athos and grabbed his jaw. "I want to be the last thing you see," he hissed. "Turning my back on you, like you did to me. You'll bleed out soon, but not before sitting here, alone in the pitch dark, knowing nobody's ever going to find you." D'Artagnan laughed. "It might even be hours yet. Enjoy the agony, Athos."

Vadim raised a brow. "Rather harsh?"

"If you were the one he betrayed," d'Artagnan said, rising back up to his feet, "you'd know he deserves it, or worse."

Vadim regarded him for a long second, and Athos knew the performance was being judged. He held his breath. Both of their fates would be decided on whether or not Vadim believed d'Artagnan.

Finally, Vadim smiled. "I'm sure he does. Leave him, then."

Two pairs of boots receded from Athos's view, taking the light away with them. His eyes fell closed, thinking again that he would have to tell Treville that d'Artagnan was more than worthy to wear the pauldron of a musketeer, the second the King granted him a commission. Assuming he really didn't bleed out here, that was...

In the distance, he thought he heard the grating of stone, and then Porthos's bellowing voice calling for him. Ah, good.

Athos closed his eyes, knowing he was in good hands.

~*~

I'm trying to keep these as close to ~1500 words as possible, so there wasn't enough time for the caretaking, but off-screen his brothers DO find him and get him back to safety and patched up and they all live to fight another day! ^_^

[saxxxology]

What Lurks Beneath the Surface - 2

After Sam’s ultimate sacrifice, you struggle to cope. When he shows up after months of being gone, you’re happier than ever to see him. That is, until you realize that the love of your life is much different than you remember. 

PAIRING: Soulless!Sam x Reader WARNINGS: canon divergence (season 6), angst, suspense, violence, smut, minor dub-con, and more. NOTE: Some elements of this series are a little darker than what I usually write. Warnings are sporadic to avoid spoilers - if you feel uncomfortable it is up to you to stop reading or message me with any questions.

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You’re lying on the bed when you wake up. You sit up a little too fast, and your vision blurs and swirls, forcing you to close your eyes again.

“You’re awake.”

The voice makes you freeze and choke on a scream. Glancing sharply to your left, you see him, long hair, sharp profile… it’s him. 

Sam.

He’s sitting in a chair, staring at you. His face is expressionless, like he’s looking at you because he can, not because he wants to.

“Don’t act so surprised. Should’ve known I’d get out sooner or later.” He looks down at his hands, and you follow his gaze. He’s cleaning a gun that you recognize, the Glock that you keep back in your bedside cabinet. “Nice gun by the way. Knew you were goin’ for it.” 

“H-how?” you choke out, and your voice cracks with the effort of speaking. You wince as a dull pain spreads through your neck, from your windpipe to the bottom of your skull. You raise a hand, feeling tender skin and bruises under your fingers. “How did you get out?” 

Sam shrugs. “Don’t know.” 

“How long have you been out?” you ask, your voice rough, either from not being used in so long or from the pressure that had been applied to it earlier. 

“Maybe since a week after I went down,” he replies. “Been watching you for a while.”

Your throat aches as you swallow. “A whole year? And you couldn’t have shown up sooner?!”

“Took me a while to find you,” Sam continues, “you stopped using cards, didn’t leave any good trails to follow.”

You stare up at him, all sorts of emotions coursing through you. You’re amazed that he’s still alive, happy that he’s standing in front of you, apparently healthy and relatively happy. There’s a hint of anger at what he did to you, and why he couldn’t just knock on your door like a normal person.

“Does Dean know you’re alive?” You ask.

Sam shakes his head. “No. And I don’t want him to.”

“Why?” You narrow your eyes. “Is there something you don’t want him to know?”

Sam shrugs. “He’s happy. I’ve been watching him too.”

“Yeah, and I was just starting to get happy again, that doesn’t matter?” Your throat aches with emotion as you stand up to face him. “I was starting to get over what happened, I was practically drinking myself to sleep almost every night, I was depressed!” You start shouting as tears start in your eyes. “I was sad and scared and Dean cared more about some woman who’s practically a stranger than he did about me! I had to go through it alone! And now you’re here and I don’t even know how or why!”

Sam just stares at you, at the tears streaming down your face, the slightly purple bruises on your throat from where he’d been a little too firm in trying to subdue you. “I need your help.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the closed curtains just behind Sam. “Yeah, well, I’m still trying to figure out if this is real or not, give me a bit.”

Sam turns away from you, grabs your bag, and tosses it onto the bed next to you. “Believe me, you’re not dreaming.” He motions to your neck. “That’s proof enough. Call your boss.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to be missing work for a few days.”

There’s something eerie about the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s talking to you. When he used to talk, you could hear the emotion in his voice. With your eyes closed, you could tell if he was smiling or frowning when he spoke. Now, you can’t really tell what emotion he’s feeling, or if he’s feeling anything at all. His eyes are cold and empty and there’s an odd glint that doesn’t look like it belongs there.

“Sam, what’s wrong with you?” You edge away from him to stand shakily at the foot of the bed.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he replies calmly, “I’ll prove it.”

Sam takes a silver flask from his bag and unscrews the cap. He tilts his head back and takes a long swallow, raising an eyebrow at you as if to say not a demon, and then unsheathes a small silver knife that looks brand new. He draws it over his forearm, leaving a small trail of bright red blood.

“Not a demon, not a shifter, not anything you should be scared of.” He sets the knife back on the table. “Just good ol’ Sam.”

You step forward and slowly wrap your arms around his torso, and you listen to his heartbeat, loud and steady in his chest. He hugs you back, his fingers spreading across your back, and you realize just how hard it’s been living without Sam’s hugs, and you hold onto him tighter, burying your face in his chest.

“I missed you, Sam,” you whisper, “I really missed you.”

***

FOUR MONTHS LATER...

Of course you go with him. You’ll always go with Sam if he asks. Three days after Sam comes, you drop your job, pack up, and sell most of your belongings online. 

It’s hard to keep from telling Dean; often, when he calls you, you find yourself nearly telling him about the case you’ve caught with Sam, or that Sam’s even alive… 

It hurts, but you’d promised Sam that you wouldn’t tell. And you keep your promises.

You’ve gotten used to this version of Sam. You miss his old smiles, wish that every laugh wasn’t partially forced, but then again, if you’d gone to battle with the Devil for who knows how long, you’d probably take life a little more seriously too.

Sam’s definitely changed; not just mentally or emotionally, but physically. He’s bigger, stronger, more alert. He works out like a maniac and keeps track of his hygiene even more than before. There’s a new confidence in his stride, a sharper, clearer tone when he speaks. And then there’s the fact that he stays out later than usual and never looks tired, even if he’s gone all night. 

You don’t ask questions, just respect the way he lives now.

It’s mid-February when you and Sam finally catch a break. The past few weeks have been non stop hunting, and you’re glad when Sam agrees to stay in Columbus for an extra day. It’s not entirely for care of you, however; cash is running low and Sam’s taken a liking to your skill of seducing men into giving up more cash than they can afford to. 

On this night, you join Sam for a game of pool against two members of what looks like a biker gang. The men’s eyes flicker between your low-cut shirt and skirt, only stopping when it’s their turn to shoot.

During this time, Sam drinks continuously, one beer after another. By looking in his eyes, you can tell he’s steady, but he’s acting, pretending to get drunker and more confident with every drink he takes. The bikers team up, and within minutes, they’ve got a small pile of twenties and fifties going on the side of the pool table.

“Your girl’s good luck,” one of the men comments, nodding his head in your direction. 

Sam grins and wraps one arm around you, pulling you tight against his side. “Damn right she is.” He smiles down at you, and you offer a smile back. You hate it when he plays with you like this, pretends you’re a good luck charm or something he can use for his advantage, but right now your need for money surpasses anything else, and playing along with his little game might get you more.

Sam watches closely as one of the bikers lines his cue up with a ball and swings forward. The ball misses its mark by a good three inches, and his friends groan as Sam straightens up, a smile playing on his face. He only has to make one more perfect shot to win everything on the table.

You hear the whispered curses from the men surrounding you, and Sam turns his head to look at you. He shoots you a wink that shows nothing but confidence and quickly lines his cue up with the white ball. Your heart beats faster in your chest; it’s been a long time since you felt this rush, the win-or-lose-everything thrill that is powerful enough to make your head spin and your legs tremble.

The biker gang shouts and yells angrily as Sam lands the winning ball right in the corner pocket, and he sweeps the pile of cash into his hands before giving it to you. You shove it into your purse and follow Sam towards the bar, blowing a kiss at the leather-clad men over your shoulder. He pushes a fifty-dollar bill towards the bartender and points to the surly group of bikers.

“Get them drinks,” he says, and then follows you out of the bar.

It’s late, past midnight, and the streets are empty. You check your phone for the time, reading half-past ten on your screen. You have to walk a little faster to keep up with Sam, and you’re surprised he’s still steady on his feet.

“We should get something to eat.” You say, looking up at his sharp profile, lit by streetlights as you pass under them. “I think there’s an all-night McDonald’s or something down the street.”

“I’m not hungry.” He replies.

“Sam, you just drank, like, four beers in a row, you should eat.” You follow him across the parking lot to the motel. “You’ll wear yourself out.”

“I’ll eat in the morning,” he replies coldly, “it’s late, you should sleep. I wanna be out first thing in the morning.”

“What about you?” You watch him unlock the motel room and follow him inside. “You’re not tired—?”

Sam doesn’t respond, just turns to face you and pushes you up against the wall. One hand slips around your back, the other tangles in your hair, pulling your hair back. You gasp when he presses his body against yours and shove your hands on his chest, stopping him from getting too close.

“I don’t want to sleep.” His voice is low and dangerous. “You know exactly what I want.”

You try not to think about how close he is, how you can feel his warmth through his shirt and the way he’s holding you against the wall, caging you in…

“Sam, I…” you grip his jacket in both hands, unable to say the one word he’s silently waiting for. To tell him that you don’t want this will be a lie. 

“What?” His tone is nearly mocking, as if he knows you’re truly helpless.

You swallow thickly. “Please… get off of me.”

He narrows his eyes, but steps away, allowing you to slip out of his grip. He watches you go to your suitcase and tug a sleep shirt and a clean pair of panties out. “What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Shower,” you reply bluntly. “Stay out.”

You stay in the shower as long as you can, scrubbing the smell of the bar off your skin. Sam’s given you a lot of signals over the last few months, but in no way have any of them ever been that he wants to sleep with you. You’ve heard him fucking the life out of other women, watched them stumble out with runny mascara and a limp. 

Sam’s never wanted to do that to you before now.

Maybe one night… yeah, one night can’t hurt.

You step out of the shower and quickly towel dry. You carry your spare clothes into the main room and toss them onto one of the two beds. Sam’s been reading the newspaper, and he watches with dark, malicious eyes as you drop the towel, allowing him to see every inch of bare skin.

“Well,” you murmur, “get your ass over here.”

Sam rises from his chair, quickly crossing over to meet you at the foot of the bed. He yanks you up, fingers pulling at soft flesh, and kisses you so hard your teeth click. He shrugs his jacket off, dropping it on the ground before letting you push his flannel over his shoulders.

You’ve never felt this before, this degree of need, of want. You and Sam have kissed before, on undercover investigations where you’d had to pretend to be a couple, but those were little, gentle kisses. The way you’re kissing now is desperate and just on the border of too-rough.

And you like it.

Sam runs his hands over your body, up and down your arms, over your sides and up the curve of your back, feeling your skin flex and bend under his palms. He presses his lips against yours one more time before pulling back for air, and you open your eyes, looking up at him. His pupils are blown with need, and he hooks his hands under your thighs, pulling you up and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Sam…” You gasp his name when he lays you out on the bed and shoves his hips between your legs. He nips at your lower lip, his eyes glittering wickedly mere inches away from yours.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He bites down on your jaw and palms one firm tit. “Been wanting to get my cock inside you for so long.”

He’s just about to pull his belt loose when you hear a knocking on the door to your room.

“We sh—” you pause when Sam pulls you in for another kiss, “we should get that.”

Sam tilts his head, eyes narrowing. His tongue darts out to flick over his lower lip, and he smiles. “How about we ignore it until they go away.”

“No, it might be important.” You pull away, climbing out from underneath him and reaching for your nightshirt. It barely covers your thighs, and you hope that whoever’s at the door isn’t important enough for you to be decently dressed. Peering through the door, your heart stops in your chest. 

Dean’s standing on the other side, his fist raised to knock three more times.

“Get in the bathroom,” you whisper, turning to face Sam, who’s still standing with a hand on his belt buckle.

Sam begins walking towards the door, squaring his shoulders. “Why?”

You put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Because it’s Dean.”

Sam’s jaw clenches, and he moves past you to grab his shirt and jacket off the floor. He kicks his duffel bag under the bed and out of sight before slipping into the bathroom and closing the door.

You wait for him to go completely quiet before you answer the door. “Dean, hey.” 

Dean takes in your disheveled appearance and raises his eyebrows, but there’s no hiding the anger in his eyes. “What’s going on?” There’s a great deal of concern in his voice. “I tried visiting you for New Year’s but you weren’t there, now your place is all cleaned out and now you’re in freaking Ohio.” 

“I…” you try to keep yourself calm as Dean walks past you into the room. “I went to see an old friend in Toledo, I was heading back today and I got tired, so I thought I’d stay at a motel—” 

“You’ve been all over the grid for two months,” Dean replies. “I’ve been tracking you, couldn’t get you stuck in one place long enough before you took off.” He glances at your ripped shirt and disheveled hair again. “Have company?” He looks around the room and his eyes land on your bag and the twenty and fifty-dollar bills sticking out of the top. “Y/N, what the hell is this?”

You scramble to cover up your reason for having that much cash and Dean’s obvious conclusion. “I’m not selling myself. I just played a good round of pool earlier.” 

Dean pulls a handful of cash out of your bag and looks at it. “How much is here?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t count it yet.”

Dean drops his interrogation and bows his head. “You know, the only other person who could win this much was Sam.” He swallows thickly. “Seems like you’re taking after him.” 

“Yeah… yeah, I am.” You look down at the ground. “Guess you can call it beginner’s luck, I haven’t played since… you know.” 

Dean nods in understanding and looks towards you. “Are you hunting again?” 

Again, you’re stuck searching for an explanation. “I… there was a vampire in Cedar Rapids last month, I took care of it, it’s not—” 

“Don’t say it’s not a big deal,” Dean interrupts. “Seriously, Y/N? Your apartment’s empty, your car is gone, why do I think you’re lying to me?” 

“It was killing people, Dean, it would have killed more and I stopped it—”

“Why didn’t you tell me? You could have dropped a line and I would have come with you.” 

You stare at the ground, playing with one sleeve of your shirt. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey,” Dean steps towards you and pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. “Don’t apologize, I just want you to be okay.” 

You hear the sink faucet running in the bathroom, and Dean looks up towards it. “You should probably…” 

“Go, yeah.” Dean backs away from you. “I’ll get a room someplace else, stick around until you take off.” He goes to the door and opens it. “By the way, if you sold your car, what are you driving?” 

You motion out the curtain covered window. “The Dodge.”

“That thing?”

“Yeah,” you cross your arms. “Real piece of crap, I’ve missed the Impala.” 

Dean grins. “Maybe we can go for a ride in the morning, bet she’s missed you.” 

You nod, watching Dean study the sleek black exterior of the car next to the Impala. “Bet she misses Sam more.” 

“We all miss Sam.” Dean sighs heavily. “Anyway, I’ll see you around, call me in the morning.” He points a finger at you. “And don’t scare me like that again.” 

He leaves, and the second you hear the Impala start up, you go to the bathroom door and knock twice. “You can come out now.” 

You’re sitting on the bed when the door opens and Sam steps out, carrying his jacket and shirt. “He’s gone?” 

“Yeah, he said he was getting a room at another motel. I have to call him in the morning.” You look down at your lap as Sam sits next to you. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Other than the fact that I keep lying to him, yeah, everything’s peachy.” You don’t look at him. “You’re going to have to tell him.” 

“Tell him what?”

“That you’re alive. I can’t keep lying to him for you, either you tell him or I will.” 

Sam reaches over, sets one hand on your knee. “I will… just when it’s the right time.” His grip tightens on your knee, and his other arm slips around your waist. “Now, where were we?”

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Captive

  Prologue Here

Chapter 1

Bridal processions were known to be a spectacle- extravagant, ornate affairs that took months of preparation, each detail planned, purposeful; at least, that had been Kagome’s experience. She had witnessed the marriage of several high ranking officials as a young princess, and even a few of her grandfathers new wives being welcomed into his harem, though it had been some years since he sought after a new bedmate. The greater the status, the grander the affair; yet even those who could not afford such luxuries conducted their own versions with what they could spare. She had enjoyed watching the carriage stroll through the streets, decorated in gold, surrounded by well wishers, those in the streets hoping to catch a glimpse of the beauty behind the screen.

It was different this time.

A political marriage did not usually include a love match, was not typically formed for romance or lust. No consideration is given to the looks of the soon to be husband, of his personality or manners. It was quite common for a man old enough to have sired his bride take her to bed, many husbands going bald or grey while the beauty beneath him radiated youth. It would be an unfair match, to be sure. There would be no common ground, no similar interests. If the gods blessed them, their coupling may produce a child; and if the gods truly smiled, a son and heir. Maybe then the couple would find something to talk about. The marriage would be cold and lonely, but that is the price of such a match, or so Kagome had been told. Having been schooled in more than just manners, she was aware of the duties of royal lineage, although her grandfather had often eased her fears. She would marry for love, he prophecies, she carried the aura of one lucky in love.

Instead, she carried with her responsibilities, the groom treaties, and together they would mend a politically torn hole. That was the idea, at least. Thus, bridal processions left the city more in mourning than celebration, few knowing that the counties prize rose was to be planted in foreign soil. None left their homes to watch the carriage proceed, the meager guard surrounding each side, ready to tackle the long journey ahead.

It was a bland vessel, not craved and painted with the Higurashi flowers that decorated every corner of their homes. There was purpose in doing so; the guard itself would attract attention, but beautifying the carriage would be shouting to the world of its finery inside- a risk, a call to every beggar and thief, tempting their fate with each turn of the wheels.

Her outfit, elegant silk, a light pink that reminded her of the delicate petals of the cherry blossoms clung to her bosom like a second skin, shoulders exposed and flaring at the waist. It was a finer fabric than she had worn in a long time- far too precious for daily palace life- but still, not the outfit of a bride.

The dress should be white, pristine. The train should be long and heavy, requiring several ladies to carry it so as not to let it drag on the ground. Such a dress would be impractical for the long journey ahead, and advisor Naraku had urged his attendants to find her a garment that accentuated her natural curves. Should trouble come her way, it would be an easier fate to be a common woman rather than a hostage princess. If the captors did not try and sell her for ransom, their men would take turns having their way, sating their carnal desires and hatred of royalty.

Kagome leaned her head against the velvet pillow of the carriage, trying to find a moment of peace. How long would it be until they reached the kingdom? The uncertainty was one thing, but the journey itself was long and arduous. From the back, she could hear the laughter of the men, hearty and joyful, going forward without a care. They seemed at ease on the road, and next to their brethren. The ones who marched by her side were quiet, having no one to talk to, and the general up ahead, proudly seated atop his fine horse, the only one in the troop. She had seen a few of them trying to catch glimpses of the maiden behind the screen. She couldn’t blame them; the beauty of the first princess was legendary, often commented on in the city, but rarely seen in person. It was unbefitting for someone of her station to mingle with commoners, so the princesses only had each other as company, and the few attendants close to their ages.

She turned away from the small window, trying instead to focus on the scenery as it passed by. She wished she knew what the soldiers were joking about; it was quiet lonely to sit by oneself for so long. Having had her sisters companionship the whole of her life, she was nervous to be in a strange land without her. She wondered if her sister was nervous, if she had the same hesitations. It was a foolish thought. Her sister was headstrong, brave; the sort that would never put up with this treatment.

The laughter ceased suddenly, the carriage stopped to a holt. Kagome was jostled in the process, hair falling out of its pins into a lopsided mess she was unsure how to fix. Nervously, she peaked out of the window, trying to determine the cause of such chaos. She called out to the men, eager to hear reassurance that all was well. They shouted, urging her to stay inside, not to worry, all would be handled, though their tones were not to be trusted. She could hear the panic, the confidence fleeting as their swords were met with the sound of growls. She did as she was told, gripping the handle for whatever attack may come. Kagome was fighting her own battle, wanting to leap out and assist, yet knowing full well she would be a hinderance. She was taught to attack if necessary, but only if there was no man left to defend her. Should a princess put herself in the line of danger, a soldiers natural instinct would be to protect his ruler, putting all parties in danger. Even knowing this, her conscience cried! She could help, she must defend her people! To hell with her grandfathers rules, with Narakus wise words; real people were in trouble and if she could help-

It was silent, no familiar sound, no rallying cry.

In her indecisiveness, the last of her guard had fallen, his cries overshadowed by the growing number of growls, hungry and dark, nearing her at an alarming pace. There was a voice among them, almost human to her ears, and she dainty heard him give an order before pulling the door wide open.

He looked wild, his brown fur pelts strapped across his chest in mock armor, hair knotted and twisted, leaves clinging to the strands as if he had emerged from the trees itself. Wolves surrounded him in either side- a pack larger than those she heard in tales- their eyes yellow, hungry. He grinned at her, lewd, unnerving, and reached inside to grasp at Kagome. Fearfully, she scuttled to the back, not wanting to be this mans conquest nor his clans dinner.

“Don’t be shy, missy. We were lookin’ for you.” His teeth were yellow, pointed in an inhuman way. He was a demon, and she was trapped. So hard was Her heart pounding in her ears, she did not notice the murmurs of the wolves down. It was only when one howled, chilling to the bone that caught her attention.

The beast turned, drawing away from Kagome and looking back towards his pack. He cursed at an invisible figure, soundless, skilled. Having abandoned the princess for a fight, Kagome knew that though her options were limited, she now had them. She could jump out of the carriage, fleeing for safety, taking her chances that the culprit would not hunt her down. On the other hand, she could barricade herself inside, hoping that whoever laid in wait would simply pass by.

In the end, the choice was not hers; Kagome realized in that moment how few choices she had had in the last 24 hours, how she had taken for granted the plethora of options she had before her only a day ago.

She heard the footsteps before she saw them, heavy black boots that came into view of her tiny window. They stopped, just in front, as if examining the carriage. There was nothing discerning- it was a simple cart that would fetch a small sum, but hardly worth the lives that had clearly been taken. In one swift movement, the door flung open, revealing an armored man, beautiful, frightening.

His silver hair, long and thick, was tied into a bun, red speckles of blood marring it’s fine color. Kagome fell backwards into the carriage, stumbling at the sight of such a being. He narrowed his eyes, golden, blazing against the light of the day, causing the trapped princess to shiver. He was no ordinary man; then again, she was no ordinary woman. She was a princess, and had a duty to uphold. She would not tremble as she had done with the wolf; She was raised with dignity, and if these were to be her final moments, she would go with pride. Kagome set her jaw, doing her best to stare him down. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw him smirk.

The man reached in, grasping her arm and pulling her forward. He held her, considering her as if she were a piece of merchandise. He sniffed once, as if testing the air for her scent.

“Well, you ain’t a whore.” He rasped, tone flirting with the trace of amusement. His eyes took notice of her body, resting on the swell of her chest. His lips turned up in a teasing manner. “Then again, this look isn’t too bad”

With her free hand, Kagome readied herself you slap him, but his reflexes were too fast, the hit blocked with minimal effort. Kagome realized his claws, razor sharp, were not digging into her skin, but easily could.

“Do you always hit people who save your life?” He barked.

“Only the ones with vile mouths.” She spat.

The man cocked his head, considering her. “Feisty, eh?” The man seemed genuinely amused at the situation, although princess Kagome could not figure out why for the life of her. “So, what are you?” He sized her up, eyes raking over her state of dress. “A mistress? Lady to a small lord?”

“I am none of your concern.” Kagome met his eyes, steeled, refusing to break contact. She pulled, attempting to free herself. “Let. Me. Go.”

He smiled this time, his grin toothy, revealing a sharp, dangerous fang. “No, you’re none of that.” He leaned in closer, making Kagome realize how much larger his body was than hers. He was muscled, his armor heavy, but he wore it as if weightless. “You’ve got a defiant look in your eyes. Not used to answering to anyone, are you?” She twisted, the silk fabric falling off her shoulder, revealing more than intended; in a normal situation, she would have the good grace to blush, and he the manners to let her adjust her state of dress; but that was not now, and he was not that type of man. He wrinkled his nose, the smirk still plastered, lazy. “Feh, you reek of Higurashi roses.”

Kagome pulled once more, demanding he set her free. “I can pay you.” She promised. “Return me, and I can give you ransom.” It was a bargain, one she hoped he would take.

“And why would I want that?” He smirked again, a knot growing In Kagome’s stomach. “It’s not every day princess Kikyo makes an appearance in these woods.”

She froze, eyes wide at his realization.

He didn’t know.

This man- the wolves- all of them- thought she was Kikyo.

It was not a huge leap, anyone would assume that the carriage would belong to the first princess, on her way to be wed.

Except it was the second princess on the road. The second princess who was sent out as a place holder, buying time until Kikyo was located. She escaped in the night, always one step ahead of the court, refusing to wed a foreign man and forgo her future.

It should have been an easy trip. It should have been Kikyo, not her, staring down a solider with burning amber eyes.

“Word travels fast, princess. You’re not so secret engagement has been the worst kept secret I’ve ever heard, and because of that, those bastard wolves snuck through our land, slaughtering an entire village along the way, just trying to get to you.” He rubbed his chin with his free hand, a slight trace of stubble growing in as the daylight grew dim. “Lucky for you, I hunted them down before any real damage was done.”

Any real damage? Countless men laid on the cold ground, never to rise again, yet he talked of ‘real’ damage and casualties. Kagome knew this was a time to bite her tongue, not wanting to upset him further. When she said nothing in response, he sighed, as if unamused with her display of dissatisfaction.

“Can I trust you to walk, or do I have to tie you up? Your choice, princess.”

[theeternalspace]

House of Leaves 1

Well here we are. My secret project for the last month and a bit. Of course, it grew and grew in my mind until it went beyond a one shot. I’m thinking about ten chapters but we shall see! And yes, I’m carrying on my theme of ‘villainous’ but not really sides. It’s Roman’s turn again to be morally dubious! 

This was a collaboration, in parts with @mermaid-of-the-valley. We each had the same basic plot but with certain things swapped. Don’t forget to check out her awesome version!

Title: House of Leaves

Pairings: Romantic Prinxiety

Characters: Virgil and Roman in this chapter.

Summary: Hero and Villain AU.

The Dazzling Prince wants many things in life. To rule, to have power, to be loved. To have his hero renounce the light and dance with him in the shadows of night. 

When his other half comes to him for help, Roman finds himself being offered the thing he wants most in the world - if only he can reach out to take it. 

Warnings: Villain Roman, Remus and Deceit. They aren’t evil, evil, but they are not angels. Drugs, injuries, loss of control and some manipulation in this part. Mentions of a previous one night stand. 

Masterpost

Previous || Next

~~~

“Time to toss out the Princess and bring in a Queen!” 

Roman spun around the living room as he sung, the energy harmlessly fizzing and dissipating in the air around him. It made a series of almost fireworks like colours and designs dance around him, vibrant reds, golds and greens mixing in with a more understated purple. Not his usual use for his particular set of skills but it was pretty enough. It made a change from accidentally blasting holes in his walls when he sung a note too high and created a blast of pure energy. 

All in all, it was good practise. The perfect way to distract people, and he was getting better and better at controlling the power of his energy. The more control, the less likely he was to ruin something he didn’t mean to ruin. 

It was hard work trying to take over a city so that the people within would finally recognise the genius talent and beauty that resided within him. But it was a job that Roman was reluctantly and nobly, prepared to accept. 

And then once the city was his, he would be able to make sure that everyone within was safe. Well, the ones that weren’t his brothers playthings. And not the ones who had opposed him too many times. Maybe not the ones that Deceit would want to make examples of. But everyone else. They would be safe. And he would show his mercy by forgiving the one that had stood against him for longer than anyone else. He would have his arch nemesis by his side in fact. He might even let those pesky hero friends of his live, should they pledge their allegiance to him. 

King Roman. Prince no more. With his dark haired hero by his side and a cowed populace jumping to do his every bidding. He would put on shows, would thrill audiences with sell out performances. He would punish the wicked, the wrong doers who thought they could hurt innocent people in his territory. Everything would be so much better than this mess that the heroes were currently labouring so pointlessly to protect. 

One day. One day they would realise how futile their efforts would be. One day they would see how much better things could be if they did it Roman’s way. One day he would be worshipped and loved as he deserved. 

He smiled to himself, the pleasant daydreams filling his mind. There was nothing to do today. No pressing need to leave his house. He was having a me day, which meant no robbing banks or committing crimes in the hope of getting attention. Tomorrow was for all of that. Today he was going to sing, he was going to eat a delicious meal and he was going to - maybe - go out for a walk later and see what pleasant sights he could see in soon to be Romanville. 

He glanced up at the various screens above his head, idly taking in the various scenes from inside and out of his home. Well, half personal home, half secret lair, all fabulous. Everything had style and everything was in its proper place. As it should be. All the better to impress his fellow villains. And maybe one or two heroes.

Okay, one hero. 

Still, anyone who had seen his hero would understand. The normal rules didn’t apply to him, the normal distance they were meant to keep between the two sides. He was a flame and Roman little more than a moth. Willingly throwing himself on the burning fire time and time again without a care for the consequences. 

Movement in one of the screens caught his attention, Roman freezing in place as he stared at the scene playing out in front of him.

A familiar figure stumbled up his path, hunched up and hoodie pulled over his head. If that was his idea at a civilian look, it was terrible. The little things made all the difference - and four wings sticking out of his back were hardly little. They gave the game away as clearly as if he was wearing his superhero costume. Speak of the dev- no, hardly a devil. Roman smoothed down a grin at the thought and the imagined reaction should his unexpected visitor learn that he had been compared to a devil. 

Well, well, well. If it wasn’t his little angel. Roman had been starting to suspect that the hero had been avoiding him ever since - well, ever since he had finally gotten a taste of what he wanted. Since they had both gotten a taste of what they wanted. 

Roman had half wondered if his desire would end once he had finally caught his prey. It was what normally happened. The thrill was in the chase, was in being denied and testing, trying, until eventually he was able to steal away his heart's desire. Once he had the object or person in his arms, the desire seemed spent. Things always looked better from a distance.

It hadn’t been like that with his angel. 

The chase had been thrilling of course. So many times, Roman hadn’t really known who was chasing who. A breathtaking game of cat and mouse as each circled the other. There had been flirting, teasing and it had been a most delightful distraction from the more boring elements of life. Virgil’s face the first time he had escaped police custody and purred that next time perhaps the hero should use fluffy cuffs to trap him was an image that he still treasured. 

As with all chases though, there had to be an end. Roman knew he had drawn it out. He had hesitated, lingered before landing the final blow. Part of him hadn’t wanted to end it because no matter how wonderful that moment was going to be, surely it couldn’t be as much fun as all of this.

The end had still come of course. They had bumped into each other as civilians in a pub. Virgil was too socially anxious and awkward to just start a fight while they were both ‘normal’ looking. Not to mention all the possible casualties around them. Instead he had announced his intention to stick close to Roman in order to foil whatever evil scheme he might have planned.

His only scheme that night had been to get drunk. Now it had changed, into getting the both of them drunk and who knew his little angel was so naughty when he had a couple of beers in him? 

They had only shared one night together and it should have been enough. He had proved that his hero wasn’t as clean and as perfect as he would no doubt like to believe. He had enjoyed himself and what was more, he knew that Virgil had enjoyed himself. No matter what he might tell himself in the morning. For a villain like the Dazzling Prince, it should have been a victory but also a line in the sand.  

Roman only wanted more. 

The hero hadn’t seemed to share that sentiment. It had been a little insulting in all honesty - Virgil should have come crawling back to him, desperate for more kisses, more touches. Roman was good in bed, good with romance. He knew how to kiss someone senseless, how to make them happy. Virgil should have wanted that. He should have been unable to resist. 

Instead he had seemed almost... cold. Far more chilly than Roman was expecting. 

All the quips had vanished from their encounters. All the fun. Virgil barely showed up half the time, sending other heroes to battle him whenever he could. On the rare occasions that he could lure out his angel for a battle, Virgil had been blank. Barely there and all the fun had gone out of their relationship. He didn’t flirt back, didn’t stick around for a second longer than he had to. It was as though they were strangers instead of the more that the Prince had worked so hard to cultivate, the more he saw in his head. 

Roman didn’t like it. Which was a woeful understatement of course. He hated it. He hated being ignored at the best of times but this was so much worse than any of those moments. This was being ignored by the man he wanted by his side. The one he knew could be so much more if only free of all the petty restraints of public morality. 

He hadn’t yet come up with the perfect plan as to how to steal back Virgil’s heart and now it seemed as though he didn’t need to because after all this time, he had come to him. 

Drunk again perhaps? 

Well, that was an insult to Roman once more. That he was only worthy of Virgil’s attention when the hero had drunk himself into near oblivion. Roman was a proud strong villain. Not that he liked the term villain. Anti hero perhaps. Yes, that was better. That described how he saw himself. He didn’t want to tear down society for the sake of it, but only because society was broken. Roman had a vision, he had a dream. The world was going to be so much better once he and his friends got control of it. 

Regardless of titles, he was more than some... thing on the side for Virgil to indulge in. He wasn’t a dirty secret in that respect. Roman wasn’t interested in being just a passing fancy for the hero. It was strange, it was staggering, it went against everything Roman had ever thought about relationships up to this point, but he wanted something official. He wanted Virgil on his arm. Not just a series of late night visits. 

He would worry about that later. First though, he had a guest to greet. A delicious little fly wandering into his web all of his own accord. Roman was going to enjoy this. A second try and this time he wasn’t going to let this one slip through his fingers.  

Luckily, he was still dressed in his princely garb, Roman smoothing down the tunic as he walked through his home and out the front door. Virgil was standing a few paces in front of it, swaying ever so slightly. As if in time to some invisible tune. His wings rustled and shifted with the movement, feathers fluttering delicately in the night air. Virgil was so beautiful, that for a moment it actually took Roman’s breath away. Thankfully, Virgil hadn’t seemed to notice him yet, which gave him the moment he needed to recover and slip into the role of the Prince. 

“Well, well. If it isn’t my pet hero. Come to discuss terms of your surrender? I promise to be... generous,” Roman said, voice pitched low into what he hoped was a seductive purr. It was always hard with Virgil, he rarely got the reaction he expected from him. Which was, he had to admit, part of the fun. And a lot of the frustration. He offered Virgil a smile, something knowing and teasing in his expression. 

If nothing else, he could normally make Virgil flustered and that was sometimes enough. Or at least, it had been, before the night they had shared together. Now Roman wanted to bring him inside and never let him go. He didn’t want flustered if flustered meant Virgil would leave him and his Virgil wasn’t supposed to leave him. 

Virgil looked up. Those piercing grey eyes, normally so focused and full of life, of fire were distant, confused. Roman was used to seeing him look at him with passion. Normally a passionate anger, but there had been times when he had seen other passion, had seen a smile in those eyes that Virgil had never dared show on his face. Now, it was as if Virgil was looking at someone he barely recognised. 

Roman didn’t like that at all. Those eyes were beautiful. Virgil’s gaze had always made him feel powerful. It was almost intoxicating at times, the rush he felt from knowing the winged hero was watching him and although he would never admit it, some of his more daring stunts had been performed purely because of that. Now, Virgil was looking at him and Roman didn’t feel that familiar, giddy rush of warmth and pleasure. 

This wasn’t drink. Roman had seen Virgil - and plenty of people - drunk. He knew the difference between drink and drugs. A wound? Was his precious angel hurt? He felt a swell of self righteous anger rise up in him at that thought.

Who would have dared lay a finger on Virgil? Roman thought he had been very clear on the matter. Nobody was to touch Virgil. They could fight him if he came to try and thwart them. They could defend themselves of course and try and defeat him but there had been an agreement in place. No death. No serious wounds. And should anyone actually capture him, Roman would gladly buy the prisoner off them. 

Virgil blinked a couple of times before smiling, his gaze still wavering and uncertain. There was a hint in those eyes though, a reassuring glint of the Virgil that he knew. 

“So... sorry,” Virgil slurred, words coming out far too faint for Roman’s liking. “Didn’t... didn’t know where else to go.” 

He took another step forward, legs folding up under him as he moved, his body dropping towards the ground. Roman moved without thinking too, trying to catch him before he fell completely. Roman had forgotten to take into account his wings, either the sheer number of them or the weight that multiple pairs of wings added to a person’s body. 

The pair crashed to the ground in a tangled mix of limbs and wings. Far, far too many wings. They were fluttered all over the two of them, creating a mess of wings that shielded the pair of them from the outside world. It was almost nice, cocooned inside Virgil’s wings. Roman couldn’t help but feel safe here, protected from anything else. 

The way Virgil was pressed close against him was a delicious bonus.

They couldn’t keep lying here though. It wasn’t safe. Roman still had no idea what had happened to him. For all he knew, there could be someone chasing him and while he felt secure within the feathers, he knew it wasn’t true safety. He had to get them both inside. Nobody could get inside his home without his permission - or get out. 

“Come on angel, can you stand for me?” Roman coaxed and his plans hadn’t taken into account the idea that Virgil might be too out of it to be able to stand. How was he supposed to seduce him from the path of boring righteousness and towards the path of fun if he was too out of it to even hear any of his very reasonable and tempting words? 

Virgil’s whole body stiffened, moving upwards and pulling Roman with him. In a flash, they were both standing upright once more, Virgil holding him and it felt good to be in his arms once more. Good and yet... wrong. So very wrong. 

Roman’s eyes narrowed. That... that was different. That wasn’t like his hero at all. Virgil swayed a little as he stood there. There hadn’t been a single comment or complaint, just simply doing as he was told. Roman needed to test this. He needed to know if that had just been a fluke or not. And he had the perfect way to do it. There was no way that Virgil would willingly agree to what Roman had in mind now. No way at all. Surely? 

“Kneel,” he ordered, voice husky. There wasn’t even the slightest pause before Virgil was doing just that. The winged hero sunk to his knees in front of of Roman, quiet and obedient.  

Roman sucked in a deep breath as he looked down at him and oh - he hadn’t been expecting that. Not the willingness for Virgil to drop to his knees in front of him and look up with such trust in his eyes. Or the way that Roman’s whole body felt as though a jolt of lightning had struck it. He felt electrified in the best sense of the word, alive in a way that Roman hadn’t thought possible. All because of those eyes staring up at him.

He reached out, hand gently cupping Virgil’s cheek. Still, Virgil didn’t move, didn’t protest. Some part of Roman knew this was wrong even for him. His Virgil was a creature of fire and desire. He was abrasive, argumentative, he fought against everything. It was annoying at times, but it was part of what had attracted him to Virgil in the first place. 

To have him so docile and well behaved now felt wrong. But it was hard to focus on that that feeling when Virgil was leaning into his touch, his eyes warm and open. As trusting as before. Someone had done this to him, someone had hurt him, changed him. It was benefiting Roman right now, but he didn’t know what other side effects there could be to whatever was affecting him. 

There was only one person he could think of that was dumb enough to attack Roman’s hero. One person who would ignore that claim Roman had on Virgil. 

Remus. His twin brother.  

[adamwatchesmovies]

Uncut Gems (2019)

It isn’t even that Adam Sandler is undergoing a stunning transformation in Uncut Gems; he’s basically playing the same character he always plays. Don’t get me wrong. Sandler is great in this film. He's perfectly cast but it's all about the way Safdie bothers use him. You don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or reach inside the screen so you can strangle him and I mean that in a good way. What a ride!

In 2012, Howard Ratner (Sandler) runs a jewelry store in New York’s Diamond District. Business is good but his gambling debts are threatening to tear it all down.

Howard is an awful person. He’s cheating on his wife, Dinah (Idina Menzel), with his much younger employee Julia (Julia Fox). Worse, he’s not even good at hiding his affair. Worse still, he's a living train wreck. The plot kicks in when he receives a valuable opal from Ethiopia. This gem is his ticket out of the hole. If he can sell the rock for what it’s worth, his lawn shark brother-in-law Arno (Eric Bogosian) will finally leave him alone. From there, you can see how he’ll be able to straighten out his life.

You hold onto this glimmer of hope and constantly, the film dumps cold buckets of wet reality over your head. Howard's such a mess he threatens to undo the sure-thing life has given him. He constantly breaks your heart by repeating the mistakes you know he’s done a thousand times. You can't help but laugh. How can he believe things will go differently this tie? Eventually, you get so mad at him you can’t wait for the world to teach him a lesson. Or will it? You seriously wonder if the man isn’t simply beyond redemption. He’s so close to that point of no return he threatens to become more than just a bad influence; he’s about to turn into a poison that’ll ruin more than just his life. Now you want him to be put out his misery. Then again, maybe there is hope after all. You just don't know anymore. You’re so anxious you can’t wait but you’re scared of what the future might hold.

There are multiple chaotic scenes where people are talking over each other and the thick unease means the film can be a little disorienting during the first act. It doesn't matter. Ultimately, films are not about the technical details, they’re about the emotion and the impact they have upon you. By having Sandler in the lead role, the movie becomes more than just about what’s on-screen. I imagine Howard fancies himself the character Sandler played in Grown Ups or 50 First Dates. He thinks he’s a lovable rascal but he isn’t. He's an ambulant disaster threatening to ruin everyone and everything that surrounds him. Waiting to see where everything will go is a feeling that sticks with you long after the end credits are gone. (Theatrical version on the big screen, January 27, 2020)

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Too late? (Tom Hiddleston x reader) V1

So this is a two version story. It exists with a happy ending and a unhappy ending. This is the happy. Based on a request I took because I have no self control. Link to the request in the comments along with a link to the Angst Version. 

Rating: Teen, no warnings. 

Summary: While waiting at home for the man you love to return to you the internet serves up pictures that sting and cause all the doubt hidden in your heart to flair to life. When Tom returns home and can’t provide a answer good enough for you, you leave with nothing for the airport. Can Tom change your mind and convince you to stay or is it too late?

With a sigh, you closed the laptop as keys jingled in the door. Tom had been gone for nearly four months and the time had dragged on. Toward the end of his stint filming on his current project the phone calls had began to taper off.

You had tried to tell yourself he was just busy. The schedules were demanding and you had work as well. But he never called this rarely. It stung and made all those doubts you tried to banish out of your mind come racing back in the darkness of night. When you did talk he never had time. He always seemed distracted and never would give you a straight answer as to what he was doing or when he would be home.

It was hard not to question if he even wanted to come home and now she had no doubt as to why. On the screen was the proof that everything she feared was true. Everything had begun to crumble and now the only question was what you would do about it when he opened that door.

Half a world away while you were tucking yourself into bed a few days prior, Tom was walking down the sidewalk with the arm of a costar looped in his. They talked softly as he held the door to a jewelry store open for her. She smiled at him and patted his chest as she slipped by. What neither of them was aware of was the man across the street who was snapping pictures of what appeared to be a special moment that he would later sell.

“Darling, I’m home.” Tom’s voice called out as he pulled his suitcase into the entry. “Sorry I didn’t call, I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did.” Your voice was flat and cold, surprising yourself.

“Darling?” There was a hint of worry when you didn’t behave as you normally would when he came home from filming. Normally you were excited to see him, eager to greet him. “What’s the matter?”

“Is there anything you want to tell me, Tom?” You asked, standing as he came into the room. Each time he stepped closer, tried to reach you, you stepped around. It quickly became clear to him that you were intending to keep the couch between the two of you.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned.

“Who is she?” You snapped. The implied accusation freezing him in his tracks.

“Not this bloody shit again. I thought we went over this last year- there is no one else. I don’t want anyone else-”

“Why are you lying to me?” It was hard to fight back the tears.

“I’m not!” Tom snapped, causing you to cringe back. “What the hell has you worried about this.”

“Maybe you taking Maria to the jewelers?” You questioned and his eyes snapped toward you. “Open the laptop and stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying. I don’t need to look at whatever fucking pictures-”

“Do it!” You shouted, causing him to open the screen.

The image on it made his blood drain from his face. It looked so much worse than it was. Maria’s hand was pressed to his chest and her body looked to be a hair’s breath away from his. There was a small smile on his face as if they were sharing a secrete and in truth, they had been.

“I can explain-”

“Why? Why am I not good enough?” You press.

“It’s not what it looks like-”

“Stop it!” You yell as you back away from the couch, pressing your face into your hands as you tried to slow your thoughts.

Tom took the chance to close the distance. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to make you understand. There was a reason he was at the jewelers. There was a reason he wanted Maria’s opinion. There was a reason he was harder to reach than normal. He was busy making plans so that tonight would hopefully be one of the best nights of his life.

“Don’t touch me.” The words are laced with venom as you yank your arm away from him. “Don’t talk to me.”

“Please, just calm down.” Tom’s voice was harder, louder than normal with frustration and he regretted it instantly. “Please?” He asked softer.

You however were not listening. Without looking back you walked by him. Each step time he called out to you, called your name you ignored him. Without looking back you slipped your feet in your shoes and grabbed your purse.

“Where are you going?” He demanded.

“Out. I don’t know. It’s none of your business.” You yell back. How dare he demand to know where you were going. How dare he expect you to answer to him. How dare he after everything he had done. “Home maybe.”

As the door slammed in his face, Tom felt the weight of the small velvet box burning a hole in his pocket. He tried to tell himself that you would come back yet worry still nagged at him. Sure, the two of you had your fights but this was nothing like before. Yeah, you had your insecurities but it pained him that you would doubt his love for you.

After storming down the sidewalk for a bit you were able to catch a cab. Anger and pain warred inside you as you tried to keep yourself in check. Overall you managed to avoid breaking down in tears as you scrolled down the available flights departing soon and selected one. You could be on a plane and on your way back to America before midnight.

It was a rash decision, you knew that. It was the only option that was coming to mind as you fought back the panic. Every storefront the taxi passed was full of what had once been fond memories. Tom was one of the first people you had met in London and the kindness of the man who at the time was just a celebrity to you was a lifeline. Quickly you fell in love with him and surprisingly enough he fell in love with you.

That was a few years ago and now you knew it was over. You’re family had been asking you to return to the States for some time now and you always found an excuse not to. The long plane trip wasn’t something you wished to relive again. It didn’t matter now.

The taxi stopped and you paid with a sincere thanks to the man. He however grabbed your hand and held it firmly.

“Miss, you seem like you’re running from something. Be sure before you get on that plane.”

You nodded but didn’t say anything as you walked inside. The building was large and cold, just as you remembered it. The last time you were here there was joy as you began your life anew. Now you wanted nothing so much as to find a dark spot to sit and cry after checking in on your flight.

Tom paced the living room, covering the distance over and over while he tried to tell himself that you would be coming back any minute now. You always came back. When pacing did nothing to calm his nerves, he sat in front of your laptop and lifted the screen.

You’d come back. You left your laptop and you needed that for work. You had to come back for it. He keep telling himself that over and over again as he looked at the picture and headline that was so very far from the truth.

As he sat, holding the velvet box in his hand glaring at the picture, an email notification pinged in the bottom right corner of the screen. Normally he wouldn’t pay it any mind, he trusted you and was not one to snoop. This time however the subject line screamed out to him, reading: ‘BriAir thanks you for your ticket purchase’.

Clicking on it, his stomach dropped. You were not coming back. Laptop be damned, you were not coming back this time. Panic welled in him as he looked at the confirmation of a one-way ticket back to America.

Without thinking, he slammed the screen down and stood. Looking around as he ran his fingers through his hair. There was nothing here he needed, he decided as he shoved the little black box in his pocket. Flipping off the lights as he closed the door behind him, he wasted no time at all running to where his car was parked and slammed the key in the ignition.

With ever red light, with every turn he prayed that he wasn’t going to be too late. Each plane he saw in the sky added its weight to the ball of lead in his stomach. He had to make it to her in time. There simply was no other option. There was no way in hell he was going to let the best damn woman he’d ever know slip out of his hands.

The car screeched to a halt in front of the airport departures doors reading ‘BriAir’. The sign said ‘loading and unloading passengers only’ but he paid it no mind as he killed the engine and slammed the door behind him. If they towed the car, ticketed it, whatever- he would figure it out. He could figure anything out as long as she was still with him, as long as he wasn’t too late.

Rushing to the ticket counter he demanded a ticket. The clerk asked the very logical question of ‘where to’ and he had to waste valuable time explaining to her that it didn’t matter- he was just trying to talk to someone before they left, he needed it to get through security.

With boarding pass in hand, Tom rushed toward the security line. It was there that he saw you, sitting with your head in your hands in front of the line. Looking at his watch, he saw that your flight should be leaving any minute now and he should be too late. Yet you were not on it.

He took a few breaths before slowly approaching you. You didn’t even look up as he stepped up and took a seat next to you. He wondered if you had even noticed or if you realized it was him. In truth you didn’t realize it was him until he spoke.

“You didn’t get on the plane.” He spoke softly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs and letting his hands dangle between his legs.

“I tried.” You admitted, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “I would have.”

“Why didn’t you.” His voice was thick and you watched as he balled his fists only to release them and repeat the action over and over.

“My passport is in the bedroom.”

“I-” He swallowed thickly before trying again. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Then why?” You asked. “It said you got her a necklace and you look so happy in the pictures. She looks so happy. Why?”

“I needed her opinion. I wanted the opinion of a woman I trusted and she was the one I trusted most there.”

“I don’t understand?” You were looking at him, your eyes surely red rimmed with the tears you had cried.

Rather than answer you, he slipped out of his seat, standing to his full height. A few people in the distance recognized him but wisely did not come close. You watch from your seat as he runs a hand through his wild curls and takes a few steps away only to turn sharply and walk back toward you, pulling something small out of his trouser pocket.

Before you could begin to understand what it was, he sank down in front of you, one knee planted on the dirty floor. For a moment he simply sat before you, looking at the little black box in his hand before he turned his attention back to you, breathing your name as if it was a prayer for your understanding.

“I never want you to doubt my love for you, my commitment to you. We visited the jewelers that day because I wanted her opinion as a woman on rings. I was overwhelmed with the selection but being away for so long made me sure of one thing- I didn’t want to wait a moment longer to ask you this. I did buy something in that store but it wasn’t a necklace for her, it was a ring for you.” You watched with breath caught in your throat as he carefully opened the black box to reveal the ornate ring inside. It was classic, elegant and modest. It was everything you wanted in a ring.

“Tom?” His name slips through your lips as you sit in shock.

“This isn’t how I planned on doing this. This isn’t where I planned to be doing this. Oddly enough though, it is about when I planned on asking. Today I planned to ask you to marry me. Now I’m simply begging you not to leave me. But if you would be my wife- I promise to be everything you need, everything you want. I can’t promise it will always be easy but I can promise that I will always love you.”

You slip out of the chair and launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him. Tears fall from your eyes as you sob into his chest. You can’t believe how close you had come to making the worst decision of your life. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly as he buried his nose in your hair. Tears slipped from his eyes and gathered in your hair as he mumbled over and over how much he loved you, only you.

“Miss? We’ve received the documents. We can get you on the next flight out- it departs in about 30 minutes.” A woman stepped up and spoke hesitantly.

“Thank you but I’m not going anywhere.” You pulled back from Tom just a little so you can direct your attention toward her as you spoke. She nodded and walked away with a small smile on her face and you wondered for a moment if she recognized Tom. In the end it didn’t matter.

“You’re staying?”

“I’m staying.” You nodded with a watery smile and Tom held the ring out to you.

“You don’t have to answer, you don’t have to say anything yet- I know I put you on the spot-”

“That’s typically how proposals work. Yes, Tom. Yes.”

Tag list: @winterisakiller, @dangertoozmanykids101, @alexakeyloveloki, @theoneanna, @0-0-0-0-0-0-0-7. @j-u-s-t-4, @bambamwolf87, @missaphrodite23, @nonsensicalobsessions, @wegingerangelica

[occasionalfics]

worth my while // p. 9

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi | p. 8 | p. 10 

Summary: After being banished from his home, Thor Odinson has stopped at nothing to prove himself worthy of his throne, title, and power.

After losing the love of your life, you turned to a power you didn’t understand.You know you shouldn’t get involved.

But how could you not?

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Hercules au…kind of…)

A/N: Continue your yelling. I get it. This hurts.

Warnings: Violence, lots of angst, borderline abuse and definite manipulation, way too many feels, major character death (eventually). Hades is THE WORST.

Words: 2,381

You run back through the compound - it’s so empty, it feels haunted. You may not know Tony Stark as well as you maybe should, but he’s kind of famous for having a lot of stuff. Rich guys always have tons of cars, you figure. And in a facility like this, you know there has to be at least a service van or something, just waiting to be taken out to save the day.

But you’re not looking to save anyone other than Thor.

You know you hurt him. You lied to him. You weren’t enough. You weren’t and aren’t worthy of him or Asgard or...anything.

You do wish you’d told him about Rick. Maybe then it wouldn’t seem so impossible to believe that he’d forgive you one day.

Today is not about your feelings or your regrets, though. Hades is going to raise the dead - you don’t even know how or why or where or how many dead he’ll bring back - and Thor can’t fight them off. He wants to, but it’ll kill him.

Which is probably exactly what Hades wants. To kill a mortal, or at least to hold dominion over a mortal’s soul, is one kind of power. But to hold that dominion over the soul of a God?

You can’t fathom what that might mean. You can’t even pretend like it’s possible, because if it is, that leaves Thor in the Underworld all because of you.

You try to call out for the Irish lady - FRIDAY! You remember - but the building is too big and you can’t hear her response. You find a bathroom, notice that there aren’t any cameras in the corners of the room, and try again.

“Yes, Miss?” she asks.

The beating of your heart heats your ears. “Where’s the garage or a car or just...anything that’ll get me out of this compound and back into the city?”

The lights dim. The mirror over the sink illuminates with lines that bend in all directions. A single green trail starts in one corner and marks its way across the mirror as Friday tells you, “In the West corridor. Rentals are available, or one of Mr. Stark’s Audis has been left in his spot.”

The green line branches off and stretches out beyond the other lines. A dot at the end blinks back at you.

It’s a map. You memorize the green line from where you are to where the Audi is, which seems to be in a parking structure just beyond the main hub of the compound. You call out, “Thank you!” to Friday, then take a deep breath and run.

Thor might be slow moving, and he’s on foot, but you have to find him before anyone else does.

There are few agents around. You know most of them have been called out to deal with Hades - how global this issue is, you have no concept of. You urge your feet to move faster, even as the remaining agents call after you.

They have no idea who you are. You’ve never been here before, not that you have any business being in an Avengers’ facility. The only floors of the tower you’ve seen, besides the lobby, are the residential ones and that deck.

The deck. You had the perfect opportunity to open up, to tell Thor about Rick. Maybe not to tell him everything, but at least to get out the fact that losing Rick had shaken you so badly, you weren’t quite ready to move on.

But by the time you’d gone up to that deck, you already had.

If there’s a prize for rotten judgement… you think.

You come up to the doors to the parking lot and find the Audi in the second spot on the left - the first two, one on the left and one on the right - are disabled spots, as per the ADA. Good for Stark you think.

“Friday, where are the keys to that thing?” you ask.

An automatic door opens in the wall beside the door. “I’m not supposed to give these to anyone,” she tells you, as a tube falls into the open space from within the wall. “But Pointbreak has gone beyond my surveillance reach, and his vitals are below normal. I’m initiating Emergency protocol.”

You pause because you seem to remember something about sentient AI and the Avengers, and how that debacle had led to the Accords. But that doesn’t matter right now. Friday is trying to help you, not hinder your progress.

“I’ll put in a good word with the boss,” you tell her, even though you don’t really know what that’s going to mean. You pull the tube from the wall, rip it open, and take the keys before sprinting through the doors and out to the car. There’s no time to appreciate the luxury of it; you turn the key in the ignition, throw the car in reverse, and hit the gas so hard, the car hesitates.

“Drive savely, Miss,” Friday’s voice calls out from within the car. The screen on the dashboard shuts off, as if she’s signaling that she’s turning off surveillance.

She’s covering your tracks, and possibly even protecting Stark because she must know he’s fighting for his life. For everyone’s life.

God, this is all your fault.

You’ll loath yourself later, though. You follow the path down from the compound - thankfully, there’s only one road to and from the highway. Empty fields pass, but there is no sign of life.

No sign of death here, either, though. That, at least, gives you some relief.

You tap the steering wheel anxiously the further you get. Eventually, just before the ramp onto the highway, you find him. His frame comes into view slowly, but then he turns as you approach. How he got this far this fast, you’ll never know. You won’t ask because it’s not that important.

You pull the car up next to him, roll the window down, and yell out, “Thor, get in!”

He turns from you and continues on. You follow.

“Don’t be stupid - you’re gonna get yourself killed!”

You don’t notice the tears streaking across your face. At first, you refused to let them fall, but now… Now you’re not even crying because your pride is hurt at his refusal to listen. You’re crying because you know you’re right. If Thor doesn’t listen, if he doesn’t let you protect him, he will die.

And it’ll be all your fault.

Selling your soul to save Rick had once been your biggest mistake, your own self-imposed curse. But losing Thor to the monster who took advantage of your broken spirit?

That would be a whole new version of Hell.

“Please, Thor, get in!”

He continues without looking your way.

You speed up, intending to block the entrance to the highway with the entire body of the Audi. If he weren’t so weak, he might be able to climb over the car and go on. But you know he won’t get far.

The car speeds up too quickly, though. You cut the wheel when you expect it’ll turn, but the tires screech as you stomp on the breaks. The whole car spins once - twice - three times up the ramp, then harshly collides with the metal barricade and cement wall.

The hood crumples. The airbag inflates and crushes your nose, chin, and chest. You weren’t wearing a seatbelt, but the crash is so swift that you’re only thrown from your seat for a second before the dashboard sends you catapulting back. Your head hits the seat, and pain shoots up your neck and down your spine.

When everything stills, you struggle to breathe. There’s a hissing noise that you can’t identify. The screen on the dashboard illuminates, and a voice tells you they’re calling someone.

Tony Stark’s voice asks who’s driving.

All you can respond with is, “I’m so sorry,” and, “He’s gonna die. I tried to stop him.”

And then the lights go out.

--

The first indication that Thor’s strength has returned is the jump he makes from solid ground, over the car, and onto the hot asphalt ramp. His body no longer feels heavy, and he can tug on the invisible string that ties him to Mjölnir again. He can sense the ozone wrapped around the atmosphere of Midgard like it laces his veins.

He knows the deal he made with the man in the suit - (Y/N)’s employer - is broken. So is his heart, though that was already shattered. His stomach is in knots, knowing that (Y/N) must be hurt for him to feel like himself again.

He rips the door of the car off, knowing Stark will not have kind things to say about destroying his things. Thor doesn’t care.

She didn’t do that… on purpose, right?

(Y/N) wouldn’t intentionally drive herself into a wall to stop him. He’s sure of it. Sure that, despite the ache in his chest and the call he hears his soul send to hers, she wouldn’t sacrifice herself for him like this.

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage, just reaches in to grip her shoulders - but Friday’s familiar voice is able to break through the ringing in his head.

“Don’t move her, Pointbreak,” she says. “She has several lacerations, multiple broken bones, and her heart rate is slow. Any movement may worsen her condition, and I’ve already alerted the paramedics.”

Thor knows, somewhere in his head, that the closest hospital is back at the compound. All he has to do is wait - something he has never been good at doing. He can’t move her, but he does put one hand on her cheek facing away from him.

She grunts, and he feels the heat of the midday sun warm him, breathe energy back into him. He calls her name, and she groans, but doesn’t move.

“(Y/N),” he says, “you have to hold on. Don’t you dare leave, you hear?”

She grunts, chokes on a pathetic cough, and somehow manages to get one eye open. And it’s the eye closest to him. Her left arm reaches out slowly - something in the middle of it is bent the wrong way - and her bloody fingers reach his chin.

Her skin is cold, despite the warm liquid coating the pads of her fingers.

“Don’t leave me.”

She gives a single shake of her head.

“Thor?” Another voice, one he recognizes. “Thor, what the hell happened there?” It’s Tony. The broken screen in the center of the car has changed; Tony’s eyes scan the interior of the car, though they can’t turn to see Thor. He must only be able to hear.

“It’s a long story, Stark. I need your location, and whether or not you have eyes on a man in a dark suit with navy eyes.”

“What?” Tony asks. “What the hell did your girlfriend do to my car?!”

“She tried to stop me, but like I said, it’s a long story! Now do you see a man in a suit or not?”

--

He hates the thought of leaving her, but he has to. Thor has no idea what this man plans - not until he reaches Normandy, where hordes of undead, rotting corpses flood a beach. Steve was the only one with eyes on the man - and there he is, stepping out of the sea entirely dry, hair aflame now though it was not before.

The navy blue of his eyes is bright and jubilant for all the wrong reasons.

That is, until his sights set on Thor.

“But you-”

Thor swings Mjölnir around, then launches it and grips the handle tightly, following its path as it collides with the man’s face. Once on his feet again, he turns and glowers at the man as he struggles to get up.

“Didn’t I put you out of commission?” he asks, rubbing his jaw.

Thor growls. “You put a mortal’s life on the line-”

“That’s kinda my schtick.”

Another smack!

“Do you even care that she’s hurt?” Thor yells.

Another punch.

“Or does it make you smile?”

Another.

Thor hates that the man is still able to stand. He doesn’t even bleed. But it is clear - has been clear since he stepped onto the field to make his deal - that he is a God, just the same as Thor is. He’s not sure lightning will even make a difference in this fight, and that shakes his entire being.

The corpses continue coming from the sea. Will lightning make a difference for them? And if it does...what kind of difference?

The God in the suit laughs. “You’re more of an idiot than I took you for if you think I care about her.” He wipes his lip, steps back toward the water, and holds his arms out as the bodies come. “She was just a cog in my machine. She is nothing. And soon, neither will you be.”

They both raise their fists at the same time. One brings on fire - heat and flame and burning eternal - and another brings a storm - heavy and humid and static. They tear into one another - the only match for the other - but neither bends or falls or bleeds.

“She’s dying, you know,” the other God says. He smirks at Thor and dodges a punch. “I know you care about that. I can feel it. She’s dying, and you’re out here fighting me.” He throws a hand up, shoots bitingly cold fire out, and laughs. “I should be flattered.”

Thor can’t stop. He has to take this God out - he’s the only one that can. But he wants to stop - wants to fly off back to New York. Every atom in his body, every single bit of his mass wants to go back to her.

But he knows he can’t, and even if he could, he’d never make it.

If this God knows she’s dying now, she’ll be gone before he can get back to her.

This God...who controls the dead.

Thor lets another icy fire blast knock him back as he loses himself to his thoughts. It barely stings, and when he regains his posture, he glares at the God again. Because, if he knows (Y/N) is about to die, he can also do something about it.

[pippastrelle]

“A Not-So-Simple Story in Deapriffe”

Chapter One | Chapter Two | CHAPTER THREE

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Chapter Three: A Not-So-Easy Evening

[4k Words]

Kalyani wished she could have been more horrified to find Ahmed with a black eye. She was horrified. Still, at the same time, she couldn’t argue she was shocked. She wished she couldn’t have expected that from Ari and Barry. She wished she couldn’t have expected that from the company. She wished she couldn’t have expected that from the whole of Deapriffe.

She also wished she couldn’t have expected to have to convince Ahmed to get an ice pack before he returned the assembly line. As much as they needed him, Ahmed coming back from Clarke’s office with a black eye would have done nothing but stoke fires. Kalyani herself had to prepare her best ‘deferential secretary’ voice for when she returned to her office. The fierce emails and calls had already arrived for Clarke. She had to hold herself up through a whole afternoon of “Yes, Sir”s and “Mr. Clarke said”s while the four-hundred she and Ahmed needed hammered deeper and deeper inside the back of her skull.

Kalyani met Ahmed on the factory bus to head back home. It was packed with their – rightfully – furious colleagues. They protested the payments amongst themselves and to everyone else listening. She knew they deserved to. She knew everyone was just as stressed. But the noise reached into her nerves and injected her whole body with anxiety until it felt like she had a dozen vipers crawling up her back, constricting around her throat and piercing every inch of her skin. She had to keep her earphones in for the whole trip. Ahmed sat next to her. He shot her an understanding furrow of his eyebrows and lift of his lips whenever she caught his eyes while he mediated what light conversation he could with the others.

All through the bus journey, all through the stroll past Lord Way, all through the lift up to their third-floor flat, the four-thousand followed in their shadows. It festered and buzzed in their ears, until they shut the flat door and it was all the silence had.

They slipped off their shoes as usual and Kalayni hovered, only a few steps into the main room. They’d squashed the living room and kitchen into one. A low sofa and television took up one corner while a half-square of countertops ending in an oven and a fridge took up the other. They usually ate on the sofa but they had two plastic wheelie chairs propped against the kitchen counter too, which Ahmed would use to wheel around on whenever he wasn’t relying on his foot. She stared at her bedroom door. “I’ll…I’ll grab my laptop. We’ll look at the budget. See what we’ll need to do to get four-hundred.”

“Cool…I’ll go grab another ice pack before this starts getting worse again,” said Ahmed, indicating the sore cloud over his eye.

While he headed for the fridge, Kalyani forced her feet forwards. Her stomach churned, the floor a tipping ship, and the sensation didn’t let her go even after she had her laptop and was sat on the sofa. She gripped the laptop’s edge. She took deep breath after deep breath until, finally, she could turn on the screen.

“Okay. So. Since our savings aren’t enough right now to get two-hundred for either of us, the first thing we can do is take the money from our food budget. We can cut down how much we buy in a week and buy cheaper versions for the next month or two. Cut down on going out with people too. Even if it won’t get us much, it’ll get us something. We can do the same for any toiletries or clothes or things we’ll need. We’ll be fine,” she said, quite aware of her creased forehead and the hands covering her mouth failing to convince even herself.

“We’ve got four days to make up the rest of the money,” Ahmed added. “I can easily do more shifts tomorrow and Friday. That’ll get us some more.” He rose from the fridge with a bag of frozen chips pressed to his face. He’d had to put his sock between his cheek and the chips to protect his skin from the cold.

Kalyani’s eyes were boring into the digital budget. As her heartrate continued to spike, her hands shook over her keyboard and she swallowed. “I’ll– I’ll ask around the neighbours. Hopefully, they’ll have some sewing they can pay me for before Monday. I’ll work on my breaks and in the evening so I can get us a bit more before we have to also have to think about paying the rent next week which will take most of what we’ve saved right now and…”

“Kalyani, Kalyani, deep breath.” Ahmed rested a hand on her arm and joined her on the sofa. He took a deep breath with her. Kalyani nodded to herself and pulled her knees up to her chest. Ahmed offered her a bright smile through his makeshift ice pack. “We’ll be okay. We can do this. We’ve just got one tough month to get through then everything will be back to normal. We can do this.”

She nodded along. When he put the ice pack down and opened his arms for a hug, she gladly fell into them. They held each other close for a few silent ticks of her watch, willing to hide from the world in their embrace.

“I love you,” she said, the white ring on her left hand clicking against the black ring on his right.

“I love you too,” Ahmed murmured. He leant his head against Kalyani’s soft hair. He didn’t speak again. She held him closer, realising he needed her warmth as much as she needed his.

“If we can’t earn enough money by Monday, we can sell things too,” he said, his voice lowering as the held cheer slipped away. “We’ve got some decorations but…” He sighed. “It’s probably the console that’ll get us enough. Maybe the screen too.”

Kalyani glimpsed at the television and game console stacked in the corner. Games they’d been collecting longer than they’d lived together piled high in a neat, rainbow-coloured tower by its side. Selling them would certainly get them Clarke’s money. Selling their weekends of laughing and shrieking as they declared victory over the other would certainly get them Clarke’s money.

Her heart weighed her to floor. She closed her eyes with a weak, sad laugh. “It’s funny. The reason I asked you for a job at Clarke’s Motors in the first place was so I wouldn’t have to worry about the Sharks…”

Ahmed furrowed his eyebrows down at her. “You want to move?”

After a few seconds silent, she shook her head. “It’s just as bad everywhere else in Deapriffe. There wouldn’t be any point.” Her lips tightened as her eyes darkened. “It’s not like we can do anything to change it either. Not at this rate. Everyone’s used to it, and no-one’s going to be the one to get shot for a message. The police have probably been in the Sharks’ pocket since we were born. Wouldn’t be surprised if the local government too…”

Kalyani was hardly conscious of what she was saying. The anxiety built to a balloon’s pressure in head and all it could do was pour out of her mouth. Still, as always, Ahmed listened, his shining eyes unmoving from her. Kalyani shifted. “I’m best at Clarke’s. You don’t have to worry about me leaving. I know you’d never anyway.”

“No,” Ahmed agreed. He replaced the frozen chips on his eye and stared up at the ceiling. His lips twitched, but the circumstances restrained his usual smile at his thoughts. “I still remember the first time Dad let me sneak into the assembly shop with him. He was holding my hand the whole time so I wouldn’t run off but he went through how all the cars were made with me, who everyone was, and how it all worked and it was incredible. I thought it was the coolest job in the world. In school, everyone was telling me to ‘aim higher’ but being able to do it now with my own hands, I love it. I love getting those car shells and transforming them into something you see on the roads, knowing how every car’s constructed, seeing all the parts and effort that went into every one of them.”

Kalyani enjoyed the fire rising in Ahmed’s expression. It was so bright yet inviting, like a campfire, as if he couldn’t wait for the other person to get as lit up as he was. When he looked back, he offered it to her.

“I know there are things wrong with the company. I know stuff like welfare and the pay could be better. But I love the work so much. I love who I work with. I don’t want to have to give up on that if I can do anything to help it.”

Kalyani sighed and closed her eyes. “Yeah. Exactly…” She shifted against him and for a few seconds, she didn’t stir. Her chest glowed with Ahmed’s comfort yet her anxiety kept pumping her heart and turning her stomach. So, in the dark of her mind, she rummaged furiously for a solution. She pulled the whole flat into view, pricing everything in every drawer until she could find something enough for Clarke on Monday. Anything other than their precious games. And she found it. The thought dulled every sensation in her body.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a sec,” she said. She hugged him one last time before she left to her bedroom.

Ahmed waited. When she returned, she returned with a neat, varnished, square box. His face fell. “No.”

“I never wear it anyway. It might as well help us.”

She opened the box to reveal the beautiful necklace inside. The glittering, engraved gold was a celebration of craftmanship with its thick chain of interlocking segments and plaits and the heavy adornment in the middle that seemed carved with every flame in the sun. She’d inherited it from her grandmother. She’d never worn it, just like she never wore any jewellery, but she’d kept it for all years Ahmed had known her.

“It’s real gold. If we sell it, it’ll definitely be enough.”

Ahmed rose. He closed his hands around the necklace’s box. “Thank you. Thank you so much…I know just what we’re going to do.” He projected reassurance through every inch of his face for her. “We’re going to pawn it! They do that over at the horse races. We’ll pawn it, get the money for Clarke, then work for the rest of the month to get it back! I can do more shifts, you can do more sewing, and we can even sell some small things to help if we’re struggling by the end. We’ve got thirty days. We can do this!”

“Yeah,” Kalyani said, her voice wavering. “Yeah.”

“So we’ve got our plan! I can go to the racetracks on Sunday morning to pawn the necklace. That way we’ll have these four days and a whole month to save up to get your grandmother’s necklace back. We can do it.”

He hugged her again.

Enveloped in his arms, Kalyani murmured, “You can pawn it on Saturday afternoon instead. In case something goes wrong and we need Sunday to try something else.”

“Alright.” He broke apart so he could see her try a smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you too.” Ahmed cocked his head towards the kitchen. “Alright. Now, do you want to do the cooking together tonight or do you have some work to finish?”

“Don’t worry. Don’t worry. I can do the cooking too. I’ve got that one jumper to finish but I can do it tonight.”

“Or, how about you sit on the sofa and do that while I cook? That way we can still chat.” He poked her in the chest, pretending to be stern. “Remember? You’re going to sleep at a decent time tonight so you can have breakfast with me in the morning.”

She chuckled. “Fine.” She clutched her grandmother’s necklace box to her heart. She drummed her fingers against the old wood as her chest swirled with equal stress and relief, each cutting the other down whenever they rose. Four-hundred was still so much money to get, but they had her grandmother’s necklace to pawn, but…

Kalyani’s quiet exhale deflated her. She rested against Ahmed one more time and he held her in kind.

“Elise’s family has been really struggling since her husband’s accident,” she said.

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“And Łukasz is only nineteen.”

“Yeah…”

*

On the other side of Deapriffe, Thresher was just as miserable. For the evening, she’d found herself in the Mary Rose: its status as one of the city’s finest dining establishments evident by the mass of chandeliers, silverware, columns, and arched windows. It had the architecture of a cathedral, but one refurbished in the ‘modern’ image of square polished and glass surfaces, and the night’s guests had filled its every corner with a raucous chatter. The restaurant was a luxury most of Deapriffe’s population would never see. Still, Thresher could hardly appreciate it with loud Sharks and trembling waiters all around her.

Outside the wall of windows they had gazing out onto the city, the nearest billboard was dead. The road was in lockdown and the Mary Rose should have been as well. Except, when a procession of the Shark’s white cars pulled up outside your doors, you weren’t allowed to stay shut. A sea of black and white suits filled every gleaming table across the restaurant floor. Laughter and catch-ups washed the air, covering the few meetings beneath it. Discussions that would go on to dictate lives melted into inanity for passing ears.

Thresher sat on a central table alongside her mother and twin. She couldn’t even wear her frustration on her face. Eyes from every corner flicked to the Shark boss and her children before hurriedly moving on. Even the waiters, who looked upon the mass of Sharks with indiscriminate terror, noticed how the attention warped around the three of them. They skirted away accordingly, until a lift of a hand had one darting over to take care of anything any of them wanted.

Sandra Vaughan reclined in her seat with a wine glass in hand. She ran through the other major Sharks for her children, supplying anecdotes for how she’d dealt with each of them. Thresher played the part of an interested listener. She kept her attention on her mum, she smiled, and she recognised enough of the names to add comments of her own, each of which Vaughan worked off with a proud glint in her smile. Every one wore Thresher down further. Her moments of success hit her harder than the failures: the moments where she realised she could dress up as the perfect, cisgender, Shark son her mum wanted forever, and she did not know how to deal with that prospect.

Finley, on the other hand, made no show of anything. He didn’t bother to hide his boredom at the sound of politics. He tilted back in his chair and texted his friends across the restaurant, enjoying the sight of the waitresses. Many of the women had caught Thresher’s eye as well, the restaurant’s black uniform blouse and pencil skirt a gorgeous shape on all of them. However, she stuck her attention to their table and continued draining her glass. The attention of a musclebound Shark never came as welcome to civilian women like them.

“Clarke made a decent point about Letizia Fulgoni,” Vaughan was saying. “She’s been raking in the profits recently. Shake that down and you’ll have yourself a nice bit of extra income.”

Thresher raised an eyebrow. “‘Shake that down’?” She chuckled. “Don’t worry. We won’t even have to bother. Fulgoni’s got no history of trouble. She’s got the new location but without any real safety nets, she’s not going to risk disobeying us. There’s no need to waste the manpower threatening her.”

The lines across Vaughan’s face flattened. “Watch yourself. It’s a pit trap too many Sharks fall into. Going easy on the businesses because things are ‘comfortable’ is the surest-fire way to losing everything to whichever upstart’s nearby. The biggest mess I’ve ever had to deal with was in Wobbegong’s–”

Finley snorted loudly. “God, these names are stupid!”

“He’s a stupid man,” said Vaughan. “Wobbegong earnt his name. The only reason I didn’t kill him was because I wasn’t in the mood to deal with his brother’s inevitable revenge and lose me my best bookkeeper. Wobbegong, the pathetic bastard, had all his businesses ‘banding together and refusing to pay’. Bryson had to take over and double down on the whole road to get things back in line.”

Vaughan caught Finley’s exaggerated slump in his chair to her side.

“I understand. I understand. When I was your age, I didn’t want to have to care about all these names and faces either. People learnt their lessons through fear and all I had to consider were the drinks and the men I wanted that night.”

Finley burst into laughter. “Is that why you left Dad at home tonight?”

“Shush,” Vaughan chided – smirking. “Tonight’s for the family business family. You’re controlling your own territory now. Knowing the names and faces pays off in the long run. You’ve got to know what it takes to piss people off, what they’ll do when you have, and where you hit to hurt them the most. Sometimes, it takes a burnt-down house. Sometimes, it’s a simple punch to the gut.”

“Do we have to worry about Clarke at all?” Thresher asked.

“Please. Clarke would rather cut off his other ear than be an issue for us. He’ll stay in line. Meanwhile, you’ll get some extra cash out of it.”

Finley spun his knife between his fingers. “Shame. He looked hilarious this morning. Let’s increase the pay next month. I’d love it if he didn’t get the money.”

“So, if we don’t ruin our most useful asset,” Thresher continued, with a pointed turn away from Finley, “you’re saying we can rely on Clarke. We’ll use his decades of collaboration to our advantage. Let Fulgoni know any disobedience from her will just profit Clarke and there’ll be no risk of them banding together. This way, we get all the benefits without bothering about the extra Sharks and potentially agitating the Deapriffe police chief living in our territory.”

Vaughan’s lips twisted behind her wine glass. She set it down and flicked her hand for a new round. “James Dunn is firmly in our pocket. I make sure of that. He hasn’t done anything against the Sharks in all of Deapriffe. He’s not going to start because it’s affecting a business down the road. The only thing you’re risking by acting is a few civilians’ bones. That’s nothing in the grand scheme of things.” Her gaze settled on Thresher’s face. Thresher turned to avoid it but Vaughan ordered her back. “You know what I’ve been hearing.”

“I know.”

“Thresher…” Vaughan groaned through her teeth, caught between her care and frustration. “Listen. When you look weak, it makes me look weak.”

“I know.”

“You’ve got to start showing your backbone. You already have everything you need. If something broke out here right now, I’d trust the two of you to come out on top. All you have to do is make it so no-one’s got any doubt of that in the mind. Keep your efforts on that, then everything else they could say becomes irrelevant.”

Thresher caught Vaughan’s significant look. She raised her eyebrow. “Wondering if I’m gay again?”

Finley sniggered. Vaughan didn’t say anything.

Thresher rolled her eyes, not that it could stop the constriction of her heart. “No need to ‘worry’, Mum. Trust me. I am not interested in men.”

A stiff waitress arrived with their drinks. Vaughan took hers with an understanding gesture towards Thresher. “Take some direction from Finley. This job is all about experience. Keep getting fights under your belt and it’ll become second nature.”

“Yeah. Sure. That must be– Oh, I didn’t order a rosé.” Thresher passed her glass back to the waitress. “This must be for another table. I’ll have whatever white you’ve got.”

“Oh.” The waitress – a beautiful woman with red snuck into her uniforms in her locs and her heels – stopped. Gingerly, she collected the glass and Thresher’s face fell at the look of cold disgust piercing through her made-up eyes. Then, she cursed herself for not having expected it. The waitress attempted a civil, service worker nod before leaving to get Thresher’s drink. Vaughan’s hand snapped around her wrist. The waitress yelped.

“What do you call this service?” Vaughan demanded.

Thresher’s heart punched against her ribs. She rushed to take the rosé back. “Mum, I don’t care about this.”

Vaughan refused to loosen her hold on the waitress’s wrist. “Tell me your name.”

“…Sofia.”

“Full name.”

Sofia tested Vaughan’s grip before realising she was trapped. “Sofia Gálvez Moreno, Ma’am. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll get him his white right now.”

Vaughan hauled Sofia’s arm forwards and Sofia crashed against the table in front of Thresher. “We’re in no rush here,” Vaughan said, as if delivering Thresher a present. “You’ve got the time to teach Sofia some respect before she goes get you the right drink.”

Sofia’s eyes snapped up, wide. “No! Please, Sir, it was an honest mistake!”

Thresher put on a scowl for her mum and brother. She leant back in her seat, as if she couldn’t care less, and growled. “Get me my order.” She raised the rosé. “I’m keeping this. Come back with my white, on the house, then stay out of my sight for the rest of the evening.”

Sofia nodded like a child’s toy pulled too many times. “Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!”

Once again, when she attempted to leave, Vaughan refused her. Finley leant over the table towards Thresher. “Here’s some of that ‘direction’ for you. You’re not teaching nursery.” He slapped her bicep. “All that time at the gym isn’t for show. People remember a broken arm way more than any of your wittle mean words.”

“No! Please!” Sofia cried. She met Thresher’s eyes, pleadingly. “Please, you have to understand. I’m just tired! I’ve been on my feet since seven this morning and I haven’t been sleeping well for weeks now. I’ve been busy looking after my sister’s baby! My sister’s got a heart disease and she’s in hospital while her son is very young. He’s only a few months old. My sister doesn’t have any other family in Deapriffe so I’m the only one who can watch him nights and look after her and–”

The words stabbed dagger after dagger into Thresher’s heart, horror painting her face uncontainably. Meanwhile, Vaughan and Finley sank deeper into their exasperation and incredulity as they heard the next rambled sob story on a list the length of a motorway. Vaughan put her face in her hand and groaned. “Enough!” She tightened her fist. Sofia cried out in pain.

“Mum–!” Thresher started.

Vaughan uncovered her tired expression. “Just shut her up!”

“Please! Don’t hurt me!” Sofia begged.

As Thresher looked around helplessly, Finley banged his hand down on the table. “For God’s sake, Thresher. Look! It’s easy!”

Thresher’s eyes shot wide. “Finley!”

“No!” Sofia recoiled.

Finley rose.

“DON’T TOUCH HER!” Thresher roared. She wrenched Sofia out of her mum’s hand. Sofia stumbled onto her heels past Thresher and the talk in the restaurant blew out like a bulb. Thresher faced Sofia, thrusting her hand at the exit. “Get out of here! No-one is going to follow you or they’ll have me to deal with.”

Sofia needed no convincing. With a final glance to Vaughan and Finley, she fled as fast as she was able to in her heels. Thresher watched her until the fire exit door had clattered shut. Her blood pounded like gongs in her ears. Her breathing rusher in and out of her chest. Neither succeeded in disguising how quiet the Mary Rose had become.

As instantly as they had stopped, the surrounding Sharks made a point of continuing their conversations and keeping their eyes on their own tables. Vaughan and Finley, however, had nothing to distract from their rage. Finley held his fists so tight his knuckles were white. His teeth seemed ready to crack against each other. The severe lines on Vaughan’s face cut through her skin as if freshly torn.

Finley tore his eyes off Thresher, facing his mum. “I don’t need him. I can do this by myself–”

“No! We do this as a family,” Vaughan snarled. Thoughts burnt behind her eyes. She pulled her voice down into something low and even. “Finley, when I tell you, take your brother out into town. I want him back with a kill. We’re going to get through his block.” She slammed her fist against the table and levelled her finger at Thresher. “And you are going to man up!”

Thresher’s eyes fell. She didn’t move.

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Chapter One | Chapter Two

I’m only posting three chapters for now. I might post more depending on what feedback I get!

Also, guessed the film I based this off? DM me with the correct film and I’ll draw whatever character you want for free!

[hungergames-fanfic]

Half Human, Half Squirrel pt.2

“Littleburg used to have another name before the games. Ms. Gullard told us last year. She says it used to be the Capitol of Texas, one of the previous states formin’ the United States of America, which we now call Panem”, I say. Ari stares at me with her mouth open.

“You ever been to actual Littleburg?”, I ask. She shakes her head. I’m not surprised, this is where all the rich folk live and everything is too expensive. “Our school is right outside of Littleburg. This is the only elementary in all of District 10”, I add. Daddy says that’s how the government keeps track of us but I don’t tell Ari this, I aint tryna explain 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

“that’s why it’s so big?”, Ari jumps off her seat with her hands in the air. Daddy asks her to sit down. That’s cause peacekeepers are really mean here and will stop anybody. Momma Bilmin calls it abuse of power and to never ask them for help.

Cause the peacekeepers usually pick on people who look poor, to go to Littleburg we have to dress nice. Momma Bilmin combed our hair really tight into a braid and put a cowboy hat on Ari. I think it’s to hide how skinny she really looks with her hair tamed. Momma Bilmin then turned one of my yellow dresses inside out, sew it in a couple of places and made it fit Ari. She looks so pretty and hasn’t stopped smiling since. She says I look pretty in my dress too.

Driving past our school, daddy keeps going until we reach local stores. These are old, small and a lot cheaper than those deeper in Littleburg. Passing these we start to see forests and pretty green trees down the long road. He makes a lot of sharp turns I don’t pay attention to the way Ari does. She sits on her knees, looking out the window in awe. I don’t blame her. Bloques is nothing like this, aunt Lucia calls it “one big shantytown” cause the houses are so close together there aren’t that many trees.

“Look Dora”, daddy points at some ruins.

Behind a chain link fence is a completely destroyed building scattered all over a long road. The engines and wings remind me of a plane I once saw in a book about traveling. There were so many versions of planes that I spent a whole week reading just about them. “Airport?”, I gasp excitedly. I jump off my seat and join Ari at the window. “That one!”, I point at a blue and yellow plane underneath a run down hangar. “That’s a Boeing 757, that was the first largest single isle passenger plane for a very long time. Oh!”, I point at a lost wing with a jet engine holding it off the ground, “that must of been an Airbus, those were made in a country named France” I continue.

“Dora”, daddy interrupts. He says I’m not to talk about what I’ve learned beyond Panem. “Won’t do you any good to get smart, these fields are yours, this’s what you need to focus on”, he said once.

Soon, there’s not that many trees surrounding the road, it’s stores all over the area. “Pocco’s Footwear”, “Family Donuts”, “Brie’s Electronics”, and “DDDD Insurance” are some of the names on them. Behind these are neighborhoods of houses like mine. These are made of red brick with backyards. “They’re connected to the poles, they carry electricity throughout the neighborhood”, I point at the power lines.

In no time, the roads get bigger and everyone is driving faster. “These are highways and they take us to different sections of Littleburg”, I continue. Up on one of the ramps we’re able to see a big pretty building out in the distance. “That’s Spring Hills, middle and high school but you gotta be accepted to it. Momma wants me to go there next year”, I whisper to Ari. She doesn’t say anything back but looks sad. I wish I could read her mind. Maybe I could. Maybe there’s a book on reading minds.

“Daddy will there be a book store where we’re goin’?”, I ask.

“No more books, you got enough at home”, he says.

“Momma Bilmin says there can never be enough books”, I say but nothing more when I catch his eyes on me in the rear view mirror.

Off the highway he drives into a big parking lot, surrounding it are stores scattered all around. A gas station at the entrance corner, an ice cream shop in the middle of the lot, stores connected together but with signs that say what they sell. “PBS Pharmacy”, “Make U Smile Dental”, “Petstore”, a huge one named “Bullseye” and more that are too far away to read.

“Wow, can we go there”, Ari asks pointing at the pet store. We look at daddy, he says “no”, and heads for the pharmacy. He looks tired.

“Why does he sleep on the sofa?”, Ari whispers in my ear so he won’t hear. I look at her confused. Daddy doesn’t sleep on the sofa, he sleeps with momma. If he did, was it cause of what happened last night?

I don’t notice how hot it is outside until we walk into the pharmacy. A blast of cold air hits us when the door opens making Ari scream and laugh. Even though her scream scared me a little, it’s still funny and I laugh with her. Daddy looks back at us with a smile on his face. I don’t have to read his mind to know he found it funny too.

Not wanting to lose daddy I take Ari’s hand and pull her along with me. She holds on tighter. He walks a lot faster than us so we practically jog to him. We pass a couple of isles before Ari stops running and pulls on my arm. Not wanting to lose daddy, “go, I’m gonna see where he goes and come back”, I inform.

Daddy stands in the middle of an isle, on the shelves are a lot of plain gray boxes. “Earwax Remover”, “Eye Drops”, “Antiseptic Cream”.

“Lice Remover?”, I ask scratching my head.

Daddy looks down at me with a weird look on his face. He looks mad, confused, I can’t tell and I really wish I could. In his hand are two rectangular boxes that say just that. Without a word, he pushes me and we walk out the isle in search for Ari. We find her on the floor playing with a rubber chicken, making it scream when she presses on it. She giggles every time.

“Stay here, I’m gonna go talk to the pharmacist”, daddy says just before he walks off like he remembered something he’d forgot.

The chicken continues to squeal and Ari screams in giggles. Can’t forget how loud she is when she’s having fun. To keep her company I look around the toy isle until one catches my eye. It’s not really a toy but a board game, to play you need about three people, that could be Efrain, Ari and me. The instructions say that you are given a word and then you have to act it out. Who ever guesses it wins a point. Or something along those lines. I want it and I’m too excited to wait for daddy to come back to tell him. I tell Ari to wait and run around the store looking for daddy, whom I find at the back talking to an old man.

“Good news, the vaccines you ordered will be here in a couple of days”, says the old man looking at his computer screen.

“That ain’t what I’m here for”, daddy chuckles like he’s nervous. Momma says it’s rude to interrupt people when they’re talking so I run back to Ari to see if there’s a toy she’d want too. I’m sure if we beg him just enough he’d get it for us.

When I return to the isle she’s no longer there. I run to the opposite end and spot her jumping in and out the store, playing with the automatic doors. “I leave for one second”, that’s what I wanna say when I catch her and run after her who takes it like a challenge. She spots me and screams, then proceeds to giggle away. If daddy finds out we left the store he’s not gonna let me see tonight.

Outside she runs giggling her heart out past the store fronts until she suddenly stops. I know what she’s looking at, it’s the pet store. That’s where she wanted to go when we got here. She walks inside with a look of awe in her face. I follow her in and take her hand pulling her closer to me. That’s the last time I let her out of my sight.

“Ari, you can’t do that”, I say out of breath.

“Ari? Ari-elle. It’s like you wanna say my name but some stop you”, she swings our hands. I never noticed how short she is. With the hat she looks a little taller but is still obviously short. I put my hand close to her forehead and measure her. She reaches my chin in height. She giggles to this but says nothing.

“You don’t like it? Been callin’ you that in my head for a minute. Not sure when I started”, I admit.

She giggles and gives me a hug, “no one’s ever given me a nickname before. Well momma calls me chipmunk”, “I knew it!”, I scream in her face. She jumps and opens her eyes wide. I ain’t tryna admit I thought of her as a squirrel, “I knew they called you some cute, it suits you cause you’re... cute too” my lie suddenly feels like it turns true and I freeze hoping she doesn’t say anything.

“You think I’m cute?”, Ari asks. She bats her eyes and smiles but it looks made up, like she’s happy and sad at the same time. She’s turning pink. Still holding on to my hand, she barely pulls on me but I still follow.

The isle she walks to is like a bookshelf for fish tanks. Colorful fish swim around in groups with pretty rocks and castles in their tanks. In one there are about a hundred swimming the same direction until Ari knocks the tank making them swim away. The fun is back on her face. In no time we’ve roamed around the entire pet store. From looking at individual colorful fish swim around in a small container to puppies play fighting with each other in a big glass case. We even get to pet a bunny when Ari opens up a cage that hasn’t been locked. The bunny falls asleep while I pet it. I want it, I want all of the animals in here. Daddy would say we’ve got enough animals at home though. Daddy? I gasp catching Ari’s attention.

“Ari, we gotta go”, I say pulling on her hand. By now I’m sure daddy’s stopped talking to the old man and is waiting for us with an unpleased look on his face. To be in trouble scares me and I’m almost too scared to go back.

Hiding my feelings we return to the pharmacy and walk to the back but daddy ain’t there. Quickly I call out for him and run around the entire place. Ari’s close behind still holding on to my hand really tight. I go back to the toy isle, he’s not here. I go back to the isle he got the lice remover from, he’s not here. I walk up to the counter and ask the cashier, she doesn’t look older than Eduardo, she pops her pink bubble gum and leans closer to us, looking at us back and forth.

“Y’all lookin’ for the tall cowboy with the pretty braids?”, she asks twirling her hair with her finger.

“That’s my daddy, you seen him?”, I ask practically screaming at her. She sneers.

“Yeah, I seen him”, she says. I open my eyes wide and extend my arms in confusion. Is she gonna tell me where he went or not?

“He left lookin’ for y’all, almost walked out of here without payin’”, she smiles smacking her gum. “Too fine to pass the opportunity though, called him back“, she giggles still playing with her hair, “went headed to Bullseye”, she says pointing to said direction with her pinky finger.

“We need to make sure he hasn’t left”, I say to Ari running back to momma’s car. Here it looks like he came back and put his bags on the front seat before going out to find us. This makes me nervous. If daddy is actively searching then that means he’s gonna kill me when he finds us. I ain’t tryna look like a wuss though, so I keep my worries to myself.

“Look”, Ari says pointing at the ice cream shop in the middle of the parking lot. Next to it is a white peacekeeper vehicle. “Wanna ask’em?”, she pulls on my arm.

“No”, I say thinking about what momma Bilmin would do. “We should ask inside”, I add.

We actively ignore the peacekeepers, like they aren’t there but a big boring rock in their place. They notice us though and maybe there’s a look of worry in my face, that would explain why Ari hasn’t acted up in a minute. That or she’s just as scared of daddy.

“Aye kid, what’s up?”, one says. They’re both old but not too old, maybe younger than daddy. They wear their peacekeeper uniforms but have taken their helmets off to enjoy their ice cream.

“Y’all seen Mr. Wyetka? Got a cowboy hat on, really tall, really 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 tall, like this”, Ari says on her tip toes tryna draw a line way above her head. The peacekeepers laugh.

“Even the children?”, one says. “Y’all seen Mr. Doodah”, the other one mocks in a silly version of our accent. “Hey kid, look around, everyone’s got a damn cowboy hat on”, this makes the other one laugh and point at Ari and then his head, “It’s like everyone here is born with one”, he says making themselves laugh even harder. I hope they drop their ice cream.

“C’mon”, Ari says pulling me into the ice cream shop. “Hey mister, you seen-“, she’s interrupted by the man behind the counter.

“Hey kid ya daddy was just in here lookin’ for y’all”, he says.

“You seen where he went?”, Ari asks with excitement. The man shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. This scares me more. What if daddy gives up and goes home without us? What if he finds us and is super angry? How mad is he gonna be at me?

Back outside I can’t hold it anymore and start to cry so much my body moves like I got hiccups every time I gasp. Ari holds my hand the entire time. She hugs, says she’s sorry and begs me to stop crying. I want to but I can’t stop. I’ve lost daddy and he’s out here looking for me too. He’s gonna be so mad when he finds us. “If he ever does”, I think making myself feel worse.

“Maybe we should try Bullseye”, Ari says.

“That’s a really big store, we’d have better luck waitin’ for him outside”, I say through the sobs. Ari agrees and hugs me again, tells me that we’ll find him and when we do she’ll take the blame. I don’t want her to, even if it was her fault I wouldn’t want daddy to be mad at her.

Holding hands, we walk past store fronts asking for daddy but so far no one’s seen him. Back in the petstore the man behind the counter points to the Bullseye store direction. We automatically head there and plan to wait for him outside. Ari calls the plan a smart one.

“Excuse me mister”, Ari approaches a man sitting outside the store. He’s short, bald, and greasy. He sits in front of a table and looks to be selling watches. He doesn’t look too happy to be talked to.

“Go away!”, he snaps, “If you aint buyin’ get the fuck outta here, scarin’ away my customers”, he waves us off like flies.

Ari looks around, inside the store where people are walking in and out ignoring us and him. She turns to the parking lot where cars drive past not noticing us either. She looks at me and then at him, “what customers?”.

“I said get the fuck outta here you freaky little shit before I drop kick you to the moo-, hey-llo there, you tryna buy a nice watch? One for the wife? Present for momma? Friend?”, he goes from screaming his head off to suddenly being really nice.

Ari and me look at each other wide eyed. Slowly we turn around to see the tall man staring at the short bald man selling watches. Daddy stands outside the doors giving him a cold look. His arms folded. There’s no emotion on his face and he doesn’t say anything. Not to him, not to me. My heart beats fast and for a second I think he’s gonna hit me. He puts his hand on my back and pushes Ari and me towards the direction of the car. None of us says anything on our way and I’m trying my best not to cry anymore.

I look at Ari who looks very sad too. She stares at the floor and barely holds my hand. I know why she’s upset. That man back there called her a freak, she says everyone at school calls her that and she doesn’t like it. I tighten my grip on hers and it catches her attention. “You’re not a freak, Ari you’re just different”, I say leaving myself thoughtful, “in a way.. I’m different too”, I say. She gives me a thin lipped smile that look sadder than before. She wants to cry but doesn’t, instead she hugs me while we walk.

“Hey, y’all want some ice cream?”, daddy asks.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”, Ari screams jumping up and down. She smiles wide and dances in place. This makes me laugh and I look at daddy. He looks worn out but he’s not mad. He gives me a smile and pulls me close giving me a tight hug. I hope this means I’m not in trouble.

[myfriendpokey]

GARBAGE DAY!

a bunch of scrappy shorter pieces to clean out my drafts folder for the new year!

***

A videogame will tend towards exhausting every possible variation of a design space whether anyone wants it to or not.

Videogames and duration - if something is good it should continue being good however long you extend it. You don't really encounter the idea that something can be good for a little while and then be evil.

***

Works of art are "in conversation" with their audience, with materials, with history, with each other. The aim of an artwork is to start, or add to, "the conversation". "Conversation" sort of edges out the older tic whereby art "examines" or "explores" something, which always made me think of a big magnifying glass being propped up for the benefit of some eerily calm 1950s scientist. But now that sounds too chilly, and perhaps sort of sketchy in the power dynamics it implies. "Conversation" is much warmer, informal and more fluid - "conversation" is the assurance that any given power dynamic can be dissolved away in the warm glow of basic, mutual humanity. Let's talk it through! My door is always open! Whenever there's a complaint over labour conditions or harassment it's nearly de rigueur to also quote the wounded-sounding HR lackey, upset that people didn't talk to them about it before going public. Why would anybody deny the friendly, outstretched hand of the respected opponent and their entirely in-good-faith quibbling about word meanings, personality and tone? Why don't we have an honest conversation about the "honest conversation", that numbing discourse cloud sprayed out like formic acid to neutralize a threat, to melt any unsettling edges or contraries back into the familiar gloop of the private and the personal.

***

One of the pleasures of videogames is that of an infinitely repeatable, always identical procedure. Pressing the button makes something happen, and by pressing it again it will happen again in the same way. So there's a kind of abundance or excess built into the system - like partaking of a fruit which will never be depleted, and in the process taking on in your own actions something of that same infinity. You can temporarily identify with the self-identical, eternally reproducing action that you are performing. I think one of the difficulties of videogames is that as you get (slightly!) older, that immortal quality becomes more visibly alien, harder to align to your sense of self. That these mechanics act like black holes, able to absorb any amount of your life without ever being satiated, becomes a terrible curse rather than an unexpected gift. That endlessness now seems eerie and artificial, a horrible parody of life rather than the highest version of it. 

The dadification of vgames has gone much remarked. But as well as a demographic shift I think this reflects a certain anxiety about the centrality of these immortal entities, these endless loops, within the culture. As reward for your fealty to the Mario brand you get even more Mario games, which by now you may not have time or energy to actually play. The VG dad (or even the buff, single pseudo-dads of the superhero movies) is eternally exhausted with the genre that he’s trapped in. We hear him groan and complain as he painfully slogs through the motions. The gratuitous loop is redeemed by the finite human suffering of the dad, as he manfully does what it takes to keep these things going forwards to the next generation, so that the next set of children may be able to actually take pleasure in them again. But the attempt to symbolically re-integrate these things into human life by casting them as a family drama never quite works: their ultimate indifference to that life shines through. A blind, eerie deathlessness is both their charm and their authority.

***

That saying that when all you have is a hammer everything else looks like a nail - similarly, when all you have is willpower, everything looks like an obstacle to be pounded into submission by that same willpower. 

Laziness is a good thing in that it means stepping back from this idiot insatiability of the will. If you're lazy you have to pay more attention, because you're more aware of both your own limits and the limits of your material. 

I think there can be value in suspending a formal problem rather than building an exhaustive system to solve it forever. That way it's still something you have to think about, something that still throws off and reroutes the normal workings of your awful private fantasy machine. Dropping text strings into the game as elements to spatially encounter is not ideal technically but does force you to be more responsive and exploratory with how you use that text. Robust systems can be cool, but can also really homogenize everything - now "text" is just the miscellaneous stuff within the all-purpose "textbox" at the bottom of the screen, cementing its role as filler content.

The funny thing about really systemic, open-world type games is that their very robustness tends to suffocate exprience before it happens. We know nothing will happen which will significantly impact this camera POV, this dialogue system.. anything can happen except for anything which would require a fundamental change to the underlying inventory system. But maybe the whole pleasure of the open world game is just being able to hold those experiences in suspense.

***

Mostly the characters voicing my own opinions in my videogames are explicitly malign and sinister - which is a corny device for me to vent without worrying as much about browbeating people with my opinions. But it's also a way of having those opinions without allowing them to overdetermine the rest of the game, or be fully in control over the more ambivalent and drifting work of "putting together different pieces on a screen to make interesting spaces". So in that sense my own ideas really are the enemies, and any plot role they serve in the game is a dramatisation of the effort to create a space where they lack controlling power.

***

RPG Maker is a collage machine, you get a set of pictures and start placing them around until they start to form some kind of charged and interesting space.

I think the collage aspect is a lot of what I enjoy about making these things, which is why games with more polished or consistent art styles frequently leave me cold. For me the greater the discrepancy between different objects on screen means a greater effect when they're combined. 

How does gameplay etc tie in? For me gameplay can divert the interest but never truly capture it. For decades games have had the problem of effectively being able to train you to do something, but having no idea what that thing should be or why it would matter. They effectively move your attention around without being able to settle it because their inner logic is basically always the same ahistorical, mechanistic void. But this can be a good thing - the permanently restless and unsettled nature of videogame attention can't illuminate itself, but can do so to other things in passing. 

Distraction becomes a way to examine surfaces, rather than being sucked into depths or settled to one fixed meaning. And the drift of unsettled consciousness is ultimately what animates game collages, the spaces that shift and react as attention plays across them, revealing or withholding. And so from this perspective, the answer to why I make videogames is: because I don't trust myself to look after an aquarium.

***

Design is managerial aesthetics - a mode of expertise framed as meta-expertise specifically because it scales up so well to systems of mass organisation and production. It's a universal discipline insofar as the task of removing any obstacles to the frictionless flow of attention and of capital is now also a universal chore. In this context a designer is like the MBA who can be dropped into any business to improve it, without ever having to know just what product they make – because the ultimate goal is always the same, the same tools can always be used. 

The cutesy books about the design of everyday life and so forth exist in the same vein as the ones that tell us there's nothing wrong with marketing because ultimately isn't all human discourse and activity some form of marketing? Isn't everything "design"? The strange top-heaviness with which these things outgrow their host categories parallels the unstoppable expansion of executive salaries within the businesses themselves. The task of managing other people's labour becomes ever more grandoise, ineffable, cosmic and well-paid as that labour in turn is framed as a kind of undifferentiated slop which exists for the sake of being shaped by creatives.

***

tragedy / comedy:

Generalizing hugely I feel like tragedy is about an event or experience so powerful it changes everything - for the characters involved, for the people in that world, for the audience watching - while conversely comedy is the idea that no event or experience can change anything. Oedipus dies and there's a big announcement and everyone has to sit through the awkward two-minute silence before getting back to work, while trying not to fart or itch too noticeably, and the next day somebody's selling Oedipus commemorative pens which run out of ink five minutes after opening, and the pen cap gets lost and the cat starts playing with it. 

In comedy the tragic can still happen, it’s just never strong enough to escape the constraints of the inert material universe which we find ourselves in – all that which remains so stubbornly intractable towards the higher instincts. I can talk about the dignity of man but there's still a risk that my pants will fall down or that someone will hit me with a ladder, causing my head to get stuck inside a bucket of paint, etc. Or my voice might be ridiculous or I might have a stutter (old comedy standbys!), or someone might hear part of my words out of context and assign them a different and unintended meaning. Comedy is consciousness imprisoned within a cumbersome matter which it can't completely do anything with, but also can't exist without. 

Taken as a worldview, this sort of risks congealing into the kneejerk reactionary things-can-never-change, whatever-moment-of-human-history-i-was-reared-in-is-eternal-and-inviolate radio DJ / South Park mindset. And of course somebody's view of what constitutes a tragic, life-changing event depends greatly on whether it's happening to them or someone else. But as exaggeration, in its neurotic overemphasis of the inescapable material, i think this approach still has interest and use. Many of my favourite writers have a kind of comic understanding of consciousness: consciousness becomes a churning material process with its own independent momentum which has to be examined and accounted for as part of any real reckoning with the world. In this light comedy becomes a way to think about opacity and limitation, both in physical matter and in our own selves.

I think many people have made the point that vgames are generally comic, intentionally or unintentionally. The rhetoric around them still tends towards the tragic: make the choice which changes everything! Deal with the consequences, accept your fate! But in practice those moments feel less visible than the clumsy material layer of GUIs, inputs, mechanics and representations that contain and constrain them. The opacity of the black box is one inhibition: was that meant to happen? Was it scripted or a glitch? Maybe I should reload my save and try again. Another is the inertia of the various game systems and loops themselves - [x] character may have died but you still need to collect those chocobo racing feathers if you want the Gold Sword. The numbers in a videogame "want" to keep going up, whatever happens: there's an affordance there which exists independently to any merely human wants and needs, and so tends to act as a gravity well for distracted consciousness as it wanders around. When people talk about tragedy in videogames it's usually with the implicit rider that it's within a game, or set of game conventions, which have become naturalised enough to become invisible. Which also tends to mean the naturalisation of a form, of inputs, of technology, of distribution mechanisms and assumptions, which however arty we can get are still inherently tied to the tech industry. Every art game is to some extent an invitation to spend more time internalising the vocab of your windows computer.

I've mentioned that the materialism of comedy can tend towards unthinking reaction. But the insistence on certain limits inherent to the human body – requirements like clean water and clean air, food and shelter, actual bathroom breaks and not piss jugs and also not having to live six feet beneath a rising sea level - can be helpful at a point when all these things are regarded as negotiable impediments to the pursuit of future profit. Maybe it’s a good thing that some materials can still be so insistent about refusing to be absorbed into the will.

***

I think what I most enjoy about art is the sense of a game with moveable stakes: where you never quite know the value of what you're playing for, which now appears absolutely trivial, and now appears to stand in judgement of the whole world, etc. I think this is also the Adorno idea of the aesthetic as really the extra-aesthetic, that which can step outside or threaten to step outside the limits of the merely aesthetic. It's why "just make a good game / pop song / comic / etc" never quite works, in rhetoric or in practice: the really good pop song is never that which just gives the enjoyable three minutes of listening we might consciously assign to be its remit, it's what overflows or undercuts that category, that which however briefly seems at risk of stepping outside it and into the realm of everyday life.

I grew up on pop culture so I don't have to feel positively towards it. Who am I meant to be defending it from? The handful of surviving WASPs reared on Brahms who get the ostentatiously-fussy-culture-review posts at print newspapers looking to pick up a slightly higher quality of margarine advertisement? The best thing pop culture ever gave me was its own critique: that of containing artists and moments which couldn't be squared with what the rest of it was saying, which seemed  to call the whole enterprise into question and in doing so broadened the sense of what was possible. Pop culture was never quite identified with itself, the value it has is in containing elements which make that self-identification impossible. So it always throws me off to see people celebrating "pop culture", like it's a self-produced totality, when that totality was only ever good for kicking.

Pop culture survives through a negativity it can never properly acknowledge.

[images: Tower of Druaga, Detana!! TwinBee, True Golf Classics: Wicked 18, Microsurgeon, Dark Edge]

[douxreviews]

American Gods - ‘The Greatest Story Ever Told’ Review

"Peace is a beautiful, but sh*tty idea."

A series whose intrinsic premise revolves around new gods forming around things that Americans actually worship finally gets around to the most obvious example. Hello there, Money.

Also, Mr. Nancy brings all the real.

Let's just get this out of the way up front, because otherwise the rest of the review is just going to be me marking time until I can bring it up.

Every single word of Mr. Nancy's monologue is amazingly written, outstandingly performed, and should be played on repeat in every single social studies and civics class in the United States until the country as a whole finally decides to do something about fixing things. I can't imagine that it won't be available to view on its own on YouTube within the next 24-48 hours, and when it does you should absolutely go watch it. Over the course of a few uninterrupted minutes, Orlando Jones lays out slavery, human trafficking, the alt-right, systemic violence and institutionalized failure, the school to prison pipeline, knee taking and the NFL, and more. It's angry, and it's powerful, and I expect high school speech competition judges will get tired of hearing it in a few years.

I've been a little focused this season on noting the things from season one that we lost with the transitions behind the scenes, but I've neglected to mention one thing that the new season has really improved. That's the interactions between the Gods themselves. In the first season, that interaction was almost exclusively limited to Wednesday and whichever old god he happened to be making his sales pitch to that week. We saw Czernobog and the three sisters in their home life together, but they were already from the same belief system and closely intertwined. This season we're starting to see how the other gods relate to one another just on a day to day basis, and it's really been great.

Which is how we get to Mr. Nancy's speech, and its context gives it its real edge. Mr. Nancy, Bilquis, and Mr. Ibis have gathered at the Ibis and Jaquel funeral parlor, and have a good, solid talk about race. This is in itself amazing, as television has a pronounced tendency to avoid a real and messy talk about race. We have three African gods, all played by actors of color, two of which seem to have made the choice to let things in America continue as they are, only to have the third one essentially sit them down and say, 'Here is what is happening, what has always been happening, to the descendants of your worshipers. How can you possibly be all right with this? How can you look the other way? How can you let this happen?' That's just not something you see on television. And I could not look away.

Meanwhile, in the A plot, Wednesday and Shadow head out to track down yet another new American God in order to persuade them to join Wednesday's side in the war. This time they're trying to track down 'Money.' Unfortunately, his trio of security girl scouts won't give them access, because Shadow has never had a line of credit, and Money hates that. Yes, you read that correctly. Security Girl Scouts. OK, technically 'Penny Scouts,' so as to avoid getting sued by the Girl Scouts of America. They are selling candy named 'Payback,' because not all of the metaphors in this show are subtle.

And on the other team's bench, Mr. World sends Technical Boy to find a replacement for the recently murdered Argus. TB goes to Silicon Valley to find someone who isn't named by the show, but is the head of a company called Xie Comm, so one assumes his name is Xie. This same CEO is the boy we saw in the opening sequence, playing video games and practicing Bach, until he realizes the link between music and math, programs software to write new Bach-like music, and apparently brings Technical Boy into being to play electronic classical music at his father's funeral. It's actually a really well structured and meticulously pieced together dissertation on the interrelationship between faith, love, music, and numbers, and it works all the better for throwing us into it without giving us any context or information whatsoever. I'm not always a fan of the cold open on this show, but this was really well done.

Technical Boy refers to this man whose name we have to assume is Xie as his friend. What's more, he refers to himself as being Xie's only friend, and we're given no reason to doubt that statement. Which makes it all the more heartbreaking when World shows up, uses New Media to steal Possibly-Xie's attention, and then leaves Technical Boy to die.

Oh, yeah. Technical Boy dies.

I did not see that coming. But we did have an extended discussion with New Media earlier about whether old Media had died or just been reformed, so maybe that was foreshadowing for New Technology. I hope not though, because Bruce Langley was fantastic in a part designed to be unlikable, and it would take away from his shock death if they just brought him back again. "I was literally your only friend..." he says to Possibly-Xie. But it seems much more likely that what is breaking his heart is that the reverse was also true. Goodbye Technical Boy. I spent a lot of time hating you, and then you made me cry for you, and then you died. RIP. Unless of course I read the situation wrong and he isn't dead. Then I'll feel foolish for writing this paragraph.

So, having 'retired a god' in Technical Boy, World gets past the sinister Girl  Penny Scouts, and he and Wednesday both sit down in front of Money, or 'The Bookkeeper' as he's credited, to make their sales pitch. Money gives a hard pass to both of them and leaves. Neither Wednesday or World seem that miffed about it, so it was probably more about preventing him from joining the opposition than getting him to join the team.

Quotes:

The Father: "This is Grief. And yet, the rising notes of joy shattering his own rules. Can you hear it?"

Ibis: "Like any formative life experience, death changes you."

Bilquis: "A woman’s heart should never be so hidden in God that she cannot hear her own truth."

New Media: "I wonder if the next version of me will feel me inside of her."

Mama-Ji: "You think America was eager to hand over her moneybags to the hungry, the tired, and the poor? We battle for every goddamn scrap."

New Media via a sign on a wall: "You’re only as good as your last win." Technical Boy: "Eat a giant bag of dicks."

Bilquis: "This country has not been kind to my face." Ibis: "You are as perfect and vibrant as the Euphrates."

Nancy: "Y’all done yet? ‘Cause I’m getting bored watching this bullshit."

Bilquis: "Suffering is not sacred."

Bilquis: "This country has done things to us." Nancy: "We have done things to us."

Wednesday: "I’m gonna win this one. People like me more than they like you." World: "I prefer to be feared."

Bits and Pieces:

-- A note for the pedantic. Yes, technically Bilquis is from Persia, and as such is not technically an African God. However, Ibis greets her as his queen, and he's clearly from Egypt, and Nancy refers to all three of them as African Gods, so I'm going with that read. Besides, our understanding of the Persian Empires geography is far from clear.

-- Is it strange that Jacuel/Anubis wasn't anywhere to be found for the discussion of African God's obligation to fight racial injustice?

-- It's strongly implied that Wednesday was instrumental in getting Bast to have sex with Shadow in his dreams, possibly fulfilling his promise that Shadow would wake up feeling great. That felt gross and robbed Bast of her own agency, which is particularly egregious in her case.

-- On that note, this is a rare case where without reading the book it would have been very difficult to know what the Hell was going on during the sex scene. They sort of half-explain it afterwards, but I don't think I would have understood it at all.

-- The direction of the sex scene was telling. In season one it would have been far more graphic, laying everything on screen in a non-exploitative and almost clinical way. See, for example, Salim and Ifrit's sex scene in 'Head Full of Snow.' Here it's directed much more conventionally, right down to Shadow having the sheet discretely draped over his personal business afterwards.

-- I wish they hadn't leaned so heavily into the Asian father who makes his son practice music thing, but it was really the only way to tell the story of how music and math intersected in the boy's life to create Technical Boy, or at least his friendship with Technical Boy. It's just kind of a tired trope.

-- Speaking of, and just for the record; music and math are incredibly connected. In many important ways they're the exact same thing. A software program that can be taught to understand and recreate Bach isn't unfeasible by any stretch of the imagination. It probably already exists, I haven't googled it.

-- It's a little messy, structurally, that Wednesday got Shadow to the funeral home only to take him away on a day trip right away so that Bilquis could stop by and have an important conversation. That feels like a vestigial remnant from the book, i.e he goes from the train to Cairo there, so that's what he does here.

-- No Laura or Sweeney this week. Looks like they're back next week.

-- It also appears that next week we'll see more of Bilquis' new friend Ruby Goodchild. I liked Ruby a lot. She felt like a real person.

-- The actor playing Money was William Sanderson. You might know him from literally every movie and television show ever made.

A really great episode that leaned into the new regime's strengths as opposed to leaning away from the previous ones'.

Three and a half out of four Emmys for Orlando Jones. Please, can we get an Emmy for Orlando Jones?

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

[killervibe]

Plenty of Fish

Pairing: Killervibe (Caitlin Snow/Cisco Ramon) 

Rating: T

Notes: I should be studying :) 

Summary: Cisco and Caitlin go on a stakeout.

Read on Ao3 here!

“So Ralph’s missing, there’s a species of mobster fish people stealing humans who all seem to have sea-diving skills—“

“—Merpeople,” Cisco interjected from his chair.

Iris shot him a withering look.

“Hey! I’m not gonna gender discriminate the mobsters by assuming they’re all men. Women can be underwater crime lords too.”

Cisco caught Caitlin biting back a grin from behind her lab, where she was carefully analyzing severed gills from a murdered family member of these fish people species.

“They’re not Merpeople,” Barry stressed, running his hand over his face. “They called themselves The...Bretans?”

Cisco pursed his lips.  “All I’m saying is if you’re gonna tell me there’s fish that can walk on land, that’s a textbook definition of a Merperson. We’re under qualified, I think we should call Aquaman.”

“We’re not calling Aquaman Cisco, I only met him once for, like, three seconds. Besides, they kidnapped Ralph. That makes this our problem.”

“Oh Ralph,” Caitlin muttered, “Why’d you have to go boating in the Bermuda Triangle over New Years?”

“Okay, we’re getting off track,” Iris said, clapping her hands like an elementary school teacher, a behavioural technique that came in handy more than Cisco cared to admit.  “Babe, maybe instead of taunting Cisco, you give him something to do.”

“Fine!” Barry glanced at Caitlin and snapped his fingers with an idea. “Cisco, why don’t you try vibing the gills?”

Both Cisco and Caitlin made a face.

“Oh, that’s gross but whatever. Ralph owes me.”

Caitlin delicately picked up the limp gills from behind her microscope with her gloves for Cisco.

He put his hands on the wet flesh and gasped as the world tilted and twirled. His head never seemed to get used to the bone crushing pressure that came with vibes.

Suddenly it was dark, and Cisco had to blink several times to adjust to the zero lighting. It was nighttime, that’s why it was hard to see. He didn’t know how or why, but he was absolutely certain this scene is tonight. He heard talking in gibberish smattered with several words of broken English by—Yep, those were Merpeople alright. Men (And two women! Beat that Iris!) in business suits with fins sprouting out of their human backs. He turned to the right and recognized the laundromat down the street. The left showed a small house with—

“An address!”  He stumbled out of the vibe and back into reality. “I got an address for their next meetup sometime tonight. Here. Central City.”

Barry and Iris high fived as Caitlin deposited the fish parts to strip off her gooey gloves. She placed a hand on Cisco’s shoulder, steadying him.

“Maybe they’ll have Ralph,” said Barry.

Iris shook her head. “Why do these Bretans even need Ralph anyway? He doesn’t fit with the rest of the kidnapped people unless he’s been hiding a passion for deep sea diving from us.”

Cisco pointed at her, “That’s totally plausible.”

“No no,” Caitlin refuted. “I’m assuming it’s his unique polymer physiology. If he could stretch and contort himself into any manner, that gives him the ability to be an excellent swimmer, the best swimmer, maybe, this side of the coast.”

Cisco nodded along, catching her drift. “So you don’t think they want to sell him as a part of their kidnapping trade. You think they want him for something.”

“Precisely.” Caitlin beamed at him. Cisco grinned back, her excitement infectious. Caitlin’s hand had yet still to leave Cisco’s shoulder. He liked it, her touch on him. It was gravitational, like she was trying to tether him to her after his vibe. Unnecessary, but nice.

“Cool,” Barry said, taking notes on the whiteboard. “So far this is our best lead.”

He looked between Cisco and Caitlin.

“You two have been on a roll today, feel up for a classic stakeout? I’ve got the feeling this is the kind of thing Joe would rather sit out.”

Cisco turned to Caitlin, who had let go of him to shrug off her lab coat. She wrinkled her nose. “Staying in a car all night in the middle of the winter?”

Cisco pouted. “Aww, c’mon. It’s been forever since we’ve done sleuthing together, not since like, 2016 when we pretended to be Reverb and Killer Frost. You have to admit that was fun.”

Caitlin bit her lip. “It was fun.”

“I’ll keep us entertained. We can get Big Belly Burger...Catch up on Stranger Things…”

Cisco knew she was in the moment her mouth twitched upwards at the mention of Big Belly Burger. “Fine, I’m in,” she said. “We can leave at sundown.”

“Yaaasss!” Cisco cheered, and both Barry and Iris chuckled at his enthusiasm.

“We can take the Star Labs Van,” Caitlin suggested.

“Oh man, I forgot all about that thing. Does it even have gas?” He ran to the nearest sink to wipe the rest of the gunk off his hands.

“Okay,” Barry smiled, and then his phone chirped. “CCPD, I gotta go. Sounds like a plan guys, keep me posted.”

~.~

They met at the Star Labs garage at the end of the day, both Cisco and Caitlin bundled up for their stakeout. It was only 14 degrees Fahrenheit, and they’d most probably have to cut the heat off to stay inconspicuous.

Caitlin climbed into the passenger seat of the van and looked Cisco over. “Cute hat.”

“Thanks, you got it for me.”

“Oh, I know. I also got you those boots because you weren’t dressing warm enough last winter.”

Cisco spared her a glance as he turned on the engine, glad to see that they still had a half tank.

“Gracias mi corazoncito. I appreciate it.”

Caitlin blushed. Cisco did a double take. Was it the Spanish or the endearment? It sort of just slipped out, and he hadn't thought she knew what corazoncito meant.

Huh, interesting.

He rubbed his hands against the cold steering wheel in a feeble attempt to warm them up, then put his foot on the pedal to get on the road.

“So what do you think the Merpeople—“

“Bretans.”

"— Merpeople are up to?” Cisco asked as he pulled into the Big Belly Burger Drive-Thru line. “Kidnapping humans to pull off some sort of The Little Mermaid deal? Offering the legs of innocent humans to a sea witch so they can swap their tails?”

Caitlin laughed. “That’s absurd.”

“Hey, nothing’s impossible anymore. King Shark literally exists, remember? All we know is one day merpeople—“

“Bretans!”

“Sheesh, fine. One day Bretans were a myth and now there are fish citizens causing mayhem on Earth 1.”

“It does sound fishy,” Caitlin joked.

Cisco stuck out his tongue as he inched their van closer to the menu sign and then asked her what she wanted to order.

                                                          ~.~

“This is boring. I’m bored,” Caitlin complained, yawning twenty minutes after they finished season 3 of Stranger Things.

Cisco stared at the monitor screens set up in front of them showing a whole lot of nothing and agreed. “Yeah, I don’t know how Joe does this all the time.”

Caitlin pulled out her phone to scroll through her Facebook. Cisco peered over her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, “You should download the popular app of the week. It’s a mobile version of ‘Would You Rather?’ The developers grew up in Central City apparently so they threw in a few city questions.”

Caitlin typed in the search bar of the App Store and downloaded it.

She turned her phone sideways to read the first question. “Would you rather go without CC Jitters for a year or Big Belly Burger for a year? You go first.”

Cisco blinked. “Oh damn, that’s tough….Big Belly? We go to CC Jitters all the time, it would be too hard to not drink coffee.”

Caitlin waved her half eaten burger in front of his face. “Really? A whole year without this? Because I wouldn’t give up these for anything. Buy your own coffee maker. ”

Cisco scowled. “Next question.”

Caitlin chuckled, “Um, okay,” She swiped left. "Would you rather be saved by Killer Frost, Elongated Man or Vibe? Hey! I made it on the app!"

"Of course you did. You're a superhero."

Caitlin looked out the window. "Thanks, that means a lot."

"It's true. I know she'd have my back any day."

"Well that's awkward because I'd pick Ralph."

Cisco rolled his eyes, "Oh, you're a comedian now?"

Caitlin swiped left. “Have your shirts always be two sizes too big or two sizes too small?”

“Two sizes too big,” they both said decisively at the same time.

Caitlin gave him a funny look.

“You never wear anything your size anyways.” 

“Not true!” Cisco yelped, “It’s called layering.”

She reached over to pinch the arm of his coat. “You’ve got muscles Mr. I Throw Open A Hundred Breaches Per Day, but noooo, nobody ever notices.”

“You do.”

Caitlin spluttered. “That’s because I’m your doctor.”

“Alright, gimme your phone. These questions are lame.” Caitlin handed her phone obediently, and Cisco skipped through the next seven or so plain questions.

“Would you rather be alone for the rest of your life or constantly be around annoying people?” He read out loud. “Well, I mean we’re literally sitting in a van freezing our asses off because Ralph got abducted by Merpeople, so I think our choice is pretty clear.”

Caitlin shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I would’ve said alone a few years ago.”

Cisco stopped skipping questions to squint at her, realizing she must've been serious if she hadn't chastised him for using the wrong term. “Really?”

Caitlin shrugged. “You and Ronnie, and the original Star Labs changed me. Made me a people person.”

“Awww.” He reached into his bag to see what was left and gave Caitlin back her phone. He pulled out his little carton of fries. “Fry?” He offered a perfect one, and she took it with her teeth from right out of his hand. Cisco’s mouth dropped slightly at her brazenness.

“Thanks,” she said. “Mmm, okay. Oh, here’s one for you. Would you rather give up bathing for a month or the Internet for a month?”

Cisco’s conflicted face was enough to set Caitlin off, and she shook her head rapidly. “You know what, don’t answer that one, I don’t want to know.”

“I would’ve said I’d let go of the Internet!”

“Sure.”

“I would have! Eventually.”

Cisco watched as Caitlin swiped next and went tense in her parka.

“What?” He asked uneasily.

She stared at the screen, tilting it away from him, then began talking in a fast, clipped pace.

“Sleep with your ex or with your best friend? Mine is obvious—I don’t have a thing for necrophilia with a sociopath.” She smiled tightly.

Cisco nearly gagged. He forced himself to swallow the lukewarm curly fries down his throat. This was...Not a good question. He ignored his internal panic to focus on Caitlin’s answer.

“Hey—No. You’re forgetting Julian.”

Caitlin sloshed around her cup of Big Belly Soda, “No, we were never official.”

Cisco narrowed his eyes. “You so were. All he would do is babble about you. Bossing me around to make things too, ‘Caitlin needs the necklace this’ — ‘Caitlin needs the antidote that’ —And a whole lot of ‘Hey mates, do you know where Caitlin likes to eat.’ ”

It was weird the way he was getting worked up. At the end of the day, Cisco owes Julian his life. If it weren’t for his enormous crush, Caitlin would be dead. And if she had really gone the same year as Dante, he might have done something beyond stupid, something that would probably make him un-alive today. The thought made him want to throw up.

Caitlin scoffed. “He was a good friend, I'll give him that. Then Barry told me about his trip to 2020 where Killer Frost helped Savitar. Julian was her jailer. Like a fascinated zoo keeper. I was his pet project.”

Cisco made another disgruntled face. “He was okay. Not for you, though.”

Caitlin hummed in agreement. “Your turn.”

“Best friend,” Cisco said rather quickly.

He turned to look out the window, hoping that the Merpeople would make an appearance in the next ten seconds or so that they wouldn't have to continue this conversation.

“What—Not Cynthia? You’d choose Barry?”

“Barry? Uh, no—I meant, um. Well—“ he chuckled awkwardly, scratching his head and turned to her. “I was thinking of you?”

“Me?” Caitlin repeated, sounding a little strangled.

He nodded. “You’re my best friend Cait, c’mon, you know that.”

Caitlin seemed stuck on the fact that he didn’t pick Cynthia.

Cisco shrugged when she asked again, wiping his hands on his napkin and crinkling his paper hamburger wrapper tightly in his palm. “I can’t go back to Cindy, not even for a night. My mental health is at risk. You know how I was like—Our connection, it was a fix. I blamed Harry for being addicted to the Thinking Cap but I was on a year long inter-dimensional vibrational frequency high.”

He opened a tiny breach and threw the wrapper into it. A distance away it opened again over a public garbage can for the wrapper to fall directly into.

Caitlin watched the whole thing with avid attention, marveling silently in the way she always couldn’t help when he did something cool.

“Show off,” she teased. He smiled.

“And now, it took almost a year, but I’m—I’m me again. I’ve gotten so far.”

Caitlin’s eyes softened for him. “You have,” she said gently, putting a hand on his bouncing knee. “I’m glad.”

Cisco’s mouth went dry, and his eyes fell to his lap where her fingers were curled around his leg. Her long pretty, talented fingers that have performed surgery and shot ice from their tips. His brain was going a little foggy as he belatedly wondered what Caitlin truly meant. She said...She said she’d sleep with her best friend. That was him. Sure, it came out of a game of Would You Rather, the crowd pleaser gossip maker of middle school sleepovers, so Cisco shouldn’t be overthinking.

But. But.

He wasn’t imagining this.

When he lifted his head, Caitlin had moved. She was leaning out of her passenger seat, over the greasy paper bags and her abandoned phone brightly probing the next question.

“Tell me to stop,” she dared, her breath making a cloud of mist in the cold space between them.

Cisco’s eyes fell to her mouth. “Don’t stop.”

Her hand on his knee slid to his thigh, where she braced her weight.

And then they were kissing. And kissing. And kissing.

Cisco’s mind went blissfully blank for the first time in his life. His hands automatically went to her waist and he pulled her body forward so that she was sitting horizontally on his lap, her boots now stretched against the passenger door as her back pressed against the driver’s side.

She knocked the woolen hat off his head to grab onto his hair as he tugged away the red scarf from around her neck in a frantic motion. He felt her pulse under the pressure of his thumb. He slid his finger away and kissed her neck, feeling the heat of her exposed skin on his lips. Caitlin shuddered in his arms and made a small desperate sound of “Please.”

The car was cold and quiet, but they were weren’t. Flushed and pressed together, with hitched breathing and Caitlin’s sweet gasps as Cisco ran his hands up and down her sweater-clad back.

Cisco deepened the next kiss, and he felt the air crackle with energy between them. This, this was real. This was what Cisco had been missing, and it’s crazy because he knew very well what it felt like to be slammed by numbing thoughts and feeling. It’s what he lived, what he experienced with his vibes, like being dunked underwater without the chance to hold your breath or close your eyes. But this was all-encompassing, this was every vibe and more, and it’s not terror or apprehension that zoltz through them, heightening all of their senses as Cisco groaned when greeted by Caitlin’s tongue. It was better, crisper, sweeter, clearer. It was two people, two pieces slotting together and solving a perfect puzzle for the first time.

It’s Caitlin who pulled away first, brushing some of Cisco’s flyaway hair from her mouth, and stared at him wide eyed and unfocused, like she were intoxicated.

“Hi,” she breathed, then zipped down his winter coat to bury her embarrassment into his scarf. His hands moved instinctively to stroke her hair. “That was supposed to be just one kiss,” she confessed.

“Oh my god.”  He knew how dazed he sounded, awestruck and dreamy. “Oh my god, Caitlin,” he said again, and took a deep slow breath to prevent his heart from seizing out of his chest.

He wanted her mouth back on his, he wanted her hands back in his hair. Most of all, he wanted to see her, in the light, not in the darkness of the Star Labs van. He wanted to put his hands underneath her sweater and brush his hands over the dip of her spine, the swell of her breasts, he wanted her. Wants her. Wants to have her like this forever.

“Hi. That was amazing.”

He wrapped a piece of her hair around his finger. “You’re so beautiful. I finally get to tell you that,” he whispered.

Caitlin lifted her face up from her hiding spot to kiss him again, chaste in comparison to what they were doing before. Cisco will never get over the shock of it. “It’s not the first time you’ve ever said that to me.” “Yeah,” he agreed, letting go of her hair, “But now you know what it means.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means...Everything it did before. You look beautiful, and not just because you curl your hair or wear lipstick or can transform yourself into Killer Frost, but because you control crazy power, you care about people, you’re smart and kind and brave and supportive and protective of everyone, not just me. You’re the one I trust and you’re the one I go to for anything because you will always listen, and...Cait, you’re not trying to impress anybody, that’s just you. It’s a beautiful thing.”

Caitlin tried to duck her head from the praise, but he wouldn’t allow it.

And,” he smirked slyly, “It also means you’re the most attractive kisser I’ve ever seen.”

Caitlin snorted. “You can barely see me in this dim light—And your eyes were closed the entire time.”

“I know. But I don’t need daylight to know that—Hey, you peeked!”

Caitlin’s shy giggles dissolved into full out laughter. Cisco watched her fondly.

She shifted in his lap, “Cisco,” she said, “I want to be with you.”

Cisco searched into her eyes. She was so open, expressive. It was new for her. "Really? She nodded. Caitlin looked down at her lap and took Cisco’s hands. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Cisco? Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” he promised. She had his full attention.

“I caught the Barry Allen complex.”

Cisco raised an eyebrow. “The what?”

“The Barry Allen complex,” she said simply. “I’m in love with my best friend.”

Cisco felt the world fade away around them as he held her close.

“Huh,” he mused, “Then I guess I have the Barry Allen complex too.”

                                                        ~.~

Barry spun around the cortex in exasperation. “I just don’t understand how you two could be sitting outside in a car for five hours and not notice human fish conducting a slave trade right there. What happened?!? ”

“Uhhhh…” Caitlin said as Cisco scratched his head and mumbled, “They’re called Bretans. Don’t be insensitive.” 

Barry rolled his eyes and began to type furiously at the monitor. “Okay, maybe if I hack the next building’s security cameras I can figure out around what time it happened.”

Caitlin’s eyes grew horrifically wide as Cisco lunged for the computer.

“No don't! No no no no no, Barry!” Cisco shouted as he fought Barry for the mouse, but the damn speedster was too quick and then it was too late.

Yes, the footage was grainy, but it was unmistakable that the two people in the Star Labs van were in the middle of a midnight romp as four businessmen and two businesswomen with fins had a lengthy conversation about a man several feet away in chains.

Barry froze in shock, then quickly exited out of the window when his brain rebooted.

“Really? The Star Labs Van?” Iris judged from the other side of the room. Otherwise, Cisco realized weirdly, she didn’t seem all that surprised.

Caitlin covered her face with her hands in mortification as Cisco pushed Barry out of the chair. “I’m so sorry Sweetheart, I don’t care if I have to build a submarine to find the Bretans under the sea in order to find Ralph and the missing people, we are deleting this tape.”

Barry nodded dumbly from the floor, covering his eyes. “I have no need to see that ever again.”

FIN 

End Note:  I bet ya'll think I made this up. Nope. Ralph Dibny literally got kidnapped by merpeople called the Bretans (their undersea city was called Breta) who set up a human slave-trade thingy in the comics' silver era. Look it up! PS: It took all my strength not to name this Stakeout Makeout.