livedtough

[livedtough]

Back in the day, when he was a kid, Hawk had had a taste for pulp. Nothing terribly wild, and he usually drifted around to the more classic stuff, your Tom Sawyer, the kind of stuff an upstanding father would allow his kid to get his hands on, but now and then, in school, with the change in his pocket, they'd trade pulps. They'd also trade in the more lurid, stolen from fathers' drawers and even, on occasion, from the corner store itself. Naturally, the former had always interested Hawk more than the latter, but he'd paid enough attention to it that he was able to fly under the radar of boys who would already crucify him at such a young age. No, the rumors came later. But even now, in the real world, somewhere inside of him is that boy, the one that craved a little risk. That's what this conversation is, after all. A little measured risk, a game played where he is, of course, in complete control. Which isn't to say that a little more doesn't thrill him now and then, but it's measured. Everything is measured.

Which doesn't mean he doesn't wish he could let go now and then. Wouldn't it be nice to let go? To not have to worry so much? No, not worry, because Hawkins Fuller does not worry, but to have to act so goddamn much. He wants to be free, truly free, and he's tired of walking on eggshells around everyone all the time. They'd had him sharpen his teeth, and then they never let him use them in any way that isn't the underhanded manipulation of Washington. And don't get him wrong, he likes that, likes gathering information to file away, to use when it became fit, but just once he'd like to be allowed to really let loose. And don't even get him started on the things its done to his personal life.

Really. Don't.

Ah, well, that's fine. Maybe it's best left a fantasy. No need to do anything he can't come back from, even if the idea of letting his life go up in smoke does sound like fun sometimes

"Then let's just call it a necessity. It's dog eat dog out here, and I'd rather eat than be eaten." There's a hint of an edge in his voice, a vague threat, should the man continue down the path of judgement. Oh, not outright judgement, no, but he feels that it's there. Maybe it's a leftover from his time on the side of the morally righteous, because he doesn't really think he's judging him. It feels almost reflexive. Or maybe, for once in his life, he's giving someone the benefit of the doubt. "No, you don't, not unless you've got a thing for architecture, but it's better than a brick wall." Even if his window does look across the way into another office. It's the principal of the thing, he supposes.

"Exactly. You know how many of these guys have trouble waiting for them? Now, I'm not saying I'm a paragon of virtue, even if I was a Scout, back in the day, but I'm not an idiot, either." There's something there, he knows, some experience that he goes on to hint at further. He finds himself filing that away out of habit, though he has no intention of using it. He doesn't trust anyone but himself, but he recognizes himself in this man, and what does that mean, then? All that aside, the way he admits it suggests there's no secret, which means it's worthless. He almost laughs at the question, not out of any irony, but only because it strikes him as funny, given the topic. The addition of 'ex-wife' does actually earn a small chuckle. It's a valid question. "No to both, though depending on who you ask, I hear I'm practically engaged. Funny. You think I'd be aware of that. I've been led to believe the groom-to-be's awareness of the whole thing's an important factor."

This foray, however incidental, into a different world is rather what Abe suspects others get out of science fiction, or pulps. (He's not above such things, precisely; he just has the perfect combined excuse of no interest and too much to do instead.) Spurring ideas, examining them under a microscope. For Abe this is— no, to be most accurate, can be— a satisfying appetizer and main course to a more physical dessert. It certainly doesn't end in cherry pie with Lilian these days, but they do still love a debate. Rarer and rarer now they're a country apart, so he'll take what he can get with a stranger.

He misses the law too. Funny thing to say when five days a week he does nothing but think about the law, talk about law, listen to green, still hopeful interpretations of law. But it's not the same as actually entering the fray, risking the gauntlet of fire, getting your hands a little dirty. He can't help feeling he's traded his soul for safety. Which would be alright if Abe didn't think about his soul nearly as often as he does.

He's not spiritual per se; still dutifully attends shul on the important days and a few random ones. Morning prayers and blessings before food are more rote ritual now, meaningful as part of routine and not so much for their own sake. Though once in a while he's up early and dawn light hits just right and the poetry clicks into place. Besides that, he's just glad he can stand to look in the mirror.

When Hawk agrees, he nods languidly. "A necessary... 'evil' sounds so reductionist but that is the phrase. Idioms, not known for their subtlety." His own humor inspires hints of a smile, just stopping off at self-congratulatory. "Don't get much of a view in the city," he responds, "but this isn't New York or Seattle." He supposes he's interpreting "view" as greenery. From the right angle, New York's storied buildings weren't without their charm, and even the younger west coast city had its moments. Something to be said about him in that assumption.

"Well, work's not really the best place for all that, anyway. It can get messy." His raised eyebrows hint at a backstory, which he shares after neatly finishing the last of his drink. "The University of Washingon— the other Washington— is big, but not big enough if you're divorced. Not even in different departments. It's half the reason I transplanted here." No great secret in that. No leverage. Except maybe in the other half. But that's laughable enough Abe's not even dignifying it with any consideration. "You have a wife? ... ex-wife?"

[livedtough]

drop this sunflower🌻 into the inboxes of the blogs that make you happy ! lets spread a little sunshine☀️

omg!! thank you!! thats so nice!! you make me happy too :] we should talk about our guys more often...but! anyway. thank you :]

[livedtough]

He supposed he should have been scandalized by her taking charge, but some part of him liked it. Whether it was her taking charge or the idea that it would make other people uncomfortable, he didn't know, but he did admire it about her. Even if he would be hearing about it from someone, he was sure. "Thank you," he said as he took it, inclining his head in a small nod of thanks. "You certainly are. I like it."

She headed to the lemonade table with him, taking a few glasses, handing one to him. Aubrey knew it was probably out of protocol, but she didn't care about that, in this moment. "One glass of lemonade for you." She smiled. "Or am I off for offering you one?"

[livedtough]

⭐️

↣ SEND ‘⭐’ AND I’LL LIST POTENTIAL MUSE COMBINATIONS FOR US

PATRICK

supernatural muses!! adam, aj, arthur (kinda), edwin!!, ira, jenkins, sebastian, taylor!! maybe murtagh too. he's fantasy but a wraith could exist!!

space muses!!! bongo, icheb, simon!!

and like my more ~supernatural~ dc muses? lionel and larry??

TANYA

ooh okay...again the supernatural muses, but like sebastian and jenkins i think specifically fit her vibe..

i think larry could suit this too. kinda seems like a place that could exist in his world.

matteusz? this kinda seems like a doctor who esque scenario i could see him fitting into

JULIAN

supernatural muses again obviously. aj's a vampire, adam's a vampire, i could see jenkins having some interaction with him and his family!

lionel's not really supernatural despite me saying he sort of kind of was a little before, like a wraith was more likely than a vampire i feel, but the idea of his dad being a leader of some kind made me think of lionel

i could see arthur too sort of like, having some interaction in a more diplomatic sense like jenkins, but he's not really vampire supernatural. he's more softcore supernatural.

[livedtough]

[livedtough]

⭐️

↣ SEND ‘⭐’ AND I’LL LIST POTENTIAL MUSE COMBINATIONS FOR US

let's see :]! as always. this has an additional entry of 'everyone else forever'

adam... he's definitely hanging around that kinda crowd

aj? maybe? kinda the same underground vibe?

brad. they're totally different vibes but i think that could be fun, they're kinda from the same era

edwin maybe. maybe. because they could be ghosts together. maybe ghosts in hell together!

maaaybe hawk? maybe? idk. i dont think their paths would really cross but again, same kinda era.

maybe ira. her vibe seems maybe a little darker than the gang he'd hang with but you know.

sebastian because he's ira's partner and he's following him around.

[livedtough]

His expression softens slightly, but not quite as much as it probably should. The irritation he felt for the new Librarians when they first arrived has become something fond, something he hasn't felt in a very long time, but that doesn't mean that he is not still a prickly old man.

Still, as he understands what it is what Ezekiel is trying to do, he cannot deny the--affection that he feels. He has seen him grow, hasn't he? The Ezekiel Jones that first came here would not try to talk. He was, Jenkins thought, growing up.

Softly, he sighs, and there's a pause, but he does speak. "It is not my place to complain to you, sir, but as you say, it has been...a very long day." A beat. "I'm sorry for snapping."

pointing out such an obvious fact probably hadn't been his best course of action but, for all his numerous and uncountable amazing and wonderful qualities, blurting out the first thing to pop into his head was more of an instinct than any real kind of thought. but even ezekiel can see when he's maybe pushed a button a little bit past where it can go. hands raise in surrender, the man backing away from the table at jenkin's sharp look. if looks could kill, i'd be one very dead bloke at least three times over, he muses wryly, spinning on a heel to go and pretend to inspect something on one of the shelves in the annex. " 'm just saying, no need to get all huffy, " he returns. " maybe you'd feel better if you talked about it. "

[livedtough]

Garrett Hedlund as Beau Hutton in ‘Country Strong’

[livedtough]

Was he particularly concerned over the Van Helsings of the world, those would-be vampire hunters? No. For one, he'd found that, for the most part, it took more than a photograph to convince people of something. He'd been alive for a long time, and no one had killed him yet. People, even those who believed, those who would be prone to, needed more. She could flaunt her pictures, could do whatever she liked, but by the time she got anyone to believe her, to bring the torches and pitchforks to his house, he would be gone. He would disappear. He didn't want to, but if that was what she was going to force him to do, then he would do it. If he needed to kill her, he would do it.

He could have grabbed her, but he didn't. He kept his hands to himself, because there was no reason to push her any more. "Yes, I am." He knew he was right. He was tired of her, tired of having to fight for his privacy. Maybe others would come, maybe someone would come and burn him down, but if that day came, he would handle it. He was handling it now. "If I were you, I would leave me alone. Don't worry about me. Forget what you think you know, and don't be so fucking worried about what happens to me."

The fear was there and for a split second she wonders if he would snap or even yell at her. Which in all honesty she couldn't blame him even if he was a vampire who was hiding from civilization. It would be best to just lea e him alone, not to pry or dig for more information that she would probably never have from him at this point. Although there were photos that may or may not be shown to others if things took a turn for the worst. Why did he have to be so closed off? In some ways the reporter knew why and yet he should know that it wasn't just her that are talking about him. Small rumors floating around about a introvert musician names Adam who almost never steps in the light of day.

She stook a step back as her eyes remain on his, her breathing calming despite the anxious feeling she still had. " right, of your right..and again I apologize for being in your space, asking questions about you and knowing what you could be capable off." Her voice shaky yet calm. " you know sooner or later other people would start to notice, not just me. Even if you leave to another state, you might run into someone who is worse than me, looking to expose who you are or even worse." Her expression soft and a bit sympathetic. " if you were in my shoes what would you do?"

[livedtough]

The good thing about her, he thinks, was that they understand each other. They're animals, cruel and sharp and terrible. They make no effort to soften themselves for the other, at least not in any way that they may for anyone else. He doesn't need as many walls around himself, though they are there. They will always be there, but they don't need to be quite so thick. It's as close as he's capable of getting to something that approaches trust.

But he doesn't need trust. Some people might need it, might care about the trust and intimacy of sex, but he doesn't. He doesn't need safety. He is a weapon, and that doesn't change if he's vulnerable. He's able to press her against the door, and she lets him, and he's delighted. Her fingers are in his hair, and there's a growl, a low, pleased sound. She's grabbing him, and though he doesn't want to be controlled, he appreciates the roughness, the demand of where she wants him.

He's not trying to drag this out, not trying to make it last, but he's eager enough that it's working against him, pushes him against her and refuses to pull away. But she begins to pull at his jacket, and it's enough of a spur to keep him moving, reaching for her own, pushing it from her shoulders, lifting her from her position against the door only long enough to let it fall before moving to do the same for her shirt.

Kill each other mid-fuck? What a waste that would be! There's more shadow than light between them, more secrets than anything told. But what they do know ... is dark, is vicious, but bitingly, inherently honest. A glint of eye, a flash of teeth, and an odd kind of trust that neither of them points out, because that would mean admitting it's there. Nothing deep or lasting - only the knowledge that they're two of a kind.

Two of a kind, the clicking of the latch like the snapping of a chain. A chuckle breaks with a short huff of breath, smile toothsome against Jake's lips as her back hits the door. Low, husky, her fingers rising to tangle in his hair; nothing soft, a firm, two-fisted grip to hold him there where she wants him to be. Lips, tongue ... the graze of stubble that's never quite gone but has thickened with the hour.

Hips roll, seeking pressure, promise ... the first hint of friction she's too impatient to wait for. Jake's hands are at her waist, over the fabric that irritates by being in the way. With a brush of her teeth over his lower lip her own hands drop, throw jacket back off his shoulders then go for top button - a tacit invitation to do the same for her.

[livedtough]

MOON PHASES 🌕

[livedtough]

"Indeed," he said, agreeing with a small nod of his head, a raise of his brows. "And I've had the weight of Camelot on my shoulders." There had been more people, then, though. The very nature of the Library was that it was secret, and secrets were best kept when they were between as few people as possible, which meant that where there had been, even at the least, a dozen knights, there had been less than half that in the Library. And in the Annex? Him. Which had been fine when they had been working out of the greater Library, but now? He enjoyed his solitude, but it was a lot for just them.

She didn't need to know that, though. She may not be his daughter by blood, but he knew that it was not a father's job to burden his daughter, to weigh her down with the pressures of worry. So he took another sup of his tea, and he nodded. "It is. Every tea I have is good, but this is one of my best."

legs tucked underneath her as she settled in her chair, avalon lifted her own cup and took a sip. it was a fine cup of tea, she would give him that much, but all it really gave her was something to do with her hands besides fidget with the loose threads on her sweater or obsessively practice sword forms with veritas against cal. her nose scrunched up. " whoever said a thing like that wasn't worried about a thing like the library, were they? " she asked — and though it had been meant as an entirely theoretical question, the girl still glanced at him like she expected an answer. she took another sip. " good tea, though. "

[livedtough]

For any amount of resentment he may have held towards his father, any skill or interest that was lacked, he had been instilled with the ability to listen, if he chose to. He chose to now, listening to her story, to the things that had been done to her. He wasn't sure what of the rumors he believed, if any, but he knew that he also believed that she was not a monster. "Why?" he asked, still picking at his food. "Why invite you? And why did you leave? I don't blame you for your pride, but was a moment of shame not better than this?" It was asked without judgement, only a genuine curiosity, even compassion. He understood pride. He had it, too. Too much of it, at times. Enough that he wasn't entirely sure he would have knelt, either.

"there was a brief time where the gods considered forgiving me and some of the others who fought on the side of the titans. i wasn't the only one who was invited, nor was i the only one who tried to leave." she wasn't surprised he asked her more questions. she had a lot to say, a lot she recalled from that day. it came flowing from between her lips once she finally started talking about it all. "perhaps i should have behaved better or begged at the god's feet for forgiveness, but i was too proud." she'd thought she didn't matter, that the gods were only making a show of inviting them to olympus but they'd let them go no matter what. "i don't know if anyone else has been forgiven, but i know i have not been."

[livedtough]

He did suppose that he could respect that. Someone with a job, someone with a responsibility who wasn't going to suffer fools who got in the way. Fools like him. But he had a responsibility too, and a calling that came from far higher than hers. That wasn't exactly the point that mattered so much as the one that when he was involved, things tended to get dangerous, and the worst thing to have when things got dangerous were civilians who thought they knew better.

"I'm sorry about your job," he said, in part because he was, and in part because he thought it would do something to placate her. He'd be pissed off, too, if he hadn't been the one in charge. But he was, and he didn't appreciate her any more than she appreciated him. "But this is dangerous. I know you've got a job, and I respect that, but these are dangerous people. You don't have to worry about me, I'm not gonna hurt you, but they will."

She was on to something big, something that could be an important news outlet for her to write about and then suddenly this man appears and more like in her way while trying to tell her what to do. The reporter was not having none of it and normally she would be understanding or try to see why this man was so hell bent on forcing her out of the way. Not to mention the tone he used on her only added more irritation which her expression didn't shy away from.

" Excuse me, I'm here to do my job and I don't appreciate you interpreting with what I had planned." She replied in a hushed tone while she had her tape recorder in her purse. She was this close to recording what was said between those groups of highly dangerous men who didnt know who she was. " should I be worried who you are?" She asked the dark haired man with dark intense eyes that for a second she was worried if he was a bad guy or not.

[livedtough]

The man left, and Lionel was left to wait. He had other work, other things to focus on, which left Harold Vasiliou a thought that remained in the back of his mind. He would like to see this come to fruition, yes, especially with his money and manpower on the line, but he'd left his name off of it for a reason. If and when it came crashing down around him, when the man ran off with his money, he'd be able to cut that tie without any major ramifications. A small amount of regret, of course, for having wasted his time, but no public shame.

All of which mean that he was pleased to hear from him. Pleased, and certainly surprised. He would restrain any real excitement, if there was any to be felt beneath layers of hesitancy and cynicism, until after he was given proper proof.

A phone call was a good start. His lack of specifics was appreciated, though he made effort into ensure that his security was strong. He received it, and he smiled. "Good. When will you be available to meet?"

Harold and his children departed shortly after. It would be a matter of weeks, not months, that Harold would reach out to Mr. Luthor. Once Harold had his mind set on something, that was all he focused on. Nothing else mattered. Sure enough, he was able to replicate the process, making more metahumans by obtaining more test subjects. He found it worked more efficiently on children or young adults. For that matter, any age range past was met with failure.

Before he would reach out to Lionel he had made sure that the process also stuck. Earlier trials some lost their abilities and their lives. He didn't need to know the failures though just results. Once any doubt of that he made a phone call to him.

"Hello Mr. Luthor. I've made progress." He would be vague over the phone after all he was a paranoid man about phone taps.

[livedtough]

Matt Bomer and Zane Phillips Mid-Century Modern 1.05 "Hello, Fisty's"

[livedtough]

He doesn't know, wouldn't know, if asked, what he would do if it turned out that everything he thought he knew about his--he'll say one of his closest friends, but he knows that she's more like his only friend--was not only wrong, but a lie. What would he do if he found out that she was lying to him? He would be hurt, yes, but would he be angry? Would he break off all contact between them? Or would he forgive her? Probably. He doesn't think he would be surprised at all if he did. After all, what's the alternative? Losing her? He doesn't want to do that. He really doesn't want to do that.

But right now, he doesn't know. He doesn't know, and while can't entirely say that it isn't the sort of thing he thinks about, he can say that it's without reason, without cause. At least as far as he knows. He trusts her, and he likes her, and he really doesn't want to lose her. So maybe that's as easy as it is. If and when it comes to it, he'll have to really see, really decide what to do, but right how he lives in the bliss of ignorance.

Except, of course, for all of the things that he's choosing to ignore.

Which is everything, right now. Right now he's here with her, and he's having a nice time. There's a documentary going in the back, and a very exciting meal before him.

He really does want to try the pie. So he takes his fork, and he does the same as her, bringing it to his mouth. Her opinion might be more informed, as it's been a while since he's had anything that's not vegan, but as he tastes it, he's pleased. He's really pleased.

He swallows.

"That's good."

Gods above and below, when did she become so domestic? Perhaps the question's exaggerated, hung up on old habits, old hooks that don't want to let go. That she won't allow to let go, in deference to ... how much is self-knowledge and how much is belief? She thinks all of it's the first, long-learned and deep ingrained. The part of her that's fooling itself in moments like this, the side that Steven ... hopefully ... will never get to see.

The real her. Ruthless and bloody-knuckled.

And more ancient than he'd ever imagine, but somehow she thinks it's the other that would horrify him more. None of it makes this any less real, any less natural - cooking them a meal, conversation, some laughs with someone she likes. Someone she cares for, which is part of why he mustn't see that other side. He's a friend, and though he's not 'under her wing' Thera's more than prepared to pull him there if ever need be.

This is as real as the other, and simply putting together some food doesn't make her 'domestic'; but for a moment, a scornful inner voice that knows too much snorts at her just the same.

The DVD goes into the player, a small distraction, and she sits down next to Steven as the intro screen appears - The World's Pyramids, a Study Across Cultures. "Dig in," She says, just in case he needs to full invitation, and hits the play button.

And then very quickly, because nerves and curiosity are killing her, makes a small, hurried taste-test of the pie ...