#can’t believe i saw them irl i’m still reeling

[joshsindigostreak]

I See Hell in Your Eyes

Chapter Six

“Daddy’s little psycho and Mommy’s little soldier.”

Josh Kiszka x Vampire!Reader

Authors Note: I am SO FUCKING SORRY for dragging this out as long as I have. Life has been crazy and work has been nonstop. However, I do hope y'all like this latest chapter, or as I like to call it, the smut before the storm.

Word Count: 8445

Warnings: SMUT, COMPLETELY NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, oral m!receiving, thigh riding, unprotected penetrative sex (she's a vampire but wrap it up IRL y'all), swearing, allusions to violence, creepy flashbacks, blood mentions.

Jake was a light sleeper, and his mother would often tell people she could never put him down without him waking up as soon as her hands left his swaddled form, the only solution was to put him directly next to his twin, who slept like a log most of the time. Even as they got older if they sat next to each other too long on the couch they’d be out cold within a few minutes. And in any other scenario, just being in the same apartment as Josh would’ve had him out like a light, but still sleep evaded him. He knew he needed to get some form of shut-eye, but every creak or noise in the room had his eyes flying open, ready to jump up in case that…creature tried anything stupid. 

That was the other thing that had his mind racing, the fact that a Vampire was sleeping soundly next to his brother of all people, and the fact that he saw with his own eyes that same brother cuddle up and spoon the fucking thing. The conversation the twins shared outside ran through his mind…

Jake stomped down the stairs of Josh’s building, not ready to even talk to him, yet having a million things to say at the same time. His mind was reeling over what he had just witnessed, and no amount of rationalization could wrap his head around it. 

“Jake just listen-,” Josh started as they exited the front door of the building and down the steps.

“If this is where you give me the ‘she’s different’ speech, I don’t want to hear it.” 

Josh rolled his eyes, “well she is.” 

Jake spun around to face him, “I just can’t believe you’re the one who got soft over one of them. After all we’ve been through? What we’ve seen? They threatened to kidnap Sammy and turn him when he was four, Josh.” 

Josh crossed his arms and squared his shoulders, “I know that.” 

“And yet here you are, holding hands with one, letting her walk around in your, no my, clothes. This job was supposed to be so simple, that’s why Dad let you go alone for it. All you had to do was come here, figure out which Vampire was being reckless, exterminate it, and come back home. That was it. But instead you get this little apartment, take absolutely way too long on what should’ve been a week-long job tops, and now you’re sleeping with quite literally the fucking enemy and you want me to be more understanding? The last time we spoke she was your lead suspect! I just-,” as Jake argued, he stared at his brother long enough to notice some blood on Josh’s neck. It wasn’t a lot, but it was dry and flaked on his skin, letting him know it had been there for awhile. 

Exhaling sharply through his nose he said in a low tone, “is that blood hers…or yours…” Josh sighed and closed his eyes for a second, which answered Jake's question for him, “Jesus Christ…she fed on you? What the fuck, man?” 

“It’s not what you think.” 

Jake’s eyes went wide and he hung his head forward in disbelief, “the fuck do you mean ‘its not what you think’?! Who even are you anymore?” 

“Listen, it wasn’t a planned thing. And for your information, she’s no longer my lead anymore.”

Jake mockingly breathed a sigh of relief, “oh well that’s good, I’m so glad you’re cracking the case with your-” 

Josh couldn’t take it anymore, and backed Jake across the sidewalk and against the door of his car, “do I have to bring up Cecilia again to point out how hypocritical you’re being right now? 

Jake stared at Josh, and watched his nostrils flare as he huffed in his face. If someone had told him weeks ago that he’d be having this conversation with him, he’d tell them they need to lay off the drugs and to get the fuck out of his face. “I just…I don’t get it,” he said softly. 

Josh adjusted his grip on his shoulders, “it’s not your job to ‘get it’.”

Jake relaxed against the car, not wanting to fight anymore, “but I always get it…with you? We always understand each other, but this…I don’t understand this at all.” 

Josh’s eyes softened at his twin, letting his words wash over him. He was right, that they never questioned each other over anything because they just understood each other automatically. Their parents always wrote it off as being a ‘twin thing’ and would tell them it was a strength of theirs that other people didn’t have. On the outside it was an asset, but to them personally it was just something automatic like breathing. 

“You’re just going to have to trust me. And maybe…maybe try to get to know her at least.”

Jake tilted his head, “you want me to get to know her?”

Josh rolled his eyes again, “or at least stop being a fucking dick. I know you don’t want to hear this, but she is different, Jake. I know it's hard, and it took me a lot longer than you think it did to see it, but she is.”

Jake relented, “if she tries anything…or even looks at you funny, I will not hesitate to put her down, and you’re just going to have to get over that.”

Jake’s arm around CiCi tightened as he blinked and pushed the memory away, not wanting to get pissed all over again. His eyelids were finally growing heavy, and he used what was left of his energy to relax enough so that sleep could creep up on him and take over.

~!~

Hours later, when the sun had stepped aside for the moon, you were growing restless in Josh’s arms. Memories were bleeding into your dreams, letting their foul existence contaminate your slumber. 

You found yourself back in the house you grew up in, sitting next to the Vampire who would become your Maker. On the floor before you, were the bodies of the rest of the occupants of the house. Various servants and the Lady of the house, bleeding out onto the floor. He had saved you for last. Ever since he had entered the door that night he had his eye on you. 

His teeth were buried in your wrist, lapping and slurping up your blood like a starved animal. It was messy, dripping over his hands and onto the expensive couch you sat upon. The pain had you wincing hard, but you dared not make a sound, terrified of what he would do if you did. 

He moaned against your wrist before popping off and staring at you with a mouth full of blood, “You won’t understand this…but your blood tastes like cherries…”

The way he looked at you and talked to you had your stomach in knots, “how,” you squeaked out.

“It's so difficult to describe to humans…but your blood is so sweet, little one. Sweet like cherries…ma chérie…,” he chuckled at his pun, before drawing a bloody finger to your cheek and staining your skin, “ma chérie…ma chérie…ma chér-”

You woke up with a jolt, panicking when you couldn’t immediately sit up due to the arms wrapped around your middle. Blindly you fought to pry the arm away from you, not awake enough to realize just who you were in bed with and where you were. 

Your frantic movements and gasps woke Josh up instantly, and he sat up enough to look at you fully, “Hey…hey it's alright, what's wrong?” 

His voice broke through the fog in your head, and you looked around to get your bearings. You were with Josh, in his little apartment, and it was night time finally. You were with Josh. You were safe. A warm hand reached up to cup your face, turning you towards him. The tears in your eyes that were threatening to fall made his brows knit together in worry. One slowly rolled down your face, his thumb catching it and rubbing it away. 

You sniffed, trying to compose yourself. It was just a stupid dream; your subconscious taking you back to that time after you had talked about it earlier. Nothing more, nothing-

“Bad dream?”

You looked away, for once unable to meet those brown eyes. He continued to hold your face, not letting you physically turn away from him. 

“It's nothing…”

“It’s not nothing if you’re this upset by it.”

“We all have bad dreams, Boy Scout,” you recalled the nightmare he had the other night, and how he also didn’t want to talk about what he saw. 

He understood what you were implying, and nodded, “I get that, but-”

Across the apartment, Jake had also woken up because of your outburst, and he carefully sat up on the air mattress to look at the commotion. He silently watched his brother comfort you, and the way you melted back into his arms had him rolling his eyes. The way Josh spoke to you was a way Jake wasn’t used to hearing. He kept trying to convince himself that this was all part of some 4D chess move of yours, but the fact that Josh was literally unable to be Persuaded by you only added to Jake’s confusion. 

Josh had gotten you to settle back down into bed, laying on your sides and facing each other. His hand was still holding your cheek, keeping you close. The tears had dried, and you had calmed down a little, no longer worried you were still in that house with your Maker. 

Your fingers were wrapped around the wrist of the hand on your face, “safe to say the sun is down…,” you whispered. 

“I guess so…”

Neither one of you wanted to leave the little bubble you had created, but you needed to go home, back to your own place. With a resigned sigh you say, “I should probably get going…

Josh shook his head, “you don’t have to.”

“Your brother would beg to differ,” Josh scoffed softly at the reminder, “plus I miss my own shower.” 

“At least let me drive you home,” he offered.

“You don’t have-,” a thumb slid across your jaw and landed on your lips, silencing you.

“No, I think I do,” he said simply. 

Back on the air mattress, Jake had had enough ‘rest’ and rather obnoxiously got up making as much noise as he could. His Witch rolled over to look at him, throwing him an exasperated look, harshly whispering his name. Jake paid her no mind as he loudly rifled through his bag, appearing to ‘organize’ his belongings, and set a few things on the coffee table. The light clatter of stakes landing on the surface sent an obvious message. 

Josh sat up to see what his twin was doing, and immediately rolled his eyes at the little display Jake was making. He looked over at you, giving you a sympathetic look before slipping out of bed and walking towards Jake.

“What are you doing?”

Jake looked up at Josh and raised his eyebrows, “making myself at home?”

“Well, while you’re doing that, I’m going to take her home,” he said pointing his head towards you over his shoulder. 

At this, Jake shot up to his full height and stepped closer to Josh, “you’re not seriously letting her take you back to her lair are you?”

You came up behind Josh with your things in your hands and nearly burst out laughing at Jake’s word choice, “my lair? Oh god I haven’t heard that one in nearly two decades. Jesus Christ, its a condo, Kiszka. I pay way too much for the HOA and everything.” 

Josh eyed you curiously, “really?”

You sighed, “honestly I need to move but it's such a hassle and it was the only decent place available when I came back.”

He nodded in agreement, “that makes sense-”

Jake rubbed his face with his hand before interrupting, “ENOUGH, you’re not going with her.” 

Your hunter slowly turned his head towards his twin, expression hardening and brows knitting together, “and who are you to make that decision?” The younger twin looked like he had been slapped while trying to form a rebuttal, but Josh seized on his silence, “that's what I thought.” With that, he turned to grab his keys from the spot on the floor they had landed the previous night. 

“What are we supposed to do, in the meantime,” Jake complained. CiCi was standing now, and reached out to touch Jake's arm. 

Josh huffed, “I don’t know…maybe take your girlfriend out on a date or something? She deserves it for putting up with you.” He shifted past Jake, stepping into the same shoes he had on outside, and turning around to check on you. While he and Jake bickered you had slipped on your heels from the night before, and the combination of your heels and his clothes (screw whatever Jake said, it hadn’t been his shirt in years) made his heart stutter for multiple reasons. 

As you maneuvered around Jake, you looked over at CiCi and gave a small smile, “it was nice meeting you,” 

CiCi nodded, “nice meeting you too.” 

Rather pointedly, you ignored Jake and exited through the door as Josh held it open for you. 

“Don’t wait up,” was all Josh said before he firmly shut the door behind him and followed you down the stairs. 

Thankfully, none of Josh’s neighbors were out of their respective apartments and the journey down to the ground floor was uneventful. You followed him down to the sidewalk where he turned to the right and went down a few cars before stopping at a white Jeep, hitting the keyfob along the way to unlock it. It definitely screamed something that Josh would drive. Without a word he opened the door for you, and held out his hand for you to take to help you get in, a gesture that made you smile. As you settled in your seat Josh shut the door and nearly sprinted around the back to get to the drivers side. 

It didn’t hit you until after he had silently handed you his phone to put in your address and he secured it to his dash mount how…normal it felt. This inner voice of your brain wanted to complain about how cliche it all was, but you tried not to listen to it. 

It took four blocks for Josh’s hand to slowly migrate from the gear shift to the top of your thigh. The warmth of his hand nearly startled you, and you looked down at the source and the feeling of normalcy struck you again. The silence that filled the Jeep wasn’t awkward or stilted. It was…comfortable. You hadn’t felt this in a long time. Well, you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel this in a long time. There were close calls, trysts from decades ago that still felt fresh at times, all ending in the same tired ways. 

Josh’s thumb was absently rubbing circles into your skin when he spoke, “I have a question…” 

You were snapped out of your thoughts, “yeah?”

“Garlic doesn’t hurt your kin-, you, does it?”

A giggle threatened to escape your mouth as you formed your answer, “no…garlic doesn’t do anything to us. Didn’t they teach you that at ‘Vampire-Hunter-Boy-Scout-Camp?’” 

His hand flexed slightly against your thigh, and he rolled his eyes slightly, “I mean…my parents taught me things but the garlic thing was never mentioned specifically either way…”

You sensed an opportunity and turned towards him slightly as his Jeep rolled to a stop at a redlight, “lets play a game.” 

He eyed you with a deadpan expression, “a game?”

“True or false,” your mouth twisting into its typical grin. 

He sighed as the light turned green and he pressed the gas pedal, “and what am I supposed to be asking about?” 

“You tell me whatever idiotic Vampire rumor you were taught, and I’ll tell you if it's true or false!”

Another sigh left his mouth, and he flipped through the different bits of Vampire information he had stored in his brain, “ok…you can eat human food?”

“True and false.” 

He looked at you slightly exasperated, “what do you mean?” 

“I mean…we could technically eat it…but it has no nutritional value and doesn’t taste like anything to us. It's like chewing on the color gray. When I was freshly turned I tried eating a muffin and nearly spit it out on the floor.”

“Do you miss human food?” 

“False. I mean…the era of when I was turned wasn’t exactly the height of cuisine…but sometimes I miss how good fresh bread smelled…or pies on the window sill. But honestly blood is so much better. There’s just something about it that human food doesn’t have.”

Josh tried to wrap his head around that, but couldn’t, “so you’ve never eaten pizza?”

“...True…it looks like it would be good from a human's point of view but I’m ok with an AB Positive,” you quietly braced yourself, hoping he wouldn’t be grossed out by your preferences.

But the disgust never came, instead Josh asked another question, “Vampires can’t be born…can they?”

You stared at him for a second, “true…no more babies once you’re turned.” The way your voice went soft at your answer was completely unintentional. Kids weren’t something you thought about, or dreamed about. They were a fleeting thought when you were a girl, but kids brought back memories you didn’t want to relive. You didn’t hate them, it wasn’t their fault, but you just hated being reminded of certain events…or certain people. 

Josh’s brows were furrowed as he formed his next question, but your game was interrupted by his phone’s GPS announcing, “you have arrived at your destination.”

You looked up and saw your familiar building, a 10-story high-rise that had fallen victim to the house-flipper crowd. What was once a charming and cozy building now reeked of ‘seller-friendly curb appeal.’

Josh stared up at the structure as he parked the Jeep and you answered his thoughts for him, “don’t worry Boy Scout, we have elevators here.” He turned to give you a look, another question floating through his brain, “yes you can come up…it's only fair I show you my place…” 

He smiled as you flung off your seatbelt and hopped out of the vehicle, practically bouncing in your heels on the pavement. As he joined you on the sidewalk, you slid your hand into his and led him into the front entrance of your building.

“I wish you could’ve seen the building when it was new. It had the sweetest door man and everything,” you mused as the two of you walked into the lobby of your building. The current decor was “nice” if you considered 2011 the peak of interior design. You often considered Persuading the building manager into getting the building restored to its original glory, but you figured you wouldn’t be here long enough to get too involved. 

Bee-lining for the elevator, your hand still gripped his as you hit the button with your free hand to call it down. Within seconds the elevator dinged and slid open its doors, and you thanked whatever beings were out there that it was empty. You hadn’t brought anyone ‘home’ in quite some time and it would be a lie to say you weren’t practically giddy at the idea of bringing Josh up to see it. Once inside you reached for the panel to select ‘8’ for your floor. 

Turning to your hunter you said, “not a penthouse like yours,” and playfully bumped his shoulder. 

Josh however couldn’t take it anymore and took full advantage of the solitude and took your face into his and slowly backed you up against the wall before slamming his lips onto yours. You melted into the kiss, glad to be even closer to him again. As his tongue gained entrance into your mouth,you felt one of his hands reach down to grip your thigh and hook it over his hip, allowing him to grind into you. The clothes from the night before that you clutched in your one hand threatened to fall as you wrapped your arms around him. Josh’s teeth sunk into your bottom lip, and the gap between the front two captured the smallest sliver of skin. You moaned against his mouth, and he broke away with a sigh before tilting his head and nipping at your jawbone and leaving open mouthed kisses down your neck. 

You started to lift your other leg to secure it around Josh’s waist when the elevator dinged and came to a stop. Paying it no mind, you rolled your head to the side to give Josh better access to your neck. It wasn’t until you heard someone clear their throat rather loudly did you open your eyes to find one of your neighbors standing at the open elevator. It was that unbearable woman down the hall, who had a habit of watching everyone on her floor. Josh looked up as well and slowly dropped your leg from around his hip, but he stayed just as close to you. 

“Hi, Nancy…,” you said with an eye roll before taking Josh’s hand and leading him out of the elevator. Josh and Nancy briefly made eye contact as he walked past her and she looked down her nose at him as her upper lip scrunched up as if she was smelling something bad. “Don’t mind her, she’s just a snotty bitch,” you called out behind you as the elevator doors shut. 

Josh whipped his head towards you and said in a deadpan voice, “she seemed nice. Is she always like that?”

“Sometimes she’s worse, unfortunately,” you laughed as he matched your stride. Flashing a smile at him you rounded the corner and went straight for the door at the end of the hall. You stopped to fish your keys out of your tiny clutch from the night before and unlocked your door with ease. Before you twisted the handle to reveal your home, you looked at Josh over your shoulder, intentionally drawing out the moment a little longer for dramatic effect. Finally, you slowly opened the door to your place, giving Josh the nod that he could follow you inside. 

Josh followed you over the threshold, making sure to shut the door behind him before looking around at the apartment. Immediately to his left was a small side table, where you dropped your keys in a glass dish. 

You continued down the small hallway, your heels clicking against the dark hardwood floors before turning around and throwing your hands out and saying, “home sweet home.” 

The small hallway opened up into two different rooms on either side, the one on the right being what appeared to be your living room, complete with an expensive-looking couch and dark blue Tiffany lamps on both end tables on either side. A lone, empty wine glass sat under one of the lamps. What in any other situation would have been some dark red wine dried at the bottom of the glass, he figured it was probably blood. Josh quickly noted the magazines you had strewn on the antique coffee table in front of the couch, along with a few unlit candles. You had a definite stack of different issues, a few National Geographics, some Vogues, a random Cosmo, and what he thought were a couple of Architectural Digests sitting off to the side, with pages clearly dog-earred for later. 

“Sorry about the mess…wasn’t exactly planning on having company over,” you apologized with a smirk. Josh almost called you crazy for thinking your apartment was messy, because it most certainly wasn’t. It looked…lived in…but it wasn’t messy. He had seen his fair share of Nests, and most of them were so bare-bones given the migratory nature of Vampires. As a species they didn’t tend to stick around one place too long. Even the solitary Vamps he had dealt with didn’t have ideal lodging situations. But it was clear you didn’t want to have just a crash pad between feedings…you wanted a cozy place to come home to. 

Opposite the living room was the kitchen. The lighting was very dim as you didn’t bother turning on any lights in that room. The normal appliances sat in there, but looked clean and unused. Josh recalled your earlier conversation on Vampires and human food. You probably didn’t have much use for it at all in the grand scheme of things. Beyond these two rooms were two more doors on either side of the central hallway, and a singular door at the very end. Even without seeing what was behind all three doors, Josh knew your apartment dwarfed his little attic studio significantly. 

You pushed open the door on the left, dramatically gesturing with a smile, “door number one is the guest bathroom…” Crossing the hallway you opened the opposite door, “and door number two is supposed to be a guest room but…I turned it into a library of sorts.” 

Josh stopped in his tracks and peaked his head into the room. You had bookcases lining the walls, full of tomes of various sizes and bindings. A lot of them were antiques in the current year, but he wondered if you had collected most of them when they were new, and had just held onto them all these years. Trinkets dotted all along the shelves in front of the books, and he wondered what the story was behind all of them. The fact that you were 350 this year struck him again, and he got even more curious about your life before now. He noticed a big squishy chair situated by the one window in the room, with another Tiffany floor lamp, this time dark green, behind it. The image of you curled up in that chair, reading whatever you desired made the corners of his mouth rise up into a smile. 

He turned to look at you, and saw you leaning against the doorframe reaching down to take your heels off. Wasting no time, he knelt in front of you and in a slightly clumsy yet endearing way, took your heeled foot out of your hands and slid your shoe off for you. Your hands rested on his shoulders during this to keep your balance, and you gently raised your other foot for him to repeat the process. Josh set both of your shoes behind him, and slowly looked up at you from his kneeling position. He wasn’t sure where the compulsion to never let you take off your own shoes came from, but it felt natural to him. 

You looked down at his big brown eyes, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in your chest at his actions, which were quickly becoming a habit of his. Your hand reached out and cupped his cheek, and he fully leaned into it, nearly nuzzling your palm. He rose up from his feet to his full height and pressed you against the door frame, lightly brushing his lips on yours. 

“I haven’t even shown you the best room…,” you murmured, “come on.” You took his hand again and pulled him down to the end of the hallway where the final door was. This time you pushed open the door with little fanfare and you breathed a sigh of relief as you walked into your room.

Josh didn’t need to be told what room this was, the light purple walls clued him in immediately. In fact, most of the room was decked out in various shades of purple. From the doorway he could see directly out to a pair of French doors that led out to a small balcony, and through the gauzy curtains he could make out a table and a set of chairs outside. The most interesting feature was to the right of the room, where what looked like a giant arched opening in the wall was carved out to house a queen sized bed inside. The bedding was dark purple, and the duvet was pulled back enough that he noticed you had purple satin sheets to match. Thick curtains were fixed on the backside of the arch, only pulled about a quarter of the way across. 

You turned around and saw him staring and remarked, “not exactly a coffin…but with the curtains drawn it's pretty close.” 

“I wasn’t…that's not what-,” he stammered while his cheeks tinged pink.

You walked over to the bed after dropping your clothes in a small hamper and flicked on the two wall sconces that were attached to the wall inside the nook, illuminating the small space so that Josh could get a better look. There were a couple shelves above where your head would be, more trinkets and a few crystals lined the surface. But it was at the foot of the bed, hidden slightly behind the curtains, was the shirt he had given her the day before. You didn’t pay it any mind as your hand landed on the curtains and said, “blackout curtains. Not a shred of light can get through these.” 

Josh smiled and turned to the other half of the room, where he saw a desk littered with various makeup supplies, a couple books, and a journal with a pen resting on top. Also on that wall were two other doors, he assumed one was an ensuite and the other a closet. He took a few steps around the room, taking it all in while you observed him from your bed.

“You have a beautiful place,” he said softly. 

“It works for now,” you shrugged.

He nodded, understanding. His current place wasn’t ideal either, in all actuality it was a far cry from what he grew up with, but it was home for now. Inching his way over to your table, he looked down at the journal resting on the surface. He turned back at you, a cheeky smile slowly forming on his face, “you have a diary…a Vampire…diary…”

You fought every muscle in your face to not smile, you didn’t want to encourage him, but you faced and exhaled a little laugh, “yes…full of all of my Vampire secrets and night-to-night drama.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, “anything about…?”

You swayed your hips as you walked towards him, “about a very annoying hunter who wouldn’t mind his own business and tried to capture me with silver handcuffs?” Your arms looped around his neck and his hands settled on your hips, squeezing slightly.

 

His eyes seemed to sparkle as he looked at you, “...was this annoying hunter handsome at least?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, “for a hunter he was alright…” 

Josh feigned offense, “just alright?” 

“Yes, for a wannabe Boy Scout he was decent,” you leaned forward and nipped at his chin. What he didn’t know was that you talked at length about him in your diary. He didn’t know your thought process flowed from how he annoyed you that first night, how irritating he was, how arrogant, how smart ass, to your reluctant alliance and the first night at the Den, to how worried you were when Dimitri almost went too far, to how maybe “Boy Scout” wasn’t that bad, to where you left off just as you were getting ready for your second night at the Den, before everything changed. He didn’t know about how you spent a few pages describing the worry that was etched on his face the whole time he got you back to his apartment that morning, how his eyes would not leave your disfigured feet, or how you almost passed out from the pain as he ran those final blocks to his building, or how it was his own racing heart that you focused on to stay conscious. Maybe you’d tell him eventually, but right now you just wanted to focus on the present. How you had a beautiful man in your room all to yourself, with zero chances of being interrupted by ignorant twin brothers. 

He pulled you close and secured his lips to yours, and for the first time you two shared a truly slow and lazy kiss, in no rush to do anything or be anywhere else. 

Pulling away slightly, you sighed against his lips, “I don’t want to cut this short…but I really need to shower…” A slight pout started to form on Josh’s face, “but thankfully…I have a real shower and there’s plenty of room for two people…” 

“Lead the way, sweetheart…”

You flashed a grin before skirting around him and bounded for the door behind him on the right. The bathroom was easily eight times the size of his dinky bathroom in the attic, with a gorgeous clawfoot tub at the far end of the room, and a standing shower in the corner next to it. You flung open the glass door to your shower, turning on the water and letting the warm spray and steam fill the room. You felt Josh follow behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, playfully lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. Laughter echoed in the room until it was silenced by his lips crashing into yours. The few pieces of clothing you both had on were shed in a blur, and the next thing you knew you were being backed into the shower, the lips of your hunter attached to yours. The cold tile caught you off guard and you hissed against his mouth at the temperature difference. 

Josh’s hands were everywhere, roaming your body as if he was afraid you’d disappear. Your hands were tangled in his hair, reveling in the fact you had him all to yourself. The way his hands were squeezing and grabbing anything he could reach on you felt incredible, and the evidence that he was feeling just as good was pressed up against your stomach. You felt it twitch as you scraped his scalp with your fingernails and lightly tugged on his hair. 

Smiling against his mouth you pushed him back to the other wall, and looked him in the eyes as you dropped to your knees.  His eyes were so dark, pupils blown as he looked down at you. The hot water sprayed against your back, wetting most of your hair as it spread out over your shoulders. He reached down and tucked some of your hair behind your ear and out of your face. Gently you took his cock in your hand, and he rolled his head back against the wall at your touch. You pumped him a couple times before looking up at his frazzled state and smiling. You were able to see him so much better here in the shower than in his dimly lit apartment, so you got to see details you missed the night before. The way his jaw was slack as you squeezed him, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed rapidly as you quickened your pace, and the soft sounds he was beginning to make because of you. Leaning forward you gave the tip of his cock a playful kiss, before fully taking the tip into your mouth. 

“Ah, fuck…,” escaped his lips and met your ears as you did so, his shoulders visibly relaxing as you moved further down on him. He was practically mewling as your tongue made patterns around and on the underside of his cock, cheeks hollowing out you pulled back giving him the perfect amount of pressure before diving back down. Your hands were settled on his thighs at this point, squeezing his tensing muscles and digging your fingernails into his skin for extra sensation. Josh’s hands had a firm grip on your hair, as if he was holding on for dear life. He tried to keep his head clear so he didn’t embarrass himself with how quickly his high was approaching him, but you were making that difficult as you reached up to cup his balls and roll them softly in your hand. He wanted this to last, and that wasn’t going to happen with the rate you were going and how fast your head was bobbing up and down on him. Gently but firmly he tried to pull you off of him, to get you back on your feet so he could give you some attention but you weren’t having it. Without missing a beat you reached up to take his hands from your hair and planted his hands on the shower wall. Your Vampire strength came in handy as he pushed against you, but he relented as you looked up at him through your eyelashes, mouth full of his cock. Your name echoed in the air as you went back to work on him, along with a string of more curses. He was close, and you practically smiled around him when you could tell he was feeling good from what you were doing to him. You relaxed your throat and went all the way down, letting the tip reach down into your throat while the curls at the base of his cock were simultaneously pressing against your nose. At this point he was thrusting into your mouth on his own, trying to keep up with the rhythm you had set. 

“Shit-, fuck, oh go-,” he sputtered out, opening his eyes to look down at you once more, not wanting to miss a second of this. You looked up at him one last time and his high hit him like a train, with a sound that started out like a loud groan but fizzled out into a high pitched whine filled the shower.. He spilled down your throat, and you gladly swallowed everything he gave you. As the last few drops hit your tongue, you slowly pulled off of him with a pop. The sensitivity was already setting in for him, but you couldn’t help yourself but to give the tip a firm kiss as he softened which caused his hips to jerk and soft squeak to leave his throat. 

Letting go of his hands against the wall you let him help you stand. Before you could get your bearings you found yourself pressed against the shower wall, Josh’s chest heaving against yours as he gave you one of the most possessive and passionate kisses you shared so far. Your mouth instantly fell open granting him access and he wasted no time slipping his tongue into your mouth. He didn’t care if he could taste himself on your tongue, in fact knowing it was him spurred him on even more. Your hands found their home in his hair, tangling your fingers in his curls while your thumbs stroked the shaved sides of his head. The steam was filling up the shower and fogging up the glass. As you made out and moaned into each other's mouths, his hands kneaded the outside of your thighs. His right foot slipped between your feet and he nudged his thigh between your legs. Even with the heat from the shower, you could feel the warmth of the sigil radiating from his skin. 

You let out a gasp when his fingers crept around the back of your thighs and he pulled you up higher on his thigh, planting your core directly on top of the sigil. The combination of his searing kisses and the pressure from his thigh between yours had you biting down on his bottom lip, whimpering. Even with his lip trapped between your teeth you could feel his muscles spread into a smug smile. You began rocking back and forth against his thigh, while his hands helped guide your movements. He peppered kisses all along your face and your neck, working his way down before bending his head to take one of your nipples into his mouth, causing you to nearly hit your head on the wall as you cried out. 

You sped up your movements as his tongue swirled around the sensitive skin, you were so wet you easily slid back and forth on his thigh. With a pop he let go of your nipple, and he moved to the other to give it the same treatment. In the midst of this, you felt his thumb reach over and just barely graze your clit. He held it there, just barely out of reach, causing you to jerk forward even harder to get any pressure from it. 

You were almost starting to get frustrated when you felt him chuckle slightly, and he let go of you to move up and whisper in your ear, “what is it? Need something?” 

The cocky tone in his voice caused you to shoot your eyes open, glaring at him, “you little shit…”

He kissed the hinge of your jaw and grazed his tongue along the shell of your ear, “you and I both know that is the wrong adjective to use, sweetheart.”

Before you could protest or make a sarcastic reply his thumb surged forward and gave you the pressure you needed, expertly rolling figure-8’s around you. Your movements faltered from the sudden burst of pleasure, and you could feel the coil within you begin to tighten. Your arms loosely looped around his neck for balance, and Josh leaned his forehead against yours. His free hand was gripping your ass so tightly as you moved that if you had been human there would’ve been bruises in his wake. 

He asked softly, “is that what you needed? Hmm?” 

All you could do at this point was nod with your high barreling towards you. There was no sense of rhythm now, just sloppy movements and gasps for breath. His thumb moved even faster against you, wanting you to come just as much as you did. He looked down to watch you move, slack jawed at how desperate you were to reach your high; how desperate you were for him. 

“Let go for me, baby…,” was all he whispered before you were shuddering against him. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders as you rode out your high. He kept up his movements even when it became too sensitive, giving you a little payback from earlier before retreating his hand and letting it rest on your hip. 

You began to catch your breath, and you started to disengage from your hunter, figuring the human was spent after your little escapade. You were wrong, so wrong. He sensed you trying to move away and confidently slid his hand up to your jaw, turning your head from the side to face him.

“Do you really think I’m done with you?” 

“I-”

He surged forward, pressing his hard cock against your stomach, showing you he was far from ready for this to be over. 

You smirked at him, “ok, Boy Scout…show me.” 

He grinned at you and spread your legs even farther to slot himself in between yours. With a small jump he had your back up against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist. He captured your lips before rearing back and plunging into you. A horse growl rose up from his throat as he felt your slick walls squeezed around him. You were so tight, so warm, if he hadn’t already come just a few minutes ago he would’ve been dangerously close to coming again. His pace was rough, and a lot faster than your previous time together. He still checked on you though, watching your face for any hint of discomfort, but those hints never came. 

“Harder…,” you huffed out.

Not needing to be told twice, he adjusted the grip on your ass and slammed back into you, bottoming out completely. You cried out his name, loving that he listened and understood exactly what you wanted. His bruising pace never faltered, and once more, you felt his hand reach between the two of you to start rolling your clit between his fingers. You sucked in some air between your teeth, still slightly sensitive from your first orgasm but the feeling only added to your pleasure. 

Josh rested his head against your shoulder, murmuring into your skin, “need you to come again…need to feel it…” 

You turned your face towards him to brush your lips against the shaved side, you darted out your tongue to catch a bead of sweat, feeling the stubble. 

This caused him to whine out, “please…”

Clamping down around him again, you felt every ridge of his drag along your walls. The combination of the swollen head of his cock rutting against your g-spot, and his fingers squeezing and rolling your clit had your second orgasm start to form at the base of your spine. He bit down on your shoulder, and another growl erupted from his throat. The edges of your vision started to blur as you chased your orgasm.

With one final hard pinch to your clit, your orgasm crashed into you, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body like lightning crackling across the sky. You screamed out at the intensity, not giving a shit if your neighbors heard you. 

Josh couldn’t hold on anymore and as you shuddered against him a second time his own high rolled through his body, and with a shout he slammed inside you one last time before completely emptying himself. 

Neither of you spoke for a few minutes, both of you out of breath. The blood finally started to return to his brain and he lifted his head up to look at you, memorizing your blissed out expression. He couldn’t get over how fucking beautiful you looked right now, cheeks flushed, eyes closed, sweaty hair matted against your scalp. 

His Vampire, spent and exhausted. 

Carefully, he pulled out of you and gently lowered your wobbly legs to the ground. You bit your lip at the loss of him, the wave of emotion catching you off guard. 

You tried to walk to the water, but your muscles gave out and you stumbled forward, sending Josh into action and catching you before you fell. The one thing your spacious shower needed was also the one thing you didn’t have in here: a bench. Thankfully, the built-in shelf that held your toiletries wasn’t very far, and he guided you underneath the spray to get your hair fully wet again. You leaned your head back into the water, grateful that Josh was right there in case you got wobbly again. This time it was him taking care of you afterwards, and for the first time since you’d known him you didn’t want to argue. 

Before you could reach for your shampoo, he already had it in his hand, “turn around,” he spoke softly. Your eyes met his before you did so, another unfamiliar emotion became stuck in your chest, and you turned before you thought he could see it. You weren’t used to this, having someone care. The last time you hooked up with an individual it was very much a ‘wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am’ situation, and you were ok with that. It wasn’t meant to be anything deeper, and that was ok. Then. But as Josh lathered up your hair, fingertips massaging your scalp, the mere hypothetical of Josh leaving as soon as he was done with you felt so wrong it threatened to let that emotion caught in your chest to bubble up into your throat. 

The feeling you had, when you were staring at him under that street light in the park, the one where you felt like a silly little girl, returned. At least, that's what you were telling yourself. That you were being irrational, that you were thinking too hard, that you were building expectations that didn’t need to exist. 

You were too lost in your thoughts to notice your hunters hands had left your hair, and had turned you around to rinse out your hair properly. When he saw your bottom lip trapped between your teeth and downcast eyes, he curled a finger under your chin and tilted it up, forcing you to look at him. 

“Still with me?” 

It was such a simple question, a little check in to make sure you were ok, but when your eyes met his, and those irises of molten molasses looked right through your facade, you couldn’t hold back that emotion lodged in your chest anymore. You threw your arms around his neck and clumsily kissed him again, allowing yourself to show him everything you were feeling through it. He hummed against your mouth and kissed you back, his hands gently rubbing circles in your lower back. 

After a few moments, the suds from your hair dripped down your back and onto his hands, reminding you both you still needed to rinse. 

“Sweetheart…,” he mumbled against your mouth.

 

You sniffed and nodded, feeling more grounded and less emotional now, and tilted your head back into the water and worked your fingers into your hair to get the shampoo fully rinsed out. 

The rest of the shower went by quickly, taking turns under the water to get bathed and fresh again. Josh’s hands barely left your body the whole time, as if he was afraid you would somehow float away like a lost balloon. You made a comment that he was trying to make up for him being unable to clean you up himself the night before, and he gave you a kiss on the cheek that said you were right, which made your chest tighten again. 

As you got out of the shower and grabbed towels for each other off the rack, Josh heard his phone buzz in his shorts pocket on the floor. Sighing roughly through his nose, he wrapped his towel around his waist and walked over to retrieve it, immediately seeing the “8 Missed Calls from Jake Kiszka”, and a slew of texts that mainly consisted of, “answer your fucking phone, fucker.” Before he could start to call him back, his phone buzzed again with Jake's name displayed at the top. 

With an eye roll, he answered the call, “this better be fucking good, Jake.” 

“Oh the prodigal son answers his phone! I’m so glad we have phones in case of emergencies!” 

“What the fuck do you want?” 

“I need you to meet me right now, and bring your little girlfriend. I think we might have just had a break in your case.” 

Josh turned around and looked at you, knowing you heard Jake on the phone loud and clear, “what do you mean?”

“I think we may have caught whoever the fuck is killing people in the act…”

To be continued...

Tag List:  @dannyandthekiszkas , @gretasmokerising , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema , @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake , @earthlysorrows , @gvfpal ,

[for-ships-that-never-sail]

Okay Y'ALL I saw Episode 5 today and these are the thoughts I jotted down while watching it (PART 1 OF 2)

Please don’t read below the cut if you are avoiding spoilers until you get to watch it yourself 

And FYI some of these may not have any context, but I guess it won’t matter cause you’ll have context in 7ish hours anyway (also sorry about how long all my thoughts and feelings are lol)

We’ve all seen the first 4 mins so that’s that - nothing extra special to add there other than that Colin’s soft voice for Pen feels like it makes my heart grow bigger every time I see it

Um what the absolute fuck was that opening title??? Have they deviated and changed that this much before?? Have I never noticed other than with the very small changes they do with adding the correct Bridgerton’s name etc?

Anthony wanting to do that one Monica scream is adorbs

LOLLLLL I love you sweet Greggy

LMAO Cressida with them BARBS

Awh Cressida I do feel for you my girl

OMFGGGGG Colin’s chat with the boys??? THIS IS MUSIC TO MY EARS!!!! SOMEONE STAB ME IN THE HEART AAAAH

And Anthony with that quick wisdom? Is it rude of me to not really have expected it from him even though I know this kind of good sense is in him? I do love you Ant! Sorry that I still think of you as SLOW to good sense because of last season lol

Also that cute and private GOSSIPY moment? LOVEEE

OH PORTIA FOR FUCKS SAKEEEEE WITH “THOSE EXACT WORDS” why are you stressing her out but also why are you STRESSING ME OUT?

BAHAHAHAHAHHSSHHAHAHASHA THAT IMMEDIATE 360 please stopppppp I have whiplash - this show has never presented something I personally see as a legitimate concern (from the character's perspective) and then proceed to resolve that issue soooo fucking fast, like that took two seconds PLEASE I’m dying, I can’t believe I thought I’d be stressed about that comment for a considerable amount of the episode? and then BAM 😂 Excellent job Colin!

For the love of god no one wants to chaperone them???? They’re just gonna go???? No one is gonna stop them? Like is she the John Cena of the Bridgerton universe?? Everyone is just like, oh look, Colin walking down the street speaking to himself, oh look he’s in a carriage, also just speaking to himself - like H'WHAT?

Having that said, yes of course get her alone and fuck her by all means if that’s what you wanna do, don’t let my hang ups about propriety and the rules of the ton stop you my boy

Omg pen my baby was so moved 🥹 She somehow hadn’t processed that whole thing even during the carriage ride? Because unless they teleported, she was just like reeling in silence until this point, just like, looking for the words???

Oh my god OH MY GOD OH MY GOD there you go Portia my mans was as clear as he could be about the exact words both indirectly and directly thank you very much

Omg STAHPPPP I can’t Col you should totally write her love letters saying this type of stuff every day - it’s what she deserves 🥹

Omg they’re so cute???!!!

Consent king!! This is so INTIMATE and CUTE!!! 🥹

Have I never seen tits bigger than like a 32B on Netflix before? Cute lil perky tits never really get registered as out there nudity I guess? Like I knowwww we saw tits the last two seasons, and I guess at the brothels this season too, which I nearly forgot, but like even 0.6 seconds of Pens tits rn feels like I’m on HBO and not Netflix? LOLLL

NO ONE HAS EVER REMOVED A BELT BETTER THAN LUKE NEWTON HAS

FUCK he’s so hot??? I’m probably equally attracted to both actors irl tbh but in the showverse Pen is just my girly and Colin was just my sweet boi too right up until he started undressing rn? Now pen is still my girly but Colin can fucking get ittttt LOLLL

Also we’ve seen him undressed before??? I don’t know what’s going on but he did the 0.0003 second belt thing and I audibly gasped and my brain suddenly went blank and now I’m just drooling over Colin and how hot he is fml

Luke Newton should probably just go around taking his shirts and belts off all the time tbh

Just in real life, stay undressing king, you’re such a treat 😍

Awh he’s got the cutest lil butt, but like…. I can’t look? I’m feeling an odd amount of… second hand embarrassment about his butt? I don’t know if that makes any sense but somehow it feels wrong to be looking at your butt Colin I’m sorry this is just like Pen’s property now you know? I shouldn’t seeeee this lol

Kinda wish they edited out that tiny bit where he moved the sheet? I assume that was for the sake of the actors/show because they can’t actually be like fully naked out here, but that tiny bit could’ve been easily edited a different way - only because I don’t want it to register like he’s covering her up? He’s not, he 100% would NEVER, but like logistically I get it, just wish the editor saw it the way I see it and took that bit out

oop JUMP SCARE Lmfaooooo my mans thought it would end before it even began 😂😂😂

Awh he’s so sweet with her - Touch me anywhere? Please they are really taking on such great parts from the books

Though on a side note I wish that this mirror idea was broken into 2 parts too? like part 1 he just says the lines from the books about wanting to grab her tits and fuck in front of a mirror but they don’t because he wants that gentle missionary first time, and then part 2 after the LW drama he actually passionately fucks her in front of the mirror, horizontally sure, but like from behind while facing the mirror? That's such an easy way to cover her up too - one arm coming from under her, wrapped around her bust to cover her there, and other arm coming over her and snaking down her belly so we know there is finger action but Nic would still be tastefully covered - this allows them to just stare at each other through the mirror the entire time which could have been sooooo hot? And I wouldn't have to suspend disbelief when it comes to her tits not touching any part of him through this whole thing lol - It’s aight though, this is what AO3 is for and I’m by no means disappointed with anything that’s happening rn

Still, circling back, is it like an actor/show rule to just show tits and not do anything else with them? Because I knowwww Colin isn’t gonna just fuck her without sucking on them titties that whole entire time, like please BE REAL for just ONE second, cause there’s absolutely nooooo way his hands and mouth wouldn’t be directly on those tits - but yeah, if it’s an actor/show thing to not do it because it might be too porny/uncomfy, I get it - I’m just looking for that realism because come onnnn there’s literally NO WAY his mouth wouldn’t be all over that LOL

Like even with their vertically challenging situation, I know my mans would fold his neck his back his spine his evvvverryyything to get his face on her tits LOLLLL

Also, sir? Everyone enjoyed your fingers but when are you going to eat my girl out? Please she deserves to see God???!!!!!

Never underestimate the power of grabbing your own dick to get it in either, it's just so fucking hot and I don’t make these rules

I personally think the carriage scene was A LOTTT spicier than this though

Sorry guys, don’t be upset or anything - I just think THAT was PASSION and THIS is LOVE

Slow and settled love - best friend love - honestly it’s how I see couples being intimate once their honeymoon phase is long over - just like, chit chatting while gentle fucking - super comfortable with each other and just not awkward at all - contently smiling and giggling afterwards, like that was all just totally normal everyday behaviour between them

It’s like they’re having a casual bestie moment, just the same as walking around in a market or gossiping in a ballroom

When you really think on it though, it’s so cool that a first time can be this way because you’ve just been best friends your whole life

Anyway, no furniture break I’m afraid

[elijahwoodnot]

it’s been over a week and i miss them like they’re my friends

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

Late-to-the-party disorganized reflection of Jessica Jones Season 1, sue me

One of the biggest things that bugs me about Jessica Jones Season 1 is... and this isn’t me attacking the writers.. but it’s the fact that Jessica is so dismissive of other peoples’ trauma at the hands of Kilgrave when she’s asked to include herself in the group therapy sessions. It’s a deep character flaw that I dislike but I’m still somewhat glad exists. It makes her more believable, but in exchange it makes me dislike her more than if she were to say nothing. She refers to them as “whiney”, which..no offense Jessica, but if what they’re doing is whining, then what are you doing when you bring up your trauma to Kilgrave? 

To him, she’s whining just the same as them, only being far more unreasonable, and she uses that sentiment as an excuse to not go to the talks. She says to Malcolm at one point the equivalent of “Someone will always have it worse, so why should I air my dirty laundry out when I probably had it better than someone else”, as if it’s a suffering contest. The nature of victimization, the quality of it, the quantity of it, is what Kilgrave, and ultimately Jessica, are overly-fixated on.

For Kilgrave, the suffering of another person is fine by him because he doesn’t give a shit, but at the same time he thought he was being a great lover to Jessica by taking her all over the world and letting her wear fancy clothes and eating in the finest restaurants. What girl wouldn’t be happy about that? She’s just being ungrateful, she’s just being hysterical, he could have been so much worse to her. It’s a chilling thought process. “I COULD, but I won’t, and you should be thankful.” It’s the threat of a bad time that gives him power, and it is his frequent demonstration of how much of a bad time he could give someone that keeps him powerful.

The very character of Kilgrave is someone who is preoccupied with his wants and needs, like any psychopathic man-child who is desperate for a hit of serotonin that comes from having his whims met or doing what he feels like doing in the moment. His perception of things is the truth, his opinion of someone is how it actually is, and anything to the contrary is just a way for people to try to cage him in and control him. Everything is semantics, negligible, unimportant. The man can feel bad, but it’s self-pity or shallow concern. I think he does tiptoe close to feeling remorse for what he’s done to Jessica, but he stopped just at the ledge, looked down, saw the words “Accountability” and “Responsibility” emblazoned on the trampoline, and went “lol nope”. Because that would mean feeling bad, that would mean changing his self-serving behavior, and that shit is lame. Why would he make himself feel bad? He felt bad in the past, he felt tortured and traumatized by his parents (whether a psychopath or not, the experiments forced upon him would have made any child his age feel like a lab rat, I think, especially since they were so painful-looking..).

Where am I going with this...Kilgrave hits that sweet spot of 1% tragic villain and 99% horrible. He’s a nutter, he may have always been a nutter, or the experiments messed up his head. Whatever the case, his obsession with Jessica is the first time he’s ever felt infatuation for another person. He could list off all the things that fascinate him about her, and in the police station he tries to explain why he can’t stop thinking about her. She represents a challenge that half of him hopes to conquer, and the other half doesn’t. An eternal struggle between them to keep him entertained as he floats through life getting everything he wants. She can be his fiery woman, but she is his woman. She is a weapon he uses as he likes. And somewhere down the road he decided he was genuinely fond of her, but fondness does not translate to kindness and compassion when it comes to guys like Kilgrave, it just means you are too valuable to murder. Most of the time.

What strikes me the most though, is that I don’t know where the manipulation ends and where the self-delusion starts.

The manipulative explanation: Kilgrave is genre-savvy and knows what to say to make him out to be a psycho with a crush--i.e., oh he can’t comprehend what he’s doing is wrong! he didn’t choose to be crazy! He's only just now realized that this thing he feels is love and it may be the thing that he needs to help him become a better person! He wants to love someone and this is how he thinks he should go about it! Jessica, why would you give up on a chance on rehabilitating someone by teaching him the error of his ways? uwu. And he’ll pounce on those doubts and reel her in the first chance he gets. If he has to, he’ll use any innocent bystander as a way of getting her to go along with his bullshit. Maybe he’ll ease up on the criminal bullshit just to get her off his back, but...

The self-delusion explanation: He didn’t mean to hurt Jessica. Well, he did mean to hurt her on numerous occasions, but he didn’t want her to get mad or upset over it. He just wanted her to obey him and do what he said. Everything would be better if she just did what he wanted. Granted, he might have been a bit too harsh on her, but he never did it out of hatred! He has no concept of the depths of pain someone might feel; he’s quite skeptical of the idea that someone could be suffering so much under the surface while displaying the opposite sentiment on the outside. His psychopathy fuels, informs, and reinforces his powers, and vice versa. He doesn’t care about empathizing with others, so he will freely use his powers in a way that disregards them. He will go so far as to use his powers to make someone do something because he knows they don’t want to do it. With Jessica, I think he used his powers to force her to be someone he wanted her to be, but because the very nature of his powers are so pervasive, it truly is difficult for him to determine if someone is doing something against their will because he ordered them to, or if they are doing something because they were willing to do so anyway/agreed with him.

 At some point Kilgrave, for whatever reason, came to believe Jessica was following his orders but had also internalized them. He probably thought Stockholm Syndrome had set in and she was happy. He saw what he wanted to see, because the alternative was ugly--someone he was really keen on didn’t truly like him back, and that revelation would’ve broken his underdeveloped heart. Yes, she was being controlled but she wanted to be controlled, she was fine with being compelled to do things because it was him giving the order. In his sad little head, he thought he had a chance to “Win” her back, and his efforts to not be a horrible human being in her presence for a day-and-a-half should have been enough for Jessica to realize he was serious. If anything else, he would try to ape the behavior of a “normal” human being for as long as he thought he would get rewarded for it in the end. He genuinely thought he was doing what she wanted while they were living in her house. He thought that he was truly on the path to redemption in her eyes, that his crimes could be forgiven or overwritten if he did enough good things (regardless if he did them for altruistic reasons). That was why he was so distraught and felt so betrayed. He didn’t understand that that is not how it works. Even if Jessica did forgive him, that still doesn’t change the fact that he hurt scores and scores of people throughout his life. The fact that he most certainly wouldn’t care says enough about how screwed up he is.

On a single, tissue-paper thin level I can empathize with Kilgrave when it comes to not understanding why people are making such a big deal about things like “peoples’ feelings”. When you are not in touch with your sense of compassion, or you do not know how to empathize with people, people berating you about your insensitivity and callous nature is like being berated in a foreign language. You hear the upset tone in their voice, but the points being made don’t make sense. While anyone who disregards someone’s bodily autonomy and displays a lack of remorse for their crimes (or fails to see why something is a crime) is repugnant, it’s a testament to the writers and David Tennant’s portrayal of Kilgrave that actually made me feel bad for the bastard for a few minutes. He’s so twisted, he’s done so much wrong, but he wouldn’t have done any of these things if he hadn’t been granted powers. He terrorized his parents until they abandoned him. If he had been a normal boy there might have been hope for putting him in an institution or something, but no, not with his powers of compulsion/persuasion. If you took either one of those features away--Psychopathy or Persuasion Virus--he would have not gone down the path he had. It was a perfect storm, it was inevitable he would have become a fully-fledged criminal after being abandoned by his parents before he even hit puberty. I truly believe that. You can pull up the “well not every psychopath is a criminal” but how many psychopaths have this sort of superpower IRL? I’m not talking the glib charm and persuasion, I mean forcing people to do things they don’t want to do as if they’re robots and he has a remote control.     

 His self-entitlement is off the charts, but it’s someone who didn’t choose to be crazy or choose his power but has come to be this way for whatever reason and  I really, REALLY don’t want to use the word “gaslighting” because that word is overused to shit on the Internet to just mean “trying to lie your way out of a situation”, but I think that Kilgrave was trying to delude himself. He’s good at doing that, since it is impossible to talk to him without him being able to shut you up and make you cut your tongue out with scissors for angering him. Jessica was potentially the only person in the world who could maybe possibly get through to him, or at least deflate his bubble a bit. I know that Kilgrave would only allow it if he thought it would lead to Jessica giving him “another chance”, and when it didn’t happen he would accuse her of lying and trying to lead him on, as if she owed him forgiveness. That’s the kind of man he is. Quid pro quo and all that.

Going back to the very first paragraph, though...I don’t cite this writing as a mistake, but rather a deliberate effort to write her as someone whose response to trauma is not nearly as often seen in media. The pervasive image of a victim that has suffered what Jessica has suffered is someone blubbering in a corner and essentially wrecked, afraid of men, afraid of people, afraid of life in its entirety. ‘Someone who cries is exposing weakness.’ is the underlying message. Jessica nearly cries on many occasions after suffering a flashback or a nightmare, but she centers herself and shakes herself out of it because doing so comes more naturally to her than it may for others. I don’t really know how to explain it, but it’s not that people who “allow” their trauma to affect them are weak, but rather some people are able to mentally shake themselves out of its hold if given the proper tools to do so at a steadier clip than others. Predisposed skill level at processing trauma, and it’s a skill you learn and develop as time goes on, hopefully. Not all minds react to trauma the same way. Jessica fears Kilgrave, but she also hates him, she hates him in a way that translates to “I would lay my hands on you to remove you from my presence”, i.e. physical, verbal confrontation and rebuffs,  whereas other forms of hatred that stem from trauma seem to be “I would do everything in my power to remove myself from your presence”, i.e. avoidance, hiding. Season 1 to me felt like a war between both instincts, and ultimately Jessica chose the former. 

This isn’t to say that one must always choose to directly confront the source of their trauma and terminate it, since I think people can recover   Jessica has shades of that, and it is a battle throughout the season of “Do I avoid him or do I confront him?”  

She is a very shut-off person, really compartmentalizes everything while trying to make it seem like what happened to her doesn’t affect her, but only in front of strangers. When she is with Kilgrave she goes out of her way to remind him “Hey, you fucked me up, did you know that? YOUR CRIMES AGAINST MY PERSON FUCKED ME UP.” And he doesn’t know how to comprehend that. He expresses his disgust for the word “rape” because he believes the myth that rapists are the kind of people that hide in dark alleyways or skulk around skeevy dive bars. They’re cowardly, pathetic little men that resort to force because they can’t seduce a woman properly. But he! He is a suave well-dressed man with refined tastes! Women fall head over heels for him (until they realize he’s a horrible person, then they try to leave only to find they can’t). How many rapists attract the number of women he does? How many rapists are able to get a woman to say ‘yes’ without laying a hand on her? How many rapists shower their victims with expensive gifts and attention? How many rapists love their victims? 

Zero! So that means he’s not a rapist, obviously! To be accused of rape is a big existential threat to him. It would mean challenging the nature of the relationship that he has created in his mind between him and Jessica. He came to think there was genuine love between them and he somehow lost her, or he failed to pick up on something and she ran away. He blames her for breaking his heart, but at the same time he comes close to admitting that maybe he did something wrong and it made her angry, so he should at least try to fix it to make her happy, as if she got fed up with him coming home late from the office one too many times. You know, something objectively minor but still considered important in her overdramatic female mind. I should note that Kilgrave does not come off as a man who thinks less of women for being women, but believes they are a bit different from men ala “Women are from Venus, Men are from Mars”. Women require different handling; they don’t always say what they want because they don’t want to admit that they want things. That ties into Jessica’s statement that she doesn’t flirt, she states what she wants. But Kilgrave demonstrates that even when a woman states in plain terms what she wants, men assume the woman is lying, in denial, means the opposite, or she can be persuaded... 

It’s the discounting and downplaying of Jessica’s claims that really sell how far up his own ass Kilgrave really is. 

So in short:

Psychopathy + male chauvinism + Unfettered infatuation + Persuasion virus = The Biggest Recipe for Disaster in the History of Gender Relations Ever

[ao731]

Ever since I was little, I’ve had trouble sleeping. At best I get 4 hours of sleep. And when I do get some REM sleep... my dreams are weird. I’m a believer that your dreams can tell you about yourself. But somethings...I think I’d rather not know.

I work in a hospital now. And as you would expect, its been stressful over the past year. Its caused me to have really intense stress dreams. With how absurd everything has been, sometimes when i wake up... i cant unravel what was real... what was a dream. Sometimes, I call out sick. Too disturbed.... just needeing a mental health day. So i figure i'll write it out here. Worst case, I get it off my chest. Best case, maybe someone can tell me what they think.

So last nights dream started in an apartment. Shaped like one i lived in as a kid. But with all the furniture and colors I’d enjoy as an adult. A pretty yellow kitchen table. A multi-colored rug. Big sailors chests and bigger sofa’s and beds. Cozy and lived in and warm. But I could feel it wasn't my apartment.I’d never been there. It felt so inviting and familiar but new and exciting. A place I wanted to be but hadn't had the chance before.

 I was invisible... sometimes this happens in my dreams. I'm watching from an audience perspective, but then it will switch to me being one of the "characters" of the dream. If I dont get to far into the dream. If its closer to one of those 4 hours of sleep days, then sometimes I can control it. 

So I’m invisible and I’m a man. I'm a bisexual cis-female irl but in my dreams I'm male sometimes. IDK why, I don't really stress my gender identity or sexuality much. Maybe I’m wrong about my labels but its w.e.. I dont try to change those things in my dreams. Sometimes I’m a woman, sometimes a man. Whats important is that usually in my dreams I’m fixing something. My waking life is always fixing something and it bleeds into the dreamscape. I realize that this is so unlike my usual dreams. There is no anxiety. No task. I’m just looking around this nice space and I’m at peace.

So I’m male this time and invisible. And I’m not the only one here. I realize there a man in the kitchen. I know him and I’m so happy to see him. I start watching my "boyfriend." But I don't have a boyfriend IRL. When I wake up later I will realize he looks like Kieran Culkin from Scott Pilgrim. I’ll find it strange bc I’ve never had a crush on him. Barely ever seen him. The last time I saw Scott Pilgrim, I was crashing at my sisters house. Nursing a New Year Hangover. We had drank wine and I hadnt had to fix a thing. Rare peace. When I’m awake I will think maybe that peaceful hungover feeling had something to do with it. That space of clinging onto a night of tingling skin and loose limbs and quietly watching a movie is why I’ve used this man’s face. 

So anyway, I’m invisi-stalking my boyfriend. Lets call him Not-Kieran. He's looking hella stressed. He knows I want to come over later to see him. Hes frantically cleaning. But in a way I’m comfortable with bc I come from a "We cant let anybody know we SIT" family yet we NEVER invite ppl over. Anyway, I’m watching him clean and I’m just so happy just looking at him. I’m amused at first that he thinks i deserve all the trouble of cleaning but then i start getting concerned for him. 

He's mumbling to himself. Smacking his palms against his head every so often. Apparently his coworkers and family are stressing him. Not-Kieran is not Out to them. This comes as a shock to me. It feels wrong hearing his secrets. But i stay invisible. i don’t choose this. i don’t have control over it. He wants our relationship to be more serious but cant tell anyone about me. he seems so upset and i want to comfort him. i don’t want to be invisible anymore but i cant become a character. Something is stopping me. Something does not want me to interfere. I can feel it in my chest. Something bad is going to happen. i stroke his face and tell him its ok. i love him and i don't need him to change things for me. i don’t want him to feel pressured. i want to tell him, that i just want him to be happy. but I’m nothing but a ghost to him.

Then Not-Kieran starts talking to someone at the door. I cant see them. But I know they are aggressive. I’m nervous and upset as they start to yell at Not-Kieran. From what i can make out they are saying he's becoming agoraphobic. How didn’t I realize this. Everything seems fine when we are together. But I have trouble remembering what together is really like. I just know for some reason this feels wrong. This feels surprising. The Man at the door knows something is wrong with my boyfriend. They know something before I do. How does he know when I dont. They know something is wrong with my boyfriend. But they don’t know what. They are tired of waiting to find out. 

They come inside and I still cant see their face. No. They dont have a face. Just a space where a face should be. A place I instinctively know I should not look at. They come inside and they are still yelling. Still aggressing by boyfriend. He’s accusing him of being sick. Or is my Boyfriend admitting he’s sick. I cant make sense of the argument. I get the impression that something is changing about Not-Kieran. He’s not physically different just something is dark in his eyes. Something is tilted in the way he holds himself. Something is sharp in the way he gestures with his hands. He’s not the gentle often worried person I know him to be. 

Then shit gets real.

Not-Kieran picks up a knife and stabs the Man Without a Face. He keeps going. There is blood everywhere. But there was blood there before. Why didnt I notice there was blood everywhere before. He wont stop stabbing him...then he stops using the knife....He starts using his hands....his teeth. There’s blood everywhere. My boyfriend is covered in this man’s blood and organs. He’s ripping into this man who knew something was wrong before I did. Then he stops. He stops and says “Oh not again” 

He pulls up the sunny yellow kitchen table cloth and theirs a body underneath. Warm. No. Not a body...body parts. He removes the cushions on the sofa and reveals more body parts. He doesnt open the chests. The freezer against the far wall. I know. I know whats in them. 

What happened to my boyfriend. I’m not repulsed by him. I’m not disgusted. There is blood everywhere but I keep trying to look in his eyes as he flutters around the room. Hands smack against the sides of his head. “Oh, not again...oh not again.” such a soft sweet voice. And why does it still feel like something bad is going to happen. That feeling in my chest. It wont go away. How could anything be worse then this? My boyfriend is a murderer. No, no. Something is wrong with him. Something changed him. I dont want to believe he could do this but his hands are covered in blood. I cant rub away the splatter across his cheek. The darkness has left his eyes but I know it could return. 

How can this be a surprise when somehow I know these old bones. Like flashes. Little movie clips, Sepia toned reels of eat part in the pile. Each person they once were. I know what he’s done. Know he’s been doing this for a long time. Somehow I know he eats them. Days after the kill, like a feral animal in the woods finding a carcass. Know the things he denies. He likes holding a piece thats cold against his tongue. He likes putting the pieces, the parts that used to be a person, into neat little piles and licking at warm blood. 

Until he remembers he’s a man. Until he remembers that something has happened to him. That he is diseased and he cant go out. Can’t go out and shouldnt invite anyone in. Ever. Until he remembers and he cries. The kind of cries that wrack his body. He pulls at his hair. Smears more blood across his cheek and he cries. Cries like a child. Wet and weak. Like his body is hollow and he cant stop. He cant stop crying he cant stop smearing blood. The blood is everywhere and it always has been.

His hair has grown out. It’s suddenly days later. I’ve never been invisible this long. Never been a ghost this long. Never had to witness someone else’s sins this long. Never been powerless to stop his hand from shaking. He’s sitting in a pile of body parts. Trembling, he chews on them. And lays them out into piles. Then changes the order of the pile again and again. Chewing, arranging, crying. I still want to tell him...It’s ok, I just want you to be happy. Maybe my body feels the horror, feels repulsed by him. Maybe my body is sick but I’m a ghost and I still love him.

He beings to speak again. Just the same small and sweet tone he uses with me. But he cant see me. Can’t feel me touch his face. He’s talking to someone else here. I turn and sitting on a chair is a corpse. Its dry and burnt black. Skin like a dehydrated mushroom. Yet wet in places like something pulled from a swamp. It’s hair is twisted and matted hanging limply around a shriveled face. Nude and yet it’s body is so barely recognizable. Was it a woman. A man. Maybe I’m not supposed to know. It has no hands or feet. Just gestures with its stumps as it answers him. It speaks to him so lovingly. I know this man...this creature...though I’ve never seen them before. They werent in the perverse reel of carnage and cannibalism. I know him anyway and I know they love him. Do they love him just as much as I do?

 They’ve been here the whole time. Saw him with the Man With No Face. Saw him with countless others. He’s been here the whole time. But I didnt see him. I didnt see the blood. I didnt see this man that loves my lover. But I get the impression that he’s seen me. That he sees me still. His eyes have no pupil no color. Just a midnight dark orb in a shrunken skull. But those eyes turn in my direction as he speaks to Not-Kieran. Speaks in a soft lovely voice. Soothes him til he stops crying and beings to clean up the piles that were ppl. Speaks calmly and warm as my boyfriend rubs blood off his cheek.

The Shriveled man in the chair knows I still love him. He knows I know his secrets now. Knows I will be by this afternoon just for the chance to touch his face.

[harkasun]

Okayy so I recently ruined my life by watching like 14 years of a tv show in less than a month. So now, yes, I sold my soul to the one and only supernatural fandom (courtesy of @downworlderss)

I just got a couple of remarks for this show and none of it had any structure or order so here we go.

*MASSIVE SPOILER WARNING IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN ALL THE SEASONS*

This show fucking ruined me, binge-watched seasons 1-12 in about 4 weeks, my pinterest board had over 700 pins in like a week afterwards

It started off genuinely creepy and then kinda digressed and idk if I just got desensitised or what

John Winchester is a terrible father

Bobby Singer is an amazing father

I was really confused when season 5 ended because I still had 6 more dvds (and season 12 on amazon prime cause I couldn’t get the freaking dvd because being British sucks sometimes) and I thought it was ending at season 5 because DEAN WAS FINALLY HAPPY DAMNIT

It was about season 7 when I got a new pair of glasses ‘cause my eyesight got worse and made the realisation that JENSEN ACKLES HAS FRECKLES WHAT

Called it that Chuck was God from the moment I saw him- he literally fucking told them he was a god come onnn

Dean’s contact name for Castiel in season 11 or 12 or whatever better be a fucking joke because it’s Cas not Cass

I thought I couldn’t hate Metatron more and then he goes and spells his name with a double S and I decided he needed to die

The subtitles also say Cass (on amazon anyway) and.. just no, okay? It’s CAS

Cried when Cas killed Balthazar

Kevin’s life went to absolute shit and idk if it was terrifying or hilarious

THE FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN J2 AND MISH IRL YES

Naomi is actually the worst, why do more people not hate on her? She tortured Cas and I am not okay with that I was happier when she died than when Metatron did I’m not joking

Sam kinda breaks my heart

THE WINCHESTER RELATIONSHIP SAM AND DEAN HAVE SUCH BROTHERLY COMPASSION DIE FOR EACH OTHER ALWAYS

Gadreel was decent, okay? I think I genuinely liked him and I don’t care.

I mean I know he killed Kevin but still

CROWLEY OWNS THE FREAKING MOON

Cas, honey, you’re a wonderful person/angel but mannn do you fuck up sometimes, I mean seriously

Misha Collins is a fucking incredible human being and his acting skills give me goosebumps I’m deadly serious. What with Cas and Crazy!Cas and Castifer and Godstiel and Levi!Cas and MetaMisha I have so much respect for this man and he is a national treasure.. of America.. damnit

I threw something when Charlie died

Lucifer is actually really cute (mainly just when he’s in Sam’s head though) but yeah, I think I love satan is this an issue

Okay but sometimes it hits me that Jared and Jensen and Misha are just three middle-aged dads running around pretending to stab things and smite demons I think that’s beautiful

I think I cried when the angels fell I can’t remember

Fuck Adam, I don’t care about him honestly- if he comes back he’s gonna be a crazy bitch- we should all just forget about him like the boys did

I’m pretty sure Mary Winchester is actually a terrible mother

Jody Mills is a fucking incredible mother, she’s like mum bobby

Season 12 made me hate my own nationality because THE BRITISH MEN OF LETTERS CAN GO FUCK THEMSELVES OKAY I was so happy when the freedomsquad rolled in with their whiskey and flannel and UGHH it was so good to see Britain fall, okay?

Apart from Mick, he was okay… before he died

Okay, but the season 12 finale

I WAS SOBBING FOR A SOLID 14 MINTUES

I HAD TO LEAVE MY HOUSE I WALKED UNTIL I DIDN’T KNOW WHERE I WAS

TURNED OUT I WALKED 6 MILES FROM MY HOUSE SO I HAD TO WALK 6 MILES BACK

12 MILES BECAUSE OF CAST-FUCKING-IEL

Dean’s reaction made me wanna throw myself off a bridge

I didn’t even care about the Nephilim by that point

Just Cas’s relationship w/ Dean (I am neutral ground between platonic and destiel atm) but whatever you think you cannot deny that these two fucking love each other and it’s just so damn beautiful

JIMMY NOVAK IS THE BEST FATHER IN THIS THING

The Novak storyline just makes me cry

Lucifer Cas was genuinely disturbing at times but this fucking line is now my life

Actually so many things Castifer says and just the way Misha portrays all of the alter egos. It’s just amazing.

When we’re introduced to Levi!Cas Misha freaking Collins wtf how do you do that crazy thing with your eyes that makes you look like a completely different person

When Dean calls Cas his brother and says ‘i want you to know that’ is so fucking important to me because this wonderful being has been hunted by his angel brothers and sisters and Dean Winchester does not idly throw around a word like brother this scene was so special

Assbutt

Castiel’s wings scorched onto the ground just hit me so fucking hard and goddamnit it I can’t deal with that because he’s actually dead

Just… Castiel

-I’ll probably think of a load more this show man…

UPDATE:

HOW THE FRICKATY FRACK DID I FORGET GABRIEL

The car scene with Gabe and Cas and the parallels between them and the Winchester boys

BITCH PLEASE YOU’VE BEEN GOD MORE OFTEN THAN DAD HAS

I don’t think I stressed Balthazar enough because his death and the fact that Cas did it killed me.. and him

Crowley crowley crowley crowley

These boys are frustrating as fuck sometimes get your damn feelings sorted out you are brothers for fucks sake love each other always

It’s just when they’re like ‘oh we can’t be brothers anymore how could you do that to me’ and I’m sat there thinking ‘YOU LITERALLY DID THE SAME EXACT THING TO HIM LAST FUCKING SEASON COME ON’

Alsooo when Cas is Castifer everyone just seems to forget that, hello, CAS IS BEING POSSESSED BY LUCFIER DO YOU WANNA KEEP HIM SAFE IS HE YOUR FRIEND OR WHAT. And then Dean goes ‘what about Cas’ and I’m marginally satisfied

This scene

LOVED THIS SCENE

I always love Lucifer until he goes after Cas and then I hate Lucifer and when he’s doing something else I love him again

This is not devil worship

Sam’s exasperation and the bitch face is honestly so funny to me I have no idea

SASSTIEL

The fact that Cas thinks so little of himself that the only way he believes he can be ‘of use’ to the boys is BY ENDLESSLY SACRIFICING HIMSELF

STOP CAS

YOU’RE FUCKING LOVED

Also the way Dean screams Cas’s name and how Sam has to drag him back through the portal to their side in the season 12 finale PFFFH don’t even get me started

So is Gabe alive or what?

So is Cas alive or what?

SO AM I ALIVE OR WHAT

UPDATEUPDATE

The storyline with Hannah and Cas was SO uncomfortable

Like, they’re literally siblings and the whole weird half-romantic subplot was just... ergh

I’m so fucking hyped for season 13, give me scooby-doo spn and I sure hope it’s Gabriel because, honestly, who else would put them in scooby-doo, pleaseeee give me richard speight jr

I’ve been reading a ton of fanfic, this has ruined me. There’s this wonderful author on fanfic.net called 29pieces who does amazing fics and they’re my life now

Cas’s eyes yes please give me the sky

Spn is creepy ass monsters and traumatizing characters and heartbreaking scenes

But sometimes they just throw in a crack episode and they keep me sane, honestly. I would be in a limitless pool of tears if not for the crack eps and the gag reels

THE GAG REELS

THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVOURITES HE GOES FROM CAS TO MISHA IN LIKE A SINGLE SECOND

Back to sadness

CAS’S FACE AFTER METATRON SAYS ‘he’s dead too’

And he sees dean’s blood on the angel blade

HEARTBREAKING NO THANK YOU

SEASON 9. MAKES. ME. SO ANGRY. HOW DARE SAM AND DEAN HUNT WHILE CAS IS HOMELESS AND COLD AND A L O N E

I’m so sad about Cas being homeless because Misha and oh my god

Future!Cas also makes me sad because I know it’s funny and all to see Cas high but thinking about the road that led him there is not

Thinking about Cas’s depression that led him to drug abuse keeps me up at night

I NEED CHUCK TO TELL CAS HE’S HIS FAVOURITE BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY PLEASE

My angel feels inadequate and I cannot handle that today 

Everything about Cas just makes me sad

[aoi-midori]

Lucid Storm Chapter 2

yo! i meant to post this one a while ago, but i got sidetracked by a lot of stuff, so i wasn’t on tumblr too much. so i’m doing it now. also, note how I HAVE A NEW TITLE FOR MY STORY. ‘lucid storm’ is now the official title! woo! anyway, i’ll post the links to the previous chapters before the ‘read more’!

Chapter 0: ETMA (Prologue) | Chapter 1: First Mission

Chapter 2: The Element Spheres [Emma Parker]

“Whoa. Geez Al, calm down! You’re hitting too hard!”

“Oh, I am? Sorry, my bad.” Al relaxed himself more and continued punching away, this time a bit more gently, at the blocking cushion I was holding up for him.

“Got something on your mind?”

“Nah, not really. I read the new chapter though.”

“Yeah?” The chapter in question was from a long-running manga series Al had been reading for years. I didn’t read this one in particular, but I knew a lot about it thanks to him. “And?”

Al shrugged. “It was okay, I guess.”

“Really? Just okay?”

“Yeah, well I feel like this arc in general has just been dragging for a while now. Some aspects are pretty interesting, but there was mostly just exposition stuff this chapter. And not too much has been going on just yet.”

He started punching harder again, but I was ready for it this time. “Still, at least the fave was able to kick some ass this time around. It’s pretty cool to see him in action since all the focus has been off of him for 3 irl years.”

Al stopped and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his arm. “Alright Em, you’re up.”

“Thanks!” I handed him the cushion and braced myself before I gave it the first blow. Upon first contact, I could feel the warmth from Al’s punches. It was… very comforting, and it put me at ease.

“So, the arc is definitely almost over, right? I mean, that’s what it sounds like to me.”

“I have no idea to be honest. You can’t really predict anything with Oda involved.”

He sighed. “But nevermind that. Is there anything new with you?”

“What? We just saw each other last night Al!”

“Yeah, well something could have happened since then! You never know, right? So?”

“Mmm, I don’t think so. After you left last night, I just went to bed. But…” I paused  for a second as I slowly started to remember. “But I did have that dream again though.”

“Which one?”

“You know, that one recurring dream with the girl in it?”

“Oh shit, that one? Again?”

“Yep.”

Ever since I was seven years old, I had had this one dream every now and then. Coincidentally enough, that was also around the same time when my powers first started acting up. A few things would change each time, but the main aspect that always stayed the same was the black-haired girl who showed up in them. She never spoke, and her eyes had always been closed shut, so it was like she was never awake when I had them. I had no idea who this girl was, and why it was her in particular who showed up. I had first originally thought that she was just some random person I’d passed in the street somewhere who my subconscious just conjured up for some reason. But then she became a recurring character in the dreams, and that basically threw my theory right out the window.

My punching became faster and harder. “It’s weird. Over the past several years, I’ve had it on and off. But now…. I don’t know, since last week I’ve been seeing her a lot more often. Like… every few days or so. Is that even normal?”

“Beats me. But you know, I wouldn’t put it past me to believe that it’s somehow magi-related. We did have our first mission last week after all. Maybe that had something to do with it?”

“I have no idea! But just for once, I want to know who that girl even is! I mean she keeps showing up, so she’s got to be important somehow, right? I just need answers already!”

“Yow!” Al dropped the now-burning blocking cushion and reeled back as he clutched his hand. “Jesus Em, watch what you’re doing dammit!”

“Shit!” As soon as I realized what had happened, I dropped to the floor and tried to put the flames out before the fire alarm could go off. “Sorry Al!”

He sighed as he pulled the water out of one of the water bottles sitting on the floor nearby and spread it over the cushion. The flames went out instantly. “It’s fine. Just try to keep your cool though, alright? I know you’re a Tecmentic and all, but come on! That shit’s dangerous!”

“Yeah I know, I’m working on it!” I leaned back and sat down on the gym floor. “But I still don’t even know what it all means. I know Sammie explained it and everything, but I feel like I’m even more confused about it now.”

“Is it the ‘having two aura sources’ thing? Or having Tectonic abilities on top of the Elemental stuff?”

“All of it! Like, how did they even figure out that I was a Tecmentic anyway? What I can do right now isn’t anything different from what other fire users can do, right?”

“Sure, but you can generate your own fire, whereas people like Lex can’t and have to use other means to do so.”

“So is that all there is to it then? I can just automatically make fire by myself? Everyone makes it seem like being a Tecmentic is such a huge deal, but I just don’t see it. What’s so special about being able to make your own fire?”

Al looked deep in thought. Eventually, he shared his thoughts with me. “Maybe it’s something that you have to ease into. Like… as you start to learn more about yourself and the limits of your powers, you’ll find that you’ll be able to do more stuff with it. Things like this always take some time getting used to anyway.”

I groaned, leaning forward so that my elbows were propped up against my knees. “That sounds like a lot of unnecessary work if you ask me.”

“Well no one did say it was going to be easy.” Al sat down opposite me; we were so close, our knees were touching. “But if anyone can get a handle on this, it’s you. So don’t sweat it! And as always,” he slid his hands under mine, “I’ll be right here with you every step of the way. That’s what best friends are for, right?”

No matter what, Al always had me smiling. It was like he did it on pure instinct. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His hands were cool to the touch. They felt really, really nice, especially since mine were always very warm. In fact, my entire body was like that, always had been. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had ever felt legitimately cold. I guessed it just came with the package of being a Tecmentic fire user.

I flipped my hands over so that my palms were touching his, and my fingers closed in around them. “It’s nice that you’ve got so much faith in me! I hope you’re not jealous.”

“Jealous? Jealous of what?”

“It’s like Sammie said! Tecmentics are pretty rare, you know.” My grip on his hands tightened as I pulled him in closer, our noses just barely apart. “And I know you always get excited when I use my powers. Don’t deny it.”

“Sh-shut up!” Al blushed as he averted his eyes from mine. He pulled himself back a bit, putting a slight distance between us. “I will admit, you’ve got a point there. Who wouldn’t be excited about that stuff anyway? But I don’t envy you for having them over me. I’m perfectly okay with what I’ve got now, thank you very much.”

“Really, you’re sure you wouldn’t want them? It could be fun!”

“Mmm I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to it, but… I think I’ll pass. I don’t think fire suits me anyway.”

“Okay then,” I scooted myself closer so that my knees were on top of his. “Here’s a question for you. If you could trade powers with anyone here, who would it be and why?”

“Ohhhhh now there’s a tricky one. There are a lot of pretty cool ones… No wait, what am I even saying? This should be a no-brainer. Will’s, hands down.”

“What? Really?”

“Hell yes. Will’s super endurance is the only one that’s actually practical if you ask me. You don’t even have to do anything really to use it; it’s always activated. And besides, having high endurance would be extremely useful in a fight!”

“Well I guess that’s true.” I tilted my head to the side as I eyed the blocking cushion next to us. “Anyway, wanna train some more now?”

Al looked down at it too and sighed. “Yeah, alright.” We both stood up in-sync. “Just don’t flare up on me again, okay?”

“Sure, sure. I’ll do my best.” I tucked a strand of blue hair back behind my ear as Al picked up the cushion. I readied myself once again, but before I could even punch the thing, I could hear the chorus of “Sugar, We’re Goin Down” coming from my pocket. “Huh? Someone’s calling me?”

I pulled my phone out to see that it was a text, and then almost immediately, Al’s started going off too. I could easily tell thanks to the several loud rounds of “ROW ROW, FIGHT THE POWA” that were very recognizable.

<From: Bro - Get Al & come to Briefing Room 1 ASAP, & be ready to go on a mission. It’s an emergency!>

“Yeah, I’m with her right now. Whoa, just calm the fuck down already! What happened? Yeah yeah alright, we’re on our way. Bye.”

I heard Al put his phone away as I texted Bro back. “That was Cho, said we need to head for the main building right away.”

“Yeah, Bro just texted me about that too.”

“Right. Guess we’d better get going then, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I grabbed the single remaining water bottle off the floor and downed it in one gulp. “It’s sad we didn’t get to train anymore. But if it’s a mission, then it can’t be helped.”

“I’m just wondering what the hell’s going on. Cho was pissed when she called. The last time I heard her that angry was during last week’s mission, and if she’s like that now… This mission must be really important.”

“Well whatever the case, things’ll work out in the end! I’m sure it will.” But even I was curious about it all. Bro had said that it was an emergency. So whatever this mission was, something bad had to have happened.

The two of us left the gym and immediately headed for the main building on base. Luckily enough, the two buildings were only five minutes apart from each other, so it didn’t take long for us to get there. And when we did finally reach the room in question, we found three people in there waiting for us.

“Oh good, you’re here!” Bro sounded relieved at the sight of us, but that didn’t change the fact that he looked very uneasy. The way he was sitting along with the fast drumming of his fingers on his leg implied as much.

“You okay there Bro?”

“I’ll be fine!” He nodded and said all of that a bit too quickly to convince me.

Al meanwhile grabbed his arms and rubbed his hands furiously against them. “Jesus fucking christ it’s cold in here, what the hell?”

“Are you sure? I don’t feel anything.”

“Are you kidding me? It feels like it’s 30 degrees in here!”

“Cho. Calm down. You’ll freeze everyone if you keep this up.”

It was only when Shuuhei spoke that I finally noticed what Bro was so anxious about. Sitting in the corner by the door was Cho, and she looked livid. She sat indian-style on the floor, and her arms were folded so tightly across her chest, it looked as if she might actually tear them off. But it was the look on her face that really startled me. Pursed lips, a permanent frown, and those stormy green eyes; it definitely put me on edge.

She didn’t respond to Shuuhei at all. She just sat there, staring at the opposite wall with a death glare powerful enough to scare anyone. And apparently it was so cold in there that even Bro and Shuuhei were now starting to shiver.

As we moved farther into the room, Al went for Shuuhei and muttered into his ear. “What’s her problem?”

Shuuhei sighed. “It’s complicated. There are a lot of things factoring into it.”

“Like what? The mission?”

Shuuhei hesitated before slowly nodding his head. “That, along with other things that are involved.”

Right on cue, a small gust of wind passed through our group of three. Shortly after that, both Al and Shuuhei huddled in for warmth. I assumed that the room had just gotten even colder, and it was then that I noticed my breath hanging in the air. I moved in closer too and put my arms around the two of them to help try and warm them up.

Bro stayed where he was, but he did eventually stand up and took a step towards Cho. “Come on Cho, please calm down! Everything in the room will start freezing over soon if you don’t stop this!”

He didn’t get an answer, but there was another short wind gust though. And that seemed to make things even colder since Bro now came over to join our group.

Al leaned in even closer so that his head rested against my chest. “Goddamn,” he muttered as his teeth chattered simultaneously. “Shuuhei, do something!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He left for the other side of the room and knelt down on the floor beside Cho. He gently put a hand onto her shoulder. “Cho. Cho! Listen to me!” He shook her shoulder a bit to try to get her attention. “You need to stop this! If you keep this up, you’ll only end up hurting yourself!”

Nothing happened. Her eyes remained staring at the other wall, unfocused. Shuuhei then moved so that both hands were grasping her shoulders and shook her even more. “Come on Cho, snap out of it!”

“Wha?!” Cho finally snapped back to reality with that one. She looked over at the rest of us before turning back to Shuuhei. “What happened? Did something- oh hell, it’s cold in here!”

“Yeah, no kidding!” Al hissed, his body still leaning against mine. “This was your doing, so fix it already for god’s sake!”

“Oh shit, really?” Almost immediately, the atmosphere within the room lightened considerably, and I assumed the temperature went back up. “Sorry! I zoned out for a while…”

“Augh thank god,” Al sighed with relief as he let go of me. Even Bro looked a lot more relaxed.

Shuuhei took Cho’s hands and helped her up to her feet. “Are you alright?”

Cho’s frown returned, but she looked a lot more calm this time. She folded her arms again as she leaned back against the wall. “I’ll be fine.”

From the way her tone sounded, she sure didn’t seem fine to me. She was anything but fine, but at least she wasn’t freezing up the room again.

“So… is everyone here now?” Bro asked the room. “Al, Sis and I are the only ones you needed to see, right?”

“Yes.” When I got a closer look, Shuuhei didn’t look very happy either.

“So what happened exactly?” I looked between him and Cho before continuing. “Is it that serious?”

The look on Shuuhei’s face was a grim one. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I’ll just cut to the chase this time since we only have a limited amount of time to act here.”

There were plenty of chairs in the room to sit down in, but Bro, Al and I remained standing, which ended up being a good thing in the long run since Shuuhei beckoned us over to him soon enough. “About an hour ago, we received some intel that the Chang-Los are planning to go after the Element Spheres.”

A wave of silence passed between us. I didn’t think any of us were expecting to hear that. Then Bro was the first to speak up. “What are they trying to do? Do they plan to destroy the spheres?”

“Not exactly.” Shuuhei looked between the three of us. “Have any of you heard the myth surrounding the Element Spheres?”

We all shook our heads. “I didn’t think so. Alright then, I’ll make this brief. Legend says that when all five spheres are brought together, they have the power to combine and create a single, more powerful sphere. It goes by the name of the Quintessimal Sphere, and it has the power to control all five elements alone. That is what the Chang-Los are after. Or more specifically, that’s what Heng is after. What he really wants is to create the Quintessimal Sphere.”

Al shifted his footing beside me. “Wait wait, hang on a second. Who the hell is Heng?”

“Heng Chang-Lo,” Cho piped in from her corner. “He’s the leader.”

“Oh. Okay then, never mind.”

“Wait,” I put my hand up slightly. “You said it forms by combining all five spheres. Since the spheres are a magi power source, wouldn’t that have an effect on any Elemental mages?”

“You’d think that, but no. According to our intel, Heng thinks he’ll be able to wipe out all Elementals if he creates and uses the combined sphere, but that won’t be the case. The Element Spheres will only have been combined, not destroyed, so it shouldn’t have any negative effects on Elemental mages whatsoever.”

“Oh, well that’s good!”

“However, we’ll have a different problem on our hands. The Quintessimal Sphere’s power is so great, it’s near impossible to control it. And as such, it will most definitely cause a chain reaction and destroy everything in a very wide radius. If Heng does succeed in creating it, a lot of people are going to die.”

Al’s face went dark. “... This has happened before, hasn’t it?”

The look on Shuuhei’s face said it all, despite the blindfold. “Unfortunately, yes. The last successful attempt occurred several centuries ago. There aren’t many known details about it, but it’s been stated that the damage caused by the Quintessimal Sphere was massive enough to wipe out entire civilizations.”

“Successful attempt? You say that as if there’ve been multiple attempts since then.”

“That’s because there have been.” Shuuhei glanced over at Cho before continuing. “The last attempt happened back in 2005 in Japan, and ETMA was one of the groups in charge of handling the situation.”

“Oh that’s right,” Bro mused. “I always keep forgetting that there are other mage organizations besides ETMA.”

“Right, well ETMA is certainly by far one of the largest, so it can be easy to overlook. Anyway, though we were able to stop the last attempt from succeeding, we can’t afford to rest easy. We’ll have to act fast if we’re to put an end to Heng’s plans.”

“So what are we going to do then?” I asked as I folded my arms. “If he’s going after the spheres, we’ll have to beat him to it, right?”

“Yes, retrieving the Element Spheres will be one of our top priorities, that’s for sure. But the spheres themselves aren’t the main concern.”

“How so?” Al narrowed his eyes at Shuuhei. “I mean, if the Quintessti- no… the Quinessi- ah fuck. You know, the thing- gets formed by all five spheres combined, then…”

“Well, no matter what Heng does, it won’t be that easy. First of all, the specific locations of each sphere are all heavily guarded and can only be accessed by a mage. And even if Melisma can help him with that, there won’t really be that much danger by bringing all five of them together.”

“Okay, now I’m even more confused.”

“What I’m saying is that just bringing all five Element Spheres together in the same vicinity won’t cause the Quintessimal Sphere to form. By themselves, they won’t do a thing at all. In order for the spheres to combine into the Quintessimal Sphere, another key element has to come into play first.”

“And what’s that?”

Shuuhei digged through one of the file folders on the table in front of us and pulled out a single sheet of paper, handing it to me for us to look at. “This right here.”

It was a picture of a… well, a rock basically. From the looks of it, it was very small, and it was colored black and white, like the colors were split straight down the middle to look like one half was black, the other white. Judging by the picture itself, it didn’t look so harmless to me.

I skeptically looked up at Shuuhei. “This is the picture you wanted to show us, right?”

“Yep,” he nodded.

“It’s a marble.”

“Yeah, I know, but don’t underestimate its appearance. This thing is deadly.”

“Okay, no, I’m with Em on this one,” Al placed his hand on my shoulder. “How is a freaking marble deadly to us?”

“Alright, let me explain. Looks can be deceiving. That right there is essentially the core of the Quintessimal Sphere.”

Bro gulped. “Th-the core?”

“Uh huh, right. As I said earlier, the spheres by themselves won’t combine. If they’re just left alone, then nothing will happen. However, if this ‘marble’, as you guys call it, comes into the picture and makes contact, the spheres will supposedly get drawn to it like a magnet. And then… Well, you all know what will happen next.”

I set the picture down onto the table. “Okay! So the bottom line is that the marble is 500 miles of bad road. What’s our plan then? I’m assuming we’re going to have to go and find that too?”

“Exactly. While the other teams are going to be sent to each sphere location to retrieve the Element Spheres, I’ll want you guys to go after the marble. With me so far?”

We all nodded, though I was still curious about one thing. “But why us in particular?”

“Because I’ve worked with ya before, and we work well together.” It was Cho who answered us. She straightened up and finally left her corner to join us around the table. “Also, Will’s super endurance’ll be pretty damn useful for this mission, so there’s that.”

“Cho is going to be leading the mission, in case you were wondering.”

“Ah, okay then. Gotcha. So do we know where to find the thing anyway?”

“That we do.” Shuuhei brought out another file folder and pulled out two printouts. “Going back to our intel. Each source has a different story to tell, but the fact remains that Melisma is most definitely involved with this one. One source says that Melisma is in charge of locating the marble and that they’ve pinpointed the location to Greece. The second source goes further to say that they actually found it.”

Al placed his palm onto the table. “So what you’re saying is that we’re basically going to be raiding a Melisma base then? All to find the yin-yang marble?”

“You got it.” Cho replied with a quick nod. “We go in, find the damn thing, and come back here with it. And of course, we’ll have to be on the lookout for Melisma agents at every nook and cranny, but no pressure! We’ve got this in the bag!”

Even though she did sound optimistic enough about it, Cho still seemed pretty distant. She looked a lot more calm than when Al and I first got there, but I knew those pent-up feelings were definitely not gone yet. She was keeping something bottled up, but I couldn’t question that at the time. We had a mission to complete after all, and I’d have to put that as my top priority for the time being.

“Well, if there aren’t any more questions, then I’ll go ahead and send you on your way,” Shuuhei said with a smile. “Does anyone feel the need for a rousing motivational speech right now?”

“No no, we’re all good. Save it for later dude.” Cho side-waved him as she lead the way out the door. “We’ll be back later!”

“Alright then, good luck!”

I was the last one out. As soon as I took one step out of the room, a wave of heavy pressure jabbed at my backside. It was startling, but also felt kind of familiar, and I came to the conclusion that it was, without a doubt, someone’s aura. And not just anyone’s aura.

He may have kept his emotions at bay during the briefing, but one thing was for sure: his aura felt at least ten times stronger, and much more threatening, than Cho’s ever did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

alright guys, PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK! I’M BEGGING YOUUUUU!!!

[shirlleycoyle]

The Training Commission

After the end of a second ultraviolent American civil war, after we’ve placed the state under the guidance of automated systems—well, there’s inevitably going to be a Smithsonian exhibit. Ingrid Burrington and Brendan Byrne’s brilliant new speculative fiction newsletter—which received support from the Mozilla Foundation, and which we’re thrilled to share the first installment here today—collects the dispatches of an architecture critic with personal ties to the bloody conflict who is assigned to review the museum’s new Reconciliation Wing.

The authors explain: “The Training Commission is a speculative fiction newsletter about the compromises and consequences of applying technological solutionism to collective trauma. The USA, still reeling from a civil war colloquially referred to as the Shitstorm, has adopted an algorithmic society to free the nation from the pain of governing itself.” It’s also a hell of a story. There will be six installments in all, arriving weekly—subscribe here to receive the next five direct, as they say, to your inbox. Enjoy. -the ed

From: Aoife T <aoife@stringr.io> Subject: re: This is a bad idea Date: May 11, 2038 3:49 PM EDT To: Ellen Leavitt <leavitt@midatlantic.com>

I understand why you think that would work, Ellen, but aside from generally having no interest in putting my personal life on display like that, I really don’t think me writing a tearjerker op-ed about a traumatizing exhibition display is going to get the Smithsonian to change their minds so much as convince them that the controversy will draw crowds. I’d rather deal with them through backchannels with my mom and sister on board, try to make this all go away quietly before the museum opens.

Thanks for the Kilfe token, I just saw it come through on the ledger. I’ll be running the runnable parts of the draft in my newsletter, I guess. Sorry again to let you down on this. I might have a beat on something interesting soon–too early to say but it means I think I’ll be down in DC for at least another week.

From: Aoife T <aoife@stringr.io> Subject: Some Things Don’t Belong In A Museum Date: May 12, 2038 4:30:58 PM EDT To: subscribers@stringr.io

Apologies that it’s been a while since the last one of these. I’ve been busy, not successful busy, mostly pitching pieces in my new/old specialty. You’d think a contemporary moment so focused on rebuilding America would give some kind of shit about architecture, but uhm, nope.

What follows began as a review of the new Reconciliation Wing of the Smithsonian which a Very Kind Editor cherry-picked me for. It’s good to get paid to visit my hometown because, as my regular readers know, I will otherwise avoid the District like the sweaty American bog it is. I was apparently desperate enough for work to imagine the Reconciliation Wing might not feature an intersection with my own personal history, which, of course, was deeply delusional, and I took myself out of the game in a semi-dramatic fashion. Suffice to say, currently I’m fine but couldn’t really file something this incomplete so I’m sharing what parts of it could be salvaged here.

As seen from the National Mall ferry, the finally-completed Reconciliation Wing of the Smithsonian American History Museum is a major architectural interruption in the capitol’s low-lying landscape of retrofitted and elevated 20th-century buildings–which is ironic, considering how much attention went to making it seamlessly connect to the natural systems of the Anacostia canals. The first new construction project on the Mall since the creation of the DC canal system, the Reconciliation Wing has been subject of curiosity not only as an opening move in historicizing the National Shitstorm (ahem, The Interstate Conflict) but also as a formal progression in post-Capitol architecture. (Unless, of course, you believe that the bare-chested, perpetually shouting hologram of Alex Jones in the rear sculpture garden of the Newseum cannot be topped.)

The wing’s designer, Kay Mangakāhia, was a controversial selection from the Smithsonian and Ashburn Institute’s open call for submissions. An intern at Bjarke Ingels Group at the time, Mangakāhia was notable not only for her age (at twenty-two, she was barely ten at the time the Ashburn Accords were even signed) but her permaculture-infused proposal. The mycelium buttresses and living fungal structures of the Reconciliation Wing are now in high demand, but it took Mangakāhia’s persistence and the algorithm’s faith in her design to reach this plateau. The thriving structure’s delicate complexity and environmental pragmatism reflect the oft-quoted line from Mangakāhia’s original proposal: “survival without poetics is a carceral existence.”

One can’t say such an attitude pervades the exhibits in the Reconciliation Wing. Upon entry, a flickering series of Extremely Relatable Human Faces projected on black plinths greet visitors. The visages display a fairly narrow scale of emotions between Makes You Think and Slight but Telling Emotional Pain but somehow they manage to be all very specific. No context is provided. Given the purpose of the wing, one might suspect that these are some of the IRL victims of what the museum seems to have decided we’re calling “The First Algorithmic Society.”

Only upon arriving at a small, dim aperture is context provided: the portraits are all visuals generated by AIs developed pre-Shitstorm, let loose to slither upstream into visitors’ phones. They cull contact info, pictures, bank account etc. and put together a monstermash of the type of person you’re most likely to have an empathetic reaction to, then plugged said persona into the the loop, along with the last fifty or so visitors’.

This led to the other journalists in attendance performing variations on the exhausted sigh, since recent years have seen around half a dozen gallery shows in NYC using some version of this shock tactic (though, to be fair, rarely with the technical success of the Reconciliation Wing). While this installation is no doubt supposed to primarily remind visitors of the prevailing ease with which corporations accessed our pocket technological unconsciousnesses pre-Ashburn, it also serves the dual purpose of showing how vulnerable Palantir’s National Firewall is to even ridiculously outdated tech. Hence why the feds keeps running that Don’t Bring Your Phone to China/Don’t Actually Go to China Ever awareness campaign. (It shouldn’t surprise you that Vera’s written about this. Read her shit!)

Next is a long, narrow room skirted on the left by an unbroken screen which features a 1990s techno-thriller code waterfall with, again, no context. On the right runs a series of pictures, videos and artifacts designed to shock viewers into clubsterbomb memories–the remnants of a Google bus retrofitted and weaponized into a battering ram, that famous photo of the National Guard standing down at one of the many early BLM standoffs (everyone remembers the photo, never the standoff), a yellowing final print edition of the Washington Post.

To be fair, the Smithsonian’s only getting a fraction of the archival materials collected by the Ashburn Institute as part of the truth and reconciliation process. (This controversy–the splintering of the archive and intra-federal agency squabbles over it–does not get a mention in the exhibition.) Of course they went with the most bombastic acquisitions. But for all the attempted sensory overload, the wall text and captions are jarringly milquetoast, acquiescing to the kind of both-sides-ism that heavily aided the collapse of consensus truths in the first place. I wondered what kind of exhibit might have emerged had the Smithsonian received the full archives of the Training Commission–side note, has anyone ever actually referred to it as the Ashburn Truth and Reconciliation Council For A New American Consensus outside of official documents? Even Darcy Lawson called it the TC in her fucking victory lap TED Talk last year. When the director of the Ashburn Institute has embraced a term originally coined and deployed by critics of the project it seems like it might be time to drop the formalities.

Presumably, the TC is at least acknowledged in the exhibition. Considering that it enabled UBI, closed (almost) every prison in the country, and effectively automated the office of the Presidency out of existence, it would have to be. But I didn’t get that far.

(Here endeth the non-article.)

As longtime readers already know, I write about architecture and design here, not my brother. In fact, I don’t write about him at all. I have no interest in following in Ciarnán Whelan’s investigative reporter footsteps or reflecting on what happened to him in any public setting. I’m hoping that by the time the Reconciliation Wing opens to the public, a particularly distasteful section of the exhibition will be revised or altogether removed. But to include something so graphic with so little warning, with such a manipulative experience design, and with the gall to strategically place tissue boxes around the space as though that’s an act of mercy? It’s cheap and insulting. It doesn’t deserve to be written about. So I didn’t write about it.

Thanks for subscribing (and reading). Depending on whether a piece an editor’s been sitting on for months ever lands I might have something old-new for you next week.

From: Aoife T <aoife@stringr.io> Subject: Deadtech from a Dead Guy Date: May 13, 2038 2:31:58 AM EDT To: Avi Huerta <ahuerta@notall.technology>

Avi,

Did you read my last stringr newsletter? I mean, probably not by now since it just went out like under twelve hours ago and you have a small excellent child. But I can’t sleep, and you’re the kind of person who might be able to help but you also probably should read that first for context. (And, as context for the context, most of what’s below is what I wrote in a fugue state before realizing that I couldn’t send it to my editor.)

So I knew the real reason I got a press pass to the Reconciliation Wing preview wasn’t my bylines so much as my real last name. The press tour minders were practically levitating with morbid curiosity when I arrived. I managed to ditch them, lingering and checking photo credits (nerd) by about halfway through the exhibit. This meant, thankfully, that there was no one around when I turned the corner into the section I had secretly hoped wouldn’t be included: the tragic death of renowned journalist Ciarnán Whelan while embedded with the Last Luddite Revolutionary Guard, declared here by the museum to be a “turning point” in the Interstate Conflict.

I mean, I was expecting some triggering bullshit, but I wasn’t expecting the audacity of how it was delivered. Instead of taking the larger-than-life screen approach with that portrait everyone loves to use of him or a slo-mo attempt to make a snuff film elegiac, I got a fucking push notification on my phone from the museum AI.

“Please be advised that the following content may be disturbing to some,” it read. It turned out that wasn’t a notice to give you a fucking choice, just a preamble before the video started to play and I was fucking thirteen years old again, staring at my palm and a video of my big dumb reporter brother using his “serious correspondent voice” I always made fun of, just outside a New Mexico Facebook data center embedded with the Ludds. People forget how long the broadcast ran before the too-good-for-a-minor-militia “DIY” quadcopter IED actually hit. (This was, of course, the video that was broadcast on Facebook Live, the one that people said Facebook tweaked the algo to downrank when their role in the attack became clear. It didn’t work. As the wall text accurately notes, most people, like me, saw it live.)

The wall displays telegraphed the rest of it, though mostly I’m just guessing from what I vaguely remember seeing spinning on the walls in front of me right before I blacked out mid-panic attack. 90% sure they have a shot of Faraday Fields under construction, which should amuse you; also seemed like they get into the conspiracy theory/ies, which probably won’t.

I woke up in a basement office of the old Smithsonian, somewhere far below the canals. A slouchy middle-aged guy with no hair on his head and a throwback 2010s beard was sitting by the door, scrolling through his phone. “Welcome back,” he said, gesturing toward an ancient percolator with the elan of a long-suffering mid-level bureaucrat. The coffee smelled about as appealing as Anacostia scumwater, but I was too tired to turn it down.

I asked if I’d been out long, a little thrown that the Smithsonian’s idea of first aid was depositing me in an office with some rando who I definitely hadn’t seen on the press tour.

“A little more than an hour. The tour’s over. If you want to see the rest of it I can take you around in a bit.” Eyes a little too steady on me, he took the smallest sip of coffee from a mug which read No Taxation Without Input/Output. “You’re a good writer. I subscribe to your Stringr.”

“No shit, thanks man. What’s your name?”

“I was surprised to hear you took this gig,” he added, “Considering.” My face must have done something because he ducked his head slightly and said, “Sorry. Just came out.”

“Nothing new. Half my subscribers are legacy leftovers. Pity’s a driving force in my economic security, if you wanna call it that.”

His face compressed into a porpoise’s little O. “That can’t be true.”

(It’s true, shut up Avi, it’s true.)

I sipped some of the coffee, letting him know via performative sigh that it was shit. “So what’s your deal, guy? You volunteer to babysit me while I’m unconscious to fanboi out here or is this like your actual job?”

Said guy did some seriously inscrutable facial muscle constrictions, which I studied as an example of how not to behave towards formerly unconscious people. Then he smiled suddenly and said, “I have to get back to work.” He raised his eyebrows, actually raised his eyebrows, and gestured at the door.

“Well,” I said, standing a little unsteadily, blowing on and sipping the rough coffee one last time. “Thanks for the hospitality, I guess.” I watched him watch my right hand replace the coffee cup. I was pissed at myself that it couldn’t stop trembling, and I was pissed at him for noticing it. “You know whoever designed that section on my brother?”

“No.”

“You know who approved it?”

He thought about that a second. “Yes.”

“Do me a favor and tell them it’s manipulative and crass? That no one fucking needs to relive that?”

He nodded once, looking down at his coffee. I left before he could put his foot in his mouth again. Outside, in a arcing, narrow corridor I turned to see the name on the door: John Temblaine Paulson.

Shockingly, my phone had already synched up with the Smithsonian’s wayfinding platform, which guided me up two separate elevators then shunted me out a service exit onto Mangakāhia’s rhizomatic terrace. I took about three steps before palming my juul out of my bag and putting it to my lips, automatically clicking the button and drawing in hard before realizing that I had clicked no button and was drawing around an object which was definitely not providing me with a long-overdue nicotine hit.

It was a USB stick. The kind you might use in, like, 2008. Dead tech, and it looked it: scarred light purple shell and a connector skewed so hard I doubted its operability.

Avi, you are well aware that I have a fairly disordered work/home/personal life, but you’ve known me long enough to know my bag is always ordered. And never have I put a USB stick in my bag. Never have I, as an adult, even used a USB stick, much less carried one on my person. So John Temblaine Paulson had, quite obviously, stuck it in there.

Recalling his idle phone-scrolling when I came to and the inscrutable creepy expressions, I concluded the guy probably filmed me passed out in his office chair as some weird sex thing, then put that video on the USB somehow and left in my bag to taunt me.

Which, as I type this, sounds kind of insane but I was also coming off a blackout induced by re-watching my brother’s livestreamed murder, so logical conclusions weren’t exactly in reach. Plus the only thing in my stomach at that point was that shit museum coffee.

As I returned to the museum entrance the elderly docent who’d processed my credentials two hours ago welcomed me with a smile that demonstrated she’d completely forgotten who I was. “Lemme tell you about the kind of people you got working here,” I spat. “John Temblaine Paulson, that weird old pervert, how could you just let him–”

“John?” said the docent.

“–scoop me up like I was a puppy or something like small and stupid and throw me over his shoulder like a sack of onions or whatever he did, maybe he used a handtruck–”

“Paulson?”

“–and just spirit me down to his little serial killer sanctum and video me while I was passed out in his shitty little Federal-ass stiff-ass chair–”

“Temblaine?”

“Yeah, don’t even try to tell me you don’t know him.”

“Of course I know him, dear. He’s in Iceland for the month.”

That set me back, my jaw going while my brain stopped, and, luckily, nothing more coming out of my mouth. The docent smiled at me like she was worried I might be about to stroke out. “There’s no one in his office then?” I mumbled.

“Oh, that should be locked,” said the docent, but she was catching up and looking all concerned. “Were you there? In Mr. Tembaline Paulson’s office? Did someone take you there?”

And here, embarrassed and out of it yet suddenly aware of my own behavior, I was saying things like I’m confused, I think, apologies, you don’t remember who I am do you? and backing out of the lobby. With the docent oozing concerned utterances in my general direction, I fled through Mangakāhia’s rhizomes and caught a ferry back to the sliver of shipping container I’d reserved on the Marion Barry Inlet (of course I didn’t tell my mom I was in town, fuck’s sake). Wrote the article, cut off the part marked HAZARD PERSONAL SHIT, sent the other chunk to Ellen, fell asleep for three hours, woke up, wrote Ellen an email saying the article was shit, and then she said no it wasn’t but yeah she couldn’t run it, and then spent the rest of the night listening to the arrhythmic thud of water against the container hull and hating myself.

I tried to clear my head this morning by heading up to Air and Space. I know, I know you fucking hate that place, but my childhood nostalgia still beats out my discomfort at imperialist propaganda. It’s one of the last places in this city where I can actually space out.

You’ll be shocked to hear this is directly related to Ciarnán taking me there routinely as a key part of Big Brother Babysitting. Specifically, the museum’s second floor, where an exposed platform lets you look down on various high points of colonialist engineering. There’s a glass partition that I’d press against, as if there was nothing between me and the immense sun-drenched lacuna beneath us, Ciarnán at the ready just in case the glass shattered under the stress of my little form.

For just a minute, fingers dragging the smudging glass, now knee-height, looking down at the overlit off-season emptiness, I felt like I just might fall, like I just might be pulled back.

When I returned to the world somewhere around the Drone Wing, my phone buzzed insistently with one of FBUS’ all-hands alerts. Automatically I obeyed and was rewarded with not-John Temblain Paulson’s face enclosed in a little blue box. “Ashburn Institute staffer found dead in Potomac.” As my eyes blurred the images and my upper back instinctively scrunched into a defensive hunch, my hand curled around the USB stick still shoved in my pocket, fingernail scouring it again and again as if that might reveal whatever was stored inside.

So: can I come visit? Whatever this guy wanted me to see was apparently important enough to fake his way into the Smithsonian, and if I hand the USB to the case workers I’ll probably never find out what’s on it. You, on the other hand, have an oracular way with the dead tech, and who knows, maybe it’ll have some fun dirt on our New Algorithmic Society we can send to a real journalist or whatever. I mean, it’s probably not real spooky ops shit. But if it is, it’ll at least be interesting, right?

A

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