#he goes on about how irritating martin is but then chooses to not only take whatever steps he can to make sure martin is safe but also

[russburlingame]

A is for Accident

So, here goes.

A few weeks back, I was supposed to have started work on the Alphabet Superset, a project from Struthless that's aimed at helping motivate artists who are a little...stuck.

I am, strictly speaking, not stuck. I actually have more on my plate than I can handle most of the time. Still, it seemed like a cool project, and something that could help me hone some writing muscles that I don't use very often. I have a fiction project that has been percolating in the back of my mind, but it has been literally years since I wrote more than a few pages of fiction. And longer than that since I showed it to anyone.

So. The Alphabet Superset. It's a weekly challenge format, where you have a consistent theme and approach to the art, and each week you come up with a piece of work representative of that week's letter of the alphabet. I SHOULD have just started with D -- especially since I know what D is, and it's exciting! -- but I also know myself well enough to know that if I bail on A through C, I'll probably do basically none of the letters down the line.

Recently, I have been going through a bunch of my old archives to see whether there are any diamonds in the rough. So my "style" is going to be creative writing -- fiction and creative nonfiction, mostly not journalism, which is what I do the rest of my life. And the theme I'm choosing is autobiography. That doesn't mean you're going to get a lot of stuff that's super revealing about me -- although there will be some of that. It means each project will speak to a theme, an idea, or sometimes an archival project that was significant to a part of my life.

For the first installment, I'm going with "A is for Accident." The accident in question? A first-time hitman kills the wrong guy.

Oops.

This is a reworking of the first bit of 'I Got Him,' a novel I wrote once...but didn't back up before my computer was stolen. Back in the 2000s, not everything was always being loaded to the cloud. That was a rough lesson to learn, kids!

The only part of 'I Got Him' that survived was the first 40 or so pages. And I have always fantasized about bringing it back to life. This is not entirely new content, but a piece of the original version, lightly edited. I may tweak and hone a little more during a future week, but the hope here is to get myself back on track for the Alphabet.

So...here we go.

Oh, and this story takes place around 2003.

CHAPTER ONE: Somebody Got Murdered

  “I got him,” Martin said into the phone. “Just like you wanted, I got him!”

  “You didn’t,” Alderman said coolly, the background buzz of a crappy payphone not enough to mask his irritation.

  “Best part?” Martin continued, undeterred. “I knew the bastard! Fucking comes into McVeigh’s all the time and gives me shit because his burger has mayonnaise. Like I can help it that nobody reads the ‘special order’ line.”

  Alderman sighed. “What are you talking about?”

  “What, I gotta say it?”

  “That’s what I’m asking for.”

  “How do I know the phone’s not bugged?” Martin asked, and instinctively looked around as he said it.

  “Why on earth would it be?”

  “Alright, fine….I killed the Zlomek guy for you.”

  “Somehow I’m guessing that one of us has got something very confused here,” Alderman said, sarcasm starting to creep in around the edges of his frustration.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I’m very busy right now, actually. Can I call you back?”

  “Oh, right, right. Fine. But we’re solid here, right? You’re going to make sure I don’t get blamed for this?”

  “I really do have to go. I have a friend from work here right now,” Alderman said.

  “Oh,” Martin said. “Didn’t realize. Sorry!” And then, after a pause, “We’re not on speakerphone or anything, right?”

  “No, no. Eugene Zlomek is here, is all, and he’s telling me about his plans for the weekend. I think I’ve mentioned him before, right? A business acquaintance from the City.”

  Martin felt his stomach fall into his testicles. “Fuck,” he said.

  “That’s right.” The happiness in Alderman’s voice was the kind you only heard when businessmen were placating a customer, or an employee. Professional Happiness.

  “How about I’ll call you tonight, okay? Have a drink and unwind while you wait, alright?”

  Franklin Alderman didn’t wait for Martin to respond before hanging up. Martin had said, “Ri—” before realizing that nobody was on the other end, and then hung up with a petulance rarely seen in a grown man. He tapped the end of his rifle impatiently against the side of the phone booth for a minute, but his mind was moving too fast to remain focused on that, and he inadvertently put the barrel through the thin plastic panel.

  The Verizon logo on the outside of the phone broke outward and away from the booth and bits of plastic rained on Martin’s hair. The reason it had rained on his hair, rather than on his shoes, is that when he heard the sound of the plastic popping and breaking away, he hit the ground in terror, dropping the gun. He was convinced that, somehow, it had gone off in the booth. Having no bullets in the chamber, though, the gun of course hadn’t go off, and continued not to do so when dropped. Suddenly he wondered what the hell he had been doing carrying the murder weapon around with him in the open to begin with.

  Martin picked it up and forced it into his long, over-packed gym bag. It was nylon-and-mesh, and intended for use by baseball players (hence the length to accommodate a gun). It was loaded up with shorts and towels, on the off chance that anyone should want to take a look through it and Martin couldn’t dissuade them. The bag had a Champion logo on the top of it, which Martin couldn’t help but feel was a little ironic riding next to his face at the moment, while he tried to figure out how he botched his job so badly and who, exactly, he had killed.

  He jogged to his car—a red, 1991 Ford Mustang LX waiting at the curb about fifteen feet from the payphone—and jumped in. He tossed the Champion bag in the back and shifted gears all at the same time, in one motion as though the release of the bag by his left arm had caused the right one to pull the lever between his front seats. The car failed to roar to life, but gurgled a bit, and rolled down the street in the way that 1991 Mustangs are wont to do.

  The street was well-lit for the night drive home, and Martin was thinking of his terrible mistake, wondering what would happen next, when he saw the lights of a police car in his rearview mirror. He looked at the digital clock he had fastened to the dash when all of the vehicle’s interior lighting had failed months before. It read 1:39, which meant it had been a little more than forty-five minutes since Martin had killed someone who was not Eugene Zlomek.

  He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his dashboard and took one out. He lit it with a Zippo from his jacket pocket because the cigarette lighter in the Mustang had been removed by the previous owner, who thought he had been improving the transmission at the time. He rolled down the passenger side window and blew the smoke from his cigarette in that direction. He leaned onto the passenger seat and opened the glove box.

The police officer, carrying a flashlight that was completely unnecessary given the intensity of the spotlight he had pointed at Martin’s rearview mirror, used it to tap on the driver’s side window. Martin opened the driver’s door a crack and half-shouted out it.

  “The window doesn’t open, Officer,” Martin apologized. “Wiring’s all screwed.”

  “Can I see your license, registration and insurance card, please?” The policeman asked, with no clear indication that he understood or cared what Martin had said about the state of the Mustang.

  “Absolutely. Hold on a minute.” Martin felt a cold sweat coming on as he rifled through the open glove box. He coughed a little on the cigarette, as he didn’t smoke. Instead, he had lit up to mask the odor of smoke in the car.

  Having worn gloves for the killing, Martin thought that maybe they would have gunpowder residue on them, and started the light them on fire in the bushes outside the

Zlomek house. But when people inside realized that someone—not, apparently, Eugene

Zlomek—had been killed, they started to mill around by the window and Martin had felt

obliged to get out of there, carrying—in his dazed panic and hurry—his flaming gloves

with him. The smell of smoke was very strong in the car, and he had made use of some

very old, very cheap cigarettes a friend had left in the car months ago. He sat upright in

the driver’s seat, passing his license and insurance card to the patrolman outside.

  “I can’t find the registration,” Martin said. “Can you take it off the windshield?”

  The patrolman shone his unnecessary flashlight at the windshield to confirm that

there was, in fact, a registration on the car. “I’ll get it from the plates,” he said, and

walked to the front of the car, shining the flashlight some more.

  The officer walked back to the open door. “Where is your front license plate?”

He asked.

  “Vanished a few weeks ago; haven’t had time to report it,” Martin said honestly.

  “You’d better.”

  “I will.”

  “Next time,” the cop warned, “you’ll get a ticket.”

  “Is that why you pulled me over, Officer?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get back.”

  “I wasn’t speeding, was I?”

  “I’ll talk to you when I get back,” the officer said, increasingly frustrated.

  The patrolman walked back to his car, clicking the flashlight on and off, and then

sat in the driver’s seat for what seemed to Martin to be a very long time. Finally he got

out of the car, still hefting his flashlight.

  “What’s that smell?” Asked the police officer when Martin reopened the door for

him.

  “Smell?”

  “Smoke. Do you have an exhaust problem, too?”

  “Not that I know of. Maybe my cigarette?”

  “Is it cloves or something?” The cop asked.

  “No, just very cheap.”

  “Hm. Maybe.” He straightened up. “Mr. Bidwell, do you know why I pulled

you over?”

  “Because I have no front license plate?” Martin ventured.

  “No.”

  “Oh. In that case, I’m not really sure.”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “No. Absolutely not. I’ve never had a drink in my life.”

  “That sounds very defensive,” said the police officer, shining his flashlight around

inside the car.

  “No, Officer. Just definitive.”

  “Do your headlights work?”

  Martin looked at the switch on his dashboard which controlled the headlights. It

was in the “Off” position.

  “Shit,” Martin said.

  “That’s what I thought when I saw you barreling down the road like that,” said the

patrolman.

  “I just pulled away from the gas station about two miles back. This is a very well-

lit road…!”

  “I understand. Are you related to Jonathan Bidwell?”

  “My second-cousin.”

  “His father was on my softball team last year.”

  “Mike’s a great guy.”

  “Yeah….I’m not going to ticket you tonight. Just be a little more with-it, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. And get your exhaust checked. I don’t think that’s tobacco.”

  “Thanks.”

  The patrolman walked back to his car and sat in it while Martin pulled back into traffic, turning on his headlights and blinker. In the back seat, the odor of the burning evidence still lingered. He left the passenger window down to get rid of it.

-----

  “…But it’s trash, Doug!” Irwin shouted.

  Irwin Shaw was sitting on a rolling chair in an office of white-painted concrete,

shouting emphatically at a stooped, wrinkled man whose white, bushy hair and lively eyes left even his best friends wondering how old he actually was. The man, his editor, walked away toward his own office and Irwin stood to follow him.

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s trash, Shaw,” Doug told him. “What you did was unwarranted.”

  “Completely unwarranted,” Irwin agreed, in a way that expressed a total lack of enthusiasm for, or interest in, Doug’s assessment.

  “You wrote—let’s see…” Doug rustled papers around on his desk theatrically until he found one that he wanted. He squinted at it, opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.

Then he threw that paper at the ground, and picked up another one instead. He looked pleased with this new acquisition.

“You wrote, ‘…where the only thing greasier than the fish fry and warm beer is the middle-aged barmaid who flirts with everyone under eighty.’”

“It’s true. The facts all check; I have quotes from seven regular customers.”

“I don’t care about your ridiculous quotes. You know you can’t say that shit.”

“Why not?”

“You know damned well why not,” Doug growled, withdrawing a pair of reading glasses from his paper-covered desk and putting them on top of his head as if he may wear them eventually, but not right now.

“I can’t tell the truth about the places I’m supposed to ‘review’ because they’re our advertisers and they might get mad if someone points out how shitty their bars really are.”

Irwin had used air quotes to emphasize his point when he said the word “review.”

“Not bars, Irwin. Clubs.”

“Three quarters of what you send me to cover for the ‘Local Clubs’ column are just crappy bars that have local cover bands playing on systems too loud for the rooms they’re in.”

“Tanner’s called. They won’t advertise with us anymore.”

“That’s not such a bad thing,” Irwin said. “I don’t think I would want our paper associated with that dive anyway.”

“No, no, no. That’s a very bad thing. Where do you think your salary comes from?”

“Salary?! You’re crazy. I get twenty bucks a story. That’s not a salary, that’s money for gas and food to get to, and then do, the story. And the food’s hardly ever any good. But I’m not complaining about the money, trust me. Play money for play journalism. It all makes sense.”

“I told you when you took over this column that the food is free at the clubs you’re writing up,” Doug sighed, putting his head in his hands and knocking the reading glasses askew, then taking them off and putting them back on the desk.

“I’m glad you think that; the bar owners don’t seem to have been told.”

There was a knock on the door, and a young, husky man with very black hair came in wearing a t-shirt that said, “Dammit—I Did Not Have Sexual Relations With That Woman Either.”

The young man said, “Mister Hooper? We really need you out here. It’s almost two,” and left in such a hurry, it was obvious that he was either very busy, or hoping to dodge Doug’s reply.

“Okay, Irwin. You’re off this column.”

“Doesn’t that have to wait until the real editors get here in the morning?” Irwin asked with a smirk.

“No. You run in my edition. And I already talked to Brad.”

“So, I’m fired?”

“No, you still have your other column.”

“Gee, thanks. You know, that one was also a lot more interesting before you guys started to get…”

Doug cut him off. “…And for the next few weeks, until we figure out what else you’re good for, I want you on newsdesk during this shift.”

“What?”

“General assignment.”

“I’m—what? Demoted? How does that even work, when you pay by the story?”

“Not demoted. The new Local Club writer came out of that slot. I just need you there until we fill it.”

“Roger is taking over the Club column?” Irwin choked on the statement, and caught his body trying to laugh without permission.

“Yes. Is there a problem with Roger, too?”

“Not at all, Doug. It suits him.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Doug asked, a vein in his head starting to throb.

“Your nephew’s not really a reporter, he’s just the nephew of an editor.”

Doug's face started to turn red, and he rose in from his seat, but Irwin continued. “That column isn’t really reporting, as I said, just kind of masturbation of our sponsors…”

The young man came back to the doorway, still looking harried. “Mister Hooper? It’s almost two.”

“Still?” Doug shouted.

The young man missed the sarcasm, and paused for a second before darting away to process it, as though the question might be a trick.

“…Yes?” He responded hesitantly.

“I’m coming,” Doug said to the young man, and then to Irwin he said, “Get out of my office. I just got like nine e-mails in two minutes, so something must be happening. Go check the places you go check.”

“Will do, Skipper. By the way, nice office you have here.”

“Yeah, Doug said, ushering everyone out the door. “It used to be a bathroom, but the Department of Health said it was too small for that. Now get out of it.”

“I see,” Irwin said, “You’ve gotta take a leak.”

Doug slammed the door.

Irwin walked around the corner behind him and was standing next to the computers that were set to receive e-mails from wire services, freelance writers and letters to the editor. Two of them were idling, waiting for a password to unlock them so that they may crash freely. On a third, there was an e-mail program open. This, Irwin knew, was the computer that John Ramsay, the editor in charge of the Op-Ed section, used to receive all of his e-mail. Irwin sat in front of the computer and looked up the e-mail preferences.

Ramsay had set the computer, apparently, to filter out pornography, letters from a recently-fired Sentinel employee and anything with a subject heading containing nasty language. Irwin knew that there had been some very, very unpleasant language used in a some recent letters to the editor, mostly directed at Ramsay’s mother after a story he’d written on why it was necessary to enforce dog-leash laws that were already on the city’s books. Irwin changed the settings so that anything containing any one of several nasty words would be forwarded to Ramsay’s home e-mail account and marked with a little red flag that said “Urgent!” if you held the mouse over it for a second.

He also turned on an auto-reply feature that would tell anyone e-mailing letters to the editor that The Editor had been “…eaten by a rampaging groundhog, and that future e-mails should be directed to:” and then Ramsay’s personal e-mail address again.

He skated sideways on the rolling chair, then, and punched his own password into another computer to see what had been coming in while he was in Doug’s office.

A few headlines popped onscreen: “Fire at Soup Company Kills 11.” “Classical Pianist Arthur Dent Dies at Age 67.” “French Language More Prevalent In Michigan, Study Shows.”

He printed off each of these and left them sitting on a desk for the news desk reporter to find in the morning, then he walked toward the door.

“Where are you going, Shaw?” Shouted Doug Hooper from a light table where he was looking at the next edition of the Sentinel.

“My People of Interest column,” Irwin said.

“I’ve already got it!”

“The next one.”

“What was on the wires?”

“Gerard Depardieu in Detroit.”

“Just go home, Shaw,” Doug said, waving at him irritably, looking down at the table, then feeling on the top of his head for the reading glasses that were no longer there.

It was 1:40 in the morning when Irwin Shaw left the offices of The Sentinel.

It was 6:51 the next morning when he finally arrived at home. At 1:46, as he was turning into his driveway, Irwin had heard on the police scanner in his car that a man had been found dead about four miles from where Irwin lived.

He arrived at the address of the death five minutes ahead of The Sentinel’s police reporter, Jim Smith. Jim was a tall, jolly guy whose writing was as bland as his name and who didn’t really care if other reporters hijacked his stories. He’d just been working the same beat for so long, it was like getting paid to hang out with his friends in blue.

The house was enormous, but other than that pretty unremarkable. It was white with black shutters, squarish, and had what appeared to be about one window for every room in its three sprawling stories. All of the windows were the same; there was no picture window visible on any of the three sides of the house that Irwin could see either from the road or from his current position in the driveway.

Irwin, flashing his press badge to no one in particular, stepped up near the front door of the house where the police and the press had already set up shop. There was a police line, and just outside of it a handful of uniformed police officers were talking in subdued tones to a young man and woman in their early- or mid-twenties. The young man looked vaguely familiar, but it was the kind of familiarity that easily could have come from living so near to one another and shopping in the same places. Irwin couldn't place him.

The police didn't seem to be talking to the young man and the young woman as much as talking to the young woman and tolerating the young man being there, his hands on the girl's shoulders obviously being integral to keeping her from falling apart. The young man looked around him, and his eyes were red. He glanced through the crowd, fixed on Irwin for a second, and then looked away. There didn’t seem to have been any indication of recognition from the young man in the second they'd made eye contact.

The officer who had been talking to the young couple turned his back and headed indoors, and the couple sat on the bottom step of the house's big, all-wooden porch.

Irwin hung his head, took a reporter's notebook out of the pocket of his gray trench coat and approached them slowly. He spoke, first, to the girl, who had obviously been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair mussed. There was blood on her shirt, which had been partially covered by the brown corduroy jacket slung over her body. The young man next to her didn't look much better.

"I'm sorry," Irwin started. "I know this is a terrible time, but can I ask you a few things?"

"Who are you?" The girl choked out.

"Irwin Shaw, with The Sentinel."

"Oh. Press."

"Yeah. We always know just where we're needed the least, and that's more or less where we're paid to be. I live right down the way, so my editor figured I might know you guys,. Your brother looks a little familiar."

The young man didn't move, didn't respond. He didn't seem to be acknowledging Irwin at all.

"He's not my brother," the girl corrected. "My fiancé. This is James. His father is...was...he's the son."

"Of the one who passed?"

"Right."

Irwin looked at the young man, whose dark hair was longish and unkempt and who appeared to have been rousted from his sleep to come to the crime scene; he was wearing sweat pants, a mesh shirt and slippers. His eyes were also red with exhaustion and tears.

"I'm sorry for your loss, James," Irwin said, but the young man didn't respond.

The girl chimed in quietly: “What do you need, Mister…hmm…I’m sorry, forgot already…?”

“That’s okay. It happens. Irwin Shaw, Sentinel. You’ve had a long night.”

“So do you know what’s happened?” She asked him.

“I heard on the police scanner that someone was found dead here.”

“Yes, James’ father.”

“You said,” Irwin led her on. “What happened?”

“He was murdered. Shot.”

“Was anyone else in the house at the time?”

“He was shot through the window.”

“Are they absolutely sure about that?”

“I don’t know if they are, but I am. I was in the next room.”

Where was James here? In bed?”

“Yeah, in bed…at home…” the girl seemed flustered. “…At his house. Sorry. I don’t usually talk to the press.”

“You’re fine,” Irwin reassured her, “You’re doing fine. What’s your name, though?” He was scratching out the first notes in his pad.

“My name? It’s Michelle Zlomek. This is my house.”

“You live here alone?”

“No. It’s my dad’s house. I live here. I’m not out of college yet.”

“Where do you go?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Okay…”

“Don’t you want to know about who was killed?”

“I was coming around to that.”

“His name was Lowe. Edward Lowe.”

“Name sounds familiar.”

“He was the CEO of Keystone Security,” James said. His voice was so hoarse and quiet that it took Irwin a second to realize that he was being addressed.

“We did a feature on them not long ago,” Irwin said, turning to James and trying to keep from seeming put off. “They’re local.”

“Yeah,” James said.

“Was there any reason why anyone would be wanting to kill your father, James?”

“Plenty.”

“Want to tell me some of them?”

“Not really.”

“Want to tell me who? I might be able to bring them to justice….”

“I thought that was the police.”

“Them, too,” Irwin quipped, trying his hardest not to sound overly glib and failing.

“I think I’ll stick with them. They’re kind of officially doing it.”

“They’re just part of the Executive Branch. The press is the Fourth Estate.”

“I am greatly disturbed by the death of my father, which comes as a shock to our family,” James said. It sounded as though he were reading from a script. “I look forward to seeing his killer brought to justice and will support the law enforcement community in any way I can during the investigation.”

“Wow,” Irwin said.

“Is that what you needed?” James asked, ice in his tone. “A comment?”

“Did you kill your father, James?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’ll fuck off in just a minute. Just wanted you to know—if you give a press conference and make a remark that shallow, in that tone of voice, anyone who sees you on TV will think that you killed Edward Lowe.”

“Off the record?”

“That all depends.”

“I already know who killed him. I also know they’ll never be held accountable. I just don’t know what I’m going to do about it yet.”

“Tell me what you think. Maybe I can get some evidence to supply to the police.”

“Why can’t I just tell it to the police?”

“Or that.”

“You’ve got my statement, Mr. Shaw. Please just go away now.”

“Miss? I forget your name.” He looked down at his scrawled notes. “Michelle!”

“What?” She sighed.

“Why was Mr. Lowe at your house so late?”

“My father works with Ed at Keystone.”

“What’s your father’s name?”

“Zlomek.”

“His first name?”

“Just go read some press releases or something,” James hissed. “I’m sure you can put it all together.”

“Thanks for the help,” Irwin said.

He stood, much to the chagrin of his knees and ankles, and turned around. He almost walked into a uniformed police officer who was making a beeline for something important.

“Whoa! Sorry,” Irwin said. “Irwin Shaw. Sentinel. Got a minute?”

“No,” the cop said, and tried to sidestep Irwin, who followed his movement.

“How about half of one?”

The cop’s jaw tensed for a second and then relaxed. “What do you want?”

“Whose house is this?”

“No comment.”

“What relation is he to the deceased?”

“No comment.”

“I hear he worked with the victim. What’s the homeowner do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you know that Lowe was the CEO?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t know what Zlomek was? Is.”

“No.”

“You guys got on this pretty quick. I don’t live far.”

“I was in the area.”

“Doing what?” Irwin wondered if there was evidence to be had, which a slow patrolman might not put together and might, therefore, accidentally expose to the press.

“Someone busted in the side of a phone booth.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Irwin said, “What’s your name?”

“Shane Norton.”

“Thanks.”

Irwin put his pad and pen back in the pocket of his coat without having written anything about a vandalized payphone.

---

Martin’s phone was ringing.

He had been sitting up in bed for over three hours, waiting for the call, but he was slow to answer. On the small coffee table in front of his television was the morning’s paper. On the front page, with a tabloid-sized headline, was a story about a CEO of a locally-owned, New York-based company having been shot to death at his partner’s house the night before.

“Edward Lowe, 53, of Brick was killed last night in Red Bank….Lowe, the CEO of Keystone Security, was shot through the window of 212 Marsh Drive….The building belongs to Eugene Zlomek, Lowe’s business partner and the CFO of Keystone.”

Martin had killed Edward Lowe. Edward Lowe, the annoying bastard who always came into work and bitched about his cheeseburger. For a moment, Martin was struck by the pettiness of a millionaire—someone who obviously could have gone to a better establishment after one or two disappointments and left Martin the hell alone—coming every single day and bitching about mayonnaise. The thought, though, was hard-pressed to remain long in Martin’s mind, given the thoughts it was fighting for attention and the ringing of the phone that Martin knew could not possibly be good news.

“Yes?” He answered, tired and anxious and not at all happy to be alive.

“Martin, how are you?” Came Alderman’s voice from the other end of the phone; his good cheer was infinitely more frightening than if he had just called and started shouting.

I’m so sorry I fucked up, Mr. Alderman,” Martin said into the phone, so fast he could hardly be understood. “Please give me another shot—chance. I’ll fix things.”

“There’s nothing to fix. I’ve got things under control on my end, I think. You’re not going to be paid for this travesty, certainly. You did, after all, screw up the job rather severely…but you had the right idea and you got away without implicating any of us.”

“Thank you, Sir. Do do I…?”

“I want him dead by Friday, and I don’t want it in the papers. I don’t want my people to hear about it until it’s too late to be helped. This is kind of against the rules.” His sinister, faux-European voice paused to assume a more professional air. “Zlomek will be named CEO on Friday if he’s still alive when the Board meets in emergency session to discuss the passing of Mr. Lowe. At that point, he’ll become very useful to us. I’d rather he didn’t; he’s a prick and I don’t want to work with him for the rest of my days.”

“And you’re sure there’s nobody listening on the other end of the phone, right? I mean, I’ll get away with this, right?”

“The only thing that could get you in trouble now, Martin—is if you keep asking that. It’s really very unprofessional. It’ll give people the wrong idea.”

“Sorry.”

“Quite alright,” Alderman said. “I’ll call you when I hear that Zlomek is dead. In the meantime, you just sit tight.”

Before Martin could say goodbye, Alderman hung up the phone. Martin sat for a second, scowling at this indignity, and then hung up the phone and silently threw himself at, more than into, his huge blue easy chair. He picked up the remote control from the seat, flicked on the television and caught the news:

“Edward Lowe, President and CEO of Keystone Security, was killed late last night at the home of the company’s CFO Eugene Zlomek. This could spell more trouble for Keystone, whose bid to take over CopCo fell through very publicly last month and whose stock has been steadily declining since rumors surfaced that the company could face charges relating to union-busting. Lowe’s family says they intend to release a statement this afternoon. Keystone, meanwhile…” and Martin switched the channel. On HBO, they were playing a documentary about Lenny Bruce, and Martin left it there while he closed his eyes and tried to decide whether to cry or just take a nap until the phone started ringing again.

---

Irwin's phone was ringing.

After having filed the late-night story on the murder of Edward Lowe, Irwin had returned home and slept. His sheets were tossed everywhere, and there was a pretty clear trail of disorder from where Irwin had entered the dark room the night before, to where he'd hopped onto bed. In that trail were all of the pieces of junk that he had stepped on before falling asleep at five in the morning. He could see it all now, with his clear eyes and the light flooding the cheap lace curtains of the bedroom.

Monumentally disoriented, Irwin faced the wall and reached out. His hand struck the wall and he turned back around and reached out again, this time grabbing at his alarm clock.

"Yallo?" he muttered into the phone when, after its fifth ring, he finally had it in his hand.

"Shaw, what the hell were you thinking?" Hooper demanded.

"Say again?"

"I said, 'What the hell were you thinking?' Last night."

"Last night, I was thinking, 'I should hand in this story to Doug, so that he'll stop bitching.' Shows you Daffy Duck was right when he said it doesn't pay to think."

"Smartass. Stop screwing around. You were hounding someone else's story."

"Oh, come off it. You know he doesn't care."

"We have to have some semblance of order here, Shaw."

"It didn't seem to bother you last night; they said they were planning on running it on the front page."

"They did."

"Great. So what are you complaining about?"

And Irwin hung up.

Of course, I didn't know any of this yet. I figured it all out later.

"Blah-blah-blah!" The TV told me. I had been, for the previous hour, watching an HBO special on Lenny Bruce. Sunk low in a star-spangled camping chair in the living room of my small apartment, I stared vacantly at the television, too exhausted to either change the channel or take in the information in any meaningful way. My phone rang, and I ignored it. Finally, the answering machine kicked in.

"I don't know how you got this number," my voice came from the machine, "but there must be a good reason for it if you did. So state that reason and maybe I'll get back to you." There was then a series of beeps long enough to irritate all but the most persistent caller.

"Mr. Abernathy, we need to talk," a voice said. I cocked my head a little bit and hit the mute key on the remote control. Lenny Bruce was silent, but the TV continued to buzz with electrical life. The caller pressed on. "I believe that someone has tried to kill me. I was fortunate in that they failed, but I'm worried they may try again. I also have...fears...about the legal ramifications for me of their failed attempt. Please return my call at 200-8870. I will pay handsomely."

I clicked the sound on the television back on and mulled over what he had said. I already knew who he was, of course--it had been all over the papers about Ed Lowe at Keystone. There are only so many people who can afford my services, so there isn't a lot of room for coincidences in these matters.

There were only four or five people who could be calling me, asking for my help in this particular circumstance: Board members fo Keystone. I knew off the bat that I could count Mrs. O'Keefe out, clearly, and probably Bill Munger, too. He was too good a guy to be in a compromising position and too hapless to realize it even if he was. Also unlikely was Vittorio Graves, who was too old to be a suspect without a really solid motive--which nobody yet knew he had. That left the CFO, Eugene Zlomek. He made sense as a suspect; unfriendly, corrupt, young and strong...and the murder had happened at his house. So of course he hadn't done it, but the police would be positive he had.

Shit. I had to do this, didn't I?

I tuned off the television and sunk lower in my chair, closed my eyes and bowed my head. Might as well get some sleep.

[milesfagworth]

Okay I think I've seen people shipping john and martin and at first I didnt get it but then

The way john tells martin he can stay at the institute, and assures him that the institute is sealed so nothing is getting im-

[wendystales]

Memories - lrh (Chapter Seventeen)

Memories (also on Wattpad)

Chapter Sixteen ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ Chapter Eighteen

Marnie pov.

I don't know if it was hangover or guilt, but my head was weighing a ton the morning after the party. Unlike everyone, I didn't wake up in a good mood, in fact I was pretty quiet at breakfast. Lucky for me, no one suspected anything, as the hangover gripped everyone there.

As yesterday was still Saturday and most had to work, I didn't have to run away from anyone. Since my plan had been in action since Monday, I took the day off to start packing up some things, trying to get everything as ready as possible.

For today, I had left only the final adjustments, like packing my suitcase and getting ready for my conversation with Luke.

The pain in my throat becomes more and more unbearable every time I hold back the cry. I fold up one of the band sweatshirts I have, watching the boys' faces, wanting to reinforce why I'm doing this.

I run my finger over Luke's face, as if I'm touching him. Friday's flashes flood my mind and I scold myself for nearly screwing it up out of sheer desire. Of course I wanted it as much as he did. Feel his touch, the desire and love he manages to emanate so naturally. I don't think I've ever felt so alive and so amazing in anyone's arms as in his, but it couldn't happen.

The doorbell snaps me out of my thoughts. I hurry downstairs, thinking it's Martin with the paperwork.

“Noah?" I give my friend room to enter. "Aren't you supposed to be at that lunch?" I check my watch and check the time, 1:37 PM. “Noah?” I call him, wondering at his frown.

"I wanted to come talk to you directly so we don't have any misunderstandings and to see if that way I can understand what this should mean." he hands me a folder. I open it quickly feeling my blood pressure drop. It was the paperwork I was waiting for. "What's this about moving to New York?"

"How did this get to you?" I try to control my breathing and head into the living room, feeling the urge to sit down. I start to think of a million excuses and ways not to have this conversation since it wasn't part of my plan.

“In case you also forgot, I work at the company. I am the owner's son and above that I am your advisor, everything that happens to you must pass through me at some point. Now tell me what this story is." I don't think I've ever seen Noah this angry.

“I received a job offer and decided to accept.” I know my voice has cracked, but I pray he doesn't notice. Noah stares at me for a few seconds with a more confused and displeased expression.

“I've known you for two years. You're going to have to try harder if you want to deceive me. Marnie, you just signed a rehearsal contract here in LA. If you got a proposal, you would know from me. Does this have to do with the fact that you're weird these days? What? Did you go without saying anything to anyone? That's it?” I remain silent, feeling everything go downhill from there. Slowly, a fury starts to build inside me. “Marnie, what's going on?”

It's not just the countless times I've heard this question throughout the week. I believe it's because I'm not in control of anything right now. About me being forced to do all this, not being able to tell my friend what's going on. All of this makes the question so much bigger and deeper than it really is. And it makes the fury that's brewing inside me grow.

“My God! Nothing! It's not happening anything. What a bag!” the scream breaks my mouth, coming out louder and angrier than I expected. “I am fine! When are you going to understand this?” he doesn't seem to be frightened by my scream, just standing there with his arms crossed and expressionless.

"Maybe when you stop lying and tell me what's going on?" he makes fun of me. A cynical laugh comes out of me as I go to open the door and ask him to leave my apartment. “You weren't like that, Marnie." I get irritated again. I can't explain where so much anger comes from, let alone contain it.

“Surprise, Noah, I'm like that. This is Marnie and always has been. Now if you don't like her, I can't do anything. Your ‘Marnie’ is gone and it's just me. And I'm going to New York whether you like it or not.” along with the anger, I feel like crying, but once again, I hold back with all my strength.

Noah nodded thoughtfully. I know it's a scene, that he's going to attack me again, he's just choosing his words.

“Then that's it? You mess it up, make everyone believe that everything is fine, and leave without warning. Is that what you're going to do?” the judgmental look bothers me.

"I didn't mess anything up."

“No?” he laughs falsely. "I don't say for myself or for the girls, but haven't you been giving a certain someone hope, making him believe you could get back together? And now you're going to go away and let him suffer without caring?” he raises his eyebrows.

I suck in the air harder, making it burn. The fire burns stronger inside me. The desire at the moment is to break everything.

“Do not do it.” my voice breaks. I close my eyes, pulling myself together. “Do not do it! Don't think I'm not suffering from having to make this decision either.” I can't hold back the tears, not caring about them anymore either.

“You're? Cuz it doesn't look like.” I close my hands, squeezing them tightly. I try to control the urge to scream, scream in hate, in anger, in pain and most of all, scream that he is being unfair to me.

“Of course I'm suffering.” once again I scream. "Do you think not?! Look at me! Do you think it doesn't hurt me to have to do all this?! Leave him here like this and not be able to do anything?! Of course it hurts. Why do you think I'm doing all this?! Because I love him! I love more than one day I thought it was possible to love someone. I'm doing it for him. But there's no easy way to do this, I don't have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice, Marnie, you're just choosing the one you find easiest.”

"Does this sound easy to you?" I interrupt him, opening my arms, showing me. I dry my tears exhausted. “I made my choice and I appreciate if you respect. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to finish packing my bags.” I open the door for him.

My friend doesn't say anything else, just heads towards the door.

“Feel free to share my plan with the others.” I say tough.

“No! I will not do that. You made your decision, you did the shit and now deal with it.” Noah doesn't even wait for the elevator, taking the stairs.

I slam the door, feeling that anger still burn inside me. I rest my eyes on the wall where my photo is. I go to it, pulling out the wallpaper, tearing off part of the image. I'm not mad at Noah, I'm mad at myself, at the way it all went and where I went.

If I weren't a model, I could be living my life without any problems. Luke would still be the guy in the band I only knew one song about. I would be happy and free from all that pressure.

Still needing to release that anger, I grabbed the flower pots near the door, throwing what was left of my image against. My throat hurts from sobs and my heart clenches when that feeling arises.

““Wait, there's an eyelash.” I say to Luke, trying to catch it. “OK! Make a wish.” I lift my little finger at him.

He was about to take the stage at the Capital Summertime Ball. Luke stares at my finger thoughtfully and smiles, apparently determined.

“Be my girlfriend?” he sounds curious. I stare at his amused face, making sure he's kidding me.

“I'm serious.” I push his shoulder with another hand. I gasp when I see Luke kneel down with the guitar.

“Me too.” he shrugs. I start to laugh nervously, covering my face but careful not to lose my eyelash. I can hear the muffled laughter of the boys beside us, just wanting to hit each one of them.

“You need to blow to see if your wish comes true.” I say, already knowing my answer and I suspect he does too. Luke stands up blowing his flying eyelash.

"Boys, it's you, come in." a production guy yells, already pushing Ashton onto the stage, who is followed by Calum.

Quickly, I grab Luke's face, like I always did before he took the stage.

“Yes!” I give him a peck, watching him smile. Luke hugs me, stealing another kiss, running up onto the stage happily.

“This was definitely the cutest, most improvised request I've ever seen.” I open an even bigger smile, hearing Ryan beside me. I lay my head on his shoulder, swallowing the happy cry I wanted to let out.””

I don't know how long I sat staring at my torn photo, with a horrible pain in my chest. I hug my knees like the coward I am, not wanting to accept that the time has come.

Luke pov.

I jot down one more note in the melody I'm creating. The idea came up in the morning and if I didn't work on it now, I would forget. I go back to playing the piano following the sequence, when the bell interrupts me.

Petunia doesn't even make an effort to get up, remaining on the couch, snoring.

I open the door feeling my heart race. Marnie was standing there with a serious expression. I conclude that she came to tell me what was going on and I am relieved that I will finally understand what is happening.

“Can we talk?" I'm surprised by the hard look.

I make room for her, who goes straight to the living room, standing in the middle. I let a weak smile emerge, remembering all the times she's done this. I stop a little away, giving space, because I know how important this is to her at these times.

"I believe you came to tell me what's going on." I keep my hands in my pants pockets. M&Ms nodded.

"I came to break whatever we have." I don't know how to react. In fact, I'm not sure I got it right. “Look I tried, I really tried, but…”

“I'm sorry, what?”

For a second, I wonder how I got back to two years ago, where we had these fights almost daily. Where we were too dumb to want to accept. If it weren't for the pink hair, I would be convinced that it would be 2018 again.

“I tried to feel something for you, but I couldn't. And there's nothing I can do.”

I stare at Marnie, confused. I replay the past few weeks in my mind, all our moments together, and I can't believe a single word she says. I know everything was real. Every smile and laugh, every flushed cheek, every look and especially every kiss. Come back to Friday. How can she say there was nothing there?

“You gotta be kidding me. After all we've been through this month, do you have the courage to try to say you didn't feel anything?” my tone rises.

It doesn't make any sense. Her speech, her request not to forget that she likes me and today this? The pieces don't come together.

“Sorry. But I can't go on with this anymore.” I can see your gaze looking around the room. She's lying, why is she lying? For me on top.

“Why are you doing this?” Marnie looks at me confused.

"Because I'm tired of carrying this…”

“No! Why are you lying to me?” her eyes roll. I get close enough to be able to hear and notice her breathing.

"I have no reason to lie to you. If you can't accept that a girl doesn't like you, that's your business.” she passes me at the mention of leaving. But I hold your arm.

"So Friday was my hallucination? The two of us in the bedroom. You on my lap. All that desire and lust, was it a dream of mine?” your pupils dilate.

I can see she's thinking right now, can feel her pulse increase. She felt something, all this time, she felt something. I don't know if it's that insecurity from the beginning, the fear of getting involved, of getting hurt that always kept her away from me. The fear that I would be like him.

“I drank a lot.” her voice breaks the silence. I let go, covering my face, laughing indignantly.

“Oh my God, Marnie, why are you doing this? It's clear you're lying to me. Tell me what's going on. Is someone blackmailing you? Threatening you? Is it Stephen? Did he mess with you again?”

“There's nothing going on, Luke. I just don't love you.” she says with her head down.

The sentence cuts through me, causing agonizing pain. I feel my body retract. Your voice comes back in my mind in different tones and shapes, telling me every time you loved me. Whispering, screaming, in normal tones, even the day she swallowed helium gas.

My eyes burn. I don't want to cry in front of her, not out of shame, because I've cried a million times, but out of pride in not accepting that I'm hurt.

“I didn't want to go that far.” her restrained voice hovers over me.

I look at Marnie, not recognizing her. This is not the girl I fell in love with. The girl I spent nights awake just imagining what it would be like to go out with her, what it would be like to hold her hand and see her smile at me. The girl I spent mornings admiring sleeping. That I wrote love letters. That several times made me forget even my name just for saying the same thing. It's not her.

But it's amazing how I still know she's in there, somehow. Maybe Marnie was right that day, she didn't want to feel like an intruder in her own life, but she was.

She herself undid everything we built. Everything we've fought so hard has fallen like a house of cards. The promises made at dawn about our future together, vanish with the wind. I know they weren't empty, but the girl who made them with me isn't here.

“I'm so sorry. I-”

“Say it looking at me.” I stare at her resolutely.

“Don't do that.” she begs in a whisper.

Her eyes flood with despair and I delude myself, even with pain. Her mouth opens several times, but her voice doesn't come out. Her eyes blink several times, trying to ward off the tears that are forming there. I watch her body hold the air.

“What? Weren't you so determined?! So convinced?! Didn't you come here for this?! So say it looking at me, not the walls, like you're doing.” her jaw locks. “Two years ago you came here to look me in the eye and say you wanted to try, you came to ask me for a chance for both of us. So now look into them and say you don't want it anymore.”

Marnie stares at me lost. I pray, I beg her not to make it, for her to give up on this stupid idea. That deep down she says she's afraid to surrender. I wouldn't mind ignoring this fight and pretending nothing happened. Then I would hold her and make her feel like I would protect her from everything, make her feel loved. But my thoughts change and I lose hope when I watch her take off the necklace I gave her.

“I'm sorry.” she puts it in my hand. Right now I don't mind letting the tears fall. I stare at my hands feeling destroyed. Her lips touch my cheek lightly and so she leaves my house and my life.

““What is this?” I open a smile watching her approach, openmouthed. “Luke, what is this all about?” her eyes run over all the details with curiosity.

For a few seconds, I don't know what to say. I lose my breath watching how stunning she looks in this flowery dress with wavy hair. Holy crap.

“Our first date.” I shrug. Marnie breaks into a beautiful smile, making her cheeks blush. The sparkle in your eyes enchants me.

“Luke, when you said a date I swore we were going to a restaurant, I didn't think…” her voice trails off, giving way to a delighted laugh.

"Have I exaggerated?" I approach her, looking at the small tree with scattered lights and the table for two with two candles. "If you say yes, I'll be upset." I make fun of her.

“No! It's perfect, is that… I didn't expect this. Not all of that.” she whispers. "Did you do all this?" she looks at me in surprise.

“Good part. Except the food, the intention is to impress you, not make you run away from me.” I look at her teary eyes and feel amazing for getting it right. She liked.

I take a deep breath, trying to control my breathing and my nervousness. I wanted to leave Marnie speechless, wanted her to make sure I was worth it. And even with all the effort, she managed to leave me speechless yet. My God, how could someone be so beautiful like that? Am I really that lucky to have gotten her attention? I mean, do I deserve her?

“I do not know what to say. Thank you.” I get lost in her eyes, feeling the butterflies in my stomach grow. It couldn't be possible for me to be in love with her that fast already, could it?””

Marnie pov.

Air doesn't reach my lungs, no matter how windy it is. My chest and throat hurt so much my body recoils with every sob. It was like sand in my hand, running through my fingers, I couldn't hold it back.

As torture, I replay the scene in my head again, watching his blue eyes lose their luster and let those tears fall. I wanted to hug him and tell him I was crazy, drunk. That deep down I was completely in love with him, and I didn't even need my memories for that. Luke is so amazing that he managed to win me over again and I believe he could a million times over. I wanted to say that I want him, I want him more than anything, but I can't.

The doorbell pulls me out of my private cell, my mind, prompting me to question whether the bomb had ever gone off. It would probably be Leah or even Ashton, but I don't want to deal with anyone right now. I don't want lectures, I don't want judgments, I just want to stay on the couch until tomorrow when it's my time to go to New York.

I crawl to the door finding the last person I want to see right now. John Letterman has a huge, excited smile, in contrast, my face is red and swollen from crying for the past few hours.

“Hi, Marnie, how are you?” Cursed the day I ran into him at the studio.

“What are you doing here?” John plays offended.

“I just came to ensure that everything is going with our agreement.”

"What does it look like?" I point to my face. “It's all just the way you made me do it.” I turn around, entering the still-destroyed apartment.

"But what happened here?" he looks at the destroyed hall in disgust.

“You, John. Just you and your disgusting manipulation.” John shakes his head laughing.

"I didn't put any gun to your head to accept this. I just showed you the truth, you are destroying the career of 5 seconds of summer. Your person's association is putting their contract and their tour at risk. You're the one who decided to walk away.” he smiles satisfied.

I break eye contact, too exhausted to debate.

“I'm glad you lived up to your part of the deal and I hope this is the last time we've crossed paths.”

"Then we are two."

“But if I hear you're trying to get close to Luke again…” the tone of voice pisses me off.

“I've already done my part, but if you keep pissing me off, I'll go to Luke right now and tell him the whole truth.” I threat, nervous. I try not to show that his laugh makes me confused.

“You know, I missed you, Marnie. That innocence is really funny.” John stops laughing and approaches. "Do you think Luke wants to see you now?! Why do you think I'm here knowing everything?! He already called me, asking me to schedule the trip. He hates you now, Marnie. You broke his heart. I don't care what useless word you say to him, because he won't believe it. Here.” he takes his cell phone out of his jacket. "Want to call him and tell him?! I will help you.” he returns a venomous smile.

“Get out of my house.” I say through teeth.

"What's up, Marnie? Don't be so passionate. After all we are friends.” he makes fun of me.

"I said 'get out of my house.'” I scream, picking up a decorative vase beside me and threatening to throw it at it.

John doesn't look scared, but heads for the door.

“One day you'll thank me, Marnie.” he says before closing the door. I throw the vase, screaming, seeing it crash against the door.

The urge to go to Luke and tell the whole truth becomes much stronger, however, even if I don't want to admit it, John was right, Luke must hate me by now, making everything I say empty. On the other hand, I remember that I'm doing this for him.

I know at any other time, if I knew the band was going through something like that, I would do anything to help. Now, making sure I'm the problem, I want to become the solution and if that meant having to walk away from it then I would, after all their success and happiness could be mine.

I want to have faith that a few years from now, when everything is better, maybe I can get Luke and the others to understand why I'm doing this. Maybe we can even be friends if he doesn't hate me.

I give up, going up to my room for a shower and straight to bed. It's horrible knowing I need sleep to be acceptable for tomorrow, but I can't turn my head off. Even exhausted, I go over every fight I had today. Noah, Luke, and John's voices mingled in my mind, draining me more and more of my energy, but not to the point of putting me to sleep.

The night slowly drags on and the approach of dawn makes an anxiety rise within me. Yesterday they could have held back so they wouldn't come to debate anything, but I doubt that someone won't show up today and, given my state and mood, I'm sure I won't have the strength to fight.

For the few seconds and times I dozed off, I dreamed of the doorbell ringing, of Leah screaming for me to open the door. Finally, when the clock struck a little after five, I decided to get out of bed. Wrapped in the duvet, I walk to the kitchen, making tea. With my drink ready, I walk over to the couch on the balcony, watching the sky clear up for my last day in LA.

Passed morning, I go for a shower with the intention of getting rid of this weight. I lock everything in my room, not knowing when I'll be back. In the closet, I grab Luke's box and pull out my diary and some of our Polaroids. I also take the little white box, carefully storing it in my suitcase.

I walk around the house, closing windows, turning off power and stuff. I don't worry and much less care about the mess I made yesterday, if I ever come back to this apartment, I'll ask for a huge renovation, not wanting to remember anything from that time.

Around 8:00 am, I tell Martin that I want to go to the airport early, wanting to avoid any of my friends or family. I had already talked and said goodbye to my parents before the party. I'm relieved when he says he's on his way.

I take one last look at my apartment, accepting my defeat. I pick up my bags, already going downstairs and moving forward as much as possible to just leave, I just didn't count on Ashton at the front desk of the building

"Ash?" I call him on impulse. My friend turns to me, apparently not at all surprised to see me with my bags.

“Can we talk?” he questions calmly.

“I need to go to the air-” I try to dodge him, but Ash steps in front of me.

“Five minutes. I do not want to fight. I just want to understand you.” he interrupts me.

“You don't understand, Ash.” whisper. “I need to go.”

There's one thing I've always admired about Ashton, that peace he has and emanates. He in no second judges me with his gaze, in fact, this calm almost makes me tell everything, trusting that he would listen to me and believe me. But in seconds this idea loses strength, after all, Luke would not believe me and John could still harm the band.

“You know, I remember the day we met very well. You were the new student in yoga class and I was happy to have someone my age there. We weren't the best students and we talked too much, which caused us to be thrown out of class.” he laughs a little. “But even without that, we became good friends. It is not?”

“Yes,” I whisper, trying to understand where he is going.

“Marnie, I can't explain what was different with you, but I really didn't want to lose touch. I wanted you to be my friend. The problem is, in the end, I took care of you like my little sister. I think I projected that onto you. I've always taken care of Lauren and Harry a lot and I miss them sometimes. I always wanted to and will always protect you, but I need to know exactly what.”

“Ash…” I try to interrupt him but can't.

“I lost you once, in that fucking accident. I lost you to amnesia. I don't want to lose you for a silly thing. Marnie, please just tell me.” he pleads, holding my hands.

It pains me to see him like this. I can see the desperation in his eyes, just as I saw it in Luke's eyes. I know it hurts, but it has to. Ashton was definitely the best friend I've ever had in all my 23 years, I don't need my memory to prove it. Just a conversation with him and I realized our connection. Really, Ashton is the big brother I never had and I'm grateful for that.

Without the strength to want to convince him of the story I had already created, I pull his body to me, hugging my best friend for the last time. He doesn't deny the hug, squeezing me tightly, as if to stop me from going.

“Thanks for everything, Ash. Please don't forget my speech.” I give him a kiss on the cheek, ready to get into the car that has just arrived.

'It wasn't by chance that you and Luke met.” I stop at the door, turning confusing to him. “Ever since I've known you, I've known you'd be perfect for Luke, you're almost the female version of him. I just gave you guys a little push to see each other, because I knew the moment he saw you, he was going to fall in love with you.”

I stare at Ashton for a few more seconds before turning towards the car, feeling the tears wet my cheek once more. I didn't need to be an expert to know that yes, Luke and I were made for each other, but unfortunately, not all soulmates end up together.

I'm so sorry, I know I'm late. I have a undergraduate thesis at the end of the year and I am too busy with it. But I promise not to delay this amazing fic for you anymore. Thank you so much for all the support and affection, you're amazing. Until the next chapter!

P.s. which I will post in a few hours, after all, it's the least I can do after a month of delays. See ya! xoxo

[poetic-emptiness-fanfic]

Livin’ La Vida Loca (Echoes of the Past 15: Freebie!)

Finally it is finished! I had an irritating writing block, but I’m happy it’s over now. This fic sets during the plague, when Hande is apprenticing with Julian.

The name of this fic is from a song Livin’ La Vida Loca by Ricky Martin

Characters: Hande Kuura & Julian Devorak

Content warning: some profanities

Words: ~3 250

@arcana-echoes

It has been a long day at the clinic – lots of patients and lots of research. Julian is tired and he can see that his apprentice is as well. She tries to put on a brave face, but he can see that she's very tense – has she had any chance to relax? They have been working together for five months, but Julian has only seen Hande at work. He has learned that Hande is extremely conscientious, fast learner and she really cares for the patients. He has also found out, that like him, Hande loves reading and it is fun to discuss about different books during their lunch breaks. Julian has grown to like her, and even see her as his friend – the busy days feel less tiring with her around.

After locking the door behind the last patient, Julian turns to Hande and smiles at her, ”Well, that was a busy one. Great work – I can't even realise how I did manage before you tagged along!” Hande chuckles to Julian's praises and shrugs, ”Thanks, but it's not just me – you really are a spectacular doctor, believe it or not.” Julian blushes by the compliment, but Hande is too polite to point it out. She just pats her teacher's hardel and goes to change to her everyday clothes. While Julian is in the other room changing himself he ponders if he should ask Hande out. They are practically colleagues and they're also friends, so it wouldn't be inappropriate. He also has a feeling that Hande is quite lonely, with her family and friends in Karnassos.

”Hey, Hande?” Julian shouts to his apprentice so she could hear her, ”Would you mind if I took you somewhere? Erm, to let our hair down, so to speak?” The doctor hears only silence for a moment, before Hande's voice echoes from another room, ”No, I wouldn't mind, that sounds nice.” Julian lets out a relieved sigh and his lips twitch into a small smile, ”Great! I can offer you something to eat as a thank you, if you wish?” He hears Hande coming back to the office while she hums in affirmative. After Julian's done, he goes to the office and sees Hande opening her hair which is tied into a French twist. Her hair is pretty long, he notes, settling to the level of her waist. Stop gawking! That's inappropriate!

Hande turns to look at Julian, looking a little embarrassed, ”I don't want to keep the same hairstyle during my free time, otherwise I'd never let go of the work stuff. It probably sounds silly...” Julian gives Hande a friendly smile and shakes his head, ”No, it doesn't sound silly at all. It's good you have ways to avoid thinking about work during your free time.” Hande smiles back, separates her hair in two parts and starts to braid the other half. Julian is looking at her procedure and his curiosity takes over, ”Uhm, may I ask what are you going to do?” Hande glances at Julian before she turns back and continues braiding, ”I'm going to make two braids and pull them over my head, like a headband. Then no one gets the opportunity to try and pull my hair.” Julian seems to think for a moment and before he can reconsider he asks, ”Do you... Do you want me to braid the other half? It'd be faster that way.” Hande turns to face Julian, looking surprised, but also a little amused, her eyebrows raising. Before Hande can say anything Julian blurts, ”Uhm, I can braid... I have a little sister... I used to braid her hair sometimes.”

Hande's eyes widen for a little moment – she didn't expect to hear something like that. She recovers from her shock quickly and beckons Julian to come closer. Julian understands that Hande has accepted his offer and tentatively starts to braid her hair. It feels slippery and soft in his hands – completely different than Pasha's hair. ”Tell me about her. Your sister, I mean,” Hande asks silently after a moment of silence. Julian chuckles and starts to tell while braiding, ”Her name is Pasha. She's three years older than you and we grew up in Nevivon together...” He continues telling about his sister while they are working on Hande's hairstyle. Hande looks satisfied and compliments Julian's work which causes the poor doctor to blush again. When the duo is ready Julian dramatically offers his arm to Hande, who laughs and with an exaggerated curtsey takes it. ”Well, Doctor Devorak, show me the way!”

***

Hande looks curiously at the sign above her head: The Rowdy Raven. She has never been here before and she's curious to see it. The place seems to be a tavern, but it looks rather cozy when she peeks through the window. Still, she can't help feeling a little nervous – what if she ends up being too obviously out of place? Well, fortune favors the brave, as they say... Hande lets Julian lead her into the tavern. They're welcomed with loud laughter and music playing in the background – there's a band playing in a corner. That makes Hande feel herself more at home, if you could call a tavern a home.

The young woman looks around her. There are locals and people from abroad, all of them having a good time chatting or playing cards with each other. People who notice her and Julian entering turn to greet her teacher with joy on their faces. Hande tenses a little, because it is clear, that Julian is very popular person in here, and Hande is... Well, she's here for the first time in her life, although she's lived in Vesuvia for almost a year. Julian squeezes Hande with his arm reassuringly, ”I'd get us some food and drinks. Do you have any wishes?” Hande looks a little pensive, but she decides it's better to speak than stay silent. ”Uhm... Are there... Are there any non-alcoholic drinks? I'm a teetotaler...” she whispers uncertainly.

Julian freezes on the spot. Shit. Congratulations, you've fucked up and brought a teetotaler to a tavern.. You idiot... His faces turns red again and he sputters, ”I-I'm sorry! I didn't know that...” Hande notices Julian's panicking and hurries to assuring him, ”No, no, it's fine! I don't mind others drinking, well at least if they're not steaming... I've just never amused to drink alcohol myself... It isn't because of any belief, if that's any comfort...” Julian is surprised, how Hande is nervous about his reaction, and can't help but smile to her, ”No, you don't need to worry! I don't mind at all, and you're not obliged to explain your reasons, if you don't want to. There should be also some non-alcoholic drinks, so no harm done.” Hande smiles to him thankfully which makes Julian a little giddy. No, concentrate. Go and order your food and drinks!

Hande waits by a table when Julian gives their orders to a barkeeper. The young woman glances around, observing other patrons curiously, wondering where some of them might come from. Soon Julian comes back with their drinks. ”Barth said he'll bring the food soon,” he says, handing her a glass with lime green liquid in it. ”I hope you like this one, I wasn't quite sure what to get,” Julian says, looking a little embarrassed. Hande smiles at him reassuringly and takes a little sip from her drink. It's suitably sweet with citrus aroma – probably lemon and lime combined. ”This is so good! Dr. Devorak, how did you manage to choose a drink I like so much?” Hande asks sounding impressed, which makes the poor Julian to blush again. ”Well, erm... I wish I could say it was intuition, but... uhm... I remember how you once told me you like lemons so...” the man stammers. Now it's Hande's turn to get embarrassed; she doesn't blush visibly, but she can feel her cheeks burn. Julian remembers random things I've mentioned to him? ”You're way too good friend for me... I really am flattered, that you remember my ramblings.”

A little later Barth, the barkeeper, brings their meals in front of them and they eat in comfortable silence, sometimes asking or commenting something. Hande finds the tavern's atmosphere a little rowdy, but not hostile, and she feels more at ease. It's nice to spend time with Julian and see him outside of their work. Suddenly Hande's concentration turns to a discussion a few tables away. There are four men discussing in a foreign language which Hande recognises as Hjallean. She gets excited – she hasn't met any people from her mother's hometown for a long time. She apologises Julian and turns to face the men, ”Förlåt mig. Är ni från Hjalle?¹” The men turn to face Hande, looking positively surprised, ”Ja. Hur kan du tala hjalska, är du från där också?²” Hande smiles and answers, ”Jag föddes i Karnassos. Min mamma är från Hjalle, men hon tillhör Skogsfolket.³” The quintet continues their excited conversation. Julian smiles and watches how Hande speaks fluently in Hjallean, and listens when she finds out that the men are sailors and actually know her grandfather. Hande seems so happy to hear from her family that Julian can feel it, too. He also can't help, but to miss his own family a little.

A little later Julian also joins the conversation which causes the men and Hande to cheer in surprise. The group has a friendly conversation and orders drinks to each other, until the band starts to play a Hjallean folk song which causes the sailors and Hande to sing along. Julian can't help but notice how Hande's voice is clear and beautiful, echoing above hollering of the sailors. To be entirely honest, Julian is mesmerized my her voice – she sounds like a siren, without ill intent, of course. After the song had ended, the sailors cheer to Hande, who looks a little humbled after getting that much attention, but still has a small smile on her face. The band's leader shouts to their table, ”Since the miss sang so beautifully, you can decide our next song!” Hande glances at Julian with a confused expression on her face. Julian just smiles to her encouragingly and winks. Hande smirks and states, ”I will decide, but on one condition: I get to play it, too.”

The band leader looks curious, ”Can the miss play, as well?” Hande nods and answers, ”Yes, I can play the fiddle. I've had lessons since I was a little girl.” The other band members grin and the fiddler steps up, handing their instrument to Hande. She stands up and walks to the corner, inspecting the fiddle for a moment. After she's satisfied, she tunes the instrument and asks, ”Do you know this song?” Hande plays a little part as a sample and the band leader chuckles and agrees. The leader gives a mark about starting the song and Hande joins the band. Julian is awed: this woman doesn't have a single drop of alcohol in her, and she still is having the time of her life. Joyful, wonderful singer and player even – and she's never mentioned any of that to him. This fascinating combination of humbleness and showmanship. Julian watches how Hande's fingers move on the fiddle, how concentrated she is. The song is a little melancholic, but still eventful and fast. The world seems to disappear: there's only music and Hande.

The enchantment is broken when the song ends. Hande remembers where she is and is a little flabbergasted by her courage, but is happy that she played. She doesn't remember when was the last time she had this much fun – in Julian's company she feels at ease, like her old self is coming back to life after so many years. Hande turns to see Julian who is cheering and applauding to them with the others at the tavern. The band leader thanks her when she gives the fiddle back to its owner and returns to her companion. ”Wow... I didn't know you could sing or play!” Julian compliments when she sits down. Hande lowers her gaze for a moment, but soon looks up and shrugs, ”Well... You don't need singing or playing when you're trying to be a doctor's apprentice. To be honest, complimenting myself is really hard for me, and I got this temporary moment of courage. I haven't played in front of an audience for years.” Julian smiles to Hande and feels warmth inside of him – he isn't sure if it's because of alcohol or his company. Concentrate. She's your apprentice. Julian clears his throat and speaks again, ”Did you like it? Playing in front of an audience, I mean.” Hande seems pensive before she gives a hesitant answer, ”Yes.”

Before Julian can say or do anything else, one of the sailors cut in. ”You should be proud of yourself, you really did great back there! Was that a Forestian song? I recognised it, but I'm not sure.” Hande turns to face the sailors and nods, ”Yes. I was surprised the band knew it, but it was fun. Karnassian music is much more popular, so it's nice to hear Hjallean ones for a change.” The group continues their conversation, but Julian is mostly concentrated on Hande. When they are telling about their work to the sailors, Julian, now a little tipsy, tells in surprising excitement, ”Yes... But you know what? Hande here, she... She can do MAGIC!” Hande doesn't have time to react before the sailors gasp in excitement and plead her to show them. Julian now realises he might have screwed up and tries to come to her rescue, but Hande speaks after a little silence, ”Would you like to hear a story? I can illustrate it with magic.” The sailors and even Julian show their enthusiasm for the idea. One of the sailors suggest a scary story and Hande proceeds, telling a Karnassian story about a jinn who fell in love with a human, but in time the human went mad for being so close to the jinn.

Probably for the first time in his life, Julian is awed by seeing magic. The light figures dancing in the air while Hande tells the story such a fascinating way make Julian feel giddy, almost like a child again. Being with Hande here and how... radiant she is, it's nearly overwhelming. The story is indeed scary, but he can't help but smile at her, and his heart jumps when Hande gives him a little smile back with her sparkling eyes. Other patrons have also gathered around watching the spectacle and shower Hande with compliments after the story is over. The sailors try to ask her to tell another, but Hande chuckles, ”I'm sorry, guys, but magic can be very taxing and I don't want to exhaust myself after a long day.” The sailors groan in disappointment, but still pat Hande on her shoulders, buying her one more drink. Julian hasn't bought any more drinks, because he tries not to get steaming, like Hande had expressed earlier – he doesn't want to make Hande feel uncomfortable. The music is compelling and he'd like to ask Hande to dance, but isn't sure if it's appropriate.

After a short internal debate, his reason seems to leave him, when Hande turns to look at him. Julian hasn't noticed it before, but now Hande's eyes look so beautiful, almost like the deep, blue water. His body starts to move on its own: he reaches his hand towards Hande, palm up and his mouth opens before he can think of it, ”Oh, miss Kuura... Would you like to have a dance with me?” Hande watches Julian's hand and laughs goodheartedly to his dramatic request. Julian is pretty sure Hande's thinking is pretending, but he still feels a little nervous. Finally Hande decides to save her teacher, ”Yes, I'd like that. Though, I must warn you, I haven't danced for a long time. I might be quite rusty.” Julian just chuckles and reassures his apprentice by saying that she'll be fine. Hande smiles to Julian again and gives her hand to him.

Julian places his hand on Hande's waist chastely and leads her to dance. His apprentice is a little tense at first, probably because they're first time this close to each other and because she is nervous about her dancing skills. ”Just relax, I got you,” Julian whispers to Hande, smiling to her reassuringly. Hande takes a deep breath and nods, trying to smile back, although the final result is a little lopsided. The current song is quite fast, just perfect for Julian. He guides Hande who seems to trust him enough and let the music, rhythm and Julian lead her. After a moment she relaxes and the dance feels more natural. Julian enjoys being this close to Hande, seeing her feeling comfortable in his arms. She's so vibrant, so beautiful... I haven't noticed it before. Julian tries to shake off his thoughts and have a little conversation with his apprentice, complimenting her dancing and telling how nice the evening has been. Hande smiles to him which makes him feel weak in his knees. She enjoys my company, her laughter, so full of joy. It almost makes me forget the current situation...

The dance is enchanting and Julian wants the moment to never end. The band starts to play a different song, much more speedy than the last one. This causes Julian to get an idea. He faces Hande with a little smirk on his face. ”Hande, do you trust me?” he asks. Hande looks at Julian a little hesitant, but then lets out a little laugh, ”Yes, I do trust you, Julian. But please, don't kill me.” Hande's last remark causes Julian to bark a laughter and whisper into her ear, ”I wouldn't dream of it.” He tightens his grip of Hande and leads her to the outskirts of the dance floor. Hande only gets a little warning to brace herself, before Julian lifts her, so she's now standing on a chair, and he soon follows suit. Then he rises on a longer table, taking Hande with her. She lets out a surprised yelp, but recovers soon. ”Why, Julian, are you suggesting, that we'd dance on the table?” Hande whispers her question, and Julian can hear her mischievous tone. Oh gods, she's a treasure.

Julian's smirk gets wider and he twirls Hande around before starting to dance properly. The band speeds up and patrons cheer to the duo while some of them try to save their pints. None of the things on the table gets knocked – Hande lets Julian lead her and he's done this before so he is very confident with his partner. The Rowdy Raven is filled with music, cheering and Hande's and Julian's laughter. Suddenly Hande takes the charge and dips Julian in the middle of the table, making him grab Hande for his life. Now it's Hande's turn to smirk and she leans in to whisper to Julian, ”Thank you, Julian. I didn't realise I needed this.” Julian blushes, but manages to give Hande a bashful smile, when Hande lifts him up and they continue their dance. Julian forgets everyone else and just gaze at Hande mesmerized, feeling happy for the first time for gods know how long. This intelligent, warm-hearted and beautiful person is dancing with him, smiling at him.

Oh shit. I think I have a crush.  

TRANSLATIONS:

¹ ”Excuse me. Are you from Hjalle?

² ”Yes. How can you talk Hjallean, are you from there, too?”

³ ”I was born in Karnassos. My mom is from Hjalle, but she belongs to Forest people.”

My AO3

[bonniebird]

Assassins and Crooks

Sara Lance x Reader / Leonard Snart x Reader

Requested by Anon

“What’re you guys doing?” You asked as you finally found Sara and Snart. Mick had grunted and pointed in their general direction which had been more helpful than Gideon confirming they were still on the ship.

“I’m kicking Snart’s ass at cards.” Sara answered. Leonard rolled his eyes and tutted with a smirk.

“Are you sure? He doesn’t look like he’s losing.” You pointed out to her.

“You think I can’t win at cards?” “Sure you can, it just doesn’t look like he’s losing.” You said as you hopped down the steps, pointing to Snart who smirked as you sat near the bottom of the metal staircase. “He’s smiling too much. He’s bluffing or you’re going to lose.”

“Thank you for the advice.” Sara exclaimed playfully. She watched you lean over and sneak a look at Snart’s cards, he let you by tilting them and shot a look at Sara.

Sara placed a card down and you grabbed at one of his cards, setting it down. She objected and laughed when you defended yourself, leaning against the wall next to Snart as he let you take the round. He’d already counted the cards and knew exactly what was in Sara’s hand. There was no way he’d win but by some miracle she managed to lose.

“Well (Y/N) you must be a brilliant card play. Perhaps we should take you to a casino.” He smiled when you stuck your tongue out at Sara and laughed as she complained about you cheating.

“I’ve got to go and help Rip, he needs to move the ship so it might get bumpy.” You said after a few minutes, remembering why you’d come to find them.

“He needs you to help move the ship?” Snart asked quickly. There was a curious cut to his tone but he didn’t look up from the new hand Sara delt him.

“He needs me and Kendra to get ready for the next mission out. I’ve got to pretend to be some celebrity and Mick gets to be my bodyguard. Kendra’s acting as my girlfriend. It sounds fun. It’s been so long since I've gotten out of here.” With an excited smile you rushed off. Ever the bubbly bundle of energy.

“(Y/N) and Kendra.” Leonard said thoughtfully.

“You worried she’ll fall in love?” Sara teased.

“I showed her how to clean my cold gun last week and yesterday I let her call me Lenny. We’re practically married.” Snart quipped. He almost purred as he spoke.

“Oh! You showed her your cold gun huh? How’d she like that?” Sara asked with a teasing jeer.

“Imature Sara. Besides she broke it. I still haven’t figured out how. I had to employ Raymond and the professor to fix it.”

“That’s (Y/N) for you. I’m pretty sure i’m the only reason she’s alive.” Sara said smugly, she glanced quickly at the way you excited and smile.

“Just because you’re smitten with her doesn’t mean you can take the credit for keeping her alive. Besides i’ve done my fair share looking after her.”

“I taught her self defense.”

“Pickpocketing.”

“How to escape a choke hold.”

“How to calm Mick down.” There was a long pause after Snart spoke. That last one was impressive. Mick had been getting antsy. He’d been on bed rest since the last mission you went on with him. Having been in a timeline with real homemade pancakes you took the chance to indulge. Mick stole them when you tried to find some syrup and ate the whole plateful. Having to leave before you could reorder you irritably followed Sara outside. Deciding to get the anger out you tossed a nearby brick off the porch of the restaurant, that was being renovated. The brick slammed into the end of a four by four post which missed you, due to Sara’s quick intervention and narrowly missed Snart and Ray because Snart yanked them out of the way. It did however twirl impressively through the air and hit Mick right between the eyes.

Rip and Jax watched in stunned horror as Mick fell backwards, stiff as a board, and fell on his back.

Kendra was convinced he wouldn’t pull through after Gideon struggled to fix him up. Jax was utterly impressed while you were mortified that you’d conked Mick on the head and took the time to hide from Leonard until Mick came round and the tight set in his jaw relaxed.

Sara and Snart had agreed that there were both amusingly impressed with the hit.

“Still can’t believe she managed to take Mick out like that.” Sara commented with a smile. They both glanced up when you ran back to their stairwell and skidded to a halt.

“Rip needs you Sara and Mick wants to set Gideon on fire… he will not calm down!” You explained quickly. Sara smiled and quickly hopped to her feet abandoning the cards.

“I’m more than happy to help.” Sara insisted.

“Like you could help when it comes to Mick.” Snart said as he gathered the cards, sorting them as he followed after you and Sara. He didn’t miss the quick smirk Sara gave him over her shoulder when you hugged her and dragged her off to find Ray.

*****************

“Alright, you two are clear on what we need?” Rip asked over the coms as you and Snart walked away from the party you’d crashed. Snarts arm was around your waist as the two of you walked in step.

“We have to convince them that we’re an engaged couple and play along until they invite us to their creepy party.” Snart muttered. He could feel the two men that were following the two of you. They’d been guarding the doors at the elaborate party. Now they seemed to be following at a distance, pausing every now and then, but never getting too far behind.

 “You need to be sure they’re still following you, they need to see the two of you.”

“We know Rip. Besides we’re being watched.” You answered quickly, pretending to talk to Leonard who looked at you curiously. He knew that you were being followed. He didn’t expect you to pick up on it. “I’ve got that funny feeling.”

At this Snart gave you an impressed glance. It took practise to be able to tell where the feeling of being watched came from and it was more than clear that you too, had spotted your tail.

“I’ve set you up with a small apartment, it’s public enough that it’ll be easy for them to watch you. At most it should take a week. I’ll check in every morning.” Sara explained quickly over the coms.

“A week!” You complained. There hadn’t been an exact timeline of the mission. Though you figured that was Rip’s attempt to get you and Snart to go along with it.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be right there if anything goes wrong.” Sara continued.

“We know we don’t need to worry. We’ve got this. Besides I know how to make a getaway when needed.” Snart said quickly.

“Did anyone else get a weird vibe from them?” Jax asked Kendra and Ray who were frowning at how irritable Sara looked. There had been some bickering as the team prepared for the mission and between Sara and Snart you hadn't spent a second alone since you’d fetched them earlier that morning.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the stress of the job?” Ray offered cheerfully.

“More like they can’t admit they like (Y/N) and she’s not realised that she had an assassin and a career criminal fighting over her.” Kendra said.

“Um… guys… we can hear you on the coms.” You said with a mortified whispyness to your voice. Kendra froze while Ray and Jax looked over at the rest of the team. Sara was blushing and glaring at the screen in front of her. Martin had his head in his hands while Rip looked mortified and un amused.

“Our bad.” Jax muttered.

No one said anything for a while until you’d dug in the bag you had and found the keys Sara had slipped into them at the party. “How exactly are we supposed to play pretend to be engaged? Rip you didn’t give us anything to do.” You asked, breaking the silence.

“Well… in this time period a socialite such as the ones you are impersonating wouldn’t work so much as atted or hold parties and invest in business ventures.” Rip explained, you could hear him moving around the center screen. “Unfortunately it’ll be expected of you to entertain while Snart strikes the deals. But if this works we could get the in we need to get the final artifact.”

At the mention of the elusive artifact, Snart stiffened. He and Mick had been sent in the last time it had popped up and it took the whole team to extract them, choosing them over the artifact. Rip still wouldn’t explain its importance which was a sore subject for the team.

“Well that doesn’t sound too hard.” You mumbled as Snart led you up the stairs to the front door.

“We’ll keep in touch, Martin is going to pose as a rival investor in hopes of getting you some back up if you need it.” Rip explained quickly.

As Snart led you into the house he bumped into you, chuckling as he apologised. You didn’t notice that he’d managed to sneak your coms from your ear. “Got it captain.” He muttered.

*********************

The next morning came by quickly. Sara was early in her check in. She found the time to check out the area several times, no one seemed to notice her but she didn’t mind that. Except for Snart. He’d noticed her sneaking around and was waiting at the back door.

When she arrived he leant against the wall ignoring her until she knocked. “You’re here early.” He mused.

“Well neither of your coms are on and I needed to be sure I wouldn’t be spotted.” Sara said. She paused when she realised Snart was wearing a robe, you still hadn’t appeared which was odd because you usually burst into a room at the sound of her voice. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

“She’s tired out after our evening together and I decided not to wake her.”

“You want me to believe that she hooked up with you last night?”

“If that’s what you want to believe then that’s up to you.”

“You two are really ridiculous.” You murmured sleepily. They both turned to look at you. They were both surprised you’d managed to sneak down to the back room without being hard.

“Perhaps if you let us know which you would prefer, Sara and I could come to an amicable agreement.” Snart drawled as he leant against the wall.

“Well don’t you two have a thing for each other?” You asked, gesturing to them both. They shared a look and Sara cleared her throat.

“We might have done, before…”

“Before I accidently nearly killed Mick over a plate of pancakes?” You asked and they shared a look before nodding. “If I figure this out you’ve got to stop competing and being weird.”

Neither of them answered as you approached them. You fixed Snart with a hard look first, his eyebrows raised as he smirked at you attempt at sternness. Then you turned your attention to Sara. Her eyes went wide as you kissed her. Pulling away you turned back to Snart and kissed him too before turning and leaving the room.

“Was that an option?” Sara asked, feeling a little frazzled.

“It is now. You going to come up?” Snart said as he looked from her to the steps that led to the rest of the house with a satisfied smirk spread over his face.

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 12/?

Part 11

"Not someone." Helen smiles to the tips of her ears. "Not all of us can have a sweetheart that doubles as a snack cabinet, Jon."

He has the fleeting thought that he likes that she uses his name, when she called him Archivist before.

"Why did- hm." He stops himself before completing the question. It's about choice, he remembers. Or it should be. "I'd like to know why you gave them the tape."

Above him, Daisy nods approvingly. Jon snorts. Three monsters learning how to be civil to each other.

"Backup plan." Helen's shoulders shrug way over her head. "In case he wasn't enough to stop you."

"Very determined to save my humanity, I see."

"It seemed like the kind of thing you'd care about."

XII

Jon doesn't want to talk about Tim, it turns out. Gerry doesn't press the subject, but he realizes as they go back to the flat that Jon's burrowing closer to him than usual. It may be a bit selfish to enjoy holding Jon close when he's only looking for comfort, but he can't bring himself to feel guilty at the spark of pride in his chest that comes from knowing Jon feels safe when pressed against his side.

"The offer still stands," Gerry says quietly as he sits on the sofa. "I could feed you, anytime you need it."

"That's not-" Jon drops on the seat next to him with a huff. "I don't want to use you. You- it's already bad enough that- that you can't leave this place if you want to."

"You know? I don't think I would." Gerry shrugs. "Not anymore."

The silence that falls over them after his words is heavy and tense, like a net about to break under the tension of their unsaid words.

"Was Tim right?" Jon asks after a moment. His voice has the bitter taste of nerves when it pours into him, and Gerry has a sinking feeling that he knows where this is heading, but that's miles away from knowing how he feels about it. He supposes he did want to have this conversation, but the timing is not... ideal. "Was that flir- is that what you were doing?"

Honesty has never failed him when it comes to Jon, Gerry decides, taking a deep breath to still whatever is stirring in his stomach. "I was. Thank you for noticing," he says. Then, after Jon's face goes carefully blank, "we should talk about it, shouldn't we?"

Jon grimaces. "I would rather we didn't."

"Huh. Okay, we don't have to. Can I- is there a reason why?" Gerry asks, ignoring the pang of pain at the refusal. It's not like he didn't know what he was getting into with this man that has been treated so unfairly by this world that he's wary to feel anything that is not fear and pain.

"Because-" Jon starts, stops, then starts again after a deep breath and a slow exhalation. "Because it took me three and a half years to figure out how I felt about Martin, and this- Gerry, how do we know this is not the Beholding making you think you feel-"

"Oh no," Gerry cuts in as irritation sparks in his stomach. "No. Jon, I'm a grown man. And a fairly smart one, if I do say so myself. Believe me when I say I know when the Beholding wants me to feel a certain way, and this is not one of those things."

Jon sputters a little, and Gerry shifts away on the sofa when he starts looking a little like a cornered animal. "But that- it makes no sense, why-"

"For God's sake- Jon, the stubbornness is part of the charm, but you make this very difficult." Gerry runs a hand down his face. Of course, of course this is Jon's thing, his need to believe everyone deserves better, except himself. "Listen. I'm not going to give you an itemized list, so go ahead and compel me if you don't believe me. I'm- I have feelings. For you." And they say romance is dead.

Jon's mouth is hanging open, his breathing is shallow, and Gerry worries for a moment that he's going to have an actual panic attack over this. That would make this one of his most awkward love declarations, for sure.

"Gerry I- this is-"

"Look, it's alright." Gerry lifts a hand to stop him "I know how you feel about Martin, Jon. This is not- I'm not demanding anything from you."

"I know you're not," Jon mutters, his gaze dropping. "I know you wouldn't."

"Except... I guess I am demanding that you take my feelings seriously, because they're real." Gerry hunches over a little to look at Jon in the eye. "It doesn't matter what you do with them. Just- I don't regret this. I don't regret you."

"Yet," Jon says so lightly it might as well have been Gerry's imagination, if not for the fact that he knows perfectly well it's something Jon would think. "I need a moment."

Gerry nods slowly. "All the time you need."

He's expecting Jon to retreat into his bedroom, so he's understandably surprised when the man just... stays there, looking ahead at the blank screen of the TV as the seconds stretch on and on. Fine, this is... not awkward or uncomfortable at all. It occurs to Gerry at around the four minute mark that maybe he should leave instead, this is Jon's space after all. He wants to ask, but he did just say 'all the time you need', like an idiot and-

Slowly, clumsily, Jon's burn-smooth fingers tangle with Gerry's on the cushions. Oh.

"I- you said you know how I feel about Martin." Jon doesn't turn to face him, but Gerry figures it's alright.

"I do. If you ask me, it's a bit rude that no one's thought to ask me how I feel about Martin," Gerry says casually. Jon's face whips around like he's been slapped, and Gerry struggles to keep his face straight at Jon's puzzled frown.

"I thought..." Jon lets the thought trail off into a questioning silence, and Gerry shrugs again.

"Martin is... he loves you." That much is true, however you look at it. "That's enough for me to give him a chance. And you know? He's not half bad, when he's not being overly dramatic about me being at his flat uninvited."

Jon doesn't even seem to register the joke. His face is a study in changes so minimal Gerry probably wouldn't notice if he wasn't looking for them; as it is, he can see the confusion in Jon's eyes, read the slightest hint of fear in the way his lips purse tightly against each other.

"I'm saying you don't have to choose, Jon." Gerry says as calmly as he can. He's quite lucky he doesn't have a heart anymore, he decides. "I'm here, if you want me. Any way you want me."

Jon's face is looking steadily more and more flushed, but he doesn't seem to be panicking anymore, which is... good. "Is- I don't know if- is that really fair to you?"

"What? Sharing you?" Gerry asks, and Jon coughs nervously. "Talk to me?"

"I'm just- I don't often-" Jon runs his good hand through his hair with a sheepish, awkwardly pleased chuckle, and Gerry has the thought that if he wasn't completely gone for Jon already, this would be enough to do him in. "I don't think I've ever had anyone talk of it like-"

"Like you're something good that I would want to keep for myself?" Gerry's lips twitch into a smile when Jon's face flushes even more, and it's both endearing and sad, how even the delight at the confession is guarded and the slightest bit disbelieving. "Because you are. But who knows? You love Martin; we'll work something out, because Mister Sims, I am in love with you."

It's a thrill to say it, to see Jon's eyes widen the slightest bit, his lips twitching almost nervously into his usual lopsided smile. Gerry feels his stomach flip at the sight, and has the fleeting thought that he'd gladly spend the rest of his life saying those words again, if it elicits that reaction. Who knows? Perhaps the two of them will be enough to convince him they mean it, once they get Martin back.

"We should-" Jon clears his throat. "Should we be focusing on this? With everything else that's happening?" he asks, but he doesn't take his hand back and as far as Gerry's concerned, that's an invitation to continue the talk.

"I don't know. I think we should." Gerry runs his thumb over Jon's knuckles. He's learned a few things in his years of fighting entities, about the things that make you keep going when there is no light around you. "It's the small things, the... the normal things-"

"They give you a purpose," Jon breathes out slowly. He turns to look at Gerry then, his face veiled in a soft awe that almost looks like hope.

"They really do." Gerry whispers back. It's foreign, to be seen as a motive instead of a tool. Exciting. "I-"

"Can I kiss you?" Jon blurts out, and Gerry half chokes, half snorts on whatever he was going to say next. Jon's face is equal parts embarrassment and determination. "It's okay if-"

"No, I-" try as he may, Gerry can't hold back a delighted laugh. "I would like that very much, Jon."

Slowly, Jon's hands come to cup his face like they did some days ago at his office, when Gertrude mentioned- Gerry pushes the thought away, focusing instead on Jon's nervous face as he rises up in his knees, and he lets his eyes fall closed when Jon tilts his head to the side.

Jon's lips are warm and tentative in their advance, and if his voice was intoxicating, his touch is simply addictive. Gerry finds himself trailing after him when Jon pulls back, and his stomach does a flip at the pleased chuckle that comes from deep in Jon's throat as he concedes into a second kiss.

Gerry's tongue pokes out almost on reflex to wet at the chapped lips pressed against him, and Jon's mouth parts like the light caress had been a command, catching Gerry's lower lip between his.

When they part again, Jon's teeth catch and pull softly at the ring on Gerry's lip, and Gerry's eyes fly open as Jon retreats. They sit there in tense silence, until Gerry's eyebrows raise and he tilts his head, giving him an amused, questioning smile as he jangles the piercing with his tongue.

Jon's blush is almost luminous, and Gerry cackles as he goes to pull this ridiculous, perfect man into a hug, and perhaps -if he's lucky- a couple more kisses.

----------------------------------------------------

"...Huh." Melanie rips a few more strands of grass. "So he's back?"

"Seems like it. Just thought you should know, maybe tell Basira." Gerry shrugs beside her. It's nice to just lay down on the grass at the park and relax, now that their mysterious fires turned out to be a -somewhat- false alarm. "Jon compelled him, so I believe him when he says he's not here to hurt anyone, but I'm still going to keep an eye on him."

Melanie turns to look at him, and sure enough he's got an award-winning frown on his face. "Why? It's not like he can lie to Jon."

"Don't like him."

It takes a second, before the dots connect in Melanie's mind, and she sprinkles her handful of grass over him. "Was he mean to your boyfriend?" she asks with a teasing smile.

Gerry turns to her, unimpressed, and blows a strand of grass off his nose. "Actually, yes. But it's alright, we kissed a lot afterwards, and it was fine."

Melanie groans. "Say one more thing about that, and I'm going to go back to my stabbing days."

Gerry laughs, and Melanie feels her lips twitch into a smile. It's a nice day to not be afraid.

----------------------------------------------------

Jon's office is large enough, but it still feels uncomfortably cramped when Basira pulls Daisy and Melanie in, and Jon has the gall of looking questioningly up at them.

"I- what's this about?" Jon frowns, climbing to his feet.

"Sit. Down." Basira orders. Jon arches an eyebrow, but he complies with the order.

"Daisy?" he asks, and Basira feels her blood boil when Daisy just shrugs by her side.

"We found something, Jon." Daisy says almost softly. Basira punctuates it by slamming the tape recorder on the desk, and Jon flinches back.

"Ah," he says almost sadly, looking at the tape like a note left behind by someone long gone. "We'd been wondering where that would end up. Should've known."

"So you know what it is." Melanie comes closer to the desk with cautious steps, and Basira doesn't warn her to stand down because she can't for the life of her decide on what outcome she wants for this, not when something inside her pushes back against the indignation, against the knowledge that this is wrong, like a snake whispering that she too could reach for the offered fruit.

"That would be Jessica Tyrell's tape. Or rather... her statement," Jon mutters quietly. "About her meeting with the Archivist."

"Nice to know you at least remember her name." Basira crosses her arms, as the name flares up like a searchlight in her mind.

"I remember all of them." Jon sighs.

"What?" Basira slams her hands on the desk, and shakes off the hand Daisy lays on her shoulder.

Flanking Jon's side, Melanie rolls her eyes. "You're really not helping your case."

"I suppose I'm not," Jon says, nodding. "I'm not going to deny I hurt these people."

"So what? Are we supposed to just think it's alright because you're sorry?" Basira feels Daisy's hand come to rest at her shoulder again, firmer this time. "Just forget about it?"

"That is not what I'm saying." Jon gives her an impatient eyeroll, and Basira wants to strangle him. She's been working herself to the bone to keep everyone alive and human, and this idiot-

"How many?"

It takes him a moment, before he dares bringing up his eyes to meet hers. "Seven, counting Miss Tyrell."

"Jon..." Daisy whispers by Basira's side, sad and hurt, and Jon averts his eyes, before he starts again.

The first one, he says, was an accident. He was out for a smoke a few days before he had his revelation about Melanie, when he realized he'd forgotten his lighter. That rings a bell in Basira's mind; she knows he always carries the shiny silver zippo with the spiderweb design. He walked into a shop to purchase another, he says, and Basira forgets about it. That's what you do when you lose your lighter, it makes perfect sense. The man, he says, wasn't even scheduled to work that day; his coworker woke up with terrible cramps, and he offered to cover their shift. Jon asked him where the lighters were, and then he asked about the warehouse.

The second was a woman he found when he went to take a walk by the riverside, because he wasn't healing well after Melanie stabbed him.

"I thought you hated walking by the river, because of the smell." Daisy mutters, and another bell rings in Basira's mind.

"This is not my fault. Don't put the blame on me," Melanie says firmly, and the bell -if there ever was one- falls silent again as Jon nods in agreement.

The next three he sought on purpose, but they came to him almost like it was them who were hunting him instead. A woman whose phone slipped from her hands and split to pieces on the ground, when she desperately needed to make a call. A man whose son, who was supposed to meet him there, was delayed due to heavy traffic caused by an accident. The last of them, ironically enough, needed a lighter. If there are any alarms in Basira's mind, she doesn't hear them, because Jon says without the strength he got from these three, he would never have found Daisy in the coffin.

Jess Tyrell he found in a coffeeshop that he heard Martin mention years ago. She saw an ad for it on Facebook before going to bed, and decided on a whim to treat herself to lunch there the next day, even if it was out of the way for her. Basira stops to think it over for a moment, but she decides in the end that it makes sense Jon would seek solace in a place that reminds him of Martin.

The last one was a man asking for change at a corner, when Jon went out to purchase coffee because they were running out at his flat. He usually sat at a different corner, but that particular morning someone called the police about a pickpocket in the area, and he decided to move for the day, just to avoid talking to them. Jon had dropped a ten pound note in his cup, and handed him a store-bought sandwich before he asked about the scars on his face.

All through Jon's tale, Basira feels something prickling at her nape. It itches and tickles as it crawls just along the edge of her consciousness, where she can't swat at it, and she can't put her finger on just what it is, because she keeps getting distracted by the thought that Jon has been feeding on innocents right under her nose.

"I- turns out I won't have to do it anymore," Jon says, and Basira realizes he hasn't stopped talking.

Melanie arches an eyebrow. "Do you think that's why the Eye brought him? So you could feed from him?"

"As an emergency resource only, if I had to guess." Jon sighs. "The Eye would much rather I keep hunting."

"Well, you won't. It can't keep changing you if you don't let it." Basira says dryly. Jon's eyes, when they land on hers, are a bright, uncanny green. "Don't say-"

"I think you Know better now, Basira." It's not the words themselves, but the sadness in Jon's voice, what makes her recoil from the desk.

"Basir-"

Daisy's question goes unanswered, as Basira rushes out the door while her heart tries to beat a hole through her chest.

----------------------------------------------------

The door to Martin's office is not uncannily cold when Gerry pushes it open. That's a good sign, at least.

"Hey. I talked to-" Gerry's eyes catch a flare of movement and light, and he crouches to the ground almost on instinct.

"Tim!" Martin's horrified voice comes from somewhere to his right, along with his heavy steps and a sound like cloth slapping against wood.

Gerry looks up to find Martin patting off a smouldering patch on the wall, and he grunts. Of fucking course.

"What are you doing here?" Gerry asks as he rises to his feet again. Tim's hand is still stretched towards him, his eyes burning like an unattended fire.

"You're a bit confused." Tim climbs from his chair, and the temperature in the office rises even more. "What are you-"

"Could you two stop that?" Martin snaps. "Tim, sit down."

Gerry watches in amazement, as the man obeys with nothing more than a sullen, wary look.

"Why is he here?" the man asks, frowning.

"Because I asked him to be here." Martin rolls his eyes, and Gerry Knows with sudden, delighted certainty that Tim has no idea, that Martin hasn't told him about the Extinction or why he's isolating himself. "Gerry, what happened?"

"I talked to him," Gerry says, making sure to be as vague as possible. "We figured something out."

Martin nods. "About..."

"About a couple things." Gerry feels his lips curl into a smirk, as Tim is practically boiling on his chair. "I'll tell you more next time. But that's settled."

"That's... that's really good." Martin gives a relieved sigh, and he seems to regain a bit more color, before fixing him with a warm, relieved smile. "Thank you, Gerry."

"Anytime," Gerry smiles back. It has the added benefit of riding the room's temperature a few more degrees. "I'll see you later for the tapes. Alone, hopefully."

"Fuck off." Tim snarls, but Gerry's already closing the door behind him.

His smile fades almost immediately, and he leans back against the door. Watching out for Martin's humanity is already hard enough without the beacon of destruction and rage that is Timothy Stoker. What is he even doing at the Institute, wasn't he so desperate to leave and be free? It's-

"You must be Gerard Keay." It's not until the man speaks that Gerry even notices he's there, and that says more about who he is than the name the Eye whispers into his mind as he looks up into the face of the tall, grey-haired stranger. Fuck.

"Peter Lukas, I suppose." Gerry squares up, arching an eyebrow and reaching behind himself as discreetly as he can, until he can turn the doorknob and crack the door open. For all his girth and bulk, Lukas looks almost ethereal, like a faraway form you can barely make out through the fog before dawn, like the silhouettes sailors made into sea monsters and legend.

"Temporary Head of the Institute, yes." Lukas gives him a jovial smile. If he noticed the opening door, he makes no mention of it. Gerry hopes the fact that Lukas is practically looking through him means he's not paying attention to what he does. "It has come to my attention that you've been... intervening, in my assistant's training."

Well, there go his hopes of helping Martin unnoticed.

"I think Martin is plenty qualified already," Gerry says with a smirk. "No need to train him anymore," he adds loudly to cover the muffled scurrying inside the office.

"The Watcher gave you a second chance as a chewtoy for the Archivist, and I, unlike Elias, am under no obligation to tolerate your meddling." Lukas' smile remains, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "If you keep messing with my affairs-"

Gerry can't help it. He snorts. "What? You'll throw me into the Lonely?"

Lukas' eyes narrow in anger. "Well, aren't you cheeky."

"I am, thank you for noticing." Gerry snorts. "Believe me, Lukas, even if I had the slightest trace of respect left for you after working under Gertrude for years, your threats wouldn't work on me."

"If you think-"

"Actually, I Know. Try it if you want to waste your time, but you can't touch me." Gerry interrupts, his face growing serious. "I know exactly where my anchor is."

"I guess we'll see, won't we?" Lukas gives him a look of distaste. Gerry really hopes he managed to buy enough time for Martin to push his friend through a window or something, because he really would be risking a holiday in the Lonely, if Lukas gets any more riled up.

"I guess we will." Gerry pats the man on the shoulder as he passes, delighting in the way he almost seems to recoil from his touch. "Get fucked."

----------------------------------------------------

"So you finally talked?" Daisy asks. They're sitting against the corner of his office again, their backs to the wall and down on the floor to make the room look bigger than it is.

Jon leans his head on her shoulder, and she leans her head on his. "We did. Mostly about my feeding, but... other things too."

"That's good. He cares about you."

"Is Basira- how is she?" Jon asks. It had been a stupid thing to say, and now she hasn't talked to him in two days.

"She's- it's difficult, Jon," Daisy says with a sigh. "She doesn't want to admit she's- Basira's constant. She doesn't change and-"

"Well that's just boring, isn't it?" Helen says by Jon's other side. He feels Daisy flinch, but he Saw the moment the door appeared on the floor beside them, and so he's not surprised when it opens, and Helen leans her crossed arms over the edge, the tips of her fingers reaching far past the edges of the door. "To always be the same? Predictable."

"Some people like stability, Helen." Jon rolls his eyes, leaning over to take a peak at Helen's corridors. From this angle it's like looking into a well-furnished pitfall, and he sees Helen's body hanging into it, much longer than it ought to be. He also sees a shadow, bending a corner at a full run many, many miles inside Helen. "Did you eat someone?"

"Not someone." Helen smiles to the tips of her ears. "Not all of us can have a sweetheart that doubles as a snack cabinet, Jon."

He has the fleeting thought that he likes that she uses his name, when she called him Archivist before.

"Why did- hm." He stops himself before completing the question. It's about choice, he remembers. Or it should be. "I'd like to know why you gave them the tape."

Above him, Daisy nods approvingly. Jon snorts. Three monsters learning how to be civil to each other.

"Backup plan." Helen's shoulders shrug way over her head. "In case he wasn't enough to stop you."

"Very determined to save my humanity, I see."

"It seemed like the kind of thing you'd care about."

Jon sighs. "It is. You probably could've dropped it to Melanie instead, however. Basira has a lot on her plate, like Daisy said, with her changes. Not to mention she's still trying to find leads on the ritual for the Dark and-" Jon stops, when Daisy's breathing stops.

"She's what?" she asks, and only then does Jon catch on to the fading static, and the soft pressure of the Eye in his mind. Daisy straightens, and he closes his eyes to take a breath and let some more Knowledge come. Helen is looking curiously up at him, when he parts his eyelids again.

"At Ny-Alesünd. The cult of Mr. Pitch has their Dark Sun there, and- and she knew this," Jon lets out an irate laugh. "Of course she did."

He climbs to his feet, vaguely registering the sound of Helen's door closing and Daisy standing up to match him.

"Jon-" she calls, but he's already crossing the office and out the door.

Helen's door has reappeared by the side of Basira's cot, but she doesn't seem to have noticed, lost in her book as she is.

"I thought we were done with secrets." Jon comes to a halt a few feet before the cot, and Daisy advances some more, standing almost between them.

Basira turns the last page of her book, and turns up to look at them. "That's a conversation starter."

Daisy sighs, and Jon rolls his eyes. "Ny-Alesünd, Basira. The ritual. When were you going to tell us?" he asks. Something in his chest begins to loosen up, and he wonders if it's just the promise of more knowledge helping to calm his irritation.

Basira's face clears of confusion then, though it does close off a little more. "I was gathering intel," she says, and Jon has to restrain himself from asking if it was tasty, because he doesn't want a broken nose, not even for a few minutes. "How do you know about it?" Jon arches an eyebrow. "Ah."

"Elias told you?" Jon asks. The Eye didn't volunteer that, and without the freedom to feed -a freedom he doesn't want, he reminds himself- Jon didn't think it wise to force it.

"He mentioned it." Basirs gives a sharp, annoyed shrug. "I had to make sure he was-"

"Are we having another intervention?" a third voice asks.

"Welcome back, Melanie," Helen pokes out of her door to greet the newcomers, and Jon turns. The feeling of calm that blanketed over his annoyance makes a lot more sense now, even if Gerry -and Melanie by extension- is caked head to toe in dirt. "Found another one of your books?"

"Had to unbury it before we could burn it." Melanie shrugs. "What's this about?" she sounds calm, if slightly puzzled, and Jon feels a pang of relief run through him.

Violence still lurks under Melanie's skin like a bull confined to a pen, but she's controlled it, redirected it, and none of it is aimed at the people in this room, not even him.

Gerry comes to stand behind him, and his hand lands on Jon's shoulder as easily as breathing. "What's going on?"

Jon gives Basira a pointed look. "What's going on, Basira?"

"You know what, Jon?" Basira climbs to her feet and goes to take a step forward, when Daisy lays a hand on her arm to still her. "You're acting very self righteous about sincerity in your little 'team', for someone who felt like he had the right to hide that you were feeding on innocent people for months."

"It's not-" Jon sputters, only to be interrupted.

"Yeah, okay, but why didn't you tell me about whatever this is about?" Melanie asks, frowning. "Was that another one of your 'I'm the only one qualified enough' bullcrap, or are you only telling Daisy things now?"

Daisy's hand tenses, when Basira flinches at the accusation. "Who was she supposed to tell? She-"

"Daisy-" Jon goes to take a step forward, but Gerry's grip on his shoulder tightens and pulls at him, and he too can See the blood rising inside the woman. "Daisy. The quiet."

Daisy turns to him with a snarl, but her gaze does begin to soften, and the growl that was mixing with his own static starts fading back into her throat-

"Aw, it was just about to get interesting." Helen's breathy, echoing laughter washes over them all, and the Distortion doesn't even have the decency to flinch when they turn to glare at her.

"Helen-" Melanie starts, but Gerry lays his free hand on top of her head, and she huffs, crossing her arms.

"You're all really bad at this," Gerry observes.

"Oh, sure. Am I supposed to believe you and Gertrude had a healthy communication, and you ended in a book on accident?" Basira snaps. Gerry's hand flinches on his shoulder and Jon bristles, suddenly furious.

She can lob any and all accusations at Jon, he's earned her mistrust; but Gerry's just trying to help, and he won't allow-

"Jon." Daisy says simply. "The quiet."

It's only then that Jon realizes the static around them is almost deafening, and Gerry's grip has become bruising. Jon's body's pulled taut like a violin string, and his head aches like it will split, as he tries to focus on Daisy's words. Right. The- fighting won't fix anything, especially when Jon has the sneaking suspicion that he has the upper hand in here.

"Right." Jon says.

"Right." Gerry repeats, squeezing his shoulder once before softening his grip. "Yes, Gertrude lied to me. Look at how she ended. Look at how I ended. This is exactly what Elias wants, for you to be at each other's throat so he can go ahead with whatever it is he's planning."

"Don't think too much about it." Melanie mutters, and Jon feels a sudden wave of warmth for her, when she gives Gerry a worried frown.

"I'm not. Just... you don't have to like each other, or trust each other." Gerry trudges on. "But you have to work together, and you have to stop keeping secrets from each other. It's the only way."

It's... quiet, after his words.

Of course this would come from the man that gave so much for the cause that he ended up a shadow of himself

Eventually, Melanie scoffs, looking up at Gerry. "Some secrets, please?"

Gerry snorts. "Okay. Some secrets, if you're weak." He takes Melanie's punch to the ribs without flinching. "What is this about?"

"A ritual, apparently," Daisy mutters, giving Basira another, subtler worried look.

Gerry nods. "And where is it happening?"

"Ny-Alesünd," Basira and Jon say at the same time, and the static comes back for the briefest of moments.

"...Well count me out of that particular road trip, I have things to do here." Melanie cracks her neck, shaking Gerry's hand off her head. "But I'll, you know, keep the fort safe. Keep an eye on Martin. Which reminds me, shouldn't someone tell Martin?"

Gerry lets out something between a groan and a sigh. "I'll do that. You need someone with good reflexes, with his new guard dog."

Jon closes his eyes, tapping lightly at the pool of Knowledge behind the cracked door in his mind, until he finds the particular thoughts he's looking for. "Tim is actually going to go get them some food in about ten minutes, so if you'd like to wait, you're welcome at my office."

"I'd like that." He can hear Gerry's smile in his voice, but even that doesn't prepare him for the sight of it aimed down at him when he opens his eyes again, and warmth coils at the bottom of his stomach like a pleased cat under the sun.

"I'm out." Melanie groans somewhere behind Gerry, and gives his side another punch before stomping away.

Jon darts a look at Basira and Daisy, who seem to be having a whispered conversation of their own, before he reaches to grab Gerry's hand and pull at him. He comes easily, like a smile after a kiss, and Jon leads them back to his office, where something primal and monstrous whispers 'safe' at the back of his mind.

"You can take a seat, if you want." Jon gestures to the chair before his desk.

"I don't think I do, actually." Gerry leans a forearm on the wall above Jon's head, and bends to rest his forehead against Jon's.

"Are you coming with us? Up north," Jon asks, trying to ignore how everything in him is yearning for Gerry's mouth like a sinner longs for absolution.

This is still new and unknown, but Jon's learned pretty fast that Gerry enjoys teasing him, leaning in just enough that they could kiss if Jon pulled him down. Jon for his part, enjoys not giving into that. It works about fifty percent of the time, but they always do end up kissing.

"I told you." Gerry whispers against him, close enough that Jon feels the silvery ring graze against his lower lip. "You're not going into any more entities without me. Should've thought about your vacation plans before adopting a revenant."

Jon snorts, and leans up to plant a kiss on the corner of Gerry's lips. That's one lost battle, but he doesn't feel too bad. "I knew feeding you that one time was a bad idea."

Gerry kisses him back slowly, like he doesn't want to be done anytime soon, and Jon hooks an arm over the back of his neck to bring them closer together. Stopping a second apocalypse doesn't sound too bad or scary right now, not with Gerry in his arms and the promise of Martin in his mind.

"It's been ten minutes," Jon whispers, parting from the kiss slow and unwillingly, like waking up early in the morning. "Tim's gone now."

"Hm... I should go talk to Martin."

"You should." Jon exhales slowly, as Gerry pulls back from him. He's smiling, and Jon feels like he will burst, because this man that's suffered so much is happy to be here with him and he feels like he doesn't deserve how relieved that makes him.

"I'll go tell your crush you all decided to play nice, then." A spark of something mischievous gleams in Gerry's eyes,almost as thrilling as the kiss itself, and Jon prepares a long-suffering sigh- "Should I give him one of these from you? Just in case he misses you." -which promptly catches in his throat and comes out in a flustered cough.

"Get out of here!" Jon pushes at his shoulder, and Gerry cackles in delight as he closes the office door behind him, leaving Jon alone, red-faced and juggling an armload of embarrassing and confusing thoughts.

[curtisandlewis]

ML Relationship through the Perspective of a Fanfiction Writer

Listen to the Spotify playlist I made as an auditory companion

For their anniversary I would like to discuss from my perspective as a writer of fanfiction the many layers of ML’s relationship

Onions have layers as well as cake! I learned that from Jerry’s friend Eddie Murphy.

We all know how much the boys love cake…

Layer One Partnership

I wouldn’t be writing fanfiction about two guys who worked at a gas station. Their act is the reason we know about them and celebrate them today. What all of America saw was two men equally skilled at their art (though many were too stupid to realize), both in awe and each other’s biggest fan. What was not presented to the public was the communication it took to pull off their act. It took negotiation to set up a gag and trust as well as the sense to know when not to push when doing a stunt. Their natural rhythm made adlibs come off better than scripted material. They were so attuned to one another they could do the impossible.

Layer Two Friendship

Dean and Jerry most likely met in 1942 that’s four years of friendship before they ever were on stage together. They hung out, had more fun than anyone, and were emotionally supportive of the other. A subset of this aspect is when they act like boys. Wrestling each other to the ground, play fighting, playing football in the hall in nothing but your boxer shorts, and innocent kisses are all the actions of boys not yet taught the rules of manhood. In my writing I sometimes explore the idea of them having a romantic friendship. More than friends, less than lovers. Their relationship isn’t physical and neither has a sexual attraction but are deeply attracted to each other emotionally. This love can be (and Jerry often has!) compared to romantic love. They are affectionate sometimes in the form of kisses but that’s only to communicate their strong emotions for the other.

Layer Three Family

Some people are uncomfortable with them having a romantic friendship. What part of it was a LOVE STORY do you not understand? Often these people will say they loved each other like BROTHERS. In the past I have compared them to brothers but I meant only in the sense that they have a family-like bond. Brothers are protective in this “no one beats the shit out of my brother but me” kind of way. No real life brother relationship I know of is anything like Dean and Jerry. I do, however, get strong father/son vibes from them. Dean is protective, caring, gives Jerry discipline when he needs it, and loves him without condition. It’s important to note these are all things Jerry’s biological father didn’t provide.

Layer Four Marriage

Now we’re getting deep. When I talk about their marriage I don’t mean romantic love or a sexual relationship. I’m speaking strictly of their domesticity. Their act made it so they had to live on the road, sharing hotel rooms and a bed in the early days. As Jerry once said, LIVING AND LOVING TOGETHER. It’s canon that Dean moved in with Jerry more than once. They know what the other is like in a domestic situation. Jerry knows that Dean cuts corners when doing house work and can be a slob. Dean thinks Jerry should relax and not be so fussy. They learned to accept the other’s irritating quirks and create a harmonious environment where they can enjoy each other’s company. Dean and Jerry have to work together to (Jerry would love this analogy!) nurture their baby (their act). This requires...you guessed it! COMMUNICATION. When they communicate and I mean TALK, exchange words and make hard decisions, nothing can break them. In real life their little spats were like the arguments that married people have. In my fiction when they can no longer communicate what they want or need that’s the beginning of the end.

Layer Five Dom/sub

I’m not talking about in a sexual relationship or even within them practicing an alternative lifestyle. When Dean is dominant over Jerry it makes him feel owned. For Jerry to be owned is the highest form of love. He willingly submits to Dean’s loving authority and to serve him brings him great joy. The roles often switch back and forth depending on what the other needs. When Jerry is dominant over Dean it gives him a chance to breathe. For most of Dean’s life he had to appear dominant and in control because that’s what is expected of a man. Jerry is seen as the wife, the female half and naturally the more submissive. But when Jerry takes over the dominant role Dean can just be. He doesn’t have to worry about appearances. Sometimes a man just likes to be led.

Layer Six Romantic

This is when I write Dean and Jerry as lovers. Call them boyfriends, husbands, whatever you want. They are romantically attracted and deeply in love. If you would like a description look up any quote from Jerry about their relationship.

Layer Seven Supernatural

I’m not planning on doing any crossovers with the TV show if that’s what you were thinking. I’m speaking of all the things related to their connection that cannot be explained. They were mythological. In real life they spoke of a connection so deep they knew when the other was sick, in pain, or even angry at them before they were in the same room. I create stories that hint at this connection. They were fated to be together. No matter how stupid they act or how badly they fuck everything up a force beyond their control will always bring them back together.

Layer Eight Sexual

I have left this to be the final layer because it is the most deepest and intimate aspect of their relationship. When I write them having sex all of their aspects work together. Their professional partnership, especially the part where they must know the other’s limits, prepares them for a sexual relationship. As boys they can wrestle and play and as men these games can become something more meaningful than harmless fun. If you replace father with caretaker then that aspect also plays a key part. Making love is what married couples traditionally do. Dominance, submission, the switching between the two awakens their deepest desires and fulfills their deepest need. In Dean’s case it’s a need he didn’t know he had. When I write them practicing an alternative lifestyle I include pain and that sex doesn’t have to be gentle to be deeply romantic. Sex and physical touch on it’s own is how Dean can express his love for Jerry. Words fail him but his hands never do. I write that they can feel the love as if it was something tangible and passed to the other. As for the supernatural aspect, imagine how satisfying sex could be with your soul mate who knew when you would take your next breath and who knew your body as well as you did. This is why whenever I write Dean and Jerry having sex or experiencing sexual intimacy it is always more than that. It does not matter what they do or the lies they tell they are experiencing a deeply emotional act that can sometimes border on the spiritual.

I remember hearing the writer of a TV show talking about writing sex scenes. He used sex scenes as an opportunity to show who the characters were. That always stuck with me and as a writer I prefer examining their relationship and personalities through sex scenes. I mainly write them in a sexual relationship for this reason and also because it’s fun.

Below the cut is my personal experience with writing their sexual relationship, particularly penetrative sex. None of this will be included on the version posted to AO3

It is very important for me to know if and when my characters engage in certain acts, especially penetrative sex.

I am very protective of my Jerry character. Once upon a time, I wanted Dean to be his first everything. I think we all like the idea of Jerry being in control of his experiences with men and for those experiences to be really special. But when I would attempt to write Jerry as shy and innocent it felt like I was writing an original character that had the same name. Jerry’s experiences whether good or bad make him who he is. I can’t logically write that Jerry never acted on his attraction towards men in sixteen years because his soul mate was out there waiting for him. Also, Dean’s possessiveness would take over when he found out Jerry was untouched. He would think of him as “pure” and that never sat right with me.

Jerry kissed boys and men, was held by some and maybe even developed romantic feelings for one of them and Mr. Martin is just going to have to accept that.

Another thing Mr. Martin has to deal with is that Jerry very much enjoys penetrative sex and wants that in his sexual relationships. I write Dean as his first experience with homosexual intercourse because I want that experience to be special for him. If the idea weren’t so laughable I would have Dean sprinkle rose petals on their bed. Jerry isn’t losing his “virginity” he’s had sex before. Intercourse isn’t any different from any other sexual act. Any way men choose to have sex or get off with each other is valid, intimate, and as romantic as they feel.

However, intercourse is a riskier act than the others. The first time for any gender can be tricky and a lot can go wrong. I want Jerry to be with someone gentle and caring enough that he can receive the maximum amount of pleasure. I want this person to be someone he’s in love with and only gives him positive emotions during. Most importantly I want him never to regret this happened and when he thinks of it throughout the decades he feels good.

Quite recently, I’ve decided on a specific time when they do this. Drum roll please... Dean and Jerry share this special experience in 1947 when Jerry is twenty-one.

Why such a specific time? Because in 1948 Jerry goes to Hollywood and reunites with his oh so special friend Tony. When I first joined this fandom I thought Jerry met Tony in 1948 and in my fanfiction writer mind because of their strong sexual chemistry they instantly started a sexual relationship. They did EVERYTHING. Jerry didn’t have to worry about the rules that men were supposed to follow or if he was acting too feminine in bed or not feminine enough. There was no hesitation or holding back with Tony. He bottomed, he topped, dominant, submissive he explored every side of himself. To be with Tony he has to be a fully blossomed flower of a man and when the fifties hit he knows exactly what he wants sexually and completely accepts the desires he has for whichever gender he has a relationship with.

It’s beautiful isn’t it? Tony and Jerry definitely have their problems but when it comes to their sexual relationship I always write it as positive and satisfying for the both of them. When I started writing fanfiction for them it’s what I loved the most.

[pitchblackkoi]

Martin as an avatar of the Powers

With the Eye Martin is calculating. He can extract any information he wants with a thought. Part of him, the human part, recoils from the emotional pain he puts people in to get this knowledge. The part of him that he has given to the Beholding just wants more. But what really makes him do it is the part of him that loves Jon and wants to keep him safe. He Knows that extracting this knowledge will help Jon, will help everyone in the Archives, and he will get the job done for their sake.

The Lonely makes Martin almost ethereal. He is fog and cold and silence. His presence is there and gone. He is the feeling of being completely alone, not a soul for miles and he is the feeling of being lost and alone in a crowd of faceless strangers. When he comes to see Jon it is few and far between and it is punctuated by fleeting touches with ice cold skin and almost empty smiles.

The Buried has given Martin the gift of closeness. Walls on all sides, hugging him close and washing him over with the scent of soil. The weight of the world isn’t crushing, but instead warm and comforting. Martin is always a bit grubby, dirt in his hair and under his nails, and he smells like the earth that has claimed him. He is always just a tad too close, something Jon once protested but now finds a comfort. With his arms around his Archivist Martin can show him just a bit of that weight and how real and comforting it can be.

The Flesh makes Martin... strange. The shape of him is just a bit off. Too big, too wide for what a human is expected to be. But he smiles and offers up food to people. It is always fantastic, he is a great cook, but there is something to either the food or the man himself that leaves people ill at ease. Maybe it is the way that he always smells faintly of blood. Maybe it is how the meat does not taste quite how beef is meant to. Jon has made Martin promise never to feed him human meat, to which Martin agreed. He just wants to feed the Archivist, make sure he is cared after.

When Martin comes to the Desolation it is because he has leaned into how angry the injustices in his life have made him. However he is nowhere near as cruel as the other members of the Cult. He is good at staying level until the times he needs, allowing himself to explode into a furious light of burning destruction. Sometimes he just needs to feed his patron and chooses a target. But if there is one person he will never hurt, it is the Archivist. He can only touch Jon with layers of clothes between them, gloves always staying firmly on his hands when they are together, but it is enough.

People fear death, think of it as a cold and emotionless void. But when the End claims Martin Blackwood, that is not who he is. People die and he is there to greet them, a smiling face to guide them along to the domain of his patron. Sometimes people fight, the fear so strong that they lash out, and he becomes the monster that they expect, all bones and robes and cold death. Jon has come near to death many times, and each time it is Martin who greets him. They have fleeting conversations and something about how dismissive this man is of his life and his death fascinates him. When Jon spends 6 months on the edge of dying and trapped in his own mind, Martin gives him reprieve when he can, short conversations before the Eye comes back.

Martin is overtaken by the Dark and now it follows wherever he goes. He makes street lamps go out, skies go dark, shade grow that much bigger and darker. He has a body, but no one can see it anymore. He is entrenched in the darkness, seemingly nothing more than a voice and feeling in the black. Jon has never once seen Martin’s face, but he learned to recognize his voice and his touch. He has learned to trust that Martin will lead him safely in the dark, so there is nothing to fear from it anymore.

The Corruption provides Martin with the family he has always yearned for. He is a hive now, a home for the bees that live in his chest. He loves all of them, they are his family. They sing him to sleep and provide him with honey that sometimes drips down to stain his clothes and make his hands sticky. The Queen is his new mother, the Corruption giving him a better one than he’d ever had. Jon doesn’t want to be a hive, which makes him sad but he respects the decision. It does not stop his bees from loving him as Martin does, though, flying out to crawl on him. Jon pretends this irritates him but he cannot hide the blush on his cheeks.

Martin has always felt helpless, but with the Slaughter behind him he doesn’t need to feel that way. He is a weapon who can kill anyone in his path. He doesn’t kill recklessly, that would lead to him getting caught and while danger excites him he is not stupid. Adrenaline sings in his veins as he kills to the beat of the song. It’s provided him security, too. He can protect the Archives, protect Jon. Anything that endangers his Archivist he can take care of with a weapon and the song of the Slaughter behind him.

Martin was lost and the Hunt gave him a purpose. He follows trails and hunts down dangerous monsters. Maybe he, too, is a monster now, with his sharp lupine eyes that glint in the dark and sharp teeth made to rip out throats, but that isn’t what matters. What matters is the thrill of hunting, of tracking down dangerous things. It is a sweet bonus that this helps him find things for Jon and kill things that may hurt him. Martin is loyal to none but the Archivist and his patron, and he hopes that he will never be asked to choose between the two.

Martin didn’t know who he was, but now he doesn’t have to. With the Stranger he can be many people by just changing his skin. Identity becomes flexible, but he calls himself Martin because that is who this consciousness was before he became this and that is the skin he uses the most often. The Archivist has learned to identify him on voice alone. Jon used to shudder away from his touch, from the way it doesn’t feel quite human, but now he leans into Martin’s comfort. He knows that Martin wouldn’t hurt him and wouldn’t allow anything to hurt him.

Life in London was crowded and cramped, but the Vast opened Martin up to the whole universe. He became a man with literal stars in his eyes, showing people the vastness of the universe in all of with awe inspiring size. He finds that being one person in so much space is freeing, the insignificance of his place not lost on him. Jon talks to him, though, makes him feel less alone and insignificant and in return Martin will show him how beautiful the universe can be.

Self is so hard with the Spiral, but he supposes his name is Martin. That is what he was called before and people so often get caught up on names. He once felt he was losing his mind and maybe he did. That doesn’t matter anymore, though, not when he can manipulate people into seeing things spiral out of control. He excels in the breakdowns of people who have no one else. That is how he originally met Jon, but he proved to fascinating to completely drive to madness. The Archivist is much more interesting when he tries to find sense in things that have no true meanings.

The Web is surely the best fit for Martin. It keeps him the closest to himself. He tugs at small threads, suggests things to people in a way that is almost imperceptible. They do not think they are being manipulated, they just think they feel inclined to do things for the polite and nervous young man. He looks himself, too, most of the time. Sometimes he has more eyes and limbs than he ought to, but usually for only a second. He loves spiders as he always did, but now he can talk to them and weave webs as they do. Most of all he loves Jon, keeps him connected to him always. Thin but strong webs tie them together, not to manipulate but to keep Jon safe and close.

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 24 Review: Top 5 Reasons Why the Holly Portrait Subplot Doesn’t Work

Welcome back to Maljardin, where the melodramatic master Jean Paul Desmond is God and the Devil is a snarky talking portrait.

Speaking of portraits, today we will be looking at the subplot about Tim’s portrait of “Erica” (or, rather, of Holly) and the main things that are wrong with it. This subplot is, in my opinion, the worst in the Maljardin arc and I’ve been holding off on writing a detailed explanation of why I feel that way until my review of this episode, which mostly centers around the damned Holly portrait.

The portrait, circa Episode 18. There aren’t any good shots of it from Episode 24, so I had to settle for this one.

To recap: After the death of Erica Desmond, her husband Jean Paul hired Tim Stanton, a young artist in debt to the mob, to paint a portrait of her. Erica being both dead and encased in a cryonics capsule which both Jean Paul and THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES refuse to open, Tim must instead use young heiress Holly Marshall as his model until Erica comes back to life as Jacques promised that she would.

Sound like a reasonable plan? No? I didn’t think so, either, and now I shall explain why. Here are the top five reasons why I think this subplot is stupid:

#5: Holly neither looks like Erica, nor knows what Erica looked like.

This screencap is actually from Episode 13, but I’m including it because it’s relevant.

I sometimes wonder if this criticism is unfair, because the only viewers up to this point in the show’s broadcast history who would have seen Erica were the viewers of Episodes 1, 2 (where Tim shows Alison his sketch of her), and 4. In the first scene of Episode 4, the Cryonics Society froze her corpse in the cryonics capsule, meaning that anyone who started watching after that scene would not have seen her face before Tim got his assignment from Jean Paul. Even so, neither Erica resembled Holly, which makes it absurd for her to sit for it. Why not have Alison pose instead when she’s not working? After all, they are sisters and they share a strong family resemblance according to the original pilot script. Holly barely resembles either Erica beyond being pretty.

Tim’s sketch of Erica from Episode 2, with a screencap of Alison from Episode 17 for comparison. With its upturned nose and full lips, the sketch is clearly intended to resemble Dawn Greenhalgh (Alison) and not Sylvia Feigel (Holly).

Because Holly hardly looks a thing like her, Tim complains in Episode 13 that he “can’t use her for anything but position and play of light.” In spite of this, later episodes including Episode 24 show that he has painted a sort of semi-abstraction of Holly’s face, with features about halfway between those of Holly and those of Erica. This means that he’s only making more work for himself for when Jacques brings Erica back to life--if he brings her back to life--because he will need to paint over the semi-abstraction with Erica’s face. In short, he’s wasting his time.

Besides, it’s unclear why Holly doesn’t know what Erica looked like if Erica was a very famous actress and she and her husband were stalked by the paparazzi until they escaped to Maljardin (as previous episodes have indicated). Surely she would have seen a photo of Erica in the newspaper at some point, or her face on the poster for one of her plays, or something. I realize that’s not the same as seeing someone in real life, but it’s just odd that she doesn’t know.

  #4: Tim doesn’t have even a photo of Erica with him and so has to rely mostly on memory.

He even says so in Episode 13: “I have to depend on my memory of your wife and that sketch I made of her at the café,” he tells Jean Paul (or, rather, Jacques while he is possessing him). As we saw in that episode, opening the cryonics capsule and posing Erica’s thawed-out corpse for Tim is too devilish even for Jacques, so the starving artist is left with a dilemma. Jean Paul, being a fancy rich guy of noble descent, naturally assumes that any criticisms of his assignment is just a case of beggars trying to be choosers and ignores them; in his mind, he did him a favor by paying his debts and taking him to his island, so Tim should obey his every whim without question. But the truth is that Jean Paul has no understanding of how artists work, nor why Tim needs the real Erica to complete the painting, and he may not even understand the creative process behind painting a portrait.

This could make for interesting social commentary if the writers had had Tim take a good hard look at the situation and realize that Jean Paul is not just imprisoning him on the island but flat-out exploiting him. They could have made his subplot about class conflict, the establishment’s lack of empathy towards creative types, or both. However, they choose not to use the subplot for such commentary, instead going in a much more conventional direction.

#3: The Holly portrait is mostly used to drive a clichéd romantic subplot.

Two people meet and hate each other at first sight--or at least pretend to--although they are clearly attracted to each other. They argue, bicker, treat each other indifferently at best and abuse each other at worst, until one day they realize that they have fallen in love. When was the first time you read or saw this story? Do you even remember the first time? Most likely you don’t, because the exact same plot has been used and reused so many times since Shakespeare’s Much Ado about Nothing premiered that Western media is saturated with it. It’s not a bad plot in and of itself, but it’s been overused so much that you can usually see it coming from a mile away. When Tim and Holly first bickered over her being too young to order booze, I predicted that they were setting up a romance between them. There are many signs: Tim confesses to Vangie that he feels sorry for Holly, Elizabeth suspects that he’s hitting on her, and, while she claims to dislike them both, Holly seems slightly less irritated by Tim than by her former captor, Matt Dawson. Ian Martin was clearly setting up a romance between the heiress and the artist, who are gradually bickering less and less: a telling sign that they are getting closer to falling in love.

As creepy as it is and as much as I don’t want them to get together, I actually find the Matt/Holly subplot more interesting to watch than Tim/Holly. Danny Horn of Dark Shadows Every Day may have written about how “groovy priest attracted to the beautiful young girl that he wants to take care of” is an old soap cliché, but I’ve seen it done far less often, which I suspect has something to do with all the church scandals in the past twenty years. The Belligerent Sexual Tension plot, on the other hand, is still very popular, so it feels less fresh to me than Matt and Holly’s subplot. (That doesn’t mean that I don’t still think he should leave her alone. Personally, I ship Reverend Dawson with his right hand and I think they ought to stay together.)

#2: The use of the Holly portrait on the show doesn’t connect to the show’s use of portraits for symbolism.

This one is really nitpicky and based mostly on my personal interpretation, but bear with me. Although far more complex than the Dark Shadows ripoff that many critics reduce it to, Strange Paradise nevertheless relied on many of the same tropes and themes, including the way its writers used portraits. On Dark Shadows, the writers often used a trope that Cousin Barnabas of the Collinsport Historical Society blog calls the “Portrait as Id,” meaning the use of paintings to symbolize and illustrate the truth about whatever character they represented. We see this in Strange Paradise as well with the portrait of Jacques, who tells Jean Paul that he is “the man you are, the man you might have been,” implying that the ostensibly good Jean Paul is not so different from his evil ancestor. Later on after Robert Costello becomes producer and the show becomes more like Dark Shadows, we’ll meet another character whose portrait does not turn out as intended because of the evil in said character’s heart, which also connects to this idea of portraits reflecting hidden reality. Although the conjure doll also resembles and represents Jacques, he does not generally use it to communicate with Jean Paul the way he does with the portrait. This makes sense, given that the doll and silver pin ended his life, while the portrait was painted at some point while he was alive.

In contrast to the portraits mentioned above, Holly’s portrait does not convey any additional information about either her or Erica. Because it represents the late Mrs. Desmond in name only, the Holly portrait says nothing about Erica’s id, her personality, or the state of her soul. It doesn’t even say very much about Holly. Instead, it’s mostly just used as an excuse to force Holly and Tim to interact with each other and bicker until they can finally admit that they’re in love.

#1: It goes (almost) nowhere.

And when it does finally go somewhere, it’s only relevant for a few episodes before it’s forgotten about. Holly’s participation in the portrait sittings soon becomes completely irrelevant, much like so many of the show’s early subplots which Late Maljardin’s headwriter Cornelius Crane chose to ignore. I suspect that the Holly portrait would have eventually became more significant in the main plot had Martin not been fired around Week 9. We may never know how it would have become so, nor how significant it would have become in his original outline. Who knows? Perhaps Martin would have crafted a shocking plot twist involving Holly that justified its existence. Perhaps he would have connected the portrait and its eventual fate somehow to the nightmare she had about Tarasca, having it reveal some terrifying truth about Maljardin’s past. At the very least, he might have used it to cement the romance between Tim and Holly. But instead the subplot ends with little payoff.

Tim on his subplot.

Still, despite the focus on the Holly portrait, this episode isn’t entirely a waste. Raxl saves it with her pleas to the Serpent and her attempt to contact the Conjure Woman, in all her scenery-chewing, melodramatic glory. There’s also a scene where Holly pressures her to read the two Tarot cards--the King of Swords (whom Matt identifies as Jean Paul) and the Queen of Cups (whom he interprets as Holly)--that she dropped on the floor earlier in the scene “just for kicks,” and she refuses, shouting “No!” repeatedly. If you love Raxl like I do, you’ll enjoy her scenes. They’re not Best of Raxl material, but they’re fun.

So long until my next review, which will cover Episode 25, followed by Week 5′s long overdue Bad Subtitle Special. I know that this is a change of pace from my usual recap-style reviews, but I really wanted to go into more detail about why I don’t like Tim’s subplot. I hope you enjoyed this post and I’ll see you again soon.

Coming up next: Elizabeth continues her attempted seduction of Jean Paul as we explore inter-generational conflict on Maljardin.

{ <- Previous: Episode 23   ||   Next: Episode 25 -> }

[sebthesnipe]

The Dreamer by Whatwashernameagain an Analysis? Chapter 2! Part 4

All portions:

Chapter 1: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Chapter 2: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

The Dreamer

@whatwashernameagain

As always, Spoilers under cut.

 Warning: Mentions of abuse, kinks... other stuff... Idk I’m too tired. 

Jumping right in where we left off. Eva writes about the Dreamer’s organization growing practically overnight and the amount of publicity he had to go through; she talks about interviews, photo shoots, calendars and merchandise. It pulls the attention back from the good vs. evil and the moral debate we discussed in the previous portion of this analysis and reminds us that while Logan and Roman are at opposite ends and fight for morality (whether misguided or not); the organization that was created for the Dreamer is not concerned with those things. No, they are they are there for profit and power; both of which is provided by the Dreamer. This is no doubt exactly what Roman’s father was hoping for when he mutilated and tortured his son into being the ‘symbol of hope’ that he is now.

Our attention is also brought back to the fact that despite his love for the spotlight, Roman is a man of action when it comes to protecting others. It is pointed out that Roman ‘found the publicity work hard to bear at first’ (Whatwashernameagain). After all the time he spent changing himself, putting himself though such agonizing pain, he is found, once again, waiting. The photos the interviews, they are excused by his team explaining that that was how you saved the world in such a media driven society…. Well…. Honestly this kind of pisses me off lol. Because, the reality of it is… That that is partially true. Granted, the cure for cancer isn’t going to be found through Facebook posts… But the publicity can cause enough financial support to fund the research that leads to its discovery.  Take Myllena Braz da Silva and Gabriel Martins, two Brazilian students who despite being a part of a less than booming town discovered a way to make new drugs that cost less money and time which could save millions of lives that are loss due to Zika (and they were High School students at the time!) but because they didn’t present this information in an attractive way or to enough people their work has pretty much been overlooked (“Abstract Search.”). It just goes to show you how much this world relies on the media and dramatizations.

I suppose the thing that upsets me the most is the line: “Chastised, Roman had deferred to their expertise” (Whatwashernameagain). This line is perfect here. After feeding Roman the lines about the necessity of social media despite Roman knowing at this core that he needed to act rather than make money for someone else, he reminds himself that these people know more than he does, that he is lessor than they in some way. It reminds the reader that despite his strength and his morals, Roman is still, at his core, an insecure child.

We are also once again, presented with the contrast between he and Logan. Roman mention Instagram and Twitter; places that are used to display yourself but are not very good means of communicating between him and his fans/supporters. While the Utilitarianist is mentioned using Discord and Tumblr; two social media platforms that are highly influenced by the people who contribute to them. Discord allows direct conversations between individuals and Tumblr allows for messaging, asks, etc. It is a subtle difference but one I quite enjoy.

Roman also mentions the was Logan’s groups ‘doing his dirty work, popped up all over the web like toxic mushrooms’ (Whatwashernameagain). Eva always has a way with metaphors. I think that Logan would have both good and bad things to say about this, however. Firstly, I think he would understand that Roman meant this as an insult. Secondly, he would probably not hesitated to point out to the incompetent man that there are some species of toxic mushrooms that theoretically produce billions of compounds through 1 molecular assembly line and can precisely target cells inside the human body and thusly can offer potential medicinal purposes which can lead to new medicines (“Do Poisonous Mushrooms Have a Pharmaceutical Purpose?”). Afterall many cyclic peptides are already known to be important drugs against things such as tuberculosis Staphylococcus, and even cancer (“Do Poisonous Mushrooms Have a Pharmaceutical Purpose?”). So, once again, Logan maybe viewed as bad (just as this toxic mushroom metaphor is) but he might be the medicine this world truly needs (at least… according to him).

“Tirelessly, he tried to remind the world of what mattered, using bold words to paint a bright and colorful picture of the future he truly believed in. A future of unity. They mustn’t lose sight of what mattered – standing together, fighting the hate the Utilitarianist spread with his extremism that called to simple solutions. To violence. Being kind was harder, almost impossibly hard, but Roman would not lose himself in hate, and he knew his fellow Americans wouldn’t either. Breaking the law and turning to murder would not save the planet, it would turn them into monsters” (Whatwashernameagain).

I would like to say that I only want to touch on this para briefly… but let’s be honest, I am rarely brief about anything. Most of what I am about to say is opinion. I have no facts or quotes to back me up on this; everything is simply my experience. Roman brings to light something I tell people all the time, though I am usually ignored. Actually, the question I get most often when people find out that I use to be Law Enforcement is generally ‘You seem to nice/kind to have been a cop’. I usually counter with a ‘you don’t know enough cops’… But when you really get down to it, I think there is a number of reasons people believe that; though I’m not going to get into the political ones. No, the one I want to focus on is hatred. I’ve seen a lot of it. I’ve seen what a person can do to another in the name of hatred. I’ve witnessed it firsthand… been on the receiving end of it…. Watched co-workers, friends, family… be eaten away by it. Here is the truth: hatred is a virus that lays dormant in us all. It is already a part of us, whether we know it or not. Once it is activated but whatever means… it grows and if we let it, it consumes us… If that hatred is seen by or directed towards another it is possible that the hatred that lies dormant inside them is activated…. From there it spreads… like an epidemic… Only epidemics have a cure… Hatred never goes away permanently. It is apart of us. If it is ‘cured’ the virus is still there, it is merely reverted back to its dormant stage… waiting for another chance to be activated.

I’ve watched it spread and spread… even when I was very little and I told myself that ‘that won’t be me’ but… hatred exists in all of us. So, what’s the ‘cure’ that will revert hatred back to its dormant state? Choice. Roman is right… Kindness is so much harder because it is not engrained in us… it is taught… whether by someone else or self-taught. Kindness is a choice. Happiness is a choice… I mentioned the effect of our thoughts on the outer world during Chapter 1. We choose out thoughts, we choose the effect we want to have, we choose kindness. Don’t the person who treated you poorly, pity them… What kind of sad life must they have lived to feel that it is acceptable to treat someone like they do… Or what kind of emotional baggage do they carry that makes them crave the feeling of hatred over numbness… Pity them… They’ve obvious lived a horrible life. Reach out a hand… Who knows… Maybe you’ll save a life rather than ruining on. You don’t have to forgive them… Some times you can’t… but you can be kind without forgiveness.

This of course, is all more difficult than it sounds and it took me years to manage it but it is true and possible. Hatred can be combatted with kindness. Forgiveness comes in time. Help those that hate you; they are misguided. In the end, hatred harms yourself more than others.

Okay… I think I might need to move on…. Ready for some whiplash?

“Even as Roman got to shake the hand of the president, he felt he was not doing enough. He should be out there, fighting harder.

Even after chasing him for almost a year now, Roman felt those things as strongly as ever. He was right, gosh darn it! How could this irritating man not see the merit of a peaceful solution? Who didn’t want peace?!” (Whatwashernameagain)

Poor poor Roman. I love him so much. The poor baby is obviously still having trouble with patience… or rather not-acting. The first line is a reminder that Roman is never enough for himself. He always has to be better, has to do better. I… can understand that. Perhaps if he ever considers himself enough for his father than he might consider himself enough for himself… but he never will be, will he? Enough for his father I mean…

But that revolution I mentioned at the beginning of Chapter 2 analysis is starting to rear its beautiful head. We see Roman starting to get more antsy than ever. Despite the reminder that he considers his team ‘wiser’ when it comes to these things, it is obvious that those thoughts are starting to wear thin. We see Roman’s exasperation grow with the frustrated tones of the last few sentences.

Though his frustration isn’t just directed towards himself and his team but towards the Utilitarianist as well. Roman has proven (as I covered in the last section of the analysis) that he believes all people are inherently good. So, you can imagine his frustration at the fact that his actions towards Logan lead nowhere. The catch is, we know Logan is good at heart and that Roman is as well; they just don’t know that about the other… Though I think Logan has an inkling.

Finally, we see Roman go against orders to keep his mouth shut and the hero confronts his villain for the first time. The setting could no be more perfect, Eva always does have quite the way of picking the perfect atmosphere for these kinds of things. “The wind created by the rotor blades of the approaching helicopter whipping at their clothes on the roof-top almost carried away his words” (Whatwashernameagain). Chaos is created in the scene by the helicopter making it hard to hear each other. Its really fantastic symbolism for their current state in their relationship and perhaps in themselves as well.

Roman is born from chaos. His misguided aspiration for his father’s love. The work that defines him being nothing more than a payload for said father. His fight to follow his team while ignoring the growing need to physically act. The good he wants to do by basically doing things that might not be what we would consider good or for good (mostly because its pretty much all for profit, not that Roman knows that).

Logan may not be born from chaos but he /is/ chaos. Logan is a great example of doing bad things for good reasons… Which in and of itself is fairly chaotic. Not to mention with every act he sends the world through another wave of chaos as well. His entire goal is to turn the economic world on its head in the first place… talk about chaos.

I love that the first line Roman ever speaks to the villain is “Why must you be so impossible?” (Whatwashernameagain). Fairly simplistic words, not much to be impressed about? I would disagree. The words are spoken with such informality that it is almost as if they knew each other, and in a way, I suppose that they. They’ve been meeting for over a year; fighting for over a year.  They may not have spoken but they knew each other enough by now… at least that is what it felt like. No doubt when your world revolves around someone else, whether good or bad you feel like you know then. Logan is probably the only person in the world that knew Roman or that Roman felt like he knew even if they hadn’t spoken. Logan, at this point, is the closest thing to a friend that Roman has.

In the same paragraph we also see Roman’s sass returning, lightening our lives once more as he claims that Logan would be the cause of his death; that “He’d kill him with exasperation” (Whatwashernameagain). The way Roman almost curses but catches himself is also so wholesome. A gentleman would never lower himself to such language, of course.

And Logan, usually so cool and collected is pulled into Roman’s frustration. We see Logan’s struggle to keep himself in check and yet he indulges in himself, in such a human reaction. I’ve mentioned it before, but I’d like to point it out once more; Roman is a symbol of Logan’s humanity. Logan does his best not to feel regular emotions, he prefers to think of himself as a computer rather than human; the only time we really see Logan’s composure break is when he is facing Roman. Roman brings out these emotions in him; brings out the human part of him. We see that again here when Logan is unable to keep from replying.

“You cannot be serious. How dare you refer to me as impossible, you simple fool?” (Whatwashernameagian)

Once again, the words are simplistic and familiar, though they are spoken by Logan this time. The familiarity is there just as it is with Roman, despite the fact that he is insulting him. Once again it is possible (probable actually) that Roman is the closest thing Logan has to a friend. He does, after all build an AI to keep him company (along with doing his calculations).

We also see Roman try and be Logan’s conscious as well, which might be needed; after all computers don’t have a conscious; lecturing him about kidnapping and setting things on fire and worst of all ‘drowning [Roman] in frying fat!’… Though I don’t think there would be very many people upset about seeing Roman all oiled up… I know I wouldn’t. The reader’s attention is pulled back to Roman’s team members as Eva mentions the ‘ever-polite voice in his earpiece’ that was trying to get him under control; once again showing the difference between the team and Roman, himself.

The two men continue to argue bringing up a few valid points. Logan points out Roman’s ‘selfish’ thinking, which though we know, as the reader, isn’t exactly accurate it is understandable to believe that that is where Roman is coming from. He also points out that Roman is nothing by a monkey for the press and won’t be the one to bring about the revolution the world needs. Logan’s POV is accurate: Roman is acting as a monkey for his team and that on his present course there will be no revolution if he continues to follow them… Foreshadowing anyone?

““You- you unbelievable, impossible, infuriating villain – how could you dare to- I am attempting to save the world! You are trying to destroy it!” He’d howled, flailing uselessly with frustrated energy.

His righteous claim seemed to rile up the terrorist even more. Taking a few steps towards him over the cement that was starting to heat with the flames beneath them, he jabbed his finger at him” (Whatwashernameagain).

First off, I find it absolutely adorable that Roman is stuttering with his insults. I’m sure his opinion of Logan being unbelievable, impossible, and infuriating will never change. In fact, I would bet on it. They already sound like a married couple. I love them so much!

Looking beyond that, I really love the imagery here. This interaction is going to be the foundation of their companionship (if there will be a companionship which I am certain there will be); like the cement that Logan is crossing. In fact, the imagery of the cement heating with the flames beneath them can be a nod to a number of things. First it could represent the world around them burning and neither of them able to pay attention to anything but the other (which I am just ruined for); or it could be the heat of their passion for good, both extremely intense, both dangerous, both destructive in their own way (Logan physically and Roman’s political/economically).

Their argument continues, each calling the other stupid. We see Roman’s view on good vs. evil once more (which I’ve already covered; not to say it repeated… no the inflection on it is simply to remind us that Roman is a three-dimensional character who cares deeply about the subject). We see Logan losing himself to the humanity Roman brings out in him. We also see (which is my favorite part of the argument) Logan’s accusation about ‘selling topless calendars’ and the ‘heeled boots’. Why is this important? Well, Logan is a busy man he wouldn’t pay too close attention to what Roman’s next public exploit would be… Yet he knows about the topless calendars? I would put my money on the idea that he examined them… ‘for research purposes’ of course. As for the heeled boots well… We already know Remy’s opinion of dat ass… Heels only improve it 😉.

“The villain’s rant was interrupted as a sneaker hit his head from above. His supporters were exasperatedly waving at him to climb into the helicopter they had been screaming over before the police managed to arrest them, just as Roman’s operator had frantically urged him to free his leg and catch the man standing mere feet from him” (Whatwashernameagain).

Once again, we see the stark contrast between the hero and villain here; or rather… the similarity. Logan’s followers are urging him to leave the hero and move on, as he should have done in the first place. Eva compares then to the person on the other end of Roman’s ear piece. Both of them are a sense of reality that these men should be focused on rather than one another and yet neither seems to be able to pull themselves away from the other without an outside influence. They are both utterly hopeless and I love them.

Also #savetheworldtopless and #justpathologicallyevil should totally be a thing! Only #savetheworldtopless should be pictures of all different shapes and sizes of people in superhero poses either topless or like sportsbras/binders etc. basically how they seem themselves or how they want themselves to be; and #justpathologicallyevil should be full of adorable pictures of like cats and things doing mischievous things… I love these!!!

As for Roman’s operator quitting… good riddance. If that’s all it took, then he def wasn’t cut out for that job. Besides, not letting my baby speak is a sin against all mankind.

I’m so excited for the next para!

“Roman felt guilty for getting into an argument and behaving unprofessionally, but somehow, he felt like it had also gotten him closer to understanding the other man. He wasn’t a faceless monster but a person one could talk to – if a truly irritating and rude one – and people could be changed. Roman was good at convincing others of his position. His bright, attractive smile, warm and sweet manners and his polite reasoning had brought plenty of people around. Despite the continued threat of an escalation between the Utilitarianist’s supporters and his opposition, most people still liked Roman” (Whatwashernameagain).  

This chapter has spent a lot of time ‘villainizing’ Logan (with good reason) the point of view of the Dream and its team is meant to paint Logan in that light; and thus far Eva has done so very effectively. Here, however, we see Roman reconsidering these points. For the first time Roman is looking past the mask and at the man behind it. It is not that he does not see Logan as a villain but rather he sees him as a human as well. That’s Roman for you though, caring about every human even the ones he considers bad or ‘evil’. I suppose this is a first for Logan as well. People don’t tend to look beyond the Utilitarianist to see the man underneath… they’re not suppose to either but here Roman sits seeing a man that can be swayed, a man that struggles with the good and the bad as we all do. Once again, we see Roman focusing on the individual once more.

“He brought the idea up at a team meeting, believing he’d finally found a way to work more effectively. However, he was turned down gently. They gave him to understand that he had misjudges the villain and that his attempts to negotiate with terrorists could have disastrous consequences. Chastised and feeling like a child make a dumb suggestion at the dinner table, he gave up. Still, despite his best intentions, he wound up arguing with the other again and again” (Whatwashernameagain).

Once again, we see how Roman’s team mistreats him; though they do so, subtly. We see Roman’s attempt at a solution that actually has some merit and may work and yet he is treated like the child they see him as and cast aside as if he didn’t have any weight on the matter. His intelligence is constantly insulted (though not obviously enough for him to feel offended). His goals do not align with that of the teams and therefore are inconsequential. However, Eva points out that the unlike how it was before (Roman making a suggestion, the team shooting him down and he dropping it) the arguments seemed to continue… perhaps this is because Roman is getting more confident? Pushing his boundaries? Leading himself to revolution?

“Their rivalry came to a crescendo when one of their fights once again distracted both of them. He had no idea why this man managed to make his blood boil this much with his talk about superior logic and necessity. Necessity his ass. (Roman would of course never say such a thing out loud, but still.)” (Whatwashernameagain)

This says a lot about Roman. His attention on Logan is continuously growing. He is paying more and more attention to the man as a person and not just as a villain. I mentioned before that Roman probably sees the similarities between Logan and his father but there are a few things he addresses with Logan that he would never say/do with his father. Here is perhaps the only man he is able to interact with (though perhaps not under the best circumstances) that is not pushing his own agenda on the man or putting him down. Someone he can actually argue with without being chastised by the other for the act. He is treated as an equal even if they are name calling one another and that is a big step for the hero; most of the people he deals with always treats him as if he is some child that needs to be seen not heard but Logan… Logan will indulge his passions, argue his points, allow him to be the passionate man he is. To Roman, Logan is an outlet for his passions and allows him to express himself as he truly is, not as his teams wants to be. It is no doubt a refreshing change.

During one of their arguments a pipe bursts over Logan’s head and without pause or consideration Roman rushes to save him, injuring himself fairly badly in the process; to the point that he needed immediate medical attention. Of course, he could heal very quickly but Logan doesn’t know this. I bring this up for two reasons.

Firstly, imagine what this means for Roman. Roman is driven by passion. He cares deeply for every living soul and he views Logan as a misguided person whose heart can be changed. So, when that person’s life is on the line he doesn’t think twice before jumping in the way to save him. This of course is going to cause a lot of issues with his team and perhaps the public but to him a life is a life and Logan’s is perhaps the closest person to him at the moment.

Logan on the other hand doesn’t really consider the individual life too important. It isn’t to say that he doesn’t care for each life in and of itself but if a single life lost would save countless then he wouldn’t hesitate to pull that trigger. To him, it is only logical. He knows that he has endangered and killed a number of people and it would be logical for Roman to allow him to die to advance his own agenda. So, when Roman saves him it no doubt takes a few minutes to process it all. No doubt he had to recalculate all of their interactions. Up until this point he had viewed Roman as nothing but a puppet for political/economic gain and yet… he had saved Logan… For no other reason than to save a life… He perhaps sees Roman’s truly pure intentions for the first time (no doubt cementing his opinion that the guy is an idiot). Logan in return drags Roman from the building and delivers him to an ambulance and we get to see the wonderful gift that is protective Logan… One of my favorite flavors!

Of course, our progress must have some repercussions; which means right on cue Roman’s father appears. Two years has past since Roman became the Dreamer and we’ve barely heard mention of the man. He tends to show up only when Roman does something wrong or if it is advantageous to him; which only cements the image that he’s a no-good money sucker that Roman is better off without.  In fact, apparently Roman hasn’t seen the guy in months, which brings out the hero’s denial: “Roman understood he was doing important work, though. It was alright. . Sadly, his father had not been as pleased as he had so desperately hoped.” (Whatwashernameagain).

Denial and rationalization all over again, though I’m going to avoid the Freudian jargon as best I can because this section is already going to be so very long. Eva always has a way of pulling at the reader’s heartstrings with such simplicity and it is truly beautiful. With her last line, mentioning Roman’s desperate hope, my heart breaks. He still wants his father’s approval so badly that it hurts him. He truly is a child at heart when it comes to his father… The poor baby.

The conversation that ensues reminds the reader of the trauma that Roman has gone through to be the man that he is… To be what he thought his father wanted him to be… What the world wants him to be. We see his father’s anger as he demands an explanation and Roman’s immediate instinct to draw his knees close to his chest, curling up on himself as if to protect him from his father’s wrath or the emotions he brings out of the young man. Now it is possible that Roman’s father never laid a hand on him (honestly, I would be surprised if he had. That would mean he actually cared enough to beat the boy and I doubt he ‘wasted his time’ with that.) and this is just an instinctive reaction most people have when faced with emotional distressing situation. Though there is no proof of physical abuse we are already aware of the emotional abuse the man has put his son through, which can be just as bad.

We also see Roman hiding his pain ‘like he’d learned.’ Learned where? Learned during the countless horrific experiments and alterations he endured to become what he thought his father wanted him to be; just to find out his father still viewed him as practically worthless? Or was it before hand? Before all this? Either way when Logan finds out that the sorry POS of a ‘father’ treated Roman so horribly… I hope he gets what is coming to him (though I realize Roman will probably keep that from happening)!

“The rebuke hurt sharply. Swallowing, Roman tried to explain his reasoning he’d never thought he’d have to defend. The place was filled with people who were supposed to support him, yet he felt entirely alone” (Whatwashernameagain).

Roman’s father chastises him for letting Logan live and I think that Roman’s illusion of who is father is may be starting to crack a bit. At Roman’s core ever SINGLE life counts; it is one of the many reasons he became the Dreamer in the first place. But his father doesn’t give a damn about anyone else’s life but his own. As long as he’s making money that all he cares about. We also see Roman finally beginning to realize that despite the fact that he is surrounded by people that he has known for two years now, who are supposed to support him… he /is/ entirely alone.

“This would have been the perfect opportunity. You need to decide if you have what it takes or if you weren’t the right choice after all. Next time this chance presents itself, you let this god damn terrorist die instead of spreading his filth from a luxury prison.” His father had barked at him before leaving him alone to fear losing everything he’d bled for. Everything he’d become. Without the Dreamer, he had no idea who he was” (Whatwashernameagain).

The contrast between these two are as apparent as ever, here. His father is lecturing him to do exactly what Roman is whole heartedly against. He wants Roman to let someone die. He wants Roman to ignore the very core of his being… he wants him to be something Roman can never be and equivalently kill someone. The thing is, if Roman straight out refuses his father everything he has worked for, everything he fights for daily would be stripped from him. The fear of losing something you have worked so hard for is devastating. But it’s a bit more than that for Roman. He has changed everything about his life for this. His physical appearance, the way he lives, everything… I don’t think he realizes this because he would never think something so dark about his father but… If the Dreamer persona is stripped from him Roman would not get to roam free… His father has put in far too much work to create him, he knows to much, he is too much of a liability. No, Roman would either be locked up or killed if the Dreamer was ever taken away from him.

But that also begs the question, can the Dreamer be taken away from him? The Dreamer is a concept, an ideal of what Roman wished to be. Sure, they can pull him from the spot light, take away his team, hide him from the world but as long as Roman’s beliefs are the same and he has the will to keep going then the Dreamer is eternal. The problem is that Roman still lacks the self confidence to realize this. He believes that he is nothing but an over glorified child without his team. Once he realizes this is not the case… Well… Viva La Revolution!

We do see the beginning of these thoughts in the next para however. Roman is starting to question his team and his father. “Was this really what the Dreamer was? He’d tried too hard to keep the peace and catch the Utilitarianist when there were other things he could be doing. They’d told him to leave the crime fighting to the police. His image was the most powerful thing about him” (Whatwashernameagain). He is questioning everything which is good… Well, good in the long run; honestly for him, its no doubt terrifying.

But consider the fact that the one person that ignited the flame that pushed him to ask such question is the very person he is supposed to be rivaled with, the person he is supposed to allow to die. Logan. Roman is many things to the villain: his hope, his humanity, his source of emotion and irritation, his light. But Logan are certain things to the hero as well: his hope, his reality, his sense of questioning, his window into the social world… His proof that everything is no as black and white as he once believed, his chance at a relationship that isn’t riddled with abuse and deception. The irony behind this should not be overlooked. It is so beautiful.

Roman goes on to compare himself to Superman and Wonderwoman which I just adore! That is so very Roman! He points out that Superman couldn’t concern himself with petty thieves but Wonderwoman most certainly would. I love this for a number of reasons. Firstly, we already knew that Roman read comic books, but this really pulls the image of baby Roman sitting under the covers late at night with a flash light pouring over the pages of every type of comic (well at least DC comics). Secondly, despite the fact that Roman good up with such a heavy emphasis on society’s view of masculinity shoved down his throat one of the greatest heroes in his mind is Wonderwoman! I love it! I love it! I love it! The comicbook version of Wonderwoman is a fantastic role model for anyone! Much better than Superman in my opinion! I mean the writers themselves are fantastic! There is actually an entire scene in which Diane is seen nude during an issue and the writers never exploit this. Context: Diane sleeps in the nude. Someone wakes her and they talk while she takes her time dressing. That is it. It is not drawn in a way that sexualizes her or implies anything of the sort. It is simply written/drawn as nothing more than a person dressing and I really appreciate that… though I suppose I am getting off track.

We can also view the difference between implications of comparing himself between Superman and Wonderwoman and the Masculine and Feminine views both represent. Superman is no doubt the way his father would prefer him to aspire to be. Superman is perhaps the most masculine image one could manage to conjure. He is strong, indestructible, not concerned with trivial issues, uses his strength and power to win and always gets the girl. The image of a man. Wonderwoman however, is a bit different. She is strong and practically indestructible sure, but she goes about using her abilities a different way. Instead of fighting all the time or causing more destruction she tends to outsmart her opponents when she can and shows care and compassion to all creatures. Superman focuses on strength and durability; Wonderwoman focuses on skill, training, knowledge. She is not concerned with romance or power; she just wants good for the world; just as Roman does.

We also begin to see Roman work out some of the things we have mentioned, on his own. He begins to question why Logan would save him? Perhaps he questions if the man’s intentions may be better than he had originally given him credit for. He can’t seem to shake his concerns with his own work. The concerns lead him to question his team more and more:

“His doubts wouldn’t leave him alone until eventually, he chose to do what he was most afraid of. He went against the advice of his team.

He’d been sitting around for months, while the Utilitarianist had been busy attacking the Hong-Kong Stock market. Roman quietly wondered why he was never dispatched to other countries to help. His nemesis had stopped limiting himself to the States long ago” (Whatwashernameagain).

It is obvious that there are a few reasons why Roman’s team keeps him in America. Perhaps the most prominent reason is the fact that the people who control Roman are in America and make most of their money from his exploits there. There is no reason to help those over seas if there is no profit for it. Yet, Logan is not bound by these rules. Logan is attempting to save the world and to Roman his goal is to take down Logan. So, once again we see just how much Roman’s team is holding him back and the excuses they use to hide their real intentions (‘Perhaps his team was worried he’d upset someone by remarking that the conditions of those workers truly were less than glittery’ (Whatwashernameagain).).

A situation in Mexico is brought to our attention, Eva does a fantastic job (as usual) to describe the severity of the scene and a new character is introduced: Virgil!!! We see right away that Virgil is a little different than the rest of the team. As Roman’s new operator we he hacks into the bank’s database and gets Roman a floorplan (no doubt against the advisement of the rest of the team). This already sets him apart from the others. For the first time since Roman became the Dreamer we see someone finally working /with/ him rather than discarding his intentions and thoughts. Finally, we have someone to help our wonderful and beautiful boy! The best part is that might be the boost Roman needed! “This was the right thing to do, he felt it. He had to breathe new life into the idea of the Dreamer. He had to be a proper hero again” (Whatwashernameagain).

Of course, when he pitches the idea to his team he is immediately shot down, discarded like the child they saw him as. Only this time, things were handled a bit differently: “Instead of the usual, fatherly patience and kind amusement at his misplaced enthusiasm, he was told off curtly. Without results, Roman was losing their favor” (Whatwashernameagain). Roman has been acting more and more independently which implied that they were losing control of him as an asset and that no doubt caused some tension between his team and their higher ups which was no doubt taken out on Roman.

“Feeling unsteady, he shuffled onto the cold light of the corridor of their underground base. Despite his terror of losing the place he called home, the reporting about the children held hostage would not stop replaying in his head. He’d been told watching the news would only upset him and he should rather rely on the updates they cut together for him, but he was starting to think he would only have found out about the situation far too late when irritated reporters would have asked him where he was when the children were shot. He couldn’t let it come to that!” (Whatwashernameagain).

This para gives me life! This is a dawning of a new age! A new Dreamer! A new Roman! We start out with him defeated (not surprisingly); fearful on his thoughts because you know he’s thinking of going to Mexico anyways and that could cause him to lose his home. The catch is, this has never been his home; it has been the place he has been used and discarded but it is the only ‘home’ he’s ever really known. Sure, before he became the Dreamer he had a different ‘home’ but it is all the same thing. He was ignored unless useful there just as he is here. Still, if its all you’ve ever known, losing it would be terrifying…. Being alone in the world, with nothing to your name… it’s a horrible reality.

Still, he obviously is not letting this go. The news of the children being held hostage is something Roman can’t forget. This is not surprising at all. Roman is a sheltered person. He is not use to seeing such things on the news. In fact, the next sentence reminds us that the only information that he is aware of tends to be the information fed to him; to help control him. It is horrible. But it also causes him to be more sensitive to these kinds of things. I can’t remember if I brought this up before so I will do so again here. The majority of us that open ourselves up to television or social media become desensitized to it all.

For instance, the average 18-year old observes approximately 6,000 acts of violence on television and in movies in one year (Browne and Hamilton-Giachritsis 2005; Center for Research Excellence 2009). Desensitization has been studied primarily as a consequence of exposure to violent video games (e.g., Anderson et al. 2010; Carnagey et al. 2007), so less is known about desensitization to violence encountered in real life or on television and in movies. Despite the many commonalities between real-life and media violence and their effects on adjustment, these two types of exposure to violence rarely have been studied together. It has also been proven that the more desensitized to violence that we become the more violent we become in turn.

Of course, this is just a information about desensitization in regards to violence which includes things like the bank robbery, children being held hostage etc. Consider this: How many times have you scrolled through facebook or some other social media platform and saw a post about a missing person or a shooting or something similar? And how many times have you ignored it and continued to scroll? The truth is, the more you see it the more you ignore it. But what then? Well, then we’ve become part of the problem, haven’t we? By not helping we become the ignorance that is wrong with the world. So, next time you see one of those post… share, reblog… who knows maybe you’ll be that one person to get the word just far enough for them to be found/saved. Don’t let your desensitization get the better of you.

But once again I’m getting off track. My point was, for someone who is not expose to as much violence or horrific deeds as the typical American, something that we consider small (like a bank hold up) can be traumatizing; and poor sweet Roman has been sheltered from these things for some time. Sure, he has seen some really bad stuff but its all what they want him to see… all being fed to him… this… this is different.

Desensitization aside, this para is the stepping stone into Roman’s rebellion! We see him question his team, perhaps not for the first time but close to it: “he was starting to think he would only have found out about the situation far too late when irritated reporters would have asked him where he was when the children were shot” (Whatwashernameagain). Then we see him immediately rebuke them (at least mentally): “He couldn’t let it come to that!” (Whatwashernameagain). Roman is finally growing into his own. He is finally beginning to that that step and begin thinking for himself! This is character development!

Now, enter Virgil Stage Left! Virgil appears just when Roman needs a good kick in the but to get him moving, much like Remy did when Logan needed it as well. It is a good reminder that even when we are struggling whether with the outside world or with ourselves there come a point in time where we could do with a bit of companionship. Humans, after all, are social creatures.

The great thing about his appearance is that with his sense of sarcastic remarks Roman is immediately defensive, preparing to defend his ‘honor’ but we wee him pause as he notices Virgil’s disappointed posture. This is another small contrast between Roman and Logan that I love. Though we don’t actually see Logan reading people’s body language I get the feeling he would be very bad at it. He doesn’t exactly surround himself in situations in which it is required. Roman however, no doubt is trained to read other’s body languages. Yes, I mean formally trained though his emotional abuse has no doubt conditioned him to study it as well. A person who is used to being degraded or yelled out over analyzes every twitch, every smile, every shift of the eyes. Every movement is considered a countdown to the next time they will be abused, it is truly an anxious existence. This of course is just scratching the surface of the trauma Roman has been through but it is brought up in such a subtly beautiful way that really gives testament to Eva’s skill, as always.

The slump in Virgil’s shoulders no doubt screams at Roman just as most postures do. He is not a stranger to disappointment especially from his team. This time though he realizes its different. Virgil isn’t necessarily disappointed in what Roman has done but what he hasn’t done; which is quite heartwarming. Virgil is upset because Roman is not following through with his plan despite his team’s refusal. He /wants/ Roman to be who he is… Which may be the first time Roman has ever experienced such support. The first time someone has shown true untainted support for /him/ not what/who he is supposed to be for them. There comes a time during the cusp of every revolution that a straw breaks a back… A shot is fired…. War breaks out… Perhaps, Roman has finally found his straw in Virgil? Perhaps all he ever needed to begin his revolution was the support of a single person to be who he was.

““No. I’m not backing off. I’m taking a running start.” He’d promised, before striding down the corridor and grabbing a startled Virgil’s wrist on the way. He still needed that one.” (Whatwashernameagain). It seems like a beautiful partnership has begun. I have a feeling this dynamic duo is going to cause a lot of trouble for more than just Logan.

Eva also uses a comparison of Roman sneaking out of the facility to breaking out of prison; which I feel is a very good analogy. The facility is in fact a prison for Roman. He is not a free man in any sense of the word. Even his personality is held captive behind those walls. I also mentioned earlier that Roman’s father would never allow Roman to be free. Roman is too much of a liability. He knows to much. This is one of the many reasons why he is to be locked away until it is time for his media appearances. He is sheltered from the real world just like any prisoner, only allowed certain activities that limit his interaction with the public. He is monitored constantly. It is very fitting.

“The armed robbers were no match for the quiet, cat-like stride of the trained hero. He caught one after the other, knocking them out with ease. This was far simpler than fighting a man like the Utilitarianist” (Whatwashernameagain).

‘Cat-like’? You mean like a certain villain that purr-fers to wear the mask of a feline? Speaking of which, it seems that Roman can’t get the man off his mind even when he’s in the middle of another dangerous mission… and does that almost sound like… admiration?

The next scene shows Roman being as heroic as ever as he carries out a pregnant woman and other out of the building and I have to say Roman+children=my heart exploding. Its just so pure and wonderful and the way she just tugs at his costume just makes me weak.

“Roman barely managed to calm them. He hadn’t been greeted with such honest joy in so long, he was utterly baffled by their adoration. When he finally managed to speak, his voice was thick with emotion.

“Fellow citizens of the world, I have realized that the time for borders is behind us! In these frightening times we must understand that our differences are mere illusions, stand together and give each other hope. Our love and belief in each other shall prevail over evil!”” (Whatwashernameagain).

Roman just made a seriously hard move. Roman is faced with real genuine joy and appreciation; something he probably has never experienced. His team probably pulls him away from situation where he would get the chance to; of course, they would to simply avoid him saying something that wasn’t scripted. This is probably the moment that he realizes that though his team treats his opinions and intentions as bothersome the public sees them as he does: a chance to change the world.

We also get to see Roman take that final step over the edge of the cliff that he has been teetering on for some time now. We see him finally choose to step out into the nothingness where he expects to plummet to his doom; everything that he has worked for stripped away from him. But as he speaks to the world, as he watches their reaction, we don’t see him fall; we see him fly! And because of this, and the elated reaction of his new partner-in-crime we see him swell with pride.

“Finally, he was what he was supposed to be.” (Whatwashernameagain).

This line… This beautiful stunning line says everything that we knew but it also says more. It says that Roman has shed his father and team’s control on him. He has cast aside the image they are painting of him and breaking out into his own. Shots have been fired and there will no doubt be a fallout but for now… It is official, the revolution has begun!!!

“The atmosphere in the underground compound changed. Roman felt the shift, the tension around himself clearly and suffered it with disappointment. It was like being home again. A child whose childishness was barely tolerated. Quiet and shy and feeling unwanted” (Whatwashernameagain).

This reinforces the image Eva has been painting of Roman’s childhood. He compares the new temperament of the compound to his childhood home and the abuse he experienced there. It is the same disappointment, worthless undesirable feeling that his father had caused him to feel for so long. This no doubt would cause the man to be triggered. The only question that remains is, is he strong enough to move past it?

“Despite the repeated attempts to impress the importance of following his team’s directions, he planned and executed more mission with Virgil. He was his one saving grace. Since he was actually starting to make a difference, the two men felt more at ease with each other. Though they were mostly bickering with each other, Roman had found someone to rely on. His fluttering nerves around the moody man calmed, allowing him to fall back on the safety of the Dreamer’s personality less and less. They were a team of two now, instead of the pride of the Conglomerate. It was alright. He was one more person than Roman used to have” (Whatwashernameagain).

Roman is making leaps and bounds in his warpath (I use warpath as a metaphor, this is a revolution afterall). He has taught himself that a single man’s genuine acceptance and affection (not to mention affirmation) is far more valuable than the faux appreciation of a crowd of individuals and this is partially due to Virgil’s support. Now, the two of them argue and fuss but let’s face it between Virgil and Logan this is the only form of true affection Roman has ever experienced. It is only logical that Roman now associates the bickering and affection. The coldness his father shows him, the lack of attention at all has been pounded into him over the years making something as simple as the attention enough to argue with him far more heartwarming than it should be. In fact, the arguments and the moodiness of Virgil seems to calm Roman as he interprets it to be a platonic sense of caring that comes with the smaller man. This will no doubt reinforce his attraction to Logan later as well.

Logan was once considered cold just as Roman’s father, perhaps reminding the hero of the man he aspired to be loved by which no doubt drew him in in the first place. Yet, as they grew closer and Logan began to show the attention Roman longed for, though their arguments and even care when Logan returned the favor of saving his life. With Roman’s interpretations as they are now it is no wonder that he would turn to the man that has shown him more affection than anyone else in the world when he is finally broken and bruised.

Over the next few paragraphs we see Roman surprisingly taking the bait that the Utilitarianist had laid out for the world, working unintentionally, with Logan. We also see his team step up just about the time they are able to profit from it (surprise, surprise). Of course, poor innocent Roman misinterprets this as support, but it is not necessarily a bad thing; at least not yet.

Naturally, as soon as the team steps back in Roman reverts to his old habits; becoming discouraged, calling himself an idiot and generally being self-deprecating. He then resolves to listen to his team more carefully and follow their advice once more. Honestly though, I love the contrast between the team and Virgil. They are like two sides of Roman’s subconscious…. Almost like those angels and devils that pop up on each shoulder in the cartoons. On one hand, Roman’s team pulls him back to his father where his self-conscious and cautious. While, on the other hand, Virgil pulls him towards the light where he is proud and triumphant, confident and bright. The issue is, if he continues to stand in the middle being pulled in two different directions, he may be ripped in two… and if that happens it is possible, he wont be able to be put back together again.

Also: “Roman had sworn to himself to help him feel more accepted in the team. He’d never wanted anyone to feel as isolated as he had most of his life” (Whatwashernameagain). It is possible that Roman is so adamant about Virgil feeling accepted by the team because he knows exactly how it feels to be isolated and alone. He knows how it feels to be cast aside and be considered worthless or idiotic. He knows how horrible it can make you feel, and he wants to make sure that no one feels that way especially someone he cares so deeply for like Virgil.

The next para moves on to talk about the Utilitarianist and the LGBTQ+ community and honestly the imagery is lovely! Of course, Logan would be an icon for the gay community. The Utilitarianist is known for his radical beliefs that stir huge movements around the globe. It wasn’t that long again that the simple act of two men kiss was considered just that: radical. I won’t pretend to know a lot about the social movement; I don’t. I may be LGBTQ+ but I was never a big part of the community until recently. I grew up in small towns. I didn’t even meet someone like myself until high school… So, I’m still a bit lacking in a lot of information that could be gained through that social outlet (I’m serious, a friend of me had to explain a lot of terminology when I first moved into the city… I may not have had physical flash cards like Logan’s but I def had mental ones). Still, I know enough about Gender Studies in literature to help support my argument here.

So, for those of you that don’t know what Gender Studies is; it is a literary theory that is devoted to analyzing gender identity and representation (including but not limited to women, feminism, gender, politics, men’s studies, and queer studies; often combined with the study of sexuality (“Gender Studies”). Why do I consider Gender Studies as ‘radical’? Consider this: Doctoral programs for women’s studies has existed since 1990 (Joschik, Scott). The Women’s Rights movement earned them the right to vote in 1920 and they were considered radical and despite their achievements studying literature that was written by women or had strong independent female characters was not considered an acceptable enough form of study to take a doctoral program (not even a degree) in until 1990! That is radical! What is worse, is the first doctoral program for a ‘potential’ PhD in Gender Studies in the U.S. wasn’t approved until 2005 (Joschik, Scott)! And it wasn’t until 2015 that Kabul University in Afghanistan (Afghanistan!!! Not the U.S. which is full of idiotic bigotry!) was the first to offer a master’s degree course in gender and women’s studies (FaithWorld)! It almost makes me ashamed to live here. In a world where two women pushing a baby stroller in the background of a Disney movie is cause for outrage, I’d say the LGBTQ+ community is ‘radical’… at least in the eyes of America. So, it is no wonder that the Utilitarianist is an icon for them especially after his rescue.

(Sorry for the rant)

Moving on!

“Because Roman had saved him and because he’d now acted on his behalf, following his direct call for action, a lot of people had started imagining them to be more than they were. They were publicly ‘shipping’ them.

Roman had been beyond horrified and humiliated as his sympathetic team had put together a dossier of the things people on the internet thought he’d do” (Whatwashernameagain).

Okay, there are so many things wrong with this. Not Eva’s writing of course, she is always so talented! No, everything that I consider ‘wrong’ is meant to be so.

Firstly, though there are plenty of people that will disagree with me and I respect that, shipping (even if its real people) is fine: Forcing your ship or view point on another or insulting their tastes or hating on them for it etc etc. Is very very wrong and I try not to judge but I’m pretty judgy about this. Hate asks/messages/notes/WHATEVER is horrible and though you may not be a horrible person if you do these things, you’re pretty darn close in my opinion. Everyone has their tastes: Some people like apples, some people don’t. If we were all the same we would never advance as a species.

I am not claiming Eva is hating on anyone. How could she be? She is legit writing about her own subject matter lol I really like the irony of it actually… Its almost like breaking the fourth wall without breaking the fourth wall. But I’m getting off topic again.

Here we see Roman’s team taking an extreme to try and pull him back by the reigns. The know he doesn’t receive any other content than what they feed him and their going to use this to their advantage. So, the decide to use the most angsty, kinkiest parts of the fandom’s ships and expose them to the poor sheltered and innocent man. Imagine if we had never heard of tumblr and then were suddenly shoved into the deepest darkest pits… Sure exposure therapy is known to work but I’d be pretty repulsed by it too. Luckily most of us managed to dip our toes in first and move away from the shallows one step at a time here on tumblr so we didn’t have to go through what poor Ro-Ro is. Now, its common knowledge that we’re all a little demented. Lol XP

“He’d been unable to keep looking at the pictures and horrible, humiliating stories published for all to see. How could he allow this to happen? This was what people saw in him after he’d allowed himself to be experimented on, cut apart and be put back together and worked so hard to give them something to believe in?” (Whatwashernameagain).

Let’s pick this apart a bit, shall we? Why would Roman really be this horrified? Sure, he was sheltered and then suddenly exposed to it but it’s a bit more than that. Here is a man that is supposed to hold up ‘American Values’ and be the image of masculinity. That is what his father wants him to be, that is what he has suffered to become. He is supposed to be the strongest person out there and yet he is being depicted in such compromising positions… In positions of submission, of servitude. He has no idea that that kind of position can be a symbol of trust and freedom because he is not taught to believe this. He does not know what a healthy relationship is.

Then there is also the symbolism of it all. Roman is the hero; he is the light; he is the good. Logan is the villain, the shadows, the evil in the world. These images show the good bowing to the bad. They show Roman losing. Losing the one thing he has suffered and fought for, for so long. They show him the possible failure he is so terrified of. To Roman, these images hold one of his worst fears. /That/ is why Roman is so disturbed by them.

We can also view this another way. Roman is taught that the only way he will win against the evil in the world is through the public’s support. He relies of the world to boost him, to come together in unity. He believes that with their help he is invincible. Yet, the public is the one who created these stories and art. The public is the one the imagined his failure. Roman is fueled by hope and faith and yet these images could be taken as a loss of those things. These images represent the publics loss of faith and hope in Roman… At least, that is one possible view point of the man. Either way, it is devastating.

*******

I would like to add here that @mariniacipher has added some input here that explains this in more depth and is beautifully done. I asked permission to quote them here and they have consented:

“Honestly, I have just one thought like, about your analysis of the line "The Utilitarianist would see it and think-" 

I think there's a bit more behind this, and that Roman's team had a deeper reason to show roman that art: Because roman is, to them- as far as we know- a naive boy-turned-tool, and he's already strayed from their commands twice. Once to save the kids in Mexico. This could be seen as him following Logan's agenda in some way. He's definitely seeing all people as equal, instead of following his team's "America First" mindset, which is already risky to them. And then, the second time he "deviates", he directly follows Logan's intel as well as his call to action. Add to that the Logince interactions you already pointed out, their respect to each other in those arguments, and they've got a genuine risk of roman completely leaving their range of influence, in their minds at least. Which brings us to them showing roman the unsavory pieces of art of himself and Logan. You already pointed out a lot here, but I think it also served to pervert the beginnings of the relationship between roman and Logan.

Before, they both just wanted to defeat one another, but also both wanted to help the world. Now, Roman's team is turning this dynamic in something altogether different, or trying to: it turns it sexual, and into a power play/fight. They present Logan not as a person who just wants to defeat roman, but beat him, humiliate and hurt him- because that way, they destroy even the thought of roman defecting, or escaping their influence, because there's no one to run to.In my opinion, they only want roman to have the team, and no one else- showing logan in the role of- to roman- a pervert and even a rapist serves to keep roman isolated and loyal.”

@mariniacipher makes some very valid points here, all of which I agree with. They also provide a great example of how Reader Response is suppose to work in the sense that every reader experiences a work differently and they see these things slightly different. This truly made my day. 

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming...

******

Once again, the devil on his shoulder has struck… But where is the angel in purple? Knocking on his door, just in time to save the day!

““Hey. Um, so I saw the dossier.”

Roman groaned, hiding his burning face. He’d never even looked at porn, so seeing himself pictured on his knees, the villain’s hand in his hair, about to- oh god. This was out there. The Utilitarianist would see it and think- irrational fear of things he hadn’t ever considered the other capable of mixed with the humiliation and made Roman tremble” (Whatwashernameagain).

First off, ‘He’d never even looked at porn’… Christ on a cracker, Roman you truly are sheltered you poor poor baby… Though that does beg the question if he is even too modest to…. You know what… Never mind. Lets move on… This is an analysis not a fanfic after all…

‘The Utilitarianist would see it and think-‘ OMG Roman I love you! Even when you’re horrified and shamed the only person you can concern yourself with is Logan?! This is fantastic! We see just where Logan stands now. Before, the person Roman would probably concern himself with is his father. That’s not the case now though. Logan has become more of a priority than dear old Dad and with good reason. In fact, Roman’s father hasn’t been mentioned in some time which gives us a sense of visual in Roman’s mental shift. Our baby is growing. -sniffle- I’m so proud.

Virgil of course, tries to explain to Roman that it is not what he thinks. Roman then states that he believes Virgil thinks him not smart enough to understand and my anxious son puts him in his place as he should! Virgil has no shits to give!

“You’re much smarter than they make you believe! They just want you to stop thinking for yourself!” A frustrated growl escaped Virgil. Pulling uselessly on the powerful man’s shoulder, he tried to get him to look up” (Whatwashernameagain).

He calls the team out on their shit! He explains that Roman is only seeing the kinky stuff and goes on to explain what shipping is really about… Which makes me wonder if the man ships them as well… I wouldn’t put it past him the little angel.

“”It’s about liking two people and rooting for them, despite any opposition. People just care about both of you, even if you’re on different sides. It just shows that most of them aren’t as black and white as they all say. They aren’t the perfect, traditional families on the cereal boxes and they aren’t the masked activists throwing Molotov cocktails either. They’re just people who like some of both of your positions and they like you and him and what they like most is the idea of you two burying this feud and stop fighting. They want what you want, when it comes down to it, dude. For the arguing to end and people to just get along. I’m not making this up, look!”” (Whatwashernameagain).

This is really beautiful, and I feel privileged to be able to read it. Eva gets it, she really does. There are a few sentences here that I really want to point out though. For example, ‘It just shows that most of them aren’t as black and white as they all say’. Virgil is referring to the fact that most people aren’t just good or evil. The majority of people have done good things and they had done bad things… That is human nature. Everyone has regrets. Roman lives in a state in which he is required to see things in black and white, but the world doesn’t work like that. Very few things are so cut and dry. Virgil see this and he sees that Roman doesn’t. At this point Virgil has moved from shoulder angel to practically Roman’s conscious. He truly is a wonderful friend.

Roman, no doubt, doesn’t really stop to consider people in their daily lives. To him its always the people in the most dire of situation that he focuses on. I doubt he’d know how to handle someone if they just past him on the street. Of course, he is trained to think like this… He knows that he is trying to protect people’s way of life but never stops to consider the way they live their life.

‘They’re just people who like some of both of your positions and they like you and him and what they like most is the idea of you two burying this feud and stop fighting’. This feels like more foreshadowing but I’m going to bypass that because we’ve already discussed it. But it is a fantastic representation of both Logan and Roman and a reminder that nothing is black and white just as I mentioned previously. Logan is a good man doing bad things for good reasons and Roman is a good man doing good things for bad reasons. The Dreamer is an apt name… Roman’s ideas of good and evil are so fantastic they deserve to be in a dream. Luckily, Virgil is there to help guide him back to reality (once again pulling on the comparison between Remy and Virgil).

The next few paras are filled with such wholesome and beautiful images and art work that you really need to go re-read it (if you haven’t already. Its just so warm hearted and I love it. Also, I can’t draw so if someone wants to work up some art on the image Roman describes about the glitter in his hair and the dipping Logan I will gladly share it EVERYWHERE!!!! (just link it to me K?)

Also, the argument with the wall of pictures and Roman’s wall of postcards and pinatas gives me life…. My chest aches with it. I can also really appreciate that Eva describes the works of the two arguing so often. Obviously, this would be understandable because the two are on opposite sides but also Roman’s association with affection /is/ arguments which no doubt only reinforces Virgil’s point that these are wholesome and good when Roman sees the two of them arguing. I just love it so much.  

There are so many that Eva lists…. …. …. Honest opinion: At this point, she’s just indulging herself… I approve whole heartedly LOL XP.

It is also possible that these are real fan arts of Logan and Roman and though I don’t have the time to look them up at the moment you bet your sweet IQ that I will be after I get this posted!

In all of these images there is one striking similarity that I must point out: Roman and Logan are depicted as EQUALS. Why is this important? Roman had never been treated as an equal by anyone until he met Logan and Logan began to take the time to argue with him, treating him as if he were worth changing his mind. His father doesn’t even bother with that (yes, I know that I’ve already covered this). The point being, it is very important for Roman to feel valued and equaled, that is one of the reasons why the images provided by his team were so disturbing and that is also one of the reasons why these images are so inspirational to him.

““I don’t understand.” He muttered, glancing at his own tablet, filled with data carefully compiled for him.

Virgil’s gaze was worried.

“I guess there are things they’d rather you don’t see, for whatever reasons. Maybe you’ll let me double check the info they give you from now on, man. I get unrestricted internet.”

“Oh. I didn’t know the internet here was restricted.” Roman muttered softly. His head was buzzing. He huddled closer to Virgil, gazing at the images without really seeing them. He felt like everything he knew was shaken in its foundations” (Whatwashernameagain).

Virgil my sweet sweet baby boy, you’ve done it! You’ve finally gave Roman the realization that he needed! Finally, Roman’s eyes are open to just how manipulative his team is and how damaging that can be. Finally, he is seeing what is going on! Now all that’s left is to win the revolution and kick them to the curb!

This is not going to be easy of course. Everything Roman believes and everything he thinks he knows has been affected. His trust has been shaken. Whatever road Roman is about to walk down, it is not going to be easy for the poor man.

******

I apologize for Part 4 being so long, but I’ve limited myself to 4 parts per chapter and it has been quite difficult.

As always, I want to thank Eva for writing so beautifully and being so supportive of my ramblings.

I would also like to remind everyone that I don’t proof read these because I am surprisingly lazy when it comes to my own work.

I also LOVE hearing from you guys so plz plz plz drop me an ask or a message if you feel up for it. I promise I don’t bite unless you ask me to. <3 I also love questions and theories so hit me up with those too!

Be sure to leave Eva some love on AO3 and tumblr as well! She is incredibly nice and always fun to talk to! Also, if you haven’t already read her other work (like KHS) I highly recommend it.

For now, I will be waiting with bated breath with the rest of you for The Dreamer Chapter 3! ^.^ Until then, I hope to see you all around! <3

           “Abstract Search.” Full Abstract, https://abstracts.societyforscience.org/Home/FullAbstract?AllAbstracts=True&Category=Any+Category&FairCountry=Any+Country&FairState=Any+State&ProjectId=4987.Pocket-lint.

Anderson CA, Shibuya A, Ihori N, Swing EL, Bushman BJ, Sakamoto A, Rothstein HR, Saleem M. Violent video game effects on aggression, empathy, and prosocial behavior in eastern and western countries: A meta-analytic review. Psychological Bulletin. 2010;136:151–173.

Browne KD, Hamilton-Giachritsis C. The influence of violent media on children and adolescents: A public-health approach. The Lancet. 2005;365:702–710.

Carnagey NL, Anderson CA, Bushman BJ. The effect of video game violence on physiological desensitization to real-life violence. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology. 2007;43:489–496.

Center for Research Excellence Video consumer mapping survey. 2009 Retrieved from Center for Research Excellence web site: http://www.researchexcellence.com/research/research.php.

FaithWorld (26 October 2015). "Kabul University unlikely host for first Afghan women's studies programme". Blogs.reuters.com. Retrieved 2 November 2015.

"Gender Studies". Whitman College. https://archive.is/20121212181127/http://www.whitman.edu/content/genderstudies

Jaschik, Scott (10 November 2005). "Indiana Creates First Gender Studies PhD". The last decade has seen the number of women's studies PhD programs grow to at least 10 – most of them relatively new. Last week, Indiana University's board approved the creation of a program that will be both similar and different from those 10: the first doctoral program in the United States exclusively in gender studies.

Pharmacy Times, https://www.pharmacytimes.com/news/do-poisonous-mushrooms-have-a-pharmaceutical-purpose.

Rivkin, Julie. Literary Theory: a Practical Introduction. Wiley-Blackwell, 2017.

Whatwashernameagain. “The Dreamer - Chapter 2.” Hello Guys Gals And Non Binary Friends, 8 Sept. 2019, https://whatwashernameagain.tumblr.com/post/189407228487/the-dreamer-chapter-2?is_related_post=1.

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Somewhere on Your Road Tonight

Sara and Leonard made a life for themselves, together in 1958, after the Waverider left them, Ray and Kendra behind. But now they're back on the ship, Mick has been twisted into Chronos, Kendra is pregnant, and Savage is still out there. They'll deal--together. (Sequel to "Chances Are.")

Third one for "Last Refuge." With an added scene by popular demand. ;) Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta. Can also be read here at AO3 and here at FF.net.

Leonard isn’t there when Sara wakes. A glance at the console nearby shows her that it’s quite late, nearly noon by ship’s time, but given how late she got in, she’s going to refuse to feel bad about it.

Still, time to get up now and see what’s going on. And check on the newest little Legend.

Gideon reports that everyone else is over at the house. Mary Xavier—whom Sara has come to respect a great deal over the past 24 hours—had moved Kendra and Ray, with little Alex in a bassinette, into a more normal bedroom next to the infirmary/medbay. Sara actually doesn’t run into any of her other teammates on the way there, but as she raps cautiously on the slightly ajar door and then sticks her head in at Kendra’s quiet “come in,” she finds one of them.

Kendra is sitting up, looking weary, but smiling, and Leonard is standing next to her, next to the bassinette. The empty bassinette.

Because the crook is holding the baby.

Sara stops in her tracks. Leonard glances up and nods to her before looking back down at the bundle in his arms. He’s holding little Alex rather expertly, if Sara’s any judge, the baby’s head supported in the crook of one arm, his other arm cradling the little one’s body, and he’s moving a little as if to soothe the child. It’s completely incongruous, the thief in his black leather jacket holding the baby in his pale blue blanket so calmly.

After a minute, though, Kendra actually giggles and Sara blinks, recalled to the moment.

“Did your ovaries just explode?” her friend asks shrewdly as Leonard smirks at her and tiny Alexander waves a fist in the air.

Sara just gives her a look. “How are you?” she says, moving a little closer. “And where is Ray?”

Kendra stretches a little. “I’m good,” she says. “Sore. Tired. Par for the course, from what I remember, and a lot better than it could be.” She sighs. “I have any more kids, I want to be sure to have a medbay setup nearby.”

“All that and you can make yourself think about more?”

“You’d be surprised how quickly it fades. Even without the pain blockers.” Kendra shakes her head. “Probably a survival-of-the-species thing. But as far as Ray, Mick and Stein, of all the strange pairs, dragged him off to get something to eat.” She laughs a little. “He wouldn’t put the baby down. And when he finally did, Mr. ‘Mind If I Hold Him?’ over there showed up.” She waves a hand at Leonard. “This kid is going to be spoiled.”

“Ah, but you can’t truly spoil a newborn.” They all look around as Mary Xavier, Rip on her heels, strolls briskly into the room. “And how are you doing, Ms. Saunders?”

While Kendra and Mary talk, Rip takes a step toward Leonard, eyes fixed on the child as if he wants to take the boy himself, but Leonard’s chin goes up, as if daring the captain to try. Rip stops, and Sara closes her eyes, smiling. She’d already known Leonard had a soft spot for kids, but she hadn’t known it extended to infants.

Mary soon ousts them all from the room so she can examine both Kendra and the baby, and Leonard returns the child to the bassinette, joining Sara outside. She studies him as they climb the stairs toward the ground floor, wondering.

“Didn’t know you were quite so fond of babies,” she says eventually, as they emerge into the parlor.

Leonard gives her a tiny smile. “Well. Can’t say I’ve had much of a chance to interact with one in a good long time.” He shakes his head. “But I remember clearly when Lisa was born,” he says quietly as they head for the kitchen. “Holding her on her first day home from the hospital.” He glances at Sara. “Figured I’d do anything to protect her. Still would.”

Sara reaches for his hand, squeezing his fingers before letting go. “You’re full of surprises, crook.”

“You know it, assassin.”

Maybe it’s because they both still have little Alex on their minds. Maybe Sara just can’t resist seeing her younger self, since everyone else has seen theirs. But they drift next toward the Refuge’s nursery, where young Sara, Stein and Jax are being housed.

Leonard finds it a little odd (and unnerving, actually) that he still hasn’t seen any other adults (besides the Legends, if they even count) at the Refuge, and this is, again, no exception. Stein, though, is standing there, holding baby Jax, a rather paternal expression in his face as he gazes down at his partner-in-Firestorm’s younger self. The other two babies are sleeping quietly, but Leonard sees Sara’s gaze drift to the bassinette that holds her infant self, then determinedly away. They’re still supposed to avoid their younger selves, although many of them have rather ignored that edict. (Although none quite so much as Leonard had.)

Stein looks up and smiles at them, then, shifting young Jax to one arm and holding a finger to his lips in a reminder of quiet. Then he steps over the one empty bassinette and gently puts the sleeping boy down before stepping back and turning to them.

“Ms. Lance, Mr. Snart,” he says in a low tone. “This is quite surreal, is it not? All the potential and promise innate in our younger selves…” He waves a hand. “…all here in this one unassuming building. Astonishing.”

Leonard reflects that at least the older man is including the entire team in that assessment of promise. It wouldn’t always have been the case. But he’s not going to point that out.

“Little you doin’ all right, professor?” he drawls instead, folding his arms and glancing toward the bassinette that holds baby Martin Stein. “Had an interesting beginning, didn’t he?”

The scientist chuckles. “Indeed. It went from rather an amusing family story to something else altogether, hearing Captain Hunter and Mr. Rory tell the tale. But, no harm done.” He glances over too. “I was…am…apparently a rather resilient child.”

Small Stein chooses that moment to wake up, however, making an annoyed noise and kicking his feet, which are now encased in tiny green booties. Sara takes a step toward him, then glances toward the adult version in question. The professor waves a hand, smiling.

“I’m heading back out now,” he says. “Perhaps I will go visit our littlest Legend. Or...” The smiles flags a little. “Talk with Jefferson some more. My attempt at a good deed seems to have gone...rather amiss.”

He’s gone before either of them can ask, and Sara and Leonard share a glance before baby Stein makes another noise that’s distinctly pissed off. That seems to disturb baby Sara, who wakes with a vaguely irritated gurgle, then draws in a breath and squalls as only an upset newborn can.

The adult Sara pauses in collecting young Stein, glancing at her younger self, and Len makes his decision quickly, trying not to think about the oddness of the moment. He walks over and collects the baby efficiently, cradling her in the crook of his arm and humming to her, wondering when she’d last eaten and how that’s handled here. Don't infants this young have to eat frequently? He sort of remembers that.

The baby quiets more quickly than he’d expected for all her ire, staring up at him with blue eyes that are quite focused for one so young. She appears to be frowning and Leonard lifts an eyebrow at her, amused at what seems to be the familiarity of the expression. Even little Sara is a spitfire.

He glances up at older Sara, then, and see her watching him too, as she tries to get small Stein settled. After a moment, the corner of her mouth ticks up, and she shakes her head.

“The crook and the assassin are the two soothing the babies,” she says wryly. “Who’d have thought it?”

“Speak for yourself. I’m good at everything.” Unable to hide his smile, Leonard looks down at little Sara, who’s still watching him with a small “v” between her nearly invisible brows. She waves a hand and he catches it, letting her wrap those tiny fingers around one of his. “Good grip.”

“Yeah, well, watch it. I’m told I was a grumpy baby—and I raised hell as a toddler.” Sara laughs a little. “Well, they say second children are the troublemakers.”

“In my experience, that’s certainly true.” Little Sara’s eyes are drifting shut again. She’s still holding on to his finger tightly, and Leonard finds himself loathe to put her down, for all the oddness of the situation. He studies the baby’s face, looking for the beginnings of the woman he loves in the soft newborn features, wondering suddenly how her blond fairness would mingle with his own ancestry, what kind of child...

Holy hell, where did that come from?

Clearing his throat suddenly, he steps over to the bassinette, putting the infant down gently and tugging his finger away. Little Sara sighs in her sleep, but lets him, that hand falling in a loose fist to lie next to her cheek. Leonard turns away hastily to watch older Sara put the now-sleeping baby Stein back too, then reaches for a change of subject.

“Shall we, ah, go grab something from the kitchens here,” he asks, extending an arm to her, “before it’s back to replicator food?”

Sara regards him, her lips quirking again, and Leonard has a feeling he hadn’t hidden his expression quite quickly enough. But whatever her thoughts are, she lets them go, taking his arm. “We shall.”

After Kendra and the baby have received a continued clean bill of health from Mary Xavier, Rip calls a team meeting in their room. It’s crowded, and Stein and Leonard squabble over holding Alexander until Ray pulls rank as the proud new dad and takes his son himself. He sits on the bed by Kendra, and the others quiet as Rip surveys them.

Finally, the captain sighs, but it’s not a put-upon noise, for once.

“This really worked out, for once, as best as I could hope,” he says. “I had planned to ask Ms. Saunders to stay here for the remainder of her pregnancy and the birth of her son, but since young Mr. Alexander had his own ideas…” He nods to them, actually smiling. “I will admit, this is not something I’d ever foreseen in my pursuit of Vandal Savage, but I am glad for your happiness.”

“Hear, hear,” Stein murmurs, while Ray beams and Kendra (Sara notices) studies the captain with the expression of a woman who’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Rip clears his throat, then. “So. Here’s the best plan I can come up with now.” He starts to pace, managing only a step or two before he has to turn. “Ms. Saunders and the baby will stay at the Refuge for now. Mum…Mary has agreed.” He pauses. “And we will return for them. Soon, for us. In approximately a year, for them.”

Ray stares. Kendra, who seems like she’s expected something like this, nods. Mick and Leonard both frown, exchanging glances, and Jax starts to say something before Stein nudges him.

Rip continues. “Ms. Saunders will have to continue training to get back into, err, fighting trim. And then…then we will continue our quest for Savage. The boy will stay here temporarily under Mary’s watchful eye.” He nods again. “It’s not perfect. But…”

Ray has found his voice, however. “I’m not leaving my wife and son here alone,” he protests.

Rip gives him a sympathetic look. “They won’t be alone, Dr. Palmer.”

But the new father is shaking his head vehemently. “I won’t miss it,” he says. “This is my son, too. I need to be there, I need to help. And all the firsts…” He looks down at baby Alex. “His first word, his first steps…” Ray looks back up then, determination in his eyes. “I’m not going to be that kind of father.”

Mick murmurs something Sara can’t quite hear, but she sees what almost seems to be sympathy in his eyes. Leonard’s watching the other man, too, then glances back at Sara, and that is definitely sympathy. She nudges his arm with her own.

But Rip, although he looks a touch resigned, is nodding again. “I really can’t say I didn’t expect that. Very well, Dr. Palmer, you stay here as well.”

Ray nods firmly, then opens his mouth to say something else.  But Stein is speaking up now, and everyone’s attention goes to him.

“How will that…I mean, won’t they be able to…” the physicist says slowly, as if working something out. “Eventually, one would hope, we’re going to be coming back for our younger selves. Later, for us. Earlier, for those at the Refuge. What if…what something’s different?” He sighs and clarifies. “Say, if one of us doesn’t return. Dr. Palmer and Ms. Saunders will find out before we return for them. Won’t that create a paradox of sorts?”

Leonard makes a thoughtful sound next to her, and Sara tries to work the knot out. She’s gotten a little used to the oddities of time travel, but it’s still capable of giving her a headache. However, Rip’s speaking again, and she gives it up to listen.

“There is a cottage on the outskirts of the grounds,” the captain is saying to Ray and Kendra, “and I think it would be a fine place for a young family.” He sighs. “We will have to keep you in…a state of some ignorance. Mary is aware of this.”

“Shouldn’t be hard for you, Raymond,” Leonard snipes, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. He’s frowning, clearly disturbed by some piece of this. Sara studies him thoughtfully.

Kendra sighs. “All right, then,” she says, looking at Ray. “I don’t have a better idea. I wish I had Sara to train with, though.”

Rip smiles again. “Well. You might be surprised by Mum. Ask her. You’ll see.” He shakes his head. “Good luck, Dr. Palmer, Ms. Saunders. I’m going back to prepare the ship for takeoff,” he says, turning for the door. “The rest of you, please return within the next 15 minutes.”

But when they do…everything has changed.

“Gideon has intercepted a trans-chronal beacon,” the captain tells them in a tone that’s so carefully blank that it can only scream “trouble.” Then he takes a deep breath. “Gideon, show them.”

A video flickers onto one of the bridge screens: The Pilgrim, staring grimly ahead.

“This message is for Rip Hunter,” the bounty hunter says. “I'm going to make this very quick and very simple.”

And then the picture changes.

Even if Sara hadn’t seen a photo of Lisa Snart before, it’s clearly labeled—and the way Leonard sits forward in his jump seat, tensing, would give it away.

“If I can't find you…” the Pilgrim starts. Sara takes a step toward Leonard. But then the picture changes again, to a very familiar photo. A younger Sara, a younger Laurel…and their father. “Quentin Lance,” says the screen.

Sara stops in her tracks.

The picture changes again: Clarissa Stein. Sara, as if through a haze, can hear Stein’s intake of breath.

“…I can find those you love.”

Another change: Ray and a smiling dark-haired woman.

“Anna Loring,” says the caption.

And then another dark-haired woman, also smiling, in a photo that’s clearly older, sepia-toned.

“Diane Rory,” it says.

Leonard swivels quickly, staring at his partner. Sara looks, too, the anger, fear and adrenaline in her own heart only compounded by the knowledge that they’re all in this boat.

Mick just stares.

“That’s my mom,” he says, in a tone that’s so stunned it barely sounds like the gruff career criminal—or bounty hunter—they’ve known. “But…”

“The Pilgrim clearly pulled people from all over our timelines,” Leonard says when Mick’s words simply trickle off. “If she could…”

But then the video of the bounty hunter is back, and she’s hauling someone else into the screen with her, and…

“Dad!” Jax cries, as the Pilgrim holds a gun to his father’s head.

“All of them will suffer and die because of you,” the Pilgrim says coldly. “Your family, friends, anyone you've ever cared about. Unless you surrender your younger selves to me.”

Rip draws a breath. “So she can erase you all from history,” he murmurs.

But the bounty hunter’s message continues. “If it's of any comfort, you won't feel a thing,” she says. “As for your loved ones, I cannot promise the same thing.”

The screen goes blank. Rip hits the table in frustration, taking a step backward. They all stare at him—and then at each other.

Somewhat to Leonard’s surprise, it’s the professor who breaks through his own distraction first. “Someone needs to tell Dr. Palmer,” Stein says, turning toward the captain. “His fiancée…”

Rip turns back around. “Dr. Stein, I hardly think…”

“No, you don’t,” the physicist says, a clapback Leonard would probably appreciate more if he wasn’t dealing with his own circling thoughts.  (What age is the Lisa the bounty hunter captured? And Sara’s father…the one from 2016 Star City? A younger version? If…)

But Stein’s continuing. “The Pilgrim has a woman he loved…and he needs to know that,” he tells Rip. “Wouldn’t you want to?”

The captain hesitates, then nods. Stein hurries off the ship, presumably toward the house, to tell Raymond that the bounty hunter has his late fiancée, who’s not late at the moment, although he’s currently married to and has a newborn son with another woman. Because that’s not going to be awkward.

Leonard looks toward Mick, but the other man has backed up to the wall, a blank look on his face as he stares at the now-dark screen. Jax is sitting on a jump seat, looking distraught. Sara’s rubbing her hands up and down her arms in a characteristic gesture of quiet unhappiness. She paces toward Leonard, eyes meeting his.

“This is…” she says quietly but doesn’t seem to know what else to say.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t really know what to say either.

Does the Pilgrim have adult Lisa? Last he knew, she was out of town, trying (she said) to turn over a new leaf. He’d left a message for her, just in case, but she might not even have gotten it yet.

Or is it the girl he remembers? The helpless baby, the toddler who’d followed him on stubby legs, the scared and wary preschooler she’d been when he’d first gotten out of juvie. The preteen who’d just wanted, with a desperate enduring passion, to be “normal,” or the teenager who’d realized they’d never escape their father’s legacy and devoted herself to trying to live “down” to it?

And then Stein’s jogging back onto the bridge, and Raymond’s on his heels, the inventor grim-faced in a way that Leonard’s rarely seen him before.

“I want to take her down,” he says fiercely, coming to a halt. “Then I’ll come back to the Refuge. But I can’t let her do this.”

Rip nods to him. There’s an expression on the captain’s face that’s different, too. Resolve? Calculation? A combination? Leonard frowns.

“Strap in for takeoff,” the former Time Master says shortly, taking his own seat. “Once we’re in the timestream…I have a thought.”

What can they really do but listen? And Rip’s as good as his word for once, hopping out of his seat as soon as they’re on an even keel in the sea of green.

“Gideon, I take it that the Pilgrim's transmission included a carrier frequency through which she can be contacted?” he asks, raising his voice.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Hail her,” Rip says in a voice that has more than its own share of anger. “Please.”

“What are you planning to do?” Stein asks quietly.

But then the Pilgrim is there, on the screen, and Leonard feels both fear and rage rising in a tidal surge, although he struggles to keep both under wraps. He might acknowledge feelings more these days, but this isn’t the time or place to let them go. Sara moves toward his side, Mick to his other, and at least there’s that.

“Captain Hunter,” the woman says in acknowledgement.

Rip steps closer to the screen. “Look, I'm gonna make this easy.”

“I already have,” the Pilgrim cuts in curtly. “The lives of your team's nearest and dearest for their younger selves.”

But the captain’s not taking the crap, for once. “And I'm going to counter that demand with an offer of my own,” he grits out. “I will surrender myself…” He holds out his arms. “…if you spare the lives of my crew and their loved ones.”

Leonard lifts his head in surprise, and the others do the same. He’s already thinking furiously, though. It’s an interesting…

”…gesture,” the Pilgrim says, dismissively. “But…worthless. My directive is to eliminate your entire team, not just you.”

Rip tilts his head. “Yes,” he says, and it’s almost a hiss. “Well, I'm not talking about me now. I'm offering you me in the past.”

For the first time, Mick’s head jerks up and he stares at the former Time Master. Leonard’s eyes narrow.

“Rip Hunter before he became a Time Master,” the captain continues. “Eliminate him, and this team will never have been.”

Never have been.

Leonard turns almost involuntarily, looking at Sara, who’s staring at the screen. If Rip never forms the team…

The Pilgrim stares back at Rip. All Leonard’s instincts tell him she’s taken by surprise as well.

“If this is some kind of trick...” she starts.

Rip cuts her off this time. “It's no trick,” he says, something like scorn in his voice. “Enough people have died at my expense. Gideon will send you the location.”

And then he cuts the transmission and turns away.

It’s rather a nice little fuck-you to the bounty hunter, but Leonard doesn’t feel capable of appreciating it right now.

“Hunter!” he says, raising his voice. “It occur to you that if you never form this team, that changes a hell of a lot for some of us!?”

No distraction for a restless crook looking for something new. No second chance for a lost assassin looking to find her way back to being a hero.

If they ever meet at all, it’d probably be as enemies. And all the things they’d changed in 1958, all the lives…

Raymond makes a slight noise and Leonard is reminded that this would change even more for him. Hell, there’s another new life at stake altogether.

Rip had stopped in his tracks, but he’s still facing away, shoulders slumped, silent. Sara takes a step forward, her own eyes narrowed. “Rip? I think that’s a pretty good question.”

“I’d answer it if I were you,” Raymond says, and damned if the Boy Scout doesn’t actually sound threatening.

And something else has occurred to Leonard. “You said before, that removing you, a former Time Master, from history would be ‘quite dangerous’ to the timeline. What changed your mind? What makes you think the Time Masters want that when they didn’t before?”

Rip’s shoulders heave in a sigh and he turns around.

“I know that this goes against the grain for you, Mr. Snart,” he says quietly. “But trust me.”

It’s Stein who answers, though. “You’re playing with lives here, captain,” the professor says. He sounds more tired and resigned than angry, but there’s steel in the words.

Rip looks at him. “You think I don’t know that? But I do have a plan. And I can’t tell you what it is. Not yet.”

The captain stares at his crew for another long minute.

“Trust me,” he says again. “What choice do you really have, right now?”

And frankly, Leonard has no response to that.

It’s just as well that the trip is a very quick one. Sara thinks that maybe she should try to get a moment with Leonard before they arrive, before they could…they could lose part of their lives. Part of her life she’s not willing to lose, not at all, three months on this ship and nearly a year in 1958, a grasp on the blood lust she didn’t have before, the memories of friends made and a thoroughly unexpected lover who’s brought a part of her back to life that she thought was forever dead.

But neither is she willing to lose her father, or Leonard’s sister, or any of the others. She sighs, watching Rip hold a quiet-voiced conversation with Ray, who still looks pissed at the former Time Master.

Leonard’s leaning against a jump seat next to her, and their arms are touching, as if he needs her to know he’s there. It’s a tiny gesture that’s nonetheless large, coming from a man who so notoriously is shy of contact and PDA, and Sara relishes it as they wait.

Mick ambles over, then, stopping in front of them. The big man has seemed almost…introspective?... during this whole thing, from Leonard’s younger self to his own toddler self, and now his mother’s capture by the Pilgrim. Sara knows, from bits and pieces, that Mick’s father had been an abusive asshole (although not, perhaps, on the lines of Lewis Snart), but she knows nothing about his mother, save that the woman had died in the fire teenaged Mick himself had accidentally started.

It must be incredibly hard, having her here, after so long. But that’s not what Mick’s here to talk about now. He stops in front of Sara, clearing his throat.

“Blondie,” he says almost formally. “Been an honor. Knowing you. Um. M’ sure it didn’t always seem like it, but it was.”

It’s the sort of thing that you just have to take as intended. “Thanks, Mick.” Sara manages a smile. “You too.”

Mick nods. Then he meets Leonard’s gaze, holding it a long moment. They won’t lose each other, at least, if Rip’s plan doesn’t work—or will they? Sara thinks. They’re not the men they were before. They might as well be two new people.

But after a moment, Mick nods again, and Leonard nods back, and that’s that. Sara shakes her head as she watches Mick walk away, then looks up at Leonard.

He’s staring after his partner, and there’s a muscle ticking in his jaw. He doesn’t look back down at her as he speaks.

“I’m not going to say it.”

Sara lifts an eyebrow. “Say what?”

“Anything.” Now he glances down at her. “If you don’t already know it, no point in saying it now.”

Sara nods. She leans against him as they watch Rip finish whatever he’s saying to Ray and turn to look at the rest of them.

“I love you too, crook,” she murmurs, and hears his quiet hum in response.

And then the captain is beckoning them over.

And then it’s time to go.

Leonard hates waiting. As it turns out, that’s precisely his role in this plan of Rip’s, at least to start. Because of course it is.

At least he’s waiting with Sara, crouched with her behind some sort of storage containers in this defunct Time Masters outpost. A few more minutes in each other’s company.

Oddly, he’s not expecting this particular plan of Rip’s to go haywire, and he’s not sure why. It’s still nagging at him, that the Time Masters would want to cancel out all the actions of one of their greatest bounty hunters. And now, those of a Time Master himself? He hadn’t missed that no one had answered any of his questions about that.

It just doesn’t make sense.

They watch Rip, Mick, Stein and Jax walk into the cavernous former…warehouse? It looks like a warehouse. Leonard can hear their voices, but not their words, not at a normal conversation volume. But he recognizes Mary Xavier when she walks into the echoing space from another direction.

And he recognizes the boy with her.

“I saw that kid back at the Refuge,” he says quietly to Sara. “That’s little Rip?”

Sara gives him a surprised glance. They watch the woman exchange a few words with the captain and the others…and then the Pilgrim enters too, crossing the floor toward them.

“Where's my dad?” Jax asks, raising his voice, as Mary Xavier withdraws. While the Pilgrim answers, they can’t quite hear her, and Leonard tenses again, uneasy with the lack of information. But there’s not much he can do, not right now, and they continue to wait, watching, as the two sides exchange words.

At one point, the Pilgrim looks Mick dead in the eye, and Leonard’s reminded that they’d been colleagues, once, of a sort. An odd thought. Then the bounty hunter scans the room, and Sara and Leonard freeze. But she doesn’t see anything, apparently, and turns back to Rip, holding up some sort of device.

Then James Jackson appears next to her. The man, still in his fatigues, staggers, and Jax takes a step forward. But the kid stops himself, and Rip says something to his younger self…and the boy starts to walk toward the bounty hunter.

“Remember, we wait for Ray's cue,” Sara says quietly as Leonard tenses again. They can both see the blue mote that’s following the Time-Master-to-be, lighting on the kid’s jacket.

The Pilgrim and the young Rip exchange a few words…and then Raymond explodes into full size, yelling “Now!” and aiming his blasters at the bounty hunter.

She freezes him, but Sara and Leonard are already moving in tandem, Sara with her bo in her hand and Leonard with gun primed. Sara rolls to avoid a blast, but Mick joins them from the other side, firing, and Leonard fires too.

The Pilgrim, in the middle, freezes both blasts, fire and ice, and then throwing her arms wide, sends them both hurling back. Leonard lands awkwardly, and by the time he’s back on his feet, Firestorm is there too, ablaze and attacking. And then Sara’s next to him, her bo in one hand and a knife in the other, and Mick’s back up and firing and so is Leonard. Rip has his fancy revolver in hand and…

The Pilgrim has them all frozen.

She turns slowly, watching them, and Leonard really wants to wipe the look off her face, the slightly smug expression that says the bounty hunter thinks she’s won. And maybe she has, because while Rip said he has an ace in the hole, Leonard has no idea what it is, and no idea where.

“I was willing to proceed in good faith,” she says, barely audible over the crackle of the cold gun in his ears. “Now you'll watch those closest to you die.”

Leonard’s trying to get just enough freedom to say something rude, when young Rip does him one better. That skinny kid, ignored by all of them, the same kid he’d watched try to snitch food back at the Refuge, pulls out a knife with a wicked blade and buries it without ceremony in the Pilgrim’s back.

He says something to her, but Leonard’s already straining against her control, trying to break it. Then the boy stabs the bounty hunter again, and the Pilgrim knocks him backward, but they’re free, they’re all free, and Sara sweeps the boy out of the way as all their weapons and powers hit the Pilgrim at once.

Satisfyingly, there’s not much left after that.

Sara watches Jax go to his shaken father, even as Mary Xavier sweeps back in to collect young Rip, who doesn’t seem all that fazed by the experience. The woman gives Sara a slight sly smile as they pass, and Sara has an odd feeling that, maybe, Rip had had more than one ace in the hole.

Then she looks at Leonard. Her lover gives her a small smile, but he’s not the sort to do anything effusive, not here and now, anyway.

Later. They have later.

“That's you,” Mick says, faintly marveling, as he watches young Rip leave with his adoptive mother.

Rip shrugs. “Yeah,” he acknowledges with a sigh. “I was a cutpurse from the age of five. Starved more than I ate.” He shakes his head. “I knew what I'd do if she tried to harm me.”

Leonard makes a faint noise of…something. Impossible, to ignore the similarities there. (Though Sara knows perfectly well both men will. Acknowledging them would be far too close to admitting they do have some respect for each other.)

“Lucky for us,” he drawls, “you didn't forget your roots.”

Rip sighs. “Believe me, Mr. Snart,” he murmurs, turning away. “I've tried.”

The Pilgrim’s ship isn’t precisely hidden, and whatever the bounty hunter’s flaws, she’d told the truth about their loved ones. They’re all there, angry or scared or some combination thereof but also healthy and whole, and Rip and Mary have them ushered onto the Waverider quickly. The Time Masters almost certainly have a means of tracking the other ship. Best to leave it as soon as possible. A pity, Leonard thinks.

They go back to the Refuge, after that (although Leonard never does find out to his satisfaction how Mary Xavier got young Rip to the meeting point). He also never finds out if Raymond speaks to his former fiancee or if he leaves the past in the past-- but the other man heads back to the house with barely a murmur of farewell before his year at the Refuge. Well, his wife and son are waiting for him.

Leonard himself contemplates looking in on his younger self—and baby Sara--again, but...he’s said what he can say. Time to let it go.

And Lisa is on the Waverider.

Despite the photo of adult Lisa the Pilgrim had used when contacting them earlier, it’s not the older Lisa she’d picked up. It’s the 7-year-old girl he remembers, all skinny arms and knobby knees and pigtails, who’s curled up on the bed, eyes wide and wary. She’s in the room that’d once been his, not the one he now shares with Sara, and she shrinks away as he appears in the door. Leonard winces.

“Hey,” he says, gentling his voice and keeping his distance. “It’s OK. I know it’s been weird. But we’re taking you home.”

Problem is, home’s not a haven either, and Leonard knows it. But what else can they do? Time, he realizes now, isn’t so much a straight line as it is a cat’s cradle, and too many things might change.

Lisa’s picked up her head a little, eyeing him. “Who was that lady?” she asks in a voice that’s not much louder than a whisper. “She said...she said she wanted to hurt Lenny.”

And Lenny, to her, is the 17-year-old big brother who’s probably back in juvie right now, the gawky kid just starting to get his height, hair still dark and just barely long enough to curl, the kid who still thinks he might be able to be something other than a criminal. Not this stranger older than her father, hard eyes and short, silvered hair, gun at his hip and ice in his soul.

At least she still remembers him at all.

Leonard takes a deep breath and lets it out. “She didn’t,” he tells his baby sister gently. “We stopped her.”

Something in his voice makes an impression, he thinks, and Lisa relaxes just a tiny bit more. “You did?” she says hopefully. “Is he home now? Is he here? Can I see him?”

Leonard has no idea precisely when the Pilgrim had plucked her from. “You will...in time.” If they don’t put younger Leonard back quickly, how will that affect her? He thinks of the times he’d gotten between Lewis and Lisa. Will she even be...

He can’t chase that thought. He can’t, not now. Not and still keep moving.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks instead. “Coloring books? Would you like to watch TV?”

Lisa perks up. “Cartoons?” she asks hopefully. They’d been a rare treat at home, for when Lewis wasn’t around. Leonard browses briefly through the list Gideon presents him with and pulls up “Beauty and the Beast,” leaving his sister behind with one last, regretful glance. He’d love, he’ll admit, to give her the hug their adult selves tend to eschew, but she wouldn’t react well to that from an apparent stranger.

Then he goes to check on Sara.

Of course, she’s not in their room. But her father is, sitting on the bed and taking off his shoes, glancing up as Leonard halts abruptly in the doorway.

“Who the hell are you?” Quentin Lance asks, eyes narrowing. He looks...well, frankly, he looks younger than Leonard, at whatever point in time the Pilgrim had pulled him from. Maybe even Sara’s age.

Leonard blinks at him. “Ah,” he manages. “Sorry. Just...looking for Sara.”

He takes a step backward, watches Quentin’s eyes dart around the room. There are unmistakable signs that his adult daughter isn’t the only resident, including Leonard’s parka draped over a chair and a pair of his boots by the desk.

Sara’s father looks back at him. Then he shakes his head.

“Well, I just took what they tell me was an amnesia pill,” he says, sighing and stretching out, resting his hands behind his head. “So, whoever you are, and whatever you are to my little girl, just...treat her right. And just maybe, we’ll manage to get along one of these days.”

Leonard can’t help a faint chuckle. “If I didn’t, she’d have long since kicked me to the curb,” he says quietly. “Or gutted me. Or both. Probably both.”

Quentin Lance chuckles too.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs as he closes his eyes.

Leonard leaves with alacrity.

Sara had actually been looking for Leonard, to warn him that her dad was in their room. But as she sees him beating a hasty retreat from that corridor, she stifles a laugh, pausing until he joins her and they both head for the bridge.

“How's your sister?" she asks as they fall into step. She’d rather like to meet Lisa Snart, but the young girl she’d seen had been confused enough without adding more to the mix.

“She's a tough kid,” he drawls, then flicks a glance at her. “Just met your dad.”

Sara’s lips twitch. “He should be sleeping off that amnesia pill from Rip."

“Think he is now.” Leonard shakes his head, but he declines to say more about the encounter. Sara lets it go.

Rip’s speaking to Jax as they join the others, and Sara hears the word “Mogadishu.” Leonard pauses, but Sara turns away, noticing Mick sitting in a jump seat, watching her. Taking a deep breath, she strolls over.

“I gave it to her,” she says, leaning on the table next to him. “The amnesia pill. You sure you don’t want to...”

Mick makes a noise that’s part sigh and part grunt. He won’t meet Sara’s eyes.

“What would I say?” he says, looking downward. “Make sure you have working smoke detectors? Get out while you still can? Hey, look at what a...a monster...your little boy turned out to be?” He shakes his head. “If I didn’t already want to take the Time Masters down, I would now. Didn’t need to revisit any of this shit.”

Sara dares enough to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not a monster, Mick.”

But Mick Rory looks up at her then, and the pain in his eyes negates anything he’s ever said to her about not doing feelings.

“I killed my parents, Sara,” he says simply. And what can she even say to that?

Even if she’d found something, though, time’s up. Rip’s standing at the holotable now, looking around, and Leonard joins them, leaning on the table next to Sara as the others gather too.

“Time, the history from which your younger selves were removed, is beginning to set... as is evidenced by the change in Clarissa's memory,” Rip says, motioning to Stein. “It’s only a matter of time before it spreads to the others as well.”

Jax takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says. “So how long do we have till these changes stick?”

“No one knows,” Mick rumbles, getting to his feet and moving to Leonard’s other side.

The captain’s nodding. “Which is why—after we put our guests back where and when they belong and after we retrieve Dr. Palmer and Ms. Saunders--we need to move swiftly to locate Vandal Savage if any of your lives are to be restored to normal,” he concludes. "Fortunately, there is one place in time that we know Savage to be.”

“You said he conquered the world in 2166," Mick observes, and Stein frowns.

“You also said it was too dangerous to strike at Savage while he was at the height of his powers,” the physicist points out.

Rip gives him an unhappy smile. “That it is,” he says, then takes a deep breath. “But with your younger selves removed from history, we have quite literally...run out of time.”

[hopevalley]

You said in a recent post that you think Bill needs character development. Do you have anything particular in mind or do you just feel it's important that he gets something?

Now that I think about it, it’s pretty rare for me to not have something in mind when I say anything alluding to improvement on the show. I almost always have at least one idea, even if I don’t take the time to talk about it. It’s one of those things where, especially in episode write-ups, conceptual “this is how it could have gone” tangents tend to inflate the word count and distract from the actual write-up, both of which can be bad. (It depends. Some people love the excess, other people find it more difficult to follow.)

Anyway, let’s talk about Bill. Bill is a character who desperately needs plot. I think most of us can agree that in recent seasons, the writers have treated him like a laughingstock “Old Man Yells at Cloud” type of character—and it’s hard not to imagine they’ve done this because they’re just at a loss for plot ideas. (Or, just as likely, they’re not really allowed to write anything for him that they’re not explicitly told to.) This is bad. He’s stagnated as a character to the point of being generally unlikable. Even if you love Jack Wagner, the writers have made it increasingly hard to like the character he plays. And that’s a shame!

In a sense, he suffers from the same sort of neglect that Jack’s character did. He just kind of exists as an extension of other characters. Until Abigail was removed from the main cast, Bill became more or less a character who existed in relation to her. He was primarily Abigail’s friend and co-owner of the Café. If we stray from that, he was also Jack’s mentor, Nora’s ex-husband, and Henry’s enemy. 

That’s not to say that he wasn’t, and isn’t, his own character. I’m just trying to point out some of the narrative choices here: as the series progressed, we got less of Bill being his own person, and more of Bill as he existed in relation to other people.

I think just like Jack, we get a really compelling backstory for Bill, which they did take a stab at adding to in S6! He grew up in an area that wasn’t very safe and developed some kind of hero worship for a man who had the guts to stand up for the downtrodden & made his hometown a better place in the process. Bill’s parents were friends with Jonas Wilder, though we don’t know how. We know that Bill was ambitious and hard-working, because Jonas believed Bill would make something great of himself; when Bill’s parents died, presumably in his teen years, Jonas took Bill in and paid for him to finish his education (allowing him to go on to the Academy to become a Mountie). Feeling indebted to Jonas for this kindness that kept him off the streets and helped him achieve his lifelong ambition, when Jonas’s daughter Nora ended up pregnant out of wedlock, Bill agreed to marry her to save the family from dishonor. Bill ended up raising the child, Martin, like he was his own son, and loved him just the same. Unfortunately, the marriage of convenience couldn’t handle Martin’s tragic death, and Nora left him to grieve, feeling that both she and Martin had always been a burden on him.

We know the rest because we watched it, of course: Bill tried courting Abigail before the divorce was finalized, Nora wanted to get back together as a misguided way of forcing her life to normalcy so that she could pretend everything was okay again (even though it wouldn’t bring Martin back), and as it turns out, Henry Gowen is the most likely candidate to be Martin’s biological father…which explains why Bill thinks he’s such a slimeball.

There is so much you can do with all of this, and the showrunners did try for a while. The drama with Abigail was great. Bill was established as morally grey in the end, and more importantly, it was shown that he struggles greatly with showing his emotions—which makes it easier to see Nora’s point of view of their marriage. Perhaps it’s no wonder she felt Bill didn’t love Martin; it’s possible he wasn’t great at expressing it, particularly to/in front of her.

I should add that the Bill of the first and second seasons is a Bill who isn’t really ready to enter the dating world; not only is he terrible with his own emotions, the emotions of other people obviously make him uncomfortable. (Abigail attaches herself to him quickly and it puts him off. This tells us that Bill is the sort of person who needs to move slow.)

Bill’s character really hit a good stride during the counterfeit money plot, but the writing of the plot itself was pretty confusing (and I think a lot of viewers weren’t sure what was happening due to the sudden timeskips/travel jumping). It was particularly interesting to me that Bill was playing the long con and had been trying for literal years to bust his superior officer for being involved in dirty schemes. The man is supremely dedicated to Truth and Justice. More complex aspects of Bill’s personality are shown here very well when he refuses to tell Jack anything about his plan/what he’s doing (to protect him, because he cares). It ends up coming off completely wrong to Jack, who feels Bill is being patronizing/unfair, even though in Bill’s mind he’s just doing the objectively right thing to not involve innocent bystanders.

After the issue was resolved, Bill quit his job as a Mountie and decided to do freelance work. He’s shown through S4 to be clever, intelligent, and interested in Justice—or at least, his version of it. He’s very serious about not taking advantage of other people, and hates those who do this intentionally (see: the man who tried to con Dottie out of her husband’s life insurance). When a man wouldn’t tip Abigail properly, Bill overtipped her to make up for it. He tends to feel a certain obligation toward protecting/taking care of people he’s acquainted with (his best friend’s daughter, Abigail, Dottie, Elizabeth, Jack), and holds longtime grudges (Henry, the gang who killed his best friend). 

Random fact: Bill is the first character on the show to fall in love with Coal Valley and stay there entirely of his own free will/just because he can. 

Later seasons of the show take all of these characteristics and…I think try to simplify them—to the detriment of the character. Taking a complex character and boiling them down to the basics usually ends poorly. Bill in S4 wasn’t too bad—for the most part, he managed to remain himself. I think we’re supposed to laugh at Bill’s “sexist” assumption that AJ Foster is a man, but in context it’s understandable why he would assume that, and despite his cleverness he happens upon this information completely by accident. (The envelope with her name on it is not something he found with good detective skills; the windowsill moves when he leans on it to check somewhere else.) That said, he still knew enough to go back into the place and check, so I guess he’s still himself.

His inability to understand where AJ is coming from seems to work itself out; if he really didn’t believe her/really felt she was a bad person, there’s no way he’d have let her run away from jail without chasing her down. His “stay safe” comment actually tells us he understands her perspective more than he’s letting on.

And then we have S5. There are good parts, here. Bill taking a job from Jack without even asking to ensure he was able to be at his own wedding on time? Very good. Very Bill-like. Bill’s not great at telling people they matter to him, but he’s good at showing it! Unfortunately this plotline ended too cleanly for me (Bill being late returning would have really cemented it as a wholesome thing, and I’d have loved to see him make it to the reception to get a dance in with Elizabeth or something nice instead of making it to the wedding).

And then AJ comes back to town and Bill’s entire personality goes into the toilet. I kind of get where the writers were coming from with that plotline, but it could have been better. (Bill would NOT like being used by someone, especially someone using his emotions against him. But I don’t think he would be as cruel as he was in S5 to someone he knows was mistreated, and I don’t think he would say her facing a sentence was “Justice” when the whole reason he left the Mounties was because he had his fair share of differences with the law and its definition of justice.

(This is made worse when he admits in S6 that his hero as a child was a man who stood up for and protected those weaker than himself. This was already established as Bill’s primary characteristic/motivation, and it’s been shown over and over again throughout the show. To have S5 randomly disregard it felt bad.)

I kind of look at it as a misguided attempt at writing banter, because that seems to be what they were going for (with AJ irritating him over and over again). Sadly, they didn’t have a clue what they were doing. They just made it look like a potentially toxic relationship, and clearly that is not what they were going for.

–

So this brings me to our current Bill, who…for the most part, has been doing decent. He’s just…stagnated, that’s all. He doesn’t do anything. Is it because his plotline with AJ in S5 fell so flat? I’m not sure. S6 didn’t do a lot for him either way; he was just kind of there. If anything, they’ve helped him move on with his emotions (one of the saving graces of S5 was his talk with Abigail where he finally lets himself grieve and relies on someone else). It was nice to see him getting a little emotional with Elizabeth in the S7 Christmas film because it does show us character development.

But he needs more.

What specifically? God, anything. I don’t think he needs romance (and this late in the game they’d have to work hard to make someone not-AJ work, though even I’ll admit that AJ could be a stretch depending on the writing). He definitely needs friendships, though. Found Family. Bill didn’t really get to choose his marriage, and most of his life wasn’t him living for himself so much as living for other people. Giving him more friends in Hope Valley, cementing his relationship there, showing us where he lives and what his living space looks like, letting him be open and honest with other people…. Heck, show him talking to Jack’s horse alone, or with baby Jack alone—I’d take any of these tidbits. Bill’s never really talked to other people but he can start with something small like this. Or heck, he could confide in Elizabeth. Or Rosemary. OR ANYONE. 

Even if Bill doesn’t get these wide sweeping action arcs, he needs plots that help establish him as an important person in Hope Valley. He has a lot of power and sway in town and to ignore that and make him a joke seems like SUCH a waste. 

Abigail was his only solid friend in town (maybe Frank as a close second); with that option gone they need to get him up to speed with someone else. Nathan can be his new adopted son (I would love this). Heck, Bill could actually adopt a child. I don’t care. He needs something that helps move his character, that gives him a reason to exist in scenes, and that gives us, the audience, a reason to root for him.

I have some hope because the S7 movie did a good job of not turning him into a laughingstock. Things seemed pretty solid. If we get a good plotline with the trial Henry has to go up against, I think we’ll do really well. We know Bill doesn’t care for Henry, but Truth and Justice matter more than anything to him, so he’ll do the right thing, whatever that is. I just have to hope the writers remember that about Bill and don’t use his rivalry (if you can call it that) with Henry to make light of things.

[vinayv224]

Mobsters, Teamsters, history, guilt, and salvation: Martin Scorsese’s terrific The Irishman

Joe Pesci and Robert De Niro in The Irishman. | Niko Tavernise / NETFLIX

Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, and Joe Pesci headline a long, winding movie that’s well worth the watch.

Late in The Irishman, Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro) says that “you don’t know how fast time goes by until you get there,” and there’s just a twinkle of irony mixed into the melancholy. After all, by then, the movie is past the three-hour mark. (It ultimately tops out at 209 minutes.)

But that’s sort of the point. Time telescopes in Martin Scorsese’s newest movie, shifting back and forth through decades as old, wistful Frank narrates the tale of his life as a hitman for crime syndicate boss Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci) and then for Teamster boss Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino, who has somehow never worked with Scorsese before now). Which of course means the film rightfully will be compared to earlier Scorsese movies, like 1973’s Mean Streets and 1990’s Goodfellas, and not just because of the subject matter; in The Irishman, the director reunites with some of his longest-running collaborators from those films, including De Niro, Pesci, and Harvey Keitel.

Like those two movies — and all of Scorsese’s work, really — The Irishman is also about guilt, sin, and redemption. But with its lengthy runtime, this one has space to lean in two different tonal directions. The Irishman has both the frenetic swagger of his mob movies and the more contemplative gut wrench of his most spiritual films, like 1988’s The Last Temptation of Christ and his most recent film, 2016’s Silence.

And the movie has the maturity of an older man’s perspective, an eye cast backward on a full life. It is lively and wry and very funny, but at times it also feels like a confession, a plea for grace, not just from its protagonist but from the filmmaker himself.

Frank’s story is long and packed full of anecdotes that are always terribly fun, if sometimes aimless. This isn’t one coherent narrative as much as the recounting of a life, with the twists and turns life takes that defy tidy storytelling. It’s crowded with the figures who occupied his attention ever since he was a young man finding his way into Bufalino’s good graces. That happens partly as a result of a chance encounter with his union attorney (Ray Romano), who turns out to be Bufalino’s cousin. His work as a hitman and a fixer with Bufalino becomes a gig as one of Hoffa’s most trusted friends and aides, and Frank’s life is intertwined with both men. For a while, they’re on top of the world. And then — thanks largely to the machinations of history — things start changing for them.

There’s a lot in The Irishman that evokes Scorsese’s earlier work, from the way characters talk and act and dress to the occasional bursts of bloody violence. (Steven Zaillian’s screenplay is based on Charles Brandt’s 2004 book I Heard You Paint Houses, which details what the real-life Frank told Brandt about Hoffa’s infamous 1975 disappearance; Hoffa was pronounced dead seven years later when his body failed to materialize. The titular “paint” on houses is not, well, paint — though it’s certainly red.)

Niko Tavernise / NETFLIX

Lots of excitement.

In its first act, the film can be tedious, because it gives very little indication of why exactly we’re watching these men do their thing other than Scorsese thinks we should be. (The purpose does become clear, but in a way that will only reward the patient.) The long runtime — clearly part of the appeal of the film’s eventual home being Netflix, where a movie can be as long or as short as you want, especially if you’re Martin Scorsese — means that scenes have more breathing room than we’re accustomed to seeing. Technically, they could be “tightened” up, perhaps by trimming out some of the dialogue or reaction shots, or removing parts that don’t fit into a more streamlined plot.

But the near-bagginess of the film is part of its initial charm. And by the end, it becomes important. The Irishman’s long arc (which involves the use of largely unobtrusive de-aging technology) means the film follows Frank and his associates long past when the movie usually ends, with triumph or failure. The film instead takes a distinct turn away from rat-a-tat plotting and revenge toward a frankly stunning, contemplative movement. The bluster and scheming of middle-aged men eventually gives way to age, to losing people one by one, and to consequences for life’s choices.

Suddenly, it becomes very important to realize we’ve been listening to Frank narrate his story.

The Irishman is Frank’s version of his life’s story — until the movie reinvents itself

For much of The Irishman, the women are at the margins — wives and daughters, always around, rarely saying anything. This isn’t atypical in Scorsese’s work, which rarely centers on women. The worlds he makes movies about are built by men, for men. They see women as beloved and beautiful accessories, maybe tangentially helpful, sometimes irrational irritations. Sometimes, the woman is just the nuisance who makes you pull the car over every hour on a road trip for a smoke break.

But The Irishman uses Frank’s perspective on the women in his life to remind us that his myopia has blinded him to the truth about himself. One of the stranger parts of Frank’s story is the barely glancing interest — just a line or two — that he gives to leaving his wife for a waitress, and a shrugging explanation he gives to Russell for why his divorce couldn’t possibly be affecting his children. (The two women get along like gangbusters, he says; there’s no problem there at all, see?)

Similarly, the role that Frank’s daughter Peggy (played as a child by Lucy Gallina and an adult by Anna Paquin) plays in the film feels weird, for a while. She’s only one of several daughters, but she’s also the one most important to him. She mistrusts Russell, but she loves Jimmy. Scorsese makes a point of directing our attention toward how Peggy watches her father and his associates, taking in what they’re doing and quietly making her own decisions. But she never, at least in Frank’s memory, tells him what she’s thinking.

Netflix

Robert De Niro in The Irishman.

So late in the film, when Peggy has stopped talking to her father altogether, Frank asks another daughter (Marin Ireland) to help him reach her. And it’s an eye-opening moment, both for Frank and for us in the audience, who have been watching the story through Frank’s perspective. “You don’t know what it was like for us,” she tells him, visible frustration on her face and tears in her eyes. When he thought he was protecting his daughters, they were afraid to tell him about anything that happened to them lest he mete out swift and excessively violent judgment. And so they were less protected. His perception of himself and of what he was doing for his family didn’t match reality. It was just that: his perception of himself.

That realization, with others, starts to nudge Frank toward something like self-examination. And given Scorsese’s long proclivity toward looking for meaning in Catholic symbolism, Frank’s own Catholicism starts to resurface. The movie’s other unofficial theme might be the Biblical injunction that the wages of sin is death — frequently we’re introduced to a person just long enough for their date and means of death to flash on screen — and when your life is defined by helping others meet their death, you start to get thoughtful when you approach your own. The older Frank gets, the more people he loses, the more he watches the men he once idolized fading away, the more he struggles to understand how his life of murder and extortion squares with the possibility of an afterlife.

He breaks bread and drinks grape juice with Russell (in a scene that’s also reminiscent of a famous Goodfellas scene). He tells a priest that he’s not sure if he’s sorry for anything he’s done, and the priest gently reminds him that we can feel sorry or we can choose to feel sorry. We see the rare flicker of his self-doubt and the guilt he feels for acts of betrayal. And when the priest prays with Frank that God will “help us see ourselves as you see us,” there’s a lot riding on that prayer.

An aging filmmaker with a long, rich, full history of examining crime and sin and death might rightly land on these themes at this point in his career. The final minutes of The Irishman contrast starkly with the start of the film, because that is how our lives play out. What matters at the end is who we loved and how we loved them, and whether we treated them like they mattered. And the film leaves open the question we all face: If we messed that part up, what, in the end, was life really worth?

The Irishman premiered at the New York Film Festival on September 27. It will open in limited theaters on November 1 and premiere on Netflix on November 27.

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[gamerszone2019-blog]

Life Is Strange 2: Episode 4 Review - Gotta Have Faith

New Post has been published on https://gamerszone.tn/life-is-strange-2-episode-4-review-gotta-have-faith/

Life Is Strange 2: Episode 4 Review - Gotta Have Faith

Life Is Strange 2‘s most compelling moments revolve around the unconditional love between Sean and Daniel Diaz. The road from Seattle to Puerto Lobos has been a long one, but watching the brothers adapt and ultimately thrive together regardless of their circumstances is a satisfying constant within the series so far. Enter Episode 4, where Sean finds himself alone in a hospital bed just a day away from being sent to a juvenile detention facility for something he didn’t do. While the central plot stumbles with some overwrought villains and an uninspiring environment to explore, Sean’s genuine characterization and relationships with nuanced characters continue to elevate the narrative. His singular drive to find and rescue his brother propels him, and you, forward in the chaotic penultimate episode of Life Is Strange 2.

Reality comes crashing down right out the gate in stark contrast to last episode’s trundling pace. The ramifications of the brothers’ fatal encounter with a Seattle police officer have caught up with them, but the more pressing issue is Daniel’s absence. This is as much a problem for Sean as it is for the dynamicity of the plot. With Daniel taking a backseat, his character development takes a hit, and the episode’s interactivity suffers from your inability to use his powers. Additionally, there’s less general decision-making, and there are only rare occasions where problem-solving is required, which is a shame for the puzzling-inclined.

As expected, Episode 4 pulls on the heartstrings just as much as its predecessors. One encounter features Sean facing off against an angry racist landowner, demanding to know why Sean is parked on his property. What transpires is unsettling and heartbreaking. Sean once again has to choose between his safety and his self-respect, and either decision will result in him screaming as he speeds away with tears streaming down his face. It’s a heart-wrenching moment, made all the more painful by the consistently stellar voice acting of Gonzalo Martin.

This event is followed by one where you must make a choice: trust a truck driver to give you a ride or continue Sean’s painful trek on foot. The choice is inevitably informed by Sean’s fractured trust in people, which you find yourself sharing as a result of his immensely sympathetic character. Life Is Strange 2 continues its theme of the best and worst of humanity living side by side. The grander implications of racism, politics, and what’s to be done about either aren’t questions the game attempts to answer (nor should it)–but seeing the impact on someone trapped in a hostile and divided world continues to be an illuminating and empathy-inducing experience.

While these plot moments are strong, the central storyline revolves around an evangelical cult that Daniel has become caught up in. The figures who head up the church–a manipulative, science-averse Reverend and her brainwashed muscle–are irritating and two-dimensional. The cult plotpoint feels oddly out of place from the road trip you’ve been taking so far, and it’s over almost as soon as it begins. Aside from serving as the impetus for some great character-building moments for Sean, it feels like a pitstop we didn’t need to take, bringing the narrative progress to an unnecessary halt.

The episode shines brightest in its well-written interactions between fascinating characters. These explore themes of independence, family, religion, and fear with the deft touch we’ve come to expect from the series so far. While many lack context, these interactions are delivered beautifully, and what they inform about the central characters is worth the bizarre circumstances that brought them about. One hugely important character drops into the story suddenly and without any kind of foreshadowing, for example. They kick off an important emotional turning point for Sean, but it’s borne out of such an absurd situation that the moment doesn’t carry as much weight as it would have under more sensible circumstances. The result is a series of truly engrossing conversations without the interlocking threads to weave them seamlessly into an equally engrossing larger narrative.

Unlike from the villains, the new characters and their backstories are compelling and authentic. This is also because the impact of choice takes a backseat–there is only one major moment this episode that will change as a result of your decisions in the story so far. This is equally delightful and frustrating. While only be able to make choices within the framework of how Sean would act can be disappointing, it ultimately allows the characters and their personalities to shine more, and that makes for a better story overall.

Life Is Strange 2 illustrates how self-interest can trump family values, good people make bad choices, and no matter how you feel about someone, you can’t control the person they are doomed or destined to be as a result of their choices. That goes not just for people around Sean, but Sean himself. It’s a palpable and universal message that Life Is Strange 2 continues to convincingly deliver on a mechanical and thematic level.

The supernatural collides with reality under the guise of radical religion in a way that feels too cliche, but spending more time with Sean and his confidants remains a delight. Whether you’re heading into the final episode in much the same place you were at the beginning–or under the chilling implications of a certain late game choice–watching Daniel wrap his arms around Sean in either circumstance exemplifies what makes the series work so well. Your Sean can be kind or standoffish, thieving or righteous, but your actions don’t change the love and adoration between the Diaz brothers–and that love is still the heart and soul of Life Is Strange 2.

Source : Gamesport

[justcallmebeau-blog]

Para || Twists & Turns

WHO: Beau & Malcolm WHEN: 1/20/17 WHERE: Malcolm’s apartment WHAT: After Malcolm walks in on Beau still in Martin’s bed in the wee (well, late for everyone else) hours of the morning things get awkward so Beau goes over to Malcolm’s to talk it out. WARNINGS: The first part’s enough to make your stomach hurt with all the tension there, but no proper warnings. :p

Beau couldn’t shake the nerves that’d settled in the pit of his stomach. It’d started with Martin being distant after he’d made the comment about how he and Malcolm knew each other, and it hadn’t gotten any better as the hours passed. To make it more awkward not having clothes meant he’d had to borrow some from Martin and had only bothered to change the pants once he’d made it back home. The whole morning felt surreal - how had he gone from getting properly sexed up for the first time since arriving at the Institute to a situation that felt like a steel wall slamming up? The last thing Beau wanted was to lose two friends within weeks of really making them. Again? Technically this was the first time he and Malcolm were really becoming ​friends​ and not just an employer-employee turned friendly turned fling. Breaking out of his thoughts Beau knocked on Malcolm’s door and waited with his hands shoved in his pockets for an answer.

Malcolm: He’s half inclined to ignore the knock on the door, and if the rest of his morning has been any indication of how the day would go Malcolm wonders if he might have been better off never getting out of bed. It takes a moment to work up the nerve, but he breathes a sigh of resignation and makes his way over to pull it open, unsurprised to find Beau on the other side. The smell of fresh baked goods wafts in the doorway behind him; flour smudged across his chin and shirt. “I’m not mad.” He blurts, meeting Beau’s eyes with a red-rimmed pair of his own. “Ya’ don’t have t’ apologize, if that’s why you’re here.”

Beau blinked at the sight and tried to take in every detail, knowing what the smudges of white were as soon as he saw them but overlooking that and the delicious smells coming from the apartment to focus on how rough Malcolm looked. Was that because of what he’d walked in on? If it was no wonder Martin had been cold with him, he would have too. “Didn’t think you were mad, exactly, and if I apologize for anything it’s going to be for upsetting someone. Two someones. Not sure yet.” He offered over the jug of lemonade in his hand, reluctant to come over without something that he could give as a peace offering. “We still might need to talk. If you’re up for it? The last thing I want is to fuck up new friendships with people genuinely worth being around. Also you might want to agree to the talking or I’m going to be here rambling for the next half hour about nothing just a warning.” Where he everloving hell had Beau’s chill gone?

Malcolm: He lets his gaze fall away, sweeping down over the familiar sight of Martin’s shirt to the jug of lemonade being offered. The image is fresh in his mind; two bodies tangled in the rumpled sheets, and despite the addition of clothing it’s difficult not to summon it to the forefront when he looks at Beau. “–I guess ya’ better come inside,” Malcolm says softly after a moment, “The last thing we need’s somebody overhearin’ this.” He steps aside, making room in the doorway for Beau to enter. “There’s muffins, if you’re hungry. An’ biscuits. An’ scones. Croissants are still bakin’…” The door closes behind him, and Mal leans back against it. “Where’s Stromberg?”

Beau winced at the idea of another professor overhearing. The whole reason he’d been tight-lipped and best behavior in the first place was because Malcolm wanted their former dalliance kept quiet and he was going to honor that. “Sorry about that… Don’t want the gossip blog comin’ in on anyone again. My name’s already been in there once and that’s too much for my comfort.” The amount of baked goods had Beau side-eyeing the chef. Had he made all of that this morning? That was something he only did when irritated or craving comfort food, and if it was one of the two… “Think he’s already taken off for the airport. Either that or -” ​ignoring me​, but those words didn’t come out, instead he finished it with a “Packing, maybe. A scone sounds good. Never gonna turn down your food.” The talking needed to happen but maybe it wasn’t so wrong to stall it a little longer. “You two should maybe talk. For the record.”

Malcolm: They’ve both felt the burn of the gossip mill here at Mousai and it would seem that neither has any inclination to fan those flames again; Mal is grateful for that much, at least. “I know, I read it,” he admits, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he tips his chin over toward the counter and the frankly obscene display of baked goods still cooling on the racks. “Help yourself. I guess I got a little carried away.” Understatement, but Malcolm has always been prone to those. “There’s really nothin’ t’ talk about, Beau. With you, or with Stromberg. You’re both consentin’ adults–” Well, Beau is an adult; Martin is an eternal twelve year old in a man’s body, “–You can fuck whoever ya’ want without acquirin’ my approval.”

Beau felt the uneasiness settle even heavier in his gut as the conversation continued, not sure what he was expecting but having a difficult time dealing with it regardless. Emotions in the present tense weren’t something he dealt with well and that included anxiety and guilt. “You usually make this many baked goods?” The word ‘fuck’ felt vulgar in the strange setting here with Malcolm, but it was exactly what it’d been. He and Martin were ​friends​ and it’d been such a simple move to end up in his bed and leave it at that, but of course nothing ever stayed simple for him. “If it makes you react in a way you wouldn’t normally react - which guessing by Martin’s reaction is the case - then yeah, it is something to be talked about. Don’t want to be the one who makes anyone else’s friendships awkward. I’ve got more control over my dick than that. Self control. I’ve got it. Haven’t laid a hand on you, have I?” Rambling again, Christ Beau.

Malcolm: This feeling is unwelcome; both for the way it makes his heart tighten in his chest and his belly feel like it’s in knots. Malcolm does not understand why​ he feels this way, only that he does , and it only makes the jitters worse when he begins to think too hard on the matter. “Yeah,” he lies about the food, but there’s no effort behind it and the fib is as transparent as the windowpanes. Ever has the kitchen been his refuge in times of stress. “You’re not; Stromberg an’ I are fine. Everything’s fine.” Mal doesn’t know who he’s trying harder to convince; Beau, or himself. Something about the last question, though, seems to hit him like a kick to the gut, and Malcolm goes quiet. He feels heat burn behind his eyes when they lock with Beau’s, and when he answers his tone is heavy, “No…No, Beau, ya’ haven’t. Not that I can blame ya’ for that.”

Beau Can’t bring his eyes up to meet Malcolm’s as much as he wants to. There’s something so palpably ​off​ in the room and he can’t figure out what to do with it. Uneasiness usually has him running but it doesn’t seem appropriate to run for once. At least the scone keeps his mouth full before he says something too dumb and forces himself to make a run for it. “Might want to talk to him regardless.” Beau pauses before adding, “But it’s not up to me to police how often y'all talk, my apologies.” Then his eyes jerk up and there’s no longer an issue with eye contact. Not sure he could break it if he wanted to. Part of him’s hoping Malcolm looks his way but somehow he doubts it’s going to be that easy. “Blame me? You wanted the past hush hush. I assumed, y'know? Not my place to show my attractions anywhere where they aren’t wanted.”

Malcolm: The tension in the room is thick; stifling and palpable. “We’ll talk when he’s back from San Francisco,” Mal concedes as he shifts uncomfortably, wincing when he overcompensates his weight onto his bad leg. “I don’t,” he says again, “An’ I know what I asked for. I still think it’s best we don’t go blastin’ our history considerin’ how fast rumors fly around here.” Swallowing thickly, he tears his gaze away and focuses on the toes of his house-slippers as if they’re suddenly the most interesting things in the world. “Don’t tell him I said so, but Stromberg’s a good lookin’ guy. You both like t’ have a good time. I get it. You don’t have t’ explain it t’ me, Beau.”

Beau finishes the scone quicker than he planned and shoves his hands into his pockets before he starts biting at his nails again. The subject of them talking he lets drop but then the topic only gets more intense. “You have my word. Meant it when I said it wasn’t just my business, I’m not going to do that to you.” The direction Malcolm is taking this confuses him, and suddenly he’s not sure whether his assumptions had been right or not. “No need to inflate his already overblown ego, trust me. I… don’t know what I was trying to explain, really, but….” He swallows, and it tastes strangely acidic. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten when his stomach’s already tensed up. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have bothered you. Wasn’t my intention.”

Malcolm: “I trust ya’. Please don’t mistake–​this​–” he waves a hand vaguely between them, not exactly sure how to choose the correct term for whatever it is that is going on, “–for me doubtin’ your word.” Malcolm takes a deep breath, huffing quietly to himself. “It’s alright, you’re not botherin’ me. Really. I’ve always enjoyed your company…” Perhaps moreso back when things had been a little less complicated; and a little more fulfilling for them both. “I’m just havin’ a bad day, that’s all. It’s not your fault.”

Beau “I’m trying not to. You’ve always seemed to say what you mean, why wouldn’t you now?” Though that might’ve been more to reassure himself than Malcolm. “At least when I wasn’t picking on you. Try to be a little nicer these days. Sides to Martin, but he deserves it.” If it had been anyone else maybe they could be laughing over it right now, but of course that wasn’t his luck. “Company gonna make it worse? Didn’t really have anything going on today. I could help you bake….”

Malcolm: There’s a flash of memory that flickers through his mind; a bright restaurant kitchen still shiny and new, a ​'click, click, click’​ of a camera, the smell of Beau’s cologne and the scrape of stubble against his lips and warm skin under his fingertips. It is all that Malcolm can do not to shudder at the vividness. “These days…” he murmurs, “I always kinda’ liked it when ya’ weren’t so nice.” He regrets the admission as soon as the words fall from his tongue, but it’s too late to take it back. “–No. Stay.” Glancing over Beau’s shoulder at the overflowing countertop, he adds with a wry smile, “Only if you’re gonna’ help me eat all this.”

Beau ’s eyebrows raised and for a second his mind went very similar places to where Malcolm’s had a few feet away, lip tugged between his teeth as he let himself indulge in it. The first encounter is ever so fresh and he’s still accounting present company as to why. “Yeah? Can always make sure not to spare you.” The teasing’s still tense, face still tight lines, but he’s trying. Flirting’s what he’s prevented himself from doing since they ended up in the same place but it’s such an essential part of Beau that maybe it made things worse. “You gonna judge me if I add Nutella to everything?”

Malcolm: The strange heaviness in the pit of his stomach is elsewhere now; lower, warmer. Mal’s attention is momentarily drawn when the timer on the oven sounds, and he offers Beau a conciliatory glance as he hobbles over to pull two trays of fresh croissants out. “You don’t have t’ pretend for my benefit,” he assures, strangely sincere, “I told ya’, I get it.” A thin smile pulls over his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Some things never change…” Malcolm sighs, though it does not stop him from reaching high into the pantry and pulling down a jar of Nutella. “Not the biscuits, though. Those are sacred.”

Beau ’s mouth waters at the smell of the croissants. His stomach growls further, but he’s trying real hard to ignore that. Watching Malcolm work has always been fascinating and now is no exception. “I don’t really do the pretending thing, Mal. Holding back sure but pretending is for those looking to hide something.” Beau had plenty of secrets but rarely involving his actions towards anyone else. There was no sense in it. “Are you referring to my desecration of your goods? Because let me tell you,” and oh but the innuendo had barely slipped over his head, “Nutella is adding to the flavor, not taking away. Though I suppose I can listen if you let me take home any left over?”

Malcolm: It’s easy to lose himself in the familiar routines–transferring croissants to the racks to cool, prepping fresh pans, and kneading dough for another batch of biscuits–and even given his usual tendency toward denial Malcolm realizes that he’s quite literally working out his issues. Certainly, it is not for want of more biscuits. “You know I’ve never asked ya’ t’ hold back, Beau,” he replies, glancing back over his shoulder, “Not then, an’ not now.” Brows knit ever so slightly, his hands stilling for a moment. “Chocolate an’ hazelnut aren’t the only flavors worth enjoyin’. What about a drizzle of honey? Raspberry coulis? Jesus, just plain sweet cream butter…” He heaves a sigh, finally taking a second to look around at the dozens upon dozens of pastries, muffins, and biscuits. “I have a feelin’ leftovers aren’t gonna’ be a problem.”

Beau can’t help but lean back and cross his arms over his chest to watch. This used to be one of his favorite things, watching Malcolm get all of the food prepped before any sort of shoot happened. It was soothing and intense, and that was a combination he found unusual enough to be fascinating. “Assumed keeping everything in the past meant holding back,” he murmured, voice just loud enough to be heard. “Given how little… well, we both know how little I tried to control myself then.” This time the growl from his stomach was audible and a flush formed over Beau’s cheeks instantly. “…Just for that you’re going to have to provide all of the above for my enjoyment. Any chance you’ve got any apple butter? My Nana used to make it and it goes wonderful on biscuits.”

Malcolm: If he even realizes that he has an audience, Malcolm seems not to show it. Like so many of the people here at Mousai, he is prone to getting swept up in his art. “Closin’ the door on the past doesn’t mean lockin’ it an’ throwin’ away the key, Beau,” he submits, tossing a handful of flour onto the granite countertop before dropping the ball of biscuit dough onto it. “To be fair, I don’t think either one of us was concerned with self control back then. Things were so much easier that way.” Malcolm doesn’t look up from his busywork; making a few passes of the rolling pin. “I don’t, but I’ve got apples an’ I’ve got sugar an’ spices. I’ll make ya’ a batch. Won’t be ready til’ tomorrow, though. You’ll have t’ make due with nutella in the meantime, I guess.”

Beau The first attempt at being completely comfortable is to try and find a clean space of counter and hoist himself up. Much more comfortable than peering over at Malcolm. “Oh? Well… shite. Have a bad habit of making assumptions. You just seemed so comfortable leaving it there.” There’s no asking if he can before Beau’s phone is pulled out and he’s snapping candids of Malcolm as he works, sure he’ll be able to find a way to use them and present them to the chef later on. “Heh… Something to be said for doing whatever the hell you want to consequences be damned.” Another croissant is torn into tiny strips and for Malcolm’s sake he enjoys the taste without anything added right now, savoring the natural sweetness. “You up for bringing it by my studio? Got a shoot tomorrow evening, but I’d enjoy the company along with the food. Too easy to get trapped in my head when I’m there all weekend.”

Malcolm: Counter space is at a premium, certainly, with more heavily laden cooling racks and scattered platters of pastries than a bachelor and his obese cat have any good reason to need. Malcolm does look up when he sees Beau hop up to sit amid the mess out of the corner of his eye; something of a nostalgic little smile tugging over his lips as he recalls the many times a young chef in New Orleans had scolded a certain photographer for doing that very thing. Now, though, he lets it slide. “It’s not that, Beau. I just…Well, I know things have changed. I’m not the guy I used t’ be, an’ I can’t just expect you t’ look past that.” How could he? He can’t even look past it himself. “Sometimes I really do miss those days.” Malcolm agrees. “I can, yeah. It’d probably be good for me t’ get outta’ this apartment for a few hours, anyway…runnin’ outta’ room for baked goods. What are ya’ shootin’?”

Beau had always been good at ignoring the usual standards of boundaries and personal space, and that included someone’s work space. Creating was much more fun for ​him​ if he had an audience and he refused to believe it wasn’t true. “What the hell am I looking past exactly?” Beau’s eyebrows scrunch up and he looks Malcolm over. Neither of them are the same person they were years ago, inwardly or outwardly, but glimpses of the man he’d shoved against the wall time and again were still there as far as he could tell. “So do I. Still swear I shoulda extended my flight by another week or two.” A loud snort led to a cough he couldn’t conceal, the small feast of baked goods enough to feed an army. “Understatement. Doing a series re-enacting childhood photos, got a model coming in tomorrow for a few hours, rest of the evening will be spent grumbling about how none of the shots were what I saw in my head,” he said with a grin, ready to admit how difficult he could be when in the midst of creating.

Malcolm: Malcolm stops what he’s doing, turning around to fix Beau with an incredulous stare and a curious tilt of his head. ​Where do I fuckin’ start?​ he thinks to himself; the list is not a short one. “I dunno’, Beau, maybe the obvious…” He answers with a shrug, tone dripping sarcasm. “That’s my point, though. It’s like I said, ​I get it​, I’m not what ya’ go for anymore an’ that’s okay.” Mal doesn’t quite look his friend in the eyes, “We probably wouldn’t have lasted another week at that pace. Literally, I mean I don’t think we slept for three days straight as it was. Is it possible t’ die from too much sex? Jesus, what a way t’ go…” He sighs, shoulders drooping wistfully. “That sounds like a huge undertaking. Somethin’ tells me you’ll make it work, though. You can’t seem t’ take a bad photograph if ya’ try.”

Beau stops where he’s kicking the cabinets underneath his feet, thanking his stature for making it feel a little bit like it did when he was a kid. “What are you talking about?” He squints again and this time looks Malcolm over, trying to figure out if there’s something he’s missing here. “That’s not even remotely true. You’re putting… is 'words in my mouth’ the right phrase? Whatever the phrase, it’s still not accurate. Just tamped down on any urges to jump bones because I was damned sure you wanted to just forget the last time we saw each other.” There was a lot clicking together in his brain, puzzle pieces snapping together until the whole picture was verging on crystal. “That whole plane ride was spent knocked out cold. Though we’d have probably ended up crashing every three or four days and repeating the process until someone called us in missing. Maybe? We were trying to hit that point, apparently,” he says with a thoughtful pause, lips quirked up. “Massive. Almost as massive as the book I’m hoping to put out. You aim for cheerleader and I’m going to hafta find a skirt that really compliments that arse.” The words slipped out without thinking, leaning back so he didn’t steal another sweet.

Malcolm: “Why in the world would I ever wanna’ forget that?” He asks softly, shaking his head. “Beau, I don’t regret any of it. Not a single minute. I think about it all the time. I just–” Malcolm pauses, chewing on his words, “–I guess I just assumed with all the fish in this little pond, you wouldn’t have t’ settle for gimpy one that got caught in the filter one too many times, y'know?” It’s as straightforward of an admission as he can muster, and already he feels that uneasy shift returning to his gut. “I fell asleep on the ride back from the airport; forgot t’ pull my pants all the way back on. The limo driver wasn’t real pleased…he got a big tip.” Mal huffs a little chuckle under his breath, “Book? This’s the first I’ve heard of any book…Trust me, no such skirt exists.”

Beau feels his mouth go dry and he watches Malcolm carefully. “Yeah? For the record, you’re not 'the gimpy one’ and I’ll smack you somewhere not so fun if you keep talking about yourself like that. You’re still you. All the base elements are still you, an’ you’re still hotter than hell and just as fun to be around.” There’s this tendency to accidentally mimic ways of speaking coming through, but only because he’s so focused on Malcolm that he’s not thinking about anything else. To keep it a little lighthearted he responded with the first thing that came to mind, a not so subtle checking him out and a “with an ass still fit for manhandling.” There’s a burn starting that Beau hadn’t planned in the slightest, imagining the scenario vividly. “Should’ve enjoyed the fact he got a show, for gods sake. Yeah I… A friend is backing it, and I’m asking friends to contribute. Mixed media. You sure?” His face pulled into an exaggerated frown, pretending to hold the pout.

Malcolm: Mal presses his lips together, perhaps to stop himself from doing exactly what Beau has just told him not to do. It’s easy to brush it off; to say it’s not so bad and maybe even mean it, but his friend hasn’t seen the full extent of the damage Malcolm is so careful to keep hidden beneath layers of clothing and a brusque attitude. “You always were a sweet-talker, Beau Alastair.” He accuses, with a knowing grin. “Yeah, well it’s been a long time since anybody got around t’ doin’ much of anything t’ my ass.” Mal adds, only the slightest hint of bitterness seeping into his tone. He returns his attention to the biscuits; beginning to place them onto the sheet pans as he asks curiously, “A ​friend’s​ backin’ it? Must be a loaded friend…Ya’ got a publisher lined up an’ everything already?”

Beau watched Malcolm’s face carefully, not sure what he was expecting but relieved as hell when it didn’t lead to some kind of arguing or line Beau had inadvertently crossed. “Nah, just so honest you never knew what to do with me,” he says with a smirk, zeroing in on the grin and letting it finally untie a good portion of the knots still left in his stomach. “Bet it’s not for lack of them trying. You being completely oblivious to flirting would explain why it took me so long to get in your pants the first go-around.” While he’s catching on to more than he lets on, he’s not going to let Malcolm see himself as anything other than how ​he​ sees him, and if it doesn’t work at least it won’t be for lack of trying. “Not yet, but she’s getting me in contact with some people high up enough to get that process going. Nervous as all hell, never done anything that big, but if the work’s worth it I’ll gladly spend most of my free time busting arse to get it done.”

Malcolm: It’s hard not to chuckle when Beau replies. “Your personal filter does tend t’ operate a bit liberally,” he points out, recalling quite a few of the honest and arguably inappropriate exchanges they two of them had shared in the early days of their collaboration back in New Orleans. “I’m not oblivious,” he argues weakly, but they both know that Beau’s assertion is not entirely incorrect. “It’s just that I don’t think most people know what they’re gettin’ into with me, an’ I don’t believe in bait an’ switch. It’s like unwrappin’ a candy bar an’ discoverin’ half of it’s a melted mess…How do ya’ look someone in the eye and handle that disappointment?” Malcolm shakes his head, dismissing the train of thought as he turns to put the pans into the oven. “Don’t fret the content, your photos are worth every penny–I can say that much from personal experience–an’ I’m willin’ t’ bet it’ll come together better than you’re expectin’. I’m happy for ya’, Beau, you deserve a big break like this.”

Beau Maybe Beau preens a little at that but it’s nothing anyone can prove. “Unless it’s a student of mine I see no reason not to speak my mind.” There’s nothing Malcolm could have said to make Beau think otherwise but the fact that even he doesn’t seem to believe it is a telling sign. “You seem to be of the assumption that the entire world is full of superficial people. Not superficial at first, not superficial in some ways, but wholey superficial. I don’t know about ​you​, but while instant attraction is usually necessary, someone would have to be crazy unhygienic or have a whole bunch of open wounds for me to shy away from whatever’s under the clothes.” As he talks he makes his way to the fridge and looks over his shoulder for permission before pouring himself some of the lemonade he’d brought, wishing for a moment he’d brought whiskey for him. Beau’s drinking had become a near-daily thing over the course of break. “Want anything? Thank you, Mal. It means a lot coming from you. Does that mean if I ask you to contribute, to be a part of the project, that you’d say yes?”

Malcolm: Malcolm doesn’t have much room to berate anyone when it comes to minding one’s words, though in point of fact he’s pretty certain Beau’s brand of brutal honesty tends to be better received than his own acid-laced assertions. “I am, an’ I don’t think I’m wrong about that. All due respect, but ya’ tend not t’ notice how superficial people are until you no longer fit into that standard category of conventional attractiveness anymore.” Not that Beau would have any experience with that, Mal finds himself thinking as he watches his friend hop down from the counter and move across the kitchen to the fridge, “Trust me, it’s pretty bad.” he murmurs, shaking his head, “No, I’ve got coffee.” A brow quirks, “Me? I mean, if you’re lookin’ t’ include some food shots I’m happy t’ work with ya’ on that…It’d be just like old times.”

Beau narrowed his eyes and tried to reign in the instinct to be ornery as hell. “Most people I’ve met don’t fit into a standard category of beauty. They aren’t models, aren’t 'hunks’ - which is a weird word by the way. You gotta have a little somethin’ that puts you into a more unique category to keep someone’s attention for longer than the first run down. Not that you’re going to listen to me, you stubborn fuck.” The words weren’t said maliciously, just with an air of already having given up convincing Malcolm of anything Beau found true. Not that it’d stop Beau from going right back to the flirting he’d wanted to do the second he’d seen his old friend. “Fuck those guys. Or girls. Whichever. Don’t want an asshole in your bed unless it’s the one on someone’s backside.” Of ​course​ he had coffee. Coffee that’d have been stolen if he was any more comfortable with the man. “Yeah. Just like old times…” Beau murmured. “Also not at all a way to ensure that you’re cooking for me more often than not. Get me spoiled all over again. Do you know how horrific it was to have to eat airport food after weeks of having your food?”

Malcolm: The accusation is not without merit–​'Stubborn Fuck’​ may as well be synonymous with Malcolm Brockway and Beau is certainly not the first person to point out as much. True to form, Mal remains unconvinced. Beau means well, he knows, but the encouraging words don’t carry much weight coming from a wildly attractive man who had only just that morning been in bed with another wildly attractive man…not that Malcolm wants to delve into further discussions about that, and so he lets the matter drop. “Y'know, you only ever had t’ ask. Not even any bribery required, though I only take special requests if there’s coffee involved.” He reaches for the mostly empty mug and pulls the coffee pot off of the burner, topping off what remains with a fresh pour before taking a sip. “Airport food ​is​ a travesty. Good reason t’ stick around this time, don’t you think?”

Beau went rooting around for a coffee cup as soon as the words were out of Malcolm’s mouth, determined to allow himself the indulgences that were very unique to time spent with Malcolm. “You willing to make any of that special coffee you used to make whenever I’d start bitching about not wanting it quite so bitter?” His own cup gets put in front of the coffeepot and he looks at him expectantly before finally caving to polite. “Please? Caffeine would be nice. I’ll even wash all the dishes for you.” The words make Beau still a little but he tries not to read too much into them, giving Malcolm a bright smile instead. “Yeah. Damn good reason. Don’t worry, I don’t plan on going anywhere this time. You’re kinda stuck with me, candid photo shoots an’ cookin’ for me an’ getting you in trouble an’ all.”

Malcolm: “Chickory an’ cinnamon,” Malcolm supplies; watching Beau hunt around for a cup for a moment before nodding in the direction of the cabinet where he keeps his mugs and glasses. “A New Orleans classic. We sure are takin’ a walk down memory lane today, aren’t we? Yeah, I ​suppose​ I can whip up a batch of that…” He takes a look around at the carnage of flour, batter, dirty mixing bowls and everything else scattered around his usually immaculate kitchen, “–It might take the both of us t’ tackle all this.” Mal scoots toward his pantry, using the hook of his cane to pull a tin of chicory root down to fall into his waiting hand. “Good,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder; the slightest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips when he locks eyes with Beau, “I can’t wait.”

[amplitubeonline-blog]

The Subculture of Rave in 90s Manila

Written by Marga Magalong

For us millennials, the culture of house music has been handed to us on a silver platter. When you’re 14 you go to an open party and the self-made DJ transitions Martin Garrix to The Chainsmokers – only for sheer accompaniment to your T-Ice and freshman naiveté. Or maybe you were a 10-year old kid forced to dance along to Benny Benassi’s Satisfaction for intrams. It is debatable whether acts like that of The Chainsmokers really is house but the point is, one way or another you have been living amongst the many by-products and vague sub-genres stemming from the influence of house music, but more specifically, the influence of the subculture that was rave.

At present, if you were aching to hear quality-driven electronic music, one could easily look up the gig sched of your patronized disc jockey and book an Über to Black Market or TodayXFuture. What a time to be alive! Manila nightlife is not so much of a monopoly as it used to be, with an enticing platter of bars, warehouses, and clubs, you won’t have to drag yourself to over-saturated EDM Meccas like Pool Club. However, for the Gen-Xers of 90’s Manila, it didn’t come easy. If you wanted to hear Mr. Fingers and other authentic house from hubs like Chicago or Manchester, it’d be an impossible feat to hear it play in your local club.

(A flyer for Euphoria)

In the late 80’s to early 90’s, notable lounges and clubs like Euphoria or Mars would attract teenagers dressed in their Ralph Lauren while playing songs from the Billboard Hot 100. Many attempts were made to provide fresh house music by organizing raves, but no other production pulled it off quite how Consortium did.

(The guys of Groove Nation, circa 1998)

A week ago I sat down to interview Toti Dalmacion: to many youngins he is the man behind Terno Recordings and This Is Pop! Records, but try asking your tita who he is and you’ll get nostalgia-ridden answers of Toti’s past-persona. In the 90’s, he was known for his record store Groove Nation and his spearheading of raves by Consortium. He once called himself “The Prophet of Doom”, remembering being irritated by the lackluster quality of raves upon his arrival from L.A. to Manila. The word “rave” had been loosely used to throw parties typical in the Manila fashion of sosyalan. Toti tells me, “No one was really dancing. It was more of to be seen, with music in the background and people just nodding their heads and drinking.” This was until he formed Consortium, “a roving underground party” aimed to push the envelope for raves in the Philippines – to make it less about high society and more about the music.

(Derrick May at one of the Consortium raves) Back in L.A., Toti frequented underground warehouse parties, he had met legendary house personalities like Derrick May and Marques Wyatt, and went to raves being busted by cops. He was enthralled by the whole scene, and upon going back to Manila he was itching to bring Filipinos what he had experienced.

Consortium was notorious for hosting raves in off-the-wall venues. One of which was a warehouse in Star City, gracing legendary acts like Doc Martin and Ken Ishii.

(Ken Ishii’s set for Consortium, 1996)

“We did it at the Shangri-La Mall food court when it wasn’t even a food court yet” Toti recalls. Other venues were the Philippine Daily Inquirer warehouse, and the most notable one, a rave in the National Library.

(The flyer for the National Library rave)

“Malate was THE place then for bohemians and similar tribes if you wanted to escape the Makati crowd” he tells me. Here, the guys of Consortium would give out flyers pointing out directions to when and where their next rave would take place.

In a sense, Consortium had been a maverick in shifting Manila youth culture to a whole new direction. What set it apart from clubs like Euphoria was that Consortium wasn’t tied down to giving into commercial song requests. They played what they wanted to play, and the rest of Manila followed.

(Havoc’s QC store)

Consequently, the culture of Ralph Lauren polo shirts had been subverted and retired in exchange for local streetwear. Nearby students would hang-out in the Robinsons Galleria shop of Havoc Street Couture by Adam de Lumen. Staple rave fashion would be bought from brands like Grocery in San Juan, owned by Cecile Z., a regular of Consortium herself.

(Grocery, 220 Pilar Street, San Juan)

“The youth culture changed in a flash. We suddenly felt that being different was not all bad but rather more fun. Street fashion became the voice of every Filipino youth dying to break the stereotype. In that brief period, we became exposed to a new lifestyle that changed our music, style, and way of life forever” says the unnamed author of the blog ilove90sfashion.wordpress.com.

(Hello Kitty Fashion Show at Fashion Café, 1999)

As time progressed into the new millennium, house music had met its many mutations in the form of “deep house, tribal house, Jackin’, etcetera […] As well as the proliferation of the more commercial Eurodance, prog house, trance” and of course – EDM. The use of techno and house had trickled from raves to nation-wide commercial use, spanning from barangay Christmas blow-outs to noontime shows. While the ravers of the 90’s grew up, millennials took helm of house music’s fate by attending festivals like CloseUp Forever Summer and popularizing the sound of EDM. The times they are a-changin’, and consequently one issue arises, do millennials know their house?

Toti cynically tells me about the spoon-fed marketing that goes with artificially inseminating an idea of house music to millennials and popular culture. “They just go by what Beatport says […] Because, yeah, you have the internet. You can research and research for hours – but to really train your ears on the really good underground stuff is not really something most do because, that’s what I’m saying: It’s always spoon-fed. Beatport says, [these are] the top 100 house tracks, when you know very well, if you listen to them…some of them aren’t even house or techno, it’s just that they are marketed as such.”

The real issue here is for millennials to stop confusing what’s house and what isn’t – but house or not, it’s important to keep the legacy of Consortium by breaking the monopoly and celebrating diversity. It’s 2017 and as a millennial, it feels good to be able to choose what to listen to and where to go for the night.

Sources

Information:

Dalmacion, Toti. Personal interview. 21 Dec. 2016.

Dalmacion, Toti. "Drowning in My Nostalgia." Blog post. The Simple Yet Complex World of The Collector. N.p., 21 Oct. 2008. Web. 30 Dec. 2016.

"Wreaking Havoc Once upon a Time When We Were Young." Blog post. We Wreaked Havoc Once Upon A Time. N.p., 10 Mar. 2013. Web. 30 Dec. 2016.

Sorrenti, David. "15 Nostalgic Manila Rave Flyers from the 90-00's." Pulseradio. Pulse Radio, 16 Feb. 2016. Web. 30 Dec. 2016.

Photos:

"A Last Chance to Make Memories at the InterContinental Manila." The Lost Boy Lloyd. N.p., 21 July 2016. Web. 30 Dec. 2016.

Where did the 90’s go?. (2015, September 6). Mimi & Juliet Tan [Photo album]. Retrieved from https://www.facebook.com/pg/WhereDidThe90sGo/photos/?tab=album&album_id=1023969774301612

Where did the 90’s go?. (2013, February 23). Grocery [Photo album]. Retrieved from https://www.facebook.com/pg/WhereDidThe90sGo/photos/?tab=album&album_id=538284419536819

Where did the 90’s go?. (2013, February 23). Havoc Street Couture [Photo album]. Retrieved from https://www.facebook.com/pg/WhereDidThe90sGo/photos/?tab=album&album_id=538287306203197

"The Kids of Havoc." Blog post. We Wreaked Havoc Once Upon A Time. N.p., 9 Mar. 2013. Web. 30 Dec. 2016.

"Wreaking Havoc Once upon a Time When We Were Young." Blog post. We Wreaked Havoc Once Upon A Time. N.p., 10 Mar. 2013. Web. 30 Dec. 2016.

Dalmacion, Toti. "Drowning in My Nostalgia." Blog post. The Simple Yet Complex World of The Collector. N.p., 21 Oct. 2008. Web. 30 Dec. 2016.

Sorrenti, David. "15 Nostalgic Manila Rave Flyers from the 90-00's." Pulseradio. Pulse Radio, 16 Feb. 2016. Web. 30 Dec. 2016.

Videos:

Ken Ishii@Groove Nations CONSORTIUM 1996 Shot of Koro and Wall Graphics. Dir. Toti Dalmacion. Perf. Ken Ishii. N.p., 15 Apr. 2009. Web. 31 Dec. 2016.