#(look I love edgar wright but)

[babykittenteach]

2023 in review! I made an effort to try more things and it worked mostly (at least for TV and movies). New things, new-to-me things, and new installments of old things all had characters to love even if I didn't necessarily feel fannish about them, and I'm hoping 2024 does, too.

[skipppppy]

CARMEN SANDIEGO CHARACTERS + MOVIES

Boo I felt like making headcanons again bc I spend more time wondering what these assholes do in their free time than I do on my job

CARMEN

Didn’t have access to movies growing up so Player, Zack, and Ivy have been catching her up on the most popular ones

HORRIBLE to watch with. Doesn’t really understand “suspension of disbelief” as a concept and will ask stupid questions the whole time. Player almost ended their friendship because she nitpicked Lord of the Rings for being “unrealistic”

Enjoys low stakes 2000s girl chick flicks like mean girls and legally blonde. She has enough stress in her life man she just wants to relax

HATES heist movies because of how innacurate they are. Team Red has taken to watching them JUST to hear her pick them apart

PLAYER

Sci-fi/fantasy junkie. Anything and everything that has aliens/magic and shitty practical effects from the 80’s/90’s he is all over

Has never said a single kind thing about the Star Wars franchise in his life. They are his favourite movies of all time

ADORES Edgar Wright and has slowly been converting Team Red to his movies. Zack loved Baby Driver. Ivy loved Shaun of the Dead. Shadowsan loved Hot Fuzz. He considers Scott Pilgrim the pinnacle of Canadian cinema

Cannot STAND the amount of remakes happening in Hollywood recently

ZACK

Canon enjoyer of blockbuster action movies. Everyone dreads the nights when he gets to choose a film bc his taste is so generic

Does not know what the Snyder cut is. Thank god

His only redeeming quality is a love of early dreamworks. Will not stop quoting Madnagascar

Has seen every Marvel movie and thinks all of them are good. Player has BEGGED him to watch better movies but he won’t. He’s the type to rag on Scorsese for being “boring”

Has seen Kevin Feige’s extended filmography. Does not know who that man is

IVY

Horror fanatic

Banned from choosing movies for film night after convincing them to watch her “favourite lesbian romcom” with her. That lesbian romcom was Saw

Ellen Ripley was not only her personal hero but also her gay awakening. The Xenomorph queen was her second gay awakening

Also loves period dramas. Enjoys the tiddies and knows she would look SO good in those fancy waistcoats the men wear

Watches old slashers with Carmen and laugh whenever someone dies in a stupid way

SHADOWSAN

Faculty considered movies “low brow” entertainment so he hasn’t seen a movie made before the year 2000

Loves a good mob flick. Got into Scorsese specifically because Zack hated him. Goodfellas is his favourite

Everyone assumes he enjoys samurai movies but he actually HATES them. Hideo would ramble about historical inaccuracies the whole way through and he’s still bored just thinking about it

Used to love Yakuza films back in the day but they were soured for him after actually living as one

Loved Knives Out, found Daniel Craig VERY attractive, and has since fallen down the James Bond rabbit hole

CHASE

The most pretentious film hack you’ve ever met in your life. He is taking you to a back alley screening of some arthouse eastern european gay porn on a first date and it will be the most profound thing you’ve ever seen in your life

Detective noir movies and cheesy black and white romances are his favourites. He likes falling asleep to them

He and Player both appreciate animation as a form of cinema, but while Player is referring to like. the Mario movie, Chase is talking about some 3 minute Russian stopmotion surrealist piece from 1951. He attends Annecy every year and has been banned from the Oscars due to threats of violence

He likes Poirot tho. Transmasc king

JULIA

If she has a few hours to herself she’d rather watch a documentary than go to a movie theatre, but she loves historical dramas

Enjoys biopics but thinks it’s stupid to make them for people who are alive

Likes watching movies for the sake of trash talking them, so she is the only person who can tolerate sitting through one with Carmen

LOVES Wes Anderson though. Chase got her into his stuff and the symmetry scratches an itch in her brain. But don’t tell him that

Also enjoys period dramas for the tiddies

CHIEF

Shitty cop movie enjoyer. The kind of person who insists that Die Hard is her favourite christmas movie

LOVES heist movies because of how inaccurate they are. Will mentally nitpick whatever secret service is going after them and be like “ACME wouldn’t do that lol”

She’s semi aware that she’s the antoagonist in Carmen’s own heist narrative so she’s started having fun with it

Closet lover of b-tier comedy movies. Like the ones with Adam Sandler and Kevin Hart on the cover

Does not enjoy watching movies socially. That is quality time for her and her cat. She does not have to shush Commander

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO MASTERLIST

DESCRIPTION: She’s all Steven can think about in between the missing days and the American man inside his head. When Harrow’s jackals leaves Marc with a difficult choice, his hectic life is spun out of control as Seth, God of Violence and Chaos, comes to reap his reward in the form of a woman from Soho with a dark past and a crush on Steven Grant. (Lightly inspired by Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: (specific warnings at the beginning of each chapter) 18+ DARK PAST. Sex trafficking/prostitution. Grooming. Explicit. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Abuse ex-boyfriend/lover, death, murder, gore, drug use. Any smut written will be consensual sex only, but there will be some implication to dubcon content. PLEASE CHECK WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ. AGAIN MINORS DNI. * = smut warning

STEVEN GRANT & MARC SPECTOR X (EVENTUAL) AVATAR!READER. Friends to lovers trope (Steven Grant) Sunshine x Grumpy trope (Marc Spector), Light smut, explicit language, no use of Y/N, goes by nickname Dove. I ADORE LAYLA EL-FAOULY so she is still in the narrative but as Dove’s reluctant friend. Female!reader. AFAB!reader. I am English and do not have DID but have tried my best to do all the research I could on the themes I talk about (Ancient Egyptian culture/history/language. Experiencing DID etc) but if I am misinformed and offend anyone, know I am truly sorry and am more than happy to hear anyone’s corrections in my inbox and will do my best to fix it!

main masterlist

CHAPTER ONE - Steven finds his life slowly turning upside down when the man in the mirror starts talking back, he's sleepwalking all the way to the Alps, and the woman he's besotted with from work finds herself more caught up in all of it than he'd ever wanted.

CHAPTER TWO - She wakes up with a killer headache and a million questions when she realises two things: 1. the man in her room is not infact Steven Grant and 2. her body no longer belongs to her but to the God of Death.

CHAPTER THREE - With Marc and Steven captured by Harrow's men, Layla has no choice but to work with her ex-husbands mistress to get them and the scarab to safety. But things take a turn when Seth comes to reap his reward.

CHAPTER FOUR - Dove wakes up in Steven’s apartment for the second time covered in blood with only one thing on her mind. What the hell happened last night?

CHAPTER FIVE - Marc and Dove adjust to their new mission: catch Harrow before he can release Ammit and for the love of gods don’t let Seth have the body again.

CHAPTER SIX - Summoning a council with the gods sound easy enough, right? Except the man on trial knows the dark secret she has yet to tell Marc.

CHAPTER SEVEN - Marc, his ex-wife and his supposed mistress head to Mogart’s to find Senfu’s sarcophagus, whatever could go wrong when the god of Chaos wants to be involved?

CHAPTER EIGHT - Dove, Marc and Layla escape Mogart’s with only more dead ends and questions unanswered. They’re running out of time before Harrow reaches the tomb, but one thing keeps sticking in Layla’s head more than the rest. Why does Dove look so guilty?

CHAPTER NINE * - Layla, Steven and Dove set off towards Ammit’s tomb across the dunes, only Steven and Dove have a heavy confession they’ve each been meaning to make.

CHAPTER TEN - Marc finds out the truth about Dove, and pays the mortal price.

CHAPTER ELEVEN -

CHAPTER TWELVE -

CHAPTER THIRTEEN -

CHAPTER FOURTEEN -

CHAPTER FIFTEEN -

Comment or send an ask to be tagged in new chapters!

[waratah-moon]

Black Cat and The Dragon

Y/n compliments Matt, Matt compliments Y/n... Romance ensures (Requested by anon) / masterlist, request/ send me love letters

Pairing: Matt Smith x actress!reader (SMAU)

Warning: suspension of disbelief is needed - let’s imagine LNIS came out after HOTD cool? Cool. And let’s all pretend we look like Anya Taylor-Joy. (She's my fancast for Black Cat so this all worked out lol)

Marvel Studio’s Black Cat is the most streamed show in Disney+ history

Black Cat has been renewed for season 2 amid rave reviews

Tagged @ecairnsart, blackcat

Liked by marvelstudios and 7,362,628 others

yourinstagram: Felicia would like to thank everyone for all the support in the least sarcastic way possible. Black Cat will return 🐈‍⬛

blackcatcostar: Mommy???

↳ yourinstagram: Yes, child?

tomholland2013: Bloody well deserved 🏆

zendaya: Proud of you sis ❤️

username: Here before the Emmy nom

-

Liked by username and 3,083 others

hotdfans: Black Cat star Y/n L/n was asked what she’s been watching lately and she said House of the Dragon!

“You know what I binged on the flight here? House of the Dragon. I think it was my third or fourth watch through. The acting is incredible. The choices Matt Smith makes as Daemon are so interesting. He plays that role really well. I’d love to work with him.”

-

Liked by username and 12,381 others

yndaily: Matt Smith complimented Y/n during his comic-con q&a and said he’d love to work with her in the future!

Fan: What actor or actress, that you haven’t already worked with, would you like to work with in the future?

Matt: Y/n L/n. I just finished Black Cat and she is phenomenal. And she seems to choose interesting projects, so I think it would be fun.

Fan: Y/n actually said the same thing about you recently.

Matt: She did?

-

3 months later…

Matt Smith has been cast alongside Y/n L/n in new thriller

1 month later…

Filming for Edgar Wright's new thriller begins in London

-

Liked by username and 26,421 others

yndaily: Matt Smith and Y/n at the BAFTAs. Can’t wait to see them in Edgar Wright’s new movie!

username: They look so cute together 🥺

username: I heard there was heavy flirting going on at the after party lol

↳ username: Didn’t someone get pics of them leaving together?

-

Tagged thomasin.mckenzie

Liked by edgarwright and 6,311,561 others

yourinstagram: That’s a wrap! Already missing my better half 💔🪞

thomasin.mckenzie: Missing you ❤️

username: This movie is going to be an absolute vibe

-

3 months later…

Liked by username and 40,317 others

enews: Y/n L/n and Matt Smith confirm they are dating with a passionate kiss last night in London. The pair sparked romance rumours after they were seen getting cozy at a BAFTAs after party earlier in the year.

-

Tagged yourinstagram

Liked by edgarwright and 72,461 others

britishvogue: The stars of Edgar Wright's 60s thriller, Y/n L/n and Matt Smith, talk the dark side of nostalgia. Click the link in bio to read the full interview.

-

Liked by blackcatcostar and 12,639,172 others

yourinstagram: Last month in London

thomasin.mckenzie: Cuties 🥰

blackcatcostar: TEXT ME

username: Are they together???

↳ username: Pics leaked of them making out so they’re doing something lol

↳ username: Probably each other

-

Liked by username and 103,471 others

enews: Y/n L/n and Matt Smith arrived together at the Venice Film Festive for the premiere of their new movie. The pair were caught kissing after a night out in London last month, but have yet to publicly confirm their relationship.

-

Liked by commentsbycelebs and 15,361,261 others

yourinstagram: Venice is for lovers 🤍

thomasin.mckenzie: ❤️❤️❤️

blackcatcostar: Iconic 👑

username: Parents

-

1 year later...

Tagged tomholland2013, yourinstagram

Liked by zendaya and 18,628,161 others

marvelstudios: It’s official! Black Cat will be swinging onto the big screen in Spider-Man 4 🕷️ 🐈‍⬛

yourinstagram: I. CAN. NOT. WAIT.

tomholland2013: My spidey senses are already tingling

zendaya: SO EXCITED ❤️

lifeisaloha: Hi Felicia 👀

-

Liked by tomholland2013 and 13,361,193 others

yourinstagram: weekend away with my loves ☀️ 💕

thomasin.mckenzie: you’re glowing!

↳ Liked by yourinstagram

zendaya: gorgeous girl 💕

username: pinterest is shaking

-

masterlist, request/ send me love letters

[writebackatya]

Do you think there should be justice for Alistair Boorswan?

#ReleaseTheBoorswanCut #ReleaseTheDeweyDuckCut

Oh Boorswan, I do legitimately feel bad for him but at the same time I find his situation hilarious. I loved him as a one-time character but he was someone who I would have loved to see return. Mainly because Edgar Wright (director of some of my favorite action comedies) was casted as him which for another layer of funny, was almost the director of Ant-Man but left the project since Disney didn’t want to make the movie he wanted to make. I always looked at this role and the whole episode as a giant middle finger to Disney for the way they treat their creative people

But back to Boorswan because I find him to be a fascinating character in his own right. Something that didn’t really occur to me till like my second or third time watching the episode is that Boorswan himself, is a Darkwing Duck fan and does have an understanding of the character

Mind you, my first watchthrough of the episode I had not watch a single episode of Darkwing Duck prior, it wasn’t till after I finished DuckTales 2017 I started to watch DT87 and DWD. (So if anyone tells you that people only like the Darkwing Duck episodes cause of nostalgia, tell those dummies they are wrong! Both episodes are phenomenal and don’t rely on nostalgia to carry their episodes)

Anyway, Boorswan’s take on Darkwing Duck as a sorta anti-hero while a bit edgy (he’s definitely a riff on Christopher Nolan but I also love to think there’s a bit of Zack Snyder in him too, he’s so pretentious!) isn’t too far off. In the original show, Darkwing Duck isn’t a beloved superhero at all. He has his fans for sure, but he’s mostly seen as a nuisance by the average St. Canard citizen.

But of course Darkwing Duck means well for the most part. He can be very egotistical in pretty much every episode. He has a lot of flaws. And honestly I have an understanding where Boorswan was coming from with his take

Something I would love to see explore if he were to return would be his relationship with Drake Mallard. Clearly Drake was not a fan of Boorswan’s vision and Alistair obviously saw something in Drake to cast him as the titular character in his overbudget movie.

It just makes me wonder how often Drake spoke up about some of Boorswan’s creative decisions as well as how Alistair responded to his star’s criticisms. Creating any form of art with multiple people can be difficult, heads are gonna butt since everyone has their own creative vision

I think it would be funny if Alistair Boorswan does not recognize Drake Mallard when he’s Darkwing Duck in St. Canard because that Darkwing Duck is nothing like the one he imagined for his movie

Also I love to think Alistair Boorswan blames Dewey and solely Dewey for his project getting cancelled. Just because I think it’d be funny if there was yet another adult that has beef with a preteen duck. Honestly, I think Alistair should be a sorta anti-hero to reflect his art. He lives in his own world and has a creative vision he wants to share and will do whatever it takes to make it happen. He’s kinda like Dewey when you think about it.

But the short answer, yes I do think he deserves some sort of justice. In fact, I’m working on a fic that I really need to continue working on right now where basically no one except him (and a few others) wants the Darkwing Duck movie to be made so instead he reworks his script into a Gizmoduck Movie

Someday I will finish it. Someday.

[pb-dot]

Film Friday: Hot Fuzz

Time is a strange place, and we yet again write the day as that most important of days, Film Friday. Today we're having a look at Edgar Wright and Acting Duo Superstars Nick Frost and Simon Pegg's sophomore effort, the absolutely effervescent Hot Fuzz.

PC Nicholas Angel, played by Pegg, is a rare breed of supercop. His mastery of the practical skills of policing is second only to his unflinching dedication to the law, both in letter and in animating spirit. It's to the level that his actions can be traced in crime statistics, and such behavior can not go without reaction. As such, his superiors in the London Met see him "promoted" to a sergeant's position in Sanford Gloucestershire, a quiet little town with a sterling record of "village of the year"-awards and a crime rate at about 0%

While the initial joke about the highly professional Type A arch-exemplar Pegg being cooped up in an almost compulsively pleasant village is funny, it takes on a kind of heartwarming aspect when he is partnered by local inexperienced cop Danny Butterman, played by Frost. See, Danny knows very little about policing, and approaches it more like an excitable child than Angel's well trained German Shepherd, but BOY does Danny know a thing or two about action movies and having a good time when a good time is called for.

There are people who think I'm being facetious when I describe Hot Fuzz as an action comedy love story, but I am incredibly serious about it. Word has it that there once was a separate, female love interest for Angel in Sanford , but that this part was cut out and a non-insignificant part of her lines and general role in the story was bequeathed to Danny. I've been unable to confirm this from a primary source, but just looking at the lines I can believe it no trouble.

Danny and Nicholas have every bit the powerful bromance that Shaun and Ed had in Shaun of the Dead, except, I would argue, it's a much more even relationship than the one in Shaun. There's a similar dynamic, granted, but it's a give-some-take-some type of deal. Nicholas teaches Danny about the procedures and responsibilities of policework, that it's not just "proper action and shit," to quote him directly. Danny, on his side teaches the workaholic Nicholas that there's more to life than work, and that you need to spend time in the world and less time in your head. He also introduces Angel to his considerable collection of action movies, which seems insignificant until you get to the third act.

Now, by itself this would stand as a movie all by itself, but Nicholas and Danny's increasingly deep and homoromantic relationship does not stand alone. In fact, there's a whole-ass murder mystery conspiracy going on that honestly skews way harder towards horror than Shaun ever got.

Yes, it would seem that Sanford's 0% crime rate is a case of some judiciously biased bookkeeping. Petty theft happens, but there's never any charges filled. Similarly and more unnervingly, there's no murder in Sanford buy wow do people die in unlikely accidents or just go missing a lot. Ever the practical man, Angel goes about investigating these tragic and gory "accidents," and drags the only copper that'll give him the time of day, PC Butterman, along.

Now, tempted as I am to talk about what the two find as they go prodding at the seams of the idyllic village life, I will actually honor a kind of spoiler policy here. There are many jokes, as well as genuinely moving reveals that I'd like to talk about, but I think they'll hit better if you go in blind. For those of you who know what I'm talking about though, there are some banger reveals as to what exactly goes on here, and Edgar Wright's love for foreshadowing plot moments and reveals through dialog is probably expressed better in Hot Fuzz than any other of his films.

I will say, though, that I really enjoy the shift the film makes in the third act. After all the spooky scary conspiracy business comes to a head, our hero makes a decision on what means the most to him, proper procedure, or the spirit of the law (as well as letter I suppose, although he skirts quite a few of those) and decides that it's time to be a goddamn supercop. Just like Danny always saw him, a frighteningly precise instrument for more than the law, also a conduit for justice, and, lest we forget, incredible, incredible violence.

What follows is perhaps the craziest third act I've ever seen. Danny and Nicholas shoot guns, jump through the air while shooting guns, get in car chases while shooting guns, and forge new and unexpected alliances while... you get the idea. The violence is ludicrous, but decidedly slapstick-y, as Angel intends to bring every single perpetrator (and there are quite a few), in alive. This makes for disabling shots, warning shots, indirect shots leading to (presumably survivable) blunt force trauma, etc etc. It's not realistic, but it feels very in character, and it is fun. You can feel the electric energy of a bunch of action film nerds getting to do every cool stunt they've ever fanboyed over, all the while modifying them to somehow be non-lethal.

All of this is without even getting into how many great supporting characters there is in this film. Jim Broadbent is great as Inspector Butterman, Danny's father and local police chief. Paddy Considine and Rafe Spall play a great comedy duo of PCs named Andy. Perhaps the greatest of them, though, is Timothy Dalton, playing the supremely smarmy supermarket owner Simon Skinner. I could watch that guy be friendly in a way that makes me want to punch him for days on end. Among Wright's many talents, getting the funniest people in Britain to play in his movies is surely one of the greater ones.

[blushblushbear]

sorry..... me again...… you can choose to ignore this if you feel like it's too much

(not trying to guilt-trip you, please don't feel pressured

uh maybe... Nimh? Nimh is cute I like Nimh

if you don't feel like doing him, maybe Poe or Anon?

*blows the dust off this ask* oops this one's pretty old

I already did Nimh so Anon and Poe it is

Anon

Okay not to call the scott a drunk

but I'm about to call the scott a drunk

he's not too bad, but he is a little picky about what he will and will not drink

low key judges people for their choice of beers

side eyes people who order basically liquid candy as a drink (for a cocktail at least, he will rot his teeth on mountain dew don't get it twisted)

he mostly does pints but his fav mixed drink is a moscow mule

or a spiked energy beverage

speaking of drinks he always has a crazy amount of them

g-fuel, red bull, monster-- every energy drink type thing you've seen he's probably got

also drinks prime

also mountain dew

a lot of it

I joke about his teeth rotting but in all honesty he takes good care of them

that's the one gamer stereotype he does not fall in town

he's low key germophobic so his apartment and battle station are SPOTLESS

he defo has those touchland hand sanitizers cause he's a boujee bitch

speaking of boujee he's actually p well off

started trading stocks young and did crypto till it tanked

he doesn't like to talk about his crypto days (he was a hard crypto bro at it's peak)

usually his drunk rambles are about crypto

also conspiracy theories

also video games

his parents are decently well off too but he doesn't talk to them much

they don't have a bad relationship but it's definitely one of those 'you see the family only around the holidays' kind of deals

he has a lot of internet buds but I think deep down he's bad at making real connections and actually gets pretty lonely

likes watching animal videos, WOULD NOT get a pet

rarely has people over to his place, took him a while to fully mentally accept having you over

he was determined to get over it though cause he really wanted you around

would never shower with someone cause that just feels unsanitary-- the shower is for CLEANING

would maybe get a snake-- they're pretty clean

once went 3 days without sleeping

actually lost a lot of sleep to stardew valley when it first came out

his farm is AMAZING

loves to troll at video games but not in a run face first into the enemy team and ruin it for everyone kinda way

more a does a 360 no scope on you right when you think you're safe

you mad bro??? lol

sends lots of memes about liking his s/o cause he's really bad at saying how he feels

favorite director is Edgar Wright cause he's a man of taste and culture

regularly cleans and buffs his nails

has at least one to two drinks chilling in every room of the house

really wants to get an ear piercing

really vain about his looks even though he dresses like garbage

just tell him he's handsome, he's legit too proud to beg but he needs that validation

listens to a lot of underground bands and artists

also a lot of djs

owns 15 pairs of headphones

5 have animal ears

showers at least once a day unless he's in a gaming trance

once tried to write you poetry, felt like an idiot, removed all evidence of it's existence and would deny it fully if you ever found out

Poe

Probably not a surprise to anyone but he got bullied a lot in high school

Has been writing poetry since he was 10 and has notebooks full of poems and short stories from over his life

really wants to write some kind of vampire mystery series centered around a brooding poet vampire but also he's bad at writing mysteries

I've sad this before but he's in a book club with Nimh and Cashew

he keeps trying to get them to read romantic novels

Cashew was game until he realized Poe meant like Lord Byron romantic

Mary Shelley Romantic

thinks Mary Shelley losing her virginity on her mother's grave is the coolest thing ever and is high key jealous

Mary Shelley is honestly his hero

secretly got addicted to soap operas

he wants to stop so bad but he can't

he doesn't have a pet but if he did he'd be that dude you can totally tell has a pet cause he's always covered in fur

not that Poe would even care

Poe actually never much cared for birds and is still salty about becoming a magpie

owns so many Victorian/Edwardian style coats

and vests

he's just one color palette/slight aesthetic change away from just being steampunk

owns so many bits of jewelry, it mostly just floats around his living spaces and he chooses what he's wearing that day at random

all the people who headcanon Poe as trans, you're correct

constantly painting his nails and it's always chipping

his nail polish is actually pretty jank but he doesn't care so long as his nails are black

his living spaces are a mess

lots of papers, lots of random odds and ends, lots of clothes and book and forgotten mugs everywhere

does actually partake in the music aspect of the goth culture

most of his fav bands are ones you haven't heard of

he doesn't actually like horror much

at least not this modern jumpscare nonsense

he likes his horror dark, dramatic, and poetically gorey

Saw??? more like pa-shaw he can't stand those movies

the closest thing he gets to liking more mainstream horror franchises is Chucky

Tiffany Valentine is his favorite (*jennifer tilly voice* ~Jennifer Tilly~)

he can always get down with halloween, but only the first one

he can fuck with Tim Burton and Guillermo Del Toro though

crimson peak is his shit

also Jane Austen bitch?!

he loves him some Jane Austen

Emily Dickinson

Mary Shelley obvs

he low key hates to be basic but fucking

read Emily Dickinson's poetry and tell him you're not simping

he legit does simp for Shelley and Dickinson

legit loves the Kira Knightly Pride and Prejudice will all his heart

Sylvia Plath

He's trying so hard not to be basic but he loves Wednesday Addams

that line about her being allergic to colors--- he felt that

regularly listens to sounds of rain and fireplaces

ye I think I'll end it here lol XD

[re-dracula]

Dr. Jamie Bernthal-Hooker (he/they), visiting fellow at The University of Suffolk, joins us for a chat about queer theory, reading literature through a queer lens, and detective stories.

“The two things I love most in the world are books and being queer.” —Dr. Jamie Bernthal-Hooker

Check out Jamie’s book, Queering Agatha Christie, and follow them on Twitter @jcbernthal.

Dialogue editing by Stephen Indrisano with some extra sound design by Tal Minear. The transcript was done by Rook Mogavero and the show notes were done by Hannah Wright.

People who write about queer theory, two of whom Jamie loves: Judith Butler, Michel Foucault, and Eve Kosofsky Sedgewick.

Recommended detective stories to read queerly: Agatha Christie, Edgar Allan Poe, Wilkie Collins (for when Jamie’s in a bad mood), Iris Maddoch (for when Jamie’s in an angsty mood), Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Jamie’s favorite, Speedy Death by Gladys Mitchell.

Your homework assignment: look up Victorian magazines and read the short stories.

[moonlitempty]

“It’s our basic human right to be fuck-ups. This civilisation was founded on fuck-ups!”

And after roughly 3 weeks of waiting, hoping, and constant refreshing of the tracking page, here it is finally, I am able to hold it, and see it, and analyse every intricate little detail of its design, and its packaging. And it makes me feel somewhat fulfilled.

I honestly keep struggling to find the words for this caption, my thoughts are all over the place and it feels like no praise or fawning will suffice, no amount of love dumping will be nearly enough to describe how absolutely lovely this record is.

The World’s End is a film I was afraid I wouldn’t like, even when I was just getting into The Cornetto Trilogy and familiarising myself with everything around it, I could just TELL The World’s End was, not quite a black sheep, but the odd one out in the trilogy. I saw hordes and hordes of people rave over Shaun (rightfully), I saw thousand of dedicated followers of Fuzz (VERY rightfully), but at most I saw a couple hundred people campaigning for End to have more recognition. So when it came to finally watch it for the first time, I was honestly nervous and I vividly remember I had to keep pausing the movie over and over again whenever Gary said or did something dumb, I felt bad for him, he seemed enthusiastic and he longed for his old life with his friends and none of them even trusted him. So that set a very specific lens quite early on that I saw the whole movie throughout, and I think it actually helped me appreciate the movie from the get-go.

So I decided to put my big boy pants on, stop systematically pausing the movie, and sit through it, no more pauses or interruptions.

•“12 Historic Ale Houses!”

I quickly found myself enamoured with End, I loved the unapologetic and almost blatant Sci-Fi route of the film, after all, Sci-Fi in general is a genre I hardly consume, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that this film alone opened the doors of the genre to my once closed eyes. I grew to love the characters oddly quickly, my stand-outs obviously being Gary and Andy, but I also made room in my heart for Sam and Steven (the only survivors, ha!)

Also, it may have been the Blu-Ray doing its Blu-Ray thing but I thought the film looked PHENOMENAL, easily the most visually interesting film out of the Three, maybe it was also the use of more contemporary cameras and technology, it was an absolute treat to the eyes. The filmmaking and directing choices have been pointed out time and time again, Edgar Wright has the best directing style of any modern filmmaker.

But let’s get to the main subject, the soundtrack!

•The World’s End: Original Movie Score (Mondo Exclusive , Pressed on Crowning Glory Ale Vinyl)

This is a beautiful little record! It’s easily one of the prettiest in my entire collection, usually a splatter vinyl like this is pretty hit or miss, I’ve had my fair share of less than stellar records, but this one NAILED IT! I don’t know if you can tell from the pictures, but this record looks EXACTLY like a nice, cold, foamy and enriching pint of Ale, and the design of the centre labels is oddly satisfying, I lack the right words to describe it, but the entire film carries a sort of “vintage-ish” aesthetic in its graphic design and motifs, hopefully I’m making myself clear with that. It’s a mix of vintage and modern, if I had to describe it!

The record is very nice to the touch, it’s solid and quite heavyweight (which is a reassurance when it comes to vinyl), and it looks absolutely stunning when held up to the light. A detail I love is how the labels seem to slowly uncover the presence of The Network as they go on, by Side D the centre label makes it awfully clear that The Network is, a) a thing, and b) present everywhere in Newton Haven.

In the gimmick/fun little trinkets department, we have a small pamphlet! Styled as a tourist guide for the pubs in Newton, it features a full map of the town (the one Gary used to mark up the pubs), and the commentaries by both Edgar Wright and the composer Steven Price, these are frankly a treat to read and give so much more insight into not only the making of the score, but also the deeper meaning of the score, what Prince intended to transmit with the creative decisions he made while making and building the score, it makes listening to it a much more rewarding experience.

This will be forever one of my favourite items I’ve ever owned, period. Not favourite vinyl records, or movie memorabilia, items in general. And I feel immensely grateful to not only have it and hold it, but to also share it with everyone in a cohesive and engaging way. Writing this post has been an absolute privilege! Hopefully it is mildly decent and not just another one of my soliloquies.

If you got all the way here, you have my eternal gratitude and I love u mwah. here’s a cookie for your troubles 🍪

Let’s Boo-Boo.

[opinions-about-tiaras]

I think it's okay for people to be disappointed and feel misled and maybe even a little upset Scott Pilgrim Takes Off wasn't a more straightforward adaptation.

It's a masterwork as a piece of media, of course; a AU-that's-also-a-sequel based on both the movie AND the graphic novels, in dialogue with both, telling a tight, near-flawless story with immaculate animation and voice acting that, quite frankly, often makes the 2010 movie look poorly directed. (Tony Oliver is getting a LOT more out of these people in the booth than Edgar Wright managed to in front of the camera, frankly.)

And that's part of the problem, I think.

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World oozed charm out of every shot; it's beloved by everyone who worked on it, which is always a good sign. But as an adaptation it was flawed in ways that were inevitable. Sacrifices had to be made to fit all six graphic novels that are deliberately messy and are meant as separate narrative arcs into something that runs on the big screen in less than two hours.

That meant a lot had to go missing. The original graphic novels were often leisurely rom-coms where they weren't stark, raw looks at emotional dysfunction, and a big part of their structure was the secondary and supporting cast. A lot of that had to go. Knives entire arc was cut to the bone. Stephen Stills being a hot mess and his weird and hilarious offscreen gay awakening went into the trash. The heart of Volume Four (still the best volume FIGHT ME), Lisa Miller's instigating presence, junked. Roxie Richter and the Katayanagi Twins are reduced basically to jokes. Envy Adams is given just enough to be a villain but none of what she needed to be a real person, which is a big deal in the comics. Even Gideon gets short shrift; the emotional violations and the dark, stinking, malign weaponization of emotional headspace that make him work in the comics are thrown aside in favor of him being a more straightforward supervillain using mind control chips.

And of course the biggest person to get shanked was Kim Pine. Kim had a storyline of quiet desperation, of seeking intimacy while being desperately terrified of it, romantic and sexual awakenings she isn't equipped to handle, deep and personal betrayals almost every volume that she nonetheless perseveres through. That had to go as well.

When I heard there was an animated adaptation coming, I was thrilled that I would finally get to see all of that rendered onto the screen. Scott Pilgrim was born to be an animated series more than it ever was live-action (and it's been proven multiple times over the past five years especially that animation can produce something wildly special when adapting a comic source handled properly) and it was finally going to have the breathing space to do it RIGHT.

Only it isn't that at all.

I wouldn't trade Scott Pilgrim Takes Off for the more straightforward adaptation we were expecting. The series has sunk its hooks deep into my brain, it's like I'm 29 again, driving my terrible, jank-ass car five hours to Toronto to attend the release party of the final volume. There's so much special about it; Knives and Kim's beautiful love duet is one of the most tender, pure things I've ever seen. The League of Evil Exes as a bumbling cadre of weirdos. Everything to do with Roxie Richter.

But it also means that we're probably deeply unlikely to get that more straightforward adaptation anytime soon. And that makes me feel like something has been lost.

And I respect the feelings of those who are disappointed and upset by it. Especially given that the marketing for Scott Pilgrim Takes Off was deliberately deceptive. I think that's a valid way to feel.

[pineapplefulfillseveryneed]

Sparks tour 2023 part 3: The Royal Albert Hall - show #2

Got to be honest: I was falling apart at this point during the tour. It had been another night of only managing to sleep about 2 hours at most and after a full week of sleeping 2 to 5 hours a night it unfortunately became clear my breaking point had now been reached: I was feeling so ill from sleep deprivation. In the morning I wasn't sure I'd be able to go to the show, but I could be upright when the time came so the show was on! 💕 ...even if perhaps I would have to stay seated the entire time, which felt like it would be somewhat acceptable because we were seated about as far from the stage as possible this night. I ended up not remaining seated though, we're talking Sparks here after all, but please keep in mind that there might have been more to the show than I can relay. (Also, once again, a big thank you to my tour buddies! :))

Mr.B The Gentleman Rhymer

I'd gotten super hooked on his song Looking Forward To Leaving by now and I had sung it quite a bit back at the hotel now that I'd caught more of the lyrics so I was super stoked to hear it again this evening, regardless of how I was feeling 🌞 I also especially enjoyed his incorporated dance moves for this song, so at this night that was my recording choice when it came to his set. You can see and hear it below :) Mr.B had also incorporated a little sales pitch for The Girl Is Crying In Her Latte this evening which was beautiful. *big thumbs up*

Before Sparks came on we could spot @nocribdoll from where we were seated and said hello from a distance by means of banana dance which was both great and effective! We also spotted Edgar Wright in the audience which was cool - we're so lucky that he was the one to make the documentary, with him being such a big fan ^^

Sparks

Sparks entered the stage to another big and beautiful applause. There was a little mess up with the first line of So May We Start which was soon caught and rectified, and honestly there's something to be said about opening one's second Royal Albert Hall show with the line “they hope that it goes the way it's supposed to go”. I for one very much respect that, and the way Russell immediately switched to the right lyrics was so impressive that it made me question if what came before had happened at all. (I'm partially sorry to be highlighting a mess up, but I just really liked it and there is footage.)

The audience was so amazing yet again, and we again got to enjoy one of those especially grand applauses already when we were just two songs into the show 💖 and, there was a small change in the setlist: they played VERONICA LAKE! Russell gave the song a proper introduction (a little history lesson with Sparks, if you will👌🏻) The performance was intense and beautiful and I really loved when the instrumental part hit :) (Unfortunately it later turned out to have been instead of Escalator (nooo my beloved!!!), but getting to hear Veronica Lake live really was a treat!)

The only upside about my tiredness was that I sucked a little less with capturing parts of the show in a less bouncy manner, but it's still Sparks so... (who was I kidding with “maybe I'll stay seated”💖) I captured a little bit of Music That You Can Dance To because it's a song I'm so keen to remember at every show and then it was time to dance our asses off and bring the party to this balcony! (We may have been far away, but we were front row in our section, so we started the party here just as much as we'd have done anywhere else in the hall ✨) I did a little banana at the right point in the song too, which funnily enough @nocribdoll managed to spot me doing 😂 I captured bits of Beaver O'Lindy (something I hadn't been able to resist on any night anyway because it is so special live), Russell's introduction to It Doesn't Have To Be That Way (ever since first seeing the show it was clear that his introductions to it were amazing and a little different every night), and Toughest Girl In Town (because of it being one of the most special songs to @dinkydiamond, and it just being great in general obviously ^^) But I think most of all I was capturing a lot of applause between songs, because the sound of these large audiences really was something that set the Royal Albert Hall shows apart 💕

When Gee, That Was Fun started the sadness really hit - nearing not just the end of this show, but also our part of the UK tour and that would mean saying goodbye to friends. (I couldn't listen to the song for a while after shows because it made me miss everything too much.) Luckily that's of course not where the show ends, we still had more applauding to do and we had an encore left! I really treasure A Love Story live and I could not love the choice for it as part of the encore more. I had loved it so much every night so far but it was cool as hell to see it from this perspective, facing the stage straight on yet far away. Those light effects *really* hit in full force when you can see the whole of it. (Not over the voice Russell does in parts of that song btw. SO GOOD.)

Apart from Veronica Lake there had been no major changes to the show, but why change a winning game? Edgar Wright took the audience photo once more, and the audience once more swayed its torches for All That. My memory is terrible in remembering any jokes that may have been made at this show (hell, I can't even remember Balls, my dearly beloved 😭) but at the end Russell blew a kiss up to @nocribdoll which was beautiful and I had accidentally captured him doing so, which wins :) They had to leave the stage a bit more swiftly than the previous night because Russell said they had a thing in the morning, but the applause had been so amazing yet again 💖

…And so ended the adventure of Sparks at the Royal Albert Hall.

Outside of the venue conversations were flowing like usual but as anyone present will know: I really was too broken to partake at that point. I had half a mind to go say thank you to Mr.B but having taken two steps in the direction of the merch table I already turned around knowing very well I couldn't do it this night. Somehow I still had managed to bring sufficient enthusiasm and energy to the show though, which honestly was a relief! 😌✊🏻 I'm really glad the power of Sparks had simply been too strong for me to remain in my seat. (There even had been a random guy on Twitter who had sat behind us in the balcony who had given us a shout out and had posted a picture of us dancing! I'm very fond of that photo, thanks random guy!)

[lcdrarry]

LCDrarry 2023 Round-Up Post | Week 2

On Sundays during our posting period, we won't post a new work, instead you have time to catch up on the works that posted during the week and hopefully leave lovely comments for our creators.

Happy reading, commenting and sharing! ;)

~Your LCDrarry Mods

PS: Please have a look at the author notes and tags on AO3 for additional information. Thank you!

PPS: Please share far and wide! Thank you!

***

Podfic

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Nobody Tells You How

Prompt: "Return to Me", 2000, Bonnie Hunt | fic written for LCDrarry 2019 Author: @ThirdEye1234 Narrator: Anonymous Runtime: 3 hours 8 min (34,248 words) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Illness, Death of a Spouse

Summary: Draco never expected to find love once, let alone twice. But how does love work when your heart's still broken? *OR* Harry gets a heart transplant and develops feelings for Draco Malfoy, but those two things are not at all related. Until they are.

Listen to it now on AO3.

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Art

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lies! subterfuge! seething corruption!

Prompt: "Black Books", 2000, TV Series Artist: Anonymous Art Medium: Digital Art Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Vague mention of alcohol, Drarry being grumpy

Summary: what if draco was bernard black? wait. what if.

View it now on AO3.

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The Other L-Word

Prompt: "Scott Pilgrim", 2010, Edgar Wright Prompted by: Anonymous Artist: Anonymous Art Medium: Digital Art Rating: Teen and up Warnings: None

Summary: Dating Draco Malfoy comes with baggage. Baggage in the form of seven evil exes.

View it now on AO3.

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Love Sees All Light

Prompt: "Love is Blind", 2020, TV Series/Show Prompted by: @thebooktopus Artist: Anonymous Art Medium: Digital Art Rating: General Audiences Warnings: None

Summary: Going into the show had not been their initial plan, but they're determined to see it to the end. While Draco and Harry had hoped to find love, they'd have never imagined they'd find their soulmates.

View it now on AO3.

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Fic

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Peep Show

Prompt: "Friends", 1994, TV Series Prompted by: @lettersbyelise Author: Anonymous Length: 10,120 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: None

Summary: Auror trainees Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are maybe-possibly-sort-of friends. When Harry moves into the building next to Draco's, they become neighbors, too. Actually, Harry can see directly into Draco's flat from his window. And as it turns out, Draco gets up to some interesting things at night.

Read it now on AO3.

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Let it in

Prompt: "Cherry Magic! Thirty years of virginity can make you a wizard?!", TV Series/Show Author: Anonymous Word Count: 11,654 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: None

Summary: "Thirty, huh?" Pansy asked. “My cousin told me that Japan there’s this urban legend called ‘cherry magic’. It’s basically that if you turn thirty without, you know, popping your cherry, you get magical powers.” “Pans, I don’t know how to put this to you, but we already have magical powers,” Draco said. Pansy laughed. “No, you dolt. New ones. Apparently the legend goes that you become a mind reader.” Draco shivered. “Sounds awful.” “Anyway, it won’t happen to you, will it?” she asked. Draco shifted a little uncomfortably. “Of course it won’t,” he said. “Because you just said it’s an urban legend.” “I meant, it won’t happen to you because you’re not a virgin.” Draco laughed.

Read it now on AO3.

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Harry Potter vs the World

Prompt: "Scott Pilgrim", 2010, Edgar Wright Prompted by: Anonymous Author: Anonymous Word Count: 13,943 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Cheating/Infidelity, Relationship between a 21 year old and a 17 year old (not endgame)

Summary: A year after the worst breakup of his life, some could argue that Harry is still struggling—dating his best friend's ex-girlfriend's sister. But when Draco Malfoy appears in a dream and then corporeally in front of him, Harry's life is turned upside down. The only thing standing in between Harry and the literal man of his dreams are seven people out to destroy him.

Read it now on AO3.

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Hole to Feed

Prompt: "The Menu", 2022, Mark Mylod Prompted by: minty_petals Author: Anonymous Word Count: 34,436 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Self-Harm, Blood and Injury, Fiendfyre, Explicit Sex

Summary: Draco tunes them all out, watching as they fly through the water, when familiarity on his glass catches his eyes. The writing – because it’s writing, he realises, when he brings the glass closer – is barely there, blink and you'd miss it. But he would never miss it: the writing is in his dreams, under his fingernails, in his blood. It’s runes. OR The Malfoy-Black Foundation is celebrating its 25th anniversary. But why does the whole staff consist of Hogwarts graduates? And why does Chef Evans seem familiar? Harry Potter meets The Menu (2022)

Read it now on AO3.

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Through His Eyes (I Am Set Free)

Prompt: "In Your Eyes", 2014, Brin Hill Author: Anonymous Word Count: 134,034 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Threesome, vouyerism, minor character death

Summary: Harry and Draco have a telepathic connection that remains unexplained in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds. Draco is assigned a mission by Voldemort to locate and capture the Boy Who Lived-- the trouble is that they don't know anything about him. While Draco struggles to gather information on this mysteriously absent hero, he and Harry start communicating again for the first time since they were kids. Harry continues life as normal until he discovers information compels him to abandon his ordinary Muggle life with the endeavor to rescue and emancipate his only friend-- even if that means bartering with his own life.

Read it now on AO3.

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Please help promote the fest by sharing your favourite submissions, so more people can enjoy all the amazing new Drarry works of LCDrarry. Thank you!

Creator reveals are on 15 June.

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [7]

description: Marc, his ex-wife and his supposed mistress head to Mogart’s to find Senfu’s sarcophagus, whatever could go wrong when the god of Chaos wants to be involved?

word count: 14.4k

trigger warnings: blood, gore, violence. Knives, stabbing. Small description of a drug overdose (accidental) and it doesn’t happen to reader. Themes of domestic abuse/grooming/prostitution. minors dni. [Based on Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright]

main masterlist | series masterlist

Sipping her carton of juice, Dove’s eyes scanned the busy bazaar for any signs of recognition in the shoppers eyes as they bustled past her loudly. This exact square that had been a blood bath, a hunting ground, for her yesterday seemed to barely blink an eye at the primped and preened woman, thick sunglasses resting on top of her head.

“Anything?” She asked, the sweet taste exploding in her mouth as Marc returned from questioning one of his leads on Senfu’s whereabouts. It was surprising to her just how many people seemed to know something about the black market, then again it didn’t cross her mind that she knew how deceiving looks could be. She knew that the average person on the street likely had a dark secret, so twisted and vile they searched for their equal in maleficent places like the backstreets of Soho, or a normal town square in Cairo.

Marc shook his head, handing her a new cup of something saccharine for her to try.

“I hope you like attention,” The woman nearly choked on the liquid as a chirpy voice snuck up behind them. She spun, wiping the back of her spluttering lips with the cuff of her cardigan, to meet two honey eyes peering down at her amused.

“Right guy, right place, but you’re not Egyptian,” Layla teased, sipping on her own cool drink.

Marc huffed, his ex-wife’s eyes looking at him in smirking satisfaction. Dove couldn’t deny the sun clearly agreed with the older woman, her skin bursting with sweet freckles that were hidden in England’s cold grey, her hair just that bit more luscious. Her stomach twisted with a mix of jealousy and captivation as she watched the woman who made being beautiful look so easy.

“Layla, what the hell are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here,” Marc clipped, making the woman roll her eyes and Dove turn away from their catfight, chewing her cheeks nervously.

“Why? Because my name pisses off a few people in Cairo? Who cares?” She snapped, only just then taking in where the other woman bit the end of her straw.

“It’s not the locals I’m worried about,” Marc muttered, his eyes catching sight of Khonshu and his hauntingly smug partner that stared down at the three of them, watching the chaos unfold.

Dove followed his eye line, her blood running cold at the way he vultured around her, waiting for another chance to slip up, to take her body as his. Would he even need to? Now she realised she could conjure the suit herself, would he even need to puppeteer her anymore or would he simply put some sick whims in her head and let her have at it?

Would she be able to fight back? Would she be able to say ‘no’ and have it mean ‘no’ to him?

“Come on. I’ll help you find what it is you need,” Layla sighed, taking a hand to the top of the woman’s back to direct her away from the crowd. “And for the love of gods, girl, you need sunscreen on, you’re burning up,”

The three of them, smothered in cream, had spent the best part of the afternoon in the hotel room while Layla worked her magic and contacted her own informants. She knew the black market perhaps even better than Marc did, and it took her no more than a couple of hours to find Senfu’s sarcophagus from a source she said she trusted with her life, though Dove caught the split second of fear in her eyes when she’d said it.

It was fair to say she was not filled with confidence as they sat on the small boat taking them to the place the informant said they’d find it. Layla seemed ever more stunning in her make up, loose hair and with the purple tinged string lights the boat had weaved over its canopy. Dove felt selfishly glad she could barely look at Marc without gritting her teeth, she had no idea how she would feel if their marriage stood a chance at rekindling, then she really would be the other woman. Except not at all. It wasn’t like Marc looked at her in any way other than a nuisance, a thing he had to take care of for Steven’s sake. A stray to feel bad for, to have a vet euthanize out of duty, not out of care.

It wasn’t like Marc liked her any more than he disliked her, she was sure he felt near enough indifferent to her.

His kiss still burned a hole in her temple, his hands still phantoms at her cheeks, holding her gently, cleaning her, sewing her hurt back together. He had no idea the way his touch seemed to mend the tiniest parts of her together yet shatter her all the same. So desperate to be touched by him, so disgusted with herself she wanted to curl into a ball of solitude and never recover.

“So what exactly are we gonna do here? What’s the plan?” Marc asked in a hush, avoiding the ears of the few other passengers. A group of older women chatted animatedly on the other end of the boat, laughing to themselves wildly. The entire opposite of what she felt between the feuding exes, the salt river lapping behind her, knocking her to and fro in her seat.

“Oh,” Layla bit, her face twisting into a grim smile, “It’s not pleasant being left in the dark is it?”

It had been like this all day, Dove staying silent as they hashed it out. Well, moreso Layla ripped into Marc who simply laid there and took it willingly, knowing he had immorally screwed her over by disappearing into thin air. His feelings for her may have dwindled over the past year he had been away from his wife, but he at least owed it to her to suffer the consequences. It seemed to be all he was doing now, taking on the repercussions of his actions, ever since she lay dying in his bloodied hands begging for Steven to save her.

She tuned them out, much too occupied by her own dilemma; the water. The tiniest movement of the boat, the slightest of rock in the waves, had her twitching to grab his arm out of nerves, settling on gripping the wooden seat beneath her instead. Her leg jumped, eyes darting to where the moonlight reflected off the dark ripples under them, visualising how it would feel if she were to go tipping off the edge, head plunging under the surface, sinking, thrashing, succumbing.

“Would you please just cut that out?” Layla snapped, and Dove’s head whirled from checking over her shoulder to meet the woman’s fired gaze. It had been all of four hours and whatever civility the two had the evening with Harrow’s men was gone. Following her orders, Dove forced her leg to relax, picking at her thumbnail almost instantly only to have Layla roll her eyes, “For fuck sake,” She cussed in Arabic, “Is something the matter?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” She responded, releasing her fingernail despite the itching feeling to pick at it once more, “It’s just the uh, water’s a bit choppy,”

Layla nearly glared at her, “Well, we were a little short on time, princess. This was the only option we had,”

“No-no not like that, it’s fine, this is perfect,” She stopped, feeling her face heat in embarrassment as the woman seemed only more annoyed at her skittishness. Plastering a smile that was clearly tinted with a veil of fear, whether it was of the woman who looked like she could wring her neck or the water itself she wasn’t so sure anymore, “This is fine. I’m fine,”

“Are you fine?” Layla asked, annoyance leaking in her tone though Marc, who had known the woman the best part of five years, heard the amusement behind it.

“Yep, I’m fine,” She nodded, clutching for dear life onto the seat. Flashing the pair an unconvincing smile, she stilled herself, waiting for them to continue their quarrel.

“So this Mogart guy, he’s really gonna have the sarcophagus?” Marc asked, wishing he could grab her shredded fingers in his, if only to comfort her in the slightest. He caught the way they twitched even after her scolding, how her eyes flicked every time water licked up the side of the wood.

“Yes, I asked around,” Layla said, relaxing against the side, her chocolate ringlets kissing her cheeks tenderly. “Mogart’s collection is prime gossip for those of us who deal in antiquities,”

“So like Indiana Jones?” Dove asked, the naivety in her eyes brightening as she looked to Layla for approval. The woman held back the scoff from passing her lips, knowing she was trying her best to win her over, and couldn’t help but stop herself from rebuking the otherwise dumb statement.

Layla was more like Marc than she gave herself credit for, burying kindness in a cold expression.

“Abit like that, yes,” Layla murmured, tugging her hair up into a low ponytail to keep it out of her face, better yet to busy herself from the guilt of snapping at the innocent girl.

The girl who had no clue how Marc looked at her, the way Layla caught onto immediately. She’d thought maybe it was just Steven besotted with her, but it took one glance at the man she knew like the back of her hand to see straight through whatever bullshit front he put up against her. And it wasn’t like he’d acted on it either, it was always whenever she wasn’t looking, always secret, always hidden.

It was what Marc did best, Layla thought bitterly. Hide his feelings when it mattered most.

The sour taste in her mouth hadn’t come from an open wound, no. Their relationship had since scarred over, healed, bled dry for Layla El-Faouly. It was the doe like girl that he strung behind him, that got entangled in the mess he left behind in his wake that angered her. It was the way she couldn’t help care for the girl and what would come of her when hurricane Marc blew over her, cattle flying, houses crumbling on his way the way he always did.

“Need one?” Layla held out a hair tie to the girl, her own hair messy from where she’d let it dry naturally. With no product, Marc’s fingers as a hairbrush and a need for a hair drier, it was obvious the girl had tried her best to fix it on the way, attempted to look her best for the evening.

Dove felt the lump grow in her throat.

“Sit still,” Grace hissed, running the wide toothed comb through her hair, her companion squished between her legs, squirming in pain.

“It feels like you’re trying to suck my brains through my hair follicles,” Dove murmured, face wincing in pain as the brush scraped its way through her locks once more.

“Brains? You’re giving yourself way too much credit there, baby,” Grace teased, only to receive a firm smack on her calf for the comment.

“Bitch,” She cursed back, her head being yanked back one final time by the honey haired girl and her damned brush, Dove grimacing and yelling “BITCH,”

“Quit your whining, now how do you want it?” Dove pouted, crossing her arms over her tummy, only to be toed in the ribs by Grace’s blossom pink socks, “Don’t take a stand of silence with me, how do you want it? Dutch braids?”

Dove nodded quietly, only for a rogue piece of hair to be tickled under her nostrils. Quickly realising the culprit being a small, pale hand holding the split ends and her an amused face leaning over her shoulder to see her reaction, she scrunched her nose batting away the hand with a growl, though she couldn’t help the way her mouth tugged into a giggle.

“Grow up, will you?” The girl scolded through a laugh, her head resting back onto Grace’s lap, eyes closing in bliss as the girl ran her fingers over her scalp, parting the hair into two sections.

“Why on earth would I do that?” Grace mused, giving her nose a quick peck as she split the right side of her tresses off with a claw clip, “You’re gonna be the prettiest princess by the time I’m done,”

—

“Thanks,” Dove replied forlornly, Layla’s skin burning as the woman dropped the tie into her palm. She was never good at braiding her own hair, it was always Grace who liked to do it for her. Anything fancier than her normal, low maintenance styles and she’d go to a cheap stylist. She’d loved doing Billie’s hair too, but for whatever reason her sore fingers had no perception awareness when they were behind her own head.

Settling for a low bun, she rubbed her hands on her thighs to calm her nerves, not missing the way the two of them seemed to watch her meticulously.

“What?” She asked, looking between them with the same nervous smile as before, “I’m fine,”

Layla huffed, shaking her head at the girl who looked between the two expectantly. She reminded her of a docile mouse searching for a cracker, fidgeting with her hands, so trusting yet meek, ready to be squished under Marc’s clumsy boot.

She couldn’t stand to watch this Greek tragedy anymore.

“Come on,” Layla hauled herself up, the movement rocking the boat the smallest amount, enough to make Dove latch onto Marc’s arm with wide eyes, “We’re almost there,”

The younger woman felt her face blaze with embarrassment, meeting her companions umber eyes that looked down at her with a cocktail of amusement and worry.

“You’re alright,” Marc whispered, Layla going to stand with the driver to confirm they were almost at Mogart’s. The two of them spoke calmly, the Arabic being foreign to Dove’s ears despite having spoken it clearly when Seth had control, though she noticed when Layla slipped him a few notes for his intel.

“I know, I’m just not a huge fan of boats,” She stopped, looking guiltily at the floor, “I didn’t mean to piss her off though, I just can’t stop thinking about what would happen if I fell in-”

“Then I’d be coming in right behind you and dragging you out,” Marc stopped her with a gentle hand atop her own, feeling her shake under his touch.

Her head whipped up to his, eyes staring up at him with the sugary glaze of trust in them, the same way she’d seen him the first night he’d met her. Perhaps that was why he felt so responsible, like she was his to take care of. While he’d loved Layla, loved her enough to marry her, loved her enough to let her go, she had always been fine on her own. She was independent, never let him forget it. The selfish part of him revelled in the way Dove needed him. Needed him of all people.

They shared a little smile between the two of them, heads shooting up as the boat stopped and the captain hopped off to dock the boat properly. Layla stepped up onto the planks, turning to hold her hand out to Dove who rose to her feet steadily.

“There we go, back on dry land, princess. You can put your big girl undies back on now,” Layla snarked, though Dove caught the way her almond eyes washed over the younger girl, checking she was okay, not too roughed around by the journey.

“I think I forgot to pack those,” Dove responded quickly, wiping her clammy palms on her tummy, looking around her at the estate. This was not what she’d pictured at all when Layla had said they were going to have to be stealthy. The place was filled with people chatting, enjoying themselves, as if they’d just docked in the middle of a party scene, interrupting the entertainment for the evening.

“This guy’s got a lot of friends,” Marc said cautiously, Dove feeling his presence at her back closer than her own shadow, as if he was watching over her shoulder for any signs of trouble despite only just showing up to the place.

“With a lot of guns,” Dove murmured, catching where the string lights glinted against the noir black of an assault rifle. Feeling her stomach churn with fear, she stuck herself in between the two of the more seasoned adventurers, not wanting to stray too far from their sides.

Layla shoved the bags with their own weapons under a step in the dock, avoiding where the waves lapped at the wood. Dove’s eyes trailed over the inky froth, the briny smell in the air still lingering around her nose, taking in the starry specks of Alexandria that reflected over the shore. She could almost appreciate it from here, on land, where there was no danger of sinking; that is until her eyes fell on the dinghy that lurked around the dock, three men aboard that stared her down with a predatory gaze.

She suddenly felt just as scrutinised now as she had in the pyramid.

“What is it?” Marc asked, sensing the way he body had stilled like a deer in headlights. He followed her line of sight to the men, his jaw feathering as he bit back a curse. “Harrow’s men keeping tabs?”

“Probably,” She replied, Layla watching the men with a cautionary gaze, her lush eyebrows turning down into a frown.

“Let’s go,” The woman said, tugging at Dove’s wrist gently to ward her away from the men’s smarmy smiles. The trios faces lit up with a warm glow under the lamp’s beams cutting through the night air, small stalls like a market flanking either side of the pasture they walked across. “Remember, your name is Rufino Estrada.”

“Right,” Marc said, the three of them taking off in between the partiers towards where the stately home, likely belonging to this Mogart guy, was. “And yours is-”

“Nadia Estrada. We just got back from our honeymoon in the Maldives,” Layla replied, her eyes wandering over the various stalls, intrigued as to what had brought the elated guests here. There was only little food, very few cups of alcohol like she’d expect from a party, so what were these people buying? “Figured we may as well use our old code names, save the confusion,”

Her eyes zeroed in on a fossilised tablet, an ancient painting etched into the slab. Relics. He was selling relics; ancient, irreplaceable pieces of history and he was just casually selling them out of his yard like they were friendship bracelets, or a pitcher of lemonade.

“You guys had code names, that’s so cool,” Dove piped up, leaning up on the tips of her toes to peek at the merchandise also. “What’s mine?”

Layla stayed quiet for a second, “Truthfully, I had only accounted for it being the two of us. I assumed Marc would have left you at home to keep you out of harm’s way,”

Dove’s energy wilted, slammed with the feeling of taking up too much space in their world of adventures, “Oh, okay,”

“I guess it just means you get to choose your own name and alibi, then,” Layla cut in, trying to save the moment. She’d never intended on causing the girl upset despite the short fuse she’d had with her the moment they’d met. If anything, she’d prefer her to be back in the hotel, not to make any moves on fixing her marriage but for her own peace of mind that the girl was safe. Seeing the interest spark in her eyes again as she peered at Layla, the woman pointed in a warning way at her, “But make it believable enough that you can lie on command,”

“Right, gotcha,” She replied, her eyes falling in front of her where they were heading towards, trailing after Layla’s assertive footsteps. “So what role will I be playing then? Your assistant? A distant relative?”

“No and no,” Marc protested with a wince, his stomach turning at the idea of pretending to be her cousin, no matter how fake it was, “You can just be our friend,”

“Friend that comes on our honeymoon? That’s not a friend, that’s a third,” Layla interjected, a doubtful look on her face as they neared the manor. From what she could see, Dove caught sight of a wide sand pit, spotlights lighting up the square as a dozen men on horseback circled one another in some kind of sport. Some of the partiers, not seemingly interested in buying the goods, walked over to spectate, surrounded by a lot of security guards donned in all black, matched only by the guns cradled readily in their arms.

Dove was already feeling the panic rising in her gut.

Steven’s voice blared clear in her head, yet another of one of his stories he loved to entertain her with when they had a long night of inventory ahead of them. Or on the underground, or even when he would walk her to her door and stay for a hot cuppa on the cold Winter evenings.

“Did your father tell you about Horus and Seth’s challenge for the throne?” She asked, turning to Layla and taking a shot in the dark at the woman who hated her guts.

She rolled her eyes, “Which one?”

“When Seth had killed Osiris and taken Isis and Nephthys as his wives and attempted to take the throne over Horus by claiming it was his blood right,” Dove explained under her breath as not to draw attention to them.

Layla was intrigued now, her eyes flicking to the woman, Marc doing the same with an identical lost expression.

“What’s your point?”

“Well, when Nephthys and Isis escaped Seth’s imprisonment together, Isis led rebellion against Seth by turning herself into a beautiful, young woman to trick Seth into admitting he was not the rightful king, outwitting him because he couldn’t hold himself back from some batting eyelashes and a pretty face,” She went on to say, looking between the pair. Marc seemed to catch on quickly, raising his hands in protest to cut her off.

“Absolutely no-”

“Perfect, that’s perfect. That’s just the distraction we need. He’d never believe I’d go for him right in front of my own husband, that’s brilliant,” Layla babbled, giving a supportive nudge to the young girl’s shoulder.

Marc just rolled his eyes in defeat, fists already clenched by his side as the women smiled between one another in pride.

“Did Horus win at least?” He asked, a semi sneer on his face at the idea of her making herself a pawn in their game of facades. Dove’s head shot up to meet his bitter gaze, feeling a twinge of guilt at the way she’d so readily put herself forward for the task of bait. But why? She was no more his than he was hers.

She tried to lie to herself and pretend the idea of him alluring a woman in front of her wouldn’t stab at her chest, just thinking how she’d almost jumped for Hathor’s throat when she’d so much as spoken to him. It wasn’t so strange, she had been smitten for Steven since the moment she’d met him, falling hard and fast for his gentle hands and even gentler words. It wasn’t far of a stretch to say some of it had transferred to Marc, even with his cloudy attitude and stormy expression that never seemed to weather.

It was probably the doppelganger effect and all that, she reasoned with herself. Probably just her idle brain confusing care with love, grasping at straws for any reason to be wanted.

She smirked at his question, shrugging her shoulders, “Well, supposedly, the Gods involved couldn’t come to a decision as to who the throne went to as both Seth and Horus were part of Osiris’s bloodline. So, in order to show superiority and a challenge of manhood, Horus, uh-”

Layla chortled, obviously having heard this story from her father.

“What? What did he do?” Marc asked with a huff, though he beat down the smile that threatened to tweak at his lips when he saw the two women chuckling together.

“The story goes that Seth, uh, ejaculated over Horus to show dominance, but Isis figured out his plan to make Horus seem unworthy for the throne, and sprinkled Horus’ semen over Seth’s garden so when he came to eat from the crops he was impregnated.” Dove said, her eyes turning away bashfully at the explicit nature of the story, though he heard her giggle on her final few words.

Marc’s jaw hung open in a mixture of disgust and horror, “That did not- Wow,” He spluttered, head shaking with disbelief, “Remind me never to take Horus’ throne,”

“Do you think Gods get morning sickness?” Layla asked, Dove smirking at her statement. Figuring since the god that trailed after her had remained so quiet after the meeting with the Ennead, she felt the opportunity too good to pass up to throw punches back at the one that had caused so much havoc.

“I can see it now, the horror that is the God of Chaos with swollen ankles and a midnight craving for pickles,” The younger of the trio snarked, and for the first time since she met the El-Faouly woman, she heard a real cackle of laughter out of her.

“He definitely got trapped wind and acne when he was carrying,” She added, making Dove crease into herself with suppressed giggles.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Marc tried to quell their hysterics, yet found himself joining in quietly, secretly, because he would never let her know how contagious her laugh was to him.

“Do you reckon his breasts got sensitive?” She asked, feeling Layla nudge her with a snigger.

Their little jokes all came barreling down around her as she felt a large, cold presence linger over her shoulder, swallowing the street light completely. Any and all laughter died in her throat within a hair's width of a second, her mouth going dry almost immediately when she realised just what was behind her.

Seth. Seth, the beast she was poking with a stick. Seth, who she would bend in any which way for were he to so much as snap his fingers, if even that. Seth, whose rage she could feel blowing out of him like steam out of a train flute as his snout breathed over her spine.

“You dare mock me, insolent mortal,” He growled, a clap of thunder running through her bones, shaking them beneath her flesh.

Marc grabbed her shoulder, attempting to pull her away from the creature, knowing her words had practically waved red at a charging bull. Turning to see the terrifying creature, leering just that bit closer, snarling just that bit louder, his breath pungent with wrath.

“I- We were- I didn’t mean-” Dove’s voice was small, childlike. A kid caught with their hand in the candy jar, caught smearing lipstick over the mirror. Tiny. Guilty. Punishable.

“You wish to behave as their little seductress that you so taunt me of bedding, then that is what you will become, mutt,” Seth snarled, his upper lip twisting to reveal his sharp canines that dripped with anger. He waved his staff, the hieroglyphs rippling with dark hum, singing with glee that they were being helpful to their master.

Before she could so much as gasp, so much as apologise, fall to her knees and beg him to see she was simply fooling with the woman she had been so deeply loathed by, she felt her clothes fall away into embers around her feet, the cold night air ravaging her skin despite the heat that rose to her chest.

What was left of the cloth robbed every single speck of her dignity; made her look like some prized mare, the same kind those men rode, the same kind she used to be. A body. A doll. A whore.

Her top half was nearly entirely exposed, save for a black wrap top that just about covered her tits, though they teased enough to turn heads nearly instantly as if they’d sounded an alarm of look at me, stare at me! Gawk all you like! I am nothing but whatever you see me as!

Her arms, neck and head was wrapped in spindling pieces of gold jewellery, the headdress, as she could have guessed, bowing down her brow and to her nose like a metallic pointed snout, only making her look more like Seth himself. Egotistical bastard.

The long, onyx skirt was the only part that gave her any sort of privacy, yet that didn’t help much since there were two enormous splits in the side, a slim gold chain resting over her curved hips, the material dragging over her crotch and buttocks. A single breeze could have her exposing herself, and she realised with a blazing face that the bastard had taken away her underwear in the process.

This was the first, last and only time she was going to make fun of the God of Chaos. Chaos indeed.

“SETH, Oh holy fuck-” She hissed, hands reaching to tuck the fabric inbetween her legs frantically, covering her breasts with the other.

“Woah, what did you do?” Layla asked, eyes wide as she scanned the girl’s, womanly, body from head to toe, “I thought he was the God of Chaos not God of Leia in Jabba’s palace-”

“Give me my clothes back, NOW,” She hissed, seething with a heat that could challenge the sun god Ra, “This is not funny, I will have you turned into fossils I swear-”

She heard a dark chuckle, malicious and vengeful as he was, and felt instantly a wave of stupidity had washed over her. Of course he would punish her, what a fool she was to think he wasn’t watching at all times. What an imbecile to have thought she would be able to live a single moment as a normal woman, a normal girl laughing with a friend, her mother always warned her of men and their damaged egos. She knew this lesson well enough. She knew this story. Why was she so stupid? So naive? Marc nor Steven would ever want such an ignorant girl, not when they had women as brilliant as Layla willing to marry them. Willing to re-marry them even.

She felt like a gullible child. Always falling into the wrong hands, into the snares laid out for her, a lame doe traipsing through a hunters meadow. Wandering down the garden path as a lamb led to slaughter.

The heat caught to her cheeks, burning her ears with embarrassment at her predicament.

“What the fuck do I do?” She spun to Marc’s eyes, though she seemed to catch his coffee gaze staring right at her. Flicking over her chest, flitting down to where the chain hugged her waist, her soft, supple waist he wanted to bury his fingertips in, and her thighs, her thighs-

His gaze snapped back to her after a second of weakness, seeing the fear waiting for him there slapping him out of his reverie. How disgusting he felt to have taken such a cheap look at her, art is supposed to be enjoyed not glanced at he chided himself, though the sick feeling in his stomach that she were such a divinity beneath her everyday wear, that she wasn’t just a pure soul but an angel woman outside as well.

She made every breath for him difficult.

“Huh?” He asked with a scratchy voice after a beat of silence. Blinking as if to drag himself from a daze, he looked away from her altogether to give her some privacy, though his chest never faltered from battering away at his ribcage, “I-”

“Bek,” Layla cut him off, and god he could have thanked her. Words seemed lost on him, stuck in a purgatory between enjoying the view and hating himself and everyone around him for besmirching her body with his worthless eyes.

A man had approached in the time it had taken for Marc to have his crisis; tall, broad, handsome the two strangers noticed quickly. Sticking out her hand for a friendly handshake, ‘Bek’ pulled the slender woman in gently, raising an eyebrow as he saw the woman to her right.

“Nadia, it’s been a while,” He said cooly, shaking her hand firmly, clasping her fingers in his familiarly in a way that told Dove they were friends. Not trusted enough to know their real identities but enough to not kill them on sight. It was what they had to work with, the younger woman told herself as she clasped her hands under her armpits to hide her exposed gooseflesh, “And who is this bewitching creature?”

Dove’s face tightened as his attention was entirely on her then. She saw it immediately, the lust in his eyes; the way they hooded with want, as if they saw through her whilst simultaneously seeing too much of her.

Just like those men, the horrid part of her brain whispered, Just like those who paid for you, just like those ones that would come in the night. The ones that used you, saw you as a thing to have, to conquer. Just like the one man who put you there.

If this was a dance she’d have to perform again, then that she would. She knew every step, every turn. She knew how to puppeteer these stupid men just as easily as Seth controlled her. Perhaps that was why they were such a clean match.

“Sandie,” She said coolly, a hint of a smile twitching at her lips. Enough to make him want more, enough to make him think he could be the one to give it to her. Men and their saviour complexes, “Me and Nadia are old friends,”

Holding out her hand for him to take, she tilted her head in discontent, watching as he took her own fingers as he had Layla’s, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles, a Cheshire cat grin on his face when she seemed to watch him boredly.

They liked it when she was mean to them. She wished they would just see a therapist instead of seeking her body as a deposit.

“Right this way,” His voice was smooth in the buzzing atmosphere, the lamps suddenly too bright, the chatter too loud as they neared the ring. “After Madripoor, I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about, and perhaps something new to add,” His satin timbre stuck deep in her skin as he peered over his shoulder, trailing his eyes down her exposed legs.

Taking Layla’s hand in his own, if only to keep up appearances while they were supposedly married, Marc and Layla were but a step behind where Dove took the lead, her false confidence surprisingly convincing for a woman usually so quiet.

“Excuse me one moment, Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly,” Bek said, leaving the trio at the edge of the huge sand pit, the riders slowing their mounts at the approach of the burly man entering their training ring.

Leaning against the rail, Marc and Layla stood either side of Dove, the three of them watching as one man dismounted to talk to Bek, his shirtless body toned and lightly sweaty from what Dove could tell in the spotlights surrounding the place.

From what the girl understood, they were playing some sort of fencing sport, something similar to jousting she supposed only with less charging and more arm strength. The long wooden poles in each of their arms smacked against one another loudly, a whip like crack echoing around the open space. The sand sprayed out under the horses hooves, flicking towards where they stood in amazed silence.

“So what? This joker just puts on El-Mermah games in his backyard for fun?” Marc snarked, glaring down at every single one of the vain motherfuckers that seemed to all leer in their direction once they caught a sight of her. Yet, he simply let it happen, let her run her mouth with the new attitude she’d assumed, her new alias not at all his anymore.

“No, he gets private lessons by the best in his backyard for fun,” Layla replied, her eyes trained on the man that Bek had approached, a fine silk robe being slipped on over his arms as if he were too delicate to do it himself despite the size of his hulking arm muscles.

“I would love to get me one of those bad boys,” The youngest woman blurted, looking around the enclosure at where the rest of the men, equally as toned and attractive slid off their saddles, strutting around in their glory alongside their well groomed geldings.

The ‘married couple’ flicked a look at her, both their eyebrows raised at her statement, shock evident by their slackened jaws.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, princess,” Layla commented, eyes scanning each of the men that seemed to be waking up to the godly woman watching them ride, “I’m sure you could get any man you wanted looking like that,”

“I meant the horses…” Dove trailed off, her voice a song of innocence, perhaps even more embarrassed.

Marc was warm inside then, the four words alone reminding him she was still the same girl with the change of clothes, with the added seduction. It was still the girl sweeter than a honey pot that had trapped him like a fly and had yet to let go.

The man Bek had garnered attention from looked over at the three of them, his easy smile spreading when he saw the familiar face accompanied by two new ones. He, ofcourse, was quick to note the bare flesh the woman to her right flashed, the intricate gold spidering over her skin like a lovers touch.

“Nadia. Come in,” The man, who Dove guessed was Mogart from the way the staff scurried around him obediently. He gestured them forward, his eyes flitting over Marc who looked about as cheerful as a headache. “Such a delight to see you.”

But he was barely looking at ‘Nadia’, his dark eyes venturing over from Marc’s tight lipped smile to Dove’s exposed collarbones, flicking over her soft stomach, down over the curves of her bare thighs, even her calves got his attention. He was enraptured, taking the bait easier than she would have ever thought.

“You too,” Layla responded, shooting a glance in Marc’s direction, only to see his brow twitching. Gods had she seen that expression many times, normally before he would have stormed out of the house after one of their fights or gone to sleep on the couch. He was close to losing it already.

“How have you been?” He asked, finally ripping his eyes away from where Dove batted her lashes up at him shyly, a slight smirk to her lips that teased as he couldn’t help but glance at her face once more. Men were all the same in every country, it seemed.

“Good. Thankyou for having us over on such short notice,” Layla thanked gently, her own expression somewhere between wary and polite.

“Oh, please. I hope you realise you need no excuse to drop by,” Mogart said with his playboy smile twitching, looking cheekily at Layla, “So who are your friends?”

Layla nodded, reaching out an arm to gesture to Marc, “This is my husband, Rufino."

The women felt him tense up, holding his arm out much too forcefully for a handshake, “Nice to meet you,” Marc said, though nothing in his tone was nice by any means. Dove would have elbowed him in the side hard had Mogart and his men been watching them closely.

Dove couldn’t lie, the man was attractive. Not nearly as easy on the eyes as Marc and Steven, but he was attractive in the rich, bad boy kind of way. His scruff of a beard was dark, yet brushed neatly, not a single hair looking out of place. His nose was broad, making his face all the more masculine, bringing her attention to his mysterious dark eyes.

“Pleasure,” The millionaire looked down at Marc through disinterest, barely acknowledging his outstretched arm until he had taken a long look at ‘Rufino’. Seeming to brush Marc away almost instantly after they had shared a stiff handshake, he turned his mesmerising eyes back to Dove who leaned into his gaze, “And who is this?”

“Sandie,” She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling under the spotlights, holding out a jewelled hand for him to take. As predictable as they come, Mogart took her fingers gently and kissed them, just as Bek had, just as any other man being stared at with such allurance would want to, “Do you not get scared playing those games without a helmet on?”

The purity was clear in her voice, and it had Mogart’s eyes latching onto her mouth that seemed to call to him like a siren song.

“You are too sweet,” He said, yet to let go of her fingertips as she stepped towards him, his chiselled body turning to lead the trio towards his private collection, “You see, these horses are some of the finest Arabian thoroughbreds, mine has yet to throw me even once-”

The two of them took the lead, Dove making sure her shoulder brushed against his just enough for him to understand she wanted to invade his space, let him see her as closely as possible. She looked at him with the right amount of naivety, the rest seduction. Tilted her body towards his so he could see the way her hips curved, her breasts rounded.

“She’s good,” Layla whispered to Marc, seeing Anton’s face take her in for her entirety. It was as though she had him under a spell, even she as a woman mostly interested in men couldn’t help but appreciate the way the shadowy night seemed to preen under her glow. She wondered if it was Seth’s doing, yet he didn’t seem the type to deploy love potions. “I see why you like her,”

Marc’s chest froze. In the midst of glaring down the man’s hand that lingered at her lower back, guiding her towards his mansion of a house, he had barely even registered that Layla had been speaking until he’d heard that.

“I don’t- What the hell are you talking about, I can barely stand her,” He snapped, Layla’s short snort making his ears turn red. “I’m only keeping her around because she’d important to Steven,”

“Riiiight, for Steven’s sake, yep?” She drawled, the knowing look in her eye at how he squirmed under her gaze, “You know, we weren’t strangers once. I know what that look means,”

“What look?” Marc glanced back at his ex-wife, his eyes softening with the familiarity he found in her. He had loved her, he had loved her at one point with everything he’d had. But with her it was like trying to make two puzzle pieces go together when they were from opposite ends of the picture. They just wouldn’t fit. He’d loved her, she’d love him, but not enough to show her all of him; show her the full artwork.

She grinned at him smugly, reaching out to grab his hand as if to keep up the pretence they were still married, “Try not to ruin this one, will you? I’m starting to tolerate her,”

Marc scoffed to himself, “No, you like her. You just don’t want her to see past your big, cold independent badass thing you’ve got going on,”

“If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, Spector,” She nudged him, her eyes trailing back to where the girl now had Anton pointing out his horses by name, hanging onto his every word as if she gave a shit. Then again, Layla didn’t doubt she was planning on talking the wealthy man into giving her one at this rate. Sighing, she leaned away from Marc, looking at the outfit that showed her off just as well as one of his livestock. “Just promise me something?”

Marc looked at her troubled expression but said nothing. He had learnt from Khonshu quickly not to promise anything before he knew what he was getting himself into.

“Get her away from Seth as soon as this is over,” Layla pleaded, quickly seeing the guilt that washed over his face as she’d said it, “Now he has a body weak enough for him to control at his whim, he won’t want to let go so quickly. Who knows what he would make her do? She’s not cut out for this life, Marc,”

How would you know, you’ve barely said two normal words to her, Marc wanted to snap, You don’t know her, she is so much stronger than I ever gave her credit for, she could do anything if you just gave her a chance.

But he knew that was selfish. He knew that was his own mind wanting to keep her needing him, the twisted part of him that craved to be needed wanted her for as long as he could. Yes he kept her safe for Steven, for her own sake, but the bitter part of him that hated the world loved every second of the euphoria that came with her desperation for him. He craved that high like the hardest drug off the Madripoor market, like he had forgotten what living and not just surviving this awful life felt like until that day she’d brought him the dead bird. She was good, she was the best thing he’d ever seen in his miserable life. She was a beacon in his dark mind.

But Layla was right, she wasn’t cut out for his life. She didn’t deserve a wretched man like him, she deserved Steven. He couldn’t get too attached, he knew he’d have to leave her as soon as they’d figured out how to get rid of Khonshu and Seth from their lives.

Maybe that's why he pushed Layla away with a bitter frown, dropping her hand. Sometimes the truth pill hurts to swallow, and Layla had just served him up an overdose.

“I hope you understand this is more than a collection to me,” Anton said, peeking over his shoulder at the couple that seemed to be all eyes on the younger woman. “Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously,”

“That’s a lot of responsibility for one man, surely you must get lonely,” ‘Sandie’ dared a sweet smile at the man who was on her like a moth to a street lamp.

He gave her a boyish smirk back, but she could still tell he held his walls high, kept his cards close after seeing Marc’s gloomy attitude. Trust it to be the masculinity competition the two had going on to ruin her bait.

“I prefer to see it as a philanthropic effort at preservation.” He replied, leading the way to a quieter courtyard where a few of the larger items seemed to be held under glass mimics of the pyramids, not a single fingerprint or speck of dust on the clear surfaces. The first one held what seemed to be a collection of effigies of the gods, similar to the one she had been thrown into that night at the museum only much smaller, most likely found in temples or the homes of wealthy members of Ancient Egyptian society.

Yet Anton led them to a halt outside the second one, opposite the statues, where thin pillars held up a collection of golden masks she recognised from Dylan’s tours as funerary masks, used to preserve the dignity of the deceased. They circled an even wider stand in the middle, a sarcophagus propped wide open for viewing pleasure in the centre, highly detailed from what she could see under the beaming lamps being stood so far away.

“Now, if I may ask, why such an interest in Senfu in particular?” Mogart questioned and the trio felt the air tighten around them, the silent accusation lingering close. Anton’s face was not amused, interested in the woman to his right as he may be, he was still smart and kept his wits about anyone attempting to pull wool over his dark eyes. Dove opened her mouth to pipe up with an entirely innocent excuse, something along the lines of Layla had told her all about Medjay and their burial practices and wanted to see what the fuss was about. But before she had so much as began her fabricated tale, Mogart flashed her a dimmed smile and held up his hand, “I’m sorry, I’d like to hear from the husband if you don’t mind, sweetling,”

Dove felt her breath hitch, covering it with a pleasant nod, turning to watch Marc meticulously, the pressing look of ‘don’t fuck this up’ in her eyes.

Marc seemed to get stuck on his words for just a second too long as he looked between Anton's unimpressed glare and Dove’s masked panic, feeling his mouth go dry as he had not prepared himself for improv.

Laughing humorlessly through his nose, he turned to look past the group and at the sarcophagus, gesturing with his open hand to fill time, “I think that- But I just think that we’d love to take a look,” He choked out, and a deadly silence befell the group.

That was perhaps the least convincing lie Dove had ever heard. They were so fucked.

Layla and Marc seemed to jump as she let out a loud laugh, her hand coming to clap on the man’s shoulder. “Ah, Rufino, you’re so funny,” She said, squeezing his muscles, turning to him with a bright grin. Shaking her head ditsily, she looked to Layla as if to warn her to play along before returning to Anton’s suspicious look, “This was all my idea. Nadia and Rufino were kind enough to let me crash their holiday so I could see some artefacts- a silly hobby of mine I rarely indulge in. They spoil me too much, I think,” She giggled, turning towards the glass pyramid with a hopeful look on her younger face, “You won’t mind if they look first?”

Anton seemed to bite his cheek, calculating the girl’s motives, yet even Layla would admit the words were smooth, believable. Had she not known the actual plan herself, she’d think she was crashing a couples post honeymoon glow with her mollycoddled, airhead act.

“By all means,” Mogart seemed in slightly better terms, though still slightly bitter as Layla and Marc headed straight towards the casket with a slight flash of relief on their faces. “So, sweetling, what is it about our history that intrigues you so?”

She leaned in towards him, her face smoothing out into young innocence, watching his reaction carefully. This job was like a mechanic tuning an old car, watching for every tiny movement in their body, waiting for that hum of enamourance where she knew she had them wrapped around her finger.

Men were the same in every country, in every part of history, in every facet of life. Every one of them except Steven. And Marc, she’d now realised.

“I don’t know,” She said, playing with her rings absently, head cocked like a placid dog waiting for a pet, “Perhaps I like the idea that people one day could be holding my things up in museums or paying hundreds to see what my life looked like. I like the idea that they were all once the same as me, you know? All just humans doing human things,” She hadn’t meant to be so honest, had never expected to speak from her heart, but her airy voice seemed to conceal her raw emotion well enough. Mogart seemed to warm under her answer, no doubt finding her cute, a little woman with a little brain having such big thoughts about life.

She knew Steven would have taken her answer as gospel.

“So about these Arabian Thoroughbreds, how much would one of those set a sweet girl back?” She asked, trailing her golden fingertips over his shoulder when Anton’s eyes cut over her shoulder, straightening a touch when he saw Layla there. She met the woman’s eyes, trying not to seem so thrown off by her appearance, her interruption in the plan.

“Rufino would like to show you something before we consider making any purchases,” Layla said, the push in her voice for her to not ask questions and to just head inside the pyramid telling her everything she needed. Their plan was not going so smoothly after all.

“Ofcourse,” Dove smiled back, beaming at Anton with a cheeky glint in her eyes. “I’ll be just a moment,” She promised, watching his eyes dilate as she ran her finger down his arm. Take the bait, take the bait and don’t ask questions.

“Don’t take too long,” He replied, meeting her eyes over her shoulder as she slinked into the glass structure, feeling his eyes dropping over her hips, over her bare thighs.

She entered the faux tomb, feeling hot under the blazing sets of eyes on her back as she came to a stop at Marc’s side.

“I’m starting to think I would make a great super-spy,” She whispered, leaning into him to keep up the pretence of two old friends on a relaxing holiday, “Maybe I should be Bond and you can be the sexy femme fatale I can save,”

Marc rolled his eyes, frowning and nudging her back, “Concentrate. These guys won’t hesitate to drop you no matter how pretty you look, princess,” It was a sneer, it was a bark of an order for her to quit messing around, that their lives were very much on the line here, and yet she couldn’t help look at him bashfully for his choice of words. He caught the girlish grin and the slight softness in her eyes, realising what he’d said to make her so coy. Fighting the heat that threatened to meet the apples of his cheeks, he turned away from her, staring hard down at the scrawl of writing inscribed in the stone, “Just read the damn sarcophagus, would you? Layla couldn’t get anything from it,”

Fighting the urge to snicker, she scanned over the funerary rites, her mind unravelling the translations she’d spent three years studying.

“It’s Hieratics,” She whispered, skimming the cursive writing, “Different to Hieroglyphics, it's known as the priestly script, the kind usually found on respected members of royalty, their blessings to carry them to the afterlife.” Marc gawked at her, the words sounding gibberish to him despite Layla drilling this stuff into him for years. He was sure if it were Steven in his place he would have been teetering on an orgasm by now, seeing her brows furrowed in concentration as she spurted knowledge about the writing styles. Taking a moment to skim the texts, the words became tales and spells, guidance for the deceased, wishes of good health in his next journey. But nothing about Ammit or his allegiance to her. Her brows furrowed as she flickered over the symbols, wondering if there was anything she was missing.

“What? What does it say?” Marc asked, chancing a glance over his shoulder to where Anton and Layla seemed to be watching them with hawk eyes now, though his ex-wife looked more nervous than anything.

“It speaks of how to cross through the gates at the Hall of Double Justice once you get to the other side of the Duat. It warns him of traps the gods may have set up; nets that will swallow him whole.” She leaning a little closer, some of the lettering worn away by its age, “There’s spells for repelling apshai-beetles-”

“Huh?”

“Apshai was the God of insects, said to be able to summon a horde of them that could block out the sun and devour men,” She brushed him off, searching further in the coffin for anything else, “It speaks of how to deflect them in the duat- all I’m seeing is how to guide the dead, no location indicated anywhere.”

She huffed leaning away from the relic with a defeated look on her face, giving the whole thing another read over.

“That’s because the information needs to be unlocked,” Marc’s head whipped up to the ceiling, where his reflection glared clearly back at him in front of the night sky. “It’s coded,”

Marc sighed, grabbing the girl’s attention. “What is it?” She asked, her eyes wide, worried their plan was entirely fucked.

“It’s Steven,” He said grumpily, watching her eyes light up in hope.

“Does he know the answer? Just let me talk to him, I’m sure we could figure it out,” She interrupted, flashing a quick and casual smile to Anton who had seemed to tense up at their rushed whispering, despite the fact her stomach was in knots.

“No, he’s not ready for- He said it’s coded, it needs to be deciphered,” He murmured back, watching her face smooth out into realisation.

“Ofcourse, priests did this all the time. Grave robbing was so common they had to hide their valuables, or in this case their information,” Dove smiled up at him, the accomplishment clear on her face, “So? Let Steven out, he’s great at puzzles and stuff like this-”

“Absolutely not, he won’t last two seconds if this starts getting ugly,” Marc snapped, gesturing to the sarcophagus despite the way her face fell, “Can’t you just do it? You guys solve stuff like this for fun,”

It was true, another of their weekly routines to pull out a board game of some sort and have a crack at it together. Or race to see who could put together a jigsaw the fastest. Ofcourse, they always wrote each other new rules for the games in other languages to add to the fun, she’d once thrown him completely off by writing out her best sanskrit. He’d been lost the entire hour. Yet even when they’d done an escape room together, Steven had been ten steps ahead of her at all times while she just stared after him, finding his intelligence dreamy.

“Yeah, and he almost always wins because he’s like the cleverest person I know,” She cut back, frowning at his stubbornness, “And incase you hadn’t noticed, Marc, this is an ancient encrypted casket not fucking UNO,”

Steven snorted, the sound only pissing Marc off even more as his gaze snapped to the ceiling, confronting his alter head on.

“Do you want a blood bath? Do you want her hurt? Because that’s the way it’s heading if you don’t start talking,” Marc cursed bitterly, throwing his hands out to the woman who glared at the sarcophagus like it owed her money. Soft eyes flicking to where Marc’s forehead creased, the worry was evident behind his mask of anger. He wasn’t worried about Harrow right now, or about the tomb, he was worried about her.

“Alright, have it your way,” Steven conceded, his own brown hues dropping to watch her from his place in the glass, a sad longing on his reflected face, “But this isn’t for you, I hope you know that,”

“Loud and clear,” Marc nodded, callused hands resting over the remains that sat inside the coffin, “Alright, what do I do?

“Check the cartonage,” Steven instructed, “Now, take that first piece and fold it over the middle piece,”

“This one?” Marc pointed to the smaller piece of fabric on the right, Dove’s eyes watching his military smooth expression carefully.

“Yes, that one,” Steven replied, exasperated as Marc did what he said. Dove followed his movements, the pattern quickly forming in front of them. Jumping at the chance to help, she grabbed the middle piece of the map folding it in half in order to create the correct shape, handing it to Marc so he could tuck it into place-

“Hey, what are you doing?” A hand grabbed Dove’s shoulder, yanking her away from the sarcophagus with a gasp, her own fingers reactively reaching to grab onto Marc. For Marc it was like clockwork, him snatching the gun from Bek’s hands, him taking a step in front of Dove, her hands gripping the tail of his jacket tightly, peaking over his shoulder with guilty eyes.

“Marc!” The pair of them turned their attention to Layla, her hands raised in surrender, two of Anton’s men pointing pistols at her closely. Even if they were to miraculously get one of them away from the El-Faouly woman, the second would pull the trigger without thinking, “Don’t,”

They were caught.

A breath passed between the trio, defeat written in bold ink on the two women’s faces, before Marc’s nose scrunched in annoyance. “Shit!”

He shoved the gun back at Bek, who grabbed it before they had any chance to get out of his grasp, his lip curling into a sneer at the pair in front of him, the barrel of his weapon staring straight at them. His flirty nature was long gone as he glared at the woman who wished for the ground to swallow them up.

Anton stepped past his guards, entering the glass room with a grave look on his handsome face, dark eyes looking between Marc and the woman that shadowed him, afraid to move so much as an inch were she to get Marc or Layla hurt.

“Do you really think I’m an idiot?” Anton scoffed, Marc’s jaw flickered with tension as he watched Anton’s eyes slide past him to the woman who looked back at him meekly, “And you? I won’t deny I would have enjoyed a night spent with you, sweetling. But you have been a sly creature,”

He reached out to pinch her chin gently, eyes roaming her lips that parted with a held breath, Marc tensing at her side. He envisioned himself breaking every one of the man’s fingers, of blinding him for daring to look at her so longingly, so perversely, as if seeing her was an enrichment he wanted to keep all to himself.

Then, as if to dial Marc’s already hot temper to a thousand, Anton smirked at her.

“Ofcourse, you could always just tell me what it was your little friends wanted, and I can let the three of you go unharmed?” He proposed, his umber gaze meeting hers with a flick of fervour, “For an added expense, of course,”

“You piece of-” Marc began, the heat of Ra in his glare, his veins running hot under his sepia skin. She cut him off, without a second of hesitation, without so much as a glance at him or his ex-wife.

“Anything,” She practically heard Layla’s laboured breath, the way every heart in the room seemed to stop at her word. Anton’s grin grew on his boyish face, this brows raising in surprise, “You let them both go, and you can have anything you want,”

Marc’s jaw slackened as he looked at her incredulously. What was she doing? How could she throw herself to the wolves like that?

“And if I wanted you? If I wanted to keep you?” Anton asked, his white teeth a glint behind his full lips that seemed to purse at the sight of her. She nodded, ignoring the feeling of Marc’s vicious glare burning a crater in the side of her skull. How could she do this to Steven, how could she stoop so low?

If they got out of here alive, if she got Layla out safe, she would go as low as it took. Layla who hated her, Layla who wished her hung, drawn and quartered, Layla who was human and had no god to save her, to repair her wounds.

“Anything,” She confirmed, a distant look glazing over her eyes as she signed her name on the invisible dotted line, threw herself in with the dogs once more.

Just as Anton’s grin was about to spread just that bit wider, victory ringing clear in his chocolate gaze that swept over her fact. He’d always had an eye for the valuable things in life, and he felt as if he’d just hit the jackpot. Bek leaned in towards his boss, speaking in hushed tones that even Dove struggled to hear until she realised it was because he was speaking French.

Anton’s head whipped towards his manor, where three figures stalked forward towards them, the armed men nudging the trio to exit the glass sculpture and follow the millionaire to meet the newcomers.

But Dove already had a pit in her stomach that told her exactly who it was waiting for them.

“It appears we have a concerned third party here,” The handsome man said, traipsing over to where Harrow and two of his followers approached, not batting a single eyelash to the shit show they’d stumbled upon, his telltale walking stick thumping against the sand pathway.

She felt her blood simultaneously freeze and boil in her capillaries, terrified of just how well he seemed to know her as if he understood anything about the things she’d seen, the things that had led her to here, yet angered from it all the same. Of what he’d called her the last time they’d met. Of how he’d spoken about Marc.

This time there were no gods to save his throat if she were to rip it out.

“Whatever they’ve proposed, I’m sure I can offer you something much more tangible,” Harrow declared, unveiling his hand from his pocket to show off the scarab. The scarab they had lost, the same one that seemed to levitate in the palm of his weathered hand and point in the direction of the tomb. A compass, a navigator, she realised, “Why settle for anything less when you could have a god's share of treasure?” The little bug hummed in his hands, its golden wings glinting in the moonlight.

“Anton, don’t listen to this man, he’s trying to stop us-” Layla started, her hands waving between surrender and gesturing wildly, watching Anton become enamoured with a new valuable, something better than a woman for the night.

“Please, stop,” Anton brushed her off, scowling at her with disinterest.

“She’s telling the truth. He’s planning to kill millions, trust me,” Dove jumped in, her eyes avoiding Harrow’s all knowing gaze, the wealthy man’s frown diverting to her.

“Are the two of you seriously talking about trust?” Anton snapped, his eyes finding their way back to the solid gold figure Harrow held out to him with the promise of more. If there was one thing men wanted more than women, Dove had learned quickly, learned the hard way, it was money.

“Anything! I told you I’d give you anything, get you anything if you just listen to us, please Anton,” Dove begged, feeling the but of the gun pressing into her skull as she took a step towards him. Tossing her a look over his shoulder, Anton seemed to boredly take her in, as if his reverie of having her to himself had worn off, the promise of more wealth than he could dream of, an inheritance for a goddess herself, outweighing any sort of sexual or physical favour she could give him. “He’s planning to slaughter children,”

“Please, there’s no need to descend into violent accusations,” Harrow started, his calm voice only making her seem all the more hysterical as she finally braved a look at him. Just as she suspected, his cold blue hues were already staring through her body in amusement, as if her worry and wildness was all but a game to him. A tally on his leaderboard. Harrow: 2 - Dove: Nil. “Each one of you has so much more in common than you know,”

His gaze shifted to the woman next to her, his eyes filling with false pity, the smirk on his lips telling her otherwise, “Layla, you keep thinking that distance will prevent the wounds from your father’s murder from reopening, but something stands in your way. You know that Marc never told you the truth, you know he hid things from you, maybe that’s why you can’t bring yourself to love him anymore, because he could never be honest,”

Tears glinted in the woman’s lash line as she looked at Marc, every word of his conviction true. She could never love Marc as she had once, never love him anything past nostalgia, an old memory she was learning to shake. But she’d had her suspicions, that he knew more about what had happened to her father than he’d told her, she saw it in the way he tensed every time she brought Abdallah up, he was a worse liar than he thought, or perhaps she had just known him that well.

“And Marc, you never told her because you knew that if you did, she’d see you exactly as you see yourself, as unworthy of the love she could have given you,” Marc’s glare could have melted Harrow to the bone as the older man approached, the glass in his shoes clinking wetly with his every footstep, seeming to enjoy this game of cat and mice he had with the trio already at odds with one another. It was like he was setting a fox into the hen house just to see them scramble.

“You piece of shit,” Marc hissed, his lip curled in anger as Harrow set his gaze slowly back to where Dove stood frozen in place, all too aware of how much he knew, of what he’d seen in her.

“Which brings us to the little pup,” He smiled, a chill running over her spine the moment it grew on his features, a lump balling in her throat, “She cowers in guilt every waking moment knowing if the two of you, if Steven heavens forbid, saw the real her, if you knew what she’d done before she was the meek little bird that worked at a gift shop, you’d be truly horrified. Dare I say, you’d hate her,”

She felt their eyes on her in an instant. Yet she couldn’t drag her horrified stare away from Harrow, who only watched her victoriously. She felt her legs shaking under her weight, weak and numbed from his revelation. There would be questions, there would be answers she couldn’t give. People she only ever visited in her sleep, others she ran from every second of the day.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” She croaked, her face tightening with the lump in her throat, eyes hot, lip trembling. Harrow just scoffed.

“Don’t I?” He leered closer to her, slipping the scarab back into his pocket, “Why don’t you tell your new beau what you did to the last man who had you?” He gestured to Anton who seemed to look her up and down, not with lust anymore. No, with caution. Wariness. Worry. He was scared of her. Disgusted. Her eyes chanced a glance at Marc and Layla who looked equally as perplexed, watching for her reaction. They couldn’t see, they weren’t allowed to see. They saw too much, saw right through her. They would hate her, they would leave her for dead.

She’d have to tell them what she’d done to him, to the man who’d put her there. How she’d made him pay for what he’d done to Grace, for taking her away from her family. How he was unrecognisable by the time she was finished with him.

She was back in that room, the window empty, the curtains shut. Grace was… she couldn’t even stomach the thought of it. Of her lying in that room alone, choking on air because of the white pills he’d given her as a reward, as if they were in need of a reward for their good behaviour. In need of anything to satiate them, keep them quiet long enough he would be able to keep them just a little longer.

She wished she’d never taken his number that first night, wished she’d stayed balancing her three jobs to make rent money instead of running after him ‘down the yellow brick road’ as he’d said. She had been in love at first, then she had been scared, terrified when she realised the monsters that lay in wait for her chomping at the bit, empty when she found out Grace had…

But now, now all she felt was anger.

The letters, the damn letters she asked Oz to send to her brothers, the ones where she poured her heart out with apologies, ‘I love you’s and ‘I want to come home’. The ones where she sent the money back to them, the money she’d earned, the whole reason she’d left them, went with Oz on blind faith, the money she stuck around for knowing she was keeping them afloat back home. The same damn letters she’d found stuffed into a duffel bag at the bottom of his wardrobe.

She had been looking for Grace’s things, he’d had her room cleaned by his men who seemed to know exactly what they were doing when moving a body out. She’d wanted just her cardigan, the lilac ones that made Grace’s eyes look like a bed of bluebells, that brought out the buttermilk tones of her blonde hair. She’d missed her more than usual this week.

Yet all she found was the letters, each one addressed to her brothers, money still inside the envelopes, never sent, never opened like he’d promised.

She was angrier than she even knew was possible to feel.

The past two years had meant nothing. She had let those men, those bastards do whatever they liked to her. Had crawled into Grace’s arms when they’d left, when the nights were longer. Had been his dog, his mutt, his puppet for two years; left her brothers, left Billie, with no explanation hoping the letters and the money would be enough to see them through, enough to keep the house and have their bellies filled, their feet warm. She had watched Grace get drained just as she was, had cried every tear, laughed every laugh, danced every step with her just to see her wither under his cruel hand, just to see her take a bad cocktail of painkillers and see herself out of the savage life they lived.

Grace, her sweet saving grace, gone. And it was because of him.

She remembered him coming home, remembered hearing his footsteps beating against the wooden stairs, hearing the second one from the top that squeaked under anyone's weight. She’d learned quickly how to get around this house where no one could hear her the way a doe steers clear from a hunting ground. It was nature, survival of the fittest.

She heard him huff, scratch his thick black hair as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Oz, as known by his friends. Frank Osbourne, as known by his government. A dead man walking, as known by Dove.

He stepped into her room, the biggest bunch of flowers in his hands she’d ever seen. Red roses, cliche, the kind every man assumes his girlfriend wants. Oz plastered on a wide smile, too forced for her to appreciate, the coldness still in his eyes. She saw through his mask, his act. She saw how he seemed bored every second he pretended to care.

“Hey there, doll,” He leaned down to kiss her brow, shoving the roses into her lap as if he wanted rid of them already, “I got you these, you know just to cheer you up a bit after all this mess the past few weeks,”

“Mess?” She croaked, her dead eyes watching as he paced around her bed to open the curtains onto the night air. The abandoned hotel opposite had still yet to realise their Welcome sign was still blaring its neon red light after ten years of disuse. The ‘C’ and the final ‘E’ flickered every now and then, but other than that, the red poured into her dark room as if it were sat on her own bedside table.

Mess. As if Grace hadn’t been ripped from her arms whilst she screamed and wept and begged for her to stay. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me alone, you’re all I have left.

But now it was just the two of them.

Oz scoffed, her eyes following his figure that slumped on the bed, leaning down to undo his shoe laces. “Well, I was thinking,” He continued, “Since I let you have a few weeks off to pick yourself back up, I was thinking I could start taking you dancing again the way we did before? Find a new club? Get you another VIP lounge like at the Emerald so you could earn your keep,”

Before this house, when she’d met him. When he’d offered her a job as a barmaid. Given her his number on a little yellow slip, the red words “Follow the yellow brick road,” glittering back at her from his lapel pocket. True to his name, his club had been something out of a wonderland. The “Over the Rainbow” Gentleman’s club was tucked away below the streets of the town, away from prying eyes that would see through the glamour of the girls sold in red slippers. The VIP lounge, a room called The Emerald City, where the most expensive girls were expected to live up to their prices, where she’d served the parties alcohol, tidied when the girls were done, made sure they were all ready for their next show. That was how it had started.

Then his plans changed. Then he’d forced her into the ruby red heels, put her to work for him. Sold her to the highest bidder of the night. And worst of all, he’d convinced her it was a good idea, made her think it was all her own purpose.

She smiled emptily at him, reaching under the bed to grab the straps on the duffel bag. In one swift movement, she chucked the bag onto the duvet in front of him, the weight of her letters, her words that carried her every apology she’d uttered in the last two years, the weight of a girl missing home.

“Earn my keep?” She sneered, watching his handsome face stare down at the bag with a calculating coldness. “Why have you not sent these? That money was for my brothers- you said-”

“Now let’s not get hysterical, doll.” He held his hands up to stop her in her angered state, “I didn’t send those letters because I knew people would come after you. And I couldn’t risk losing my most prized possession because of some high school dropouts and that pill popping little brother of yours-”

That was when she had lost it. Her brothers had been through shit and back, and Mikey had picked up the same awful habit their mother had, but he was her brother. She would let him do what he liked with her, but she drew a line in the sand at her littlest boy.

Before she’d even known she had it in her, she’d thrown a fist at his face, hit him square across his cheekbone. Sammy always told her to aim for the nose or the chin, that boy was always getting into scraps, but she didn’t care. She felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she grunted with the effort.

“I would choose all of them a million times over if it meant being away from you,” She yelled, her breaths coming out in rattled gasps, “I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about you, everything I ever loved is gone and it’s because of you-”

She wished she’d been more prepared for the retaliation, but she still felt the vitriol wave of shock as his hand came across her face in a loud slapping sound.

“Because of you, my girl,” Oz spat, launching himself to grab her by her top, dragging her towards him as if she was a ragdoll, “I have only ever been good to you. You were nothing when I found you, remember?” She felt the tears brewing as his voice roared in her face, her brows furrowed in vicious anger, “Nothing, you were a street rat. You could barely afford to eat with that lot dog piling on you for your wages,”

“You say that like you’re any better, Oz,” She spat back. There was a single second where she saw the expressionless face turn, turn into something dark, something hateful.

It was all a blur from then, a harder hit striking her face, shoving her into the huge vanity mirror, her temple colliding with the glass. It smashed on its impact, shards spraying around her, littering her messy desk with tiny glints that looked like red stars in the light of the hotel sign.

She felt the dribble of blood from her hairline, the thickness of it rolling down her cheek like a cardinal honey, though the bitter metallic smell hit her faster than the pain. She was sure she was in shock, she felt numb to the prickling pain of the gash, though she doubted she’d ever feel anything deeper than the torment of knowing her life was gone. Knowing Grace was never coming back, that she could never go back home. It was gone, irreplaceably gone. No amount of rough hands or vile words could cut so deep as the aloneness she felt.

They stared at one another for a moment, her slumped over her desk, just about able to lean herself on her hands, meeting his abhorrent gaze in the mirror.

“I suggest you quit acting up, girl, or next time I won’t be so forgiving,” He spat, turning his back to her to begin unbuttoning his jacket, a huff passing his lips as if she had worn his patience thin, “Take of your clothes and make yourself useful, why don’t you?”

Her lip curled in anger, her reflection looking back at her as she tore her gaze away from his muscled back, ignoring the way he worked on unbuckling his belt, knowing what he wanted.

He wanted her to forget, to pretend as though she wasn’t torturing herself every moment of the day thinking about what she had lost. Looking at herself then in the mirror of the vanity, truly seeing what she’d become, the glass that seemed about as broken as her spirit distorting her view. It was no longer just Grace or her brothers or her job or her life that was gone. She had lost herself. She was not a person anymore but a shell, a phantom. A dead girl walking. She and Grace had always been two sides of the same coin.

She was nothing. He was right. She was nothing.

Her eyes were sunken, cold, dead. She wondered if it had been her who had overdosed in the next room with how ill she looked, smaller than normal. Weaker. Stony. Her skin was lifeless, her hair thinning. Her lips were dry, her eyes glassy. She looked like a corpse. A doll. A mannequin.

She was nothing.

She watched the blood trickle down to her jaw, tinier cuts from the glass shrapnel beginning to pucker and weep their own fresh redness, looking like crimson freckles.

She was nothing.

He lay back on the bed, his trousers slid down to his ankles to reveal a plain pair of grey boxers, his manhood barely concealed as he reached into her bedside cabinet and grabbed himself a cigarette and a lighter.

She was nothing.

“Well then?” He prompted, the white stick waggling between his pink lips as he spoke, “You gonna do as you’re told, my girl, or do you need another smack of the face to knock sense into ya’?”

And then she thought of every one of Grace’s laughs. She thought of the girl's heartbeat against her own whenever they hugged. She thought of the way she was so kind, so sweet on her. She thought of how Grace always had a way of fixing her bruises inside and out. She thought of every one of her freckles, how her eyes always seemed to be watching her with adoration. And then it was taking her brothers to school, the nights she stayed up with Joey to do homework, even though he was the smartest kid she’d ever known. It was Christmas, oh how she loved Christmas once, when they’d each scrimp to get each other something decent, it was the way her brothers pitched in to get her a bike she didn’t have the heart to tell them she couldn’t ride. It was the socks Mikey tried to knit her, that her pinky toe stuck out of on both sides. It was cooking them all breakfast before she went to work at her cleaning job, making sure not a child left her house on an empty stomach like she had when she was their age. It was her and Sammy dragging Dad in from the porch chair when he’d had one too many. It was Matty bringing home Billie the first time, the feeling of holding the tiniest little girl with the thickest hair. A child bringing her a child. It was dancing with the toddler in the kitchen, her soft feet stood on her own as she hummed Billy Joel’s Vienna. It was Mum and Dad when they were young and happy, when the boys had been small and Mum had been to rehab and seemed to stick to her promises for a few years at least. It was the day they went on their first and last family holiday, the day her and the boys had played on the beach until their little legs were sore and their tummies aching from laughing. The ice cream that stuck to their face, the salt that dried on their skin.

She was nothing anymore.

She was nothing but angry.

Vengeful.

She was a savage let loose.

Reaching over her desk, her dead eyes looking back at themselves, her fingers wrapped around a long shard of glass that had split off, toppling onto the wooden surface with a delicate clink, ignoring the way it cut into her own skin painfully.

She was nothing but chaos.

–

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[marlenacantswim]

love the way edgar wright uses diegetic sound effects for non-diegetic purposes.

Hot Fuzz, the scene with the whole police department sitting together in the bar. after nicholas tells sergeant fisher that he's been stabbed before, there's a cut to danny turning his head towards nicholas. while the reaction shot and following dialog would be enough to show that this information has piqued his interest, you can hear in the sounds of the bustling bar atmosphere the ring of a cash register opening, timed perfectly with his reaction. the sound effect is part of the background noise but its placement in the scene is purposeful and communicative. the same thing happens later, instead timed with skinner raising his glass for a cheers after his "drink to their demise" comment.

sounds of the security cam footage rewinding are used similarly when nick and the andys are in the nwa room looking for clues about merchant's house exploding, showing buildup of tension when nicholas snaps at andy's church fete comment, and suppression of tension when butterman confirms andy's comment.

thunder of course punctuates the more devastating lines of dialog in the rain after messenger is murdered, though this is a well-worn trope.

there's a ticking sound in the background during the entirety of the time nicholas is in the flower shop, which increases in speed and becomes more obvious as ms. tiller explains why she's moving out.

the shop buzzer sound that's always punctuating actions in skinner's grocery. the sounds from the arcade in the bar replicating the motions of the camera. i haven't even gotten into any of his other movies, but this stuff is everywhere.

[13eyond13]

Hii for the fandom ask game I'm shooting two of your questions right back at you because when you asked me them they made me immediately wonder about your answers, 23 and 25! Also: 1, 8, and 16!

omg thank you for so many asks!

23. The fandom you're curious about because of a mutual:

@stvlti posting on my dash about the new Scott Pilgrim anime got me curious enough to start watching it recently! I read those comics back in college and thought they were pretty great, as was the Edgar Wright movie. And the anime seems like a very good adaptation of it so far. Can't explain how funny it is as a Canadian to see Canada as the setting for an anime, either... I just feel like we have such a bland normie country to set things in, hahaha

I'm also getting very curious about a ton of different manga thanks to the recs I've received on my blog recently! (X)

25. A piece of advice for taking care of yourself in fandom spaces:

HMMM.

I think the main thing I get people asking me about here sometimes is how to make more friends in the fandom, especially when you're new and don't know anybody. I think the main bits of advice I have on that front is:

(1) I SWEAR YOU AREN'T BEING SNUBBED/INTENTIONALLY IGNORED, YOU'RE PROBABLY JUST NOT ON OTHER PEOPLE'S RADARS AT ALL

So follow a bunch of other bloggers in that fandom and interact with their blogs first! Like their posts, send them polite/friendly asks looking for their takes (this is especially easy to do when people reblog ask memes), and be brave enough not to go on anon when you do it so they can see your lovely face and actually potentially make a connection with you! Most people LOVE getting asks and are flattered when somebody else asks for their thoughts. If you're genuine with your interest it shouldn't take long for other people to start taking interest in you back.

Which leads to my second point of:

(2) MAKE SURE YOU ACTUALLY ARE POSTING THINGS ON YOUR BLOG ON A SEMI-REGULAR BASIS! People will probably click on your blog once you start interacting with them, and they will most likely only follow you back if you actually have stuff on your blog that shows your interests/personality/the kinds of things they can expect you to be posting on their dash! You can easily stock up a bunch of posts into a queue if you're worried about spamming the dash or don't want to be online 24/7 too, so it will keep your blog active without you actually having to be there all the time.

ALSO DO NOT HAVE TOO MUCH SHAME TO LITERALLY ASK YOUR FOLLOWERS TO SEND YOU ASKS. Reblog fandom ask memes, it's a great way to give people a template of questions to bug you nicely with, and answering one ask often leads to receiving another ask!

(3) DO YOUR OWN THING WHETHER OR NOT ANYBODY IS CONSTANTLY PATTING YOU ON THE BACK. First and foremost I'm usually making myself laugh here on my blog and hoarding all of these posts for myself, so even when I'm not getting constant feedback from others I'm still having a good time and posting on the regular! I'm SUPER glad that other people get something out of it too, but I think when it comes to blogging you should treat your blog like your own personal little kingdom where you are making the rules, and other people can follow or unfollow as they please.

And finally:

(4) YOU WILL EVENTUALLY LOSE A FOLLOWER OR TWO, BUT SO DO I AND SO DOES EVERYBODY ELSE. Try not to obsessively check your follower count or to take it as a huge calamity if your count goes down instead of up once in a while! It WILL eventually go back up again, and you genuinely have no idea why it dropped most of the time (it probably wasn't anything majorly personal - maybe somebody just is no longer in your fandom, maybe Tumblr is clearing out some porn bots, maybe a follower is deactivating their blog - or maybe you DID post something that somebody didn't like, but that's ok, it's probably better if they aren't following you anymore anyways!) And you should ALSO block/unfollow people freely if they're really making your blogging experience uncomfortable - at the end of the day you don't really know them and they don't really know you, and you will both probably move on and forget about it not too far down the road.

1. List 3 positive things about your current fandom(s):

(1) Genuinely extremely chill and cozy, and almost always has been in my experience!

(2) People have the best sense of humour here. IDK I think I took it for granted that all fandoms were like that but anytime I venture into other ones I find myself being a bit disappointed that people just aren't as funny in general a lot of the time

(3) OMG thank you everybody for all the delicious fanfic and fanart, and for continuing to still make it steadily even in 2023

8. You hope more people will come to appreciate ___ (a ship, a trope, an episode, etc.):

I'm gonna advocate for a ship I don't even have a ton of personal investment in and say meronia! God, stop sleeping on this pairing already and/or acting like it's way more problematic than it actually is, you silly ancient fandom you (no, they are not basically related, they simply went to the same school in their childhood for a bit). These two definitely deserve to have their relationship a bit better explored!

16. A tiny detail in canon that you want more people to appreciate:

Watari had an entire-ass family of his own, apparently!

Isn't that weird to think about? There is actually SO MUCH unanswered stuff about how his relationship with L actually was set up, especially if you are just going by the original manga serial and aren't using the one-shots or the anime or LABB novel to flesh out L's backstory or any Wammy's lore. And sometimes I think it might be neat to see people exploring it in totally different ways that would still be 100% plausible based on what little we know!

[ask meme]

[chaoortu]

ten people i'd like to know better

...except I don't know ten people on tumblr, sorry! Consider yourself tagged if you see this. I'm a nosy person :')

Thank you for the tag @thrivingsuccubus !

last song: "The Duel" from Great Comet

favorite color: Wine red and Sage green

last book: Bunny by Mona Awad.

last movie: Hot Fuzz. I love a good Edgar Wright film for real.

last tv show: Arcane. I have soo much Jayce Talis brainrot right now oops.

sweet/spicy/savory: savory/salty.

relationship status: chaotically single.

last thing i googled: apartments in chicago. i'm wanting to move, lol.

current obsession: I've been deep in the Heartstopper sticks for like a year but my constant obsession is comic books and superheroes

looking forward to: sending in my ph.d applications lol.