#Police Story: Confessions of a Lady Cop

[cultfaction]

Don Murray: A Storied Career in Hollywood

Don Murray, born on July 31, 1929, in Hollywood, California, is an American actor whose career spans over six decades. With his rugged good looks, versatility, and compelling performances, Murray became a prominent figure in the golden era of Hollywood, leaving an indelible mark on the industry. Don Murray was born Donald Patrick Murray to Dennis Aloisius Murray, a Broadway dance director, and…

[measuringbliss]

Spider-Man Read-Through 064 Wig Snatched (SSM 53-58, SSM Ann 3) P1

MASTERPOST

In this post, a wig will be snatched!

Hi. This is me. You're probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.

So a lady sees people as maleficient toys and goes on a ledge to escape a cop trying to help her, and Peter just so happens to be there to help her.

Once the two are saved, he gets in the office that lady was trying to escape and faces Toy, an acolyte of the Tinkerer. Peter gets gassed by a ridiculous toy (love that), and Toy gets away.

It's actually interesting, because this interaction lasts half the issue, which explains why Peter's saving seems oddly complicated. Interesting pacing!

So Spidey finds the Tinkerer's place, and gets told that our villain actually gave him more trouble than he thought in the past. Spidey doesn't really care though. The ensuing fight is alright (there's a teddy bear!), the Tinkerer accidentally kills Toy (his robot) and cries. The end. It was an alright issue!

#54 time!

Spidey interrupts a car chase by Lt. Keating, and who is it that they were chasing?

Oooh, long time no see! Well, not really, but still.

Spidey ends up missing them, but he finds oriental matches. Hmm!

Hahaha, what a dumbass, I love him.

We finally get some context on this affair. The Smuggler was going to confess to stuff to the NYPD, but the Maggia intervened. Peter flees as soon as Keating gets here.

Well, why don't you go and give swim trunks a try, honey?

Philip is so adorable as a secretary. I prefer seeing him than this poor Debbie.

Steve is SO funny. I guess Marcia is following chemo therapy?

Turns out Steve's been counting every time Marcy puts on something weird. He's soooo messy! Philip helpfully nudges Peter towards a floating restaurant.

Our hero finds Josten (the Smuggler) on the boat, and things get a bit complicated.

This issue is so funny, I don't know what happened but that's great.

The Smuggler breaks his chain and lends a hand to Spidey, which is great to see. The police arrives to help them in the nick of time, and for a moment, it seems as though nobody will get arrested... but then Spidey hands out drugs to the police, and all's well that ends well.

Now, we need more Parker and less Spidey in the next story!

#55 time!

Keep the beard, keep the beard! (He doesn't.)

After expertly avoiding Ms. Muggins and her rent day, Peter goes to ESU. Debra's giving him the cold shoulder (and rightfully so!).

What even is that, Marcy? Steve is of course overjoyed to have an excuse to be even gayer and investigate further.

Somewhere else, a hot lawyer is about to get a nasty surprise.

Nitro, a Captain Marvel villain, gets free and kidnaps his daughter and her lawyer.

Absolutely wild perspective, but my hot lawyer isn't dead yet so I'll enjoy each close-up I get of him.

The ensuing fight between Spidey and Nitro isn't nearly as beautiful as my dear lawyer, but here's a picture that tells all.

I thought it was funny, imagining him shouting "yaaaah".

Nitro ends up absorbing nausea gaz. Not very good for his health.

Emerson Bale, my new husband, decides to not represent Nitro later, knowing he was guilty and very much pro-violence. Just a "bitter old man".

Hell yeah, he's not dead! Great!

In #56, Spidey fights Jack O'Lantern!

Hey, where's Marla Madison?

During Len Wein's run, she got pretty close to Jameson... but where is she now? This issue has a scene with Jameson at the Bugle, and she's not even mentioned. What's up with that?

So let's be serious two seconds. That's a sick-ass design. It's great. It's awesome. I love it.

We're finally getting a dynamic between Steve and Philip. It only took what, 20 issues? I love them. They're very lovable. What the fuck, Philip.

This is all part of Steve's plan to remove Marcy's scarf off her head. Ambitious. I respect the hustle. Peter's not really amused by that, which is understandable.

They're absolute menaces! And like, Philip is completely on Steve's side there. They're unapologetic hahaha

Why is everybody so dramatic about Marcy being a brunette?

Oof this is a mess. Peter, that's not... that's not the point. You don't... need to tell her that she's "attractive".

Anyway, May calls Peter to inform him that a terrorist (Jack O'Lantern) is... terrorizing the hospital where Nathan, her boyfriend, is. Spidey quickly gets there, and to Keating's despair, he intervenes.

Magnificent close-up.

This is so cool.

All's well that ends well.

Or does it?

Oh. She's at it again.

Look, I'm all for drama, and Peter being miserable for a bit (especially for his recent behavior), but she's being unfair in this scene.

Dare I say... we're back? This is a classic last panel. Reminds me of the good old days!

#57 time!

Before going to Jameson's party, Peter calls May, and they reassure us that they forgive each other. So much for drama... I wonder if it was due to ASM.

He also recalls Will O'The Wisps, but the last time he did that, it wasn't him.

Oh well, we've got Marla news, everyone! She's still alive, nice.

His little bowtie is so cute!!!

Roderick Kingsley is also back! Interesting that he became a regular character. "I never figured him for a ladies' man" yeah you thought he was gay, as we all did, Peter.

My beautiful bisexual husband, everyone!

Harold Simmons steps out for a smoke, and the weird lights that reminded Spidey of Will earlier that night enter him. Turns out Harold had secrets of his own!

Peter, my beautiful bisexual husband!

Spurred by the mysterious dust, Killer Shrike kidnaps Marla and flees the party.

Yeah, it being Wisp isn't a surprise, it's pretty clear even when you first see it.

Wisp remembers that he was created here, and he destroys the place. Marla, hypnotized by his light, can't remember what happened. How convenient!

#58 time!

No. No. No! What is this? Why does Spidey weigh 50 kg?

We'll see... in the second part of this post!

[daysofourlivesrecaps]

Wednesday, 31 May 2023

Wednesdays, as I have mentioned before, tend to be pretty slow around Salem. And while a few of today's plots are little more than wheel-spinning for their respective characters, we also got a couple of MAJOR DEVELOPMENTS that just so happen to be QUINTESSENTIAL SOAP MOMENTS™, one of which I'm seeing for the first time since I started watching a year or so ago.

First up is Nicole. She's still pregnant and still confiding to Anna about it. And still not really providing us with any new insight into her character or... really, any new information of any kind. This storyline actually got me interested in Nicole for the first time ever, but I sure wish something would, you know, happen.

Eric and Sloan also talk about Nicole. Eric works out that the story about a virus at the hospital was a lie and Sloan comes clean and confesses that yeah, she did indeed lie. But she did it to protect Nicole's secret. Which Eric now knows.

Eric is none too happy about any of this, and takes his recently-harvested DNA swab and heads over to confront Nicole about it. So presumably something will finally be moving forward with all of this soon.

But not today.

Jada and Talia have a number of tearful exchanges at the police station, as Jada tries to explain to Talia that, even though Colin never actually hit her, he's still an abusive piece of shit. I do not mean to trivialize any of this as unimportant — it's good stuff; it's important stuff to talk about to an audience full of dumbs; and both performers do an excellent job with the material. It wasn't boring to watch, but it is hard to make jokes about. But don't worry — I am now pivoting to some gloriously stupid bullshit.

University Hospital has a new nurse on staff, apparently! She's one of the ladies from Fox's hit 90s sitcom, Living Single.

Not Queen Latifah.

Not Tootie.

The other one. Kim Coles.

(Apparently there was actually a fourth one but I don't remember her at all. My apologies, Erika Alexander. I enjoyed your show and watched quite a bit of it, both in first-run and in reruns. My faulty memory does you a disservice.)

Nurse Coles hits the ground running as she tends to Colin and he briefly mistakes her for Paulina.

Thirty seconds on screen and I love her already.

Paulina is actually in Abe's room, being her usual entirely impatient self and not for the first time I find myself wondering how she possibly made herself so rich in real estate with so little chill. Don't real estate people have to, like, negotiate or whatever?

Then Chanel goes in to talk to Abe and he wakes up! Yay! We love Abe!

But it gets better. Not only is he awake, but ABE HAS AMNESIA. 

I cannot overstate how excited I am by this. I have watched literally 500 episodes of this soap-ass soap and I've never encountered a proper case of actual amnesia before!

Chanel tries to jog the mayor's memory by showing him a picture of his wedding to Paulina, in that episode from last summer where they taught the white people in Salem what Juneteenth is. (I'm not gonna lie — I learned a couple of things from that one. As one of the dumbs in this audience, I'm genuinely glad they did that.)

But the picture rings no bells for Abe.

Out in the waiting area, Rafe orders this cop, who appears to be about thirteen years old, to prep Colin for his transfer to prison. This is obviously just to kill time in a short episode, and surely has no relevance to the plot.

While Chanel is off getting her mom, Nurse Kim Coles enters Abe's room. Abe, still muzzy from the surgery and having only seen a single cell phone picture of his alleged wife Paulina, thinks the nurse is his wife. The nurse, for her part, says nothing to dissuade him of this misapprehension.

Turns out she's a Mayor Abe Carver Superfan! And also? Maybe a bit crazy in the ol' pants?

And speaking of pants, Rafe checks on Colin, only to discover that Officer Skippy had his pants stolen by said gross creep. Also the rest of his uniform.

That's a rock-solid defense though, Skippy. "He got the better of me." No court in the world will convict you.

So now Colin, in disguise (as a cop whose uniform actually fits), easily slips out of the hospital unnoticed.

And right after him comes Nurse Kim Coles, pushing the amnesiac and highly confused Abe out of the hospital in a wheelchair "because he's in danger." 

 AMNESIA AND WEIRDLY UN-MALICIOUS KIDNAPPING. WE HIT THE SOAP JACKPOT TODAY, Y'ALL!

[forthegothicheroine]

How other great detectives would solve the Chesapeake Ripper murders

A series I do sometimes.  For the purpose of this post, I will be assuming Hannibal does not have protagonist protection.  I will also do my best not to assume that any of these detectives have protagonist armor, either.

Columbo: Columbo is immediately suspicious when Hannibal says that he “transferred his passion for anatomy into the culinary arts.”  When Hannibal talks about his hobby of collecting news clippings about church collapses, Columbo knows for sure that only a serial killer would do that.  He keeps needling at Hannibal, being incessantly polite, asking a series of innocuous questions, mentioning that his wife has been urging him to go to therapy and can Hannibal tell him anything about that process?  Hannibal can tell he’s smarter than he seems, but doesn’t realize just how smart.  He’s also smart enough to finally come to arrest Hannibal with a full squad of burly guys with guns.  Columbo is also very sweet to Abigail and they write letters to each other after the case is over.

Phryne Fisher:  Phryne has an absolutely marvelous time investigating this case.  Hannibal takes her on dates to the opera and fine wine tastings and they have amazing sex.  She also almost has sex with Will Graham, but when he collapses on a chair and beings talking about all the troubles he’s been going through, including encephalitis symptoms, she ends up driving him to the hospital instead.  Between Will’s testimony about how Hannibal has been misleading him about his symptoms and her own secret swiping of keys, she becomes suspicious and investigates the murder house.  When Hannibal catches her, he promises that her death display will be the most beautiful one yet.  She shoots him non-fatally and he gets arrested.  (She may also be arrested for breaking and entering, but Hannibal can’t exactly claim stand-your-ground when he has a basement freezer full of body parts.)  Phryne also possibly sleeps with Alanna.

Sam Spade: I’ll be real here, Sam Spade is probably going to die.  His primary method is deliberately antagonizing people into giving him money, and Hannibal would absolutely put him in his ‘rude people’ recipe cards.  If Spade was clever, he left a dead man’s switch with Effie, and she goes to the police with the evidence folder when Spade’s body is found posed like a statue of a bird.

Sam Vimes: The moment Sam meets Hannibal he mentally classifies him as a vampire, even though he is not technically a vampire.  Hannibal keeps ‘forgetting’ and offering Sam food and drink with alcohol, talking about how harm reduction is much more viable than complete abstinence and generally trying to manipulate him into falling back down the addiction hole.  Sam gets brittle and suspicious in response.  Hannibal drugs him and tries to hypnotize him into believing he saw another character do the murders, but the Inner Watchman in Sam’s head comes to the rescue again and he slams Hannibal over the head with the nearest heavy art object.  Sybil still afterwards insists that Sam go to therapy to deal with his rage.

L: L wastes time going on dates with Hannibal and trying to trick him into implicating himself despite already having plenty of evidence, and Hannibal kills him and puts his head in a candy store.

Poirot: When Poirot attends dinner at one of Hannibal’s parties, he knows as soon as the meat touches his palette that it isn’t really rabbit.  He does his best to hide the fact that he isn’t eating, and whispers to Hastings to do the same.  When he finally has caught Hannibal in enough lies, he accuses him of murder while in a room with him, Will, Alanna, Abigail, Chilton, Able and Jack.  With so many witnesses, Hannibal maintains his cool and says that he’ll call his lawyer and see everyone in court.  When they actually investigate his house and find the human body freezer, Poirot faints.

Philip Marlowe: Every time Marlowe tries to bother Hannibal, the local cops drag him into the station and berate him for hassling a rich person.  He has long conversations with Hannibal when he does get him alone about great literature and the morality of Shakespeare characters.  Hannibal drugs him and tries to convince him he witnessed somebody else commit the murders, but Marlowe is so used to being drugged and seeing ridiculous things that he doesn’t trust any drug trip memories.  He is eventually able to catch Hannibal in the process of cleaning up after a murder, and both shoot each other.  Both survive and Hannibal gets arrested, but Hannibal taunts Marlowe that he will go the rest of his life never meeting anyone who understands him as well as he did.  Marlowe sadly agrees.

Dale Cooper: If Cooper does solve this case, it will take at least a season and a half.  It will be based less on evidence and more on Hannibal having dark energy and his name coming up when Cooper picks it out of a bag of ice cubes with initials carved onto them.  Abigail finally breaks down and confesses everything that’s happened to Cooper, and he tells her she’s not an evil person.  He and Hannibal shoot each other; both survive.  Hannibal goes to jail but continues to influence other people to commit murders from within jail.  Cooper ends up in a coma, and when he wakes up, he reports visions of a feathered stag telling him that he should look for new hair gel.

Kinsey Milhone: Kinsey inherently distrusts smug rich people, and no rich person is smugger than Hannibal.  She spends a lot of time talking to Abigail about their mutual family issues and becomes suspicious of how much her answers seem to have been worded ahead of time by Hannibal.  She tracks him and manages to find him while he’s in the process of cutting someone up.  They attack each other, and it’s pretty much a coin flip as to who survives.  If it’s Kinsey, the resulting story is called C is for Cannibal.

Miss Marple: Miss Marple thinks Hannibal dresses in such a lovely fashion, and he’s so sweet to invite her over for a glass of sherry.  She doesn’t attempt to look around his house or catch him in the act of murder or do anything dangerous, she just compares notes about what’s being said by him, Will and Abigail, and unravels a web of lies to find some definite conclusions.  Jack Crawford and the entire FBI are humiliated that a nosy old lady sitting in her living room figured everything out before they did.

[lemonlover1110]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙐𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚

𝘚. 𝘎𝘦𝘵𝘰

𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐

𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐

𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐

Pairing: Suguru Geto x f! Reader

Summary: He couldn't explain why a non-sorcerer made his heart skip a beat. He didn't like how a non-sorcerer made his heart skip a beat.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Smut

“I swear I’m being watched!” You claimed to the cop who just laughed.

“So what lady? You closed your window twice? Might be an early sign of dementia.” He joked, which caused you to roll your eyes. You had been arguing for about 30 minutes, and at that point you were on the verge of giving up. The man signaled for his buddy to come his way.

He began telling his buddy the story, both of them bursting out laughing. You sighed before grabbing your purse and walking out of the police station.

You walked out in a rage, not paying attention to anyone or anything which caused you to bump into someone. You were quick to mutter out a sorry before continuing on. However they wrapped their hand around you. “You’ll need a better apology than that.”

“Sorry, didn’t see you there.” You rolled your eyes, not having enough patience to deal with anyone. Then you remembered who this person was. “You’re that monk! I need your help.”

“Help?” He raised his eyebrow and you hummed and nodded in response.

“You did help, for a couple of hours but that feeling of being constantly watched came back. The police think I’m crazy, and at this point I feel like I am actually going crazy.” You confessed, making the man tilt his head. He grabbed your chin and inspected your face.

“They think you’re crazy because they can’t see what I can. You’re right. You’re cursed but this won’t be so easy to get rid off.” He answered, making you gulp and your heart beat increase.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“You left the temple and you were cursed again. And although it won’t be so easy to work with, I still can help you.” He told you. Your mind went back to the open window, wondering if that was actually a curse.

“I woke up to an open window, after I had closed it twice. I’m not sure if it’s…” You began, and he was quick to speak up.

“Maybe this curse is affecting how you think and confusing you. Maybe that window was never closed. Tell me, do you usually have a sharp memory, and has that changed?” He questioned, knowing damn well that your stress has affected your memory.

“I- You’re right…” You admitted. There was a glimmer of hope that he could help, and you wouldn’t let him go until you got his help. “How can I fix this?”

“I’ll have to fix it for you.” He answered. You tilted your head.

“How are you going to fix it?” You asked.

“You’ll have to stay with me for a couple of days in the temple.”

-

So you found yourself packing a few things and staying in a small room, sleeping on a Tatami mat, while serving the monk, in exchange to get rid of this curse. You couldn’t do anything right with that awful feeling, so staying in the temple and helping out was the least you could do. You wanted to go back to living your life as you always did.

Days passed, and the feeling was slightly going away. Except some nights, where it was intense. It was working but not as fast as you hoped it would.

One night as you went back to your room after cleaning up, you heard some groans and the closer you got to your room, the louder they got. Were you lost? No lights were turned on and no light came in from the outside. You didn’t completely know your way around the temple.

You had completely come to a stop, slightly opening the door of the room where the groans were coming from. Your eyes widened at the sight. The man, whose name you had learned was Suguru Geto, had a pair of your panties as he stroked his shaft and groaned your name.

He had learned your schedule and how long it took you to get things done. He didn’t expect you to finish things so soon, but tonight you did. He heard the sound of your footsteps, but he didn’t bother to stop.

“Fuck, Y/N-” He moaned. You stared, holding back the urge to move your hand down to play with yourself. You knew better. But he didn’t, as he came to a stop. He was bored of you just staring. “Are you going to just watch or are you going to help?”

“I-” You stepped into the room. You bit your bottom lip as you looked at his cock. “Is this allowed?”

“Don’t ask too many questions and just help me.” He responded and you were quick to follow his orders as you got on your knees and took his cock into your hand. You gave it a couple of strokes before lowering your head to lick the tip, getting a taste of the salty pre-cum.

You lowered your head and took all of his cock into your mouth, gagging at the length. The thought that this would occur was the last one in your mind when you entered the place but now that it was happening, you were enjoying it.

Your hands reached to massage his balls, making him groan in pleasure. He stopped masturbating right before his climax, so he wouldn’t last too long with your mouth wrapped around his cock.

His cock twitched in your mouth and his cum hit the back of your throat. You let go of his cock and swallowed his cum, sticking your tongue out after so he could see it.

“Good girl.” He praised as he stood up and fixed himself up. He left without saying anything else.

You didn’t think too much about it.

-

You prepared some tea for Suguru while you thought of the weird sounds that you heard at night. It sounded like footsteps. Too light, like those of a child. Your mind was so consumed with that, that you had completely forgotten about what had happened in your room with Suguru.

You put the tea on a tray, and walked to the room he occupied. It was just to his liking, after all you had been serving him for a couple of days. It wasn’t a favor. It was your duty, and if the tea wasn’t to his liking he would force you to go back and fix it. He called it an “exchange”. He would get rid of this horrible curse you had, and you would serve him for a couple of days as a result.

“Master Geto.” You nearly cringed as the name escaped your lips. He wouldn’t be addressed as anything else. A young child opened the door, making you furrow your eyebrows. You walked in, as another child played with his long hair.

“Y/N, is it tea time?” He asked, making you hum in response. “Must’ve lost track of time.”

“Yes. Some villagers are coming to the temple soon, Master. I suggest you get ready for them.” You informed him. While looking out the temple you could tell an old couple coming up. It would take a while for them to get there, but they were still coming.

“Of course, thank you.” He answered. You put the tray down and passed him the tea. You were worried about the children, and he was quick to tell with the look of discomfort. He didn’t have to stare at you that long to notice it. “Y/N, these are my daughters.”

“That’s so nice to know.” You answered as you smiled at the young girls. They weren’t too thrilled with you, per say, but at least they didn’t comment anything rude.

“Thank you again for the tea, Y/N.”

-

“Master Geto-” You began as you walked towards your room. You saw his silhouette near your room. He was quick to grab your arm and pull you into a passionate kiss, his tongue quick to pass through your lips and into your parted mouth.

You were taken back for a second before your hand reached the back of his head and you kissed him back. Everything about him was so unexpected but you liked it. He opened the sliding door of your room and pushed you in, before closing the door. He pulled away from the heated kiss and smirked.

“Take your clothes off yourself, or I’ll rip them.” He said and you were quick to do so. Once your clothes were on the floor, he went back to kissing you. But his lips didn’t linger too much on yours, and he went down to leave love marks along your neck. And then your tits.

He kissed down your stomach. When he reached your lower abdomen, his hands landed on your waist and he lowered you onto the floor. He pressed a kiss onto your clit before his tongue began to wander along your cunt.

His thumb played with your clit while his tongue entered your aching hole. He moved his tongue around, making you close your eyes while his thumb worked so wonderfully. His long tongue felt so wonderful inside you.

He took it out and replaced it with two of his fingers, curling them. His mouth began to suck on your clit. Your hand played with his long hair, while the other covered your mouth. The walls were thin and you knew his daughters lived in the temple as well.

He curved his fingers making them brush over your g-spot. He continuously hit the spot, causing your orgasm to approach.

With a couple more flicks of his tongue on your clit, your body spasmed and you came around his fingers. He took the fingers out and pulled away from your cunt, to shove those fingers into his mouth. He licked them clean, making him comment, “So sweet.”

Not giving you any chance to recuperate, in one swift moment he flipped you around, forcing you on all fours and took a good look at your glistening cunt. Never had he been so thankful for the bit of moonlight that illuminated your room. He took his clothes off, while commanding you to, “Arch.”

You closed your eyes and prepared yourself. You saw the previous night how big he was and you knew you would struggle a bit. He pressed his tip on your clit, and you sighed.

He slowly inserted his tip, giving you hope that he would be slow. It was all false hope as he inserted his whole length, and began to move fast.

“S’ big, master.” Cries of pleasure escaped your lips, drool falling onto the floor as he cock moved in and out of you. When you were too loud he would deliver a sharp smack to your ass, which wasn’t too smart on his part since you were enjoying the pain.

He grunted, the feeling of his tight cunt around his cunt making him feel ecstatic. From the very first moment he saw you he had dreamed about it, and now that your pussy was wrapped around him and it was even better than he imagined it, he was in glory; especially with the ring of cream that had formed on the base of his cock.

You closed your eyes, resting your head on the floor while his fingers reached under and played with your clit. “S’ good, master.”

“That’s it, baby. Taking my cock like a good girl.” He praised. Your walls began tightening around him, and at any moment now you would finish. “So tight for me, baby.”

“Only for you, master.” You moaned as you came around his cock. He continued thrusting rapidly, nearing his finish.

After a couple more thrusts, his cock twitched and he came inside you. He pulled his cock out, and you laid on the floor, turning over to have your back on it. He stared in complete and utter disgust, which you couldn’t notice due to the lack of light.

Clarity hit and he felt filthy for fucking a mere human. He didn’t know why he originally came to the room. Well he did, but he refuses to acknowledge those as his thoughts. He didn’t like humans. Only sorcerers. Even if you made his heart flutter, you weren’t a sorcerer.

“You alright?” You asked, and he snapped out of his thoughts. Those emotions of disgust changed as he looked at your face, which the moonlight lit up. He was in luck, since he couldn’t be seen but he could see you.

He admired your fucked out face before bringing his lips down and pressing them on yours. Something he was dreaming about not too long ago.

“Let’s go for round two.”

[amethystineprose]

@amongtomesandtales tagged me over a month ago to list my to-be-read books for 2022. I thought, I’ve never done that. Sounds like fun! And then forgot to post it for two months. But I have been paying attention to which books I wanted to list, and actually getting around to reading them! I decided to compile the whole list from books I had already acquired--some many years ago--to give myself more motivation to read them.

1. Circe, by Madeline Miller. Begun in January and finished a week ago!

2. Lady Cop Makes Trouble, by Amy Stewart. The second in series that Stewart began with Girl Waits With Gun, which she based on a pre-WWI headline about Constance Kopp, a New Jersey woman who helped the county sheriff catch and punish a corrupt businessman who owed her money, after the local police force refused to take her seriously. Apparently, Kopp continued to work with the sheriff, and Stewart has written seven books about her and her sisters. I finished Lady Cop Makes Trouble quickly in February, and I’m now reading Miss Kopp’s Midnight Confessions.

3. Where the Light Takes Its Color From the Sea, by James D. Houston. A book of essays about the region around California’s Monterey Bay. I read the title essay years ago in a newspaper and snatched up the book late last year when I saw it used at my local bookstore. It’s my bedtime reading right now.

4. The Embarrassment of Riches: An Interpretation of Dutch Culture in the Golden Age, by Simon Schama. The Huguenot ancestors that gave me my last name were originally from border areas of France and Flanders, and lived in Netherlands and Germany for a while after being chased out of France and before coming to America. This book examines the culture that grew out of Protestant values in those regions and how it also influenced America’s culture when those Europeans settled on the Atlantic Seaboard in the century before the USA broke from England. I bought it years ago from a museum gift shop after viewing an exhibition of that period’s art.

5. One or more of Miss Pym Disposes, The Franchise Affair, or Brat Farrar, by Josephine Tey. My mother found this three-novel volume from 1955 at a yard sale many years ago and gave it to me, and I’ve never read any Tey.

6. River of Shadows: Eadweard Muybridge and the Technological Wild West, by Rebecca Solnit. Muybridge made his famous films of running horses at Leland Stanford’s stock farm, now Stanford University. I found this book on the free table when I worked for Stanford and brought it home for my husband, who is a photographer and was working in the visual effects industry at the time. Then I discovered what a great writer Solnit is, and decided I needed to read it. But I haven’t yet.

7. Fly Girls, by Keith O’Brien. This book is about five female pilots between the world wars. My mother-in-law gave this to my husband, who is a private pilot and interested in small-plane history. I’m interested in the women’s history we’re seldom taught.

8. In the Company of the Courtesan, by Sarah Dunant. “Epic novel of life in Renaissance Italy,” according to the inside cover. I probably bought it off the remainders table on the basis of the golden-haired beauty on the cover.

9. The Ohlone Way, by Malcolm Margolin. Broad and deep information about the indigenous Americans who inhabited coastal California before the Europeans came is much harder to find than information about the tribes and nations further east. I have several books about the people and the environment that I want to read, but The Ohlone Way was pretty much the first modern research compilation about these communities and, though it’s now almost 50 years old, it seems to be considered the best one to start with.

10. Pioneer Girl, the annotated autobiography of Laura Ingalls Wilder. This is Ingalls Wilder’s original story about her life, which was eventually edited into the book Little House on the Prairie. 

Okay, I was going to do one book for each month--and I certainly have more unread ones around the house--but I’m having trouble deciding on the rest. These are the ones I feel very motivated to read. And thank you, @amongtomesandtales, for prompting me to do this. I’m hoping it gets me off tumblr and back to my books in 2022!

[rpf-bat]

My Cellmate’s A Killer

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Drama, Romance

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 22. Prompt: “Prison”.

Gerard is a convict, currently serving time for murder. When he receives a serious injury, the prison warden brings him to the hospital, where you work. As you nurse him back to health, you form an unexpected bond with him. But, can you really trust a killer? 

Trigger warnings for mentions of past violence, and sexual assault. 

The doctors told you that the patient was a criminal. He “lived” at the maximum security prison on the edge of town. Apparently, he’d gotten injured in his cell, and the guards had no choice but to bring him here, to the hospital, to receive surgery. 

You didn’t care. You were a nurse - that meant you would treat any person that needed medical help. You nervously approached the police officer, who was guarding the front door of the hospital room. 

“It’s time for Mister, uhh….,” you glanced down, checking your chart. “Mister Way’s next dose of medicine.” 

“Alright,” the guard nodded, allowing you past. “Be careful in there, miss. He’s a dangerous man.” 

You peered through the window, before entering the room. The dark haired man lay calmly on his cot. His hands were handcuffed behind his head. 

“Was it really necessary to restrain him like that?” you frowned. 

“We can’t allow him an opportunity to escape,” the guard reasoned. 

“He just got thirty stitches in his leg,” you pointed out. “I don’t think he could walk out of here, even if he wanted to.” 

“Just go give him his pills,” the guard huffed. “And stop asking me questions.” 

“Yeah, alright,” you sighed, and entered the room. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

“Hi, Mr. Way,” you smiled, trying to treat him like any other patient. “It’s time for another dose of hydromorphone, okay?” 

“Call me Gerard,” the man said softly. “What’s your name, Nurse?” 

“I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself. You began puncturing the blister pack that contained his painkillers. 

“Is it a pill you’re giving me?” Gerard asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes, sir,” you nodded. “A standard eight milligram dose.” 

“I don’t exactly have a free hand to take it from you,” Gerard chuckled, glancing at the cuffs, that held his hands fast. “What are you gonna do? Feed it to me?” 

You blushed at this suggestion, taking a closer look at him. His long, dark hair framed a pale and handsome face. He looked more like a magazine model, than a convicted felon. The idea of bringing your fingers to his lips sounded….both appealing, and wrong, all at once. 

But, if his hands are incapacitated, you considered, stepping closer to his bedside, what other choice do I have?

“Come here,” Gerard chuckled, “I promise, I won’t bite you.”

“The cop at the door says you’re dangerous,” you hesitated. 

“Well, yeah,” Gerard said dryly, “I was convicted of second-degree murder.”

“M-murder?!” you gasped, jumping back. He confessed to it so casually, as if it was nothing. 

“It’s true,” Gerard said, sounding frighteningly unrepentant. “I killed a man. But, I had my reasons.”

“What reason could possibly justify taking a human life?!” you cried, horrified.

Is he some kind of sociopath?, you wondered, shuddering. Should I be scared, being alone in a room with him like this?

“....Do you really want to know?” Gerard asked, gazing up at you, with his cold, hazel eyes. 

The truth was, you’d always had a weird fascination with true crime documentaries. It intrigued you, hearing the motives, that would drive seemingly ordinary people to kill. 

“...Yes,” you decided, setting down the pills, and taking a seat, beside the bed. “Tell me.” 

“I have this little brother,” Gerard explained. “His name is Mikey. He was in his junior year of high school. Some classmate of his, decided that he looked gay.  Whatever that means. And then he decided, that he needed to beat him up, just for, I don’t know, existing too gay-ly.” 

“That’s terrible,” you frowned. You never understood, why kids bullied each other, for such stupid and prejudiced reasons. 

“They beat Mikey so bad, that they put him in the hospital,” Gerard recalled with a pained expression. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said sympathetically. You wondered if little Mikey was okay. 

“It’s okay,” Gerard shrugged. “I paid the bastard back, by putting him in a grave.” 

You gasped, at this chilling admission. 

“You don’t understand, Nurse,” Gerard said insistently. “The son of a bitch hit my brother in the face so hard, that he went blind in his right eye, for the rest of his life!” 

“That poor kid,” you frowned. 

“Well, he’s not a kid anymore,” Gerard clarified. “I got revenge against the worm who hurt my brother, in 1997. I was sentenced to fifteen years in prison….and I’ve already served seven years of that.” 

“So, you have eight more years to go?” you calculated. 

“Yeah,” Gerard said sadly. “Mikey will be thirty-two, by the time I get out.”

“What does he think about your decision to avenge him?” you asked curiously. You imagined how much you would miss your own siblings, if you were separated from them, for over a decade. 

“He visited me in lockup,” Gerard replied. “He said it brings him peace, knowing the bastard can never hurt him again. So, say what you want. But I ain’t sorry, for putting a bullet between his eyes.” 

“This hospital is the first place you’ve been, other than that prison, in such a long time,” you realized. 

“Yeah,” Gerard nodded. “I ain’t sorry for what I did to get sent here, either.” 

“What did you do?” you asked, eyes wide. 

“I got a new cellmate,” Gerard explained. “His name’s Bert. He just started a five-year sentence, last week.” 

“What did he get convicted of?” you asked curiously. 

“Drug trafficking,” Gerard replied. “One of the harder ones. Prison life is gonna force him to get sober, though. By the looks, withdrawal has been a real bitch for him so far.”

You recalled the symptoms of drug withdrawal, from your medical textbook. Shaking. Vomiting. Rapid heartbeat. Seizures. It was nothing you would wish on anyone - even a dealer, who had sold the poison to others.

“I’m sorry he’s going through that,” you said empathetically. 

“Well, he almost went through something way worse,” Gerard grimaced. 

“What could be worse than that?” you wondered anxiously. 

“We were in the showers,” Gerard recalled, paling. “Some big guy, from Cell Block A, tried uh….he tried to…..touch Bert. In a way he didn’t want to be touched.”

“Oh,” you gasped. You heard about these things happening in men’s prisons - but it was still a sickening thought. 

“I clocked the sick fuck,” Gerard snarled. “Knocked him the fuck out.” 

“....Good,” you said, without thinking. Maybe you shouldn’t encourage a confessed killer, to commit more acts of violence. But, if he hadn’t done what he did, his friend would have been sexually assaulted. Preventing such a thing, was a noble motive. 

“Problem was, the guy was in a prison gang,” Gerard sighed, continuing his story. “After I bloodied him up, all over the bathroom floor, his buddies came after me. One of them had a shiv. Shanked me right in my fucking leg.”

“.....That’s why you needed all those stitches?” you realized. 

“Yeah,” Gerard replied, sinking back into his pillows. “That’s how I wound up here.” 

“Let me give you your pain medicine,” you said, standing up. His stab wound must hurt him terribly. 

“You’re not scared of me?” Gerard asked softly. “After everything I just told you I did?” 

“You’re a violent man,” you considered. “But, I don’t think you’re an evil man, Gerard.” 

“....Really?” Gerard’s eyes widened.

“Truly,” you nodded. “You attacked two men, yes. But, they were bad men. Men who hurt innocent people.” 

“I’d never hurt a nice lady like you,” Gerard whispered. 

You took the pain pill, and put it between your fingers. “Open up,” you instructed. 

Gerard, to your surprise, blushed. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“I haven’t had  a woman this close to me in seven, long years, Nurse,” Gerard said shyly. “Let alone such a beautiful one.” 

It was your turn to blush. He thought you were beautiful? 

“C-come on, now,” you stammered. “Say ah.”

Gerard opened his mouth wide. You glanced down at his pale pink lips, as you leaned over him. Your hair brushed his cheek, making his whole face go red. 

You gently placed the pill on his tongue. His lips closed around your fingertips for a moment, almost sucking them. You drew back from his touch, startled. 

“What’s the matter, Nurse?” he asked, a sly look on his face, as he swallowed the tablet. 

“I -I told you,” you mumbled, looking away, “my name’s Y/N.”

“Can you do me one more favor, Y/N?” Gerard asked quietly. 

“What is it?” you asked, heart pounding. 

“....Ya think you could scratch my nose for me?” 

You burst into laughter, at his odd request. It wasn’t what you were expecting. 

“I’m serious! It really itches!” 

Overcoming your giggles, you glanced again, at the handcuffs on his wrists. The guard had, perhaps unwisely, left a key on the bedside table. 

“....I really don’t think you need to be tied up like this,” you confessed. 

“They don’t want me on the loose,” Gerard shrugged. “Told ya, I’m a killer.” 

“If I were to unlock the cuffs for you,” you asked, your voice a whisper, “do you promise to stay in your bed?” 

“I won’t try to escape, Y/N,” Gerard said seriously, staring up into your eyes. “I promise you. If I went on the run now, I’d never see my brother again. It’s not worth it to me.” 

“...Then, I’ll do it,” you decided, grabbing the key. You prayed that you were not going to regret this. 

The key turned in the lock, and the cuffs unclicked, releasing Gerard’s hands. He didn’t lunge at you, or jump up. He simply scratched his nose - exactly as he said he would. 

You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I know you got other patients to look after, Nurse Y/N,” Gerard said, looking suddenly sleepy, as the medication started to kick in. “So...have a good night, alright?”

“Good night, Mr. Way,” you smiled, and walked out of the room. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The next day, you came to provide another dose of hydromorphone. The guard glared at you, as you approached the door. 

“What the hell were you thinking last night?” he asked. “You gave the prisoner an opportunity to escape!” 

“.....Did he escape?” you asked, your heart suddenly aching. Had he manipulated you, into feeling sorry for him, so he could go on the lamb?

“....No,” the guard shook his head. “I guess we got lucky. The prisoner is still sittin’ in there, like a good boy. Exactly where you left him.” 

You breathed a sigh of relief. Gerard had kept his promise. 

“...May I give him his medicine, Officer?” you asked, staring the guard down.

“Yeah, lady,” the cop said, with a defeated look. “You go on ahead.” 

You entered the room, shutting the door behind you. “Hi, Mr. Way,” you greeted. 

“I told you, Y/N,” your new favorite patient smiled, “the name’s Gerard.”

“Hi, Gerard,” you corrected yourself. “How are you feeling today?” 

“Not so good,” Gerard confessed. “As you can see, Officer Jackass put the cuffs back on me this morning.” 

It was true - he was, once again, shackled to the bed. 

“I guess I’ll have to feed it to you again,” you mumbled, cheeks aflame. 

“You kinda looked like you were enjoying it, the last time,” Gerard smirked. 

“N-no!” you denied, blushing harder. 

“Oh, really?” Gerard teased. “Well…..I know I sure did.” 

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you stammered. You were a medical professional. He was a patient in your care - and a convicted murderer, to boot! You shouldn’t let him flirt with you like this. 

But, although you hated to admit…..he was right. Something about your fingers in his mouth, had been strangely attractive to you. 

“What can I say, Nurse Y/N?” Gerard shrugged. “I got nothing to lose. As soon as I’m healed up, they’re gonna take me back to the penitentiary. I won’t see, or touch, a woman again, for the rest of this decade.” 

“That must be...lonely,” you breathed. 

“I knew the price I was gonna pay, when I got Mikey his justice,” Gerard sighed. “It’s far too late, to start having regrets now. But…..if I could have just one wish….”

“What would you wish for?” you asked, your heart hammering. 

“Just one kiss,” Gerard begged. “Before they lock me back up, and throw away the key.” 

“....I’ll grant your wish,” you decided, in a whisper. You felt so hot, all of a sudden. 

“Wh-What?” Gerard stammered. 

“Sssh,” you shushed him. “Hold still, and say ah for me again.” 

You leaned down, beside his bed, and kissed him softly, on the mouth. Despite the sterile scent of disinfectant in the room, the taste of the moment, was incredibly sweet. 

He struggled against his chains, trying desperately to bring his body, closer to yours. You sat on the bed, closing the gap. 

Now practically in his lap, you kissed him harder. 

“Ahhh!” he cried. 

“....Did I hurt you?” you gasped, pulling away. “Did I sit on the leg that was injured?”

“....No,” Gerard panted. “That…..wasn’t a noise of pain.”

“....Oh,” you flushed. 

“I’d be greedy to ask for a second wish,” Gerard said seductively. “But, if I could have one….oh, pretty, please, Nurse, would you do that again?” 

You nodded, pushing him back, into the bed. “You can wish for it, as many times as you like.”

[mayraki]

“You deserve love” (4)

jj x reader

not my gif! credits to the owner.

summary: after an unexpected event on a rainy night, two friends find out they have feelings for each other.

note: I just wanted to say thank you! the amount of love this series is getting is amazing! i love reading your comments, it makes me enjoy writing this story a lot more than I already do! so thank you so much :)

MASTERLIST

Rafe stood there with a beer bottle in his hand. He was clearly a little bit tipsy and you grabbed JJ by the arm when he turned to look at him.

“Seriously, Y/n? You left me for him?” He said with disgust in his face.

“What are you doing here?” JJ asked while clenching his jawline. You grabbed more strongly his arm and pulled him closer to you.

“Can’t I enjoy a little party?” He said getting slowly closer to you and JJ.

“Rafe, go away.” You said more authority than ever.

“Baby girl, don’t treat me like that. You know I don’t like it.” He said with a little smirk and your rolled your eyes. He knew you didn’t like to be called that.

“Don’t call her that, man.” JJ said like he was reading your thoughts and Rafe, for the first time, locked eyes with JJ.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Pogue.” He said with disgust and when JJ was about to get closer to him you stepped in between them.

“No, you’re talking to me. And I’m asking you to leave us alone.” Your tone didn’t change towards Rafe but he didn’t take his eyes away from JJ.

“Everything alright here?” You heard a deep voice talk behind you three and turned to see a police officer walking towards you.

“Everything’s fine here, right Rafe?” You turned to Rafe and he locked eyes with you.

After a couple of seconds of staring, Rafe nodded “Yeah, we were just talking.”

“Yeah, but it’s getting pretty late. Bye, Rafe.” You pulled JJ so he would follow you. “Bye, sr.” You said to the officer and he nodded not so convinced.

“Can’t believe you fall for that asshole.” JJ said while giving looks to where Rafe was.

“Believe it or not, you are the second person to tell me that today.” You said and JJ loked at you concerned. “It was nothing, he was at the party.” You shrugged letting him know it was not a big deal.

“I have a question tho, not so say that I’m not happy you broke up with that asshole. But if you fell for him in the first place, why made you change your mind about him?”

You sighed. The memory of the fights with Rafe came into your mind. You shrugged your shoulders and looked down at your feet. “It’s like a dream turned into a nightmare. He became an asshole.” You said and JJ slowly nodded.

“I just can’t stand him, man.”

“You and me both, buddy.” You said and wrapped your arm around his waist. He let his arm go around your shoulders and you saw your house in the distance.

“Is your father back?” He asked once you stood in front of your door.

You let out a little smirk and JJ nodded waiting for your comment. “Are you asking me because you want to come in?” He let out a little laugh and you smiled. “It was you this time, not me.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.” He got closer to you and gave you a kiss on your cheek.

You entered your house after giving a last look to JJ when he started walking away.

You stood there and the memory of you two before Rafe interrupted came into your mind, and a though was eating your insides.

If Rafe hadn’t interrupted, we’d have kissed?

~

“I got good news!” You said after you opened your door and JJ was standing in front of you.

“Somebody woke up happy today.” JJ said who was clearly still tired from the party last night.

“C’mon!” You pushed him into the house and headed to your kitchen.

Your father was standing there waiting for you two.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Y/l/n.” JJ said and shook hands with him.

“Nice to see you too, JJ.”

JJ was so confused that he looked at you, but you didn’t noticed because you were so excited smiling at your father.

“Well? Tell him!” You said and you father nodded and pointed at a chair so JJ would sat down in front of him.

“Y/n told me that you’re looking for a job.” JJ nodded and locked eyes with you for a second. “Well, I’ve been thinking for a while to get a delivery for my store. And when Y/n told me that, we both thought of you. What do you think?”

His face lighten up and he moved in his sit, not knowing what to do at the surprise.

“Really?” He asked once his mind processed the news. Your father and you nodded at the same time. “Wow, I’ve never- this is new.” He said and let out a big sigh.

“Did we just left JJ without words? This is awesome.” You said and nodded satisfied with yourself.

You father let out a little laugh and looked back at JJ. “Just so you know, I really think that you’re capable of doing this job. I’m not doing this because you’re friends with my daughter. You have time to think about it, if you want.”

JJ nodded but quickly added “Oh, no. I’ll do it.”

You gave a little jump in excitement and felt the happiness inside of you grow. You were so happy because JJ was now going to be able to maintain himself and not go back to his father’s house.

You were now at John B’s house, after a long day at work and your father taking to JJ about his work. Be close to the water and your friends was all you wanted to do.

“Where have you been all day?” Kie sat down next to you after a surfing session.

“Work.” You shrugged and looked back at JJ surfing.

“This is a nice view.” Kie said and you nodded. “I was talking about the sky, but you probably about a blonde guy over there.”

You quickly turned to her and opened your mouth pretending to be offended. “Yeah, sure, you were talking about the sky.” You said imitating her voice. “And not about a guy name Pope.”

“Don’t turned it around me!”

“Uh, uh, young lady! That’s what you did to me the other day and now I’m doing it to you. What’s up with you and him?”

“What’s up? The sky is up.” She pointed and take her tongue out to you.

“Ha ha, very funny. Really! You like him?”

“Ew, no.” She said with disgust in her face. “The rule, Y/n. You should follow it.”

“Me?! You’re the one who’s macking another Pogue.” You said defending yourself.

“Oh, yeah, right. My eyes are up here, blondie.” She said imitating you and you burst into laughter.

“What are you two lovely ladies chatting about?” JJ appeared in front of you and you tried to hold your laugh.

“Nothing!” Kie said and walked to the other Pogues quickly.

You noticed that she winked at you before turning around and you rolled your eyes letting out a little laugh.

“Hey, Y/n.” JJ called you once he sat down next to you. “I just wanted to say thank you, about the job. I know you had to do a lot with it.”

You quickly looked up and locked eyes with JJ. His blue eyes were showing more than ever and he had his wet hair pulled back.

Oh my lord, he’s hot.

“You don’t need to thank me, JJ. My father really thinks that you’re going to do good. That was not a lie.” You gave him a little smile and JJ slowly nodded. “I do care about you, man.” He looked up with a smirk in his face but you quickly added. “Yes, JJ, I’m confessing my love to you. My sweet blondie.” you said jokingly and you let out a little laugh.

JJ couldn’t help but stare at you. Your smile was beautiful, and the sunset crushing your face made your skin even more beautiful. He looked down at your lips and you felt your stomach turned. He unintentionally bit his lower lip without taking his eyes off of yours.

“Hey, what are you two doing?” John B yelled when he got out of the water. “Come surf!”

“Fuck.” You heard JJ said in a whisper and you looked at John B.

“We’ll be right there!” You yelled back and looked at JJ who gave you a little smile. “Duty is calling.” You said and got up, handing your hand to JJ, so he grabbed it and you pulled him up.

~

A new day, a new job your father gave you for the store. This time, it was groceries.

You were close to the tiny supermarket when someone yelled your name behind you.

“Y/n!” Immediately, you recognised the voice and rolled your eyes.

“What do you want Rafe?” You turned to him and he had a big smile on his face.

“Nothing, just looking around.” He said getting closer to you. He looked you up and down and you felt disgusted on the inside. “And I like what I see.”

“Ugh, if you have nothing important to say to me, then fuck off.” You said and started to walk away.

“Yeah, run off, just like your mother did. Classic.” His words punched you in the stomach and you turned to him.

“What the fuck!?” You yelled at him. “Are you under some drugs or you’re just really this asshole?!”

“Just saying the truth, Y/n. You know I’ve always been honest with you. And because of that, I feel like I should tell you this, you went low Y/n. Really? That Pogue?” He said with disgust in his face.

“Fuck off, Rafe.” You turned around but he stopped you by grabbing your arm. “Let go off me!”

“You did really wrong by choosing them and not me, Y/n.” You were struggling to get out of his hand but he was extremely strong. “The thing we could’ve done together! What I would give to have you in my b-.”

“Y/n!” JJ yelled your name cutting Rafe off, but your fist had already crashed into Rafe’s face, making him crash into the wall next to him.

Everything happend so fast after that, you yelled JJ to go away when you heard two cops running towards you. But he didn’t wanted to leave you alone, so the cop handcuffed him too and the next thing you knew, it was that you were at the police station.

“Who did this?” A police officer asked Rafe and he looked at you. He had blood coming out of his nose and his cheek was already red.

He took a second to respond, and without breaking eye contact with you said “JJ Maybank.”

***

PART 5

taglist;

@thewackywriter @malfoysmarauders @jj-maybank-stan @flashmidnight @downbytheouterbanks @cilorawr

sorry if you’re not in the taglist, for some reason I couldn’t tag you! I’m sorry :(

[therobotmonster]

“The road to crime ends in a trap that justice sets! Crime does not pay!”

That’s the character’s motto. He says it every episode.

Thanks to my need to stim bringing me back to Fallout New Vegas, I’ve been diving into old-timey radio plays, thanks to the “Old World Radio” mod. One of the radio shows included, is, well, it’s something.

The Avenger is, near as I can tell, a successful attempt by the creator of the Shadow to sell the Shadow twice. The Avenger is a somehow famous biochemist named Jim Brandon, who, in addition to mainly working as a personal CSI department for a single bumbling police detective, invented invisibility and a telepathy machine in his spare time.  

He, of course, uses these gadgets to fight crime as the Avenger. The show is pretty forgetable, unless you’re a weirdo like me, in which case it is quite the opposite. Points of interests include:

The “Black light of Invisibility” Jim uses to turn into the Avenger, despite being called a light, is portrayed more as a mist or gas, complete with the activation sound-effect being very obviously one of the actors trying to make the sound of a pressurized canister opening with their mouth. 

The Avenger’s telepathic gizmo is basically a ham radio they can sit by an monitor for flashes of thoughts from people who are being murdered or who are in states of deep terror. The broadcast provides a few context clues but never solves the crime on its own.

The Avenger’s preferred means of crime fighting is solving a case through careful detective work. Once he’s done that, he tends to make himself invisible, follow the baddie into an incriminating situation, and then scare them as a disembodied voice until the cops show up. Thankfully, people are very prone to confessing their crimes loudly to ghosts just as the detective walks through the door.

If you are wondering if invisibility is a thrilling power for a character on a radio program, it is not.

While he tended to fight murderers and blackmailers, the Avenger once battled a mad scientist who made an army of robots to harvest animal, and if he weren’t stopped, human, brains to create a giant amalgam super-brain for his ultimate robot. 

He also thwarted a pair of scamming spiritualists from trying to claim a sort of prototype James Randi prize.

Despite being a vigilante, Jim gives more care to evidence and innocent until proven guilty than the cops, and rarely engages in combat.; He doesn’t really even break locks, he just follows behind people as they go through doors.

My favorite part of the show, however, is the sidekick. Like any good pulp superhero Jim needs someone to talk to (it is a radio program) and thus, there’s his beautiful assistant Fern Collier. She knows his secret, and they’re both clearly smitten with each other. They might as well be married but it was the 40s. I expect if they were written married she’d be expected to be at home. 

She also has an amazing name for a beautiful sidekick character. She sounds like a supporting character in a mid-90s Nicktoon.

Fern is Jim’s assistant, and one would assume that means she’s learning biochemistry, but nope, he seems to be teaching her to be a detective. The thing he isn’t. At least not officially. 

Fern as two main passions:

The first is celebrities. This is partially a division of narrative labor thing, so she can fill Jim in on all the details about actors and socialites that get offed or kidnapped so the audience can know who they are (Jim does the same with scientists and underworld figures), and partially part of her excited, kinda dingy personality. Being an autograph hound sometimes moves the plot along by getting her face-to-face with suspects.

More relatable to ladies today, I think, is Fern’s love of food. There’s a running gag of Jim dragging her to do undercover work at banquets, fancy restaurants and parties only for the crime to keep her from eating. She always comments on the spread anyplace they go, and most episodes end with Jim taking her out so she can make up for the meal she missed out on due to shenanigans. 

Fern’s other job in the story is to get Jim to explain how he figured everything out at the end of the episode, in her role as apprentice detective. Fern’s own detective skills aren’t as sharp as Jim’s, she jumps to conclusions and usually suspects the red herring suspect, but that’s also exactly what the detective does, and Fern’s track record is better.

TLDR: As D-list superheroes go, The Avenger sure is one of them. 

[thatsystemerror]

the best things about Outer Banks

*spoilers ahead*

Holy hell, this turned out so long. I decided to make a second post solely dedicated to quotes because I just could not fit that in here anymore. I guess it speaks for this show that I had enough material to make two... Anyways, enjoy!

pt.2 - The Best Quotes From OUTER BANKS

NOT the pace at which John B and Sarah’s relationship develops

noT AT ALL

sorry, done with the venting now

anyhow, the group being TIGHT ™ 

JJ making you feel one of three ways:

“oh heLLO, JJ” (mostly without a shirt scenes)

“ugh, JJ” (he brought the gun and/or is being a dick scenes)

“awww, JJ...” (you know which scenes)

Kie’s outfits

the golden hour lighting

the sets being actual houses

the beach/sea/surfer aesthetic

the van

The Chateau™

JJ’s rings

Pope’s contributions being overlooked, always

everyone’s motivation on this show: “How much?” “400 mill”

conclusion: that’s worth fucking shit up

Kie actually being really skilled in politely but determinedly shutting her guy friends down when “macking” on her

ya know, until the Pope pity party at the end...

cuz that’s what it felt like, for real

I actually thought JJ and Pope might have a thing going...

the soundtrack full of surf guitar music

the intro font always making it feel like some 90s Miami-set crime show is about to start

John B’s hair, I think?

I mean, I don’t know what you’re into...

I just feel like it’s a breath of fresh air on the boy’s-hairstyles-tv-landscape

getting major “Don’t Breathe” vibes from the blind old lady shooting up her house

I appreciate them trying to make her actually kinda creepy, because they usually fail miserably with "scary” elements on non horror stuff

I don’t know if you catch my drift, just thought it was well done...

Sarah getting stung by a jellyfish and everyone just like not really caring??

all of them thinking for even oNE SECOND that they weren’t gonna get screwed over with the gold

JJ looking like the lead of any 90s teen production at all times

JJ just effortlessly blending in with the waiters at the party

or that time when he fake cried on command to save his ass

but like every character has good acting skills (or simply is a good liar, I guess it’s a matter of philosophy)

JJ and Pope betting money on Kie and Sarah

Kie starting a fire to save everyone’s ass

the Vlad and Val thing (cheesy for sure, but adorbs nonetheless)

highkey though the guy playing the drug dealer is a really good actor, cuz I’m sure he’s nice and cool and all irl but as Barry all he makes me think of is this:

Topper’s Frosted Tips™ (gosh that sounds so unbelieveabley sexual I can’t believe it’s not sexual)

JJ constantly trolling every authority figure

Sarah not being the perfect-snobby-rich-chick-daughter despite being expected to be by everyone

JJ robbing the coast guard of a pen? because he ignored him

“bring it on Aggie, you bitch” sign (I don’t think stroms can read but nice touch)

especially the first few episodes finally being an accurate depiction of how teenage boys always wear their hat floating like 5″ above their head and hoW FUCKING DUMB IT LOOKS!!! thank you! please stop...

Pope loosing his pants at the cemetary (like imagine him having to explain that to his mama)

the “friends” awkwardly waving at Kie’s dad

that one silouette shot ✨cinematography, bitches✨

never actually seeing John B give the BMX bike back to that poor kid...

going back to save the Big John photograph from the street (tears, man... tEArS)

John B being a major wuss while Sarah is cleaning his wound

NEVER having the gun when actually needed

ALWAYS having the gun when it could get you in major trouble

JJ taking the blame to save Pope

JB’s finger guns after his first kiss with Sarah (John B you smooth mf...)

that opening shot in ep.4 zooming in on the boat through the storm clouds

everybody being collectively surprised to see JB in a school building

the blood splattering against the window of the car with JJ and his dad in it (terrible scene, A+ effect!)

JJ sneaking through the swamp with a backpack on his head

the actor of Sarah’s dad managing to give you the creeps with some subtle crazy eyes even before it turns out he’s actually crazy

Kie fooling Pope with her British accent

Rose thinking she’s some kind of High Priestess at the midsummers party

John B putting a bow tie on JJ

BROMANCE™ (alternative title)

JJ delivering the note dancing flirtatiously

Sarah thinking pushing John B down would magically have made him invisible to Topper watching them for thE LAST 5 MINUTES??!

JJ twirling Kie around when leaving the Kook party

Topper accidently confessing his creepy-stalker-love to a 13 year old

Kie slapping John B

John B slapping Kie

violence is not the answer, kids! but I guess these were friendly slaps, so it’s okay

JB telling Sarah how “everything’s fine” with the Pogues and then cutting to it being definitely not

John B saying: “I don’t give a shit if she’s an axe murderer” and Pope making this face: 😲

a brilliant plan being ruined by a porch light

everybody constantly shitting on 1... 2... 3!

is that a The Shining reference I’m seeing????

how tf did it take them so long to realize she’s blind I-

and then once they did, Sarah states: “that bitch can’t aim” ???

like yeah, obviously, you just said it yourself sHE’S BLIND!!!????

anywho, John B not even bothering to fake excitement over the fishing trip

JJ finding “that’s what she said” disproportionately funny

the group wordlessly agreeing that somebody should probably look after JJ at the drug dealer’s

Sarah confidently telling JB she’s a virgin without it being all awkward (rare sight in teen shows back in my day)

Pope’s “Thrasher” shirt (like damn that’s off brand, but funny!)

JJ getting floaties for drinks in the whirlpool

the Whirlpool Group Hug™

JB telling Sarah goodbye before the fishing trip and me deadass thinking for a sec that he set an alarm to creep into his gf’s room in the middle of the night

Ward having sOmE NErVE to interrogate JB after killing his father (and later basically calling Rafe a psycho?!! like bitch get a mirror and baptized, thank you)

John B driving through the fence at the airport

Sarah yelling at her dad “you’re gonna kill him” like that’s gonna stop him lol

the cop at the airport giving us real talk about what police first aid training probably looks like

JB wanting to tell the cops what happened out of the goodness of his heart

Wheezie sticking up for her sister

Rafe calling John B a maniac (the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I see)

JB locking himself in, in a house with Topper (like god damn, Karma’s a bitch huh)

Sarah, a teenage girl mind you, getting away from a trained-special-force-FBI-whatever-cop-dude in full armor by KNEEING him

Rafe talking to his Emotional Support Dealer™

the Pogues standing up to their parents for frIEnDsHIp!!!

JJ about to play “Operation” on his dad to get the keys

the missed opportunity to use “I Shot The Sheriff” on the soundtrack

I’m still a bit salty....

JB getting out of the cop car like that’s just normal

Pope going to shake Kie’s hand to make up

Sarah making it just in time

Ward being the “final card” lmao

Pope’s fam taking JJ into their group hug

the chill fisherman dude (with a wild romantic past?) taking in JB and Sarah

I demand a spin-off for that guy’s story btw

I’m so sorry for how long this must’ve taken to read. Seems like a good time to remind you that there’s more though: 

pt.2 - The Best Quotes From OUTER BANKS

It’s a great show (even though in parts I would’ve preferred them to step off the cheese grater a little bit). Overall (aside from the obviously heavy themes), it reminds me of all the Australian teen shows I used to watch growing up (mixed with “the Outsiders” maybe?) and it makes me actually a bit excited for summer. 

And I hate summer, so that’s saying something!

@thatsystemerror

the best things about - masterpost

[zathuraroy5]

Supernatural Rewatch : 2x7

(queued 2021/02/09)

Oh shit the recap goes in depth.

Ooo police after them. Oh shit

I don't remember....

Trying to turn them against each other… (So they’re in a police station, Dean is in an interrogation room, Sam in a waiting room. They somehow have a way to tell the same story even if they were separated (which, of course, cool and badass) and the cops are trying to get them to confess and turn them against each other. Which obviously won’t work)

I do like flashback episodes. Breaks the monotony of monster of the week. Cool way to tell the story.

Lol why is Dean so bad at interrogating

Oh God 11:25, classic adhd dean. Has to sit down while Sam works on the computer. Can't last 5 seconds before making noises with his mouth. (and tapping his thighs)

from convo with @adhdeancas: Yesyesyes

What's up with those cops.... He's weird… (my gut feeling was ri-ight)

Duuuuuddeee

They are in separate rooms. Both working on the Dana Shulps mystery. Sam is using a paper to visualize it. Dean is literally just DOING IT IN HIS HEAD

My bb so smart

@adhdeancas YES. IT IS SO GOOD

Lolol he literally just went on confessional camera to say they think a ghost did it I can't. (Dean’s energy in this. Like. He’s acting all cool as a cucumber, but then… we Know him. He must be terrified and losing his shit just a little bit.)

Sam :"you know something doesn't feel right" cop lady "well you are digging up a corpse" Sam snort "ya no that's pretty par for the course actually" lolol

Omg the ghost saves her, it's Pete

The lawyer guy that was killed probably covered up for him

I KNEW he was weird

Lawyer lol omg (no context thanks me)

Also Sam: "nice lady" dean "ya for a cop"

Also it's like... The police have been after them since season two... Isn't that part of the plot in the later seasons? With the FBI? I only caught snatches of it through gifs

@adhdeancas .acab dean.  yeah a bit, you know spn, ever inconsistent with the Real World Plot Line Stuff

Ah, I See

It's like, Dean's been like this since the beginning yet there's probably blue lives matter people that think the Winchesters would be on board with their shit.

Like yes Law boy and acab dean (who was btw very infatuated with an actual BLM badass girl) would be on board with Qan** bullshit

*eye roll*

Also why did Dean say "does she look familiar to you" (about the cop)... Like it feels like foreshadowing but as usual this show probably didn't follow up with an ominous line like that. (seriously tho wtf was this throwaway line for)

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [7]: Gebunden

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” —Jane Austen

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The diner Dante takes her to is the standard cop hangout. Every city has at least one, with an interior that hasn’t been updated since the 1950s, a cook who knows everyone by name, and food and coffee that are remarkably good considering the otherwise outdated, somewhat grungy appearance the place has. Sitting in one of the corner booths that overlooks the busy street outside, Lir picks at her omelette, only half-interested in it and the crisp hashbrowns accompanying it. Some sort of jazz plays from a jukebox by the door, soft enough that conversations can be held easily yet loud enough that eavesdropping would be difficult. It reminds her of Sunday afternoons when her father was alive, how he and her mother would dance on the worn living room rug to Frank Sinatra or Billie Holiday or Duke Ellington, but that leads her back to her dream the night before, which is quite effective at dampening her already non-existent appetite.

In a lull while the record switches, Dante sets down his fork and reaches for his coffee, studying her over the rim. “Hate to say it, but you look like hell. Rough night?”

“Something like that,” she replies. When he opens his mouth, she shakes her head. “I don’t want to get into it. Just bad dreams, nothing more than that.”

He gives an idle shrug. “Suit yourself. You gonna eat that?”

With a grimace, she pushes her plate over to him, and he swaps it for his own empty one before setting in on the omelette, which he slathers with ketchup. It makes her wince, but to each their own is what she tries to tell herself, taking a sip from her own coffee. Both of them have been beating around the bush since he picked her up—Miller, her behavior yesterday—and she decides to put an end to it. “How much shit am I in?”

Dante chews thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing. “With Morrison? No more than you should be. Job’s safe, and he’s not looking to put any marks on your record. Apparently the D.A. said that, even without the confession, there’s enough evidence to nail Miller.” He pauses, then gives her a grin. “Honestly, I think Morrison’s glad someone ripped into that sorry sack of shit.”

“You think?” She tries to picture the gruff Chief being pleased about anything and finds that she can’t.

“Sure. Hell, he did himself when he was a detective, from what I heard.” He chuckles. “Might not seem like it now, but he used to be pretty wild, back in the day. Didn’t really settle until he started climbing the ranks, and that’s probably only because you can’t let those higher-up pricks get under your skin.”

She supposes that it makes sense. Relaxing, Lir leans back in her seat, watching as he devours the rest of their breakfast at a speed that leaves her surprised he doesn’t choke on it. “Thanks.”

“Huh?”

“For sticking up for me. I appreciate it.”

He looks a bit embarrassed as he rubs the tip of his nose. “Ah, no thanks needed. We’re partners, right? Gotta look out for each other. Besides, I wanted to throttle the guy myself. Your tongue-lashing just beat me to it.” She smiles, but the expression fades when he asks, “You do that in Fortuna?”

“No,” she says shortly.

Dante gives her a curious look. “You know, I never did ask what led you to comin’ here.” At her frown, he adds, “Don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just askin’.”

Lir mulls over the best way to answer, trying to figure out the short version of her life. “My dad was a cop. Never really made it higher than a beat cop, but he liked his job and what he did. It got him killed eventually.”

“Shit, Lir, I’m sorry.”

She waves it off. “Guess that’s what drove me to join the force, too. Thought I could make a difference, you know?” He nods. “Anyway, Fortuna was nice. But there was a lot of whispering about how a woman made detective, a lot of insinuations, a lot of . . . I dunno. It’s a pretty old-school place. Women raise families, men work. I wanted to get out before I wound up dead-locked with people I couldn’t stand.”

“Why Red Grave?” 

“My father was here a long time ago. We moved to Fortuna when I was . . . I must have been around six, I think.” Lir toys with her coffee mug. “Other than that, I don’t have a real reason other than I liked the look of it the most.” Looking up at him, she asks, “What about you?”

“Me? Been here my whole life, born and raised.” He smiles, but it seems a little haunted, a little bitter. “My ol’ man was a real piece of shit. Joined the force to stop people like him.”

She opens her mouth to ask him how awful his father was. Wife beater? Drunk? Absent? Then she realizes that it’s, quite frankly, not her place, particularly as he’d done her the courtesy of not prying into her past, and she swallows the questions, feeling them burning in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

Like her, he waves it off. “Doesn’t matter now. ‘Bout the only thing I got from him was my good looks, anyway.” Lir huffs a laugh without meaning to, and he winks at her before sobering up. “Anyway, Miller might be taken care of, but we’re still at a dead-end on Marsons. Got any ideas?”

“Did we get anything from the DMV?”

“No, and it’s not lookin’ like we will. You know about their feud with the police?” She shakes her head. “Ah, well. Lotta immigrants go there to get a license or permit or anythin’ that helps ‘em out, especially the ones who didn’t go through legal channels. DMV wanted law enforcement to agree not to send info to the feds, our city’s commissioner wouldn’t agree, now we’re stuck.”

Lir swears loudly enough that a nearby table gives her disgruntled glares. “Perfect. Guess we need to set up a tip line.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.” She slumps down. It’s a necessary step to take, and Lir knows that it is, but tip lines are the bane of almost all investigations. Once they’re open, everyone calls in, some with information that’s actually relevant, some who just want to nose around, some who want their fifteen seconds of fame, others with nothing more to offer than a conspiracy theory or a completely fabricated story that winds up wasting precious time and resources. Add in the sheer manpower needed to run them,  and they move from being a hassle to a nuisance. “Guess I’ll bring it up to Morrison when we go in.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Having to wear a suit ranks fairly high on Lir’s list of uncomfortable experiences. Even tailored well—which hers is, something that had cost her a pretty penny due to her short stature—it is stiff, itchy, and the tie at her throat feels choking. Her only solace is that Dante looks equally put out, though she’s got a suspicion that it has more to do with the cameras, as she’s never seen him in casual clothes. At the podium is Morrison, telling the city that there is a killer, that caution must be exercised in all things, and that they are opening up a tip line for anyone who might have seen something or knows someone who has. Lir had insisted that they not ask for people who saw the perpetrator; it’s too hard, she had argued, for someone to view their neighbor as a potential murderer. But a witness? They could spin that story all day, and they were more likely to get relevant information from it.

“In short,” Morrison says, “we have found ourselves, in the wake of this tragedy, seeking any information that will aid us. Please call the number at the bottom of your screens if you think that you know something, no matter how big or small it might be.” He takes a deep breath. “We’ll take your questions now.”

A reporter at the front sticks up his hand. “Does this have any relation to the Devil’s Knight case?”

Dante tenses, and Lir looks at him curiously as Morrison replies, “We’ve found nothing to lead us to believe so, no.”

“But wasn’t there religious paraphernalia found with the victim?” the reporter persists.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.” When the reporter opens his mouth again, Morrison smiles thinly. “The Devil’s Knight case, as you called it, occurred twenty years ago, and the perpetrator of those crimes died while incarcerated. We can’t rule out a copycat, if that’s what you’re implying, but we’ve found no evidence to support that theory.”

A woman lifts her arm. “I have a question for Detective Thorne.” Lir blinks, but steps up to the podium when Morrison beckons her forward, a dull wariness throbbing behind her temples. “Detective, witnesses saw you chasing a man across Fifth Street and Broad Avenue. Is he a suspect in this case?”

Lir clears her throat. “It’s possible, yes.”

“Are any efforts being made to find him?”

“As Chief Morrison explained, we—”

“Because it seems to me,” the woman continues, “as though the Red Grave police have no leads, no evidence, no suspects, and no hope of finding Sophie Marsons’ killer before he strikes again.”

Anger throbs behind her temples, yet Lir does her best to keep her face and voice neutral. “The perpetrator in this crime was meticulous, but it doesn’t mean he’s infallible. Someone out there knows him, or has seen him, or can help us build a better picture of Marsons’ life. That’s why we’re asking for your help.” 

(“Make it personal,” Morrison says, lighting a cigar. “They’ll single you out, Thorne, because you’re a woman. When they do, you keep the focus on Marsons. You plead for information. Make them want to help.”)

Lir takes a deep breath. “What happened to Sophie was a tragedy,” she declares. “It was senseless, it was violent, it was deplorable. She was, from what little we know of her, a bright, friendly young woman with her entire life ahead of her, someone who liked frozen margaritas with salt on the rim, who was interested in law. And all of that was brutally taken away.” Morrison touches her elbow, a sign to close her statement. “We . . . No, I want to catch the one who did this. I don’t want to see another victim. So, please, if you knew Sophie, if you saw her that night, call us. Or come in to speak with us. Thank you.”

She steps away, ignoring the clamoring of the press as she returns to her original spot next to Dante. As Morrison brings the press conference to a close, Dante leans closer to murmur, “Good speech.”

“Thanks,” she mutters back.

By the time the press has dispersed and she’s been allowed to change back into more comfortable clothing, the phones in the precinct are ringing off the hook. Dante spots her coming out of the locker room and grimaces, one pressed to his ear. Simmons is fumbling reassurances to someone on a different line. Everywhere, cops are speaking, passing notes, scrawling hurriedly to catch whatever information they can before moving on to the next tip. Lir takes in the chaos and the undercurrent of tension in the air, and then she heads to her desk, on which the phone rings shrilly. She answers, cradling the headset against her shoulder as she hunts for a pad of paper and a pen. “Detective Thorne.”

“Did you enjoy the spotlight, Detective?” 

The voice, distorted as it is by some sort of device, sends a shiver down her spine. Her heart pounds in her chest as she stares blankly into a drawer, the bitter taste of fear coating her throat. She doesn’t know how, but she knows without a shadow of a doubt that this is their killer, that he, like so many others, now wants to make himself known. She grabs blindly and tosses what turns out to be a pack of staples at Dante, who startles and glares at her, only for his eyes to widen when she gestures to the phone and mouths wordlessly, it’s him.

“You seemed . . . uncomfortable,” the man on the other end of the line continues. “Quite unlike your father. He loved the spotlight.”

Dante rushes into Morrison’s office, and the two emerge after a quick conversation, Morrison gesturing for everyone else to stop talking. An eerie silence descends over the precinct as Lir asks, “My father?”

Morrison presses the speaker button, and that garbled voice fills the room. “Yes,” he replies. “I knew him, though, perhaps, not as well as you.” There’s a pause, and then a grisly noise: wet and visceral, it sounds not unlike a butcher carving meat from a bone, and there’s a hopeless sort of despair in her that she sees on Dante’s face, along with fury, because it is the sound of another victim being claimed. “Tick tock, Detective,” the man intones, and then the line clicks and the phone goes dead in her hand.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Morrison sends her home with an escort that remains parked on the curb outside of her apartment. Having someone babysit her is irritating at best and infuriating at worst—Dante is also equally at risk, but no one is batting an eye over his safety—but Lir understands the need for it. The killer had called her, had mentioned knowing her father, and her face had just been broadcast on live television. So, the idea that he might choose to come after her next isn't entirely unfounded. Still, as she opens the curtains and peers out, watching one of the officers lean on the door of his cruiser and smoke, she wishes that she had some true peace.

Yet she doesn't want to be alone, either.

Moving to her sofa, she grabs her phone from a cushion and scrolls through her scarce contact list. Joan's number sits comfortable below Dante's and above Morrison's, and Lir dials it, listening to the beeping and waiting for an answer. It comes just before the call would have gone to voicemail. "Hello?"

"Hi. Joan?" Lir clears her throat. "This is Detective Thorne."

There's a pause. Then, "I remember you! You came in asking about Sophie. Sorry, sugar, as pretty as your face is, I've seen a lot since then. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if your offer for company still stands?" She winces as the words leave her mouth. They're too stilted, too formal, and she's too out of practice for this.

To her relief, Joan's reply this time is immediate. "Of course! Are you comin' to the bar?"

"No, I, uh . . ." She glances at the window. "I'm under surveillance right now. Because of the press conference. But I can give you my address?"

"Sure. Just let me find a pen."

Lir waits for the go ahead to rattle it off, along with instructions for which buzzer to press and what to say to the officers if they try to stop her. With that done, she calls the officers next, letting them know she has a guest coming over and what Joan looks like, agreeing when they tell her they'll still have to check her I.D. and frisk her as a precaution. Then there is nothing else to do but wait.

She tidies up her apartment, washing her few dishes and sweeping and making the bed, and she finds two bottles of wine and the meat and cheese tray the department had given her as a house-warming present a few days ago. Lir has just gotten the cellophane off when her buzzer goes off, and she hurries to let Joan inside.

The bartender arrives dressed like a knock-out, which is strange considering how casual her clothes are. From her dark turtle-neck sweater to her lightly distressed jeans, they imply comfort, but on her they look better than they ever would on the runway. Lir stumbles over her greeting as Joan hangs up her coat, and her nerves don't lessen until Joan leans over and gives her a kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad you called," she says, smiling warmly. "I was starting to think you never would."

"I'm sorry. Between work and unpacking . . ." Lir starts to say, but Joan merely shakes her head, so she changes the topic. "I have wine. Why don't you settle in and I'll get us glasses? Do you prefer red or white?"

"White, please." Joan sits on the couch while Lir heads to the kitchen, looking around curiously. "Gotta say, this is the first apartment I've been in that belongs to a detective. It's nice."

"Thanks."

Lir locates the corkscrew hiding in one of the drawers and carries the bottle of moscato and two glasses to Joan. She takes one, holding it out as Lir fills it, and while Lir prepares her own, she says, "I saw the conference. The press are some miserable bastards, huh?"

"I suppose so," Lir agrees.

"And to bring up the Devil’s Knight case," Joan continues. "It's like they want the whole city on edge. Probably do, now that I think about it. How else will they sell papers?"

"What was that case, anyway?"

Joan gives her a look of pure surprise. "You mean you don't know?"

"I mean, I've heard of it, I think, but . . ."

"Well." Joan takes a long drink of her wine. "Where to begin? You have to understand, I was a kid when it all went down, so you'll have to find the file to know more, but there was this guy who thought he was the modern day Jack the Ripper. Went around murdering women, leaving them in alleys like trash. Usually there'd be some sort of . . . Bible verse or somethin' similar with the bodies when they were found."

"That's horrible," Lir murmurs.

Joan nods her agreement. "It was. Women didn't go anywhere alone, 'cause he wasn't picky, other than them all being blondes. I think. Anyway, eventually he got caught and went to jail, where I guess he died. It's sort of become this . . . trademark of Red Grave, I guess. Not on any tours, but people still talk, and there's a vigil held every year for the victims."

"What was his name?" Lir leans forward, propping her head on the back of the couch. "The guy."

"I dunno. He had surviving family, so the name was kept outta the papers, even during the trial. Kids, I think."

"Mm." Lir closes her eyes, her brows pinched. Something about this feels familiar, but she can't put her finger on why. Had someone said something to her during her academy days? Or had she simply read about it at some point and tucked it away with all of the other things she doesn't need?

A hand on her thigh breaks her from her thoughts, and she blinks her eyes open to see Joan leaning towards her, her lips curled in a little smile. "But I say enough about murderers. Let's talk about us."

"Us?" Lir asks.

Then Joan kisses her, her mouth warm and tasting wine-sweet, and Lir lets thoughts of the case slip from her mind.

[belladonnaandulriched]

the dead of night | chapter one

I had no idea if I could stand up right, but then again I watched Frankie lift himself up on the ground as if he was doing his own push ups. He brushed himself off and turned to me with a hand extended out. I held onto his hand; he used his other hand to set onto my shoulder to help me up.

When he and I were face to face, he gazed on at me with a frightened look upon his face.

“What year do you think it is?” he asked me in a low voice; I glanced over at Hannah and Joey nearing us. I returned to him and shook my head.

“What are you guys doing here?” she asked us.

“We were—looking—for something,” Frankie sputtered and I could

“We were looking for something, too,” Hannah replied as she put her arm around Joey's lower back: I spotted her hand on his hip. The solemn look on her face told it all. Francine had just gone missing.

“D'you guys call the police?” I asked Joey.

“Francine's parents did, but neither of us felt like it was going to help matters,” he confessed with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Yeah, especially since she went missing in Canada,” Hannah added, to which her face fell. I never realized how much she resembled to that of a doll with her full round face and milky skin and her deep dark eyes. Kristina had long blonde almost silvery white hair which reminded me of Hannah's near black locks, but if I recalled it well, Hannah was part Native American like Joey himself; except she was also part Scandinavian rather than half Italian like him.

All I knew from their story was that they met when they were kids and they separated some time in middle school, because she moved over to Rochester and he became Mr. Hockey Player. They found each other again when he entered the fold at Anthrax and we had put out Armed and Dangerous with him, and then I had no idea what happened after that. They separated again after Spreading the Disease and then we let Joey go before State of Euphoria, and there they were again. I had my hair back again, though.

“Yeah, Scott, I remember you sayin' we had to put production on hold just to find Francine,” Joey pointed out with a slight smirk on his face. Didn't really help matters, but I knew Frankie and I had to go along with it. But then again, Joey was still babyfaced like when he first joined, so all I could assume was we had gone back to just prior to our showing him the door.

“Uh, yeah,” was all I could say. He chuckled at me and all I could feel was my face growing warm.

“Yeah, I remember you actually calling up me and Joey and saying 'production is being put on hold because it's an emergency we're dealing with here',” Hannah recalled, complete with a telephone gesture up to her ear. So they were living together. “You don't remember doing that? You also told us to meet you here at this very corner.”

“Yeah, it was like just this morning,” Joey added.

“Of course I remember it!” I exclaimed. “It's just—I didn't think you guys'd get here as quickly as you did.”

“Hey, if it's Francine or my mom or anybody we care about, we're gonna get here stat, Scott,” Joey assured me.

“Stat Scott,” she echoed. “Gonna stat some Scott.”

“Bit of a tongue twister, too,” Frankie pointed out, which made the two of them laugh.

“Well, come along—I see Nancy and her new boy up ahead,” Hannah gestured up the block. Frankie shivered and followed her along; I ran my fingers through that stringy hair around the crown of my head and followed suit. Frankie and I emerged from the alleyway to the sidewalk and the street, where we were met with those tall buildings making up the skyline of New York City. I wondered who Nancy was as I stared up at the apartment buildings on the block. Something metallic drifted up above the rooftop of the building closest to us. I didn't what it was but something about it made me squirm in the soles of my shoes. I peered down to the street before us.

A pillar of smoke floated up from a manhole cover and vaporized into nothing. Next to the pillar was a small neon blue light on a post. Something moved in the light and the smoke.

A ghost. A faint ghost about the color of the blue neon emerged from the fog. Three more appeared from the vent on the storm drain before they vaporized into nothing.

Nightmares. Nightmares were all I could think about.

I could hear them talking to one another next to Frankie and me.

“It's okay—we're gonna find her,” I heard him whisper to her. I turned my head to find Hannah putting her arms around Joey's svelte waist, and his resting his hand on the back of her head. I wondered about the warmth between the two of them, and it made me miss Kristina even more.

I glanced up at ahead to another dark haired woman standing on the corner with—

“Is that Geddy Lee,” Frankie blurted out.

Joey and Hannah glanced over at us with beaming grins on their faces. I couldn't resist the grin on my face at the sight of that hooked nose and those feathery bangs over deep set eyes. He looked nothing like from this era, however: he had shed his long hair by this era, or so I thought. I wondered about him, especially when they entered our view and I noticed his skin was smooth, much like Joey's face.

“Hey, you two,” Joey squeaked out; his voice quivered and waved with excitement.

“There they are,” I heard Nancy say. She showed off a big red wine colored smile at us and gestured towards the four of us.

“Ah, the infamous New Yorkers,” Geddy's Canadian accent cut through me like a knife. I couldn't believe it when he neared us.

“Scott, Frank—this is my friend Nancy Kensington,” Hannah introduced us. “Art student from Seattle.”

“And I've met ya already,” Joey replied with a wink of his eye.

“I know you have,” Nancy taunted him with a grin on her face.

“By the way, what even happened with you and Chris?” Hannah asked her.

“We broke up—it went downhill pretty quickly, like... over the course of a few months. Dominique and Matt broke up, too.”

“Oh, damn,” Frankie remarked.

“Yeah,” Nancy raised her dark eyebrows in answer. “He and I broke up but I found him, though.” She glanced over to Geddy and those large specs over his narrow face, to which he nodded his head from side to side.

“That girl also disappeared in Toronto, too,” he pointed out. “We came together out of intensity.”

“Francine?” Frankie corrected him.

“That's right! She went missing in the dead of night in Toronto.”

“He's more of a cop than a cop,” Joey cracked, which brought a laugh out of all of us.

“Well, let's get out of the street, shall we?” Nancy suggested as she adjusted the shoulder strap of her bag. “You guys look cold and I feel like there's something watching us.” She peered up at the apartment buildings again, and I followed her gaze to the metallic object up above the rooftop.

“What even is that?” I asked her. “Do you know?”

“It's a drone,” said Hannah. “I'm glad it's way the hell up there, too. Joey said he feels weird when one comes closer to him.”

“Yeah, Lars and I were over in Boston a while back and we saw one of those,” Joey recalled.

“I've seen a few up in Canada, too,” Geddy added as he put his arm around Nancy's shoulder. “You get like this shaky, frightful feeling within you—like you're about to be attacked by something vicious.” He pointed across the street to a small bright lit cafe.

“Let's go there—looks warm and toasty in there.”

“We can have a cup of Joey and a glass of wine,” Hannah declared.

“Exactly!” he laughed. Joey and the girls stepped towards the curb, and Frankie stood next to Joey with his arms folded across his chest, even though he wore a light sweater. Geddy, meanwhile, turned to me. I could see those eyes of his digging deep within me behind the gradient shades. He gestured for me to come closer to him.

“What era are you from?” he asked me in a low enough voice for me to hear over the slight noise of the street.

“The pandemic era,” I said. “Frankie and me both—we came back to find Francine and for me to meet up with—someone dear to me.”

“A young lady?”

“Yeah. A girl I went to school with and—kinda had a thing with. It was totally a secret so no one from that era knows I'm here.”

“Well—Alex and I came back to redo things for Presto and Hold Your Fire, but apparently year numbers are things you can miss upon time travel, especially when you have a wild mind such as mine. We wanted to hit it through again, so we tried again.”

“And now—you're here.”

“We're here. Well, I am, anyways. Alex is back home with his girlfriend and his baby.”

I raised his eyebrows at him.

“And yes. Neil is with us, too.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but no sound came out. He gestured for me to come in closer to him. He peered over at Joey, Frankie, Hannah, and Nancy at the curb.

“I know how transient everything can be,” he whispered to me. “I know how things can end, and so quickly.”

Something caught my eye.

I recognized her long platinum blonde hair down to her waist. Like one of the ghosts roaming about the street, except her dress and her cloak whipped behind her in the winds rather than become part of the scenery. I knew that guitar case on her back anywhere. Geddy followed my gaze.

“Is that her?” I nodded my head.

“Kristina!” I exclaimed and my voice echoed over the pavement before us. She turned her head to show me her deep set dark eyes, a sharp contrast to that long blonde hair. Her eyes fixated onto me. I thought I would never see those eyes again following the release of Volume 8.

The corners of her mouth curled up into a warm Mona Lisa type smile.

“Kristina!” I repeated, to which she hurried towards me. She gripped onto the strap of her guitar case and hurried over to me: strands of her long blonde hair streamed behind her head. Her black lace skirt billowed behind her legs like a sail. A firm feeling emerged inside of my throat. Over twenty years without her, and yet it was about to hold off for the time being for me.

“Hey, Scott,” she greeted me in that kind voice once she came within earshot.

[calpalirwin]

Choices

Summary: Ashton Irwin thought he had everything he needed in life in the form of his daughter. Funny the difference a choice can make.

A/N: New series!

Content: Nothing too crazy/out of the norm.

Word Count: Just shy of 3K

And away, and away we go!

Chapter 1

“Is this seat taken?” a woman’s voice drawled, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, no, go ahead,” I said, motioning to the empty seat next to me at the bar. I held my hand up in a half wave to get the bartender’s attention, “Cal,” I called out to him, “little help?”

“Thanks,” she smiled softly, getting comfortable on the seat and rummaging through her purse for her wallet.

“Not a problem,” I half-smiled back, before turning my attention back to my own drink. I took a sip, still not sure what I was doing here, or if I was in the mood for something stronger.

“Can I buy you a drink?” another guy slurred at the woman. “I mean if he doesn’t have the balls to ask, I will,” he further explained, motioning at me. I rolled my eyes and bit my tongue.

“I’m okay, thank you,” she smiled pleasantly at the man before turning to Calum, the bartender. “Jack and coke, please,” she ordered, handing over some money and her ID. From what I could see, it was an out-of-state ID, but I couldn’t see which state. Based on her accent, I assumed some Southern state.

“Wow,” the man whistled, looking at me, “If you’re not gonna hit on her, I am.”

“Or, you could leave her alone,” I suggested firmly. This is why I don’t go out, I told myself.

“Why don’t we let the lady decide?” he slurred again. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

She looked at the man and smiled another polite smile. Then, “I wouldn’t waste your efforts, I’m not interested, but thank you.” She took the drink from Calum and took a long drink, sighing in content.

I scoffed into my drink. Good for you, I thought to myself.

The man scoffed too, “Not interested, you say? Then why are you by yourself at a bar on a Friday night?”

“Trying to enjoy my night,” she said, her pleasantness fading away to a clipped tone. Another long drink from the glass.

“You’d enjoy it a lot more if you accepted some friendly flirting,” he told her.

“I’d appreciate it if you left me alone, now,” she said, trying to keep her voice both firm but polite.

“You know what I’d apprec-”

“Okay!” I said abruptly, turning to face the guy. “The lady said she wasn’t interested. I strongly suggest you listen to her.”

“Or what, tough guy?” he asked, standing up.

I stood up myself, towering over the guy. “Or you’ll have to deal with me.”

He looked me up and down thinking over his choices. He shook his head, grabbed his jacket, and walked out of the bar.

I sighed and sat back down. “Sorry, we’re not all like that, I promise,” I told her.

The anger she had towards the guy turned full force on me, “I didn’t ask, nor did I want your help. I had that handled just fine, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She let out a small scream of frustration. “Ugh! You’re impossible!”

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” I told her.

“Oh, so you don’t have a savior complex? I’m not some damsel in distress. I can hold my own.”

“Just trying to help.” It wasn’t worth getting mad that she was mad. I didn’t know her or her story. But you want to, my brain told me. I shook my head to get rid of the thought. I turned my attention to the baseball game on the TV, the only reason I had agreed to go out in the first place.

“Well, next time, don’t,” she retorted, pursing her lips.

“And sit idly by while some douche says derogatory comments towards you? Can’t do that.”

“And why not?”

“Why don’t you ask my savior complex?” I teased.

This got a laugh out of her, “Alright, maybe I overreacted. I’m just trying to prove that I can take care of myself.”

“You moved this far to prove a point?” I asked.

“What?”

“The accent. Southern?”

“Good ear,” she smiled.

I shrugged. It was an easy enough accent to detect. “And what possessed you to move from the warmth of the South to the bitter cold of Seattle?”

“Grad school,” she confessed.

I nodded, slowly, “That’s cool.” She had drive, and while I’d never be able to wrap my head around someone willingly subjecting themselves to grad school, I could appreciate the ambition.

She shrugged, “Just prolonging life.” Her tone was almost bitter, like she wasn’t sure whether or not she believed it.

“I get the feeling someone fed you that bullshit line.”

Another laugh, “Bingo!” Then, “So, what do you do?”

“Oh, I’m a cop.”

Her eyes went wide. “Wow, that’s… incredibly impressive.”

I shrugged, “It’s not as glamorous as you’d think.”

“Rough week, huh?” she asked, nodding at my glass.

I laughed, “It’s just club soda. I try not to drink too often.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Girlfriend doesn’t like you drinking?”

“Oh, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh?”

“Not a lot of time,” was as much as I was willing to fess up to a perfect stranger, no matter how pretty I found her.

She nodded slowly, pursing her lips. “Nice tattoos,” she said, changing the subject.

“Thanks,” I said, my left arm self-consciously covering the tattoo on my right forearm. So, where you from?”

“Atlanta.”

“And you moved here for college?”

She nodded, “Yep.”

“Why? I mean, why Seattle?”

“Change of pace. Trying to broaden my horizons and whatnot.”

“And the boyfriend wasn’t a fan?”

She scoffed, “No he was not. Which is why he got bumped to ex-boyfriend.”

“Ah, so now you come to bars to verbally abuse the good guys, huh?” I teased.

“Keeps ‘em on their toes,” she smiled, her eyes dancing.

“Most would say being defensive is a front,” I told her.

“Most would say being secretive is also a front,” she shot back.

I leaned back. She was quick-witted; I liked that. “How am I secretive?”

“Quiet guy at a bar by himself, defender of innocent girls from the regular creeps? You’re right, open book.”

“Not secretive, just uninteresting.”

“Bullshit. You’re a cop. By definition that makes you interesting.”

“My job is interesting. But me? Not so much. Pretty basic stuff.”

“Oh really?”

“Really,” I assured. I finished my drink and drummed my hands against the bar, contemplating my next move. I wanted to get back home, but a huge part of me wanted to stay right where I was. “Um… you got a safe way to get home?”

She laughed a small, short laugh. “Is that your attempt at asking to see me home?”

I shrugged, “In my own incredibly lame way, I guess so.”

She took the last swallow from her glass. “Every instinct is screaming at me, but I got a gut feeling that says you’re one of the good guys. Even if I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Ash,” I told her, offering my hand.

“Ash,” she repeated, taking my hand and smiling. “I’m Nic.”

“Okay, Nic,” I said, liking the way her name sounded on my lips. “Can I walk you home?”

“Really?”

“Call it an apology for my reckless savior-complex.”

She eyed me carefully. “This isn’t a ploy so you can murder me, is it?”

“Oh yeah, I’m the Barkeep Killer. I get rid of douchebag creeps for innocent girls so they think I’m the good guy. Under the ‘good guy’ guise I offer to walk them home, so I can murder them because the one thing I can’t protect them from is my own bloodlust that can only be tamed by killing.” I couldn’t keep a straight face, and we both started cracking up with laughter. We laughed until our eyes teared up and it hurt to breathe.

“So, you really want to walk me home?” she finally asked after we caught our breath.

I shrugged. “Yeah. Not that it’s not safe, or you’re not capable of taking yourself home. It’s just… I dunno… I’m overstepping. Sorry…” I couldn’t think of a good enough reason to walk her home that didn’t sound completely insane. And she was right, I could be a murderer or some other sort of psycho. I wasn’t, but she didn’t know that.

“No, it’s just we’d literally have to walk. I didn’t bring my car. I only live a few blocks away.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I walked, too. I mean, I have a car, I just left it at home.” I reached for my jacket and stood up, “Shall we?” I asked.

She stood up and slung her purse over her shoulder. She smiled at me, “Yeah, let’s go.”

“Lead the way.”

“Fair warning,” she said as we made our way to the street. “Try anything and I will scream.”

I held up my hands defensively. “You can trust me. As stupid and as crazy as that seems, you can, okay? Like, yeah I can be a jackass sometimes, but I’m a pretty good dude.”

“Are you now?”

“Yeah. Okay, so I have a little sister. A brother to, but that’s slightly irrelevant to this particular story. Anyway growing up the one thing that was reinforced just as much as protecting her, was ‘treat girls the way you want guys to treat your sister. If you don’t want someone to treat your sister that way, don’t treat other girls that way.’ So, I try to look out for the female population as best I can. Cuz all the other girls are someone else’s sister or daughter. And I like to think that there are other guys out there who’d look out for my sister if I couldn’t myself.” I left out the daughter bit of the equation. I learned more times than I could count that dropping the “I have a daughter” bomb didn’t bode well for romance.

“Wow… that’s actually really sweet of you.”

“Golden rule right? Treat people the way you want to be treated. Or in this case, treat girls the way I want guys to treat my sister. Either way, it’s really not a big deal. I’m happy to do it.”

“So, do you walk a lot?” she asked after a small lull.

I shrugged, “I like the exercise.”

She took a step back to eye me up and down. “You must like to exercise a lot…”

I laughed. Admittedly, I was a well-built guy. It was the kind of body a guy built after joining the police force and chasing criminals, and keeping up with a five year old. “I just keep busy,” I half-lied.

“Oh, this is all from being a cop? Bullshit.”

I laughed again, “And walking.” She laughed with me, our laughs echoing off the buildings. “So, tell me something about yourself no one else knows,” I said, trying to make conversation as we walked to her place.

“Hmm…” she thought for a minute. “Alright. Despite the fear instilled in me by double-standards and plain old sexism, I love this time of night. When half the world is settling in for the night and the other half is getting ready for a night out, I feel so… alive. Like I’m part of something bigger than myself, y’know?”

I nodded. “It’s part of why I walk. The world seems almost peaceful.”

“And incredibly cold,” she laughed, breathing into her hands and rubbing them together.

Without thinking, I took my jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “Not used to the weather yet?”

“Yeah, I’ve only been here for a few weeks.” She put her arms through the sleeves before zipping up the jacket.

“And how are you liking it so far?” I asked, draping my arm around her shoulders.

She leaned into me as we continued to walk. “It’s nice. A little colder than I’m used to, but it’s still nice. So, what about you, Mr. Cop?”

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno. Tell me about yourself.”

I shrugged. “I’m a 25 year old cop who likes to walk. What’s to tell?”

“You forgot the part about saving girls from creeps in bars.”

“Only the pretty verbally abusive ones.”

“Pretty?” she asked, stopping to look at me.

“Not… like you’re pretty verbally abusive. Not pretty pretty. Well, you are… but…” I sputtered. Why did this girl make me feel like such a dupe? I took my hat off to run my hand through my hair before putting the hat back on. “Yeah, you’re pretty.”

“You're not so bad lookin’ yourself,” she responded before walking a few more steps, stopping again in front of a large apartment complex. “Well, this is me.”

I let out a laugh as my eyes fell on the address.

“What?” she asked.

“I think we’re neighbors.” I laughed again as I recalled a group of girls in sorority shirts hauling up boxes between fits of giggles a few weeks ago.

Her eyes looked at me, searching my face for an ounce of familiarity. “You’re ‘ladies’ guy!” she exclaimed when it finally clicked.

I laughed for a third time. Anytime I had passed one of them I’d always said a small “Ladies,” as I made my way out to work or came home. “That’s me.”

“I didn’t recognize you without the cop uniform,” she laughed at the sheer coincidence of it all.

“I didn’t recognize you either, so I guess we’re even.”

“Who’s the girl you’re always with?” she asked.

I gulped, wondering which girl she was referring to.

“You know, the tall, pretty one,” she pressed, sensing my hesitation.

I sighed in relief, “That’s my sister. She’s over a lot.”

She reached in her purse to pull out her keys and undid the lock. Her roommates were hanging out in the living room and immediately all their eyes went to me. Then, “Who’s this? Who cares, he’s cute!” came rushing out in a whirlwind.

“Girls, this is Ash. Ash, this is Kayla, Sasha, and Natalie.”

“Nice to meet you, ladies,” I nodded.

The same sense of familiarity flicked across their faces once the word “ladies” left my lips. “Oh! You’re him!”

“Yes. Ash is our neighbor,” Nic explained. “He was just walking me home.”

I nodded again, rocking on my heels. “Yeah, well, I guess my job here’s done. Night ladies. Nic.” I nodded again and turned towards my own door.

“Wait,” Nic called out, closing the small distance between us. “Thank you, Ash,” she smiled before reaching up to kiss my cheek.

“Anytime,” I said, ducking my head to hide my face turning red. I quickly unlocked my door and let myself in.

My sister looked up from the couch, “Wow, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

I shrugged. “Wasn’t feeling it.”

Lauren shook her head, “You’re never ‘feeling it’, Ash. That’s the problem.”

“How’s that a problem?”

“Because you deserve to have a life, Ash.”

“I have a life, Lauren.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Where’s your jacket?”

“Must’ve left it at the bar,” I lied.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I met a girl. I walked her home. She got cold. I gave her my jacket.”

“You met a girl?! What?!”

I shrugged. “It’s nothing. Turns out she’s my new neighbor. I’ll get my jacket back eventually.”

“You can’t just casually mention that you met a girl, Ash.”

“Yes, I can. It doesn’t mean anything. I got other things more important than some girl.”

“But what if she’s the girl?”

“Then she’s right down the hall. She still up?” I asked, changing the topic.

“She was dozing off when I last checked.”

I nodded. “You staying? You can have my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

She shook her head, “It’s early and a Friday night. I’ll probably see if Adam wants to do anything.”

I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t sure I liked the thought of my sister being out with a guy by herself, no matter how much I liked the guy.

“I’ll be fine, Ash. I’ll see ya later.” She grabbed her coat and purse before heading for the door.

“Thanks, Lauren. See ya,” I told her as she pulled the door shut behind her. I made my way down the hallway, poking my head in the bedroom on the right. A night light glowed brightly, casting the bed in a soft glow. I slowly made my way across the dolls and various other toys towards the bed. “Night, Cass,” I whispered, pulling the covers over the little body and kissing her forehead.

“Daddy?” Cassidy’s voice asked, heavy with sleep.

“What’s up, love?” I asked, my voice low.

“You missed bedtime.”

“I know. We’ll go to the park tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Alright, get some sleep. I love you.”

“Love you, too.” She rolled over and fell back asleep.

I made my way out of the room and into my own. I sighed as I put my wallet and keys on my dresser and got changed for bed. This is why I don’t go out, I told myself for the second time that night. But Nic’s nice, and you wouldn’t have met her if you stayed home tonight, another part of my brain pointed out. Yeah, but how would she feel when she finds out I have sole custody of my five year old? I asked myself. I crawled into bed, my mind arguing with itself and my cheek still tingling from Nic’s lips.

~~~

Tag List (ask to join, it’s that simple!)

@goeatsomelife​ @flameraine​ @cashtonasff5sos​ @here-for-the-uproars​ @cxddlyash​ @1-irwin-94​ @baldcalum​ @sparkling-chaos​ @tea4sykes​ @youngblood199456​ @5-seconds-of-obsession​

[cesabutterflywrites]

The Duke of the Bay: Part 7

[Spotify Playlist] [Youtube Playlist]

First Part, Ao3 Link, Next Part 

Story Warnings: Guns, threats, alcohol, homosexual slang used pejoratively and positively, internalized homophobia, ask me to add any if need be

Chapter Warnings:  cigarettes, drinking excessively

Chapter Word Count:   3457

Summary: Patton O’Hearty was a great detective. Most people didn’t take him for one at first glance, especially when he dressed casual. He was abnormally chipper; he thought everything was the cat’s pajamas. He had a smile for everyone he met. He was always tipping his hat at the dames and gents when he walked the streets of the Bay Area.

The only person he could never catch was the leader of the planted mob in Emeryville, nicknamed The Duke. The Duke was good at hiding his dealings and joints well, and he rarely had a snitch in his ranks. The few who tried, well, somehow they disappeared before they could give the police any substantial information. He was well hidden, but popular among the residents of the town. People talked boldly of his rambunctious parties, never revealing the locations though. He was hard to catch, to say the least.

So what happens, when instead, the detective is the one that’s caught?

-

Virgil didn’t want to leave the group behind at Logan’s house, but he knew he had to. It was the safest option. It was more important at that moment for the three of them to have their talks on how to move forward. The less he knew, the better. Even if it hurt to be so far away from his…from Logan.

 Now that he had a moment to himself, walking among the warehouses at nighttime, he was finally free to think about the night before. Had it only been less than a day since he knew he’d have to betray his family? 

 He knew when he took up the job tailing Logan that he was in over his head. He wasn’t expecting that to be how he paid his debts. He made a point not to get too involved in family affairs- it was too much risky work-but he owed some money to his cousin after losing a game of poker. 

 Best loss in his life, and he didn’t say so often. 

As he paced the streets, waiting for Mr. Doris, he remembered with vivid pleasure the events of the evening before. When he finally got Logan to crack and kiss him in a way he had never been kissed. 

 Man, Pat and Alice were sure in for it. Lord knows how Logan was able to keep his cool for this long. Virge had gotten the sense that Alice had figured something was amiss, though. Dame in her situation, it made sense for her to be perceptive. Virgil briefly thought of what it would look like- a small girl pinning tall Logan to the wall demanding to know if he let his hair down. 

 He sighed, watching his breath leave his mouth in a gray mist akin to cigarette smoke. The world wasn’t ready for people like them. He knew that. Part of the reason he stayed on the low was for that reason. If the world was going to hate him, let them hate him for good reasons. Let it hate him for his failures, for his crimes, for the pain he caused people. He wished that the world wouldn’t hate him for finally being comfortable with the idea of falling in love. 

 He had considered moving to Harlem. Now that was a scene. There were stories he’d heard of women on the arms of other women freely. There were men in dresses and women in slacks. There were women who were as burly as men and men as puny as gals. There was music, freedom, a community and safe haven. He had saved up nearly enough to go east to that scene when he had been relocated to help his cousin get a foothold in the west. 

 He felt bummed out for so long, but he felt glad that he got Logan out of the whole ordeal. 

 Scenes of the night before flooded his mind’s eye. Hot skin pressed up against each other. Tightness and heat and primal instinct and sweat and all things he was familiar with, but none of it had felt...like that. Like the grip of a cuddle afterwards. The warmth of a person’s hand twirling his hair. The soft urge to plant kisses on Logan’s face afterwards to care for him. The whispered laughter in between afterglow kisses. 

 A part of him wanted to take Logan there. Logan, in a place like Harlem? It’d be worth it just for the surprise on his prude, puckered face. 

 He took out a cigarette to shift his focus from the forbidden thoughts once he heard the footsteps. He inhaled the smoke with ease when he caught the silver flash of a scar with a face forming behind it from the shadows. 

 “Hello, Virgil. How was your day?” Smooth of voice as ever. Slick like fine whiskey, and every bit of a snake’s hypnotic charm in those eyes. 

 Virgil ignored that. He took a drag from his cigarette to give himself time to form an answer. Finally, he curtly replied, “Same old. Detective Dolt is still on that blessed routine of his. Swear, the guy never steps a foot outta line.” 

 “Right,” the word drew out.  Mr. Doris squinted at him. The man who had taken Virgil’s place in the family business always glared at him with suspicion. Now, without knowing it, he had good reason to. 

 “You?” Virgil asked, trying to hold back a cough. He had to keep it cool. He held out his pack to the scarred man, a peace offering from his earlier brusque behavior that morning. 

 Mr. Doris waved it off. He turned his nose up to examine his shoulder, evidently finding some invisible lint. “I had other matters to attend to, I haven’t been able to find my target. Was he with yours?” 

 Ashes from his cigarette sprinkled slowly to the ground. “Nope, though doesn’t mean he didn’t call or something.” 

 “I see. Was there a girl there?” Mr. Doris inquired, his tone too innocent for his normally vicious demeanor. 

 “What, that broad you were supposed to toss into a river?” Virgil tried to shove out the image of Alice’s eyes-too old for her young face. 

 Mr. Doris growled, “Don’t play games with me, punk,” Virgil tensed at the word, “I am not as easy to forget as the boss, and I need a good reason to give a good lickin’ to someone.” 

 “Well, I’m afraid that isn’t possible, boys.” The Duke stated. Neither of them had heard him approach.

 “Boss, good to see you as always,” Virgil greeted coolly. He took another drag of his cigarette. The smoke soothed his nerves from the inquisition from his ‘coworker’ .

 “Virge, how often do I need to tell you not to be so formal with me? We’re family, after all.” The Duke’s smile was akin to a stray cat finding fresh steak. So, perfectly normal. For him.

 “Right, sorry cuz,” Virgil rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like they were close enough to be brothers. 

 The Duke looked between the men suspiciously. “What aren’t you boys telling me?” 

 “Doris lost the broad and the cop, in the same day.” Virgil confessed quickly, all too aware of his companions low hiss in his direction

 “Yes, I know that already, what else?” the man whined, petulance coloring his tone.

 Virgil’s eyes tightened. He got the strange feeling that his cousin knew more than he was letting on. Still, he played his part with ease. “She wasn’t with Smith, if that’s what you were wondering.” 

 “Oh really? Strange, she wasn’t with my dear detective either,” his cousin mused, twirling his mustache.  

 Mr. Doris’ back straightened. Virgil sensed that there was more to the situation than what was being led on. He catalogued that reaction to build off of later. Something about Patton was causing...something of a rift, between them. It wasn’t like Virgil cared, Doris had it coming for some time. 

 “Well, maybe they got her in a safe house or like, ya know, with another cop?” Virgil suggested. He wanted to get them off of the young lady’s trail. 

 “No, the captain said he had to suspend detective Smith. They’re onto him. There’s no way they’d bring another man in on this.” Mr. Doris was still bothered. Alice was his mark, so of course he was willing to do anything to get her back. 

 The Duke looked at Virgil. “Unless, of course, one of us were lying.” 

 Mr. Doris lifted his eyebrow. Sure, he wasn’t completely sure how loyal Virgil was, but it wouldn’t be like him to get involved enough to cause any harm. Once again, Mr. Doris toyed with the thought of having a tail put on Virgil as well. 

 Virgil felt stones fall in his stomach. Sweat started to build on his brows. He threw his cigarette down to the ground to put it out. “Or, maybe they have a friend. Maybe they left her at one of their  houses.”

 “You just said Logan was at his house earlier.” Mr. Doris stepped closer. His eyes were in slits, it was hard to see even the whites of his eyes, making him look even more like a snake. 

 Mr. Doris had the sudden suspicion that maybe he underestimated the reclusive  man, after all. 

 “I-” Virgil cleared his throat, “I know that. I just meant that maybe we don’t know enough to assume.” 

 “Right,” his cousin surmised. He looked Virgil up and down, as if looking for something. Virgil tried to appear as calm as he could. Whatever the Duke was looking for, he seemed satisfied. 

 Virgil let out a breath quietly when Mr. Doris had the attention of the boss. That was close, he thought to himself. 

 “Mr. Doris, darling, I need you to find her. You have three days. Have Virgil help, and I’ll have Roman let me know if he hears anything about her.” The Duke seemed satisfied with that conclusion, then he added to Virgil, “Take advantage of Mr. Smith being suspended. Find out what you can. Double your watch hours. Only report in if there’s any important development.

 “I’m bored, let’s go down to the Lion’s Den for some refreshments.” The Duke clapped his palms together, signaling the end of the business portion of their meeting.

 Virgil’s nod was curt. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Still, he refused to let it take control as he agreed to join the gentleman for drinks at their speakeasy nearby. 

 The joint was in full swing when they arrived, fashionably late. The men and women who were outcasts, dennigans, drunks, and harlots all danced around as if there wasn’t a care in the world. The dresses were skin tight, and Virgil caught the glitter of cufflinks-obviously from some notable men in their local government. A few of them he had remembered meeting in a dark alley for a kiss or two. 

 The men made their way to a back table just behind the stage. Where they could still hear the music, but didn’t have to be bothered with the usual social engagements. It was dark, it was secluded, it was perfect for gentlemen like them.  

 The waiter that came up to them was nervous. Seemed like he didn’t have much experience directly interacting with the boss. He swallowed, trying not to stutter, and looked a little too green in the face. He took their orders bravely, then scurried away. Virgil pitied the poor boy.

 Virgil made sure to be careful with the giggle water, he couldn’t afford to have loose lips. He made sure to take sips while his companions loosened up. 

 Soon afterwards, Mr. Doris left them to go home, claiming he needed some shut eye before beginning his search the next day. He looked a little too pointedly at Virgil as he said so. 

 The Duke poured himself some more bourbon, giggling. Now was Virgil’s chance to ask for some information. 

 “So, cousin, tell me about this ‘dear detective’. What makes him so dear if he’s the enemy?” 

 “Oh, I don’t know.” the drunk man hedged. He took down the entire glass of the fiery liquid painlessly. 

 Virgil grabbed the bottle to pour more for him. He kept his voice casual, and even spared a fake grin to give off the illusion of camaraderie. He patted his cousin’s shoulder. “Come on, it’s me. I’m only curious.” 

 “Well,” the Duke drew out. He creased his eyebrows in drunken deliberation. “I think I want to shoot him, then the next I want to kiss him, and somewhere….somewhere in between he makes me soft.

 Virgil, you ever think about quitting this lifestyle?” 

 Virgil’s eyes hardened but he forced his short laughter, “No, we live like Kings.” 

 Remus pouted, holding out his glass for more. Virgil poured while he talked. “I think I wanna…” he took his drink, “I think I wanna fuck a cop.” 

 Virgil snickered. He knew the feeling all too well. “Well, good luck with that. You’re on every wanted list from here to Sacramento.” 

 His cousin’s laughter bellowed through the space. “Yes, only as the Duke. Never as Remus…” 

 Virgil instinctively looked over his shoulder. “Don’t say that name here. Do you want to get caught?” 

 The Duke, Remus, lifted his arms up and shouted, “I’m Remus! Remus damn d-” the rest of his words were muffled from Virgil’s hand. 

 It was a long night for them both. Quickly did the bottle run dry. Quickly did another one come. Virgil and Remus spent the night drinking more than talking, mostly due to Remus slurring so bad he was incomprehensible. Though most of his coherent speech was addled with talks about his feelings for Patton, the ‘dear detective’, and the shipment that had come in the night before. 

 “Virge, do you know what I got for us?” Remus stage whispered in his ear. His mustache tickled Virgil’s earlobe, causing him to shiver. 

 “Yeah, boss,” Virgil gulped. “I know about last night at the docks.” 

 “Good,” Remus took a large swig of his drink, “Let’s hope I get to kill the Irish bastard. Here’s to a good business!” 

 Virgil toasted, and took another sip of his drink. Remus became even more incomprehensible, to the point Virgil decided he was cutting him off. He took his cousin home, then collapsed in his own bed where he slept fitfully-with dreams of a teenage girl drenched in her own blood. 

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

 “Dammit, Logan! What the hell were you thinking?” Patton bellowed. He didn’t seem to care that Alice was in the room with them. 

 His eyes were wild with a fury that Logan had never seen before. His hair, once in small curls was now wildly untamed. Logan felt the words slam him hard, but he took a small comfort in knowing that it was the Duke that had upset Patton. 

 The man before him wasn’t this partner. This wasn’t the gentle, giant, Irishman who always had a smile to give. This wasn’t that smooth-talking detective that handled each case with compassion. This wasn't the man who earned the tip of a hat and a gaze of a gal.

 This was a man who had gone mad with the chase. 

 Logan had to do something, but he didn’t know what. He felt at a loss for words. He just let Patton beat into him more with every phrase. His best friend, his partner, was finally losing it. 

 “You just jeopardized our case! You had an informant. Not only an informant, the very gangster who was hired to tail you for a month. What the hell?!” Patton’s fists were clenched. Logan wondered if he was gonna take a swing. He wouldn't have put it past the man, at this point.

 Logan put his hands out, a gesture of peace. “Patton,” he kept his voice even, “We need to think rationally. We have a-” 

 “Rationally? Ya think the God damn Duke is rational? He’s a madman, Logan! And I have half a mind to think that you’re in kahoots with him!” Patton’s voice was hysterical, and his usually tame Irish accent was in full force. It was a miracle he wasn't spewing heavy profanities left and right. 

 Patton’s heart was pounding, no doubt his blood pressure was through the rood. His mind was swirling with angry, dark thoughts he had never considered before. He wanted to punch Logan. He wanted to cry. He wanted to be left alone to crumble. He felt like his very skin was melting underneath the wrath that was striking his soul.  He ignored the concerned looks Alice was throwing his way from the couch. 

 “Patton, please, I-” Logan tried to beg. 

 Logan clenched his fists too. He didn’t want to fight Patton, but the man needed some sense knocked into him. The air in the living room was thick with the heat of anger. Logan’s heart was breaking for his friend, and in the back of his mind he wondered if Mr. Doris had been right about the Duke and his raging partner. He wondered if maybe the Duke got his hooks deeper than a cat and mouse game.

 “No, Logan!” Patton was red in the face, he looked like he was about to burst into flames. “You made an impulsive, stupid, awful decision and-” 

 “At least I’m not the one turning into a madman!” Logan yelled back. He grabbed Patton by his shoulders. “Damn it, Patton! Don’t you get it? You’re playing right into his hand. He wants you riled up so you can’t think straight!” 

 Patton sucked in a breath, but Logan continued. “You think I haven’t noticed a change in you? Patton, you’ve been barely sleeping. You’re crazy if you think that I’m the one not thinking straight!” 

 Logan suddenly embraced Patton. Both of them were sweaty from the day, but neither of them cared. He felt Patton nearly collapse in his arms, and soon he felt his best friend sobbing into his shoulder. The pressure released from his lungs. In his arms was a tired, beaten, angry man. 

 “I’m sorry Logan. You’re right I’m not...I’m not keeping my cool.” Patton pulled away, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his face down. 

 He felt embarrassed, and looked next to him to see Alice giving him a watery smile. His mind was starting to clear. He remembered that his first duty was to the people, and right now he had to take care of a young dame that made her way quickly into his heart. 

 They stood in silence, the air around them dissipated of tension. Soon, they were both being embraced by the small frame of Alice. Something about the moment felt right. Logan closed his eyes. They all took in a deep breath. Together.

 Alice broke the hug to embrace just Patton. She whispered something in his ear, “You’re allowed to be mad. Hell, we’ve all got a bit of crazy.” They both giggled, which was a wonderful sound of chimes and bells. 

 Logan brushed off his shirt reflexively. “Now, I believe talk of the next step can wait. We all need rest. Especially you, Patton.” 

 Alice and Logan bid their farewells to Patton, and soon Alice retired to her new room. The lights were put out. Once some time had passed, Logan retreated to the basement of his manor that he had made his art room. 

 The smell of linseed oil filled his nostrils. He turned on the lights, and set up his paints and easel. His fingers ached, and so did his back, but he needed the mind numbing feeling of color being placed on canvas. He needed to create. He sat at his stool, and summoned a vision in his mind’s eye of what he wanted to paint. 

 He took his palette knife and made himself a beautiful green. He dipped his brush, and started spreading his brush along the canvas. He felt his shoulders relax from making the scenery. Greens and blues made their way into the scene, with spots of black and gray. Logan bit his lip as he focused on the finer details. 

 He ruminated over the events of the past twenty-four hours. He had made a lover, of sorts. He rescued a young girl from a mob boss. He found out his captain was most likely part of a conspiracy to poison the force, resulting in his suspension. His partner finally snapped. He had a sixteen year old girl temporarily living in his house that had been empty for so long.  

 He dipped the point of his fine brush into the white, and carefully laid his details out onto the waves that had formed on his canvas. He was so focused on his  scene, that he hadn’t heard the door open, or the sound of small feet making their way down the steps. 

 Luckily his brush wasn’t on the painting when he jumped from Alice’s voice saying in his ear, “So it’s you that’s filled this house with art.” 

 His heart pounded in his chest from the surprise, and his cheeks reddened from the embarrassment of having his secret caught. He watched Alice slowly walk around the room, taking in the different scenes he had painted before. 

 “Logan, these are beautiful.” she whispered. “If I had money, I’d buy them.” 

 “I, well, um…” Logan stuttered. He was tired, after all. Plus having this young girl comment on his paintings felt oddly relieving. He took a deep breath to gather his words. “I have been painting since I was a child.” 

 Alice threw him one of her dazzling smiles. “I can tell. Why aren’t you asleep? After ushering me and Patton to rest?” 

 “I was too wound up.” Logan answered. “Why aren’t you asleep, after I ushered you to rest?” 

 Alice shrugged, though Logan noticed that she was tense. “I’ve just been thinking.” 

 “Would you like to talk about it over tea?” Logan offered suddenly. He wanted nothing in that moment but to soothe any fears she had. Plus, he was painfully aware of his own weariness. 

 Alice followed him up the stairs, non-verbally giving her answer. The two talked over their tea in the kitchen, only keeping discussion light, getting to learn more about each other. Unspoken was the fear of what tomorrow would bring them. Unspoken, but still so loud, was the intuitive feeling of what was to come. 

 Alice avoided his gaze through their conversation, and pushed away the thought that this would be her last night on earth. They were the police. They knew what they were doing. Surely, Patton and Logan would figure everything out? 

 Eventually they were both done with their tea, and decided to go to sleep. Logan settled into his bed, too tired to think about how the day had stretched on for forever, and instead focused on the hope that he’d wake up to a new day.

-

-

TAGLIST: @deceits-left-glove

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[starberry-cupcake]

It’s the end of Aro Week and I decided to throw caution to the wind and talk about something that can potentially be a polarizing topic. I’m putting it on read-more not only because of length but also because in 2020 this blog turns 10 years of age and I’ve learned to leave a window open for retreat when it comes to Opinions, so I don’t know how long I’ll dare to have this up. 

This is going to be about the aroace experience, fandom, ships, representation, fanservice, amatonormativity, allosexual normativity and transformative fanwork. 

So, basically, a minefield, so tread with care. 

Since the dawn of fandom time, there has been an aspect of it that is known (nowadays) as transformative. There are studies, dissertations and essays about this, and most if not all agree on the fact that the portion of fandom that is transformative tends to belong to the less represented portion of it in the media they consume. 

It’s mostly people whose identities are rarely represented those who tend to transform, making a space in their favorite pieces of media for themselves and others. That has, in tow, created a scene in which authors and content creators are born within fandom and get exposed to these types of content and reproduce them as well.

The cornerstone of transformative fandom, to the point of being one of the main organizational elements in fandom-driven platforms, are ships. And when someone mentions the word “ship”, it most often comes with the added non-said descriptive of “romantic” and “sexual” attached to it. 

Now, like I said, a lot of those who are involved in transformative fandom tend to go for less represented types of identities, and heteronormativity tends to be questioned often. Sometimes, it is legitimately for representation purposes, sometimes it’s for objectifying reasons. 

On the other hand, in the media-creating sphere, there is a thing known as “baiting”. This word is used when pieces of media hint towards non het relationships that end up not coming to fruition. 

This issue has reached paragons of shamelessness with creators using fandom for their own purposes, like making a series win an award, getting renewed or gathering numbers in cons, to then turn against the same portion of fandom by banning transformative fandom from cons, meet and greets and having actors and crew members publicly shame fanfiction or fanart. It became serious shit. 

This, in tow, brought another problem. Baiting (and what used to be considered “queer-coding”) started becoming an immediate red flag for people, a warning to whether getting engaged or not with a piece of media. 

In the mostly legitimate pitchfork and torches march against baiting, canonically aroace characters were caught in the fire, and queerplatonic relationships suffered the price of not fitting in the amatonormative and allosexual normative space fandom created. 

It’s a standard for fandom that one of the most necessary reasons for transformative work, for fanfiction mostly, is to make characters confess the love they never did confess on screen/page and, most often than not, fuck each other senseless as a sort of “necessary guarantee of their bond”. Consummation, if you will. 

Statistically speaking, explicit fics tend to be much more popular than non explicit ones and romantic relationships are what move the main search engines of fanfic platforms. 

Headcanon-wise, anyone can do what they want. If a character is interpreted one way or another, that’s not for anyone to police. 

With aroace characters, though, it’s a bit tricky, because it’s incredibly rare the amount of times a character is explicitly in the spectrum, and any evidence you can gather, which isn’t outright hearing it, is a lack of something. 

A lack that fandom interprets in another way. 

You can have a character be sexually attracted and romantically attracted to another and have that be enough for an audience to understand their orientation, to an extent, but an aroace character seems to have to explicitly state it because the lack of romance or sex in their narratives will be interpreted by fandom as “incomplete”. 

It’s more frequent for fandom to interpret a character who is not in a romantic or sexual relationship as “lacking” it and “fix” it in fic than for it to be headcanoned as aroace. 

An adjacent issue happens with this and the old notion of “queer-coding”. Audiences tend to sometimes interpret that lack as the incapacity for a media creator to explicitly state that the character is homosexual. 

The unintended consequence of years of coding, baiting and censorship of non het relationships in media was the invisibilization of relationships canonically in the aroace spectrum. 

For example, the first reaction to Elsa from Frozen not having a romantic relationship in the movie was that she was an amatonormative and allosexual lesbian rather than somewhere in the aroace spectrum. Not that there aren’t a myriad of overlaying possibilities between the two things, but you get my point. 

The lacking, the incompleteness that fandom most often sees in characters is filled in, most often than not, with gay romantic and sexual relationships, as a result of the years of queer-coding in media. You know, the good ol’ “if she doesn’t have a boyfriend, she must be a lesbian” stance. Fandom is, sometimes, like a family dinner with a 60+ year old uncle. 

This is a problem because it creates, within fandom, instances of tug of war between two under-represented factions who both deserve the due representation and which sometimes, very often, overlay in the same people, who fall in both spectrums. It creates arguments and fights for one or other character between the two, as if they were mutually exclusive at all times.  

I recently came across different levels of discourse and comments on two pieces of media for this reason, in two different sides. 

One concerned Mackenzi Lee’s A Lady’s Guide To Petticoats & Piracy, in which the lead is aroace and there is a girl who is romantically attracted to her and there is a hint of a potential qp relationship. After reading it I found in some review spaces opinions that considered the author hadn’t “gone all the way” with it, as if it was “cop out” for a potential lesbian romance, taking into account that the first volume of the series was centered on an mlm relationship, which gave people certain expectations.

The opposite happened in the webcomic Go Get A Roomie, in which a female lead character who seemed to be aroace for years ended up in a romantic and sexual relationship with the protagonist and there isn’t so far much of a descriptive of where her identity lied to begin with, but with some meaningful conversations that seemed to imply the spectrum after having suffered trauma. And this can be perceived as a sort of “deception” and to the problematic notion of aroace-ness as a “treatable phase”. 

Both stories are valid. Both roads towards self-discovery are valid. There isn’t an immediate denial of the spectrum for one or other possibility and both narratives are experiences that happen to people, even maybe the same people at different times in their lives. 

But the two happen to include female relationships and boy are those underrepresented. Like I said, it isn’t that both things can’t overlay in a myriad of places, Lillian could be a demisexual demiromantic, for all I know, Sim could be homoromantic and asexual, we don’t know the specifics. 

It’s likely and valid to have a gut reaction when you think you’re being represented and then you’re not entirely. And that’s understandable. But it’s a pity that we have tugs of war for scraps of representation. 

So, on the one hand, with headcanons, we tend to get fandom fights, most often than not between underrepresented identities, because we’re fighting for the little there is, when in reality we should be uplifting each other...but anyway, moving on. 

That’s all in the realm of interpretation, up until the moment the author makes the characters explicitly make choices and take action. That’s someone having a headcanon because of things the piece of media was doing and then having it proven right or wrong, or never having it proved at all. 

The other thing, where it gets nasty, is when fandom “fixes” canonically aroace characters. This is also incredibly frequent, most often than not with mlm ships, or what fandom considers mlm ships. 

One of the nastiest last year was the Good Omens debacle. 

Neil stated that Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t “homosexual men” because they weren’t “men” and they weren’t sexual beings (the whole “making an effort” thing that explicit fic writers like to latch onto). Neil also said they love each other, however that wants to be interpreted, opening it up enough for it to be platonic or romantic or anything you want. 

Fic writers have written more GO fics in the last year than ever probably, because of the show, and they’ve experimented with a lot of places of the spectrum. I’m not here to judge anyone because a GO fic was my favorite ace explicit fic I’ve read, so interpretations can be fascinating, I’m all here for them.  

The problem arose when people (mostly cis het women) on social media (mostly twitter) started calling Neil a homophobe for not making them pretty much fuck on screen or explicitly state that they were fucking offscreen in canon. 

That’s where we need to draw a line and reevaluate our life choices. 

I can’t count the amount of posts, tweets and reactions I saw rejecting the possibility of Aziraphale and Crowley not being a) cis men and b) allosexual. The two things created a gutted reaction, to the point that you have to consider the nature and intended result of those comments and, in that case, who’s being an intolerant asshole. 

There was a point in time in which fake woke rep discourse became the excuse for people to demand fanservice from creators, especially in the cis het women + mlm media overlay, and this is a problem. We need to separate the discourses, we need to figure out why we’re here and what we’re demanding. 

Another similar example I saw recently, yet less overwhelming, was with Banana Fish and the queerplatonic relationship between Ash and Eiji in canon. 

I came into BF later than most, but when I read the epilogue manga I found one of the earliest descriptions of a qp relationship I’ve seen, and there were a lot of interesting comments made by the author and other people interviewing her about why sex was never a part of their dynamic and how the bond they had was more of soulmates than romantic lovers and why it was meaningful all the same. 

Still, even if the author doesn’t, Banana Fish is considered among the key “BL” animated series of the last few years, alongside stuff like Doukyuusei, Yuri On Ice, Given, etc. And fandom likes to “fix” that “lack of” situation often, apparently. 

This case isn’t as feral as GO but it is, however, deceptive. Coming into BF I never would have guessed their relationship was to be qp because fandom let me believe it wasn’t. 

And, in this case, the author explicitly stated that this was her intention, this was the story she wanted to tell, it wasn’t her adjusting to censorship or having to code her characters, it was, at heart, what we now can consider a qp relationship. 

And, in all of these cases, in which there are aroace characters or relationships involved, or at least somewhere in the aro spectrum or the ace spectrum or both, there’s one main issue behind it: the lack of belief that relationships that aren’t romantic and sexual can be crucial. 

That they can be storytelling worthy.  

In media-creating and in fanwork-creating, it seems to be the norm to have an endgame romance, or at least for romance to be a key part of your content. It’s the expected box to tick for a fulfilling story, it seems, and the lack of it is the “problem” fandom likes to “fix” the most. 

This is also mirrored in the platforms we use. There is a lack of possibility to tag qp relationships as something separated in ao3: the / is for romantic/sexual relationships and the & is for all-encompassing platonic relationships (described by the guidelines as family, teammates, friends, etc.). In order to write a qp relationship you have to tag it & as per guidelines but you have to add another descriptor because you’re not writing family or teammates, and in the case of fandom-polarizing ships, it can be a problem. 

And all of this influences us as creators, to the point that it’s easier to write something we’ve never experienced, like romantic attraction, than it is to write without it, because we’ve heard the romantic stories all the time, we’ve grown up reading them, and we’ve learned that no kudos will come to your fic if you don’t have them in there, because it’s that / what’s gonna move the search engines towards your stuff. 

Maybe, hopefully, with time and more media around us, we’ll learn different ways of exploring transformative fanwork. Maybe while knowing ourselves and others, we’ll start believing that a lack of romantic relationships doesn’t necessarily mean someone was “too much of a coward to not make these two explicitly x or y”. 

Maybe we’ll learn to coexist because, after all, some of these things coexist within our own spectrums sometimes, and it’d be nice to see the capacity for us to not fight for the scraps of rep that media throws at us but be able to understand each other and ourselves enough to create the media that we need.