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voidstilesplease · 3 years ago

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undermine

Word count: >1k | Warning/s: none | Tags: Has a little bit of Sterek. This is, in fact, an extension of this ficlet. It's not a requirement to read the linked work, but hey, if you want to, it works as a prequel.

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"So," Theo begins, startling Stiles, who's sitting by himself on the table, looking at his half-empty champagne glass in contemplative silence. He sits on the empty seat beside Stiles, inwardly sneering at the name card that indicates he's occupying the seat assigned to Derek. His own is right across from Stiles, which is not exactly an unfavorable location considering he has a perfect view of the beautiful man, but really, if the soul strings were to dictate, he and Derek would have to trade places. Stiles is his soulmate, after all. Not Derek's.

Pacifying his bitter thoughts, he puts his own glass on the table, purposely knocking over Derek's name card – a petty act that Stiles doesn't miss but chooses to leave no remark on – and pulls a big smile from his lips as he meets Stiles's eyes. He looks even more attractive up close, Theo revels in fascination. Even if the look that Stiles is giving him is not exactly the welcoming sort.

"So, what?" Stiles snaps at him when instead of finishing his statement, Theo studies his face. He can't help it. Stiles is enchanting. Theo supposes it's the soulbond that's doing it – making Stiles the center of Theo's attention. And he can tell that despite the bite in his tone, Stiles is just as affected by him. The beautiful flush rising from his clavicles – a rather fetching pair of it too that Theo imagines licking and biting and leaving his mark on – up to his cheeks is a dead giveaway. Stiles is determined to not allow his gaze to linger, too, shifting on his chair and glancing around, probably in search of an excuse to leave. Theo won't make it easy. He rather enjoys getting Stiles all bothered.

He smiles, the trademark one that makes everyone on the receiving end swoon. "So," picking up on his opener, he asks straightforwardly. "How long are you going to pretend that you don't see it?" His eyes slide pointedly at Stiles's clenched hand on the table.

Stiles jerks his hand away, hiding it from Theo's view. As if it changes anything. Theo chuckles because they both know that no matter where he shoves his hand, the other end of Theo's red string will always be tied around his finger - fixed, secured, undetachable. Unmistakable. Inescapable.

Stiles glares at him, and the fire in his eyes only makes him more mesmerizing. Honestly, his reactions only spur Theo further into the chase. It's like watching his favorite wildlife documentary on Animal Planet from the viewpoint of the wolf hunting its mate. The mate has no aversion to being mounted by the alpha wolf; it is anticipating it. But that doesn't mean they can't engage in a long bout of laborious foreplay first – the hunt. Stiles's viciousness is only a challenge for his worth.

"It's an outdated belief," Stiles mutters harshly, eyes darting to check that no one's within hearing distance, or is paying enough attention to them to figure anything amiss. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Tell that to Laura and her soulmate," Theo replies, grinning at the contempt on Stiles's face. "Whose, in case you missed it, prenuptial dinner we're currently attending."

Stiles barely contains the sound of frustration from escaping his lips when he sags onto his seat in an exasperated heap, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He lifts his head and trains his gaze in a particular direction in front, where Theo's family are, engaging in pleasantries with the future in-laws.

Theo can't stop the deep frown pulling at his expression when his eyes follow Stiles's line of sight and land on his adoptive brother, Derek. He and Theo didn't have the best relationship growing up, and the wedge between them has only grown exponentially wide since then. He loathes Derek for having everything that Theo didn't. For being the first choice, the sure choice, and never worrying about being tossed to the side. Because he had the legitimate claim to everything. Derek's the biological son of the parents that Theo respects more than any other; the biological brother of the sisters that Theo loves so dearly; and the heir of the wealth and properties of the Hales even before he was born. Theo was an intruder into their home, a charity case. Even though he's worked hard on his share of the business, or his space in their home, those weren't always meant for him. But this is – Stiles is. He is the one person that is for Theo alone. Derek can't have him, too.

Without looking away from Derek, Stiles breaks the charged silence that fell between them. "Well, I'm not going to ruin a perfect relationship just because you decided to show up in my life two years too late to unify the string I haven't cared about since I was nine." Stiles turns to Theo, who meets him, glare upon glare. "So whatever it is you're expecting to happen, stop. I love Derek, soulmate or not."

Theo fumes at Stiles's words, rage and jealousy pooling in his gut, and he wants to tear at something. Whenever Derek's involved, it's not difficult to stir Theo's anger and amp it 10 to 100 in a matter of seconds. But his anger is his drive. It's what pushes him forward to the goal. So, he arranges his expression to cold and unperturbed, often translated as insufferable, even cruel. It's not far from the truth.

"Famous last words," he smirks. Even he knows that the mockery in his voice is unmissable.

Stiles is taken aback, but he covers it immediately with a scathing look. He pushes bodily at his chair to stand. His face pinches into a scowl of genuine confusion to mix with his indignation. "I don't understand why you would be so determined to force this soulbond on us. Derek told me you don't even believe in soulmates. You're just doing this to scorn your brother."

"Maybe I am," Theo agrees easily, cocking his head sideways and pinning Stiles with a firm look. "Maybe I just want what's mine."

Stiles finally decides that he's had it with their conversation. Gnashing his teeth and flashing his eyes - again, mesmerizing - he retorts with all the menace he can muster without being too obvious. "I'm not yours." Giving no chance for a comeback, he turns his back and leaves Theo alone on the table.

Theo watches as Derek's face lights up when he receives Stiles in his arm, kissing him lightly on the lips and squeezing his waist affectionately before introducing him to the guests.

Theo picks up his abandoned glass and downs its content in one go. He licks his lips at the aftertaste and wishes it were something stronger – something that will complement the fury in his guts. Because he is furious, and it's stronger than it has ever been. And he will not be deterred by any boundaries.

His eyes fix on Stiles, on the glowing red string that extended and twisted upon their distance but has remained unbroken. Theo's driven and just a little unhinged. I'm not yours. He scoffs, catching Stiles's nervous glances, likely feeling the heat of Theo's emotions through their bond. Likely realizing that them? They're non-negotiable. Theo will make sure of that.

~•~

steo a-z: part 21

#steo #steo A-Z #steo flash fiction #contains: >1k words #contains: soulmates #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #stiles x theo #flashficsau #fics tag #ohhhh im almost there #just 5 more letters and this tag is over with

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daleisgreat · 2 years ago

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Street Fighter

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When the first Street Fighter film hit in 1994 (trailer) my hype level for it was through the roof! Fighting games were on fire in the arcade and 16-bit systems at the time, and Street Fighter II was still a hot commodity. The trailer had then 11-year-old Dale craving to be there opening weekend because the costumes for most of the characters looked spot on. That preview included a montage of the “World Warriors” showcasing their vintage special attacks and poses. Guile’s Flash Kick and M. Bison enthusiastically proclaiming “GAME OVER!!!” in that trailer guaranteed I would be in the cinema for it. I was such a dork for this movie in my old journal at the time that I would keep a tally of the number of times I would see the trailer during commercial breaks on television leading up to the film……seriously. There were only a couple of video game movies out by this point. The genre did not have the disastrous reputation that it does today, so suffice it to say, I was amped up going into the film…..and pretty peeved coming out of it because of how it treated a few characters compared to the game and because there was not an actual fighting tournament in it. In 2009, I revisited it when an “Extreme Edition” hit home video with extra features, and my opinion on it softened a bit seeing it with a fresh set of eyes. I re-watched it last week with the new “Steel Book” Ultimate Edition released on BluRay last year. All these years later, and now I seriously love the film!

Well known Belgian, Jean-Claude Van Damme is leading this film as the American fighter, Guile, fresh off Van Damme’s slate of action hits like Hard Target and Double Team. Director Steven de Souza stated in interviews that they had a throwaway line of dialog explaining how Guile covered up his Belgian accent by saying it was actually a southern accent and he is actually from the United States, but it wound up on the cutting room floor. His adversary is the dastardly lead Street Fighter II boss, M. Bison, played by Raul Julia in what would be his final performance. As I alluded above, 11-year-old Dale was furious there was no fighting tournament. Instead, the film is all about M. Bison holding numerous “Allied Nations” employees as hostages in the fictitious world of Shadaloo, with various other Street Fighter combatants serving under him like Dee Jay (Miguel A. Núñez Jr.), Zangief (Andrew Bryniarski), Sagat (Wes Studi), and captured scientist Dhalsim (Roshan Seth). An awkward scientist’s attire is Dhalsim’s costume here, and Bison is forcing him to perform mutation experiments on Guile’s captured comrade, Charlie, and transform him mid-movie into the green-beast we know from the games as Blanka. I can go into the nerd gaming lore on how all kinds of wrong this is relating to Blanka, and Dhalsim’s character’s in the game, but I will actually give the filmmakers credit all these years later because it kind of actually plays well with an adult set of eyes because it would be pretty damn odd diving into Blanka’s actual video game origin story on the silver screen while trying to give equal time for the huge cast.

Speaking of this stacked cast, for the protagonists, aside from Guile, serving under him in the Allied Nations is Thunder Hawk (Gregg Rainwater), Cammy (Kylie Minogue), and Captain Sawada (Kenya Sawada)-who is a character created just for this movie. Sawada was later inserted as a playable character in the video game based on the film…that is based on the game and deliberately titled, Street Fighter: The Movie--just watch this video, it can explain it much better than I can. Two fighters more popular among fans of the video game, Ken (Damian Chapa) and Ryu (Byron Mann), have lesser supporting roles here as they are con-artist weapon dealers who later get teamed up against their will with Sagat and Vega (Jay Tavare). The last squadron of good guys is the trio of Chun-Li (Ming-Na Wen), Balrog (Grand L. Bush – who gave a random viral speech about his memories on the film in 2015), and E. Honda (Peter Tiasosopo). This motley trio is an innocuous TV news crew, but all three coincidentally have their own martial arts background that lines up with the game canon, and Chun-Li wants to avenge her father’s death when M. Bison steamrolled through her village. When Chun-Li confronts Bison with this, Julia absolutely nails it with his delivery of the meme-worthy “It Was Tuesday” line….if you have no recollection of this, well then click or press here to see this iconic moment in cinema history!

Speaking of, Raul Julia is sublime in his performance as M. Bison. He cheeses up his performance just right in his delivery as the master crime lord. Bonus feature interviews detail how he went method for studying for the role going so far as to research Mussolini speeches to mimic body language cadence. Other actors interviewed stated how Julia was visibly sick and downtrodden off-camera with cancer but wanted to do this film for his kids who loved the game. When the cameras were on, his colleagues stated how he was a total pro and how he went out with an aces performance that still lives on to this day! I love the costume he adorns that is incredibly faithful to the game, outrageous cape and all!!! Most other fighters either have game-appropriate costumes or receive their appropriate gear at some point in the movie. Honda is the perfect case where after an amusing Kong/Godzilla duel homage with Zangief, Honda’s gear is battered so much that he dons it like his traditional sumo gear in the game! Some cast members like Dee Jay and Dhalsim don’t don their proper gear, but the filmmakers and costume department get it right for the most part! For better or worse, the fight choreographers work in plenty of the roster’s iconic moves like Guile’s aforementioned Flash Kick, Bison & Honda’s torpedo dive, and regrettably meek renditions of Ryu’s Hadoken and Ken’s Shoryuken.

The film has a rather convoluted plot, but it essentially stumbles its way into a cohesive mess by the end. The Allied Nations crew teams up with Chun-Li’s TV squad and eventually Ryu & Ken to invade M. Bison’s fortress. Van Damme does an admirable “so-bad-it’s-good” portrayal of Guile, and he has a main event-worthy clash with Bison in the final act to close the film. All the fights inside Bison’s fortress with all the cast members are an admitted dumpster fire to keep up with, but an enjoyable one nonetheless! I tip my hat to the crew for the monumental task of trying to grant adequate screen time for this ensemble cast. At the time of the film’s release, Super Street Fighter II was a fairly new entry in the series at home release, so I was surprised to see Dee Jay, Cammy, and Thunder Hawk all featured, but Fei Long is mysteriously absent. However, it may make sense in recent years after finding out how litigious the estate of the Bruce Lee family is. This Ultimate Edition Steel Book has a ton of bonus materials. I would be remiss not to mention how awesome the steel book case is, and the gorgeous art that adorns it. Another cheeky bonus is an actual, physical “Bison Dollar” that plays a small-yet-vital part in the film!!! The folks behind this steel book BluRay went all-out with new bonus materials. There are roughly 75 minutes of new video interviews and features. A couple of the highlights are a 20-minute interview with writer/director Steven. E. de Souza, titled, Making Street Fighter. There is roughly an E. Honda’s 100-hand Slap’s worth of new production anecdotes from Souza. Some quick highlights are how $10 million of the $32 million budget went to Jean Claude Van Damme & Raul Julia alone. Additionally, here we find out JCVD was his backup option after Sylvester Stallone and how he originally wanted Stephen Wang as Bison, but was surprised Julia jumped at the role and could not turn him down.

Also amusing was how Souza stated how they kept toning down the violence and blood in the fights to get to a PG-13 rating but eventually overdid it and the MPAA rated the movie G. Hence, they went back and had JCVD whisper in a curse word to get a PG-13 rating. Lastly, it was fascinating to see in this interview how Souza was pretty introspective all these years later, being appreciative of fans coming around and telling him how much they love the movie in recent years after all the initial negative press. Other notable new extras are interviews with the composer, Graene Revell, and how he was competing to get his soundtrack done and released before the Mortal Kombat movie soundtrack, which went on to much bigger success and still resonates today. They tracked down Ken Masters actor, Damian Chapa for a new interview with fond reflections of his kids loving that he did this movie all these years later. The actress who played Chun-Li, Ming-Na Wen, also had a new interview, with the standout moment being how she was in the scene with Raul Julia for the iconic “It was Tuesday” line. While they could not track JCVD for a new interview, they did have a historian interviewed detailing his humble Hollywood beginnings to his breakout success, and eventually how Street Fighter was the beginning of a downward spiral for him.

There is also roughly a half hour of archived extra features from the aforementioned “Extreme Edition” DVD, but the archived commentary track with de Souza also is carried over and worth your time and has a lot of takeaways from how the production shifted from Thailand into Australia due to filming conditions. This “Ultimate Edition” is a stacked BluRay, and well worth tracking down If you have any nostalgia for the 1994 classic!!! The intricately detailed steel book and physical “Bison Dollar” are just the icing on this delicious cake of camp theater fan service!! I think it is a safe bet the reboot follow-up Street Fighter: Legend of Chun-Li will not receive this treatment as it is as awful today as it was in 2009. By the way, the pic above this paragraph is the ultimate fan service to end the movie with each fighter’s appropriate victory pose!!!! Many, many thanks, Steven E. de Souza, for this iconic closing shot!!!

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Here I am reflecting back on Street Fighter in a clip on the podcast “Big Screens & TV Streams.” Other Random Backlog Movie Blogs 3 12 Angry Men (1957) 12 Rounds 3: Lockdown 21 Jump Street 1917 The Accountant Angry Video Game Nerd: The Movie Atari: Game Over The Avengers: Age of Ultron The Avengers: Endgame The Avengers: Infinity War Batman: The Dark Knight Rises Batman: The Killing Joke Batman: Mask of the Phantasm Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice Bounty Hunters Cabin in the Woods Captain America: Civil War Captain America: The First Avenger Captain America: The Winter Soldier Christmas Eve The Clapper Clash of the Titans (1981) Clint Eastwood 11-pack Special The Condemned 2 Countdown Creed I & II Deck the Halls Detroit Rock City Die Hard Dirty Work Dredd The Eliminators The Equalizer Faster Fast and Furious I-VIII Field of Dreams Fight Club The Fighter For Love of the Game Good Will Hunting Gravity Grunt: The Wrestling Movie Guardians of the Galaxy Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 Hell Comes to Frogtown Hercules: Reborn Hitman I Like to Hurt People Indiana Jones 1-4 Inglourious Basterds Ink The Interrogation Interstellar Jay and Silent Bob Reboot Jobs Joy Ride 1-3 Justice League (2017 Whedon Cut) Last Action Hero Major League Mallrats Man of Steel Man on the Moon Man vs Snake Marine 3-6 Merry Friggin Christmas Metallica: Some Kind of Monster Mortal Kombat Mortal Kombat Legends: Scorpions Revenge National Treasure National Treasure: Book of Secrets Nintendo Quest Not for Resale Old Joy Payback (Director’s Cut) Pulp Fiction The Punisher (1989) The Ref The Replacements Reservoir Dogs Rocky I-VIII Running Films Part 1 Running Films Part 2 San Andreas ScoobyDoo Wrestlemania Mystery Serenity (2005) Scott Pilgrim vs the World The Secret Life of Walter Mitty Shoot em Up Slacker Skyscraper Small Town Santa Speed Steve Jobs Source Code Star Trek I-XIII Sully Take Me Home Tonight TMNT Trauma Center The Tooth Fairy 1 & 2 UHF Veronica Mars Vision Quest The War Wild The Wizard Wonder Woman The Wrestler (2008) X-Men: Apocalypse X-Men: Days of Future Past Youngblood

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cummingforkylo · 5 years ago

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Can you do more mouth spitting hc? lowkey a whore for it

I feel this on an emotional level. Here’s some rambles on mouth spitting:

+Like i’ve written before, I feel like Kylo reserves spitting in your mouth for special occasions.

+Those occasions are: when he’s really furious, when you’re being extremely defiant and he feels like he needs to put you in your place, and also sometimes after a battle when there’s blood in his mouth and he’s amped up.

+When he’s furious, whether it’s at you or someone else he wants to take it out on you.

+You stand in front of him, and the fury flashes through his eyes, he grabs the hair at the back of your head, fingers scraping against your skull.

+Kylo’s other hand reaches up to your jaw, his fingers digging harshly into the flesh on your cheeks, his thumb pressing into the hollow in your cheek.

+You whine and struggle in fear as he pries your jaw open.

+ “Shut up, slut.” he snarls and before you really understand what you did or why he’s so mad he spits into your mouth hard.

+It lands over your tongue and glistens on your lips. You let out a choked sob as he forces your jaw closed again.

+ “Swallow it before I crush your throat.” He growls and you force yourself to swallow his spit.

+When you’ve been defiant, he knows he has to put you in your place before things get out of hand.

+You’ve been arguing, glaring and generally a nightmare.

+He’s warned you multiple times about your mouth but you’ve ignored his warnings.

+When Kylo has had enough he takes long strides to the bed where you’re sitting and quickly has you pinned against the mattress.

+His knee is digging into your thigh, keeping it pressed down. His hands close like manacles around your wrists, pinning them.

+ “I’ve had enough.” he growls, “Enough of your mouth, enough of your disrespect.”

+You’re struggling and whining, you leg hurts from where his is crushing it against the bed and his body weight is making it hard to breathe fully.

+ “Open your mouth,” His voice rough and low, dangerous.

+When you don’t move right away, his jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together. “You better open your fucking mouth.”

+His voice was low, silky and so dangerous. It makes heat and excitement pool unwillingly in your low belly.

+ You open your mouth nervously and Kylo leans in close to you. “Stick that pretty tongue out.”

+As soon as you tentatively stick your tongue out he gathers the spit in his mouth and spits onto your tongue.

+Shocked you let out a whine. Kylo lets go of one of your hands and gives your cheek a light slap.

+ “That’s all you deserve of me.”

+You’re shocked and humiliated and that was just what he wanted. To show you where you place was.

+When he comes back from battle, Kylo is always turned on.

+As soon as he shows up to your quarters he shoves you into a wall and kisses you roughly.

+You smell the burning smell of blasters and lightsabers, the dirt that smeared on his cheeks and you can taste the coppery warmth of blood on his tongue, mixing with his saliva. It sparks something inside of you.

+Your breath catches with excitement, you throw your arms around his neck and pulled yourself right up against him.

+Kylo can feel how much you love the blood on his tongue.

+He pulls back from the kiss, you chest is heaving as you catch your breath.

+Kylo takes your chin in his fingers, smirking.

+His lips a glistening red from the blood in his mouth.

+He tilts your head back a little, your mouth is already a little open from breathing hard.

+He tugs your chin down to open your mouth a little more and leans over you.

+He spits into your mouth, a little slower than the other situations. Relishing putting his blood and saliva into your mouth.

+the tang of blood mixed saliva fills your mouth again as your knees go a little weak.

+ “Since you seemed to like it so much,” He said, cocking an eyebrow

+Now both your lips are shining, wet and red from his blood.

#I'M SO SORRY ADAM #I AM SO SORRY WORLD #tw: mouth spitting #kylo ren #kylo ren headcanons #kylo ren imagines #kylo ren x you #kylo x you #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #ben solo #ben solo x reader #ben solo x you

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churchofsatannews · 1 year ago

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The Metro #694

This week on The Metro, Rev. Jeff Ivins brings you back to the decade of indulgence with the following bands: Great Buildings, Talk Talk, The Rainmakers, XTC, Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five, Chaka Khan, Assembly, Cutting Crew, Billy Idol, Wet Wet Wet, Madonna, Icehouse, Club Nouveau, and finishing off with Midnight Oil. Stream The Metro #694. Download The Metro #694.

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#Assembly #billy idol #Chaka Khan #Club Nouveau #cutting crew #Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five #Great Buildings #Icehouse #Madonna #Midnight Oil #radio free satan #Reverend Jeff Ivins #Talk Talk #the metro #The Rainmakers #Wet Wet Wet #XTC

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fourmisfitz · 5 years ago

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Breakthru: Part 3 (Roger Taylor x Reader)

Part One | Part Two

Warnings/Content: Swearing, Angst, etc... the whole shibang, really (but no smut... yet;)) (18+)

Words: 4k

A/N: I cried while writing this 🤗 Hope you enjoy, my lovelies! Please let me know what you thought! (Picture whichever Roger; I switch between seeing it as Ben!Roger and late 70s Rog) P.S. there will def be more than 4 parts to this series. Probably 6-7...

“Did we even pay for this?”

“Oh trust me, I’m paying for it alright.” You scoffed at yourself.

His fork clonked against the plate when his shoulders slumped.

“I meant the food.”

You knew that, but you couldn’t shake your unexpected encounter enough to give undivided attention to dinner right now. You timidly swirled your fork around a cluster of noodles as a barking dog outside echoed into the dining room.

“Right… then no.” You shoved the bite into your mouth, eyes eventually meeting Roger’s as your head remained bowed at your plate.

A huff crossed the table to your hand, carried by the frigid air blowing in through the window behind Roger.

“Okay I get that you’re giving me the cold shoulder for whatever reason, but could you at least clos-.”

“For whatever reason?!” He inquired.

You slumped back in your chair, already knowing you were in the wrong.

“How do you think it feels to be the middleman? And you taking stabs at yourself about how you’re “paying for it” is supposed to make me feel better, I suppose? Like I’m just some inconvenience?” Air quotes accented his irritation.

“No!” You spat. “I didn’t mean it like- but-” You were growing more frustrated, Roger being the last person you wanted to pick a fight with right now, “you know, you’re acting like I invited him, Roger.” Your forearms dug into the edge of the table as you propped yourself forward.

Roger finished a gulp of his beer, his hand paving back his hair out of habit. His head shook as his scurried gaze avoided eye contact, brows furrowed. It’s what he did when he was focused, caring about the subject, but it came with impulsivity.

“Right, no- but you-”

“But I what, Roger? But I: invited him into this mess? I created this mess.” You watched his eyelashes flicker before meeting with yours. “But I: didn’t lie better to keep a suspecting husband out of the picture?- Who, need I remind you, has a reason to be suspicious and even more than that: furious?! Or, here we go-”

Roger pled your name to stop,

“but I: am the one who shouldn’t have cheated in the first place?...” You carried on. “I wasn’t happy, Roger, I-... things don’t always work out picture-perfect for every party, and i hate-” Your voice broke, “-that I’m hurting him- that we’re hurting him, because as much as it sucks, this is equally our problem now.” You shoved your rickety chair out from the table and stood up hastily, banging your knee into the edge as you did so, sobs threatening to escape.

He swallowed his expression before reaching behind him, the clack of the window lock making you jump slightly before collecting yourself and retreating to the kitchen, dishes in hand.

Roger sat, not sure what to do as he anxiously drummed his fingers until they fell out of rhythm when you returned to his chair. With something held by your hip, you reached out a patient hand. After a moment that felt like forever, he moulded his cautious, calloused hand with yours and you led him to the living room.

The leather cushions sank as both of your bodies fell into them. You brought the burgundy object to your lap and Roger squeezed your hand slightly when he recognized it. Scattered black letters that nearly spelled “A Royal Family” were glued to the fabric, a few missing. Of course, Roger had crossed out the family part months ago and wrote “pain in my ARSE” in Sharpie during a pointless fight between his bandmates; it made up for the absent letters.

“You still have it…” His marvelling voice was light.

“Of course; I basically slaved over it for a week.”

He offered an airy laugh as his fingers ghosted over the cover gently.

You flicked through a few pages, crinkled from beer stains and remnants of other unidentified things, collecting your memories with the band. It illustrated you being a friend to all of them, before this “love” triangle formed.

The first instalment was from the second time you met Queen, because the first interaction had you too nervous to introduce your Polaroid camera. Another photo showed Roger pinching your cheeks with one hand, your smile still evidently bright even in the pufferfish lips you wore as your eyes squeezed shut. Also pictured: Freddie in a hospital gown holding a thumbs up while Roger pouted beside him…

Roger let out a deep, throaty laugh, “Do you remember that?” the ink in the image pooled a ring around his indicative finger as pressed into it - the time he had shoved his drum kit off the risers and a heavier floor tom fumbled down onto Freddies foot. Freddie had laughed between his exclaims of pain so Roger wouldn’t feel as bad, cracking jokes and teasing him, perfectly in-tune with his nature.

You snorted, “How could I forget? You screamed siren sounds the whole drive to the hospital, and then some!” Roger returned a light laugh and rubbed the back of his neck before moving the album onto his lap for closer inspection.

It was all there, all your memories before this messy situation were captured over the past few years in this book. Of course, some had become more tainted memories than others; the photo of Brian kissing your cheek in the studio and your eyes gleaming brighter than the flash ever could. You couldn't remember what had happened before the shutter clicked, but maybe that was from intentional practice to forget. The time you tripped over some amp chords Freddie had left exposed even after countless requests from Brian to tidy it up - in the photo was you on the carpet, right knee all bloodied up as Freddie hugged you, though his passion translated into more of a choke hold. Johns hand was visible, cleaning the wound, and Brian looked scoldingly at Freddie in the background. You didn’t remember much, but behind the camera, Roger was the one who made you smile enough to stop the tears that were still apparent on your cheeks.

“I like this one.” Roger pointed at a corner photo you missed amongst the others crowding the page.

“Why?” You laughed, embarassed.

“Because it was the first time I saw you so… free.” He placed his palm over your aching knee, instantly making the throbbing go away. There you were, in a convertible with the band, your bum on the rim of the side window, only legs inside the car as your arms outstretched behind you and the wind blew your hair every which way.

“I remember you had been going on and on… and ON and ON-” He teased, rocking his head for emphasis.

“Okay, okay!” You felt a bit of that heavy ladening weight dissipate with your laughs.

“-honestly, love, I don’t even know what it was you were saying: you spoke so fast… but seeing you so carefree and in your element speaking pure passion about some song and how music can make us feel-... well it made me think-…” He ogled at the photo some more.

“Made you think what, Rog?”

“...I knew right then, I wanted to be with you.”

You felt the corners of your lips pinch dimples into your cheeks as you kissed his warm cheek and his grip tightened on your knee.

“You’re not an inconvenience, Roger...” you watched the side of his face as he looked up at you.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” You corrected.

He smiled bigger than you’d seen in a while, and he started playfully attacking your entire face with a bundle of quick kisses all over, pulling giggles from you.

At that moment, just when you began enjoying your night again, your phone vibrated from your back pocket. You groaned and dropped your head in response.

“You know I think we should just throw our phones away.” Rogers eyes remained grazing the photos.

“Deaky.” You confirmed, earning an intrigued look from him.

Answering hesitantly, you listened as his soft voice spoke your name worriedly over the line.

“Everything alright, John?”

Roger watched your mouth open several times to speak, but no words came out until you finally put John at ease with, “Alright- yeah, I’ll- I’ll go check it out, okay?”

“What was that about?”

“I have to go check something…”

Roger blinked.

“John’s worried about Brian; says he’s down at The Crooked Frame and he’s well-through a round of shots to himself. He didn’t care for anything he had to say and wants me to try to get him to go home.”

Roger nodded and you pecked his forehead goodbye.

“I love you.” Roger whispered. You levelled your eyes with his, “I love you too.” and kissed his lips properly before grabbing your jacket and keys.

On your drive over, you didn’t know what to expect. All you knew was that in over a year, Brian hadn’t had anything stronger than a pint or two, and he definitely wasn’t one to drink alone.

“Sweetheart, turn it down, you’re gonna blow the speakers!” His voice crescendoed in equal amusement and caution as his long fingers turned down the volume knob.

“Hey! I like that song!” You poked his arm as the wind took over for surround sound, only faint echoes of Tom Petty ringing throughout the car.

His laugh was deep and delightful.

“I love that song, but I don’t love false auto repair quotes.”

You returned the chuckle and shook your head in admiration. Smiling contently at him now, you rested your chin upon your fist, propped up by your elbow on the center console.

“Do you know what else I love?” He yelled over the rippling wind, pushing his long locks out of his face with one hand.

“My singing voice?” You turned the volume back up to full.

“Hey, watch it!” He went to reposition it when you interrupted his motion by clasping your fingers with his.

“C’mon, babe- sing it with me…- Tryin’ she, had one little promise, she was gonna keep!” You bellowed the lyrics at the top of your lungs, not a care in the world if you were off key.

He shook his head and unable to resist, joined in on the fun.

“Oh yeah! All right!” Your voices collided in unison, drowning out the stereos guiding voice.

He pointed a finger at you in cue.

“Take it easy baby!” You tried to match the throaty melody in the original song, your torso swaying with passion.

“Make it last-” “Make it last all ni-ight!” You each sang your respective parts and after a moment he redestined the volume back to static.

“I love you.” He finished.

And you looked at him like he held all the power in the world. Your heart caught up to the speed of his car and it felt like everything had been aligned at that moment. Your breath hitched in your chest for awhile until you realized you weren’t dreaming and should probably say something.

“Aww, I love you too, Bri!” And you threw your denim jacket-clad arms around his neck, feeling everything, all at once.

He let go of a breath and took another one in that could finally reach the pit of his lungs in relief. You withdrew your arms and instead hugged his arm. Brian glanced at your head on his shoulder, and turning back to the road, he smiled to himself and kissed your hair.

You closed your eyes at the gesture and squeezed his arm with both hands in appreciation. He loved you; he said it, and you felt the same. And it was almost irrevocable. Almost.

He turned the volume back up once and for all.

“She was, an American girl!” You both sang along again, the song ringing throughout the car again.

♫ He crept back in her memory

God it's so painful ♫

The bar wasn’t a ghost town, but it wasn’t exactly bustling on a tuesday night, either. Brian wasn’t hard to miss, sitting at a desolate counter where the female behind it was tending to old men strewn along the stools. You made your way over, the men ogling at you like you were meat. One of them even squeezed your ass as you made your way to him, prompting you to shoot the man a look and flinch away.

“Pretty dodgy place to be spending your Tuesday, don’t you think?” You offered.

Brians sweaty curls were glued to his face as he slugged back the second shot of what must have been his second round.

He wreaked of body odor and a variety of musky liquor.

You took a controlled breath in and tried again.

“This seat taken?” You asked lightly, only to be answered with a slow look that could only be described as a glare. He looked down at the stool silently, back at you, then shrugged as his eyes returned to the shots waiting to be gulped.

You sat down and when the bartender asked if you could use a quick fix, tequila it was. You figured you would be here awhile.

“Have you seen John, tonight?”

He just shrugged and mumbled.

You leaned the side of your head on your propped palm, facing him.

“Well he’s seen you, and we’re worried.” You prodded.

“Bull.” He croaked, reaching for the third shot.

You covered the shot before he could grasp it.

“You can’t just drink away the night, you know. I know you’re hurting, but-” You took a confirming gaze around the room, a thick musty layer of smokey fog glazing the air. Scattered coughs and clinks of pints between men with their pants too low echoed throughout. “-but we’ve gotta get you home, Bri.”

You reached out to take his arm, but he swatted you away, pure offense lacing his long face, all the way to his clenched jaw. You watched on timidly.

He dipped his head back again and slammed that third glass down, clattering against the rest, not earning a single head turn.

“Home? Is that so?” He scoffed. “Yippee, I get to go home to a warm cozy bed, to my wife, and- oh no- that’s Roger who’s pulled that straw, isn’t it?”

You tried to keep calm even though it was becoming more obvious that this wasn’t going to be pretty in the slightest.

“Brian, don’t be mad at Roger-”

He didn’t stop you, but when he looked at you you realized you didn’t even know how to continue your sentence.

You twiddled your fingers and starting faking interest in your cuticles.

“I want to kiss you.” He finally chirped.

Your hands began to shake beneath your gaze, then you met your eyes to his. Yours grew glossy first.

“Brian,”

“I want to kiss you and shove you against a wall and fall asleep with you cradled in my arms, against my chest-” Brian took your wrist rather aggressively and pressed your palm to his sweaty chest. “-where you’re safe.” You could feel his heart beating fast enough to put him into cardiac arrest beneath his button-up.

You swallowed your shaky breath and glanced from your hand to his worrisome eyes.

“I love you.” You spoke softly.

His eyebrows allowed some space to come between them. Hope, until:

“But-”

“Don’t say but,”

You drew in another breath, and you began to feel the alcohol bubble in the pit of your stomach. That- or brians words sank like an anchor that would always be instilled in you.

“Alright... I love you, and,” You retracted your hand to your side, “You’re not my safehouse, anymore.” You stood up from your stool and dove your arm under the strap of your purse; it was time to go.

Brian grabbed your shoulder like a warning as you pivoted away from the bar, trying to shake his words into your veins.

“Well you either love me, and you feel that-” but all you felt was a growing numbing sensation from the tequila settling in. “-or you don’t feel anything at all, and that’s why you’re able to do this.” His voice croaked on the last few syllables.

Ultimatums didn’t make the choice any easier, and you were well invested into your decision by now.

His eyes pierced you with a stern, desperate gaze, practically burning a hole in your face.

You wanted to tell him so many things in this moment; how it’s more complicated than whether you do, or you don’t. How you’ll always have a spot for him in your heart, but you have more love for Roger, because he was there when Brian wasn’t. You didn’t just wake up one day and hate him in a heartbeat, after one fight. It was small at first - things you would have shaken off on their own, but then everything piled up, one after the other, and over time it bottled up and overflowed out of you. You were coming home and leaving your 9-5 for a 24/7. You had your transgressions to be burdened with for how you dealt with things, but he drove you away. You wanted to say so many things to Brian, but all that came out when you took his quivering jaw into your hands was:

“You are an epic person, Brian, but you’re not my person anymore.”

You bowed your head and went to leave again when he added,

“What am I supposed to do then? You’ve got part of me inside you.”

You looked back, caught off-guard by his words.

“’n case you’ve forgot...” He added. “Or are you running away from that, also?”

As those last few words left his lips, slurred from boozing away his sorrows, you heard the bell of the tavern door chime. Had you not known it was Roger from his white jacket swallowing your peripherals, it wouldn’t have caught your attention.

Brians swallowed hard. “Right.” He smacked his empty shot glass on the counter and stood up messily, earning some preventative arms from you, just in case, only to be returned with a stern flexed hand dismissing your caution. “I see your person’s arrived.”

Roger watched, trying to guage the situation and determine a safe distance, hovering by the door.

You looked between the both of them, Brian sitting back down and already moving onto his next shot. You huffed and held up a waiting finger to Roger before retreating to the bathroom.

While you were gone, Roger took the liberty of trying to get on Brians level, or at least remind him that his liver hasn’t taken that much booze in too long.

“Come for a pity party?” Brian quipped, brows raised into his hairline.

“Look it’s time to go, Bri. I’ve called a cab, just let me help you u-”

“Fuck off.”

“Easy...” Roger lowered his voice, “Look mate, I know you’re upset, but I can’t watch you ruin yourself and run this any deeper-”

“Oh, you don’t know shit! And quit the high and mighty strut like you have no part in my ruining.” Brians eyes practically bulged out of his skull.

Rogers breaths kept to his nose as they became more heated, his pursed lips containing himself.

“You’re a homewrecker, and you’re a right twat.”

Brian was getting well up in Rogers face now, only making him grow more agitated by the second. Roger averted his eyes for a second, but Brian made sure to revert that with a prompting shove.

“Brian, you’re pissed drunk. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh I think I know quite enough.”

“Alright,” Roger readjusted his shirt with a shrugging motion, “Fine, have at it - rip into me. I hurt you, I know that...” Brian watched on. “But she needed you. You pushed her away. I-” His index finger repeatedly stabbed his own chest, “won’t be blamed for being there for someone who needed somebody.”

“If she really needed me - if she really didn’t feel heard, she would have spoken up. She knows she can come to me with anything.”

“You sure about that?”

“Quite.”

“Willing to bet your life on it?” Roger pressed.

“Everything alright?” The bartender chirped, her expression appearing more annoyed than her tone, a lousy attempt to diffuse the situation.

Without either of them breaking eye contact, Roger nodded.

“Yeah. Was Just leaving, as a matter of fact.” Roger added, realizing he was only feeding the flame as he went leave before things got too ugly.

“Hey-!” But he was yanked back when Brian clenched a fistful of his jacket.

“You don’t get to just walk away.”

“I’m not walking away from you, Brian. But this-” Roger glared at the cluster of shot glasses, some spilling onto the floor, the receipt of them trailing down Brians chest. “isn’t you.”

“Oh so you know everything now, huh?”

“You’re right sloshed, just quit, and get in the cab, and we’ll talk later-”

“you know how my wife smells?”

“C’mon mate-”

“You know how my wife’s hands feel.” Brian took a step closer, really getting into rogers face, now.

Rogers only response was his nostrils flaring with anger and forced restraint, trying with all his might to contain himself and walk away.

“You know how my wife-” his nose was practically aligned with rogers, “tastes.” he growled.

You walked out after hearing some commotion, in time to see the aftermath of what followed a fist colliding with a nose, blood weaving into the spilled booze on the floor.

You gasped and threw yourself between them, screaming at them to stop. You took the hand of the fallen and yanked him back to his feet, spinning around to block them off.

“Do I need to call the cops? Or have you got your wives under control?” The bartenders raspy voice hollered.

“This is ridiculous.” You spat, looking between them, while one of them literally spat a bloody mess out of their mouth and the others chest heaved.

“C’mon, that cabs going to leave soon.”

You got in the backseat and instructed the driver with a huff, rubbing your eyes in exhaustion. You looked down at your growing bump and placed a palm to it as it kicked, tears pricking your eyes and you bit your lip to contain your rising sobs.

“I’m sorry.” He offered, placing a hand on your forearm.

“Me too.” And with that, you lifted your hands from your bump and habitually began wringing out your fingers.

You looked over to him, a dishevelled mess. You took his bloodied hand, uncurled his fingers, and as your tears fell into his palm you searched his eyes. You hunted for hate, because all of this would be a lot easier if he hated you, but all that came up to the surface was an ache. You placed your hand in his, wrapping your hands around it.

“Here we are!” The impatient taxi driver announced your address, and you withdrew your hands from his, unbuckled your seatbelt, and paid the driver.

“Wait-” He tried to call, but his voice barely rose above a croak.

“This is for him too, please make sure he gets inside.”

He pled your name softly, “Wait,”

You offered him a glance, waiting.

“C’mon, are you going or aren’t ya?” The driver grew more aggravated and you could tell caring about the passengers well being wasn’t exactly something money could buy.

You looked out the window at Rogers flat, then back to a speechless Brian, then waved the driver off, changing your mind.

Once you stumbled upstairs into your shared flat, you retrieved a washcloth from the linen closet, soaked it with warm water, and after you finally got Brian to quiet down from his guilty mumbles blaming himself, you pulled the duvet over him and pat his head with the cloth.

“’m sorry I did this. I pushed you away, I caused all of this. I’ll change- I’ll change myself for you, Y/N, I swear-!”

“Shhhh-shh-shhh...” You moved a clump of dampened curls out of his eyes as he gulped, looking between your eyes, his growing more heavy. “This isn’t on you, and I don’t want you to change.” You bowed your head and placed a kiss on his forehead.

He closed his tired eyes, and you rubbed your thumb soothingly over his cheek and temples for a moment, watching him doze off in seconds.

You placed something on your nightstand before crawling back up to him in bed and pressing another chaste kiss to his cool skin. “Things will feel whole again some day...”

And in the morning when he woke up, he didn’t find you in bed with him, but instead, a note.

He reached over and yanked the paper through half-asleep eyes, water spilling over from the glass you left him, as well as a clanging sound eliciting from something hitting it.

It rang throughout his ears as he read the words you left for him.

“I will always care about you, but right now, I can’t find my love for you. I should’ve done this awhile ago, and I’m sorry I didn’t sooner.”

Without peeling his stark eyes from the scrap paper, he outstretched his other arm and slammed his palm down on the source of the noise at the nightstand, and to his face, he lifted up the ring he put on your finger nearly a year ago.

♫ Something that's so close

And still so far out of reach ♫

54 notes · View notes

grimelords · 5 years ago

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My November playlist is complete from Aretha Franklin to Blood Incatation, and I guarantee there’s at least something in here you’ll love. Thanks for listening!

If you’d like to get these playlists emailed to you instead of having them appear randomly on your dash, please sign up to my tinyletter.

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Don't Start Now - Dua Lipa: Dua Lipa said disco lives. I absolutely love this song, it’s rock solid disco without being throwback or ironic about it. The way this song starts with the first line of the chorus and then launches into the verse and only gives you the full chorus later feels like that thing movie trailers do now where they give you a little trailer before the trailer for some reason. It’s also something I’ve never heard before, and it gives the song a very fun structure in the intro where it has two different levels of elevation it can drop down to before the bass properly drops in. I think Dua Lipa understands something fundamental about being a pop singer: literally the only thing you have to do is make bangers. She has basically zero personality and was criticised massively around New Rules for having zero stage presence (which she's definitely gotten better at since) but I kind of like it like that - she's just an unknowable blank canvas that's not particularly interested in any kind of narrative, she just makes bangers.

Mirage (Don't Stop) - Jessie Ware: Jessie Ware has been putting out some extremely good singles since her last album and this song is another. It’s the kind of smooth neo-soul that Jungle is pioneering but the way this song is structured is really beautiful; it gives the ‘don’t stop moving’ part a lot of space early on before it really gets to take hold and take over the second half of the song - it gives the whole song this feeling of disco evolution and the song going on and on and changing rather than static pop.

What A Fool Believes - Aretha Franklin: I can’t believe I’ve never heard Aretha’s version of What A Fool Believes before. It’s amazing. It’s the best kind of cover where you just basically do the song exactly the same but better in every single way. Push the tempo slightly, put big brass in it, make the bass hot as hell, sing the hell out of it, add a sax solo obviously. She takes such liberty with the rhythm of the vocals and it gives this whole song this great swooping and diving energy that just uplifts in such a beautiful way.

Walking Into Sunshine (Larry Levan 12” Mix) - Central Line: Something I love about this song is the crowd noise that breaks in with a ‘woo’ near the beginning. It’s such a strange little detail that instantly injects so much life and love into the track. It positions it at a party rather than a studio from the outset and somehow that mindset carries through the whole rest of the song even though the crowd noise only lasts a couple of seconds until they reconvene right at the very end.

Freedom - Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five: There was a time in the history of rap music where some kind of government mandate demanded that every song go for at least 7 minutes, so you ended up with great songs like this where they spend a good couple minutes in the middle killing time by going through everyone’s star sign and then asking the crowd their star sign too. Also they appear to have recorded their own kazoos on the track over the kazoos in the sample, which is a lesson in good production everyone take.

Freedom Funk It Up Freedom - Freedom: I was looking up where the sample on that Grandmaster Flash song Freedom was from and it turns out it’s from this band called Freedom. Easy enough. This isn’t the song Freedom samples though, this is Freedom’s other song Freedom Funk It Up Freedom. It’s fucking hot and contains maybe the livest crowd I’ve ever heard, they are just going absolutely nuts the whole time and it only helps the energy of the song which is already off the charts.

Set Guitars To Kill (Live) - And So I Watch You From Afar: For the 10th anniversary of their debut album, And So I Watch You From Afar just played the whole thing front ot back and put it out as a live album, and it’s amazing. They’re an instrumental band that’s always emphasised the rock part of post-rock, in the same space as bands like 65daysofstatic and Russian Circles but not so self-serious about it, just big honking rock and roll tunes with a surprising depth and complexity to them that never get bogged down in ambient buildups or the other space-making trappings of post-rock. Their debut album has always been my favourite of theirs because it felt the most ‘live’ and wasn’t as cleanly produced as their subsequent releases (which are still very good), and so this live version feels sort of like a definitive version for me, like this is how it was always meant to sound but they didn’t have enough fans to do the ‘woo!’ part properly yet, which is one of the most purely joyful moments in music.

Bullet The Blue Sky (Live) - U2: I saw U2 this week for the second time in my life and guess what: they’re still great. Even though they’re old as fuck and Bono is getting stranger and stranger they’ve still got it. They have a very good bit of stage design going with this current tour where for a big chunk of it they’re out on a little platform in the middle of everyone with no screens or fancy lights and it’s one of the most effective ways I’ve seen of making an arena show feel like an actual intimate experience. I was a million miles away and Bono looked like an ant more than usual but the energy still came across. Then, when they do the Joshua Tree Start To Finish part of the show they have big visuals for every song but it’s still pretty light on actual cameras on the band, which I think works really well - a sort of best of both worlds where you get the arena show but the actual band performance. This song was a highlight for me, and they’ve somehow managed to make it even more ferocious now than ever before. It got extremely noisy, far noisier than you’d ever expect from U2 at least and really amped up the swirling energy that I’ve always loved about this song. People accuse U2's politics of being too wide ranging, and it's well founded they're the prototypical 'heal the world' rock stars - even in this song and the way they've repurposed its messages to fit various political causes over the years they've tried to dilute it, but this feels to me like a song that you can't wash the meaning out of no matter how hard you try. It's one of the best and most direct criticisms of American evil put to song, and it's an arena song that doesn't particularly have an arena melody to it. Especially in the Joshua Tree/Rattle And Hum era, U2 have always been captivated by the American mythos but have never been able to completely ingratiate themselves as an American Rock Band because they're not and I think that point of difference in identity has them uniquely positioned to criticise the American mythos as well. They can have it both ways because they can't fully have it, so in this song the circle of American violence is complete in the women and children who run from the American fighter planes into the arms of America as refugees. Bono's actually mad, which is a nice change of pace from love healing the world.

Gingerly - Enemies: I love this Enemies album so much. A sweet spot between post-rock and midwest emo math guitar, and listening to it now this song really stood out in a way it hasn’t before. It turns up at a good spot in the album just as you might be getting tired of the twinkly clean guitars that characterise the rest of it and burns a hole in the speaker with that distorted bass and siren guitar sound.

You Look Certain (I’m Not So Sure) - WXAXRXP Session - Mount Kimbie: I think every band should get the chance to re-record their album a year or two after they’ve put it out, once they’ve had a chance to really sit with the songs for a while and figure out exactly how they work because this version is just so much better than the album version (which was already great!). The guitar sound is so much bigger, properly leaning into the post-punk idea they were only exploring on the album, and the vocals are so much stronger and more up front which makes it feel so much more like a full song than an experiment. This whole Warp Session EP is fantastic and I’ve been listening to it on repeat, it’s so great that they’ve morphed from this insular electronic duo into a proper band over the years and I'm excited to see where they'll take it next.

Peace To All Freaks - of Montreal: The new of Montreal single is great. Embracing an 80s dance vibe and immediately turning his back on it in the opening lines and not going out because he needs to educate himself instead. I love this song, an unironic and non-cheesy rallying against negativity which is a lot harder to do with earnesty than they make it sound here.

Taipei - Social Climbers: Thankyou to my friend and yours agrifuture for this recommendation. Social Climbers played an odd and paranoid version of art rock in the early 80s that on this song at least sounds more like modern opera trying to fit itself to a rock band than anything else. I can also say with confidence this is the only song I’ve ever heard where someone sends a quiche back in the middle of it.

Mad Eyed Screamer - The Creatures: I’ve never gotten much into Siouxie And The Bashees, they're probably somewhere on my list of bands to have a deep three week long obsession with somewhere in the future, but for now my biggest exposure to them is the time The Weeknd sampled them. I am, however, deeply interested in this drums and vocals only side project that Siouxie Sioux formed with her then-partner Budgie. I’m a big fan of any kind of restricted composition like this and I love this song. It’s so busy and the amount of reverb and extra percussion going on makes for this extremely chaotic, noisy vision of what is essentially a folk song in its lyric and melody.

Black Magic - Jarvis Cocker: I found out that the main guitar part in this song is sampled from Crimson & Clover by Tommy James and The Shondells. Which is something I don’t think I’ve ever seen before, a rock song like this built around a sample. Not exactly sampling in order to recontextualise across genres or approaches but sampling to recontextualise in a lateral, parallel approach. I love this song because his delivery is so feverish and impassioned it really does feel like he’s seen beyond the veil and come back without the language or capacity to explain what he saw, only the passion.

Year In Pictures - Dick Diver: Every year since this album came out it's shown up somewhere in my Spotify most listened list at the end of the year. It's surprising because I don't think of it as one of my all time favourites when it definitely is, it's such an easy listen that it just comes and goes pleasantly. This song is kind of about that feeling I guess, of things just happening and time just passing pleasantly enough year on year, everthing in its own time while the past disappears and doesn't matter anymore. "Whatever happens, I think everything will"

Heart - Bertie Blackman: I love the percussion in this song, the same propulsive clapping-centred beat that makes Single Ladies so good with the dark grinding bass underneath it that just pulses malevolently until the gearshift of the chorus where it morphs immediately into this 60s soul version of itself, with the ooh la la backing vocals and everthing, and that disonnance between the two styles drives the song for me. Where the verse lays out the evil plainly and the music matches, the chorus accentuates it in wide eyed irony "I know there's something sick with what I've been sold" sung with a smile and showgirl backing vocals.

Love Lockdown - Kanye West: Something I think we’re all learning as Kanye loses his mind completely on the world stage is that Kanye has always been insane. He has always had an unnervingly powerful self-belief and unwavering vision that has up until recently been what made him such a unique and era-defining artist. After the radical directions of MBDTF and Yeezus it’s sort of hard to remember just how radical 808s And Heartbreaks was at the time because unlike the self aware harshness and strangeness of the other two it was also so pop adjacent, because of its 80s synthpop influence but also because of the way it (and T-Pain) impacted all other pop music of the time. The instrumentation on this song is still so staggering, even just the pitched kick at the centre I could listen to on loop forever I think.

It Might Be Time - Tame Impala: Absolutely cannot wait for the new Tame Impala if this and Patience are any indication. The absolutely huge blown out drums on this are so good and remind me of something I’ve been trying to place for weeks and can’t. Maybe a Chemical Brothers song or some kind of big beat era thing. I think of Kevin Parker and Adam Granduciel from The War On Drugs as the same kind of guys, absolute craftsmen studio nerds that are completely obsessed with sound but unlike most other guys of that genre are actually great songwriters as well. Long haired studio hermits that emerge every few years to bless us all.

Never Again - Kelly Clarkson: I’ve been trying to decide whether this or Since U Been Gone is a better song and I’ve settled on this having the superior verses and Since U Been Gone the better chorus. The absolute venom in the lyrics is incredible. “I hope the ring you gave to her turns her finger green. I hope when you’re in bed with her you think of me” is like.. the most metal opening I’ve ever heard. She literally sings “You’ll die together, but alone” in the second verse, jesus christ.

Giant Swan - The Blood Brothers: I found out recently from reading the wiki article on screamo (which like almost all wiki articles about music genres is about 60% artists claiming that genres are fake and critics coining new genre names half in jest) that The Blood Brothers were apparently part of a screamo subgenre called Sass, which is a term I have never heard before in my life and certainly never heard in the heyday of the style. You learn something every day I suppose. “It originated as an opposing style of hardcore punk to the machismo in heavy hardcore scenes. It takes influence from genres such as post-punk, new wave, disco, electronic, dance-punk, emoviolence, grindcore, metalcore and heavy hardcore. The genre is characterized by often incorporating overtly flamboyant mannerisms, erotic lyrics featuring sexual tension, and a lisping vocal style. The genre is also noted for its "spastic edge", blast beats, chaotic guitars, danceable beats and the use of synthesizers.” My understanding is that when emo went mainstream and the split between ‘emo’ as a music and ‘scene’ as a fashion occurred, this is the music that emerged from the middle ground. Turning against the masculinity of their screamo forebears and toward the queer aesthetics of scene, the resulting style was still furious and violent but furious with a light cabaret (but like, if cabaret was good and not just a guy in a top hat emoting, a different style of emo that Panic! At The Disco famously pioneered) and violent in a psychedelic, surreal way that set it apart from the depressed and black aesthetics of the rest of emo. I love The Blood Brothers and have never found another band like them in terms of lyrical inventiveness and sheer vocal insanity, the characteristic shrill falsetto that sporadically turns to screams is an amazing choice that’s incredible it works at all. This song especially stands out as unique even amongst the chaos of their discography. The loping lounge feel in the first half, coupled with the properly surreal description of the giant swan in the lyrics establishes such an strange and dark cabaret mood that makes this song so oddly singular to me.

The Ripper - The Used: I really appreciate the production on this whole album, it is so overdone and hyperactive that it creates this irrepressible momentum because something is always happening. The songs themselves are incredibly compressed in structure and extremely hook heavy, and it feels like to counteract and complement that approach they‘ve been gone over bar by bar finding every possible spot to add interest. Dynamics shifting, drums filtering and then revealing themselves, choirs appearing from this air for two lines. Guitar squeals fly in and out in the background and the bass suddenly becomes extremely chunky in parts. The whole mix gets sucked down a black hole and then a little glockenspiel outlines the vocal melody in the background for a second leading back into a huge chorus. Everything happen in this short song. It’s an interesting approach that can be overwhelming, but it has undeniable results.

Ilana - Mdou Moctar: Mdou Moctar rocks because he takes a big power chord riff like the one at the start of this song that could just as easily start a Thin Lizzy song and then immediately discards it and twists a melting solo that crosses time and space for the rest of the song instead.

Ancestral Recall (feat. Saul Williams) - Christian Scott aTunde Adjuah: The press release for this album says: “In its inception, Ancestral Recall was built as a map to de-colonialize sound; to challenge previously held misconceptions about some cultures of music; to codify a new folkloric tradition and begin the work of creating a national set of rhythms; rhythms rooted in the synergy between West African, First Nation, African Diaspora/Caribbean rhythms and their marriage to rhythmic templates found in trap music, alt-rock, and other modern forms. It is time we created a sound that dispels singular narratives of entire peoples and looks to finally represent the wealth of narratives found throughout the American experience. One that shows that all forms of expression in sound are valid, as all people are." All that and a bit of spoken word at the start that sounds like Hannibal Buress’ Morpheus Walruses rap and I’m sold. I’m such a fan of jazz like this that purposefully opens itself up to the influence of the modern world and modern tradition, and the percussion work across this album in particular is so unique and really does what he set out to do in my opinion, bringing the rhythms of tradition into a modern context seamlessly.

Spider Hole - Billy Woods & Kenny Segal: I only found out about Billy Woods this month and I’m surprised I’ve never heard of him before because he feels like the middle of the venn diagram between Earl Sweatshirt, Aesop Rock and Death Grips. This flat out sounds like a Death Grips song played at half speed. The justified paranoia and anger that runs through this whole album is palpable and jumbled, centring around a feeling of lashing out in a moment of hopelessness because you don’t know what else you can do. "4 million USD hovering over some mud huts, it's nuts, it's not the heat it's the dust" is one of the most evocative lines of the year for me.

El Toro Combo Meal (feat. Mavi) - Earl Sweatshirt: When this new earl EP came out I listened to it 4 times in a row because it is just so compulsively brilliant. He’s refining his style more and more with every release and he’s honed it to this fine point now where every song is so super dense in its lyrical content and production that a full length release would almost be too much. There’s just so much to absorb here. Mavi’s verse is incredible too. I’ve never heard of him before but I’m a big supporter now. The beats too, through this whole EP are the kind that sound like a radio stuck between stations - looping snatches of vocals and drums drowned out in tape hiss where the beat is only a suggestion that Mavi and Earl both glide over on some sort of metric modulation and only land every now and then just to take off again.

Drug Dealer - Slowthai: Slowthai is so full of fire on this song it's scary. Facing a dead end future down and screaming that something's gotta change, and that he's the one to do it.

Lighthouse (feat. Rico Nasty, Slowthai and ICECOLDBISHOP) - Take A Daytrip: I have never heard of Take A Daytrip before this song but doing some research it turns out I have heard them, because they produced Panini by Lil Nas X. I have also never heard of ICECOLDBISHOP before but the way he brings an absolutely deranged verse on this song has made me an instant fan. I love this trio of features: three out there, huge personality voices at the outer limits of mainstream rap that in their oddness complement each other perfectly.

Rich Girl - Michie One & Louchie Lou: Something I learned this month was that Rich Girl by Gwen Stefani isn't a direct rip of If I Were A Rich Man from Fiddler On The Roof, it actually samples this song which acts as a sort of bridge between the two, and I think there's something interesting in the transfer of intention between the three songs, lyrically and musically. In the original his conception of a rich man is someone who can afford to have lots of ducks and geese, eat well and have enough time to pray because he doesn't have to work, then in the Michie One & Louchie Lou version rich is being able to feed your family and start a school (as well as play the horses and never lose), and in the Gwen Stefani version rich is having a house in Hollywood and London, clearing out designer stores, and buying four Harajuku girls and naming them Love, Angel, Music and Baby. It spirals up mercilessly from geese to, I guess, human trafficking. Musically there's a transformation as well, where the jewishness of the 'daidle daidle deedle daidle dumb' in the orginal is changed to a 'na na na na na' in this version and only a part of the original melodic lilt remains, a part that is completely ironed out in the Gwen Stefani version's 'na na na na na's. The downsides of wealth morph too, in the original it's simply not a part of God's plan, in this version it can't buy love, is the root of all evil (is a worldwide thing / rich is getting richer while the poor are getting stink) and only leads to more trouble (you reap but you never did sow / rich today you could be poor tomorrow / mind your back and watch your enemies grow) but in the Gwen Stefani version being rich is amazing on its own and the only thing that can top it is your love.

Santa Teresa - EOB: Tricked into enjoying ambient side projects once again. Ed O'Brien from Radiohead's new side project came up on my Discover Weekly without me realising it was him and I absolutely loved it. It’s expansive and cinematic and nice in a way that feels rare in ambient experimental stuff like this, to not be morose or depressing and gloomy for its own sake. It’s sharp and angular, or as sharp and angular as a song as slow moving as this can be and reminds me in part of HEALTH’s Max Payne 3 soundtrack, and Emma Ruth Rundle’s Electric Guitar One which are both masterpieces on their own.

Rough Sleeper - Burial: Reading Mark Fisher’s Ghosts Of My Life I was pleasantly surprised to see his Burial interview in there that I remember reading years and years ago before I knew who Mark Fisher was. I’ve thought of parts of that article here and there ever since and finally placing it in the wider context of Mark’s work was very satisfying, it’s funny how people come back to you in different forms over your lifetime. I don’t listen to Burial much now, or at least not as much as I used to at the height of my depression a few years ago where he was on near constant repeat and as a result his music became completely waterlogged with the feeling of that time and I couldn’t listen to him at all for a while without the memories completely marring any appreciation. But time passes as it does and it’s a nice feeling to finally be able to listen to Untrue again and not have it be so permanently soaked with memories of the worst time of my life, and now with a different mindset and viewpoint I can really see different sides of his music. Where before all I could hear was the bleak and empty future haunted by the ghosts of the past, now new colours appear - a warmth of hazy, pleasant memory and imagination. Reds and oranges creep into the black and grey and this song can feel like staying under covers while it storms outside instead of standing in the rain.

Night MXCMPV1 P74 - Venetian Snares & Daniel Lanois: I really don’t think I’ll ever hear another album like this in my life. The push and pull of the humanity of Lanois’ pedal steel and the digital nightmare of Venetian Snares percussion is just so engaging, and the moments where they overlap and move together in harmony contrast so beautifully with the times they feel like they’re playing two different songs altogether. Then they overlap, the effects overpower the steel guitar and it moves into a leaping angular digital realm and the percussion coalesces into an altogether human rush, or as human as Venetian Snares can be.

Were You There When They Crucified My Lord - Marisa Anderson: I can't find the quote but somewhere when she was doing interviews about this album Traditional And Public Domain songs, Marisa Anderson said part of the reason she likes traditional songs so much is because when she was coming up and playing in cafes around town she mistakenly thought she'd have to pay royalties if she did covers of popular songs, so she only did public domain songs instead.

Were You There When They Crucified My Lord - Johnny Cash: Another side of Were You There When They Crucified My Lord, one that expands magically into an amazing many-layered harmony led by June’s high and lonesome howl.

See That My Grave's Kept Clean - Blind Lemon Jefferson: Jefferson was buried at Wortham Negro Cemetery in 1929. His grave was unmarked until 1967, when a Texas historical marker was erected in the general area of his plot; however, the precise location of the grave is still unknown. By 1996, the cemetery and marker were in poor condition, and a new granite headstone was erected in 1997. The inscription reads: "Lord, it's one kind favour I'll ask of you, see that my grave is kept clean." In 2007, the cemetery's name was changed to Blind Lemon Memorial Cemetery, and his gravesite is kept clean by a cemetery committee in Wortham.

The Giza Power Plant - Blood Incantation: What I find so appealing about Blood Incantation is how dedicated they are. Zealots to the cult of being long haired death metal guys who wholeheartedly and sincerely believe in interdimensional aliens and the pyramids being the remnants of an ancient advanced technology. The dedication extends to them being maybe some of the best players in the genre I’ve ever heard, and them recording this whole album analog live in studio is such a feat of performance that adds another layer of intensity to this already extremely intense music.

listen here

#playlists

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arcadianambivalence · 5 years ago

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Babylon Berlin, S3E01

Once more, the season begins with a flash forward. On the edge of a panic attack, Gereon stumbles through a scene of disarray. A young man walks by with a rope. Another man clings to the wall like he’s in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Paper falls from above and coats the floor like snow.

As if waking from a dream, Gereon looks up—Nyssen is staring at him with an unnerving smile, Helga by his side. Gereon opens the front door to the building as a thunderous, furious crowd rushes in, knocking him to the floor.

The opening credits roll, then a time stamp appears on screen:

Oh.

Now that’s what I call a bear market…

All jokes aside, I like how this opening scene feels like one of Gereon’s episodes from the first two seasons. The subjective cinematography techniques here are, as always, effective.

This flash forward also sets a ticking clock to this show’s legion of other ticking clocks. The events of this season will likely occur over the next five weeks, but no matter how the case turns out, one thing is clear: the fragile stability and hope the viewers have known will collapse with the stock market. And the characters will be one step closer to their endgames.

Clear markers of history started to seep into the edges of season two, but from the cold open alone, you can tell season three is going to amp up the foreshadowing.

Charlotte tries (unsuccessfully) to visit Greta in prison. As she leaves, defeated, the music reminds me of a cross between the Halloween theme and something from an adaptation of The Phantom of the Opera.

I like that this series doesn’t stop when the investigation is over. It shows the effect of crime on the perpetrators, bystanders, and everyone remotely involved. Having spent most of season two either at the station or kidnapped, Lotte is confused about Greta’s role in Benda’s murder and wants to stop the execution, at least until she knows the truth.

But that is a confession for another episode. The seasonal mystery is about to begin.

On a the set of an expressionist film, a musical number is in progress. Production is taking full advantage of synchronized sound (and more Caligari references). As everyone focuses on the production, a cloaked figure sneaks through the rafters and causes a spotlight to careen to the stage below.

(So I guess that WAS a Phantom reference earlier!)

She’s singing to bring down the chandelier!

To the stock of many (but not all) actors and crew members, the lead actress is killed, and the police arrive to investigate.

#babylon berlin #long post #babylon berlin spoilers

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monkey-network · 4 years ago

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An Unfortunate Critique of Spiderverse Part 2 (of 3)

Want Part 1? Here you go. Otherwise, enjoy the show.

Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse was a fun award-winning 2018 animated film with a basically unanimously positive fandom, regarded generally as both a masterpiece Spider-Man film and a remarkable animated film overall. And while I do not disagree with that, it definitely earned its spoils, it pains me a bit to bring up the reason(s) why I can’t call it the masterpiece that many claim. I like this film, but I don’t love it as much as others and I wanted to express why. And I will see to be critical, not cynical. Fair enough?

Part 2 ~ The Spiderversal Stakes

To get a little personal real quick, I’ve been at this whole reviewing/analyzing for plenty of years now and I say the hardest part of doing these type of critiques, aside from not coming off as a cynical bitchlet, is conveying yourself properly. You don’t want to give people the wrong idea about what you want to get across.. Which is why this part is hard to express because there’s a lot to mull over and I don’t wanna bore ya. So with that said, I got a problem with the plot, but first lemme talk about my favorite Spidey film, Spider-Man Thre-

Sorry but we gotta talk about this

When you think about how the storyline of 3 plays, you’ll feel exhausted by of how much was thrown in (Venom, Sandman, the New Goblin, Emo Peter, etc.), the movie had to seriously juggle a lot in a little over a couple hours. Then again with all that, it never felt like the movie was inconsistent with the focus. It’s campy as hell but I felt it still had that good modicum of serious that Raimi’s 1 and 2 pulled off just as well, a quality balance. You grasped everything it threw at you by the end. Now Spiderverse, minus the credits, is an hour 45 minutes and it felt like the two points of the story, setting up the multiverse and Miles’ uprising as a heroes, were at rubberbanding odds with each other.

When I see Spiderverse, Miles’ story mostly overshadows the tension that came in the multiverse getting fucked up, and that the final fight of Miles and Kingpin is the only time where I felt shit got serious. Otherwise, the whole aspect of the Spidermun slowly dying because they weren’t in their realities and the multiverse colliding felt much of an afterthought for most of the film. Narratively, it has a good pace of doing what it needs to do, but on the look back the journey didn’t stick with me as well as I thought.

If I can bring in some previous examples, the likes of Kung Fu Panda and The Lego Movie had better stakes because it felt like the two storylines (the protagonist’s upbringing and the villain’s scheme) were prominent throughout the films once they got going. Po wasn’t just training because he wanted to be better and found the ways to do it, he was training hard because the villain was on his way and the defeat of the Furious Five showed he meant business. The Lego Movie takes a step further by having Emmett and the gang be on the run, we see the villain’s increasing impact as we go along, giving us on the fly experiences that provides Emmett’s “leap of faith” type breakthrough while the villain finally goes all out with his scheme. It helps make the stakes and optimistic breakthrough of overcoming them both escalate and converge naturally.

You know, not doing what Kingdom Hearts 3 did

Not saying Spiderverse doesn’t naturally converge its two storylines well, everything about it was clear, but the effects of the Super Collider come off as very infrequent and thus made the escalation disjointed. The whole “cellular decay” bit with the Spidermun could’ve been a great way to add some tension, like “Oh shit, this could be disadvantageous in the fight at Aunt May’s house. Put our heroes on the ropes.” It doesn’t happen, in fact the fight felt like it disappeared the moment Aaron and Miles were on the roof. It felt like a slight inconvenience than a matter of winning or losing everything, even in the climax. Same with the whole “reality warping” idea, it would’ve been very cool to see reality start to deteriorate or change around our characters, make the news media go “Oh shit, what’s happening?” or put the Spidermun on a little edge instead of them just solemnly waiting for a little anime girl to heely her way in with the flash drive to save the world. As great as the scene was, the “leap of faith” felt disconnected where I say a scene of Miles noticing the glitches from the hotel after he was living in the moment for once would’ve been a great transition to the climax. Show that he’s ready and amped to be the new Spider-Man, but knows there’s no time to lose. Have the life-threatening factor be more of a looming presence. If not that, might as well not add it in, especially at the last minute. I mean it’s possible.

Like what happened to Liv? We don- we don’t see her after everything is over. Is best villain just gone now forever?!

I talked previously of how Peni, Spider-Noir, and Spider-Ham were wasted in the film, but they were but a fraction to the whole idea of the quantum warping and how it felt like an afterthought until near the end. And as I mention Doc Ock, it mostly felt like the villains just come and go. Prowler is the exception, but I completely forgot Kingpin fucked with reality to get his family back. Shit, I forgot Scorpion and Goblin were in the movie. I’m not saying we needed the know how of everything, but I figure better time to conveying their stance in the film would make them more memorable. Spider-Man has great villains, and most of the films knew how to mix their presence in with our hero’s life fluently. If the major world ending threat wasn’t much, it didn’t help that most of the villains here supporting that threat were flash in the pan at best.

like a majority of blockbuster villains

Now off the bat, as I mentioned before, I am not a fan of movies that notably wink and nudge that a sequel is around the corner. I’m okay with things being open-ended but I draw a line at a film being forced to feel lacking because it’s relying on a sequel to pick up the slack. There are exceptions to this of course, but great films should be able to stand on their own and not be codependent on sequels to make them better. With my talk of the B-team and the whole reality warping aspect of the film, the Spiderverse part of the title feels like setup for the sequel and while there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, it doesn’t help when half the 1st film feels minor and somewhat forgettable in my case. Miles’ story was great but it’s like we had to flip flop between his story and the setting up for more. And it’s that story rubberbanding that leaves a less satisfying note to me compared to not only other films in general, but other Spider-Man films where even when a lot is thrown at me, each of the Raimi trilogy felt conclusively satisfactory as both a whole and individually.

It honestly makes this ending pretty mixed in my eye

But on this note, I don’t wanna end on a sour grape, not when the 3rd part is gonna end this whole critique off more optimistically. So as much as I harped the whole setup Spiderverse aspect, the silver lining is that this felt like the first few hours of Kingdom Hearts 2 with Roxas. This is a weird comparison but it does feel like Miles is at the twilight of his life in this film. We get some great action but his involvement in the film is kept at arms length while the other Spidermun are stepping well. It’s only after Aaron’s death, the dejection, and Jefferson’s uplifting words and this shot in particular where we can finally say...

Spider-Man has Awaken Again

I can step on anything in this movie but it’s where Miles gets his groove and is there for the other spidermun in the climax when I say that it’s a give and take. This movie isn’t perfect, and I can’t say it is my favorite Spider-Man film ever, but it definitely knows what it wanted to do and I can’t give them enough credit. I said before, but this film certainly has its ambitions and while not everything lands well with me, what they get right is what they handle in spades. The best about it all is where part 3 is gonna pick up. Stay tuned...

Otherwise, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy your day.

#spider-man into the spider-verse #into the spider verse #spiderverse #itsv #spider-man #spiderman #marvel #critique #analysis #long post #Good Stuff

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tysonrunningfox · 6 years ago

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Ripped: Part 10

This chapter is...so much, again, I...hope I didn’t mess a lot of things up but also I’m so excited for this to be out there

Ao3

Detective Eretson’s office isn’t roomy, but it looks bigger for the absolute lack of decoration. Snotlout has been complaining about him for a year, but there’s nothing on the walls except for a very official looking medal that Hiccup doesn’t recognize and the bookcase holds only a cardboard box neatly folded and marked “miscellaneous”. Hiccup can see Snotlout’s nametag on his desk out through the small vertical window, which is crosshatched with wire, the age old answer to bulletproof that actually makes it weaker.

Hiccup’s dad’s office had glass like that. They took it out after he died and replaced it with modern tempered glass, like there was no longer anything inside worth the falsely protecting.

Eretson brings Hiccup a cup of coffee from the breakroom, stale and obviously made that morning, but he accepts it anyway, taking the smallest sip he can while Eretson sits down and logs into his computer. The silence and clicking matches Hiccup’s speeding heartbeat and he clears his throat, fidgeting in the cold plastic chair. Something about the detective’s presence reminds him of his dad getting home after he’d done something wrong but it hadn’t been discovered yet. He learned young that confessing was easier than not, but his dad’s disappointment was heavier to carry than his own guilt.

“What? No bad cop routine this time?” He laughs, the sound echoing off of the undecorated walls, unwelcome.

“That was tired cop,” Eretson pushes his keyboard away and turns fully to Hiccup, eyebrows knit together in a heavy frown.

“What’s this then?”

“I’m good at my job, Mr. Haddock.” There’s swagger there but it’s buoyant, balancing. “And I’m good at reading people.”

“I’m guessing I say ‘won’t try to escape’?” Hiccup rubs one of his wrists and Eretson doesn’t flinch.

“This precinct lets you get away with a lot because of your father,” a jab that hurts worse than when Snotlout says it, “but not murder.” He flips through some photos from the crime scene and Hiccup swallows hard, trying to focus on anything but that flash of metal leg and regretting it. “People who do this don’t look at pictures of it like that.”

“I bet that’s true,” Hiccup remembers the guy who’d invited him over to see his collection.

“It is,” Eretson turns the photos over, “but that doesn’t explain why you keep finding the bodies.”

“So you think the cases are related?” It’s the only thing Hiccup has been able to think about for the last two hours. Or that’s not fair, it’s the only thing he’s been able to focus on.

He thought about his tour, and how it felt like the worst ever but he’s scared it’ll be his best reviewed. He thought about Astrid, one second blushing with her chin held high and the next pale and terrified, her shaky hand telling him to pull his foot out of his mouth and turn around. He thought about Dave and wondered if it hurt.

But he focused on all the reasons the murders can’t be related. Or all the reason, singular, and it doesn’t feel very reliable right now, sitting across the station from his dad’s old office, being lectured by strong, broad shoulders and an unshakeable scowl.

Lightning doesn’t strike twice until someone puts up a lightning pole.

“Your alibies check out. I talked to Gobber and he affirmed how you knew of the first victim. And I confirmed the tape—“

“What tape?” Hiccup can’t think of anywhere legal he’s been that would be taped and obtained by the cops.

“Right,” Eretson clears his throat and turns back to his computer, clicking again before turning the screen around. “This tape was recorded—“

“The back of the condos,” Hiccup nods to himself, watching grainy black and white footage of Astrid jumping and his arm curling her protectively into his chest. It’s a joke even here, she obviously doesn’t need his protection, but God he wanted to give it to her earlier as she shook, trying not to look into the alley and being unable to look anywhere else.

The memory twists his stomach, caught up in everything else. It was torture to see her scared after seeing her so passionate, defiant, happy. Embarrassed was his favorite, he liked it enough that he pulled off feigning confidence, even though the thought of her kissing him for revenge after trying to save his tour practically made him lightheaded.

Cameras. Astrid texted him that she’d talked to the police about cameras, this must have been why. He wonders what she thought when she saw it.

“This is approximately time of death, given the coroner’s statement and Miss Hofferson confirmed that you walked her home.”

“I did.”

“When does your first Viggo Grimborn tour begin?” He says Grimborn like an American idiom he finds deeply inferior and Hiccup wants to ask where he’s from, but the little Snotlout on his shoulder flicks him on the ear and reminds him not to yap without a lawyer present. He’s not sure when Snotlout got promoted to be both angel and devil, but now’s not the time to dwell on that.

“Seven or seven thirty, depending on the weather, and I try and get there half an hour before to let people know they’re in the right place.”

“Miss Hofferson says I can confirm with her coworker that you were at her job from five to six, approximately.”

“Sounds about right,” Hiccup wills his face not to move but Eretson’s eyes flash anyway, deadly like a predator that isn’t used to starving.

“So, the night of Jennifer Franklin’s murder, you’re attesting to the fact that you made it from 324 Harbor road to the alley behind the Ripped Tavern in less than half an hour, but you’re now claiming that being at the Berk Archives until six is enough evidence to say that you couldn’t have been killing this man at approximately six thirty, according to the coroner?”

Eretson isn’t flip-flopping or changing his mind, he’s trying to steer his investigational sailboat with a strong lean and Hiccup’s lower back throbs.

His doctor doesn’t like him walking eight miles a day on cobblestones and his hips agree. His back is usually willing to compromise but the last week avoiding shortcuts at Snotlout’s request has done a number on its resolve.

“I’ve been staying out of the alleys,” Hiccup realizes all at once that there’s no way to know that Dave was wearing his old spare leg and the angelic-devil Snotlout on his shoulder applauds him for keeping the secret, “Snotlout—Officer Jorgenson, I mean, said it wasn’t a good idea after the first murder.”

“He did?”

“He’s not particularly confident in my ability to take care of myself,” Hiccup flexes an arm and laughs, the self-depricating sound less welcome in the office than the awkward one. “Ask him yourself.”

“You can’t tell me about it?” There’s frustration there but not disbelief.

“I uh…don’t talk much.” He clears his throat, “I’m shy around authority figures, you know how it is, I’m sure.”

“That’s the first lie you’ve told,” Eretson stands up and opens the door to his office, “don’t—“

“Don’t leave town, I’ve got it.” Hiccup walks out into the lobby, freezing when he recognizes a man in a crisp grey uniform talking to a man in a suit that makes Eretson stop short.

“Detective Eretson, I’ve heard that you’ve met Mr. Grisly—“

“I have,” Eretson answers stiffly, holding out a tense hand at the end of a flexed arm.

“My pleasure,” the man in gray shakes it, everything about him mocking and superior for no externally discernible reason. His accent is Bond villain and he raises a charcoal eyebrow at Hiccup. “It’s good to see you again, Hiccup, it’s been too long.”

“Has it?” Hiccup never thought he’d feel like he was backed against the same wall as detective Eretson by the same force, “I thought you didn’t enjoy your private tour.”

“Enjoyment isn’t necessary for an experience to be…influential.” He laughs, “you didn’t get my joke, by the way.”

“Joke?”

“It hasn’t been a long time at all, I caught you with your hands full the other night.” He’s having as much fun as Hiccup isn’t currently and as much as Eretson has never had.

“With unsanctioned cameras,” Eretson crosses his arms, respectfully glaring at the man in the suit. “I’m close, Sir—“

“The approval just went through this morning, we can’t have the media buzz right now Eretson, I’m calling in all the help we can get.”

“Then talk to another precinct, don’t bring in a civilian organization—”

“Other precincts don’t have anyone to spare,” Eretson’s boss is conclusive, leaving no room to wedge an argument in before he continues, “and Mr. Grisly’s help has the additional benefit of being free, so you’ll take the information he gives you.”

“I’m sure it’s unbiased,” Hiccup mutters under his breath and Eretson scoffs, their momentary agreement lingering as Eretson’s boss walks away.

“I look forward to working together,” Mr. Grisly’s smile is predatory too, but starving. A lion under a gladiator arena starved to amp up its ferocity, but something about the gleam in his eye makes Hiccup think he bolted the lock himself. “This case so far is of particular interest to me.”

Everything impulsive in Hiccup’s body wants to say ‘Grimborn’ but his stomach twists against it, the ghost of a gag keeping the words in his throat. If it’s Grimborn, that means at least two more murders and he doesn’t even want to think about it, especially given his recent luck in stumbling across them.

“Great, more hobby detectives,” Eretson gripes, dismissing Hiccup with a look at the front door and yet another reminder not to leave town. Hiccup wishes that was more of an issue, but he wasn’t exactly planning a lavish vacation before a second murder shut down his tours.

00000

The shelter is busier than usual, and Gobber lets Hiccup eat if he works, so he finds plenty to keep himself occupied through the next week. Plus, people at the shelter are scared, getting there earlier, every day with new complaints about the Neighborhood Watch Force flaunting badges they’ve been told mean something now. Snotlout is furious but for once, as helpless as Eretson, even though the phenomenon doesn’t seem to be forcing any kind of bond. If anything, Snotlout is angrier, but that could just be the fact that he’s stuck on traffic duty during an important investigation.

Home is quiet though, and Hiccup is restless. As much as his back appreciates the break, he doesn’t need the extra time to think. He could research, given his renewed access and enthusiasm about the archives, but he can’t think about Grimborn without thinking ahead like a meteorologist tracking Hurricane Death. That and as much as he’d like to hang out with Astrid, he’s not sure she feels the same and if she doesn’t, he doesn’t know if he can blame her.

She’s been texting him, mostly pictures from the Berk Enquirer. She found some article from the summer of eighteen eighty-five suggesting an earthquake was actually caused by a dragon fighting ring in a giant arena under the bay and asked for his thoughts on the topic. He said it seemed plausible, given that no one actually knows what’s under the earth as it hurtles through space like a Frisbee and she sent back a string of angry emojis that made him laugh, but flat earth jokes aren’t necessarily communication.

“Oh my God, dude, what are you wearing?” He barely gets two steps in the door after helping Gobber check people into the shelter on Friday night before Snotlout’s outfit accosts him from across the living room. “Or should I say what aren’t you wearing?” Hiccup pulls down the collar of his tee-shirt to mimic the deep V of Snotlout’s shirt.

“What?”

“You left the part of your shirt that covers your lack of tan in your closet, you might want to check on that before you blind someone.”

“Very funny,” Snotlout grabs his jacket, “I’m going to go get a beer, want to come?”

“Even I know I shouldn’t spend my last five dollars on beer.”

“If you want me to cover you, just ask, don’t be so cryptic all the time,” he chides as he rolls his eyes, waving Hiccup along behind him.

“I wasn’t asking you to cover me.” Hiccup clarifies on the way downstairs and Snotlout shrugs.

“Whatever, dude, keep telling yourself that.” He looks both ways before continuing, voice low, “they still don’t know it’s your fake leg, by the way, have you heard anything from Eretson?”

“Nope, apparently I learned how to shut up at a really convenient time, I just needed some pressure.”

“Well keep the pressure on, I doubt your closed mouth is permanent, and they’re no closer to solving this, even with Mr. Creepy skulking around the station.” Snotlout shudders, “the guy isn’t even helpful, he just looms over everyone’s shoulders. He caught me online shopping the other day and he just watched.”

“It’s a good thing I’m sure you were shopping for totally work appropriate stuff, as you always do,” Hiccup raises an eyebrow and Snotlout glares at him.

“Shut up, Hiccup.”

Gruff’s is busy but not packed yet, and they’re lucky enough to get a booth along the wall. Snotlout sends Hiccup to the bar to get drinks and Gruffnut jokes about his growth spurt instead of asking for ID. That’s something that wouldn’t happen anywhere else in Berk these days, the bars down on the main street that charge ten dollars for some locally made shitty whiskey usually end up asking Hiccup for two IDs if he makes the mistake of shaving too close to going. It makes him want to ask how Gruffnut manages to pay rent if Heather is struggling, but he guesses this is a worse neighborhood.

Or was, maybe murders happening so close to the condos will equalize property values a little bit.

Who’s he kidding? They’ll probably skyrocket. He saw his first article relating the current duo of murders to Viggo Grimborn this morning and couldn’t help but read it. It got a lot wrong, even ascribing to the theory that the third victim’s fiancé did it to first scare her into staying off the street and then to cover his tracks, but Hiccup gets the feeling it did what it was supposed to. Someone at the shelter was complaining about motel prices doubling nearly overnight and Berserker Tours added a RSVP tab to the website that Hiccup told himself he wouldn’t check, but when he did it was scheduling three weeks out.

Snotlout dutifully doesn’t listen to Hiccup’s rant about it, staring idly around the room like if he looks bored enough Hiccup won’t know he’s looking for a target. It makes Hiccup think about texting Astrid for what must be the hundredth time this week, and he sets his phone on the table where his pocket can’t accidentally make that decision for him.

“…absolute lying, thieving sack of shit!” The insult rises above the noise of the crowd mid-sentence and a few heads turn towards the end of the bar by the door. Hiccup turns in the booth to investigate and thinks he recognizes the blonde woman yelling at Gruffnut, hands planted on the weathered counter. “Don’t play dumb with me, I know exactly how dumb you are and you aren’t going to get away with acting any dumber than that!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gruffnut whistles, cleaning a glass with a filthy rag, “must have been Tuff.”

“Is that?” Snotlout frowns, talking mostly to himself. “I think that’s—”

“Ruff!”

Hiccup recognizes Astrid’s voice instantly and jumps to his feet, but Snotlout is already across the room, holding Ruffnut back as she’s trying to claw her way over the counter.

“Let’s calm down here—”

“I don’t need a cop to protect me from my dweeby little girl cousin, Snotlout.”

Ruffnut’s yell is primal and she elbows Snotlout in the chest almost hard enough for him to lose his grip.

“You absolute piece of shit, if you don’t find my money I’m going to kill you and claim next of kin, you creepy body snatching—”

“Ruff, calm down,” Astrid tries again, catching Ruffnut’s arm before she can take another swing at Snotlout.

“I don’t even have to hide it, I can just disembowel it in the street at a specific location and—”

“Hey!” Astrid booms, shoving Snotlout and Ruffnut out of the way and evidently taking the problem into her own hands. “Just give her the money, Gruff. And while you’re at it, I’d like my fifty bucks back.”

“You never loaned me fifty bucks, that was Tuffnut.”

“How about a free round,” Hiccup inserts himself, leaning elbows on the bar next to her and waving sheepishly when she cocks her head, surprised but not unhappy to see him. “Or I’ll tell Snotlout to release the beast over there.”

“He doesn’t listen to you,” Gruffnut narrows his eyes but starts pouring four shitty beers anyway.

“I might not have a choice,” Snotlout grunts as Ruffnut flings herself back against him, trying to kick at the bar, “fuck, she’s strong.”

“Flattery won’t work on me,” she grunts, yanking Snotlout’s arm off of her waist and turning to face him. Her posture changes instantly, hip cocked as she twirls long hair around her finger, “oh, yours might.”

“This isn’t even the first situation this week that my good looks have diffused,” Snotlout grabs two beers off of the counter and hands one to Ruffnut, smiling smugly at Gruffnut, “you should be glad to have me around.”

“Yeah, I’ll be glad to have you around the day it’s legal to charge cops ten percent more.” He grumbles, walking to the other end of the bar to serve someone else, “can’t even have a bar fight with your cousin these days. Fucking nanny state.”

“So…” Hiccup looks at Astrid as Ruffnut and Snotlout head back to the booth, “there’s a story here.”

“Yeah,” she tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear, ponytail slightly crooked, likely from her own attempt to hold Ruffnut back, “I should probably tell it, I doubt Ruffnut has the attention span right now.”

Of course Ruffnut and Snotlout are sharing one side of the booth and Hiccup tries to be casual as Astrid slides in next to him, accidentally bumping his shoulder as she takes off her jacket and sets it between them. It’s not much of a buffer because it smells like her shampoo, floral even above the cigarette smell ingrained decades deep into the wood paneling on the wall, and Hiccup tries to focus on anything but the memory of encyclopedias falling in tune with his pounding heart.

“Guess what?” Ruffnut is too pleased with herself to really look annoyed, “after all, it turns out that Snotlout wouldn’t have minded you giving me his number. All that arguing for nothing.”

“Not for nothing,” Snotlout stretches an arm across the back of the booth, “I didn’t mind holding you back, babe.”

“I mean I’d rather you didn’t hold me back,” she grins, “and we were wearing less or it was strategically pushed aside—”

“Oh my God!” Astrid chugs about half of her beer in a single gulp, cheeks practically glowing and a stern expression on her face. “I’m sorry about her, Snotlout, thank you for helping me save my friend from assaulting someone.”

“Again, I don’t mind,” Snotlout winks and Hiccup usually asks him how he thinks anyone could think that looks cool, but now he’s just remembering how stupid he must have looked doing the same at Astrid and asking her to kiss him again.

And then they found a body.

That’s still a change in tone he hasn’t found a way to navigate.

“I kind of do,” Ruffnut puffs out her cheeks and releases the air in a small, deflated puff, “the holding me back part, I mean. Free beer is my favorite, but it takes a lot of free beer to add up to a thousand dollars.”

“Less to fifty,” Astrid snorts, “I might be up to it.”

“That would be like sixteen of these on happy hour,” Hiccup turns his glass between his hands, “I’m not doubting your power, but…”

“After the week I’ve had, I might be up to it,” she shakes her head, obviously tired. It looks different than the kind of tired he saw when he showed up at her door too late or too early, or the kind of tired she was when she just had to wait for his eleven o’clock tour to yell one last theory down at him. It’s deeper and he hates that he knows why she can’t sleep.

“So, how do you guys know Gruff?” Hiccup changes the subject before it can drift naturally into Grimborn and all the ways its meaning might be changing.

“Are you kidding me?” Ruffnut points at her face and then absently over her left shoulder with a habitual thumb. “Oh, shit, Tuff isn’t here right now, that would be confusing.”

“He’s Ruffnut’s cousin,” Astrid explains, “and her brother’s doppleganger, it’s a whole long confusing story.”

“Well, I don’t have anywhere to be.” Hiccup tries to feel natural but Snotlout’s easy arm on the back of the other side of the booth makes his heart race when he even thinks about doing the same to Astrid. He remembers what she felt like against him, the strong set of her shoulders under his hands, the curve of her waist, and his entire body itches to pull her into his side now.

Not that there’s any indication she’d let him. She might see him and remember an alley she never wants to see again with him presenting it like Vanna White happily revealing the prize behind door number three.

“He takes my twin brother’s clothes and asks for money or stuff and when he gets it, he falls off the face of the earth again. Last time it was Tuff owing tax money so of course I gave it to him,” Ruffnut rubs her temple, “I’m too good of a sister, that’s the whole problem.”

“How alike could they possibly look?” Snotlout asks, grinning when Ruffnut is apparently happy to be blinded by his chest.

“It’s…kind of creepy, actually,” Astrid sighs, “I didn’t believe it until Tuffnut didn’t pay back some money I loaned him. He’s usually good about that stuff but he just kept insisting I never loaned him anything, and then I met Gruffnut.” She waves her hand towards the bar, ponytail swinging for emphasis.

“You know, babe, if you had a case for identity theft,” Snotlout waggles his eyebrows and Ruffnut pouts, crumpling into his side, head dramatically on his shoulder. He wraps his arm easily around her waist and Astrid sits up straighter, so rigid if Hiccup didn’t know better he’d think she was a wax statue.

A wax statue that had its post-forming makeup touched up by someone red-green colorblind trying to make an absolutely gorgeous Wicked Witch of the West, but still.

“I wish,” Ruffnut groans, “Tuffnut worships the ground the guy walks on.”

“I get it,” Snotlout nods, “that’s how Hiccup feels about me, some cousins just have that energy.” He grins, looking pointedly at Hiccup’s awkward arm, setting limply in his lap like he forgot how to move it. “Some don’t.”

“I get that you’re pissed, Ruff, I am too, but maybe it’s not the time for the disemboweling threats,” Astrid says it like the words are likely to bounce back at her so she doesn’t want to sharpen them too much.

“Why not?” Ruffnut snorts and gestures at Hiccup, “I’m in the right company.”

“Right, that’s me,” Hiccup nods to himself, “the disemboweled body guy. It’s good to finally officially introduce myself.”

This is going great.

“Oh, we’ve met,” Ruffnut raises an eyebrow, “how’s the tour business? I bet it’s picking up with some crazy mimic on the loose.”

“Babe, I’m not supposed to talk about it, but I can’t help myself around you so I’ll just say that the police have no actual reason to link the murders,” Snotlout tries to steer the conversation and Astrid glares at him. “Aside from, you know, some obnoxious weirdos or whatever.”

“If you’re not supposed to talk about it, maybe don’t talk about it.”

“I didn’t,” he rolls his eyes, “I said what we haven’t found, which is not the same as saying what we have—”

“How about none of us talk about it?” Hiccup tries, drumming his hands on the edge of the table, “anyone read any good books lately?”

“Nope,” Astrid looks at him helplessly then, wide eyes begging him to keep a secret. A bookish secret, apparently.

Oh, their secret. It makes sense that what happened at the archives would get lost in the whirlwind of finding a body, but Hiccup can’t quite stop himself from assuming she regrets it.

“Right, like it’s possible to avoid talking about it,” Ruffnut points at the TV over the bar, where the news is showing a juxtaposition of a picture of the alley from the Grimborn file along with a modern picture.

“…police response has been sluggish, given the repeated nature of the murders and the plausible connection to the Viggo Grimborn case—”

“I’ll put it on Sports Center,” Snotlout stands up and Astrid follows.

“What? So we can watch more Superbowl reruns?”

Snotlout grins, “not a Pats fan?”

“Don’t talk to me,” she shoves him hard enough that he stumbles and makes a bee-line for the tv.

“Is it because you’re a sore loser or what?” Snotlout starts in on his favorite argument.

“Well, there goes his night,” Hiccup tries to joke with Ruffnut even as he watches Astrid’s furious, irritated expression. She takes the remote from Snotlout’s hand and changes the channel, ignoring a few complaints at the bar. “Especially because it looks like Astrid has an opinion on the topic.”

Ruffnut narrows her eyes and Hiccup clears his throat, unused to the position of Designated Normal Person and unsure if he’s doing it right.

“So umm, football?”

“Did you do it?” Ruffnut whispers, leaning close across the table.

“Football?” Hiccup laughs, “yeah, look at me. I was a championship kicker, won the big game for the whole town and—”

“No, the murders,” she clarifies, shrewd even as she tries to look casual. “I’m just saying, it’s a little suspicious that you were giving murder site tours to my best friend both times they happened.”

“No, I did not murder two people.”

“Because I mean it, Astrid is my absolute best friend, and if you’re getting her entangled in some weird serial killer cult, she won’t be the one getting blamed for it.” It’s too matter of fact to be a threat, like the sequence of events already exists in a universe Hiccup really doesn’t want to get to.

“I’m not introducing Astrid to a murderous cult.”

“Well, I know you guys aren’t hooking up because if you were, she’d probably have something more interesting to talk about than stupid Viggo Grimborn.” Ruffnut looks him up and down appraisingly, “maybe.”

“I’m not introducing Astrid to a murderous cult,” Hiccup repeats the truth, willing his expression flat.

“HGTV?” Snotlout scoffs over the crowd, “right, for all the renovating you do in your shitty apartment.”

“It’s aspirational,” Astrid jumps and neatly sets the remote on top of the tv where Snotlout can’t reach it. “Unlike the NFL’s stance that their system is really totally fine even if the competition has devolved into who gets cheated by a bunch of—”

“That’s my cue,” Ruffnut drains her beer and stands up, “she gets on me for threatening my dipshit cousin and then she starts dissing the Patriots in a bar in the middle of Downtown Berk. I don’t know what she’d do without me.”

“Always a pleasure, Ruff,” Hiccup waves before slumping forward, smacking his forehead on the table a couple of times for good measure.

Astrid regrets kissing him, her best friend thinks he’s more likely to be into ritualistic murder than to have a chance with her. He’s broke. Someone might be a ritualistic serial killer and their shared interest in Berk’s history is making him more broke.

He expects Snotlout to start right in on making fun of his absolutely disastrous performance with Astrid, so he’s shocked when someone quietly slides into the booth across from him. He doesn’t expect to look up and see Astrid biting her lip and staring pensively at her beer.

“Where—”

“They just left together,” she cuts him off with an awkward laugh, “just so you know.”

“Ah,” Hiccup pushes his hair back, half-relieved and half-jealous, unsure where the feelings overlap. He’d love to not be here, but Astrid seems committed to being exactly where she is, so he’s committed. “So I’m stuck here for a while then.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” she shrugs a stiff shoulder, “you’ve met Ruffnut, it’s not like she’s shy about…well, anything.”

“Oh no, not—It’s not about her, it’s for my own good.” He laughs, wishing she’d sat back next to him at the same time as he’s glad to be able to see her face, slowly relaxing away from it’s coiled, anxious expression. “Snotlout’s a screamer.”

She snorts mid-drink, clapping her hand over her nose and coughing.

“Sorry,” he shoves a crumpled napkin at her before re-thinking it, “never mind, I wouldn’t trust anything on this table—”

“I’m fine,” she wipes her nose on her sleeve and pointedly changes the subject, “how have you been? Usually I don’t have to ask because I see you every night outside my window.” She doesn’t mention why he’s not doing tours and that makes it more obvious.

Or maybe it’s obvious all on its own and he’s just skirting the issue by making her snort beer out of her nose.

“I’m good. Fine. You?” He wouldn’t try to deny that he’s asking how traumatized she is. In fact, he probably deserves an award for not tacking on a rating scale. One means she needs a ride to a licensed mental health professional immediately, ten means she’s smart enough to never want to see him again because he’s obviously a weirdo dragging her towards the macabre and it’s not good for her.

He’s hoping for like a six, meaning she’d take a hug but won’t necessarily make him talk about it.

“I just said I’m fine,” her half smile accuses him of being a little bit stupid and he can’t help but remember how soft her lips were. How weirdly sweet she was when she tried to save his tour. How adorably embarrassed she was when she impossibly let it slip that she thought he did something sexy, like that’s a word anyone has ever associated with him, least of all someone like Astrid.

And then they found a body.

“Good.” As bad as Hiccup is at performing the role of Designated Normal Person, he’s even worse at having nothing to say.

“Thanks, by the way,” Astrid clears her throat, sniffing like there’s still beer where it shouldn’t be, “for not telling Ruffnut about…you know, the other day.”

“Which part?” Hiccup scratches the back of his head, “because I think she knows about the whole umm…finding a body part, given she thinks I’m the killer.”

“She doesn’t seem to get that people can have a shared interest and nothing more.” Her words sting but her blush doesn’t.

“Right, shared interests always lead to ritualistic murder,” he nods, elbows on the table as he leans a little closer to not have to say murder so loud, “I don’t see the flaw in that logic.”

“Either murder or the inevitable ‘sex in a murder alley’ she keeps insisting is a thing.” Astrid is either very cruel or has no idea of her ability to short circuit minds.

“Yeah, that sounds pretty morbid and drafty,” Hiccup laughs, his heart slamming around his ribcage apparently untethered, “plus, if ritualistic murder alley sex was on the table, your apartment is already a murder site so…” He swallows hard, wishing the floor would do the same to him. “Not a new one—"

“Don’t remind me,” she says seriously, clearly choosing not to hear the worst of what he just said, and he’s an idiot who can’t take an out.

“So no point in risking the public indecency charge, I guess.” He gestures between them and shakes his head, “not that ‘murder alley sex’ is a thing that exists at all, let alone with—you know, you. Or me. Or—"

“Don’t you mean my apartment isn’t a new murder scene yet?” Her laugh is humorless and heavy as she cautiously meets his eyes. “I hate to even say it, but do you think it’s a Grimborn thing?”

Hiccup’s stomach twists and looking into her tired face, he wishes he was a better liar, “I guess we’ll find out.”

“If it is,” she looks at him carefully, her assessment entirely perpendicular to Ruffnut’s, “if someone is killing people like Viggo Grimborn did, how can we just sit there doing nothing? If this—what are you going to do about it?”

He knows the correct answer to that question. It’s been drilled into him again and again since before he can remember. Hell, probably since before he could walk.

The police are dealing with it. The system works. Getting in the way only slows down the process.

But he can’t say that because Astrid knows that means nothing. It’s an empty thing he’d say to tell her to move on with her life while people are getting hurt, to pretend that mental blinders do anything other than hide suffering. And she’s too smart for that. Too smart and too honest to go along with it.

And she doesn’t scare easy.

“Probably something stupid,” he shrugs and she nods, apparently satisfied with the answer.

“Sounds about right.”

#ripped #httyd fic #hiccstrid #modern au #serial killer tour guide au #rufflout #coplout

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