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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 4 years ago

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Helping Billy and Stu on their murder spree would include~

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(This might not be exactly what you were expecting but I hope you enjoy it anyways! Sorry it took me longer than expected!)

- Wrong. That was the best way to describe your relationship with Billy and Stu: wrong, fucked up, and dangerous …but you couldn’t deny the fact that it was exciting.

- You were no saint. That was a fact you’d come to terms with a while ago. You were no saint but you certainly weren’t a killer; at least not when all of this started. No, back then, you were just a really, really bad girlfriend.

- Truth be told: you weren’t single when you’d gotten involved with the boys, though, to be fair, neither were they; not that that made things any better.

- You’d had a boyfriend, a boyfriend you’d once really cared about, but somewhere along the line, you’d begun to have problems and instead of resolving them, you’d both chosen to ignore them and resent each other instead. Which is probably why it was so easy for you to fall into another boys arms; especially when they were as charming as Billy was or as sweet as Stu was.

- You’d always had a bit of a crush on Billy. The two of you’d been acquaintances ever since freshman year and for a while you sort of thought that you and him might get together. But then he started dating Sidney and you got asked out by your boyfriend and you just sort of tried to put the idea out of your head.

- Unbeknownst to you, the idea never left Billy’s head and he found himself plotting all the ways that he could make you his; all while finding out that his partner in crime was seemingly just as interested in you as he was.

- Stu ended up playing a crucial role in your “arrangement”. The two of you found yourselves made into lab partners and thusly, you were invited over to his place after school and later given the perfect excuse to spend time with him; and/or Billy, without causing suspicion.

- The first few times you go over to the Macher place, nothing of value happens. You do exactly what you’re supposed to: work, study, joke around a little and get a bit more comfortable being in each other’s presences. It’s a few study sessions in that you get a curveball thrown at you.

- It’s late one evening, Stu’s parents are out and you’re both studying on his living room floor when all of a sudden the doorbell rings. Stu gets up to answer it and who else would it be but Billy.

- Stu pretends to act surprised and tells the boy that he forgot they were going to hang out and that he’s studying with you. Billy assures him that it’s alright before Stu tells him to wait a second and reappears in the room, saying that he thinks the two of you have studied enough and that Billy’s got some horror movies that the three of you can watch if you’d like to stay and chill. How could you possibly refuse?

- And so, your makeshift friendship with the boys begin; a friendship which very quickly leads into something more once Billy decides the time is right to make a move.

- You obviously don’t expect it the first time it happens but you find yourself wanting more the minute it’s over.

- Sure, sometimes the guilt will kick in when you see Tatum and Sidney or when your boyfriend is being particularly sweet, but it never seems to be enough to stop you from coming over whenever they ask or letting them in whenever they knock on your door.

- But the longer the three of you keep up your affair, the more things you start to notice.

- Billy isn’t stupid. Regardless of how he feels about you, he isn’t going to jeopardize his whole plan by making one wrong move and trusting someone he shouldn’t have. He’ll take his time analyzing you, picking apart your every move and reaction until he’s sure that you’re the one.

- You’ll start to pick up on little things about your boys that some might consider weird: all the horror movies and Billy’s knowledge in them, strange questions, indecipherable looks, things like that.

- As Billy comes closer to making up his mind, more of the mask will slip; though not enough to scare you off or make you think that anything’s really wrong. More odd inquiries, questionable sexual activities, and Billy testing your loyalty; oftentimes by asking you to cover for him or Stu to see how far you’ll go for them.

- You might be asking what I mean by “questionable sexual activities”, well, Billy has, on more than one occasion, demanded that you only watch whatever gory film he’s put on instead of looking at him as he pleasures you. He watches you closely, muttering lowly in your ear about the movie and talking dirty as you lock your eyes on the screen.

- When the boys first confess to you about the murders, you don’t believe them. You think it’s a bad joke but once you see just how serious they are, your smile drops and you say “you’re serious aren’t you?”.

- It definitely takes you a while to get used to the fact, but you find yourself opening up to the idea more and more as Billy explains their motive and butters you up with his charming words.

- Your involvement starts with little things: patching them up when they’re hurt, analyzing horror movies, giving them ideas or intel and telling them what won’t work.

- Stu likes to bump your shoulder or ruffle your hair and call you smart whenever you offer up good advice. Billy is much more subtle in his praise but his reactions are usually the ones that make you want to help them more and more.

- The blonde enthusiastically recounts stories of their slayings to you, jumping around the room and making a bunch of noises and hand movements while he does so.

- The first time you mention that you’d like to help them “...more”, both their faces break out into shit eating grins. They don’t immediately hand you a mask, knife, and mission but they do start to ask more of you.

- Helping them hide evidence, giving them alibis, waiting outside of their crime scenes for them and helping them lure people right into their traps all becomes second nature to you.

- Then comes your initiation.

- There’d always been some jealousy involved in your relationship; mainly on their parts. You had a boyfriend and they had girlfriends which meant all three of you had to; at some point, act all lovey dovey with your partners in front of the others, if only to keep up a façade.

- But, as obvious as it was that none of you particularly cared for your significant others, that didn’t stop Billy or Stu from absolutely hating your boyfriends guts. This hatred would eventually play a key role in solidifying your role in their lives.

- Your parents aren’t home and you’re in your bedroom with the boys, doing exactly what one would assume you’d be doing, except, unlike all the other times you’d done “this”, your bedroom door swung open and revealed a very unexpected visitor: your boyfriend.

- Maybe it was the pent up jealousy or the fear of his plan potentially being ruined or maybe it was a little bit of both but when the boy immediately began to just book it towards your front door, Billy followed after him.

- By the time you make it out into the hall, Stu has him held in place and Billy is turning to look at you, telling you to “come on” as they walk the boy into your kitchen.

- Once you get there, Billy pulls a knife from the block and walks up to you, telling you that you said you wanted to be a part of things and that now's your chance.

“Go on.” He says, nodding his head back towards the boy who Stu’s restraining and watching you closely as you slowly take the knife from his hands. Stu’s grinning excitedly as you approach him, cheering you on while Billy remains silent behind you.

- The blonde whoops and hollers as you cut into the boy, audibly expressing his pride in you, and when you turn to look back at Billy, he’s got a tiny little smile pulling at his lips, showing that you’ve just proven yourself and done exactly what he wanted.

- The brunette locks eyes with you before he walks up and wraps his arms around you, pulling you back against his chest and tilting your head down to look at the boy who’s currently bleeding out on your kitchen floor. “Would you look at that.” He says and you can hear the smile in his voice as he says it, his hand trailing up to grope at your chest as he stares down at the gory sight before you.

- There’s no going back after that. You’re now officially one of them and get your very own father death costume.

- It’s perfect really. More hands, more confusion for the police, more bloody sex.

- Billy gets turned on by the sight of blood and the adrenaline that he feels after a kill; and Stu has never been one to turn down sex, so don’t be surprised if you end up pressed against the floorboards of a victims house or thrown on one of their beds the minute the three of you get back to their house.

- You and Billy tend to make the plans while Stu just goes along with whatever you say.

- Helping them get Neil Prescott.

- Going along with Stu while Billy talks on the phone.

- The two of them both baby and yell at you. They tend to do most of the dirty work because they think you can’t handle it but at the same time they; namely Billy, will get angry if you mess anything up in the slightest. The brunette will yell or insult you because he’s a control freak and wants everything to go exactly as he planned.

- On the drive/walk home, you’ll stay quiet, wondering if maybe you’ve made a very severe mistake when deciding to be with the boys. But then Billy will grab your arm and pull you into a kiss, asking if you’re alright and apologizing so sweetly and for better or for worse, you’ll fall right back in again.

#stu macher imagine #stu macher headcanon #stu macher headcanons #poly billy and stu #billy loomis headcanon #billy loomis imagine #billy loomis headcanons #scream imagine #scream imagines #scream headcanons #scream headcanon #90s movie imagine #90s movie headcanons #90s movie imagines #90s movie headcanon #Slasher headcanon #slasher headcanons #slasher imagines

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brywrites · 4 years ago

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Flight Risk VI

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part VI: In which things are lost and found and borrowed.

(Series Masterlist) ( Previous | Next )

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The case is of a vengeful Cinderella is closed, but as they prepare to head to the airport, Kate isn’t feeling so well. Rossi offers to drive with her to a pharmacy to pick up some saltines and Dramamine, and the rest of the team heads to the airport to wait. Reid spots Y/N chatting outside the plane with Dobson, and he instinctively starts towards her. She must see him out of the corner of her eye because she turns to greet him, but before either of them can say anything a strong hand finds his shoulder, holding him back.

“Hold there, Pretty Boy. I wanna hear the details of your Prince Charming moment back there,” Morgan says.

Y/N raises her eyebrows and he can feel his face flush. “There’s um, not much to say,” he stammers.

“Spence, come on, you were totally prince-like,” JJ laughs. “Kneeling down on one knee with a glass slipper and everything?”

“A glass slipper?” Y/N asks. JJ describes, in detail, how he played the part of the knight in shining armor at the cemetery to get Claire Dunbar to leave with them. He’s embarrassed through the whole tale, but by the time JJ gets down on one knee to kiss Morgan’s hand as he did the unsub’s, he’s sure his face is scarlet. Y/N is laughing along the entire time at his fellow agents’ melodramatic reenactment.

“Anyways, it was all very romantic. He totally swept her of her feet. The poor girl fell for him in a heartbeat,” JJ says. For a moment, Reid tries to discern what Y/N is thinking. Her face is unreadable other than a bemused smile. Her body language tells him nothing. But he can’t help but wonder – hearing about his heroics in the field, would she be jealous? Hearing how he played Prince Charming for Claire and kissed her hand. Then he wonders if he wants her to be. Is he curious because there’s a part of him that wants her to want him? Is he secretly hoping that she’d feel slighted by any hint of romance towards someone else? And if he is hoping for that, what does that mean?

But Y/N just says, “I sure would have liked to see that.”

“Next time we’ll get it on camera,” Morgan teases, ruffling Reid’s hair. He swats his friend’s hand away.

“You know, I love a good fairytale,” Y/N says, turning to him.

“Well this one was more Grimm than Disney,” he admits, trying to push the memories of the men Claire killed out of his mind. The story is over now. No more dragons to slay. Kate and Rossi return seconds later and it’s time to go.

Y/N follows Captain Dobson up the steps of the jet, and he follows close behind her. Lost in his thoughts, he nearly loses his balance at the top of the stairs. Y/N immediately reaches a hand out to steady him. Her hand is soft around his. He holds tight, both to maintain his balance and to keep a connection to her. All his life he’s been uncoordinated, but he’s willing to fall over his own feet a million times if it means having the chance to finally hold her hand. With her help, he ascends to the top step, finally making it onto the jet. It strikes him, this sudden reversal of roles. Only a few hours ago he was offering his hand to a distressed damsel to lead her away, using his words to woo her. But now Y/N is the one coming to his rescue. She is steady. Confident. She doesn’t need anyone to save her. If she did, he’d be there in a heartbeat. But she’s saving him. Little by little. Maybe they’re saving each other. One thing is for sure – she sweeps him of his feet without even trying. Knocks him out with a single smile. Quite literally puts his head in the clouds. And that’s better than any fairytale.

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She’s turning the pages of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, so taken by the story that she jumps when he calls her name. She turns to see him standing there, offering an awkward half-wave. Y/N can’t help but smile at the sight of him. His cardigans and ties are becoming familiar. He always looks more like a librarian or a professor than a special agent. Not that she minds one bit. The clothes suit him well, though at this point she’s convinced he’d look good in just about anything.”

“Is it good?” he asks, nodding at the book.

“Extremely. The prose is incredible and the narration is really unique. It manages to make a story so painful sound so beautiful. You can borrow it when I’m done if you’d like. I’m sure you’d finish it in a single flight.”

“It’s quite likely,” he laughs.

“So I hear we’re off to New Mexico,” she says. The flight is long enough that she could easily lend him the book now, but she knows the trip there will be spent reviewing case files and preparing for the work to come.

“Yeah, there’s five women dead already.” Spencer sits beside her on the bench. “The unsub seems quite advanced. It’s not looking pretty.”

“We’ve got to find you at least one pretty thing to see on these cases,” she says. It doesn’t seem right for him to travel across the country and return with nothing but memories of police stations and a handful of nightmares. She still hates the idea of ferrying him and his team to and from monsters. To and from danger.

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh? Like that coffee shop you found for us last weekend?”

She laughs at his pointed accusation. When they made plans she had insisted on visiting a new pop-up that Yeeqin had shown her on Instagram. The drinks were dreamlike pieces of art with cotton candy fluff, impeccable latte art, ombre iced teas, and donuts carefully placed over the rims of mugs. The line to order had been long, and the shop was crowded with people taking photos in front of the murals and installations throughout the shop. When they finally got their drinks, they were both disappointed to find they were more watery than the sad coffee found in police stations and tiny airports. The coffee didn’t taste nearly as good as it looked, especially for the pretty penny it had cost.

“Okay, okay,” she giggles. “You have a point. I will refrain from taking food recommendations from social media influencers in the future. But I’m sure I can find a nice bookstore or a garden or something worth paying a quick visit to in Santa Fe.” She pulls out her phone for a quick search. “Oh, like this bookstore! It’s called Collected Works and it’s lovely.” Suddenly she can smell coffee and the sharp spice of aftershave. Spencer is leaning over to look at her screen. She turns her head towards him and he shifts his gaze from the phone to her and she realizes how incredibly close he is. There’s only inches between them and when his hazel eyes find hers any words she had die on her lips. Lovely, is all she can think.

After mere seconds that seem to slip into eternity, she quickly breaks eye contact and looks down at her hands, her heart thudding loudly in her ears. “Um, but, uh, maybe there’s somewhere else…” she says.

“Oh my god, Reid, you are not going to believe what I saw this morning!” A cheerful voice calls out from across the hanger and Spencer practically leaps up from the bench. The voice is familiar somehow. A brightly-dressed woman is heading towards them surprisingly fast considering the height of her stilettos. Her shockingly orange dress matches the bright hue of her lipstick and the flowers in her hair. When she reaches them, her eyes widen, and a neon grin spreads across her face as she regards Y/N. “Oh! You have to be Y/N! You look just like Morgan described!”

Y/N’s eyes flicker to Spencer who gestures towards the newcomer. “Y/N, this is Penelope Garcia. Our technical analyst.”

Garcia holds out a well-manicured hand. “Technical analyst, internet goddess, and oracle of all knowledge. But tomato, tomahto.” Y/N stands to shake her hand. “JJ was right, you’re totally cute.”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Spencer turn tomato red. She chooses not to question it and instead asks, “Why haven’t I met you before?”

“Well, usually when these crimefighters are flying all over to world to do their crimefighting thing, I stay hunkered down in my Quantico batcave ready to scour the interwebs for their every demand. But our creep of the week is particularly creepy – he’s hacking into his victims computers to stalk them and erasing almost any trace he was there. So I’m coming along for the ride to try and pull any data I can from their devices.” She grimaces. “Believe me I would much rather be staying put and calling them from my office.”

That explains why her voice is so familiar, she’s heard it in the background a million times as the team prepares for a case in the cabin.

“Well Captain Dobson and I will do our best to make the trip a little more comfortable. We restocked the galley and deep cleaned this weekend, so Geff should be in perfect form.”

“Oh my gosh I still love that our jet has a name. Geff is so cute. I’m never calling it the jet again.”

Y/N smiles. “Right? I feel like planes have a personality all their own. They deserve a name, too!”

“I feel the same way! I name all the things in my life, but none quite compares to Esther. She’s an orange 1975 Cadillac Eldorado and the one true love of my life.”

“An Eldorado? She must be gorgeous.”

“She absolutely is, and she drives like a dream. You should totally come take her for a spin sometime! If you can handle Geff you can totally handle Esther.”

“Hey!” Spencer protests. “You wouldn’t let me drive your car!”

Garcia rolls her eyes in mock annoyance. “See, calling her a car is exactly why I don’t let you drive her! Besides, you drove us to Comic-Con and your maneuverability did not exactly inspire confidence.”

“Well if you ever need a co-pilot for a convention, let me know,” Y/N offers.

“You’re into the con crowd?” Garcia asks.

“Please, I’m a total geek,” she laughs. “If it’s got a flying craft of any kind I’m in. Firefly, LOST, Doctor Who, Star Wars – you name it.”

“I totally love you,” Garcia declares, linking her arm through Y/N’s. “I love her!” she tells Spencer.

“Well I hope you have a little love left for me, Baby Girl,” Morgan teases, walking up behind them.

“Always, sugar,” Garcia throws back. She let’s go of Y/N’s arm but says, “We have to talk later.”

“Of course,” Y/N assures her, and she hurries over to catch up with Morgan.

“I didn’t realize you liked all those things,” Spencer says.

“Of course,” she laughs. “I guess it just never came up in conversation. We were too busy with books and stories. But I’m guessing you’re also a fan?”

He nods. “Although I’ve never seen LOST. Is it good?”

“Is it good?” she asks, incredulous. “It’s incredible. It revolutionized television. And it’s right up your alley. Mystery, psychology, recurrent numbers . When this case is over we are absolutely watching it together.” She only realizes after she says it that she’s practically inviting him over to her place. Or inviting herself over to his. Is that too much? They’ve been spending more and more time together, and she has yet to stop enjoying his company. If she’s being honest, she’s always looking for excuses to see him again.

“I would love to,” he says immediately. Relief washes over her. So it is okay. It’s okay that she wants more of these moments with him, that she’s trying to commit of these little conversations to memory for fear they’ll slip away and she’ll forget the butterflies she feels when he looks at her. And when Arthur calls her away to ready Geff for takeoff, the smell of coffee and aftershave lingers in her in mind long after she walks away from him.

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Three days later, the case is solved. The unsub is in custody. The victim is in the hospital with their family, where she will hopefully make a full recovery with time and with therapy. The Santa Fe sun is sweltering though. The team sits inside a small room at the little airport. The air conditioner is on full blast and everyone is sipping on water to stay cool. All of them are exhausted, and Reid wants nothing more than to take a long nap on the plane. Even Garcia is quiet. It’s a relief when Captain Dobson appears to inform them that the jet is ready for takeoff. They board Geff and settle down into chairs and couches, ready for well-deserved rest.

As soon as he does so, Reid realizes he’s left his book in the air-conditioned room. He quickly hurries back down the stairs and inside, grabbing the paperback that sits on the table where he left it. As he walks back out, he spots Y/N, standing at a locker in the hangar. She waves at him a with a smile.

“How was the case?” she asks.

“It ended as well as it could have,” he says. “But it was long. I think we’re all pretty tired.”

“I’m sure this heat isn’t helping. It’s worn me out. I’ve been putting off getting in uniform as long as I could.” She wears black pants and a short-sleeved white button-down, but the rest of her uniform is still in the locker. “So the missing woman is okay?”

Reid explains that she is, but he’s hardly aware of the words he’s saying. His focus is on her fingers as she buttons the top of her collar and ties her black tie with a careful and practiced knot. It’s looks far nicer than any of his slapdash crooked knots. She slips her blazer over her shoulders and adjusts the cuffs. He’s seen her in these clothes so many times before but he’s never realized before how good she looks in uniform. Or at least, he’s never let himself think it. It fits her well, tailored perfectly to her body. Reid is absolutely entranced as she buttons the front of her blazer, the little gold pair of wings shining above her pocket. He can’t explain why he suddenly finds this incredibly attractive, but when she puts her cap on and turns to smile at him, he completely loses track of any thoughts in his head.

It’s only when she closes the locker and says, “Let’s get out of here,” that he regains his ability to form coherent sentences.

“Wait,” he says. She does. Her cap is ever so slightly off-kilter. He reaches out to straighten it for her. As he does so, it catches a strand of her hair, and he brushes it out of the way. The gesture feels so intimate, and she stares at him the entire time. “There,” he says. “Perfect.”

“Thanks, Doctor.” The smile she gives him is different from the one she wore seconds ago. It’s softer somehow, and if he were to melt right now it wouldn’t be the result of the Santa Fe sun. They climb back into the plane. Y/N disappears into the cockpit. He puts his book back into his bag and then walks to the jet galley to grab another cup of water. Garcia joins him. As she pours herself a cup of coffee she says, “I had no idea you liked a girl in uniform.”

Reid nearly chokes on his water. “I – wait – what?”

“Oh come on, I saw you staring at Y/N. The way you were looking at her? Ooh you are in deep, loverboy.”

“It’s – it’s not like that,” he sputters. “Not at all. We’re just – she – she’s my friend. That’s it.” Garcia quirks an unconvinced eyebrow. Reid sighs. “Look, even if I liked her, it would never work out. She’s…” There aren’t enough words to follow that adequately describe her. “Her. And I’m me. And besides, I’m pretty sure there are rules. Even if I felt that way…” He couldn’t. He can’t.

Garcia’s mischievous grin fades. “Reid, do you really think that-”

“Please, Garcia.”

She bites her lip and grabs her coffee. “Hey,” she says quietly. “No one else was paying attention. They didn’t see. And I’m not going to say anything.” She takes a step past him. “I just wish–” But she doesn’t finish the sentence. Evidently deciding against voicing her wish, Garcia returns to her seat. Reid prepares to do the same, only to notice the book sitting beside the coffee maker. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. With a little note that says, you can give it back when I see you for LOST.

In spite of himself, in spite of all the things he can’t and shouldn’t do, he smiles. He can have this. Sharing words and stories with her, and wondering which ones resonated with her when she read them. He picks up the book and sits back down just as Dobson’s voice comes through the speaker to ask them to ask them to fasten their seatbelts and secure all loose items. Reid opens the book. That nap can wait until he gets home.

#flight risk #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #brywrites

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mediocre--writing · 4 years ago

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Favorite Crime

S- I was your willing accomplice, honey

Bad news. Bad news, bad news, bad news.

Nobody had a single good word to his name, besides a praise for his party facade or his skills in bed.

But there's always a deeper story behind a headline, or that's what Nancy had always told him. That this unflattering headline covered a hurt, poor person who was, more than likely, being villainized for a story. That's what happened with Jonathan, right?

Bad guy has a shitty family life and it turns out he's not the villain at all, just different in a way people don't yet understand.

But how can someone so cruel and crude have a deeper story than just being a jackass?

Turns out, it's always more complicated than calculus homework Steve still doesn't understand.

A short word from Max itched a scratch inside Steve's head that had been bothering him since the first day. The way he sauntered, never just walked, nor did he ever cower, the way he always looked so fine, so perfect, so okay.

Just like Steve does, he guesses. The focus on his hair and his clothing and how he's perceived, it doesn't matter to him how he looks, he just wants people off his back.

So, it's not surprising that it was an uphill journey, more like a completely vertical wall standing between them, but they somehow made it to the top, made it together.

Somehow, despite the fights and denials, despite the reluctance and the running, it was rough, and it seemed like gravity was strongest at the top, trying to pull them down the closer they got together. They're standing at the top, this once unattainable point that seemed like the top of the world where the sun shined brightest on them and only them. Nobody else.

Except there's always someone else, isn't there?

It's not always someone falling in love with someone else or falling out of love with the one they were destined to be with, sometimes there's pressures you can't fight on your own, sometimes they're even too strong to fight with someone else. Sometimes you can't defeat your enemy like the knight slays the dragon. Sometimes you don't live happily ever after with the princess and she just stays locked in her tower until someone can actually save her.

B- Doe-eyed as you buried me

The eyes, the lashes, the soft glances in the hallway and the sweet smiles shared during practice. They all pile up over time, creating this deep, strong warmth that keeps your body warm. The warmth that you don't notice until you're separated from it for a second too long.

The fire ignited in a once ice cold heart that gives meaning and light to a corrupted soul begging for help.

Those big, brown eyes that were once referred to as "ugly cow eyes," a statement that Billy couldn't disagree with more. Because even if they were cow eyes, they were sweet, beautiful, innocent eyes that were so willing to love.

Eyes that opened his own, opened his eyes to a bright, new future he didn't even know existed before.

It was smothering, the feeling, which he hadn't felt in almost ten years now, one he didn't realize he'd forgotten what that love felt like, what being cared for felt like.

He fell into love like a poor, unexpecting animal would fall into a hunter's trap.

It was like he knew it was happening, he noticed he was falling and tried to grab onto the sides of the trap, try to claw his way out, but he inevitably fell to the bottom, laying on his back, but he noticed that this trap wasn't so bad. He could still feel the sunlight on his cheeks and there was someone there, laying next to him who offered great comfort as they waited for the predator to kill them both.

But it felt safer when there was dirt being put on top of him to keep the burning heart warm, it was like the predator wouldn't be able to spot them if they hid for long enough under this false hope, because they were still stuck in the bottom of the trap and they were only digging themselves deeper.

S- And now, every time a siren sounds, I wonder if you're around

Steve's favorite color was always purple. He liked the harshness of red and the calm of blue and purple always seemed to fit the blend. It was a strong color, something he'd associated with his best days and reminded him of this innocence he loved.

He doesn't love purple so much anymore.

The neon signs above shops and restaurants, composed of this beautiful red and dashing blue turned the dark mall into a bright purple.

The fireworks bouncing off the walls and their faces glowed in bright yellows and greens and blues and reds and purples.

And that purple hue covered everything that night. Not a single light was burning brighter than that purple color.

The red blood gushing down his chest wasn't beautiful and the sight of his dashing blue eyes closing was more horrifying than any sight he'd ever been forced to watch.

He hated purple. He hated the mix of blue and red and he hated the beautiful purple color that highlighted his face while he struggled to breathe, while he searched for Steve’s eyes and reached out for his hand before he just--stopped.

And the sirens, God, the sirens.

They were loud and blaring and the god damn red flashing lights were mixing with the blue lights from cop cars and Steve was so fucking sick of seeing those colors everywhere. So fucking sick of that loud blaring noise, but that also could have been a result of the concussion and blood loss he’d experienced within the past 48-ish hours.

And, he gets it, that sometimes people just don’t get lucky enough to make it.

But it’s been close to three months and every time a cop car or ambulance passes him, he just wants to sprint after it, like he wanted to that night, just to see him one more time before the inevitable ends it for good.

The inevitable, isn’t it always funny that you can stop it? Or--could have stopped it. There’s always a solution that could have prevented this “unpreventable” event, yet people pretend it isn’t so. That people die because it’s “meant to be” and not a tragic fate that no good person deserves.

The inevitable, isn’t so inevitable, turns out, on a day in November when Max admits a hidden truth.

And they meet again, but it feels the same. They missed each other unlike any person they hadn’t seen. They just sit for hours, barely talking but just holding hands, squished on this tiny hospital bed where a, supposedly dead, teenager and his boyfriend sit and silently cry.

And as they hear an ambulance pull up outside of the hospital, Steve doesn’t tense like he has been for the past months, he just squeezes Billy’s hand tighter and feels his breathing from where they’re touching.

B- But I say that I hate you with a smile on my face

The camaro, the doctors warned him that he may not like driving it, some form of PTSD from the night and the accidents that had occured, but Billy felt more released from his problems as he drove the car than when he had to sit in a hospital room or talk with his step sister and the nerd herd about...well, anything.

And the sunrise, how beautiful sunrises were above treelines as you release your problems with a loud rev of an engine.

He’d done his morning like he always would, made coffee when he woke up, got dressed, poured an extra cup for Steve, kissed him on the forehead when he left it on the nightstand, then lounged around the living room for a while.

Except today was different.

Billy wasn’t getting up at 6am, he was getting up at 5.

And he didn’t get dressed and lounge around, he got dressed and loaded his favorite things into his car.

But he was making the cup of coffee for Steve to wake up to when he got up at 7, it just probably wouldn’t be as hot as it usually was.

There’s a new step, but just for this day. He rips off a piece of paper from the notepad that they left by the phone.

He rips off the corner, enough to fold in half so it sits upright on the nightstand.

He draws a sloppy heart, one Steve always said just looked like a fat ‘X’, and signs a little ‘B’ in his “fancy prince handwriting” as Steve always called it.

He set the paper next to the cup of coffee, pulled up the sheets on his side of the bed, pushed Steve’s messy bed head back and left a soft peck on his forehead, then one on the tip of his nose. Steve’s pink, chapped lips moved into a soft, dopey smile as Billy pulled the blankets over his chest more, it was starting to get cold with October approaching.

The camaro roared under him as he started it up and pulled out of the driveway, working his way West, all the way to California: somewhere where his abusive dad wasn’t around and neither was the pressure to hide himself.

He hid everything, his sexualities, a majority of his home problems, his mental issues, how he’d see things, things that weren’t there and never had been. He’d continue wearing himself thin trying to keep up this facade, it was like he’d pushed himself down so far he forgot what he was supposed to like, what he used to hate.

For the best. This was better because he didn’t feel like Billy, he felt like different versions of some other person who was acting the role of Billy. Felt like his personalities didn’t match from person to person, lost the cathartic feeling of exposing all his thoughts to Steve, it made him feel guilty.

And Steve didn’t deserve that. Never did.

Billy was never good for him. He split everything up. Split up his own parents' marriage, he was the cause of most of their fights, and he ruined any and every relationship he’d ever been in, even the ones with Max or other people his age that he could have been a real friend to.

He still thinks about Steve, often. Thinks about him with a fond smile but hates how he was around him. Hated that feeling of hiding who he really was any time he was with this person who was supposed to be the best thing for him.

Hated the way Steve made him feel the need to pull at the reins to stop but made him want to go faster, faster, faster.

Hated Steve. Hated the way he loved him, but he just couldn’t force himself to be that happy.

Well, I hope I was your favorite crime...'Cause baby, you were mine.

#lots of symbolism and stuff and lots of confusing spelling mistakes but im kinda proud of it #also it switches perspectives between the lyrics #stranger things #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #mediocre—writing #mw harringrove #billy x steve

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beeexx · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: Winter

4 tattoos on TK’s body, 4 stories set over each of the 4 season. Carlos and TK grow closer.

Read part one and two or the whole thing on my ao3 .

---------- When Carlos was younger he used to love Christmas, loved the lights, the food, the music and spending time with his family. He still likes all that but ever since becoming a police officer and seeing how absolutely crackers everyone gets over Christmas he has reassessed that notion thoroughly and decided that he only enjoys Christmas when he can completely shut off the outside world and escape the insane nonsens, then, yes Christmas is lovely. Having been single for the majority of his time on the force always makes him the first pick for working on the 25th, and this year is no different. So, he sees TK on the 24th before Gwyenth flies in and it’s sweet and fun but he feels TK might want to spend it alone with him next year, the seriousness of their relationship starting to require that they create some traditions of their own, and the 25th on a full 24 hour shift and then the 26th he goes home to his parents.

New Years comes along, it’s calm for him, he’s working the next day and he drinks sparkling water and coke for the whole evening they spend at Grace and Judd with the 126, Carlos has become an unofficial member of. He’s grown close with them all since starting dating TK and it’s not unusual for him to get his own invitation to stuff, sometimes even without TK. Mateo sends him texts asking dating advice, Paul will ask questions about cooking and recipes and he and Marjan have taken up playing padel together. So he’s definitely part of the group for sure and it’s lovely being surrounded by people who know each other so well that there are almost more alcohol free options than there are actual alcohol, food from all sorts of different countries and traditions and a warm atmosphere around as they watch the fireworks together out on the deck, celebrating the coming of a new year.

He drives TK home to Owen pretty early and TK gives him sad puppy dog eyes before he drags him into the back of the car for some light fooling around and very heated kissing that would definitely not have been approved of at Judd and Grace’s party before he regretfully has to leave if he wants to be able to work at all come morning. The choice of staying over is so tempting but Carlos knows he would struggle too much the next day when he would be forced to leave a very hot and cute and snuggly boyfriend while he has to work. So he kisses the love of his life passionately on the street, so much so that he looks completely dazed and confused when Carlos pulls away and tells him he loves him and that he promises to make it up to him the next time they are off together and TK, with his stern face on, makes him promise that he will.

But Carlos has been working a lot this winter, he knows, it's a habit, leftover from a long time of being single that he’s had a hard time shaking. He doesn’t like winter, it’s the only time of the year he’s usually always felt lonely, with all the holidays coming up being forced into social gatherings where questions are always asked whether he’s single or not and it used to grate endlessly on his nerves. And if he’s sometimes taken shifts on the days after or on the actual days to avoid the questions, well no one has to know.

Only this year he’s been so distracted that he’s forgotten he’s already accepted all these shifts almost a year before, before he was officially together with TK the way they are now, and the unfortunate result of this is that they have have become completely unmatched in their schedules which makes TK look more and more sad every time he has to leave him to go to work. It’s making Carlos’ sad too but because he’s worked so much recently, he’s made sure to switch his shifts around with a colleague so he’ll get three days off in a row, matching them all up with TK’s, and that’s what he thinks about every time he feels guilty about it.

But growing close with TK’s friends also means that he gets 15 texts in a row from Mateo, and five calls that have him promising to come to his party the Friday after the new year, because that’s his life now. And of course he’s late, because nothing ever goes his way and he’s barely had the time to change and shower when at home, basically just throwing on black jeans and a white t-shirt hoping that it will do and that he won’t be completely underdressed for the occasion. It turns out that isn’t the actual issue.

The issue is that apparently TK has had the time to choose clothes that make him look absolutely sinfully hot in his ridiculously tight jeans and pink button down that has one too many buttons left undone, teasing skin, his chain as always around his neck, part of his flower tattoo on exhibition for too many to see. Not that Carlos is the jealous type, but his boyfriend is attractive as hell and he’s definitely not the only one who has noticed that.

Which introduces the other issue.

“Oh my god babe, I’m so relieved you are here. I feel old.” TK declares absolutely horrified by having spent the majority of the evening in company with people who are probably old enough to drink because Carlos is not looking forward to arresting anyone, but with the majority of them being under 25, maybe?

But he agrees, everyone is so millennial here, like too millennial even for his tastes that they are all feeling much more like zoomers than anything, yes Carlos spends time on the internet. And he does have a younger sister that age and has spent too much time on calls where he’s been forced to talk to people under 20 feeling very much like they are speaking a completely different language to him. But being here Carlos realises that Mateo is actually a few years younger than him which has never even crossed his mind before, but standing here in Mateo’s new apartment he just moved into it’s becoming clear that Carlos with his 27 years is actually old in comparison to this.

Marjan looks to be having the time of her life though, looking slick and cool in her completely black awesome outfit, having a group of people wrapped around her fingers as they seem to hang onto every word, oohing and aaahing at the right places while Paul is playing on the ps5, him, Marjan and TK got Mateo for Christmas slaying everyone who dares playing against him. TK looks absolutely appaled at having been forced into the company of these people for the past few hours that he’s already been here, and it’s hilarious because sometimes riling TK up and annoying him is a little fun, but Carlos is the best thank you very much and he asks if TK wants to go have sex on Mateo’s bed in retaliation and TK’s eyes grow mischevous by the very idea.

“Yes, I love that.” He’s much happier already and he’s positively glowing, his slight addiction to misbehaving becoming evidently clear. Marjan stops both of them, wrapping her arms around their shoulders harshly.

“No screwing in probie’s bed.” She chides and TK’s mood sours immediately.

“Marjan, come on, look at this. I’m too old to be here, I want to have some fun.”

“Perfect, we’re playing truth or dare, you’ll love it.”

TK groans.

But they are forced into the game nonetheless because Paul joins too and when Paul and Marjan’s plans align they are a goddamn unstoppable force and there really isn’t anything you can do to escape it.

So, forced into a game Carlos hasn't played since probably high school is either going to become absolutely disastrous or the most fun he’s had in ages, he hasn’t made up his mind yet. Mateo joins as well and a bunch of other people Carlos is never going to learn the names of join together in the kitchen, TK being well TK sitting on top of the kitchen island, cross legged and leaning against Carlos who is sitting on one of the bar stools, his arms securely around him, sipping a really shitty beer someone gave him before the game started.

When a girl called Emily gets dared to call an ex of hers to tell him the rules of Monopoly even TK can’t help but laugh because she absolutely kills it, finishing the call with all of them applauding her because that was some Boss as shit to do, even Carlos respects it.

Lots of the people around them keep shooting lingering glances at him and TK, not judgeful ones, Carlos would probably fake threaten to arrest them for prejudice and discrimination if he felt any hostility, no, they are curious, kind, a little intruding maybe, but it’s done out of an eagerness, maybe at seeing a gay couple so openly happy and relaxed together that they can’t help themselves. Or maybe they’re checking them out and Carlos will accept that as a compliment without it getting to his head. When he leans forward and kisses the back of TK’s head it's obvious it’s become too much for the people around them and a guy called Fred bursts at the seams.

“TK.” He says. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth I guess.” He says nonchalantly.

“Who tops and who bottoms in the relationship?”

There’s a collective groan in the room and Fred blushes, obviously unaware of his mistake but seems to have enough awareness at least to realise he’s done something stupid. Carlos is just waiting for TK to give the guy a totally inappropriate answer exposing their sex life to a bunch of people who can only dream of ever having as amazing sex as they are having, yeah it’s not nice bragging, but doing it inside of his head where no one can hear isn’t hurting anyone, but it’s not TK who answers, it’s Mateo, beating TK to it.

“That’s a stupid question Fred, rooted in outdated gender roles while it also reinforces false heteronormative ideas of feminintiy and masculinty onto sex. The idea that you have to be dominant or submissive just because you like to give or receive is just ridiculous, because even you should be aware that depending on the mood, the time or whatever you’re not going to just enjoy one single thing, and if you do, then you’ve clearly only had terrible sex.”

The room grows silent, Carlos' eyes widening as TK holds back his laughter.

“Yeah that, what Mateo said Fred.” TK forces out, coughs to hide how he’s close to absolutely losing it while the room erupts into loud cheering and whistling making both Mateo and Fred blush.

“Daaaamn probie, who would have thought you actually listen when we tell you stuff huh? Good job.” Marjan says while Paul looks like a proud father, absolutely beaming. TK takes pity on Fred who is looking a little dejected.

“Just find yourself a partner that you feel safe and loved by and do some experimenting to see what you like, but make sure to set boundaries too, and you’ll be good to go. Also if you’re straight, respect women, they are the best thing we have.” Fred looks a little relieved as someone beside him pulls him into a rough friendly hug and they move on.

The game continues and soon everyone has forgotten Fred’s little mistake and the game grows louder and rowdier, Paul drawing the short straw of getting dared to smell everyone’s feet in the room and rank them.

“Carlos, truth or dare.” These kids are too thrifty for Carlos, he aint getting dared into something stupid.

“Truth.” He settles for. Lily’s eyes land on TK and she smiles sweetly.

“Favourite and least favorite thing about TK.” TK turns his head and grins as Carlos sticks his tongue out.

“Least favorite thing is his messiness and proneness to forgetful spells, you see kids turning 27 can make you a bit forgetful, don't forget to be kind to him tonight.” It sets the whole room off into roaring laughter and Carlos chuckles a little pleased at his own joke as TK glares without any heat, huffs and rolls his eyes. He makes sure to wrap his arms tighter around him.

“My favourite thing about him is his unwavering strength, his big heart and even though he’s struggled and failed and failed again he never gives up on trying to do better. It’s simple, I love him, so it’s easy to love every part of him.”

Loud AAAWWWWs erupts all over the room and TK’s flush is high on his cheeks as he leans towards Carlos, gently kissing him. A girl sends Lily a look of fondness, both him and TK catching it before she averts her eyes.

“I love you.” TK whispers, only meant for Carlos, and his heart swells from hearing the words for the 100th time. It never seizes to stop taking the breath out of him.

The game continues, someone making the mistake of daring Marjan to eat a spoon of hot sauce, her face not moving an inch as she swallows it without trouble, Mateo to tell everyone who he’d like to make out with in the room then being dared to do it by Carlos because she looks to be a little interested in Mateo too, while Carlos gets dared to behave like the person to his right which has the whole room dying and the acting lessons he took in high school coming in handy. It doesn’t surprise Carlos that this happens because these people are relentless but then, TK gets dared to give him a goddamn lap dance, the attention bouncing off TK in waves, his elation and cheekiness making him look way too hot while Carlos tries very hard to think of the pile of dishes at home in his sink to distract from not making good on his earlier promises and dragging TK away to Mateo’s room and get laid immediately. He sends Paul a hateful glare who looks smug.

By the time someone asks the question about TK’s flower tattoo on his chest Carlos has actually gotten a little tipsy, and the youngsters, which most of them aren’t really, because some he’s realised are as old as he is, have grown a lot on him. He’s having a very good time.

“What’s the story behind the flower tattoo, if there is one?” TK leans forward, eyes mischievous.

“It’s funny you should ask.” He begins and Carlos silently groans.

“So, the story begins when I was in Thailand, gap year and all that, I am sure you’ve been at that point in your life?” Some nod, TK has the attention of the whole room and he grows more and more confident, comfortable with everyone’s attention on him.

God, this is going to be funny.

“We were partying at my hostel, we got real drunk and I went home with a dude that I had met who were staying at a different place than I was. We were both really drunk, we fooled around in his room, you know what happened next, no details for you dirty buggers. Anyway, in the middle of the night I want a snack so I leave him sleeping. Only that I am still so drunk that I forget that to be able to get back to his room you have to have a key card to get the elevator to take you to the floors. So, only in boxers I take the elevator to the ground floor and try to get the vending machine to give me some chocolate, without any money. I stand there clicking every button I can find, when there’s suddenly a cat on the lobby desk. So drunk as I am my attention is immediately on the cat who wasn’t as much in a cuddly mood as I was.”

Carlos is not drunk enough to buy a word coming out of TK’s mouth, but he’s telling it with such conviction, hands motioning around, having completely captivated the room’s attention that even Marjan looks unsure whether to believe this or not.

“The cat runs away, I forget my hunger and I start to make my way back up to, Simon, that was the guy’s name. I try to find my way back up there, only the elevator doesn’t work because I don’t have a keycard so I’m screwed but of course too drunk to realise this. The elevator keeps going up and down though as people come and go and I’m there just in my boxers like a total loser. Basically someone must have thought that I was a prostitute because someone called the police who came to get me. They were so friendly by the way and so sweet, and there I am in my boxers out on the street so drunk I can barely remember my own name trying to answer questions about what my phone number is and where I live.”

He pauses for dramatic effect and Carlo bites his lip, hard and discreetly so no one can see how deranged he thinks this story is. Everyone seems to want to know more so TK pushes on.

“I get escorted out, given a jacket by someone to cover up and then they tell me that they will drive me home. While they are driving I see a tattoo shop that’s open 24/7 and I tell them to drop me there and say something like I live upstairs with the owner and show a photo of a friend who definitely isn't Australian or own any goddamn tattoo shop owner but they buy it. Or they were probably just tired of me, so they drop me off there and I insist I will be fine. Outside there’s a group of people, all of them clearly drunk. I join them, you know making friends while drunk it’s like the easiest thing in the world and then we go into the shop together, me in my boxers and Sydney PD jacket to go with and then have the massive flower tattoo made on my chest while my new friends cheer me on, pay for it too because I have no money or phone, drink some more beer inside of the shop and then we all share a cab back to the same hostel we were staying at and the morning after I woke up with the biggest hangover I have ever experienced, no phone, no clothes and a massive tattoo on my chest I barely remember getting.“ He finishes and the room has been rendered speechless.

TK is preening, loving what he’s just done. The whole room erupts into loud chatter soon enough and none of them can really make sense of the story and alternate between completely buying it and not buying it at all.

Carlos leans forward, nipping gently at TK’s ear before he whispers.

“Babe, I want the actual story for the tattoo.”

“What? You don’t believe what I just told you?” He asks, sweetly, innocently and Carlos snorts.

“Sure, and I am related to Lady Gaga.” TK laughs, turns his head and kisses him.

“I’ll tell you later.” He promises and Carlos pecks him gently on the lips. The room’s moved on and the game continues for a while longer before the crowd disrupts, Marjan and TK set on matchmaking Lily together with the same girl that looked at her earlier while Paul and Carlos get roped into an armwrestling contest that he’s going to feel in his muscles tomorrow for sure.

By the time someone decides they’re going out clubbing Carlos is fairly drunk, a comfortable buzzing just underneath his skin and he’s having a good time, he isn’t going to say no to dancing. TK finds him, sneaking an arm around him, refusing to let him go, which makes it much harder to get his jacket and shoes on and get downstairs and out to the uber that’s waiting. They must look slightly ridiculous like this but no one is paying attention to them and Carlos only has eyes for TK anyway, so nothing matters than him.

They share a cab with Paul and two other people Carlos cannot remember the names of but seems to be really engaged with Paul about some book they both love and Carlos tunes them out, nuzzling TK’s hair who is still wrapped around him. TK looks up to meet his eyes, smile soft and eyes alluring and lips plumb and extremely kissable. Carlos licks his lips.

“Can you two at least wait until we’re in the club so I don’t have to watch you suck each other’s faces off right here?” Carlos huffs and TK swats at Paul, not getting too far away from Carlos, his arms still wrapped around him.

What can he say? He’s drunk, in love and he has a stupidly hot boyfriend, he might be losing his grip on appropriate behaviour when TK is this near and this intoxicating. But maybe, just maybe he should stop drinking for the rest of the evening, especially if he wants to get laid when he gets home.

They get to the club and both TK and him lose the rest of their friends. Not that it matters much anyway, all he has eyes for is TK who doesn’t hesitate to take charge, pulling Carlos towards the dancefloor with such ease it’s hard not to be completely enticed by him. The music is loud vibrating through Carlos’ body and TK pulls him close, finally without having to care about other people, letting go of everything that was holding him back before, finally having TK all to himself.

TK looks to be in his right goddamn element, alive, happy, body moving with the freedom of being safe and in love and allowed to exist freely. Carlos barely even grapples with the urge to pull him close, he just does and kisses him, passionately, bruising, messing up his hair and pulling his hips close to his own. TK hisses against his mouth but he gives as good as he gets and he kisses back fervently, intensely with brutal vigor and Carlos loses his footing, it’s so good. They’re being so indecent right now, but there’s something positively addictive being with TK like this, grinding on each other, kissing without holding back, loving each other boldly and loudly.

It’s all Carlos has ever wanted.

TK pulls away, he honestly looks absolutely wrecked, way too good for Carlos to be sane about anything.

“Baby.” He rasps in Carlos’ ear, voice hoarse and broken and it goes straight to Carlos’ dick, he hisses in response. God he’s so gone. TK, the little devil kisses his neck, lips attached to the exposed skin of his t-shirt, licks his skin, pulls it into his mouth and Carlos bites at his lip, hard, pulling TK closer to him.

They are going to have to slow down otherwise they are going to get kicked out.

“Baby.” He says, sees a shiver go through TK as he clutches at Carlos’ hair, messing it up completely. “We’re going to have to slow down.”

“Why?” TK whines.

“Because we’re not having sex in the bathroom…” But even as he says it the image of TK on his knees in front of him is a little too much not to be very tempting. TK bites at his earlobe, the fucking tease and sucks it into his mouth.

“Fine, fine.” He agrees, pulls back and kisses Carlos, still sinfully hot, but a little more controlled and appropriate than before. He pulls back, smiles beautifully and Carlos knows he’s just never ever going to love someone the way he loves TK.

But they slow down a little, and somehow find Paul who points at Mateo making out with the girl from earlier, Marjan is at the bar looking mischievous and Carlos wonders what she has in mind. He finds that out when she walks towards them, glitter in her hands. She blows some onto Paul who swoops her up spinning her around as she laughs delightedly and then smears some onto Carlos’ face. He wipes parts of it off, but it sticks to his face like glue because of the sweat, and wipes it onto TK’s face, pulling him close to kiss him to stop his squeaking and swatting.

Mateo comes and joins them and they spend the rest of the night dancing and shouting and laughing and it’s liberating, a different kind of high to be out with friends who you love, who accept you and who you can be yourself with 100%. They are all going to spend weeks trying to get the glitter out of their hair though, Carlos knows as much.

At 5 in the morning he and TK stumble through his door, both of them unable to keep their hands off each other after behaving for hours. Finally they are completely alone.

…..

Carlos wakes up the next day when TK starts to move around in their bed. He hears him leave the room and Carlos groans, throws an arm across his face, hiding from the light streaming in through the opened curtains. He has a headache, not just due to being hungover, but more because of clubbing for hours with loud music, staying up for most of the night and probably because as much as he doesn’t like to admit it, he’s nearing 30. Being out clubbing all night takes much more of a toll on his body than it used to.

TK comes back, puts down what Carlos thinks is a glass of water on the nightstand before he crawls back into bed, Carlos pulling him close, snuggling up against him as soon as he’s back in bed. TK huffs but doesn’t object as Carlos noses at his neck, feeling TK run a hand through his hair.

He’s sore all over, from the arm wrestling, from the dancing and from the insane sex they had last night. And he’s probably wearing TK’s boxers by mistake, because they feel a little too tight on him so they are definitely not his. It’s not comfortable but he doesn’t have the energy to care.

“Morning.” TK croaks out, voice hoarse from all of the screaming. He hums, not really ready yet to be a human. He’s allowed to lie for a moment in bed, peaceful, but the thing with TK is that sometimes he’s inhumane in the mornings, taking after Owen undoubtedly, with his uncanny ability to just be awake. He can definitely be a sleepy little brat, but when he isn’t, once he’s up, he’s up.

“There’s glitter everywhere.” TK comments, smile evident in his voice. Carlos forces his eyes to open, blinks a few times and looks around the room, sees that there is indeed glitter on the bed, clothes lying all around the bedroom, pillows on the ground, the bottle of lube still open, leaking onto the hardwood floor and the mattress has been moved, lying halfway across the bed.

He groans, shifts onto his back pushing his unruly curls away from his face and rubs at his eyes, trying to feel a little bit more awake.

“Here.” TK says and hands him the glass of water. He thankfully takes a sip, moves the pillow more comfortably behind his head before he closes his eyes again, ready to sleep for a few more hours. TK huffs, shuffles around for a moment, unhappy, before he comes closer to Carlos, nudging his legs apart so he can settle between them. Carlos opens his eyes again and moves to make more room for him. TK immediately stops moving and settles, hands unconsciously stroking across Carlos’ chest.

TK has a pillow streak across his cheek, blue and pink glitter still on his face and his hair really is messy from Carlos pulling on it last night, and yet managing to look way too good for someone who has been up most of the night partying.

“Hi.” He says, voice hoarse too. He coughs to clear his throat a few times and TK’s mouth twitches.

“We broke the room last night.” He comments dryly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I’m sure it was mostly you.”

“The mattress was all you.” He smirks and Carlos snorts.

“Yeah I definitely feel that today, and a little like I’ve been hit by a brick…” TK laughs as Carlos struggles with words, not sure how to make his brain work.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“I hate to say this but I am getting too old to party like this.” TK laughs, swats his chest.

“Don’t say that. You’re making me feel ancient.”

“You seem to be handling it a little better than I am.” He mutters and TK snorts.

“Well I didn’t engage in an arm wrestling contest that was just an excuse to flex.”

None of them mention the very obvious reason as to why TK’s is feeling better than Carlos is. Not that they don’t talk about TK’s addiction, they do, sometimes a lot, sometimes less and sometimes not at all. It’s definitely become a fixed point in their relationship, it’s impossible for it to not be one when you are as serious as they are. But they don’t have to tiptoe around the subject anymore either, it’s become as normalised as it can be between them, even getting to the point where TK will sometimes make a crude joke about it that should have Carlos chiding him, that more often than not makes him snort and pull him into a hug instead.

And TK’s whole life, the very core of who he is is not defined by his substance abuse and addiction or his anxiety and issues, so their relationship isn’t either. More often than not they have the exact same problems any couple their age has and it’s nice it has gotten to that point after having had a really rough start to everything.

“What can I say? I’m hot and muscly.” He jokes, flexes his bicep for show as TK snorts, swats him a little harder than before.

“Well you beat everyone in the room who dared to go up against you, that’s not bad.”

“Thank you.” TK rolls his eyes without heat and leans forward to gently peck his lips.

“You have really bad morning breath.” TK observes, pulls back, grimaces in disappointment and Carlos snorts.

“I’m not surprised.” He lifts his head, looks around the room and then changes his mind, lies back down again. TK lifts an eyebrow.

“Just thinking whether I have the energy to get up and clean, I don’t.”

“You’ve earnt a morning in.”

“I think so too.” He agrees and TK huffs.

They’re quiet for a moment, enjoying just being in each other’s company after being apart for a while with their mismatched schedules. It looks like it might be sunny today too and Carlos can probably agree to take a walk, he’s sure TK is going to suggest it.

They’re both extroverts, but only to an extent. TK is learning that he actually likes spending nights in instead of going out to dinner or clubbing while Carlos has learnt the enjoyment of downtime as he can struggle with not knowing when and how to take a break or relax, always feeling like he needs to to do something, to be on his feet, to move, always edging closer to a burnout with the rhythm he’s going in. In that regard they are quite similar and relaxing together, shutting their brains off in a coping mechanism that isn’t sex (yes that works too but it’s not exactly a sustainable option) has become both a challenge and easier with time.

So they have taken to walking on the weekends or the days where they have time off, to talk about the hard stuff, the big life changing stuff or the small and silly things. There’s something with walking in nature that makes all the hard things in life feel easier, easier to detangle the messes and feel like everything will be okay. His ten thousand daily steps shoot in record each weekend when they keep pushing themselves to find new paths, or walk on the old ones, stopping for coffee when the weather allows it, basking in the sun and each other. It’s very old retired couple of them, but even Paul and Mateo’s teasing had come to a stop when Carlos had smacked a massive list of benefits in the group chat to shut them up and asked them to come with them instead. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. But it’s definitely a habit that’s just his and TK’s, carved out from love and finding ways to grow together.

“Sooo…” Carlos says, teasing and TK lifts an eyebrow and leans forward, his elbows resting on Carlos’ chest.

“The tattoo story from yesterday, that was a load of horseshit.” TK grins.

“That was hilarious, I wish someone would have filmed it.”

“I’m sure you would, you sneaky little monster.”

“I think you mean genius.”

“Sure, sure.” TK laughs and there are fewer things Carlos delights in doing more than making him happy. Ever since they got official he’s decided that it’s a daily goal, a promise to keep being happy together, and so far he’s kept it up.

Carlos lifts an eyebrow.

“This tattoo thing is becoming a recurring thing I see?”

“Ah, you’ve seen through my genius plans.” TK snorts.

“This is the first one I ever did.” Carlow grows serious and unconsciously reaches a hand forward, stroking along the tattoo on display.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, my dad wouldn’t let me until I turned 18 and I did some real begging and convincing to try and change his mind but he always said no. He settled for 18 because he has one himself which he did when he was 16 and was a lifeguard. It used to be a koi fish but he’s changed it a lot since then and it’s a bit of a mess. ‘A wonderful blob, just like his mind’ that’s his own words.” Carlos chuckles.

“Ah, so why a flower?”

“I don’t even know if it has a meaning or anything, I've just always associated flowers and plants with life and natural beauty and it gives me a sense of serenity, grounds me a bit more in reality when everything is uncertain. And you know me, a lot of things have been uncertain in my life.”

“Yeah, but considering what you’ve been through it’s amazing how far you’ve come, you know this right?”

“Yeah, I’m starting to learn that.” He smiles, a little shyly. “And life is finally starting to feel good again, like this is how it’s supposed to be and I feel safe with you.”

Carlos feels his eyes soften and his heart beat fiercely in his chest and he loves TK so much.

“I feel safe with you too.” He whispers and TK nods, like he understands, eyes soft and a sweet little smile at the edge of his lips as he melts in Carlos’ arms, like it’s finally clicked for him too that they really do belong together. Carlos isn’t very religious or superstitious but from the moment he met TK, when he was guarded and on edge and only wanted sex, knew that they would be good together, that there was something about TK that would manage to ground all of Carlos’ faults and flaws and that once they would be un equal ground, they would create something good and beautiful and stable out of something momentarily broken.

Because TK isn’t broken or damaged beyond repair, he never was and he isn’t now either.

He is the love of Carlo’s life.

He isn’t superstitious but he knows this.

“For someone claiming to be such a city boy you sure do have a lot of earthy and nature themed tattoos.” He comments, gently caressing TK’s cheek, hoping that all he feels for this man can be read in his face. When TK’s breath hitches he thinks he knows, or that he’s seen something he wasn’t expecting.

Carlos pulls him into a peck and TK whines.

“Don’t you have a breath mint or something so we can kiss properly?” He complains making Carlos chuckle.

He throws a look at the nightstand and TK grumberly climbs over him, poking Carlos hard on the nose which he expects is on purpose before he opens the drawer and pulls out a small box of tic taks. He pops it into his own mouth, climbs back on top of Carlos and reaches down, kissing him salaciously, loudly and gives the breath mint over to Carlos who honestly almost swallows it whole his whole body reacting so instantly to TK it short circuits his brain. TK grinds down and Carlos groans, pushing up for more friction and TK chuckles, pleased by the reaction, against his mouth before he throws the duvet to the side so he can get more access.

Suddenly Carlos doesn’t have a headache anymore.

…..

They do make it out of bed eventually and they clean the mess up together. Then Carlos takes a shower and when he comes back TK has made banana pancakes and Carlos realises just how hungry he is. He definitely does the majority of the cooking in the relationship but TK will surprise him from time to time by making something he knows really well, and he seems to have taken to breakfast wood with an almost natural ease, spending a long time of this relationship trying to perfect his banana pancakes.

And Carlos likes cooking so he really doesn’t mind that he does it a lot. He really was brought up with food being the ingredient that solved things within his family. It could be a forgiving gesture or a loving gesture and it was always a caring gesture, even when fights got big and words were said and Carlos was convinced the family was going to split into sides that would never heal, but food was the one constant. He’s taken that with him and it’s his way of showing TK how much he adores him, hearing him try something of Carlos’ and like it, face lighting up as the spices and flavours mix together perfectly is an incredible feeling.

So instead TK is observant, always makes him tea the way he likes it, comes by the station to give him coffee if he’s nearby, stacks up on the protein powder Carlos uses when he does go grocery shopping for them and buys him lunch when they are out in town, obsessed with trying new places. The best thing though is that Carlos’ kitchen has for months now been stacked up on things he would never buy himself, like the fancy hazelnut coffee syrup that’s now found a permanent place by his coffee maker, one of the empty shelves in his cupboard that he’s never found anything to keep there that TK fills up with sweets and snacks and chocolate. Or the vegan protein bars that are now a permanent fixture in a cupboard beside the oven.

TK hasn’t moved in officially but he barely goes home these days, once or twice every second week and only more often if TK and his schedules don’t align at all.

Carlos should probably ask him about moving in soon.

“Hi baby.” TK says and Carlos steps close, pecks him lovingly on the lips before he steals a piece of the pancake, TK swatting his hand away.

��Hey.” Carlos pecks him again before he goes to get some plates and set the table for them. TK comes carrying the plate with pancakes shortly after and Carlos makes himself a coffee because TK when he does drink it, it’s not usually in the mornings, and sighs happily as he swallows down the first sip and then they sit down and eat together.

Carlos is living on cloud 9 at the moment, he’s spent the majority of last night dancing with the love of his life, the morning was full of even more sex and now they’re having breakfast together, the thrill of it moves through him like a current, enfulging him into a warm blanket of happiness. And Carlos really truly is happy.

TK seems to sense it too, he keeps sending Carlos smiles over the table, hooking his ankle over his underneath it, rarely breaking eye contact. When they’re done TK comes forward, sitting down in Carlos’ lap, wrapping his arms around him.

“Hi you.” Carlos says, putting his arms around TK’s waist, pulling him closer to him.

“Hi.” TK whispers, pushes a hand through Carlos’ damp hair, messing up the curls even worse.

“I really like your hair like this.” TK muses, continues with the action, sending shivers down his spine.

“I’ve noticed.”

“Why don’t you keep your hair like this more often?”

“If you had curly hair you would know.” Carlos snorts. He cuts it regularly, hates it when it gets too long, it’s much harder to style and he wants his hair to be out of his way when he works so he tends to sleep with hair stuff in his hair when he goes to sleep, it takes him much shorter to get ready in the mornings that way.

“Maybe.” TK agrees, pulls at the strands a little, enjoying the sounds he’s bringing out of Carlos.

“This has been nice, I’ve missed you a lot recently.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’ve missed you too.” He promises.

“Do you really have to work tonight?” TK sighs looking dejected.

“Actually no, not tonight, I switched my shifts around.”

“Really?” He looks so happy right now, eyes alive and sweet.

“Yeah.” He rubs his nose against TK’s who huffs but returns the movement before Carlos kisses his nose lovingly.

“So, what should we do with the rest of the day then?” He wonders. TK shrugs.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter what, I just want to spend it with you.”

Carlos smiles.

“Me too.”

And so they do, taking advantage of the day fully, Carlos loving every minute of it.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #9-1-1 lone star #tk x carlos #carlos x tk #tattoo fic #911 lone star fic #carlos reyes #tk strand

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 14

Warnings: possible body dysmorphia, mentions of past trauma and abuse

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip

Author’s Note: I have a serious case of extremely low self esteem (thanks anon hate!) and I can’t promise when the next chapter will be out. I’m hoping within the next few days. Fingers crossed! So I’d post the one I was holding ‘hostage’.

“I’m not too sure about this, Des,” Esme grumbles from behind a change room door in Bloomingdales.

It’s the last stop of the afternoon before a well deserved lunch; highly praised Thai food at a restaurant near Rockefeller that Desi had to book weeks in advance. It’s been years since she’d been THAT engrossed in a shopping trip; her feet aching and her cheeks hurting from laughing so much and dozens of bags in her possession. For twelve years she’s been caught up in her role as a mother; putting her own needs and wants on the back burner in favour of always making sure the kids never went without. Even with a ridiculous amount of money in the bank, she’d never concentrated on herself; perfectly content with her quiet and unassuming life in Australia, living rather simply and not needing much more than shorts, t-shirts, a small selection of bathing suits and a handful of jeans. It feels strange to be out in something other than her normal and preferred attire; used to choosing comfort over actual style and doing little more than throwing her hair up into a ponytail or messy bun. It had been nice to experience all of that again and had found herself most missing those younger days. When she’d pass the time with hours of window shopping and mindless browsing; daydreaming about all of the designer clothes and shoes and handbags she’d one day purchase if she ever won the lottery. But back then, it had been just that: daydreaming. And she can’t help but feel slightly guilty for splurging and buying things just for the sake of having them; outfits she may likely never wear and will hang in the closet with their original price tags still attached.

It’s hard to break free of that line of thinking; easily remembering the hard times when there’d been hardly any food in the cupboards and there’d been real worry about whether the utilities would be shut off or not. When Millie was still growing inside of her and she’d been trying to adjust to her new life in a new country; living with a man she barely knew but she already was already falling madly and crazily in love with. Materialistic things have never truly mattered; never heartbroken when she couldn’t afford brand new clothes or when their little apartment was filled with mismatched second hand furniture. Despite the financial concerns, they’d been truly happy. Engrossed in a ‘honeymoon stage’ of unbridled passion and lust; finding themselves thoroughly exploring and enjoying one another’s bodies while getting to know each other. It hadn’t been the most conventional of lifestyles; two broken people finding solace and healing in one another in Dhaka, an unplanned pregnancy, and quick and hasty cohabitation. And there’d been hard times; little quirks and hangs up the other had that annoyed them, heated arguments over stupid things, lingering trauma and plenty of nightmares thanks to their harrowing experience in Bangladesh. But somehow they’d made it work; a temperamental and moody Australian and a feisty and over emotional American. Falling in love despite their often enormous differences and making something so beautiful and lasting out of almost nothing.

“I don't know if this dress is my thing,” she frets, and smooths her hands down the side of the ridiculously expensive dress. It’s far more than she’d ever imagined paying for a single piece of clothing; immediately checking the price tag and having a small coronary when Desi had shoved the garment in her direction. Money is of no concern; in a thousand lifetimes the personal bank account will never run dry, nor will there never be a steady flow of impressive income coming in. But it just isn’t who she is; a woman with her wardrobe filled with designer apparel, far more comfortable in sweats from Target and one of her husband’s ratty t-shirts. “I’m just not too sure about it.”

“What is there NOT to be sure about?” Her friend’s voice filters in from the waiting area. “It’s Herve Leger. One of his best pieces yet. And it’s fabulous and it will look even more fabulous on you.”

“It’s too short,” she laments, and tries in vain to pull the hem down closer to her knees. “I don’t have the legs for this.”

“You don’t need legs for days to slay in that dress. And Big E, I’ve seen you in shorts. I know you’ve got killer stems. You can definitely pull this off. You’re worrying over nothing.”

“But it’s too tight. Way too tight.”

Desi sighs in exasperation. “It’s supposed to be tight. It’s a bandage dress.”

“It shows my rolls.”

“Excuse you? WHAT roles? Like you have rolls. Bitch, please.”

“I’ve had seven kids. Believe me, I have rolls. I’m twenty pounds heavier than when I first met Tyler. Twenty-two, actually.”

“And does he give a shit? No. I bet he likes the curves. I don’t see him complaining. Or looking at other women. He only has eyes for you.”

“Most biased man on earth,” she mutters, and studies her form from all sides. Easily remembering what her body had looked like almost thirteen years ago; thin and toned and extremely fit. A far cry from the ‘softness’ she possesses now; dips and valleys and curves where none had ever existed before.

“Isn’t his opinion the only one that really matters? Doesn’t he find you a straight up hottie?”

“That is not the point. He could be just trying to spare my feelings, you know.”

Desi gives a derisive snort. “Isn’t he still tripping over himself trying to get into her pants every available chance he gets? Quit your bitching. You’ve got a beautiful man that worships at the temple of YOU. Now get out here and let me see you.”

“Rolls, Desi. I have rolls.”

“Bullshit. And even if you did, that dress is like a corset. All the different bands built in? They hold everything. And I doubt you have anything to hold in the first place. Don’t make me break down the door and drag you out here. I am not above creating a scene. You should know this by now.”

“Don’t you dare go full queen diva on me.”

“Oh, I will. I will kick that door in and drag your tiny ass on out here for the world to see. Desmond Brownell does not play games. He’s on a mission. And his mission is to see you in that Herve Leger. Don’t make me pull a mommy move. Don’t make me count to three.”

“I tend to go with five, but…”

“Five then. Don’t make me go that direction. Because it will not end well for you. Or me. There’ll be tears. And not on my part. And most likely security guards tossing us both out on our asses. So we do this either the easy way or the hard way. And believe me, you don’t want the hard way.”

Sighing heavily, she smooths down the back and sides of the dress and once more tries to pull the bottom closer to her knees. To no avail. It is so far out of her comfort zone; a woman that insists on always covering her bathing suit with a t-shirt and refuses to remove it. “I am going to sneak into your house at night and kill you in your sleep,” she declares, as she undoes the hook latch on the door and swings it open. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Keep your eyes closed. Until I tell you to open them.”

“I can’t believe YOU don’t realize that you’re a bonafide MILF. Even if it’s not for you, how bad could it be?”

“Ever seen a sausage when you try and stuff too much into the casing?”

“Have you ever talked to a shrink? You do not look the way you think you look. What DO you see when you look in the damn mirror?”

“I see gray hair, wrinkles, and stretch marks. I see frumpy and plain and boring and just…” sighing, she steps into the middle of the waiting area and frowns at her reflection being cast in several different mirrors. “...old. I see old.”

“I think you’ve done lost your damn mind. Shred brains cell with every baby you had. Because you sure as hell don’t look old. Not even close. Can I look yet?”

“Do you want to be traumatized?”

“Do you WANT me to beat your ass? Tell on you? I’ll tell your hubby. Don’t underestimate me. Then both of us will get on your ass and then what?”

“He’s hardly a good judge. He’d tell me I look good in a garbage bag. He is proof that love IS blind.”

“He is proof that there’s good men out there. Good loyal, faithful men. That love every inch of their woman. Inside and out. You know how lucky you are? To have someone like that? Do you see anyone strong enough to drag him off? I’m sure he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

“If the thirsty housewives back home and the new neighbour had their way, he’d be getting all kinds of ass. All kinds of variety.”

“What new neighbour?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you over lunch. But yeah, he’s got a harem of women that would love for him to be tapping it.”

“But he loves tapping YOUR ass. And only your ass. Does he have a brother? Have I ever asked that? A gay brother by chance? Or a gay friend? Bi friend? Help me out here.”

“No brothers. No siblings at all. No gay friends. Not that I know of. But you know who WOULD have a gay friend? My sister in law.”

“I thought he didn’t have siblings?”

“Not Tyler. My sister’s wife. Shaena. She’d for sure have gay friends. And hot ones. You’ve met her.”

“Both her and your sister are fine as hell. I wouldn’t mind getting in the middle of THAT. Hook a brother up. Make it happen. I’ll be at your little Aussie Christmas. Score me a date for then. In the meantime, can I open my eyes now? Don’t leave a brother hanging.”

“As long as you promise you won’t laugh.”

“I am calling you a psychiatrist. You need help.”

“Fine,” she turns her back towards her friends, hands perched upon her hips. “ Look. But no smart ass comments and no laughing. My confidence can’t take it.”

“Your confidence needs a serious makeover. Now let me see.”

She watches through the mirror as his eyes flutter opening; slowly widening as far as they possibly can, followed by a dramatic collapse back into his seat and a hand placed over his heart.

“Fuck…” she grimaces. “...that bad?”

“That bad? That GOOD. Desmond Brownell approves. You look…” he gives two chef’s kisses. “...delicious. I’d bang you. And I have high standards.”

“I’ve seen some of your dates. Your standards are questionable at best.”

“You wound me, Big E. Mortally wound me. That…” he nods in her direction. “...was made for you. Your body is tighter and hotter than you obviously realize. Curves like a back road. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“You don’t think it’s too much? Or should I say, too little? I am forty-one.”

“Who gives a shit? You look amazing.”

“I’ve had seven kids.”

“Especially amazing for someone that’s popped out that many crotch goblins. Sold. The dress is sold. This isn’t up for debate.”

“I can’t buy something like this. It’s just...not me.”

“It damn well is YOU. I’ll buy it for you. A little extra Christmas gift.”

“A thousand dollar dress is hardly a little Christmas gift. And it’s a little pricey, don’t you think? For fabric?”

“Honey, you really need to get out of Target and up your shopping game. I know how much money you all have, I know you can afford it. I know you could probably afford this whole store. And then some.”

“It isn’t about money. It’s about me. And being out of my comfort zone. I don’t dress like this. I live on the beach. In Australia. We wear shorts and tanks and never wear shoes. Where the hell would I wear this?”

“Date night.”

“Like we have places I could wear this to. I mean, I guess we could go to Cairns. I’ve seen women in some pretty expensive clothes there. I could always talk him into a weekend away. It wouldn’t be hard. And we are going to Santorini in April.”

“That’d be perfect for Santorini. Hell, just wear it in the house. In the bedroom. Just to spice things up a bit. I’m sure he doesn’t see you dressed up very often.”

“Try like never,” Esme laughs. “Okay, maybe that’s a lie. I DO wear makeup when we go out. And cute little sundresses.”

“What about when you got married?”

“I wore something off the clearance rack at a bridal store in Sydney. Cost a hundred bucks. It was nothing fancy.”

“But you wore a little tiara and veil and all that, right?”

“It wasn’t that kind of wedding. I was five months pregnant with Millie. It was a little wedding chapel. We had six guests. It wasn’t fancy.”

“E, you’ve been robbed. You need that bride moment. What about the first time?”

“Las Vegas. Even more casual. Zero out of five stars. Would not recommend.”

“Oh no, honey. No. That’s wrong. So wrong. You deserve so much better. You deserve a big day. You deserve to be a bride. A REAL bride. Poofy white dress, little bling in your hair, fancy little shoes…”

“Seven kids and I’m going to wear white? I think not.”

“I’m having a serious talk with that man of yours. Vow renewals are a thing you know.”

“He’s brought it up. A couple of times. Which is weird, because I never thought he’d ever think of something like that. This is Tyler we’re talking about. This is a man that can kill people with his bare hands. Who has his own brand of romance. Which I love, by the way. But it’s very odd he’d bring up something like that. Getting married again.”

“Maybe he wants to see you all done up. Looking like a bride.”

“Trust me, Des. Tyler doesn’t care about that stuff. That isn’t him.”

“Maybe he’s come to care about that stuff. Maybe he’s getting a softer side to him. Or, his soft side is getting even more soft.”

“Don’t ever tell him that. He’d kill YOU with his bare hands. Do you really think I should get this dress?”

“I think you’d be stupid not to. And you, are NOT a stupid woman. Treat yourself. You deserve it.”

“You know what? I do. I DO deserve it. And I think he’ll really like it. Maybe I’ll even give him a little sneak peek later. You know, to judge his reaction to it.”

“Oh I think I know what his reaction is going to be. Don’t wear any underwear. Just let him yank the dress up and have his way with you.”

“Maybe you know him better than I realize,” Esme laughs. “Fine. I’ll buy it. But if he hates it, I am totally throwing you under the bus.”

“Alright...alright…” Desi holds his hands up in surrender. “...I’ll take one for the team. Now get your little ass in there and get changed. This big man needs to eat.”

*****

“So this neighbour you mentioned,” Desi says, as he nods his appreciation at the hostess who seats them at their table, then gallantly pulls Esme’s chair out and waits for her to sit. “What’s that about?”

She rolls her eyes. “Natalie. She just moved in a few doors down. Her and her little girl.”

“Are you talking about the blond that has the goddamn gall to wear real fur?” Desi slides into the seat across from her. “The one that needs a chisel to take off her makeup at the end of the night?”

“That’s her. The one who looks like Sephora threw up on her face. Too bad you can’t apply makeup on the inside to make something more attractive. Because she is a real peach.”

“Bottle of your best house red,” Desi requests, and then flips open the leather bound menu placed in front of him. “How’d you meet her?”

“Well, it turns out she doesn’t just have the gall to wear real fur. She also has the gall to go after married men. And in this case, MY man.”

“Uh oh. Something tells me this didn’t end well.”

“I’m very protective of what’s mine. Maybe some people would call it possessive.”

“I definitely would call it that. Not that I blame you. I’d be the same way. Hell, I’d probably never let him leave the damn house.”

“I know what a good thing I have. I know how hot my husband is. I’ve seen him naked. Many times. What’s underneath? Even better than what’s on top. And what’s on top? That’s really damn good, know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean. And I’m just saying, I wouldn’t protest if you sent me nudes of him. Our little secret.”

“My husband IS hot. And he’s beautiful and he’s amazing and he’s this walking study in masculinity. But he’s just that. MY husband. I don’t share. With anyone.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve spent three years begging you just to let me cop a feel.”

“So I don’t appreciate some thirsty female from five doors down, honing in my territory. No one is pissing in my front yard. No one. And it’s not just that I’m possessive and there’s no way in hell I’m sharing great dick, but Tyler isn’t like that. He doesn’t do shit like that. He is a lot of things, but a cheater is not one of them. That is one thing I’ve never had to worry about. He is loyal. Fiercely loyal. And he’s had his chances. If he wanted to stray, he would have. Easily.”

“Never struck me as the type who would. He’s way too in love with you. Way too faithful. I see the way he looks at you. Stars and hearts in his eyes. He definitely thinks rainbows and butterflies fly out your ass. So this Natalie…”

“They met at the park. He took Tanner there; after their morning out. And this Natalie was there. Tyler made small talk. And small talk is even exaggerating. Tyler doesn’t do small talk. Any talk, for that matter.”

Desi nods in agreement. “Took me damn near a whole weekend just to get him to say two words. That voice though? Woody. Instant.”

“Well I guess Natalie took his small talk for something else entirely. Which I don’t get, because Tyler is civil, at best. He’s just not a people person. He tries. But you know what he’s like. How he comes across. He’s very rough around the edges and doesn’t take shit and doesn’t care for formalities. He’s a man of very few words. Whatever words he said, she read way too much into. She showed up at the house. Looking for him.”

Desi looks up from his menu, a scowl forming on his face. “She did not.”

“Oh, she very much did. And get this. She made him cookies.”

“What kind of cookies?”

Esme stares at him pointedly.

“I like details. I’m detail oriented. I can’t help it.”

“Oatmeal raisin.”

“The most traitorous cookie out of them all. For shame. I’m disappointed. If you want a man to climb in your bed, you don’t lead with oatmeal raisin. Please tell me your man don’t like that shit.”

“Rest assured, he hates them and your opinion and lust for him can stay intact. But you can believe that? She came calling on my husband. She brought him cookies. And I’m pretty sure if he’d been home, she would have offered him HER cookie.”

“Probably just as nasty as the ones she makes. Probably got cobwebs and dust bunnies and all that shit. Maybe even a barbed wire fence blocking the entrance. So what happened?”

“Well, she got the cold shoulder and snarkiness from Millie first.”

“That’s my girl.”

“And then I talked to her and she was bitchy and off hand and she’s lucky I didn’t throat punch her. She had all kinds of snarky things to say. About my name, about my appearance, about having so many kids. I let her know that I wasn’t having any of her shit. That I was onto her. I told her I didn’t know what kind of married men she was used to, but my husband isn’t one of them. That he wasn’t...and never would be...interested.”

“And?”

“And she left. We fed the cookies to the dogs. Or tried to. Even they didn’t like them. Man’s best friend, indeed.”

A waitress brings the wine; cheerfully introducing herself before taking their orders. Desi waits until she leaves before uncorking the bottle and filling both glasses. Offering a toast to a warm and safe Christmas holiday and the perks and perils of love and friendships. And they’re in the middle of sharing stories of his last trip to Australia -his encounters with the both the ‘friendly neighbourhood Aussies’ and the wildlife that so freely roams and enjoys their stretch of land- when her cell phone loudly vibrates within the confines of her purse. Had Tyler not been out with all of the children and it not been a common thing to often run into some kind of issues with handling so many bodies, she would have just ignored it. And she wishes she had; frowning at the number splashed across the screen and then dropping the phone back into her bag.

“Your mom again?”

Nodding, she takes a swallow of wine. “Third time already today. Only four or five more to go. Maybe she’ll even make it an even dozen before sundown.”

“Can she not read the signs? It’s quite obvious you don’t want to speak to her. What’s her issue?”

“It’s probably easier to ask ‘what isn’t her issue?’. There’s many. So very, very, VERY many.”

“I already know about what she was like you when were growing up. I’m surprised you turned out as normal and sane as you are. It’s more than that?”

“So much more, Des. Where do you want me to start?”

“Start with the biggest one. Or most recent.”

“She hates Tyler. With the passion of a thousand fiery suns. The seventh layer of hell? I don’t think that even burns as hot as her hate for him.”

“Why? He’s a good guy. Treats you right, loves his kids. Will fight like hell to protect what’s us. Die for it, even. What’s to hate?”

“So you know how Tyler and I met. The whole ‘pretend husband and wife’ thing.”

“Yeah, to find Ovi and save him. What about it?”

“Well you also know what happened. During those five days in Dhaka. Between Tyler and I. Believe me when I say that I’m not normally like that. Spend nearly a week banging a guy I barely know. Unprotected, at that. And at the risk of too much information, Tyler was only the third guy I’d ever been with. Sexually speaking. So what happened between us? Totally uncharacteristic for me. It was unconventional. How we met. But, it worked out. We wanted more. We wanted to get to know each other. See if we could make something out of nothing. And we did. We made a life. A beautiful life. And seven little human beings.”

“And she’s got a problem with that because…?”

“After what happened on the bridge, I decided to stay. At the hospital he was flown to in Mumbai. It was touch and go and he didn’t have anyone else and if he wasn’t going to make it, I didn’t want him to be alone. He deserved better than that. And a week later they brought him out of the medically induced coma and he was breathing on his own and he woke up and he was so happy to see me. You should have seen how he smiled at me, Des. He has a beautiful smile. But that? That smile he gave when he realized I was real and I was actually sitting there? By his bed? I had never seen anything like that and I’ve never seen anything like it since. He was happy and relieved and he wanted me there. He even said he was scared to close his eyes at night because he was afraid I wouldn’t be there when he woke up.”

“He was already head over heels for ya. Guess that was his way of telling you.”

“When the hospital said they were shipping him to another back in Australia, he asked if I would go with him. By then I was already invested. I mean, it was three weeks later and I’d already spent time helping him feed himself and getting him on his feet and to the bathroom and taking him to in-patient physio and all of that. I was already in love with him. Of course I was going to Australia. It was never in doubt.”

“And let me guess, it ruffled your mother’s feathers.”

Nodding, Esme takes a long sip of wine. “She wasn’t in control. Of me. And she couldn’t stand it. Neither she or my brothers no longer had in any say in how I was going to live my life. The Esme they knew? She died on that bridge. Or maybe she was left behind. I had a chance. To make a new life for myself. And I took it. I went to Australia and I decided that was where I wanted to be. I wanted to be with HIM. So I took what money we had and I got us an apartment and he put me in charge of handling everything; medical decisions, financial stuff. And then, I found out I was having Millie. Which, to be honest, wasn’t a huge surprise because what do you expect when you spend five days having totally unprotected sex? And I told Tyler and I gave him a choice. If he didn’t want me or the baby, I’d walk away and I’d go home and I’d never contact him again. I told him I didn’t expect anything from him. And I didn’t want him feeling obligated to me or the baby.”

“That must have went over well.”

“Well, needless to say, he wanted the baby. And me. So I stuck around. I was by his side through his whole hospital stay and through all the therapy and his stint in rehab and then we settled down in our new life. And we got married and had Millie. My family? They couldn’t stand it. They couldn’t accept it. They couldn’t accept HIM.”

“All because you decided to make a new life for yourself?”

“That was it. Tyler became public enemy number one. My mom convinced everyone that he stole me away. That he was manipulative and abusive and that I was scared to leave him.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Right? Tyler is so far from manipulative or abusive. He lived that life. He was on the receiving end of that. And he’s tried his hardest not to walk in his father’s footsteps. And believe me, he’s nothing like his old man. Not in the slightest. But no matter how much or how hard I argue, she doesn’t listen to me. She sees him as this horrible person. That took her baby girl away. And when he had the nerve to stick up for me? Against her and my brothers? That made things worse! You think they would have been happy. I found this amazing man who’s totally in love with me; who sees past all my bullshit and my ugly parts. That should have been enough for them. A guy that’s made me the centre of his universe. Who makes me happy and who I love more than I ever thought I COULD love someone. Who helped me make seven incredible little human beings. Why isn’t any of that enough?”

“I don’t know,” Desi says. “I wish I did. I wish I had the answers. ALL the answers.”

“Yet they practically idolize Mark. It makes no sense. They knew what he was like. They knew he was abusive. And they enabled him. They gaslighted me just as much as he did. And I would have left a thousand times over had they not constantly pressured me into giving him another chance. Had they not convinced me that everything was my fault. My mom stayed friends with him. Right up until he died. What kind of sick person does that? Stays friends with their own kid’s abuser?”

“You hit the nail on the head. A sick one.”

“Constantly kissing his ass and making him out to be some kind of white knight yet having all this shit to say about Tyler. They hate him because he refuses to be like them. Because he stands up to them. Because for once, someone loves me enough to have my back. That’s it. That’s why they hate him. And the things they’ve said? Especially since finding out he’s a mercenary? Constantly wishing death on him? Saying him dying would be the best thing to happen to me and the kids? Who says things like that? I almost lost Addie because of her. I came back from Ireland because I found out I was pregnant and my mom got on her bullshit and I almost lost my baby. Tyler came all the way back just to make sure I was okay. He wouldn’t have done it if he’s even a fraction as evil as they claim he is.”

“You realize it that isn’t really about him, right? That it’s all them. Because they don’t have that control. Over you.”

“I thought it would be all over and done with when we kicked my brother to the curb. I thought once he and Tyler had it out and Tyler kicked the shit out of him, that would be it. That we’d never hear from any of them again. You know how peaceful it’s been? Five years of no phone calls, no text messages, no emails. Five years of pure bliss. And now this…” she nods down at the purse sitting in her lap. “...her on my ass every day, multiple times a day. Isn’t it enough that I acknowledge that the kids received their Christmas gifts? That I showed appreciation and I said they’d send thank you cards? You think that would be enough. Our lives have been so good. Quiet and happy and peaceful. And it’s like she knows that. It’s like she knows how good things are and just has to screw it all up.”

“Normally I say just ignore them. Just wash toxic people out of your life and keep them out of your life. But if she’s as determined as she is, it’s only going to get worse. She won’t stop trying to get a hold of you. And as hard as it’ll be to talk to her, that might be the only way to get her to stop. Let her know. Say ‘thanks, but no thanks’.”

“I can not allow her back into my life. OUR lives. I can’t allow any of them back in. I will NOT have my kids surrounded by that ugliness. I will not have people around them that talk shit about their father. Because you know what? I know he’s not perfect. I know he has his issues. He’s the first one to admit it. But he is an amazing dad and he is totally devoted to those kids and they love him beyond all comprehension. And I won’t allow people to talk about him like that. I won’t allow them to break my kids’ hearts…” her voice cracks with emotion, and she takes a swallow of wine to clear away the lump sitting square in her throat. “....I won’t let anyone talk about Tyler like that. He’s not a perfect man, but he’s a good man. And he loves me and he loves his kids. He saved me, Des. In every way a person can be saved. And I won’t let anyone disrespect him like that.”

“Tell them that. Tell them EXACTLY that.”

“I have. I have said it until I was practically blue in the face. They don’t care. They say I’m ‘defending my abuser’. In what alternate universe is he considered an abuser? He has never...ever...raised a hand to me. He’s always said he’d kill himself before he ever let things get that out of control. That he’d never be able to live with himself if he even thought about hurting me like that. And maybe in a way, I DO understand some of the way they think. He’s lived a hard life. A violent life. First the military, then as a mercenary. Yes, he’s killed people. With his bare hands. But he’s never done it because he wanted to. Or because he enjoyed it. He did it because he HAD to. Because it was either him or them. He is not a monster. Regardless of what they think. Or even he thinks sometimes.”

“You’ve never been scared of him?”

“Never. And you know what? If he WANTED to, he could do some serious damage to me. He could kill me. No question about it. But that thought has never, ever crossed my mind. I’ve never been afraid of him. Not even at his worst. When he went back to drinking all the time and abusing the pain meds and we fought constantly. And yeah, there were times he DID lose it. Where he put a fist through the wall or grabbed me trying to stop me from walking away or trying to calm me down and talk some sense into me. But I’ve never been scared of him. Because even at his worst, I knew he loved me. I knew none of his issues were about me. That was him and his brain and not knowing how to cope. And they just don’t get it. They think he’s somehow frightened me into sticking around. That he’s been forcing me to have children. Because it somehow keeps me around.”

“Sounds more like they have the issues. Not you guys.” Desi reaches for the bottle of wine, refilling both their glasses.

“We’re not perfect. And Lord knows we have had some really shitty times. Where we didn’t think we were going to make it. But you know what? We did. We fixed our shit and we made things work. We both busted our asses to change. And he still busts his ass every day to make up for all the bad. We work at it, Des. Every day we work at it. Because we love each other and we both know what it's like to be from a broken home. And we won’t do that to our kids. We won’t let them grow up like that. So we work at it. And it hasn’t been easy. But there’s been more great times than bad times.”

“You two are strong. What you got is strong. No one can deny that. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.”

“I will not let my family ruin us. They tried. And in Colorado, they almost succeeded. But we got away. We moved back home. Our REAL home. And we never looked back. I won’t let them destroy things for us. Not when we’ve worked so hard to get where we are.”

“You’re going to have to deal with her, Esme. She isn’t going to go away. Not from what I’ve seen.”

“And I will. I WILL talk to her. After Christmas. I just want to get through the holiday. I just want things to be happy and peaceful. Especially for the kids. I don’t want anyone ruining Christmas for them. Once it’s over and things calm down, I WILL talk to her. But right now? I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“It’s all going to be alright,” Desi assures her, and reaches across the table to give her hand a comforting squeeze. “Everything’s going to work out.”

“Tyler isn’t perfect. He’s the first one to admit that. In the same way I’m not. But you know what? We’re perfect for each other. And in the end, that’s all that matters.”

*****

When she arrives home she finds the three littlest fast asleep; tightly snuggled together on the area rug in front of the Christmas tree and covered by the knitted throw usually draped over the back of the sofa. Saju and Mac nap close by; curled up together in front of the front of the fireplace and merely blinking their eyes in a form of acknowledging her presence. She can hear Millie and Alannah upstairs; giggling and chattering, their feet stomping overhead as they play a dance game on the XBox. The three oldest boys are out in the backyard; laughter drifting inside as they hide behind ‘fortress’ walls and lob snowballs at one another. It's rare to see the three of them enjoying time together. Tanner normally not comfortable with the more raucous play and choosing quiet time; up in his room reading a book or writing stories or building intricate lego scenes in front of the fireplace.

She stands in the sunroom and watches them; smiling at how jovial and lighthearted they are. Their faces bright and happy; no cares in the world aside from the balls of snow and ice being tossed in their direction. Despite everything they’d been through, they’re spirits so brilliant and bubbly, continuing to love the world and everyone in it. Tanner and TJ (along with Millie) are able to remember the more difficult times in Colorado and being whisked to Mumbai under false pretenses; told they were going on a family vacation only to be sent back to Australia without either parent and then told their father very well might never come home. They still talk about it from time to time; how scary it had been to be away from both mom AND dad and how worried they’d been when they thought their daddy may never make it back to them. They’re able to vividly recall visiting him in the hospital; the scars and bruises on his face that had been in various stages of healing, the sling keeping his badly wounded and surgically repaired shoulder in place, the ‘cage’ that had encased his right thigh, the tremendous amount of weight and muscle he had lost. It HAD been traumatic; more than two months without their father under the same roof and seeing him so wounded and vulnerable.

They’d needed their own therapy; the trauma manifesting itself through moments of rage and aggression and troubles sleeping at night. A child psychologist recommended to them by Doctor Klein had done them all a world of good; disguising therapy with music and play and helping them express their emotions and their fears. And within six months they were back to their old selves; grades climbing and their social skills improving, the rage and aggression diminishing. It still haunts them from time to time; a fear that returns whenever daddy has to leave home for work. But for the most part they’ve healed exceptionally well; full of energy and light and humour and possessing enormous amounts of compassion and empathy.

She finds Tyler in the main floor office; a central area of the main floor that had been the previous owner’s sewing and craft room. It’s close enough to keep an ear out for the kids; able to hear them both inside and out. And a security system enables him to keep an eye on any area of the house; live images cast back to the flat screen television mounted on the wall above the desk. Five years years ago she would have called him paranoid for insisting on such measures. Overprotective, even. But that was until someone had gotten close enough to Addie to steal a stuffed animal right out of her crib. Had the culprit wanted her, she would have been long gone in the middle of the night. And they most likely never would have seen her again. The terror of that night is still very real; the thought of someone reaching across her tiny body to take something so simple in the course of sending a very clear message.

After that, Esme had vowed to never call him paranoid or overprotective again. Evil had gotten too close. WAY too close. And she now understands his fierce and rabid determination to do whatever it takes to keep his family safe.

She watches him from the doorway; intently working at the computer. Admiring the glasses perched upon his face and the lines of his profile; the strong, stubbled jaw and the curve of his lips and the bump in the bridge of his nose. The scars that had long ago become part of him. Marring the left side of his forehead and by his left eye; old wounds that he’d possessed when they’d first met. A handful of others have been added since then. The edge of a metal shovel cutting wide and deep; the scar travelling from the very corner of his right eye and up his forehead and snaking up into his hairline. And the ones left behind from Nathan. The one above his eyebrow thin and faint, the one below his eye much wider and jagged and stretching all the way to his temple. That one had been the worst; deep enough for the knife blade to hit bone and cause irreparable damage to nerves and muscle. And while most would see them as blemishes and flaws, she sees it as adding to his beauty; souvenirs of not only a hard and dangerous life, but of survival.

“Hey,” she greets as she wanders into the room. “What’cha doing, handsome?”

“Just some shit that came up. I would have ignored it, but…”

She stands at the back of his chair. Fingers and thumbs rubbing at tense shoulder muscles before wrapping both arms around his neck; leaning over him and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, followed by his temple. “Everything alright?”

“Koen ran into some issues. On the job he took. Not going as smooth as we’d hoped it would. Just had to send him some extra cash. And put him in contact with someone who could get him some extra gear.”

“He’s alright though? He’s not in any trouble?”

“He’s fine. Nothing he can’t handle. I know I said I wouldn’t bother with work stuff until we go back home, but…”

“Sometimes it can’t be helped. It’s the nature of the beast. It isn't the most predictable of careers. I’m glad to see you survived your day out with the spawn. Is your sanity still intact?”

“What was left of it. I don’t know how much I had to begin with.”

“I also noticed all seven AND Alannah made it back. Success.”

“They were good. No trouble. They all behaved themselves. Shockingly.”

“Your feral offspring all behaving at once? Hell must have frozen over.”

He gives a small chuckle, then turns his face into her and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. A frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he pulls back to look at her.

“What’s that look for?”

“Why do you still have your hat on? It’s fucking boiling in here.”

“It’s part of my surprise. I have something to show you.”

“Yeah?” A slow grin begins to spread across his face. “I’ve already seen you naked. Many times. Not that it’s not awesome each time it happens. I’m not complaining.”

“As much as I’d love to just drop my clothes right here and rock your world, it’s something else. I did something. While I was out.”

“New ink?”

“Nope.”

“You got something pierced, didn’t you. Something naughty. Something very naughty.”

“You wish. Those days are long behind me. But it is a surprise. And I want you to promise you won’t freak out. When you see it.”

“How bad is it? Usually when you tell me not to freak out, it’s pretty fucking bad.”

“It’s not bad. It’s just...surprising. You ready?”

“Is it a good thing I’m already sitting down?”

“It’s probably for the best. Turn your chair towards me and close your eyes.”

“Esme…”

“Tyler…”

“What the hell have you done?”

“Just do it. Humour me. Please.”

“Fine.” Turning his back towards the computer, he closes his eyes. “This isn’t where you tell me you want to try pegging is it? Because I thought I’ve already made it perfectly clear that there is no fucking chance of that happening. EVER.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s nothing sexual. Get your mind out the gutter, sheesh.”

“I’m sorry, have we met? It permanently lives in the gutter.”

“Never mind viagra. Maybe they can give you something to calm your dick down.”

“You’d miss it. Don’t deny it. It would hurt you just as much as it would hurt me. Are we going to do this surprise sometime today or…?”

Removing the knit beanie from her head, she tosses it out the desk and then runs her fingers through her hair. She feels naked and exposed; the dark tresses that had once reached the middle of her back now shorn and styled into a side parted, sleek bob that skims her earlobes. “Promise you won’t freak out.”

“I promise I won’t lose my shit.”

“Okay...open them...but remember, no freaking out.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is. If it’s nothing dirty or kinky or piercing of some kind…” His eyes flutter open, then slowly widen as the reality of what’s before him sets in.

“You hate it don’t you.”

“I don’t hate it. I just...wow...that’s...NOT what I was expecting.”

“You do, don’t you. Hate it. I knew you would. You always hate when I do something with my hair. Like when I decided to get bangs.”

“In all fairness, I didn’t hate them. I just wasn’t a fan.”

“But you HATE this? This haircut. You hate it being so short, don’t you.”

“Actually…” he slides the chair closer to her and lays his hands on her hips. “...I love it.”

“Yeah?” A smile replaces the nervous frown. “Really?”

“Really. I wouldn’t lie to you, Me. That’s not who I am. Not anymore, anyway.”

“You sure you like it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“I think you look beautiful. It suits you. You got this cute, tiny little face. Your hair shows it off. I really do love it. You look amazing.”

Placing her hands on the sides of his face, she leans down to kiss him. “It was time for a change. Something different. Something I didn’t have to spend hours on when we go out. You’re sure? One hundred percent? You really do love it?”

“I do. You look beautiful.” Laying a palm on the back of her head, he pulls her down into a kiss. And she laughs into his mouth when his free hand latches onto her hip and she loses her balance and topples into him. “You’re beautiful, Me. Always.”

“I really was worried you wouldn’t like it,” she says, as she settles herself sideways on his thighs. “So you’ve made my day. My year, actually.”

“It suits you. You look amazing, baby. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“Speaking of making my year, I’m about to make yours.”

“We’re talking about butt stuff, aren’t we.”

“No!” she laughs, and playfully tousles his hair. “I mean, maybe later. When the kids are out.”

“Where are they going? You banishing them to the backyard?”

“Desi offered to take them.”

“All of them?”

“Every last one. Even Alannah. He’s going to take them out for dinner and to Central Park. To see Santa and the reindeer. Maybe do some skating. And then, he’s going to take them to his place. They’re going to have a camp out. In the living room.”

“So we get the house to ourselves? All night?”

“All night,” she confirms. “And well into the morning. You know what that means?”

“Butt stuff.”

She sighs in exasperation. “I means you don’t have to wait until New Years Eve for wild and crazy AND noisy sex with your wife.”

“We might have to tone down the noise. The kids will be right next door. They could still hear us.”

“That’s a fair point. So noisy is out. But wild and crazy are definitely in.”

Tyler grins. “I can do wild and crazy.”

“Oh, I know you can. You’re a master at it. A master at anything sexual, now that I think about it. Man, did I ever luck out. Landing you.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m the lucky one. Girl like you putting up with my shit? You’re one in a million, babe. No doubt about it.”

“I love you,” she says, pressing a kiss to his ear and then nuzzling his temple with the tip of her nose. “More than you could ever know. And thank you. For being you. And for loving me the way you do.”

Smiling, he turns his face into hers and places his lips to her brow; a hand coming up to comb through her hair, palm settling on the nape of her neck. “You’ve made it pretty damn easy.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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feral-bard · 5 years ago

Text

further good omens fic recs

It’s been awhile since my last reclist post so here goes, please enjoy the rewards of my complete lack of self-control when it comes to this ship.

Please reach out if I’ve missed a tumblr tag, or drop a note if you have any recommendations I’ve missed! ( 31 recommendations underneath the cut )

(51k) Acts of Service by seekwill / @jasmine-cottage-uk

After receiving direct instruction from God, village reverend Aziraphale leaves his countryside congregation to serve the underserved and in-need at an urban church in London, a transition made all the more complicated by the mysterious and handsome Crowley, who always seems to appear when Aziraphale least expects him.

mood: pining, denial, secrets, idiots-in-love.

(Warning: Don’t start reading this one at midnight expecting to put it down. Learn from my mistakes.)

(44k) Mirror, Mirror by ImprobableDreams900 / @improbabledreams900

Crowley from an evil!au swaps places with our Crowley.

mood: butterfly effect, identity theft, Aziraphale!whump, badass!Aziraphale

(40k) The Strong Tower by BuggreAlleThis

After the failed executions, a vengeful angel takes it upon herself to neutralise the threat presented by Crowley and Aziraphale.

mood: aziraphale!whump, protective!crowley, hurt/comfort, pining and fantastic world building.

(23k) You Might Think I'm Crazy (All I Want is You) by soft_october / @soft-october-night

Since the next shop over closed down, Aziraphale's had a peaceful few months, barring those unpleasant interactions with the men in cheap suits who keep trying to persuade him to sell his shop. But now a (handsome) new owner has taken up residence beside him and, horror of horrors, he wants to open up a coffee shop.

mood: fledgling friendships, obviously-in-love-to-everyone-but-themselves, almost-letting-your-doubts-and-insecurities-ruin-things, if-only-these-dumb-bastards-knew-how-to-communicate

(23k) names in history by lagaudiere

Maybe he’d shown Crowley how to perform a few miracles, but that Crowley had taken to them so well was surely a sign that he wasn’t all bad. And maybe Aziraphale had let himself be called upon to perform a few temptations, but that was just testing the will of the faithful if you looked at it from a different angle.

mood: slow-burn, through-the-ages, beautifully written.

(22k) This Soul Outstreaming by Rend_Herring

Aziraphale constructs intricate rituals to touch the skin of other men (by “men” I mean Crowley).

mood: slow-burn, through-the-ages, forbidden love, UST, beautifully written.

(29k) 5 Times Aziraphale was Almost Discorporated and One Time He Actually was by charliebrown1234 / @charliebrown1234

What it says on the tin.

mood: Aziraphale!whump through the ages, protective Crowley, hurt/comfort, wonderful characterizations.

(20k) In Pleasure's Clothes by obstinatrix, wishwellingtons

Three Times Aziraphale Stalked Crowley In Gay Clubs And One Time He Moped At Wilde’s Grave.

mood: jealousy, pining, miscommunications, idiots-in-love

(18k) Soft (A Love Story in Three Bites) by mia_ugly / @mia-ugly

Crowley was an angel, once. Before she fell. Aziraphale was a warrior (she fell too. It just took a little longer.)

mood: ineffable wives thoughtfully done and beautifully written, pining, emotional vulnerability, hurting the ones you love, references to gothic romances that absolutely slay me, switching POVs between Aziraphale and Crowley.

(18k) On Earth as it is in Heaven by JMA

Aziraphale was at Crowley's trial...the first one.

For six thousand years Aziraphale felt like an angel who has fallen, waiting for Heaven to realise. His fear and doubt has shaped and defined him. Now, with the Armageddon over and Heaven and Hell off their backs it is finally time to come clean.

mood: betrayal, pining, misguided attempts at atonement, miscommunication and forgiveness

(15k) Through Every Door by darlingred1 / @darlingred1

After thwarting the end of the world, Aziraphale begins to avoid Crowley, and Crowley accidentally awakens his own repressed lust.

mood: mutually-pining-idiots, miscommunication, immortal-beings-taking-turns-with-their-single-brain-cell, surprisingly-Crowley-has-first-dibs

(16k) Least of All by stereobone / @stereobone

Every so often, Crowley talks to God.

mood: Crowley worrying after Aziraphale through the ages. Beautifully written, fantastic Crowley perspective.

(14k) Wine Fraud and Other Worthy Pursuits by ImprobableDreams900 / @improbabledreams900

When Aziraphale, rare book dealer and part-time wine collector, encounters a bottle of 1844 Château Lafite-Rothschild he suspects isn't all that it claims, he becomes determined to track down the truth.

Unfortunately, the finger of suspicion seems to point at fellow wine collector Anthony J. Crowley, whom Aziraphale is already well on his way to befriending.

mood: suspicious Aziraphale and fledgling friendships

(12k) Laugh When It Sinks In by Tenoko1 / @tenoko1

Crowley stopped them in their trek, slipping his arm from Aziraphale’s grasp to face him, hands on his shoulders. “Are you sure you’re alright? A-are you having, like, a mid-life crisis or something now that Heaven’s cut you loose? You’re worrying me. What’s next? Cherry red sports car?”

mood: making a home for yourself and your charmingly oblivious life partner

(10k) The Original Bar Joke by deathbycoldopen / @deathbycoldopen

The way Crowley saw things, it was all one big joke, with him as the punchline.

mood: drunk!pining, idiots-in-love, jealous!Crowley, straw-that-broke-the-camel's-back moments, drunk!confessions

(8k) did you open up your heart there? by weatheredlaw / @weatheredlaw

Aziraphale and Crowley meet over and over and over again. Aziraphale doesn't know what Crowley is, or why their souls can't seem to be parted, but he is a creature of love, and he's not going to argue with that.

mood: ready to have your heart broken over and over and over?

(7k) The Ark by rfsmiley / @redfacesmiley

We’ve all been assuming that it takes them 6,000 years to figure it out, but what if it takes 6,300?

Or: the ineffable husbands evacuate a dying Earth.

mood: ineffable dystopian sci-fi romance (and yes, I love that this is a mood I can use to describe a good omens fic).

(7k) Where Thou Art by Mottlemoth / @mottlemoth

A late-night bus to London, a few human comforts, and a long overdue confession... nothing will ever be the same for an angel and his demon.

mood: we-might-be-dead-by-tomorrow-love-confessions

(5k) Love Stories by goodomensblog / @goodomensblog

Crowley goes too slow, Aziraphale drinks copious amounts of alcohol, and the bookshop is (very nearly) set on fire. Again.

mood: drinking because you’re an idiot in love (or because you’re in love with an idiot), looking after your drunk mate (only he’s not your mate he’s the love of your life and he’s finally starting to get that)

(4k) A Metaphor Of Some Kind by copperbadge / @copperbadge

After the world doesn't end, Hell gets Crowley and Heaven gets Aziraphale, but not for very long.

mood: witty with great voices, loads of fun

(4k) One Sweet Moment Set Aside For Us by Arej

Tattoos are like stories you write on your skin, and they'll say things for you if you'll let them. Or perhaps prompt other people to say things.

Or, Crowley is just drunk enough to get bold and let his guard down, and it leads to something he never thought he'd be allowed to have.

mood: pining, touching, reverance, love confessions

(3k) Something To Talk About by iamtheenemy (Steph)

Aziraphale jumps to some very inaccurate conclusions.

mood: pining and misconceptions, let’s see if we can make Crowley have an aneurysm.

Wow! Thanks for scrolling this far! You’ve unlocked the secret “I’ll be in my bunk” section of the rec list! ;)

(That’s not to say the fics above don’t have their own hot scenes, or that the fic below are only pwp, but these are the fics where the plot is either focused mostly on sex or the build-up to sex.)

(4k) left with no trace, as if not spoken to by drawlight / @drawlight

Aziraphale's finger brushes against the edge of Crowley's hand. The theater is packed, it is dark. Everyone is watching the stage (no one is watching them). "Do you - ?" "Yeah, angel."

mood: Shakespeare may not have deserved this, but this reader is glad this exists.

(4k) I Tempt, You Thwart... Right? by AEpixie7 / @knightofthesevenfandoms

Crowley accidentally-on-purpose roofies Aziraphale and then feels bad about it because Aziraphale is so high that he can't remember how to sober up.

mood: serious wing kink, drug-induced-loss-of-inhibitions

(6k) Appetite by spunknbite / @spunknbite

Crowley places the macaron against Aziraphale’s lips with more reverence than the angel had thought him capable. “It’s alright, angel. Just take a bite.”

mood: drunk sex, overcoming inhibitions, first time, hand feeding

(6k) The Better Part of Valour by obstinatrix

Said I, a few weeks ago: "I feel there’s also room for e.g. bedsharing fic where the apocalypse has Not Happened and they’ve fallen into queerplatonic (or so they think) bedsharing and Crowley thinks he’s alone in being driven slowly to distraction by it, so he says nothing. Then one night he wakes when it’s still dark, and at first he doesn’t know why, until he hears Aziraphale’s breathing a little raspier than usual, and feels the very slight trembling of the bed."

mood: bed-sharing-with-serious-insecurities-and-misunderstanding

(7k) a treatise on your fingers in my hair by Nimravidae / @tooeasilyconsidered

Crowley sleeps for two days, his hair is a mess, and all it takes is a touch. Like a catalyst. Like striking flint, like a matchstick, like touching fire to gunpowder

mood: all that pent up UST has to go somewhere

(9k) Released by vaguely_concerned / @vaguely-concerned

After they get together Aziraphale has some lingering Ideas about his brief stint in the Bastille; Crowley is happy to help him explore them. Hijinks, as they say, ensue.

mood: french revolution era role play w/ feelings, fantastic dialogue.

(17k) One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan / @seaskystone

Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it.

mood: flirting and first times

You’re still here? Can’t get enough? Well check out these amazing WIPs!

Slow Show by mia_ugly / @mia-ugly

The Ineffable Pining Showmance AU that no one asked for.

mood: a more accurate summary would be the: ineffable pining showmance AU that no one knew to ask for, and everyone wanted more of. The characterizations in this are amazing. Crowley as a fallen film star is perfection.

Shifting Heaven and Earth by BuggreAlleThis

For most of history, since he narrowly avoiding Falling from Heaven with Lucifer, Crowley has been working for the Angelic Corruption Unit. This ended up being far more boring than he hoped it would be, but things change when he is assigned to go undercover on Earth. His mission is to investigate Aziraphale, an infamous angel who has been on Earth since its Creation, and whom Heaven is sure is guilty of corruption or dereliction of duty.

mood: slow-burn, betrayal, regrets, aziraphale!whump, bamf!aziraphale

the bucket list by darcylindbergh / @forineffablereasons

If you’re going to go native, you might as well go all the way.

mood: saying the absolutely wrong thing at the wrong time, reaching your breaking point, miscommunication and heart break.

Still here? :)

My previous good omens recs post can be found here [x]

#good omens fic #good omens recs #good omens fic recs #my fic recs #good omens #ineffable hubands #ineffable husbands fic #good omens fic rec

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claramurphyqueenoffandoms · 4 years ago

Text

My Impressions: "The Little Mermaid Medley" by VoicePlay

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Wait, Little Mermaid had a song like that in it? I like that style. Very nicely done, guys.

Serious vibes of VoicePlay Disney Princess Rachel Potter Collab Medleys right now. This is just, like, their thing. Fun beginning song (with Eli, too!), then Rachel’s princess “I Want” song. It’s also similar to their collab with Adriana.

“The girl who has everything”. Wasn’t that a TTS song? (now I want that VP cover of Ready As I’ll Ever Be even more)

Rachel’s got a good voice, all right.

That transition, y’all.

Oh my gosh, that “going up there” sounded AMAZING. This is gonna be a J song.

“What more is you looking for?” is so familiar.

Oh, wait, they did “Under the Sea” in their Sidekicks Medley, and Geoff did that part (but I guess with a different verse)

Definitely a J song. Slay those riffs.

Ooh, this part is a jam! Rachel goes into her thing, and then everything goes fun.

GEOFF, your bass riff, oh my gosh.

W…why? Why a snail? Why a J Snail? Just… why?

Sweet key change though.

Aaaand swiftly transition from fun sidekick to creepy henchman.

Those two are probably the best at being creepy henchmen. Earl was good, too.

Weird visual effect there.

Ooh, Geoff getting another villain song, I see. Should’ve figured.

This is probably the most of this song I’ve actually ever heard (except that one single time I watched the movie ages ago). I’ve only ever heard tiny snippets in medleys.

But seriously, that little “I’ve been a nasty” just sounded so good. I don’t even know why, I just love it.

Henchmen. Really trying to be creepy. End up kind of funny.

Ooh, that was cool. Fire in his eyes.

Vocal effects, interesting.

“Pathetic.”

So many visual effects in this one, gosh. I’m not used to this.

DUDE, that was cool sounding. Geoff goes high, then the harmonies!

Was that a sweet little riff there in the background, Eli?

Geoff: “Crying SPELLS—” Harmonies: “Ursula, please!” So nice.

Little country accent slipping in there on “yes I do”

Geoff, man, why do you want Rachel’s voice? Your voice is AMAZING. As evidenced from the way you even SAID you wanted her voice.

Nice little bit of acting there in the decision, Rachel.

Oh, I’m just remembering that Earl did this part in the Medley. Not going as high as he did on that bit, though.

OH MY GOSH YOU GO SUPER HIGH AND THEN JUST DRONE DOWN INTO THE DEPTHS AND WHAT

The spell sounds so creepy

SING.

Oh man, Phantom of the Opera vibes. Why’s VoicePlay always stealing her voice?

Sweet vocal effects making her voice go out of her.

What is this, Layne?

Oh no. This song.

This actually sounds a little like Be Our Guest… oh wait, never mind. Violently killing fish.

Is the French laugh just part of the lyrics? As in, part of the rhymes and everything?

Layne gets the weird songs in these Disney Princess Medleys, like, every time.

Whoop, never mind, Eli is a bird now.

Vocal… Romantic… Stimulation. Mission… Quest… Thing.

Ooh, such a smooth voice. Eli, you are GOOD.

Rachel looks so awkward at the start of this one.

Geoff’s “Sing it with me now…” What does that remind me of? He did something similar to that in something else. Was it the Moana one?

Pretty fireflies.

Nice dance moves, Rachel.

And back to the Bird Eli being weird.

Normal Eli is looking at Bird Eli funny. I mean, I would look at a squawking Bird-Me funny, too.

No, no, everybody is looking at him funny.

Those were some interesting sounds, Layne. Also, can I just say, his beatboxing has been on point this whole time?

Ooh, is Rachel getting a villain song too?

Man, she’s killing it. Maybe she should get villain songs more often.

OH THAT EVIL LAUGH FROM RACHEL TO GEOFF

The glowing voice breaking out and the reflection in Geoff’s eyes is just visually pleasing

He just really looks like a creepy old sea sorcerer, but also super cool, like not how you think of creepy old guys (because, ya know, it's Geoff).

I’m suddenly thinking of how this could be an alternate version of the story with the villain being like that.

I almost feel like this is them telling the whole story, but it doesn’t have the final battle. I mean, the final battle doesn’t have a song, so that’s fine. But it just seems odd for the voice to break out for no reason. #WriterNitpicks

Why does Geoff’s “No” look out of sync? Is that on purpose or something, because it seems to fit the voice going out, as if hers breaking out is taking his with it.

Geoff is just staring into the abyss now.

Rachel’s voice gets closer, and you can just HEAR it. It’s so cool.

Oh, that last note as she gets her voice back and the harmonies go into the last song. Ahh.

Geoff is still just staring, by the way, doing his bass part motionlessly. Defeated, I guess.

Rachel, your VOICE. I’m starting to see why Geoff wanted it.

WHOA WHOA WHOA, is this foreshadowing?!

No, like, is Rachel going to become part of their world? Is that what this is? Is that why they keep trying to steal her voice? Is Rachel singing “part of your world” meaning she’s going to officially join VoicePlay, and be officially a part of that world?

Also, am I reading too much into this? I think I could be. Maybe just disregard everything I just said.

...

But I swear, if she does join VoicePlay, I am going to know this was foreshadowing, and I WILL say I told you so.

Anyway...

Wait, wait, who did that “Sing it with me now”? That wasn’t Geoff, was it? It almost sounded like him, but I saw him, that wasn’t him.

Was that J? I think that was J. That’s kind of cool.

Also, I’m just noticing J’s red fingerless gloves, and they’re very nice.

Costumes are actually pretty chill in this one, if that makes sense. Not crazy over the top. Well, except Bird-Eli. And Geoff is purple.

That’s not to say they didn’t do an epic job on it, because they totally did! The costumes fit the roles really well, they look great, but they aren’t so over the top as to distract from the actual people and the talent.

Nice ending. They always make the last chord count.

Oh, slipped it in. “Pathetic.” XD

And… the remix? Apparently? Very odd. Geoff’s good, though.

…

Geoff did a LOT in this one. I think he got the majority of the video, just because of that one song.

I forgot how much I loved Geoff, actually.

I think this is the third Disney Princess Medley they’ve done (well, except for that Tangled one they did with aca-Disney). I wonder how many of them they’re going to do.

(I really really want them to do Ready As I’ll Ever Be, please please please please pl-)

Overall, very good. I only ever watched this movie once, when I was like twelve, and I did not like it. So I only know maybe three of the songs, and even that’s because of VoicePlay’s other medleys.

So to put it simply, VoicePlay is the master of taking songs I’ve never heard from movies I don’t like (or haven’t watched, in other cases), and making me love them just through their own sheer talent.

This whole thing is just SO FUN, thank you very much. I think it will be on repeat for quite a while.

#VoicePlay #first impressions #and second impressions #basically a lot of my thoughts on this thing #listen to voiceplay you guys #they are amazing #dead serious though #rachel potter #she is almost certainly gonna be the next new member of VoicePlay #i've said it before and i'll say it again #and if it is true?#I'm kinda looking forward to it #(also Geoff is amazing)#(nuff said)

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gravecinema · 5 years ago

Video

youtube

Why Buffy the Vampire Slayer is Important - 05/09/2020

Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a very important piece of fiction. No, I’m not talking about the groundbreaking television series that premiered in 1997, ran for seven seasons, and spawned a spin-off that ran for five (I’ll get to that some other time). I am referring to the redheaded step child of a movie from the early 90’s that came before it. The movie version of Buffy the Vampire Slayer is one of the most important vampire movies ever made. I will also say that it is pretty clearly not the best vampire movie ever made, but it’s impact on the genre continues to be felt on the big screen, and most importantly on the small screen, even to this day.

Released in July of 1992, Buffy the Vampire Slayer was directed by Fran Rubel Kazui, and the screenplay was written by a then young unknown writer named Joss Whedon. The concept that Whedon had come up with was brilliant. After viewing many monster movies before where the young blonde girl walking alone in an alley would get killed by a horrible monster, Whedon thought it would be a pretty fun idea to see a movie where the young blonde girl was getting stalked by a creature like a vampire, and it would instead be the girl that would turn around and kick the vampire's ass. It was a brilliant concept that Whedon would later explore and perfect in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer television series, however, the movie adaptation of his work would first prove to be a flawed, but still entertaining, execution of the concept.

The main plot of the movie is of course about a young blonde girl named Buffy, played by Kirsty Swanson, who is told that she is one of the rare chosen ones who has been gifted with the powers to fight and slay vampires. Guided by her watcher Merrick, played by Donald Sutherland, Buffy learns and trains how to slay vampires, while also receiving help from a rebellious young man name Pike, played by Luke Perry. Rutger Hauer plays the main vampire Big Bad Lothos, with his vampire minion Amilyn, played oozingly well by Paul Reubens, who has a scene stealing death that continues even into the credits. David Arquette has the fun role of Benny, who is Pike’s best friend who gets bitten and turned into a vampire in the first half of the film. There’s even a quick cameo by a very young Ben Affleck.

Now, to address the major criticism of the movie, the main failing of the movie is one of direction. The script was good, the cast was decent, and the concept was solid, but Kazui’s direction just didn’t mesh well with the original intent and tone of Whedon’s story. Whedon even expressed his frustration while they were making the movie in a behind the scenes video, saying of the movie that “It was funny when I wrote it.” Whedon was so frustrated by how much of his vision was being mishandled and re-written, that he eventually left the set during production and never came back. This frustration would later lead to Whedon wanting to explore the concept further on his own terms with the eventual television series on the new WB network. The television series would later go on to become the best genre television show of all time, but as I said before, that’s a topic for another discussion.

One major thing about the movie that really stands out to me every time I watch it is just how slow the fight scenes are. It looks like everyone is fighting in slow motion and have little actual skill when it comes to fighting, even though some of the vampires are supposed to be hundreds of years old, and should know how to fight. This makes it hard to take the action parts of the movie very seriously. If you ever want to see how not to do an exciting fight scene, then watch this movie.

There was clearly an evident clash of styles and ideas with the writing and directing when it came to making this movie. Kazui wanted the film to be lighter in tone than what was written in the script. Kazui appeared to want to make a seemingly funny and not very serious movie that happened to have vampires in it, while Whedon wrote a serious vampire movie that also happened to be funny. Whedon obviously had the better and right idea, since the serious and darker moments of the film tend to carry more weight and interest for the viewer, while the humorous elements seem to fall flat and a bit out of place. Most genuine laughable moments tend happen because of how bad they are.

Now, that’s not to say that there aren’t a few scenes that don’t give me a chuckle. Future star movie David Arquette’s charisma shines through whenever he’s on screen, and he does a terrific job at playing the recently turned vampire of Benny. He and Luke Perry have great chemistry together whenever they are on screen, and they share some of the film's most genuinely humorous scenes. The most laugh-out-loud moment of the film also has to be when Buffy stakes Amilyn, and Paul Reubens then proceeds to improvise the single greatest vampire death scene in all of cinema. The humor of Buffy is there, but it ultimately just wasn’t brought to its full potential with the film.

The darker elements of the film also have their place, even if they are downplayed more for a lighter overall tone. In Whedon’s script, Merrick was originally supposed to kill himself to prevent from being turned a vampire and revealing to Lothos who the Slayer is. The dream sequence of Buffy with Lothos also has a nice eerie feel to it that I wish was dialed up more through the film than in just this one scene. The big vampire fight at the dance in the climax of the film was also supposed to result in Buffy burning down the school gym. This detail, while omitted from the movie, would later be included in the television series as Whedon would retcon the backstory to his original script.

There is one aspect of the film that I think is truly perfect, and that’s Kirsty Swanson’s portrayal of the main character herself, Buffy. She plays the ditzy blonde valley girl stereotype very well, which is exactly what Whedon was going for in his original concept. While Sarah Michelle Gellar would prove to be the perfect Buffy for Whedon’s later television series, Kirsty Swanson proved to be the perfect Buffy for what this film wanted and needed her to be. She has her blonde California valley girl moments, but she also shows a strong personal character growth throughout the film. Swanson would also receive the film’s only award nomination, which was for Best Actress for the Fangoria Chainsaw Awards. Not exactly the Academy Awards, but still the only form of recognition that the film received upon its release.

Even for all the rewriting and adlibbing that Donald Sutherland did on his own to his watcher character of Merrick, he is still a great actor who plays the part well enough, even if he had little respect for the material. He maintains that older presence of a mentor that Buffy needs, and is one of the few serious and less comedic parts of the film. Donald Sutherland also hated the title of the film, so he was probably doing everything that he believed to make the movie better than what he thought it was, and the director would let him do whatever he wanted. It wouldn’t be the first instance of someone dismissing Buffy the Vampire Slayer just because of the title alone.

For all of the movie's missteps, they serve to illustrate how a movie of this genre should not be handled and can later be improved upon in the television series and other works of the genre. The good aspects of the film also show what can work in the genre when it’s done right. The first season of the television series would also experience some of these growing pains when trying to find just the right balance of horror and comedy. The importance of this movie is that it is essential in laying the groundwork for future vampire stories to come, and the high-school-is-hell metaphor. It basically further helps to define the teen vampire genre that was started with The Lost Boys in 1987 and continues to this day.

The movie is always going to be overshadowed and overlooked by the vastly superior television series, but it still holds an important place in the history of the vampire genre. While the more lighthearted take of vampires in it may have prevented it from becoming a true classic, it also makes it a good movie for younger kids to watch and to be introduced to the genre at a young age. This is a very important aspect of the film to remember, and it cannot be overlooked. It was a favorite of mine to watch when I was a younger kid growing up, and it certainly led me to the superior works of the genre, including my favorite television show of all time. Without this movie, we would never have gotten the great television series of the same name, and for that reason above all, the Buffy the Vampire Slayer movie will stand the test of time as being significantly important to the vampire genre.

#buffy #buffy the vampire slayer #review #video essay #essay

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ourdawncomes · 5 years ago

Text

That Mercy you to others show, show that Mercy to me

Solas seeks wisdom in an Inquisitor Cadash who chose to forgive Blackwall.

Set after Revelations. Now on AO3.

“Another letter down,” Thora announced, knocking the freshly sealed envelope into a pile beside her desk, “another dozen more to go.”

Solas smiled behind the pages of his book. “I expect Ambassador Montilyet did not explain to you the amount of paperwork required when you became Inquisitor, did she?”

“No, she didn’t.” The dwarf released a weary sigh, already hunching over the next blank sheet of paper with her quill in hand. “If I said something I’m sure she’d have a solution, but this just… well, I’d rather just deal with it myself.”

“I see. How highly the Inquisitor values me,” he said, with mock offense, “that my presence is not even accounted for.”

She grinned. “Well, I need my spellchecker, don’t I?”

Once Solas may have agreed, but as the months passed Thora’s requests became fewer and far between. However, it had become habit for him to sit with her while she wrote by now. He no longer wondered why it was him of all people she asked to sit with her. He carried no title, save the name he had chosen for himself, and put on no airs. Though Josephine was undoubtedly better suited for the role she could not understand the struggles that came with being a self-taught writer. Thora could ask without shame, knowing he, too, had once asked himself the same question.

The sound of her quill scratching against parchment stopped abruptly, and Solas was already looking at her in anticipation of her question. “How do you spell ‘genuine’?”

Her answer came to him in Elvhen before anything else, the flat letters of the King’s Tongue did not stick in his mind the same way his mother language did. With his index finger he traced the letters upon his thigh, then said, “G-e-n-u-i-n-e.” Thora wrote as he spelled, her penmanship more deliberate for that handful of letters before it flowed back into her usual loose style.

“Thanks.”

Solas hummed in response, watching her a moment before returning to his book. It was good to see her at ease again after the last month’s trials. The shadow of Corypheus loomed over them still, but that threat was nearly a welcome return to form after Blackwall’s abrupt disappearance. They fell into an easy silence, or what could pass for silence between them. Her quill scraped along the coarse parchment, and he whispered the words of his book against his left fist, so that they did not drift from his mind. That afternoon, however, even that trick could not stop his mind from wandering away from the pages.

“May I ask you a question?” he asked as he closed his book, fingertip slipping between the pages.

“You ask me a question?” she teased in return, a good-natured jibe that brough a quirk to the corners of his lips. It was true their relationship was founded on questions, but for so long it had been a one-way street. The Mark had done more than alter Thora’s abilities, it had reshaped her relationship with reality itself. Questions were inevitable. Today, however, it was Solas whose tongue burned with a question begging to be answered. But it did not concern spirits, nor the green scar upon Thora’s left hand– no. Those Solas understood, better than anyone in this castle could know. It was her he struggled to understand. Thora finished writing the end of her sentence and dipped the tip of her quill in the inkwell, turning her attention to him. A smile graced her features, eyes shining in the sun that streamed in from the windows. “Ask away, but if it’s about the next chapter of Sword & Shields I’m afraid Varric swore me to secrecy… so it’ll cost you.”

Solas snorted, shaking his head. “In that case I shan’t compromise your integrity.” He looked away, towards her still unmade bed. The frame hung low to the ground, its height carefully measured to match Thora’s short legs. It was clear from the shape of the pillows that she hadn’t slept alone last night. The mattress sank in two places, one distinctively longer than the other. No doubt it was quite the sight seeing Blackwall clamber from the Orzammar-made bed.

No… not Blackwall, it was Rainier now.

The revelation had stung him more than he had let on. When the Wardens turned from their purpose, slaying their brothers and sisters, it was Blackwall Solas had considered as the exception. His crimes alone were more than enough to damn him, but he had made a fool of the Inquisition, and of Solas himself. His hands tightened around the book he held, knuckles glowing white.

“How did you find it in yourself to forgive him?” Their eyes met again, his placid gaze masking his doubts. Thora’s jaw slackened, her expression falling from its cheerful grin. He leaned closer to her, resting his elbows carefully upon her desk, so as not to disturb her papers. “If I have overstepped my bounds,” he added, voice softer than before, “you need not answer.”

“No, I– it’s a fair question,” she said, smoothing the wrinkles from her shirt. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting it. To be honest with you, Solas, I wasn’t sure I was going to.”

“No?” Solas had watched dozens of times as Thora had turned traitors into assets, proving that a merciful choice was not always a weak one. Indeed, swinging an axe was often the easier path.

“Well, no. I mean… he lied to me. He lied to you, to all of us, and I was upset. Mad as hell. For weeks all I had to do was think about him and– bam!” She snapped. “Instant Beserker.” Thora smiled half-heartedly at him. “Blood and sweat have a way about hiding tears.” She pushed back her chair, rising to her feet. With her Anchored hand she motioned for him to follow, abandoning the shelter of her room for the sun-bleached balcony. To rest her elbows comfortably on the banister she had to rock forward on her toes, the heel of her hand propping up her chin.

Solas followed, forgetting his book upon the desk. He stopped short of joining her and lingered in the doorway. From this angle the Frostbacks framed her figure: sky and mountain met beyond her, and he could think of no better image for the Fade-touched dwarf before him. Not even if he had painted it. “But you did forgive him,” he pressed, “why?

“I doubt there’s a single innocent person here,” she said, shrugging thoughtfully. “If there’s anywhere he can earn forgiveness from the Maker it’s here. Maybe it’s cliché, but Skyhold has always felt like a place for second chances. I’ve felt that way ever since you brought us here.” Thora glanced over her shoulder at him, patting the empty spot beside her on the stone banister. “Don’t you agree?”

Her observation was more apt than she likely realised, but it failed to answer the true root of his question. Solas moved in beside her, palms pressing flat against the balustrade. The architecture itself ached with potential, seeking rebirth from the ones who now called it home. Grey eyes skirted the courtyard below, their corners crinkling when they found what Solas had not realised he sought: a shock of ginger hair hidden among the garden flowers. The smile was short-lived, lips drawing together as his mind returned to the nature of their conversation.

“Whether I do or not,” Solas said, each word chosen as deliberately as Thora’s letter, “Mercy alone does not explain your choice.” Even he could deny that Thom Rainier deserved a second chance at life, but a place in her bed? It defied reason.

Thora was quiet for a long time. Solas shifted from one foot to the other, convinced he had offended her this time. “… You’re asking why I still love him?”

“Yes.”

“It isn’t like you to be so indirect.”

“Love is a delicate topic, even among spirits. There is a reason Love is so rare.”

She laughed. “I guess you’ve got a point.” She lifted her elbows off the balustrade, rubbing her hands together to stave off the cold that crept into her fingers. Her eyes were trained below, and he wanted to ask if she had seen Thom as he had seen Ian. “I thought about that even longer,” she confessed. “I questioned every moment we had ever spent together, every exchange, everything. I kept asking myself what had been real, who it was I had been in love with all this time.” Today no tears pricked the Inquisitor’s eyes, but he could see the memory of them shining. Her voice strained as she picked at the new wound, careful not to let it bleed. “They were some of the hardest questions I’d ever answered.”

Solas’s stomach lurched at the possibilities: what other questions dogged her sleep, and would Ian one day ask the same of them? He knew it was real, that it had always been real, but in dreams Solas had felt the ice of Ian’s doubts for himself. His necklace swayed around his neck, the jaw tapping against his chest rhythmically.

“And what answers did you find?”

“That it was real.” A complex question with a simple answer, but Thora continued, “Maybe not all real, but real enough for us to start over.” Her teeth worried her lower lip, brow furrowing. “I mean, it’s not like I was blind. I knew he hadn’t always been the man I know today. Paragon Tamar– I mean, Tamar told me many Wardens had been conscripted as criminals, and it’s easy to feel when someone has something they’re trying to make up for, seeing how I’m one of them.” She rubbed the brand on her cheek unconsciously. “So I asked myself, what did I love about him? And I figured I loved how he fought for what he thought was right, how he had always treated me like I was special, even when I was just an agent. I liked his laugh, and how he spent his free time making toys for kids. And even in his… duplicity, he was still straightforward, right? What he thought, he told me.” Solas recognised the look on her face, the dazed expression that came over even the most stoic of people when they spoke of love. “In the end I decided it was never Warden Blackwall I had loved, it was Thom all along. And now that I knew him I felt I could start over with him.”

The conversation lulled, allowing Solas to turn over her answer in his head. Her logic was loose, felt rather than reasoned, but that was the nature of love.

“I see.”

She quirked a brow. “Do you? Because Cadri doesn’t.”

“Your cousin has a longer memory than most,” he noted, the surge of fondness he felt at the sound of the other Cadash’s name stymied by the reminder of his deception. One day that ire would be aimed at him, and not without cause. “If I were in your place I could not say I would do the same. Say I decided, as you did, that I loved them, no longer trusted them, what then? What is love worth without trust?”

“No much, I’ll admit. But it’s a second chance, that’s it. I asked for us to start over, not for his hand in marriage. Maybe down the road I’ll figure out you’re right, and my faith in him will never heal, but maybe it will. Just needs time.” Thora tapped her boot against the balcony, mind still racing behind her dark eyes. “I mean, we asked Cole to forgive the man who killed him. I think I can ask myself to forgive, too.”

“Cole is a spirit.”

“Then maybe we have more in common than most people think.” Her response was so quick that it must have been second nature.

“Maybe so.” He smiled proudly to himself, remembering a time when she had not known spirits beyond stories. “Thank you for indulging me, Thora. I know my question was not an easy one.”

“It’s alright, it was nice talking about it to someone who will just… listen.” She didn’t elaborate, but he could imagine the plethora of opinions she had heard since Thom had returned to Skyhold. Advice was nothing new for the Inquisitor, but for something so personal… it made him momentarily grateful for the invisibility his ears granted him.

“For what it is worth, I admire your decision.” His gaze returned to down below, where he was unsurprised to find Ian had not moved. Presumably he had fallen asleep, nose twitching as a beetle crawled across his cheek. The image would ordinarily be calming, but that afternoon his thoughts were crowded with reflections on the past, and commitments of the future. “There comes a point in any relationship where the heady feeling of new loves ebbs, and from there a choice must be made: to love, or drift apart.”

His thoughts were as much for him as they were for her, given voice so they felt tangible in a world where words too often fell flat. Solas paused to consider where he was going before he continued, “I believe for you that choice has already passed. For your sake, I hope you do not come to regret your choice, and that he makes you happy in the coming days. I have scarcely spoken to Rainier since he… returned to the Inquisition’s folds, and thought my doubts are many I am certain he must feel lucky to have your love, of which anyone ought to feel grateful to know.”

Thora laughed without shame, leaning over to check him in the hip with her shoulder. “Thanks Solas, the same goes for you.” From the corner of his vision he could see her following his gaze, smiling when she caught what he was still looking at. Down below, Ian turned. “When that time comes for you and Ian, I hope you’ll know what to do.”

Solas’s deception ran deeper than Thom’s, bringing into question the nature of the stories Ian loved to tell. It was irrational to even imagine telling Ian, just as it was irrational of Thora to forgive her love, but it was no more rational to keep the charade alive. He knew where he stood, and the trust he felt, it was only right that Ian got that same chance to decide for himself with eyes unclouded.

The wind blew, and his wolf’s jaw beat against his chest once more before he reached up to grasp it firmly in hand.

“I believe that time has already come.”

#solas #cadash #cadash x blackwall #like dust‚ i’ll rise ( thora | ic )#( my writing )#the dawn will come ( queue )#( long post )#[ had to repost this b/c it was under a read more on thora's old blog and i didnt feel like logging in to change that ]#we could be heroes– forever and ever ( solas & thora )#[ to be tagged ]

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kalluun-patangaroa · 5 years ago

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Afternoon Delight: Brett Anderson Interviewed

by Tariq Goddard

The Quietus, 3 October 2019

Tariq Goddard sits down with Suede frontman, Brett Anderson for a frank talk ahead of the publication of Afternoons With The Blinds Drawn, the second volume of the singer's memoirs

Portrait by Paul Khera

Coal Black Mornings, the first volume of Brett Anderson’s memoir, was a haunting and unusual addition to the genre, eschewing the devices and gimmickry that are the principle selling points of a rock star confessional, for a harrowingly reflective and thoughtful overview of his early years. Anderson took the reader back to a time before the music, to the experiences that informed the songs, albums, and eventual career trajectory, and in doing so, circumnavigated the years of his triumph during which he rose to public prominence and critical acclaim.

His onus on the creatively formative period that preceded success, the tender portraits of his family, particularly his complicated relationship with his father, a man who may have wished he had the life his son had, and the recollections of an England that has vanished so completely as to no longer be a place, offered a more unique and heartfelt history than the celebrity tittle-tattle fans might have thought they wanted. To do anything comparable with the second volume, a story Anderson vowed not to tell, would at once be easier for him - his material would span the glory days of his career - yet harder, for how could the tenderness of the first book survive grubby contact with the reality of wild adulation and Britpop, a “movement" he admits to despising?

Perhaps to his own surprise Volume II, Afternoons With The Blinds Drawn, strikes the same ruminative notes as the earlier volume, again subverting convention and expectation to avoid cliche and disappointment, written in the vulnerable and careful voice of its antecedent. Instead of dishing up insider gossip, Anderson mentions none of his rivals or contemporaries by name, assiduously sticking to the frequently scorned advice of “if have nothing nice to say, I say nothing”. Portraits of associates, friends and ex-friends are generous, forensic but fair, and there is no attempt to airbrush or underplay anyone else’s role in contributing to Suede’s imperial phase.

Knowing that the man he became in this second volume is not as sympathetic as the youth he was in the first, Anderson goes on to slay the most prominent elephant of all, himself, through pages of literary flagellation few writers could self-administer uncoerced.

Driven by the desire to work out what really happened to him, Anderson’s writing follows an unashamedly conceptual arc (“archetypes”, “convergence theory” and “postmodern play of mirrors” all appear on a single page), constituting a historical inquiry into the motives and processes that lay behind his best and worst work, by way of remorseless self-analysis, painful descriptions of how others must have seen him, and an attempt to grasp why we all think we are right at the time. The light shed and insight shared in these two volumes places them in the same covetable space as Springsteen’s Born To Run or Dylan’s Chronicles, and would be worth cherishing even if Brett Anderson was the reason why you never liked Suede in the first place.

Musicians often write books to sustain and propagate a persona that they have developed over a career, not deconstruct one in a spirit of enquiry. This book reads like it was written by that hidden aspect of yourself that wrote the songs in private, and not the public alter ego we saw perform them…

Brett Anderson: Absolutely, that is the main premise of the book, that it wasn’t going to be written by the Brett Anderson persona but whoever the real person behind it was. The reason why Coal Black Mornings ended where it did was because my public persona didn’t exist then, and I deliberately stopped the story before it had been formed. What I didn’t know was whether I could actually write another book in that same voice I had developed in the first, dealing with the next period of my life, and not drift into public persona I had created by then. It was a massive conundrum for me, as people might be familiar with the events and that version of me, and expect something consistent with that, while I knew I wanted a more personal and interesting story, told in the natural voice of the first book.

There is something I want to be clear about though, this thing with the persona we’re talking about is that it wasn’t necessarily false in the way people understand that to be. I wasn’t just the man behind the mask manipulating people’s view of me, because to inhabit a persona you have to believe in that persona too. Looking back it’s possible to wonder how much of it is really yourself, as it is you and not you at the same time, but all of it still comes from you. You are the one doing it. I mean, everyone manufactures personas all time. People in the public eye simply amplify the process, and the lens of the media then helps magnify and distort the original amplification. The “you” that sits down and watches TV with your family is very different from the “you” sitting here now, but that doesn’t mean that your public self is some Svengali like manipulation of reality. The persona you decide to project says as much about who you are as your private self does. And it was only through growing up, growing up and not giving up these past eleven years, and having kids who you can’t fob off with a persona, that I went through the slow and painful process of taking apart the nuts and bolts of what mine was made of.

The book does come up short on after dinner speaking anecdotage. Although it is often very funny, it doesn’t seem to see its function as to amuse, does it?

BA: No, not at all. The book is a search into what happened to me in those years of success and fame, and what effect that had on me as a person, not a parade of all my achievements, where I ask the reader to look at me and love me. Like the first book, I used my writing as a sounding board very like therapy, and used the questions I was asking of myself to work out my own shit.

Portrait by Pat Pope

Notes from therapy don’t normally make for very interesting reading though…

BA: They don’t, and I knew I was running a risk. In one of my favourite reviews of Coal Black Mornings the reviewer writes, having given it two or three stars out of five, I’m not sure which is the more dismissive number, ‘this book is very well written but the big problem I had with it in the end is it is all about him, him, him!’ Well of course it is, it’s a memoir! Memoir has to take the risk of being indulgent to work.

But for a memoir, I found you very impatient with your own perspective. There’s very little self justification or score settling, often it’s like you’re trying to establish something very close to historical objectivity? Even though you keep saying that it is impossible to do that.

BA: I realise I wanted to know everything that was going on around me at that time, that wasn’t just me or to merely repeat or excuse how I saw things then. And I really didn’t want to fall into one of the lazy tropes of the genre which is just to sit there and slag off other bands. There is a vitriol in there, but I apply it to movements and features of the period, not individuals, partly because I know how the media works now. As soon as you slag off a name, that’s all your book becomes, and you lose all control or ownership of context, and simply end up as a line in a feature in quotes of the year. A memoir is about context, a complex tapestry, not a motormouth series of quotes, and you don’t want to lose that by being petty or boring, or revisiting past rivalries. I mean, who cares who ticked me off? The crazy thing is that there are people who want you to name names and write that kind of book, but I wasn’t prepared to.

But readers are more used to engaging with a work of that kind, aren’t they, who blew coke up whose arsehole?

BA: Absolutely, but the books that do that are the same story with the names changed, you know, the amusing band shenanigans, all the japery, the dirt, all of it is essentially the same tale every time. But that is the expectation, and to be honest, critics can be just as predictable. I’ve had reviews saying that Coal Black Mornings was really good but who was it really for, as it doesn’t sit comfortably in the genre they think it is supposed to be in. But for me that’s a good thing. It’s meant to be more ambitious and about trying to get to the bottom of things and to understand life. Basically the opposite of a series of oft repeated anecdotes. The anecdotes that I have included are the things that are important to me that no one else could have ever known about, because they were purely personal or because sometimes there was simply no one else there to observe them. Whether it’s the beautiful girl who comes up to me just to tell me my band are shit, or the cheese and pickle sandwich I took with me on my first flight to America, these were the things I wanted to share so that I would know they had really happened. You know, the strange and quirky little things that give your life back to you, as they thread in and out of the story everyone else thinks they know…

You are hard on yourself in the book, but you are also very hard on your own music, which from a fan’s point of view might be tough to take. Reading that you have never rated your most successful singles, or that people’s favourite songs had working titles like 'Pisspot' and 'Sombre Bongoes' for example…

BA: Yeah, 'Stay Together', 'Electricity', the Head Music title track, and 'The Power', yeah, I take the sword to them all, but I had to be that self critical in order to be convincing. If I just sat there saying, “I’m a fucking genius and everything I have done is brilliant” anything else I would say would carry zero weight! Especially if I then want to go on and talk about the songs I really do still love, 'Heroine', 'Killing Of A Flash Boy', 'Sleeping Pills', the list goes on. It’s all part of subverting the myth of the god given seer, like the bit where I talk about myself honestly as a musician and admit that I am not a particularly talented one, but what I do have is that I just don’t fucking give up.That admission for me was a moment of truth, it just isn’t what most musicians say, and so another attack on the supposed elegance of my persona. But in the same way I view myself at points in my past as a different person, I see some of those songs as written by a different person, and that is why the flaws so easily reveal themselves to me. As for being hard on myself, again, I had to be. My mistakes were entirely my own and no one else’s fault, certainly not the fault of any childhood trauma or external stuff, and I needed to take responsibility for that. My descent into hell came from being romantically attached to the notion of the artist as a genius that accepts no limits or boundaries, it was that simple.

Do you think the experience of the relatively fallow and low periods in your career helped you develop the sensibility and humility with which you wrote this memoir? That continual and unbroken success may have robbed you of certain insights that disappointment helped provide?

BA: Yes, the end of the band meant I was able to jump off the bandwagon I had been on and develop a different perspective. Those were key years for me as an artist, that I had to have away from Suede, before we came back again. Experiencing struggle and failure, having had success, was crucial for me. I loved making solo records but it did start to feel like a bit of a vanity project as you do need an audience, and there is a certain point where if you drop below a particular level, you begin to wonder whether it is still worth doing. The work may still stand up, but if there’s just a select group you are appealing to, buttressed by family and friends, you can feel like the basic relationship you need with an audience, in order to create, is breaking down. And with having a family too, I thought I couldn’t afford to go on like that anymore. A performance, a book, a song, all these things require an audience, it’s a plea, you are projecting your voice out there and you require an echo in return. Otherwise you’d just stay in your own room and write for yourself, which is what some artists claim to do, but it’s an attitude I have never shared. Because half the point of creating anything is the reaction. I’ve never understood the cliche of the artist that only creates for themselves and never reads their own press.

You have to be Kafka to really not care what happens to your work. Most artists hope for perpetual immortality, on their more modest days.

BA: But did even Kafka really not care though?

He did leave his work with his best friend and literary executor to destroy.

BA: Exactly, his best friend and literary executor! Interesting that he chose a man who thought he was genius for that task! If he really felt that way he should have given everything to someone who really didn’t give a shit about him or his work.

Contingency and chance is one of the big themes of your book. One of the very few contemporaries you name, and then very affectionately, is Loz Hardy of Kingmaker whose fortunes you contrast with yours. You seem to be asking did you succeed, and he fail, because of the hidden hand of destiny, Darwinian necessity and artistic merit, or has the whole of your and his career been the most monstrous fluke?

BA: I thought long and hard about whether to involve Loz in any of this, and there is a part of me that felt bad about it, and so I tried to be sensitive in how I talked about him, as I have warmth for him and always really liked him. But I had to include him. We were thrown together by the Melody Maker’s “dog shit and diamonds” piece, a gladiatorial contest they set up where we were used as symbols for different musical and aesthetic tendencies, and there was no way for me to explore the questions I wanted to if I ignored that. The fact is Kingmaker did not go onto achieve success, but I hope I didn’t trample on them when I refer back to that point where we found ourselves in the same place. I genuinely wanted to work out whether things happened for us in the only way they could have, and if you can judge your own worth on the basis of success, as the ultimate criteria, or if it is all down to chance in the end.

You go on to say that the neglect of great art makes you wonder whether it is all chance, however much it might suit you not to think so…

BA: Exactly, look at Echo And The Bunnymen for fuck’s sake! They’ve made amazing music but why aren’t they then given the prestige they deserve, whereas so many of their less talented contemporaries fill up stadiums at the drop of hat? How can you resolve it? It’s unresolvable! But I think you need to believe in destiny wholeheartedly to make it at anything, and it is easy to when everything is going right, you know “my success is my destined birthright!’, but then how can you have any framework or belief system left if you embrace destiny and then fuck up? You’d be complicit in your own fall. Even then though, you can make failure work for you, and realise the fuck-ups were necessary too, and that you learn from them and they therefore feed your future successes, so you’re kind of led back into destiny again. The thing is if you are happy with where you have got to in life, and looking at things from a place of satisfaction, then you literally can’t really regret anything, as the fuck ups are part of the journey that led you to where you are, and are as easily as important as the successes.

Photograph courtesy of Phillip Williams

You make a number of complimentary references to the old music press in the book, even when they turned on you, which is rare for a musician…

BA: God yeah, we’re culturally less well off for their folding, don’t you think so? That whole Punch And Judy journalism and playground tribalism produced so many great bands and so much great discussion no matter how ugly it got. Those papers were like a music factory. A lot of modern music writing, with some very obvious exceptions that I love, is too dry and balanced. Growing up to a point where you can’t be violently partial means you lose something of the enthusiasm and passion that draws you to music. Music writing needs to be a little bit impetuous because music is impetuous. It’s easy to think it was all divisive and unnecessarily nasty, but it needed to be, that was its job, which encouraged it to issue challenges and be creative in its own right too. Which was great, providing they were saying nice things about us!

How has the creative process changed for you now that you are no longer committed to releasing album after album in quick succession, a process you say that led to the creation of some inferior work; does that easing of pressure and allowing of material to gestate compensate for what is lost, which is that in the old days you didn’t know what was going to happen next, and that every new record might yet change your lives with as yet unimagined success?

BA: There’s a trade off. The eventual realisation that you are not part of the mainstream anymore, as we clearly no longer are, does give you the freedom go to interesting places you could not always have gone to before. For me now the concept of a record has to be very strong to act on it, and I won’t start writing simply because it is time to release a record again. For example, the material and ideas I thought would be perfect for A New Morning, were actually followed through on and became The Blue Hour sixteen years later. Trying to carry them into the songs I was writing at the time, and make a record about the darkness of the countryside when you want your songs to be rotated on Radio One, was never going to happen. And that’s one of the beauties and consolations of being set adrift from the mainstream, which is that you really don’t need to worry anymore about a particular kind of career path anymore. We’re never going to latch back onto the mainstream again, I know that, because we could make the greatest record we’ve ever made, or has ever been made, and we would still never be on Radio One again. And I’m fine with that now. I am a 52-year-old man, do you know what I mean? Age has got to give you something, because otherwise there is a part of you that might never get over what it has to teach you.

You plot your changing relationship with your fans from a high of believing you were in it together, to the low of seeing graffiti left on your street with directions to your house and a request to kill your cat. The lesson that fans live for you when they should be living for themselves, and that you should be living for yourself and not them, seems hard earned on both sides, particularly as you write about how much you owe them for putting you where you wanted to be in the first place.

BA: It’s a fascinating process with fans, you were there in the early days, and you know that insane dynamic where the fans are still part of the experience. We used to hang out with you guys and it was like being with your mates where you share the same passions and interests, but then you get to that point in a band where the doors come down, and there is a separation where you find yourself either being mobbed by people or sitting on your own in an empty dressing room with no in-between. Life becomes polarised between these two extremes, and it is unavoidable because it is built into success, and so to some extent, is no more than what you wanted and signed up for, but there is that lovely point when you first start when the people who follow you aren’t an abstract, “the audience”, but friends, and there is something special about those days I wanted to capture in the book. Because those days were really important, one of those lovely periods you can never have back or go back to again.

After that you become public property, where you have an image you keep up to avoid disappointing people, and where everything you say is taken at face value. Like the story you mention in the book where I forget that I asked a couple of fans to come back to my house in two days time, only to be polite, then completely forgot about it, and ended up instigating a campaign of abuse against myself…

I understand the danger of taking rock stars at their word. In early 95 I bumped into you at the Severn Bridge Services and you told me that I should join you in Watford in a week, where you would meet me outside the venue and let me into a gig!

BA: Oh no, you’re joking…what an invitation! My God, and did I do it?

I would love to have said you did! I still got in, so no hard feelings.

BA: I’m so sorry! What you’ve got to understand is that in a band when you meet someone at the services you always want to leave the conversation on a high note, to contrast with the surroundings, hence the Watford Colosseum! I just hoped that you wouldn’t believe me and would realise that in the end it was all just…words!

Afternoons With The Blinds Drawn is out now via Little Brown

#suede #brett anderson #press #interview #the quietus #2019 #afternoons with the blinds drawn

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serenagaywaterford · 6 years ago

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random thoughts:

jsyk, Serena swam in the place my dog poops. I hope Fred stepped in it. Die Fred.

(spoilers obvs)

NOT. ENOUGH. JANINE. the only time i cheered out the entire 3 episodes was that one glimpse of janine.

I got to see my girl Alma though which was lovely.

OMG. Can... I just... that scene with Emily walking through the hospital was the dumbest fucking, most American stupid scene ever on this show. It was so fucking cheesy and absolutely 10000% unrealistic. Who actually thought it was a good idea? They should be fired. Or sent to go work on Grey’s Anatomy or something. Not even that shitshow aka SVU would do something as painfully cliched and cheesy as that. Firstly, this show is fucking stupid. Okay. If all this shit was happening, Canada would have got like MILLIONS of refugees. Seeing the cops escort some raggedy refugee would be common af. Maybe it’s the baby thing? Still, Canadians aren’t gawkers like that. We also don’t like embarrassing displays like that. It’s so American it hurts. NOBODY CLAPS LIKE THAT IN A FUCKING HOSPITAL. It’s a quiet place, okay. Also, why don’t any of these doctors have anything better to do? Anyway. I hated that scene so much.

Nick is so boring. So boring. He’s just a wet doughnut. I sorta liked him getting angry at June but also I wish I cared about anything he has to say. Bye Nick Bland. Good riddance.

Lawrence’s one liners? Funny. Lawrence? Disgusting awful psycho. I hate him sfm.

Fred? Also disgusting. I hate him 10000x more. Everything about him is repulsive. He’s so much worse this season. I hate everything about his entitled, poor me, manpain. I hate hearing about any of his feelings. Fucking die already. I found him interesting enough as an antagonist in the show before but no longer. Redundant.

Beth. Too good for Nick. Too good for this world.

Too much staring. I AM SO SICK OF IT. It wastes time. Is redundant af at this point. I’m bored. Stop it.

Moss... um. Honey. I love you but... what the fuck was up with all the over-acting? 302 seemed particularly bad. Like I just can’t take it anymore. Who directed 302? They should be fired too for making her do that. Also, lady from Transparent, what the fuck was up with her acting?

Luke is useless. Like, I get it. I get why he’s a huge damp sulkbaby but I mean. I don’t want to see it? I’d rather just not see him at all cos literally I can’t recall a scene of him not being fucking useless or ignorant. Or half-assing it. I want to like Luke, honestly. But I just... don’t. I love the shit outta Moira and Erin, and I adored Moira/Emily interactions. But Luke? Miss me with his manpain.

Once again, I hate Lawrence. He is no good. He’s so fucking creepy and gross. I do not understand why people like him? And I don’t mean, “I don’t know why people like this character.” I mean, “I don’t understand why people like this person.” As a character, sure, he’s interesting and revolting and does his role well. He’s even got some funny lines and Whitford has great delivery. I mean these people who LIKE HIM. As a person. They think he’s great and a good guy. I don’t get it. Are we watching the same show? He’s a great character and a terrible person. That said, he’s still a dude and I’m not about to say he’s such a great character that I want to know all about him. Nah, bros. I wanna know all about Emily, Moira, Serena, Janine, Alma... and June I suppose but we already have quite enough of her. I don’t care about Lawrence’s backstory or emotional turmoil. I don’t need his perspective cos I’ve seen it before, I know it already. It’s in so many movies, books, and TV. So, he may be a well-written character but he’s not a fascinating one. If we wanna dig around in the psyches of bad people, Serena and Lydia are far more fascinating cos bad women’s stories are so much rarer to explore in any depth.

So, June got her feet lashed to shit again. And then she’s just walking around like no biggie next scene? Did the writers forget the first season when June couldn’t walk at all? All I’m asking is a bit of a limp?

June going straight to the house that just housed the handmaid that ran away with June’s baby seems... well, like complete bullshit. Never.

SERENA ISN’T WEARING HER WEDDING BAND. She’s done. She hates that man and I hate the fact everyone is pushing her to just get over it. Fred... is horrible in literally every single way. Every. Single. Way. (And sure Serena is horrible in some ways, but not nearly the same ways as Fred.) I just want Serena to be free of him. I want her and June to murder his ass. Graphically. That is the only violence I want to see on this show in the future. OMG, I can’t actually explain how much I hate him and I vomit in my mouth thinking about Serena having to get back with him. Even if I know she has to in order to survive. Ugh.

UM. Okay, the “blood against the snow” bit was really interesting. I don’t recall Offred saying that in the book but Atwood brings it up often when talking about red. It was clever to include her own words, just like last season with the “men are afraid women will laugh at them...” bit.

But speaking of weird inclusions: Lawrence reciting book!Offred’s line about how easy is it to invent a humanity for anyone. It was curious they had Lawrence saying that to June, whereas it’s Offred in the book thinking that about the Commander. “He was not a monster, to her. Probably he had some endearing trait: he whistled, offkey, in the shower, he had a yen for truffles, he called his dog Liebchen and made it sit up for little pieces of raw steak. How easy it is to invent a humanity, for anyone at all. What an available temptation.”

My wife, when Nick showed up in 303: “Oh, this prick again!” Just out of nowhere cos we don’t talk about fandom shit. She has no idea the extent of my sick obsession with this show. She doesn’t know how much I loathe Nick lol. She’s completely casual and even she can’t stand Nick. Which is so lovely. And then when he was yapping about going to the front, she just muttered, “Hopefully he’ll die there.”

OH MY GOD. I HATE MEN. That whole Commanders meeting scene made me want to throw up multiple times. It started with the words “shipment of females” and just got progressively worse with every passing second.

Except... LMAO. June: *sees Fred at a meeting* Fred: Hello. June: Hey you see Serena? How’s Serena? Is Serena okay? Serena’s tough. She’s great. She’ll be okay. I love her. *proceeds to do the world’s worst cringe-inducing seduction* I think on some level even Fred knows it’s bullshit.

I love comparing June’s seduction of Fred to her seduction of Serena. They’re very interesting contrasts. She’s so painfully fake with Fred. And only sort of insincere at times with Serena.

Man, Sylvia is a dick lol. LOOK RICHMOND IS HARD ENOUGH TO GET ACROSS WITHOUT YOUR LIME GREEN CAR BLOCKING THE ONE MOVING LANE OF TRAFFIC!!!!!! Jokes aside... I actually really liked that scene of Emily finally calling her. That was touching and the closest I came to actually getting sniffly. Actually no. Traffic on Richmond is no joke. I’m not kidding. That was a dick move, Sylvia. LOL.

June saying Nichole gets her politicianess thing from Serena absolutely fucking slayed me. I don’t even care if she was emotionally manipulating her af, it seemed genuine in parts of that convo. TWO MOMMIES. June used her flashback!June voice at one point. Honestly, these two actresses run this town. You can tell how broken Serena is tho cos she’s oblivious to how manipulative June is being. She’s been aware in the past as soon as June does her whole “Say nice thing, bond over babies, ask for something” method and called her on it. It’s June’s only trick. It’s transparent af. And Serena knows it. Yet, she seems completely wooed now and not at all suspicious. So, when she gets her wits together again, I suspect Serena won’t be so malleable.

I’ve said a bunch of stuff about June/Serena stuff in my tag rants so I won’t repeat it. I just fell in love with it all.

PRAISE BE!!! We didn’t actually have to see a Nick/June sex scene. Behold His miracle! I was so relieved. And then... curiously they continued that love-theme-y music all the way over into Serena’s scene with June and that was not a coincidence.

I know people really like that Boomtown Rats song being the music to the fire... And it’s a jam. But... it’s about a real school shooting and I feel like that’s just a little... off? (Not to mention Tori Amos’ version is better, imo.) I mean, okay, I did some drama courses in university and I did a thing about that song so I researched it all and it just to me doesn’t fit at all. A 16-year-old girl shot up an elementary school. And somehow, call me crazy, but that’s completely inappropriate to use in this scene. I get female rage, etc etc. I get they didn’t want to go super obvious and use a song about burning houses. But considering how EXCELLENT a song they chose for 3x03 with that Roy Harper track you’d think they’d find something better for the bed/house burning. Not only that but the motive for Spencer was ... literally nothing. She didn’t like Mondays and thought it would be fun to kill a bunch of kids--which is the complete opposite of Serena’s motivations. It just devalues it.

I want more of Emily’s journey. This is the first time I’ve actually been interested in Emily tbh. And Clea Duvall is a treasure.

I want a Moira/Emily BROTP. Honestly Moira just seems like the best friend anybody could have?

WHY IS NICK A COMMANDER?! WTF????? Was I just not listening carefully enough? Is he? Cos I don’t really pay attention when he’s onscreen tbh and the wifey was like “Why’s this guy a commander now?” And I was like, “What do you mean he’s a commander?” Honestly, Nick is just like a piece of furniture. I barely notice him onscreen lol. Okay, this has nothing to do with my dislike of him. It honestly does not make any sense. We saw that other Commander only got promoted because his wife got pregnant. WHY THE FUCK WOULD THEY PROMOTE NICK? What on god’s green earth has he EVER fucking done well? Why the shitting hell would they promote a Guardian who, under his watch, has had one handmaid kill herself, another one escape/”get kidnapped”, wife cheat on him then get executed, allow a BABY to get kidnapped, the house get burned down????? All those things seem like Very Bad things and put all together seem like something that would put him on the Wall for being such a shitty employee rather than someone who deserves MORE responsibility. There’s literally no reason to make him a Commander. Just conscript him to the Chicago front. You don’t need a reason. He’s a grunt. Eye or not. I DO NOT GET IT. Fred gets demoted and Nick gets promoted? Nahhhhh mans. Not buying it.

So little Nick. I love it. I want zero Nick, but this’ll do. I’ll even put up with him being a Commander (LMAO) if it means he goes away for a while.

Lawrence calling out June’s terrible seduction technique (it is really bad), and calling Fred stupid = :}

OK BACK TO THE BURNING WATERFORD HOUSE... i cannot abide how SLOW June is ALL. THE. FUCKING. TIME. Like, she shows up in Serena’s little pyromaniacal bedroom inferno and is like “COME ON!” and pulls her out of the room in what appears to be a hurry. Then as Serena and Rita are rushing out June just fucking stops and starts staring at all the smoke as if she’s on fucking shrooms. Then there she goes on her bullshit... Hey, bish, the house is literally burning down cos your crazy ass soulmate set fire to her own life and maybe you should leave. No? Not interested? Sure, stand there. Feel up the walls like I did once on MDMA. Makes total fucking sense. TAKE YOUR TIME WHY DON’T YOU? Why not? It just reminded me of 2x13 when Rita was saying “You gotta leave NOW!” and June just took it upon herself to carve a bunch of shit onto the wall for no goddamn reason.

OKAY. I WAS RIGHT. The other night when I was like, “I think I know that beach.” I do know that beach!!! My dog likes to take dumps right where Serena was. (I clean up after him, don’t worry.) I can point out that beach on a map if you want. There are also heroin needles and ticks in the bushes. There is literally a water treatment plant 200m away. I go swimming exactly where Serena was and once a dead fish floated by and I had to wrestle my dog away from it. I have been swimming there a lot. It’s nice in the summer. HOWEVER, poor Yvonne in her drysuit doing that in fucking November or whatever. This lake is fucking cold even in summer sometimes lmao. Like, I’ve spent so many hours right in that spot... cos well, I used to live right up the road so duh. Of course now that I don’t live there now and it was winter so why would I take my dog swimming, that they decide to film there. OF COURSE.

Speaking of filming, not that anyone cares, they were at the St Lawrence Market at one point. It was so obvious. Wasn’t really paying attention to any of the other locales tbh. If I watch again and pay attention I prolly could pick out a few more but honestly the only person that entertains is myself.

I still can’t believe Serena was being reborn on dogshit/dead fish beach.

#spoilers #no tags cos i don't want it in search

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iacon-stargazer · 6 years ago

Text

The History of Optimus Prime

The Prime known to future generations only as Thirteen is Orion and Optimus in his truest form, the pure and unmarred essence of his spark. The final fragment of Primus's power, and the closest to the Creator’s own frequency—close enough to face Unicron in his place, to perform the potentially self-sacrificing act of sending them both to stasis via the proximity of their sparks.

There's no resentment over the very real possibility of himself never awakening, no regret. He hasn't yet learned such concepts. He's kind, honest, loving, and fair—to others and himself equally. He's the mediator, and with remarkable success keeps the peace between the range of personalities more extreme than his own.

The battle with Unicron changes things, however. They can no longer be truly said to have a single creator, for even as they succeeded, the touch of chaos left its mark upon them all. No more than a seed at first, it reacts uniquely as it takes root in each of them through the events that follow.

As Optimus watches the family he knew fall apart despite his best efforts to perform his treasured duty, his own seed of darkness germinates—a subtle self-blame flickering through his confusion, a sense that he's just not trying quite hard enough, that he could do better. It's small though, for his knowing that he is doing what he can and always has done.

In the end, it doesn't matter. Liege Maximo, the glib and cunning one of the group, spreads discord until, in a great crest of tragedy, Megatronus accidentally slays Solus in a moment of blind rage. The brothers are devastated, Megatronus not least of all, and he takes up a cloak of banishment, changing his name to "The Fallen". Chaos descends as remainder of them fight, and never before has Optimus felt more helpless.

His grief waters his seed of darkness, and it grows into a gripping pain—an emotional pain the likes of which his young and innocent spark has never before experienced. Lost, suffering, and helpless, when Onyx descends into the Well for the proximity to Primus to keep his spark alive when his fatally wounded frame cannot, and Micronus goes to accompany him, Optimus chooses to join them—not for the peace of that quiet and slow realm, but to step into the Allspark itself.

"To better understand the new generation, to better be able to help them." Such reasoning bears a heavy weight. Where he has failed his siblings he's determined not to fail again. The possibility for a second chance in a fresh life brings the relief of hope to lighten the guilt and grief he carries. To leave behind and forget his remaining siblings aches, but he can be of more use if he lets himself be reincarnated. He will try harder, do better, and succeed where he has failed before. Informed of this decision, Alpha Trion, the record keeper among them, redacts Optimus’s name from the Covenant of Primus, their great record of history—leaving the Optimus Prime of this age to be remembered simply as “Thirteen”.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And so Orion Pax emerges. A young mech with the same instinctual sense of goodness, an insatiable curiosity for the world in which he lives, and an unusual interest in its history. Alpha Trion watches over his reborn younger brother, offering him council as well as he can as a friend and mentor.

Orion seems to always have a persistent sense that he's missing something, forgotten something... that there's some purpose to his life that he's forgotten. It's a subtle sense of not-quite-satisfaction, something nagging for him to remember, but always just beyond his reach. He eventually forgets it—or perhaps simply grows so used to it, he ceases to notice.

Until, during his work archiving, he runs across a speech delivered by a rising gladiator in the Pits of Kaon. A gladiator who has named himself after The Fallen of the Thirteen.

As Orion's optics open to Cybertronian society's darker underbelly, so too does something deep inside of him seem to wake up. He takes action, contacts the gladiator, and begins to stand for him, beside him, aiding and reaching out to others in his own ways to bring equality to Cybertron. Despite all odds, they have hope. With this gladiator—named after Megatronus, but sharing as well all the cunning eloquence of Liege Maximo—he has a chance to succeed where his past self has failed.

If only it were that easy.

Megatronus, now with his self-chosen name clipped to Megatron—a far more self-empowered move than his namesake's change—is furious when the council (with perhaps some suggestion from Alpha Trion) offers the goal he's been seeking, a mantle of leadership in the form of Primehood, to Orion instead of himself. It doesn't matter that Orion refuses it. But Orion will make it matter, prove the truth of his intentions; he can do this...

Then in a sudden turning point, light is brought in to shine upon everything this karmic successor to Liege Maximo has kept hidden from him. It's a voluminous and black reality. The peaceful protestor has been a front, as deep beneath he has lead his truest followers to strike out in anger and violence, committing terrorist attacks that sometimes bring down not only the senators they so hate, but any number of innocent bystanders caught in the blazes.

This is the true test for Orion now. He must break through the devastation of his trust and step forward, rise above and bring them back together onto common ground.

He'll give Megatron another chance.

He tries.

It's not enough.

War is not likely. It's imminent. Feeling no other choice, Orion accepts the title he's been offered, and, fighting through the hurt of betrayal, tries to step into the role he seems to be needed in now, as a leader.

They call him “Optimus Prime.” Something about the name feels familiar, but other parts of him still resist it. He’s no Prime; he does not hold the Matrix. His decision to take the title nonetheless is one of pragmatic necessity; he needs the influence if he’s to make changes from within, and doing so is all the more urgent with Megatron as an enemy. Previously he’d hoped to support and council from the sidelines, as Megatron’s flame of passion was much more suited for leadership than his own quiet justice, but there’s not so much room for choice left for him now. Only he can do this, and so he must.

To lead in war is a great and terrible struggle, a nightmare come to life. He has to stay strong despite the weight of grief and responsibility for every warrior lost upon him. Megatron’s methods grow ever darker and more extreme as it drags on, grinding down Orion’s—no, Optimus’s, technically—hopes of changing his mind ever further, though still he does not give up. The mech he knew has to be in there somewhere still.

Even when Megatron poisons Cybertron’s very core.

Orion—Optimus—makes the journey down to save it himself. He must remove the taint of dark energon, protect the Allspark from its contamination and Megatron’s sinister goals....

There’s something more for him waiting down there. A destiny for him to take on, for only he can do this, and he is needed.

~~~~~

Optimus often clashes with the Matrix, especially at first. However, his will is strong and his ideals rarely compromised. He does recognize, however, that his personal desires are a hindrance. For all that he values individuality, freedom, and choice, he realizes that for others to have that, it’s necessary for him to sacrifice his own. And so as well as he can, he does.

Whereas Orion had once been a relatively emotionally well-adjusted individual, always acknowledging and looking for outlets for his own feelings even if he refrained from expressing them for the sake of others, Optimus begins to repress those of his that hinder him from his duty. At first it is only telling himself he doesn’t have the luxury of dwelling on them just then, but gradually it shifts to the point where he is only subconsciously aware of them until they grow too strong for him to avoid.

He finds outlets, still, in solitary drives and meditations, when those times arrive. Far more rarely does he indulge in the sorts of music he turned to as Orion, and several subjects cease appearing in his journaling.

It builds up, over the vorns, the weight he bears upon him. So many small pains blend together, dulling and numbing in their acuity. His spark never hardens, though, only endures.

Guilt weighs the heaviest of all, and pushes his martyristic complex all the further. He recognizes the importance of the role he plays—too important for him to ever waver from it—but at the same time, he still refuses to hold his life above that of any other. To let any soldier perish for him would weigh too heavily on him, and so it’s easier for him to offer up his own life as the first alternative, even if that would leave everyone else stranded without him.

They would be strong enough to manage with him gone, he tells himself.

But his duty is essential and he cannot pause from it, because they need him.

Even his subconscious cannot allow him to recognize the contradictory logic, because he has stood for these ideals so long. The pillars of his identity are forged from these principles, of his duty to those he must protect. Iron-cast and fortified, they hold him up when everything inside is saturated with guilt, pain, and regret he cannot afford to delve into. He cannot question himself anymore, because those pillars, that idea that they need him both holds him up and holds him back.

By the end, his existence is little else.

When Cybertron is restored, and his quest points him to death, the actualization is a relief. It pains him to leave those he cares for behind, but he’s needed, for one last thing. That moment, as he dives into the Well and releases the Matrix and the Allspark with it, the need for him is fulfilled.

He’s done his part.

The pillars dissolve, and he’s free.

#;{backstory}#;{headcanon}#;{long post}#tw suicide mention #{{just to be safe}}#{{it's no more than canon stuff though}}

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