#rather than something tempting or creepy or anything | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chrisgates · 1 year ago

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TIMING: Early June LOCATION: The Pines PARTIES: @chrisgates & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: Emilio comes across Chris in the woods and questions him about a missing person. Chris ends up giving him a hand with some photographic evidence even though he would rather get back to that cool frog. WARNINGS: None!

Alyssa Mullins was missing. Alyssa Mullins had been missing for a week now and, in Wicked’s Rest, that never meant anything good. Emilio wasn’t sure why her sister had waited as long as she did before hiring him. Hope in the police, maybe, which seemed like such a naive, stupid thing to have. Or maybe denial was more likely, some quiet insistence of closing your eyes to something you didn’t want to be real.

In any case, he knew that the amount of time she’d been missing meant it was unlikely that Alyssa Mullins would be found in any kind of state her sister was hoping to see her found in. The chance of a happy ending only lessened when the trail the detective was following led him into the woods. Emilio sighed, leaning down to pick a discarded tennis shoe out of the dirt. Yeah. This wasn’t going to end with a happy reunion.

Sharp ears picked up on a snapping twig behind him, and the hunter stiffened all at once, narrowing his eyes as he turned towards the sound. There was already a knife in his hand, ready to strike. Whatever was out there wasn’t undead, but that hardly meant it wasn’t dangerous. “All right,” he said lowly, “you can come out, or I can drag you out.” If it was something incapable of understanding speech, he’d just have to default to the latter.

So far so good, right? As much as Chris knew, there weren’t any missing or dead people connected to him or to his name. Maybe a deer or two, but no actual humans — not yet. There were plenty that disappeared in Wicked’s Rest, most never to be found again. Entirely creepy, the place was kind of like its own Bermuda Triangle, which he hoped would at least dampen any misplaced suspicion.

What he didn’t know couldn’t bother him, so Chris chalked it up to being a good week. He was in high spirits when he went out to the woods that day with a camera around his neck. They were familiar woods, calm, quiet and a good distance from any view of civilization. He liked to go there for the diverse wildlife that passed through — they liked to go there to eat.

Although he was unaware of just how frequently he visited the area, Chris set himself up all the same. He was there maybe an hour or so and the position he found himself in wasn’t ideal for the angle of the shot, so he adjusted himself. With his weight pressed down, the foliage and bits of earth snapped and crunched. The sounds weren’t something he’d pay too much mind to usually, but in that moment, they painted a large target onto his back.

The voice that rang out, definitely not animal, whipped his attention from the camera’s viewfinder. Chris didn’t like that tone. He didn’t like it one bit. From where he was, he was hidden by the lush greenery — but so was whoever called out. They knew that he was out there, so it wasn’t like he could lay low and pretend he wasn’t, no matter how tempted he was to try. Instead, he chose another approach:

“Uh, hi, please don’t,” Chris apprehensively announced as he thrust a free hand up and out of the bush he was in. His head and shoulders followed slowly; he really hoped that this ended well for him. “Can I help you with something?”

A voice called out, confirming that whatever was in the woods was something that both understood and was capable of speech. That still didn’t do much to ease Emilio’s mind. Most of the worst things he’d ever dealt with had been plenty capable of talking to him throughout, after all. But the voice did sound surprised — as if they hadn’t known they weren’t the only one out there. Good. Probably not something hunting him, then. If it were, it would have used whatever was left of the element of surprise to attack rather than giving away its position with…

A hand, sticking out of a bush. Then a head, then a pair of shoulders. The guy seemed unassuming enough, probably only a few years younger than Emilio. He eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but there didn’t seem to be anything inherently off about him. If anything, he looked sheepish.

“What are you doing out here? Shitty place for a hike, man.” And it was weird to hike inside a bush, wasn’t it? Emilio wasn’t much of a hiker, wouldn’t have been even if he hadn’t had a bad leg that gave him hell any time he tried to push it into doing more than the bare fucking minimum, but he was pretty sure this wasn’t exactly how it was done.

Oh, great. Just another guy in the forest. Chris knew what he was doing out there, at least. What was he doing? A small, irrational part of him told him that he was to blame. For what? Only his fears could tell him that, apparently, for he could never remember himself. The blame was always placed from the outside. Right now though, there was no blame, only confusion and apprehension.

“I’m taking some photos,” Chris held up his camera a little higher. “There’s a pretty cool frog down here and-” he’d looked into the bush to find the little amphibian missing. “-it’s gone.” Chris uttered out a sigh before he turned the attention back onto his visitor. “What are you doing out here?” The man didn’t look like he had any sort of gear on or camera or really anything to explain why he’d be out here so far from the trail.

The way that he looked like he came straight off the street made Chris nervous. What was he doing out here? He prayed the interaction was short-lived, but with the way he was being studied almost seemed unlikely.

Photos? Was that something people did, then? Go into the woods alone to take photos of frogs? Emilio tried to rationalize it, tried to understand the appeal. If you wanted a photo of a frog, you could look it up online. Even he knew that, and he was hardly an expert of the online world. But… The guy did have a camera, and it’d be a little weird to bring a prop with you to sell a lie on the offhand chance someone happened upon you killing somebody. The camera would just get in the way. And he couldn’t have been waiting for Emilio out here with any sort of specific intent, not when Emilio himself hadn’t known he’d be heading in this particular direction until he’d started on his way. It seemed to be an innocent run-in, then. Somehow, those were always harder for the detective to accept.

“Uh, sorry,” he offered uncertainly. “For scaring off your frog.” Was that the right thing to say? Was that what you did in a situation like this one? Emilio would have been far more in his element if the guy had tried to kill him. Instead, he was floundering. At least the question being turned on him gave him an excuse to think about something else… though he was never sure if the truth was the best option to go with here. People often said things to strangers that they might not say to private investigators. Even if this guy didn’t know anything, he might not know for sure if he led with the truth.

So he shrugged, glancing down the trail. “A friend of mine comes out here sometimes, and I haven’t seen her in a couple days. I’m hoping I can catch her if I come at the right time. I’m getting kind of worried about her, you know? You see anybody else out here?”

His apology seemed genuine, Chris thought, but he wasn’t about to just drop his guard over a little frog bonding. That would be stupid. He was, in truth, a little disappointed that the amphibian decided to high-tail it out of there. There were a few shots he managed to snag, but not nearly as many as he would’ve normally taken. So still, the apology was a nice gesture despite the circumstances. Chris offered the other guy a shrug. “There are other frogs,” he extended with intended respite.

The man’s truth seemed to be just that - his own. Chris didn’t know him; he didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not. He hated to take others’ words at face value, but in this isolating moment — a situation he knew could turn drastically dangerous at any turn — it was a necessary evil. “No, I’m sorry-” he replied with a swallow. He turned his own gaze to the surrounding area, as if this guy’s missing friend would’ve magically shown up at that point. “I haven’t seen anyone out here.”

He wasn’t obligated to believe Chris, and Chris was inclined to think he wouldn’t. He had to be prepared for the worse case scenario. He looked down at his wristwatch. “She comes out around this time? This is kind of a ways off.. Does she hike around this area, do you know?”

Emilio nodded, a little uncertain. Of course there would be other frogs — the woods were full of them. But was that what this man did with his spare time? Wandered around in the trees looking for frogs to photograph? To Emilio, who had never been allowed anything without an explicit purpose, it seemed so strange. What did he do with the photos afterwards? Part of Emilio wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure the answer would clear anything up for him.

He had more important things to worry about, anyway. The guy didn’t seem to be lying about not having seen Alyssa Mullins, though he did seem a little nervous about something. Of course, to be fair, he might just be nervous to be taking photos in a spot where a woman had presumably gone missing. “No one at all? What about wildlife?” Emilio tried to keep his tone casual — less like a detective looking for answers, more like a concerned friend just trying to help. It was harder than it seemed.

Glancing down at his phone for the time, Emilio shrugged. “Just about. She’s real into nature.” From what her friends had told him, it was true. She liked this area for the tree coverage, and the tree coverage was probably what had made it easy for something to sneak up on her and kill her. It might have been sad if it weren’t so damn stupid. “You out here a lot?”

The questions just kept coming, but Chris supposed that was fair considering his friend was missing — if she even was a friend or missing to begin with. For now, he needed to give this guy the benefit of the doubt. At least to keep any suspicion off of himself, but that was a harder game to play than it seemed. Easy, casual tones were difficult for Chris when he was lying. It just didn’t come natural to him.

“Not today, no,” he clarified; this far from the path didn’t see many visitors, at least of the human variety. Sure there were gaggles of teenagers or the odd researcher or two, but it tended to be just him and the trees. “Oh sure. A bunch of squirrels and birds. There was, uh, a deer here earlier.” Chris nodded in the direction that it headed; it spooked him something fierce, but the buck looked like it was on a mission and paid him no mind. “Other than that it’s just been a lot of small animals.”

Chris curled his toes tensely. It was the only thing he could do without looking outwardly uncomfortable. “I am, yeah. What does she look like? There were some people out here two days ago.” Again, not a lie, but having to go along with whatever this was made his stomach knot.

Squirrels, birds, deer. Certainly nothing like what Emilio was looking for. It was hard to determine if the photographer didn’t know that there was more than that out here or if he was simply playing coy about it. Paranoia screamed that it must be the latter — surely no one could be out in these woods as often as this man seemed to be without knowing what lived within the trees? — but Emilio knew the former might very well be true. There were plenty of people who’d lived in Wicked’s Rest all their lives without ever knowing there was more to the world than what they saw on the surface level. It was why people like Alyssa Mullins went into the forest and never came back. Ignorance might be some form of bliss, but it was also incredibly dangerous. A deadly, awful thing.

“What about tracks? You take photos, so you must notice things, ¿sí? Any, uh… trees or leaves not where they should be?” It wasn’t quite what he wanted to ask, but the less you used a word in English, the less likely you were to remember it when you needed it. There was some frustration in his tone, a clear indication that he wasn’t sure how to say what he meant. He shook his head, brow furrowing. “Tracks in the dirt, signs that something bigger than birds or squirrels have come through. That kind of thing.”

Two days ago might have been a little late, considering how long Alyssa had been missing, but if someone were disposing of a body or checking on one they’d gotten rid of recently, it might be a start. It was hard to say whether her disappearance was something sentient or just one of the many hungry things that lived in these woods, after all. Reaching into his pocket, Emilio retrieved the photo Alyssa’s sister had given him. “This is her,” he said, holding it out towards the photographer. “Any information you have, por favor. Never know what might be helpful.”

Chris felt the strong urge to run.

“Oh, actually, yeah,” he started and cycled through the photographs on the current camera. “There were some animal tracks on my way in from the trail. They were pretty big.. Figured I’d save the pics for something. Here..” Chris turned the camera towards the concerned ‘friend’. There were only four shots in total and each one showed off the large size of the footprints. He didn’t know what kind of animal made them, but this wasn’t the first time he’d come across them. He made sure to keep that to himself, however.

“Nothing else that I could see, just the tracks. I didn’t follow them..” a pang of guilt wafted over him. There was nothing he could do about it, now — and as harsh as it sounded, it wasn’t technically his problem to deal with. “I took those last week.”

Chris looked over the young woman in the photograph and pressed his lips together. He felt like he knew her but he couldn’t recall meeting anyone like that. He still felt like he knew her. A creeping feeling crawled up his back as he looked over her face; he started to hand the photograph back to the other man. “I’m sorry, she doesn’t look familiar. She definitely wasn’t with the group a few days ago..”

The photographer came in handy after all. Emilio leaned over the camera, taking note of the tracks. Hard to determine what they might be from on the camera’s screen, but it was clear that they were large. “Can you get me a physical copy of these?” It might mean giving up the ploy of concerned friend, but if it helped him solve his case, it’d be worth it. Alyssa’s friends deserved to know what had happened to her, even if she was currently being digested in something’s stomach.

“No, you were right not to follow them. Not doing anyone any good if you get… hurt too.” Hurt wasn’t the right word, but he wasn’t looking to spook the photographer by admitting that whatever left those tracks was probably doing a whole lot more than hurting people.

He watched the photographer’s face carefully as he looked over the photo. There was something there — a kind of confused familiarity — but it wasn’t much of a surprise when he said he didn’t know her. Odds were good that he was telling the truth, though if he was somehow responsible, he wasn’t going to admit it to a stranger. Emilio knew that. “The group, you think you could describe them to me? Did you hear any names?

“Can you get me a physical copy of these?”

That meant this wouldn’t be a one-off. Chris had to see him again or worse — be accompanied home (the motel was probably the closest form of civilization to where they were and he had a small printer in the room). He didn’t want that. He wanted to just give this guy whatever information he could give, maybe fib a little, and then go home to decompress. Could they do it another day? The thought alone sounded suspicious.

“Um, yeah, sure. How big do you need ‘em?” Most people wouldn’t ask for copies of what could potentially be evidence unless they were filing a police report or were a cop themselves, but this guy didn’t give him the same uncomfortable feeling. No, he made his skin crawl in a different way and he couldn’t tell if it was worse or not.

Chris took note of the pause. Did he know what made the tracks? Something in his gut told him that he might, what with all the strange goings-on in town. As skeptical as Chris was, it was hard not to notice things the longer you stayed. He tried to force each oddity into a logical box, but nothing ever really stuck right. With a swallow, he shook his head in response. “No, but they seemed like college kids, around that age. They were laughing.. I think one of them said something about.. ‘Church’? No.. ‘Temple’. I think it was a temple. But that was about it. Sorry..”

It was clear that the man wasn’t entirely comfortable with the request, but that didn’t matter as much as it probably should have. This man’s discomfort, while unfortunate, was still less important than getting answers. Everything, for Emilio, came second to that. He had a tendency to get a little too involved, from time to time. Javi told him it made him a good detective. He was pretty sure it just made him an idiot.

“Big enough to see the details. As big as you can make them, probably.” He could put them up on the wall in Axis, map out the precise shape of the tracks and go through every beast and monster in his head. Might ask Javi his opinion, too. Maybe even a few other people who might know. Chuck could be a decent bet, or Alan. In all likelihood, Emilio would be able to puzzle it out without an assist, but… there was something kind of nice to have the option of asking other people, at least. He hadn’t had that before.

Before, he’d mostly been stuck with people like this. Helpful, but only as long as it didn’t inconvenience them. At least he wasn’t holding everything back, even if Emilio still suspected that he wasn’t being entirely forthcoming. The new information rolled around in his head, and he furrowed his brow. “Temple?” It could be nothing. Just a few religious kids on a hike in the woods. Or… It could be something dark. In Wicked’s Rest, Emilio was unfortunately inclined to lean towards the latter. “You know of any… temples out here?”

“Do you, uh, want them right away? I have a-” don’t you fucking say it, “-to go somewhere to get these done. I don’t think the one I have at home is going to work.” Chris zoomed in a little on the photo from the display screen. “We can hit up Office Depot on the way in if you want these now. I have an account with them so it’ll take like.. No time.”

Despite having a printer, Chris felt absolutely zero comfort in the idea of being followed back to the motel room. Even though it wouldn’t take anyone any time to find out he was staying there — or really anything about him (despite never being convicted, he had a few arrests on his public record) — he wanted to keep that chance to a minimum.

Chris was just as confused about that as the stranger was. “No. I haven’t seen anything like that,” he shook his head. The only kind of temple he could think of was something akin to the Parthenon, but that was grandiose and he couldn’t think of anything like that hiding out in the woods — but then again, there were a lot of woods and a lot he was sure hadn’t been explored. Maybe there was something out there. Chris looked out into the disappearing treeline and swallowed.

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway. That sounds kind of creepy.”

Perhaps surprisingly, Emilio wasn’t entirely clueless when it came to photography. He had to know a little for his job, after all, had to be able to take passable photos when clients requested something that needed proof. But he certainly wasn’t up to Chris’s caliber. His own camera was an ancient, half-dead thing, falling apart and just barely this side of functional, but he understood the concepts of it at least. But the development process… That he was less ‘in the know’ about. Javi had volunteered to handle getting photos developed for him towards the beginning of Emilio’s business venture, and the detective had never really looked back. “Sure,” he agreed with a nod. “Better to do it now, I think.” He was pretty sure the photographer would disappear on him otherwise. He seemed the squirrely type.

The photographer’s confusion was authentic enough for Emilio to believe he was telling the truth, at least on this particular subject. There may have been more to his story than he was saying, but when it came to the possibility of a temple in the woods being tied to this case? It was clear the guy was in the dark. That was probably better.

With a huff that could almost be called a laugh, Emilio nodded his head. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Anybody who does their worshiping in the middle of the woods with nobody else around is probably hiding something.” Of course, considering this was coming from a man who assumed everyone was hiding something, it probably didn’t carry much weight.

Now — now was good. That meant they’d get this over with sooner rather than later and that meant he could get back to hiding out in overgrown ferns and catching shots of amphibians. Chris liked people, generally, and he craved interaction with them, but he couldn’t handle it for too long. He started to feel that familiar prickle of discomfort.

“There’s a little photocopier place near the university, we can go there.” They were on the slower side with getting actual film developed, but Chris didn’t feel comfortable in the slightest with bringing some strange man back to the motel room, especially one with questions. He didn’t like to be questioned.

The sound that escaped the other man felt humored enough, but Chris couldn’t let himself ease up. He felt tightly wound despite the friendly expression he wore on his face. There’d been too many experiences similar to this one that ended poorly, he just couldn’t relax — and he was worried that he was being too obvious. He offered his own slight chuckle and shook his head as he removed himself from the small tangle of overgrown grass.

“Reminds me of Children of the Corn, to be honest.” Humor was a great tool for deflection, one that Chris felt like he had mastered at this point in his life. “Well, now that I’m officially freaked out, I’m ready to go.. whenever you are.”

“All right,” he agreed, relaxing a little at the suggestion. Photocopier place near the university meant a public location. Emilio wasn’t afraid of the guy — he knew he could hold his own in most any fight he got into, and he was armed to the damn teeth at any given moment — but he liked to avoid going to secondary locations with strangers when he could. Call it a general rule against being the target of any attempted murders.

The guy worked to get out of the grace, and Emilio took a step back to give him a little extra room. Without meaning to, his mind wandered to categorize weaknesses as the man shifted. Discomfort with social situations — Emilio could relate. Easy enough to use against someone. The clear tension in his muscles would be an easy thing to utilize if he had to.

Stepping aside so the man could lead the way, Emilio furrowed his brow. “I don’t think corn has children. I don’t think it’s called that.” Unless it was some weird American idiom that he’d never learned. There were a lot of those, he was realizing. “I’m ready to go, too, though.”

Chris did prefer to be out in the middle of the woods instead of a potentially people-filled shop (not to mention the school and other shops around it) just in case anything happened (what, he had no idea, he just knew it was bad). But being in public just meant he needed to be quick - and hoped the checkout clerk was quick, too.

If anything felt off he'd need to cut things short which just made him look suspicious - especially since this guy was looking for someone. Running away would be downright suspect. He loathed the public location, but there wasn't any other option.

Chris snorted instead of the full laugh he held back. "No, uh.. Children of the Corn is a movie," he chuckled, grateful for the slight tension reliever. "It's about a cult, so I thought it was kind of relevant," he explained as he started off, though slowed to try to keep pace with his company. He didn't feel entirely comfortable with him behind him.

A movie. Right. Emilio had never realized just how often people made references to shit like that before leaving Mexico. In Etla, he’d mostly only interacted with other hunters. His siblings, his mother, his uncle, the various hunters they met in bars or at camp. The only real exception had been Vida, and his mother had loathed that particular friendship. All his life, he’d run in social circles so small that there were many, many things he’d never learned.

It seemed cruel, in a way, that the only real method of learning those things had to start with a massacre that left him too desolate to really grasp them. Children of the Corn was a movie about a cult, and he’d forget that the moment he and this man parted ways. His mind was so busy holding on to the smell of blood in the air and the sticky feeling of it under his feet that it let go of things like fun facts and pop culture the moment they were out of sight.

“Know of any cults in town?” Did that count as small talk? They had to talk about something as they made their way back towards town, otherwise things would get awkward fast. And talking about movies was a no go; Emilio had never successfully sat through one. But he knew about cults. Just a thing or two, but enough to keep the conversation moving.

Sure they were sort of already on the subject of cults, but Chris expected at least a nugget of more movie talk. Maybe a breath, a crumb even — no, that branch was bypassed entirely and instead they started to traverse the rickety path of cults. Thankfully, he didn’t know of any in town (at least, none that he was aware of), but he’d come across one or two in the past. Part of him wondered if his dad had cult connections.

The trail started to even itself as they continued back out of the park, but the trees stayed dense. The uneasiness that came earlier started to wane the longer Chris spent with the stranger, a nice reprieve.

“Uh,” came Chris’ immediate reply, but it was followed closely by a “no, I don’t.” He shook his head before offering a shrug. “At least, I don’t think I do. I’m pretty sure I’d know a cult if I saw one, though..” Would he? The ones he was familiar with were sort of cookie cutter — they were almost too perfectly cult-like. It was hard to explain, but Chris hoped he’d never come across one again. “Do you know of any cults around here?”

He hadn’t really expected the guy to know much about the local cults, but it was still a little disappointing to hear that he didn’t. Maybe Emilio had hoped that if he was hanging out in the woods, he’d be smart enough to look into what might be hanging out in the woods alongside him. And that was probably on him. Hoping that anyone who hung out alone in the woods of Wicked’s Rest was anything resembling smart was hoping for far, far too much.

“Ah, some of them look different,” he replied, shrugging a shoulder. In all honesty, he didn’t have a lot of experience with cults. They were a human problem, something for the local law enforcement to deal with instead of the hunters who worried about more supernatural threats. But he knew a thing or two about clans, and those weren’t entirely unrelated.

And there was the Wynne of it all, too. Emilio thought of them now, of what they’d told him. A cult that sacrificed kids to a demon, that would have sacrificed Wynne if they hadn’t run. “I know of some,” he shrugged again. Wynne’s family. Maybe Zane’s clan, too, though he’d be hard pressed to convince the damn vampire to admit it. There were definitely more than that, too.

‘Ah, some of them look different.’ That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Chris had, hesitantly, tiptoed into a documentary about a cult once before. He had to turn it off after a good few minutes as it felt too close to home, but that was their whole shtick — they wanted people to blindly follow, to become slaves to whatever fucked up agenda they could come up with and they would package it in whatever wrapping paper was the prettiest. Anything to get bodies.

“Well.. sure, but.. they all kind of work the same right? It’s just a whole lot of kool-aid drinking, anyway.” Chris didn’t think he would ever fall for a cult’s tricks, or if he even could. He held a lot of skepticism in his everyday life, so much so that it became detrimental (but he wouldn’t know about any of that, now would he?). The trees finally thinned out and rough pathway became more trodden; the faint sound of a person or two erupted through the wind. Civilization grew close, but the walk felt like an eternity. How far had he gone? Chris didn’t think he had ventured too far, but he did have a tendency to lose himself behind the camera lens.

“What? You’re serious? There are actual cults here?” Despite his verbal surprise, Chris believed him. He had only been in the city for a handful of months at this point and already he could tell the place was weird. The trail gave way to more people just looking for some exercise among nature. While Chris had never been a fan of being around people, he was glad to see more of them. His company wasn’t awful, but he didn’t think he could stand being alone with him for too much longer.

“Oh, uh… Did you drive here? I’ve got a rental, but I don’t know if you wanted to share a ride or not.” God he hoped he didn’t. He hoped to everything he didn’t believe in that he didn’t want to share. If it came down it, so be it, but his nerves were shot to hell already.

“Kool-aid?” Emilio wasn’t sure what the term meant, but he wasn’t sure how much it mattered. Maybe the guy was right �� cults might all worship different things and look different, but their methodology had similarities, didn’t it? Bring people in, make them believe something was true so adamantly that they’d kill and die for it. Tell them your way of life was the only way of life, and that anyone who said anything else was just plain wrong. Make them rely on you, make sure they didn’t trust anyone outside your demographic.

(The thought was strangely jarring. He pushed it from his mind, not liking the idea of thinking on it too long.)

The town grew nearer, though Emilio found no more comfort in the familiar buildings than he did in the uncertainty of the treeline. You could die in the woods. You could die on the streets of your hometown. You could die in your own living room floor. The presence of other people, for Emilio, didn’t represent any kind of safety.

Glancing over to the man, Emilio studied his face for a moment, trying to determine if he was serious. “You been here long?” There were cults all over this damn town, though some of them called themselves different things. Churches, clans, groups. They all amounted to the same thing, more or less.

“Walked,” he replied with a shrug. He shouldn’t have, given the piss poor shape his leg was in on days when he didn’t push it past its limit, but Emilio was a stubborn ass. Never liked being told what not to do, even by his own body. “You give me a ride to get the photos developed, and I can walk home from there.”

“Yeah,” he returned, though felt the need to explain when he noticed the confusion. “Oh, uh. I’m kind of hazy on the details but some cult made their people drink poison laced kool-aid. They all kind of just.. Blindly followed it, so it’s been a saying ever since it happened.” Chris grew quiet. “It’s kind of fucked up..” Truthfully, he didn’t know if he wanted to keep talking about it, especially with a stranger he’d just met in the woods. The odd situation didn’t pass him, but he supposed he’d been in the middle of worse.

“Maybe a few months now, but no, not long.” The question didn’t outright concern Chris, but it did make him think that maybe he should have crossed paths with a cult or two the minute he’d passed over state lines. “... I’m gonna take that as a yes. I guess if someone starts offering me Kool-Aid I should just... run in the opposite direction? Sorry.. Bad joke.”

He walked, of course he did. And he needed a ride there. Of course he did. Was there someone out there listening in on Chris’ thoughts? It all felt too punishing, like it was being done on purpose. Still, he would grin and bear it. He didn’t want to make waves, not when he’d just gotten there. “Oh, okay. You- Sure. That sounds like a plan to me.” He stopped himself from asking if the other man was sure about walking to wherever he was going to go after the pictures were developed. Part of him wanted to help further, to at least make sure he got home alright, but that meant spending even longer with him and Chris had nothing left to give. It was better this way.

“I’m right at the end there,” Chris pointed to a boring, silver Ford Focus that was sat by its lonesome at the very end once they’d reached the parking lot. Pine needles littered the broken asphalt.

It sounded ridiculous, the idea of trusting someone enough to blindly accept a glass of poison. If Emilio were capable — or, more likely, willing — to think on it for more than a fraction of a second, he might be able to see the comparisons to the way he’d been conditioned to not just accept that he’d die a brutal death at the end of a short life from the time he was a child, but to want it. A more introspective man may have been able to connect a few more dots than Emilio did now, but for him? It just wasn’t possible. He’d defined himself by the loss of his family. He couldn’t allow himself to think on the flaws they’d shown in life. So rather than comment on any of it, he shrugged. “I don’t know what Kool-Aid is.”

A few months. Maybe not quite long enough to grow used to the oddities of Wicked’s Rest, then. Emilio shrugged. “Yeah. Probably should.” He waved off the apology, shaking his head. “Don’t have to be sorry. I like bad jokes.” Even if this one in particular left a strange pit in his stomach, even if he still couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was about that story with the Kool-Aid that had upset him so jarringly.

It was clear that the guy didn’t want to give him a ride, which only made Emilio want to push further. He’d blame it on being a detective, but he’d been like this since long before he’d decided to give private investigation a try. He liked to poke at things, liked to know everything about a situation or a person once he’d locked on to it. He always had. That hadn’t changed, even when everything else did. “Appreciate it, man.” He followed the man to his car, taking note of the make and model. Would he use the information later? Probably not. But it was good to know, wasn’t it?

Pulling open the door, Emilio climbed into the passenger’s side. “All right,” he said, “let’s go.”

First Children of the Corn, then Kool-Aid — if he wasn’t so uncomfortable, Chris would have laughed. And he did allow himself to, though the sound was nothing more than the idea of it. It was small and eagerly replaced with a slight cough, a skill he’d picked up after those many years of dealing with his father. “Um. It’s a powder you mix into water. It’s really sweet.. Too sweet, in my opinion.” Kool-aid really wasn’t that important, but the mundane subject was much more preferable over a missing person.

“That’s good, then. There’ll probably be one more before we get to the store, just a warning,” Chris returned in jest. Jokes, including the bad ones, which were more often than not, became a good coping mechanism. They were trigger jokes, the ones that tended to just fumble out at the most impromptu moments. It wasn’t so bad now and besides, his company took it pretty well. A lot of the time, Chris didn’t get that lucky.

Speaking of his company, there was something that dawned on him the moment they’d gotten into the car and the doors were shut. “Oh, uh, I’m Chris, by the way,” he started as he slipped the key into the ignition. He wasn’t a big fan of handshakes, or really any physical contact that wasn’t absolutely necessary. He would take his, though, if he offered. This situation, as benign as it looked, felt necessary. It could just be his anxiety, though, and he was awfully aware of it.

“That sounds disgusting.” Who wanted powder in their water? There were a lot of things Emilio hadn’t been taught. It was natural, for a hunter. Why teach him about a world he wouldn’t be a part of? Why give him lessons he’d never use? He was more weapon than person, and weapons had no need to know about things like ‘Kool Aid’ or Children of the Corn. And, in moments like this one, with this explanation settling in his ribs, he didn’t think he’d missed out on much. If being a person meant putting powder in water to make it sweet, he’d rather be a knife.

Huffing a quiet laugh, Emilio nodded his head. Sure. More bad jokes. He could handle that. He’d been reliably informed that none of his jokes were particularly funny, either, so maybe if he laughed at this guy, this guy would laugh at him. Give and take, back and forth. He wasn’t great at that, but he could manage it every now and then.

Oh. Right. Introductions. Manners, apparently, were another thing Emilio wasn’t exactly good at. “Emilio,” he replied simply. He made no move to reach out for a handshake, settling on a vague nod instead. He had no desire to touch a stranger’s hand. Especially not some guy who’d been wandering around in the woods. “You can turn on the radio if you want, Chris. Won’t bother me.”

“Yeah.. It’s not the best.” It was great when he was younger, but now? Chris didn’t get much of the appeal. Granted, it was one of the few drinks they could get other than water since it was so cheap. He didn’t think he could drink a whole glass of it anymore. “The commercials were pretty funny, though.” He briefly explained about the pitcher full of the drink called the “Kool-Aid Man” and how it would bust through walls whenever someone wanted, well, Kool-Aid. It felt stupid the moment Chris verbalized it, but the entire interaction had been unusual from the start, so why stop there?

“Nice to meet you.” Was it? Eh. If it weren’t for him, Chris would still be in the bushes with his camera lens against the dirt and ferns. But he wasn’t as bad as he thought he might be, what with that warning upon first meeting. The tone, and even words, were familiar. He was glad it turned out better than what his personal history liked to say. “Okay. Thanks..” Good, he didn’t really feel all too eager to sit in silence even though the ride likely wouldn’t take too long. It was a straight shot out of the Pines and into the rest of civilization.

After they’d pulled out of the parking space and out of the park itself, Chris turned on the radio and tuned it to the local eighties station. Not his decade, but it was better than some of the new stuff that was being churned out. A beat came after the song Separate Ways by Journey and then Chris asked: “How long has she been missing? If you don’t mind me asking?”

The drink sounded disgusting and unlike anything Emilio would ever willingly buy (it couldn’t even get you drunk), but as Chris explained the commercials for it, he could recognize some appeal. A giant pitcher of Kool-Aid bursting through a wall the moment it was referenced was outlandish and stupid and exactly the sort of thing Emilio Cortez would find very funny. It was the destruction, he thought; there was something comforting in it, in a strange sort of way. He understood that far better than he understood pouring sugary powder into water to turn it into something it wasn’t.

“Sure,” he agreed, though he wasn’t sure it was true. He wasn’t a very good person to meet, most of the time. He’d pulled Chris away from the day he’d had planned for himself, and he didn’t really regret it, would do it again if asked. Chris’s convenience didn’t come second, or even third to Emilio. It was, instead, very far down the list. “Yeah. No problem.”

The sound of unfamiliar music filled the car, and while Emilio was content to sit with it, Chris seemed more interested in conversation. Talking was hardly the detective’s strong suit, but he could manage it if he tried. “A week,” he replied, shifting in his seat a little. He turned his head to look out the window, though not so much that he couldn’t keep Chris at the edge of his vision. The picture of paranoia, Emilio preferred a position where he could both mark his surroundings and maintain an idea of where he was going while still keeping an eye on the man behind the steering wheel. “Been looking, but… It’s hard to hold on to hope.” That much was true, even if Emilio wasn’t looking for a ‘friend’ the way he’d led Chris to believe he was.

Chris didn’t think this was how his day was going to go. He thought he would spend most of it in the park and the woods with lots of photos saved on his camera roll. Maybe have a shower and watch something on his laptop since the only movies available on the motel television were horror movies and those were not ideal in the slightest. He thought he would spend the whole day with himself and the various little critters that littered the woods floor — instead he sat in the rental car with a stranger who was on the lookout for a missing person and talked about fucking Kool-Aid.

Everyone said weird things happened in Wicked’s Rest, and Chris had definitely stumbled upon his fair share (most of which he tried to explain away), but this was probably the weirdest so far.

While the situation wasn’t ideal, he could at least appreciate how quickly Emilio seemed to reel in his original and immediate reaction to stumbling across someone, who was potentially suspected to know where his missing woman was, fumbling around in the bushes. Most people in his shoes would have kept to the offensive, which would have ended in a bad time all around. That level-headedness was how Chris wished everyone reacted to him, but that was a perfect, preferred world and this was not that.

A week. A week the woman had been missing. God, that must be excruciating. It was one thing to know a family member or friend was dead, it was another to wonder if they were even still alive. He couldn’t imagine the torment her family must be going through. Chris frowned, but he kept his eyes on the road. “I’m sorry.. I know it’s not my fault, but.. still. I hope the pictures can help.”

Did that make him look suspicious? That’s what they all said, wasn’t it? ‘I didn’t do it, it’s not my fault’ — ‘I’m sorry’ tended to be an awkward knee-jerk reaction in most situations, especially when the apology came from someone not at fault. Chris just couldn’t help it. He was grateful, also, for the sight of the strip where the small printing shop sat. That meant their slightly unusual, slightly awkward conversation would hopefully come to a close.

For a moment, he forgot that he’d approached the man as a friend of the missing woman rather than a detective investigating the case. He almost felt bad about it now, given how… sympathetic Chris was about the whole thing. Like he genuinely was sorry that Emilio’s ‘friend’ was missing, like he really wanted to do everything he could to help find them. It didn’t feel great, considering the fact that Emilio was lying, but… reactions like this were why he lied about this sort of thing to begin with.

People met a detective, even a PI with no form of ‘power’ over anyone, and they were on edge. They were nervous, they were uncomfortable. They lied without meaning to, without reason. They tried to cover up things that were irrelevant just to keep themselves from being seen. It was annoying, because Emilio rarely cared about things he wasn’t investigating unless someone was being hurt because of it. And it was inconvenient, because it forced him to sort through lies that were relevant and lies that weren’t just to land on the truth of the matter at hand. It was better to cover up his true intentions, better to lie about who he was and pretend to be a concerned friend instead of a hired detective.

But it still made him feel like shit sometimes.

“Yeah, no worries, man. I appreciate your help. Maybe the photos will do some good.” If nothing else, they’d give Emilio a better lay of the land. His cases took him into the woods often, as did his ‘night job,’ but a lot of that time was spent running or chasing or fighting. Having a static image to look at might come in handy.

“It’s no problem. I.. Yeah, I hope so, too,” went Chris’ reply. He genuinely did hope that something positive would come out of this, even if it might be too late for her. He recalled back to when his own sister had… disappeared. He was blamed for it, and after they found her mangled body in the woods, he was blamed again. If he could help, just a little, his initial trepidation and fear for the stranger and, hell, situation, would be worth it. Most of the time, his photography made people happy, inspired — maybe he could help to give someone closure.

A curt squeal erupted from the vehicle’s brakes when Chris pulled into an open parking spot. Although he was happy to help, he could feel that small bout of excitement when he knew he was close to getting some alone time. Just a few more moments and his good deed would be done for the day.

Chris grabbed his bag, waited for Emilio to join him on the sidewalk, and then headed into the office supply store. Usually he utilized the self-serve machines — this time was no different, and honestly? It was probably going to be faster. Though there weren’t many people inside, he had a feeling the clerk behind the register wasn’t up to snuff just judging by the way his attention was glued to the cellphone in his hands.

With a brief purse of his lips, Chris made a beeline for the self-serve area and started to unload the camera in question like he always did. Memory card, card reader, printer. Once the reader was in, it was only a matter of what buttons to press and which photos to choose. “I know you said you wanted the one, but were there any others that you wanted me to print out?”

His trip to the woods might not have given him exactly what he needed, but at least it wouldn’t be entirely wasted. Getting something out of the trip was far better than being empty-handed. It might not make or break the case, but it did stand to get Emilio a step or two forward. He followed Chris into the store, eyes darting around as they entered. Absently, he cataloged threats. Clerk looking this way. Guy in aisle three looked up when the door opened. Lady walking to the register has a big bag, could have a weapon. It was a useless paranoia, he knew; none of the ‘threats’ were legitimate. But Emilio couldn’t stop the train of thought, either.

“Whatever you think might be useful,” he replied with a shrug, dragging his eyes back to Chris. “Wide shots, anything with people in the area. Especially people you think you ran into more than once.” Anyone who spent a lot of time in the woods was a suspect… even Chris himself, though the conversation had lowered his name down the ranks of the detective’s list.

He watched as the photos printed, a little intrigued. When they finished, he took them from the tray and held them up. “Appreciate it, man. I can walk home from here. Sorry to… mess with your day, or whatever.”

Whatever you think might be useful. Chris looked through the reel and gave a peruse over the photos that surrounded the one Emilio was after. He picked a few that might help with the lead up or give any environment cues, any other hints of what might have happened — or what kind of creature the prints belonged to.

They were warm when they came out, but they looked good from where Chris could tell. While he was glad he could help and that this turned out a lot better than he anticipated, he was still so ready to go home and decompress. A little voice in the back of his head had to wonder if there might be a follow-up, but he didn’t dread the idea of that as much as he would have.

“Okay, if you’re sure...” Something told Chris his mind was made up already. “It’s.. no problem, really. I’m happy to help. I hope you find her…” He pressed his lips together uncertainly. “Take it easy,” went the goodbye when the other man finally left with his prize.

Chris nearly left, as well, until he realized he still needed to pay for the prints.

He sighed. At least it was over with?

#thread #tr: emilio c #tr: [ unusual suspects ]

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fezwearingjellybananas · 9 months ago

Note

15 and 30 for the fanfic writer ask? :)

15. What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written?

I do have a soft spot for Sweet Defiance. I could list several things here, but that one is a full blown AU rather than Canon Divergent AU as most of mine are, and it's space pirates and I had so much fun writing it. I think it's the longest fic I've written where I've just sat down, written it in order, and not paused to write something else.

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

Writing Eobarry is something I didn't think I'd be doing at the start of last year (or rather publishing Eobarry and not on anon), and I think that getting such positive feedback on that has encouraged more of that. And Nightmares, I don't know if it's fully horror exactly, but it's meant to be creepy and have this underlying something is wrong feeling, so I'm maybe more tempted to look at horror as a genre after that. Maybe not like full blown horror (I am a wuss when it comes to horror films), but why have I, the aroace, never considered writing a fic featuring one-sided attraction and the horror of here is a person who loves you who will do anything to be with you who won't take no for an answer and you are incapable of feeling the same way and they won't take no for an answer. If I'll ever write a fic firmly about that I don't know, but I can only consider it as an option because of those fics.

Thank you!

[Fanfic Writer Asks]

#replies #roboticnebula #*

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piningpercussionist · 11 months ago

Note

... first and foremost, I would like to apologize for any discomfort I've caused you, Kim. now, I'm not the most... socially apt person. but I really, sincerely, do *not* mean you any harm. I'm not intending to come off as creepy, I can, however, understand why you'd be uncomfortable or perhaps concerned by these gifts and all. (I mean, shit. if somebody mailed me a painting of me dancing with them, I'd be weirded out too, flattered, granted. but weirded out.) I never really expected anything to happen, I guess I just... felt the need to tell you how I feel about you, get *that* off my chest, at least. even if you don't feel the same way that I do. (which is fine, and understandable! I get it.) as for why I've sent you gifts... I suppose I just wanted to show you how I felt with something other than a note or whatever. *just* a note feels kinda cheap. I'd rather give you something that's at least a bit useful to you (hence those custom made drumsticks.). I hope you find success in whatever future endeavors you do. and I hope that you don't find this note too off-putting. enclosed is something that I hope you and the rest of Sex Bob-Omb like. -sincerely, the guy who said he had a crush on you. *enclosed is a folded, custom made Sex Bob-Omb poster, it's actually quite well made. it's an homage to the album 'Ramones', by The Ramones, featuring Sex Bob-Omb's lineup leaning back against a brick wall. unlike the original album cover, it's in color and not black-and-white.*

ooc: answering this as though it is in the nebulous but near future! I just didn't want to leave this lingering any longer; sorry for the delay! Hopefully I have left things vague enough for myself to wedge it back in the timeline of the blog later lol

Kim lets out a long, weary sigh as she finally gets back to the relative peace of her room, taking a moment to rest back against her shut door and scrub at her face. The energy and emotional exhaustion of everything that had happened between the last time she'd been here and now seemed to be sinking into her bones, and she wanted little more than to sink to her knees right there and just be comatose for a while.

She knew from experience, however, that the floor was cold and miserable like that, especially this time of year; so, instead, she opts to shrug off her coat and toss it blindly in the direction of her desk, trudging towards her bed. She closes her eyes and lets herself fall forward into it, ready to finally, properly rest, maybe even unpack her thoughts about everything- but then, she hears the crinkle of paper as she makes contact with the sheets, and her eyes fly open while she rolls to the side and, thankfully, off of the object.

She blinks down at an envelope that had been tossed haphazardly on the bed, probably by Hollie, and after a moment recognizes the style of it. Oh, that one guy... how long has this been here? Did I miss this before I left? She hesitates briefly, mostly just in resistance to the idea of having to continue actively thinking, but sighs and sits up anyway. She won't be able to relax if it's just sitting there, tempting her.

Propping up her pillows, she leans back against them and opens it, pulling out both the letter and the folded poster. She looks over the letter first, and after a moment, lets out another sigh, this time a short, guilty thing. The words feel genuine, so she can't help but feel slightly bad about her previous response, but... Well, if they knew anything about her, they might've expected it. She tries to take comfort in that fact, glancing over in the general direction she left the drumsticks. Then, she pulls out her phone and snaps a picture of the letter, opening her blog to begin her reply.

Hey, sorry this too so long to get back to. Life and things; with how people talk, maybe you've heard about the party by now? Julie's ragers, am I right? The apology is appreciated... and accepted. I think I believe you, especially given you're acknowledging the creep factor there. I'm not really a big gift person, I guess, so it was a little off putting just to begin with, anything else aside. I think you've already given me more than my parents got me for Christmas, and I don't even have a name for you beyond "Crush Guy." But, hey, it's far from the most uncomfortable I've been in these situations, so you're actually doing fairly alright in that regard. Thank you for the well wishes; I'll probably be needing them, ha! And no, I think you've quelled the fires against you, for now. (Joking- this is why I do the stupid videos...)

She pauses briefly, looking over at the newest gift and carefully unfolds it, trying to work out the creases as she goes. Once it's unveiled, she stops to look at it for a long while, a bit surprised by how much she genuinely likes it. She sets it aside with a mental note to hang it up later- ideally before their next band practice. She wouldn't be attaching a photo of it to the post, to help keep the surprise til then.

And again for the gifts. I think the rest of the band will really dig this one, honestly- especially Stills. It's very nice.

She gives it a once over before nodding to herself and hitting send, content. Then, setting the letter and the poster further aside, as to not crumple them, Kim moves to curl up at the top of her bed in a tight ball, eyes sliding shut peacefully. I'll think about things later. Ball time, she thinks idly, and then thankfully, blissfully, proceeds to continue thinking nothing at all.

#(ooc: dude as i was writing this my roommate busted out some chicken pho and i am so ravenous rn. god damnit. why can i never FOCUS sdfskjf)#(ooc: if i get any asks after this posts and it takes a hot minute its because im going off on my own pho i want it so bad but. this first.#(ooc: i was really debating how to have her respond to these- but i think with ramona having responded to them too this is the best way?)#(ooc: briefly considered funny quirky “anon mail” system where she could send something back through the same envelope. like it just poofs #+ and returns to the sender with whatever's enclosed)#pine.txt #asks #anon #rp #kim pine #sp comic #spvtwtg #spto #spvtw #Crush Guy #(ooc: anyway the second kim has a single thought after this she's taking the biggest bong hit /j but make not who's to say)#((ooc: it's me. im to say. really it depends on the thought but if she wants to continue not stressing herself out then the answer is yes))#(ooc: also no kims on this one bc i didnt want it to get lost in my drafts since it'd get flung back a good ways)#(that one tag is supposed to say maybe not. dying inside.)

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elendiliel · 2 years ago

Text

The Winning Team

Just a bit of semi-nonsense to link my last fic to the next one. I think an amount of inspiration came from @justawannabearchaeologist's "TFP Wheeljack in TFA" series, and I'm definitely indebted to @blueskyscribeupdates' With a Side of Rust; both are highly recommended. (There's also a good chance one concept in here was half-inched from @itsstrangelypermanent's medical logs (also highly recommended, if you're a fan of The Clone Wars).)

---

Knock Out wasn’t sure he’d ever quite understand the Autobots.

Yes, he’d read the Autobot Code, or rather the cheat-sheet Glitch had put together for him (reminding him almost painfully of similar documents that used to circulate among his fellow students while he was in training, so many aeons before, as well it might; the other medic was barely out of training herself), and he’d done his research back at the beginning of the war, when deciding which side to fight for, although he now realised that his sources had been more than a little biased. And, of course, he’d seen Team Prime in action many times. But none of that had prepared him for actually living side by side with them, day after day, accepted in a way he had never really thought possible. He was, however, coming to understand what made them different from the Decepticons – and, perhaps, why they had beaten the odds and won the war.

For one thing, while the Decepticons had had numerical superiority, especially after the Exodus, most of that was because of their standing army of faceless, nameless Vehicons, who were never allowed to be anything other than instruments of Megatron’s will. Big M had only permitted independence or creativity among his High Command, who fought amongst themselves like so many cyber-cats. Knock Out’s status as CMO had never been in real danger once he’d reached that position, and he’d always been very insistent that he and Breakdown were a package deal, but he had still had to battle for scraps of respect with the rest of the officer corps. Dreadwing had been the only one he’d had any time for, besides his partner; the demolitions expert had generally been polite and respectful, keeping himself to himself, and his sense of honour had been a reminder that the Decepticons were, or should be, more than merely conquerors. As for the others… Starscream was treacherous, devious and rude, Soundwave was just plain creepy, Airachnid was unsettling and untrustworthy even before she went rogue again (killing Breakdown in the process) and Shockwave was bossy and infuriatingly single-minded. Knock Out did not miss that nest of serpents.

By contrast, while the Autobots might bicker, tease each other or disagree loudly over technical matters, there was always a strong sense that they respected and cared about each other. He’d seen them risk their sparks for one another in combat many times, of course, but there was something different about watching them interact away from the battlefield. Observing fierce Arcee’s close bond with gentler Bumblebee, and her constant, friendly back-and-forth with eager young Smokescreen, or the notorious Wrecker Wheeljack debating some scientific issue with Glitch, the wide-eyed little medic (who, Knock Out knew all too well, wasn’t anywhere near as defenceless as she might seem). They varied in everything from frame type and paint colour to universe of origin, but they were united by more than just a common cause and a common code. They were joined by something else, something he couldn’t name with certainty (but was more and more tempted to identify as love).

And, bizarrely, they seemed to extend that whatever-it-was to him. When he’d originally tried to switch sides, and again when he turned on Starscream, deep down he’d expected to be treated only as an asset, to be valued for his skills more than anything else. To be kept at arm’s length. But Bumblebee had treated him as part of the team from the start, and his fellow sports cars, Wheeljack and even Smokescreen (despite their history), had followed his example pretty quickly. Glitch seemed incapable of not befriending him, and had appointed herself his guide and protector during the first few weeks after Unicron’s defeat; apparently she had experience of such situations. Ultra Magnus… who knew what he was thinking? But by the time he’d recovered from severe Predacon-related injuries, he’d resigned himself to Knock Out’s presence, at least. Arcee, too, wasn’t always easy to read; she’d kept her distance at first, and when she finally cornered him he’d braced himself for the worst, knowing she was spectacularly good at holding grudges. Instead, though, she’d only wanted to tell him that she had also lost a partner to Airachnid (and another to Starscream, he knew but didn’t say), and if he ever wanted to talk… He hadn’t, yet, but he hadn’t rejected the offer outright, either.

Other than Ratchet (who was a whole other cube of Energon), the only partial holdout was Bulkhead, who had taken a while to separate Knock Out from Breakdown, his long-term rival, in his head. Mercifully, the Wrecker had kept himself busy, running the reconstruction of Cybertron, and interacted with the medic as little as possible. He’d been at Breakdown’s funeral, though. They all had.

That had been part of Glitch’s campaign to make sure all those who had fallen in the war, of any faction, were honoured and remembered. She had, for example, taken it upon herself to organise individual graves for the Vehicons killed in the battle for the Omega Lock or by Predaking, marked in ways that would mean something to each ‘bot. As such information wasn’t recorded, she had had to get it from the survivors; seeing that she was becoming overwhelmed, not by the logistics of her task but by the amount of social interaction involved, he had quietly stepped in to help. It was what Breakdown would have done.

“Why does this matter so much to you?” he had once asked to break the monotony of their datawork.

“It’s the right thing to do.” The simple, direct answer he should have expected from any Autobot, but not her only answer. “And…” He had waited for her to line her thoughts up, surprised by how easy and natural that had become. “This didn’t happen, in my universe. The Autobots won the Great War and forced the Decepticons into exile without even trying to be reconciled. Whole generations were raised to fear and hate an enemy that still hated us. For example, out of the six people in my boot-camp squad, three wanted to join the Elite Guard and kick Decepticon skidplate; a fourth said he did, but we found out much later that he was a Decepticon. And I specifically wanted to be a combat medic. It’s hardly surprising that war broke out again just two million stellar-cycles later.” She had forced herself to meet his eyes, and he had seen both steely determination and fiery compassion in hers. “That won’t happen here, not if I can help it.” He had believed her, and still did.

Obviously, they couldn’t hold individual funerals for every Vehicon, but Breakdown had merited one – quite possibly as a favour to Knock Out, although nobody said so in so many words. In preparation, the two medics (Ratchet had returned to Earth by that point, though he turned up for the funeral itself) had removed the organic contamination (sorry, Silas) from Breakdown’s body, which had been kept in cryostasis until then, and repaired it as best they could. They had made a remarkably good team; while Knock Out was by far the superior surgeon, Glitch knew more about organic biology than he would ever care to learn, and her tiny hands were better suited to such fiddly work. When Breakdown was finally laid to rest, at the top of a hill a comfortable distance from Iacon, he looked as though he had just powered down for a while.

Knock Out had managed to stay composed for almost all the short ceremony, even leading the time-honoured prayers for the dead without hesitation, as he felt Breakdown would have wanted. Only the music had broken through that composure. Somehow, from scraps of information he had let slip and whatever the Vehicons and Bulkhead might have told her, Glitch had crafted a near-perfect musical portrait of his partner, capturing not just his great strength, physical and emotional, and his ceaseless devotion to his friends and their cause, but the fierce joy he had found in all of life – especially battle – and his surprising kindness towards and affection for ‘bots most people regarded as mere drones. Knock Out had had to slip away and just be by himself for a while, finally allowing himself to grieve properly, in a way that hadn’t been possible before.

The others had given him space to do so, just as they had – usually – given him space to adjust in the beginning, letting him acclimatise at his own pace. Though Smokescreen had kept trying to challenge him to races until Arcee and Glitch told him, very firmly, to back off unless Knock Out himself also wanted to race, and Glitch had not just persuaded him to join in with their regular movie nights, but actually sat on him for the first one to make sure he didn’t sneak off mid-film. The musical romantic comedy he’d found himself watching wasn’t his usual choice, but it had been quite entertaining, despite the facts that the plot – something about a young human femme about to get bonded wanting to know which of three males was her co-creator – was pretty thin (apparently that was standard for the genre; plots were just there to join the songs together) and he didn’t get all the jokes. (He gave up asking Glitch to explain them after her face turned a very peculiar colour and she declined to answer his first question; the answer probably had something to do with… interfacing, and he did not want to know about that.) Maybe he should be expanding his knowledge of human culture a little…

Less forcefully, his young colleague had also invited him, soon after Ultra Magnus was discharged from med-bay and just before Ratchet moved back to Earth, to play in a medics-versus-Wreckers lobbing match – “it won’t be too strenuous; Ratchet’ll strip all our paint, including his own, if Magnus overdoes it” – and, for reasons he still couldn’t fathom, he’d accepted. That, too, had been surprisingly enjoyable, even worth the damage to his finish – just about. Especially once he’d established that while the use of mods, tools and weapons was forbidden (a necessary precaution when one of the players had both built-in electromagnets and a competitive streak a hic wide), there was no rule against simply picking up one’s smaller teammate so she could pass to a taller teammate more easily. The Wreckers had still won, but as Knock Out polished away a fresh set of scratches (Glitch giving him a hand with the hard-to-reach ones) he’d realised he didn’t mind. Much.

Stars, the Autobots – the other Autobots? – were rubbing off on him. Particularly a certain bronze two-wheeler from another reality. From a professional standpoint, he found Glitch fascinating. Her relatively simple design looked more like a robotic version of something organic compared to, say, his more complex root mode, but her language use was far more mechanical, as though to compensate for that. The way she transformed was simpler, too; she just seemed to fold up or unfold, whole limbs and torso joining together or splitting apart, in contrast to the more drastic rearrangements with which he was familiar. Her system was more circuitry-based than his, and accepted a wider range of fuels – while her universe’s Energon was best, she could live quite easily on Earth fossil fuels, or process Synth-En without apparent adverse effects, although Dark Energon was even more detrimental to her than to ‘bots of his reality. All in all, she was quite something, and there were times he was tempted to have a closer look at her biology – via dissection.

But, as well as breaking the Autobot Code he was dutifully trying to live by (for the most part), that would deprive him of the pleasure of her company, of a talented if inexperienced colleague, and of an equally fascinating personality. She was a bundle of contradictions on legs or tyres – a ferocious fighter who wouldn’t harm even an insect that wasn’t a threat to anyone, an open, honest femme who had tried to match wits with Starscream (with some success), a team player and a one-‘bot squad. Cautious to the point of paranoia one cycle (apparently the “isomorphic lock” she had told Starscream she’d installed in the Justice wasn’t a bluff, but reverse-engineered from her own ship back in her universe); bold, almost reckless the next, flying a warship as though it were a light cruiser and pulling off manoeuvres no classically trained pilot would even consider. Starting a conversation with a stranger scared her more than facing Unicron did. She did her best to mediate between Knock Out and Ratchet when they argued – which had happened a lot while the older medic was still in residence; the med-bay wasn’t big enough for both of them, however hard they tried to respect each other – but freaked out or lost her temper when someone disturbed her carefully arranged equipment. (As apparently distinct from the equipment that could, and did, go anywhere. And was he really supposed to know all her filing systems?) Her shapeshifting character baffled him as much as it intrigued him.

Just as he was baffled and intrigued by the rest of Team Prime. For a start, now that Big O was gone, there didn’t seem to be much in the way of a chain of command. Ultra Magnus was technically Optimus’ SIC, but even when he was back to full functionality Bumblebee still seemed to be in charge, while Magnus only advised him as necessary. Discounting the Wreckers, who treated orders as suggestions at the best of times (especially Wheeljack), and the medics, who could pull rank on anyone given sufficient cause, Arcee was probably next in command, outranking Smokescreen on length-of-service grounds, but it was hard to tell. Compared to the Decepticons’ rigid hierarchy, their organisation was utter chaos, but it worked. Somehow.

Maybe that was one of the secrets of their success. Megatron had founded the Decepticons to tear down the caste system, but replaced it with another kind of oppression, where upper-class ‘bots fought each other for the approval of a single leader, and most of the work was done by lower-class “drones” who didn’t even have names. Optimus, by all accounts, had valued and cared for every one of his Autobots, no matter their station, for their individual gifts and just for themselves, a concept Knock Out struggled to get his head around. Under his leadership, a former construction ‘bot had as much of a say as an ex-high-caste one; he’d even listen to humans. Megatron had preached about change, but Optimus actually delivered it, and his followers fought to defend it, him and each other, far harder than any Vehicon who no longer had any choice about anything. It would, however, be interesting to see whether Optimus’ vision persisted as refugees of both factions and none returned to Cybertron, or whether the old corruption would return with them.

One thing was for certain; Team Prime wouldn’t let their late leader’s legacy be destroyed, not without a fight. And Knock Out was increasingly sure he would stand with them in that battle. Even if he still didn’t quite understand them. He wouldn’t just choose the winning team, not any longer; he’d stick with the team that had accepted him, and do his best to help them win.

#transformers prime #transformers animated #fanfic #tfp knockout #autobot oc #misplaced medic au

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grigori77 · 2 years ago

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2022 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 2)

20. THE WOMAN KING – While Wakanda Forever was making a bit of a pig’s ear of things, this action-packed historical epic from The Old Guard director Gina Prince-Blythewood tackled broadly similar material and pulled it off without a hitch. I’ve been fascinated with the intriguing story of the Dahomey Amazons for a while now, even before I got into Black Panther and the Dora Milaje they inspired through the MCU, so when I heard there was gonna be a movie about them I got REALLY excited, so I was already pre-programmed to love this movie. Y’know what I’m like around strong woman … anyway, the story here is of the Agojie, the all-female warrior elite of the West African sovereign nation of Dahomey, circa 1823, when king Ghezo (John Boyega), new to the throne and determined to bring his people out from under the oppressive shadow of the slave trade, begins to clash with their aggressive neighbours and the Portuguese slavers who stoke the flames of war in order to grease the shameful wheels of their business. Boyega is, as ever, a noble and charismatic presence in the cast, but OF COURSE this film is dominated by the Amazons themselves – Viola Davis, it turns out, was BORN to play the role of Agojie General Nanisca, the army’s commanding leader, who’s forced to confront a troubling ghost from her well-buried past in the form of a new recruit, Nawi (The Underground Railroad’s Thuso Mbeda, a fiery and intense focus for the story’s driving narrative), a wilful young girl who dreams of becoming a mighty warrior rather than facing a life of drudgery in an ill-made marriage match; Captain Marvel and No Time To Die’s Lashana Lynch, meanwhile, essentially STEALS THE FILM from everybody else as genuine force-of-nature Izogie, a badass veteran fighter whose irreverence is matched only by her ferocity, and Sheila Atim (also from The underground Railroad) brings focus and stately grace to proceedings as Amenza, Nanisca’s close friend and trusted confidante. They’re a fierce and intimidating lot, raising merry hell in a series of explosively blood-soaked set pieces that stir the blood and whiten the knuckles, while the screenplay from Dana Stevens (Life Or Something Like It, The Nightingale) wears its standard historical adventure tropes on its sleeve, turning what could have become tired, rote cliches in the hands of a lesser writer into comforting strengths for all their familiarity. Certainly Prince-Blythewood is on fine form here, clearly having as much fun crafting a stirring epic actioner as she did with her Netflix-based breakthrough, further cementing her status as an emerging blockbuster director of genuine promise. I look forward to seeing what else she’ll deliver when the incoming sequel to The Old Guard arrives …

19. THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH – this adaptation of one of my very favourite William Shakespeare plays is a particularly notable milestone in cinematic history, because for the very first time, writer-director Joel Coen has made a feature film without his ubiquitous filmmaker brother Ethan having anything to do with the project. That being said, Joel’s always been such a dominant force on the DIRECTING side of the Coen Brother’s output that, if you didn’t know this, you’d never know Ethan was absent on this one, because it’s still EVERY INCH a Coen film. It’s also Denzel Washington’s first time working for either Brother, but he’s SO magnificent as one of the greatest fictional villains OF ALL TIME that you won’t have any idea WHY they never worked together before. He’s absolutely MESMERISING as Macbeth, the doom-courting Thane of Cawdor, who decides to murder his way to the throne of Medieval Scotland after receiving a very tempting prophecy from a trio of creepy-ass witches right after a decisive battle sees him get one hell of a royal promotion – Washington sizzles and sears in every scene, whether he’s smouldering with pregnant understated menace or exploding with un-righteous fury as Macbeth is haunted by gruesome ghosts or egged on by his scheming, ambitious wife. Coen-regular Frances McDormand matches him in every scene as the DEFINITIVE Lady Macbeth, particularly as she crumbles spectacularly once the guilt of what they’ve done starts to weigh her down; Brendan Gleeson is typically grand yet cuddly as ineffectual ill-fated King Duncan, while Harry Potter star Harry Melling continues to prove that he's grown up into a truly DYNAMITE star-in-the-making as his untested but prematurely put-upon son Malcolm, The Boys’ Alex Hassell is obsequious but complex as duplicitous young nobleman Ross, and Straight Outta Compton’s Corey Hawkins makes for a suitably strapping and dynamic Macduff (ALWAYS my favourite character in the play and EVERY adaptation). Joel Coen has once again dropped a blinder on us, solo-effort or not, making Sakespeare’s text breathe in fresh and interesting ways while he weaves a beautifully bleak and haunting visual spell, unleashing compositions on us that recall the subtly unsettling weird mundanity of American Gothic art or the surrealism of German expressionist cinema, especially in the film’s very unusual interpretation of the supernatural, as well as framing the story’s bloody and decidedly non-glamorous violence with an almost clinical detachment which perfectly complements the gorgeously stylised world he’s built, all of it topped off with an unsettlingly lowkey atmospheric score from regular Coen collaborator Carter Burwell. Thoroughly deserving all the immense acclaim it’s had heaped upon it, this definitely proved to be one of the year’s early surprises and one of its most downright exquisite works of art. Most important of all, though, Joel’s taken what’s always been a definitive Shakespearean villain and turned him into one of the all-time GREAT Coen protagonists ...

18. DOCTOR STRANGE IN THE MULTIVERSE OF MADNESS – Okay, maybe I am being A LITTLE hard on this year’s MCU offerings, I’ll admit this one IS pretty great. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but there’s no denying that it’s a PROUD example of its breed, and if I’m honest in some ways it’s certainly better than its titular character’s FIRST feature in the franchise canon. Ultimately a HUGE reason for this undeniable success is the triumphant return to the Marvel stable of Spider-Man’s original big screen shepherd, Sam Raimi, who MAGNIFICENTLY makes up for the shortcomings of his frustratingly muddled and underwhelming third entry for the Web-Headed-Wall-Crawler with this far more solid effort. Sure, it has its flaws and once again there are points where it’s clearly trying to do too much, but this time round Raimi manages to rein in the excess JUST ENOUGH to keep things consistent and coherent throughout, and the end result is one of the MCU’s darkest films to date. 2021’s Spider-Man: No Way Home saw Benedict Cumberbatch’s former Sorcerer Supreme tackle the Multiverse for the first time, and now he’s got his hands full dealing with the aftermath as the emergence of ‘Verse-hopping teen America Chavez (The Baby-Sitters’ Club’s Xochitl Gomez), a young superhero with the ability to “punch” through dimensional walls sets all his hard-earned efforts to repair the damage spinning into chaos. America’s been targeted by the Scarlet Witch herself, Wanda Maximoff (Elizabeth Olsen), who wants to use her powers to tear through the walls between worlds so she can be reunited with her “lost” children after the tragic conclusion of Wandavision, but Strange takes issue with her methods, foreseeing nothing but darkness and ruin across the Multiverse should she be allowed to pursue her insane plan, which sets them at loggerheads with the fate of all existence in the balance. Raimi’s presence in the director’s chair in lieu of original Doctor Strange helmer Scott Derrickson makes sense when you realise this is the MCU’s first true, full-blooded HORROR MOVIE, Marvel wisely bringing one of the greatest directors in the genre’s history onboard to usher in a pervading atmosphere of pregnant dread, chilling suspense and jolting terror to many of the set-pieces while one-time Avenger Maximoff has been ingeniously recast in the mould of a genuine horror movie MONSTER, frequently triggering some of the film’s most ruthlessly effective jump-scares. As a result, while this movie does (just) pull its punches enough for its PG-13 rating, it’s DEFINITELY NOT one for the kids, and while it’s certainly got plenty of the ubiquitous MCU heart, spectacle and winning sense of humour, this is sometimes pretty dark, hard-hitting stuff. (A good yardstick for you – remember that What If? Marvel Zombies episode? It's very much like THAT.) Cumberbatch is once again on TOP FORM as Strange, treading an admirably fine line between hero and prick as the erstwhile Master of the Mystic Arts navigates the murky waters between what’s right for the greater good and what he knows in his heart should REALLY be done, while Gomez is a phenomenal find for Kevin Feige and the other MCU bigshots, emotive, effervescent and often downright lovable as a simple teenage girl trapped by her unavoidable circumstances in the eye of a veritable hurricane of fate, and it’s wonderful to see Rachel McAdams return in more than one form as Strange’s one-that-got-away, Dr Christine Palmer, who brings an important grounding element to her scenes as the one entirely human anchor for the audience to experience all this craziness through, as well as the ever-reliable Benedict Wong as, ahem, Wong, once librarian at Kamar-Taj but now the CURRENT Sorcerer Supreme (because Strange got Blipped for five years), who’s just permanently done with all his shit, and always down to remind him not to be such a PRAT; there’s also a phenomenal who’s-who of supporting turns and cameos from new and returning faces I’d be painfully remiss in spoiling for anyone who wants to experience some of the Multiverse’s ingenious twists and turns, although I can say that’s it’s one of the film’s biggest momentary joys that Raimi even found time to get his old mate Bruce Campbell a fun little role in this too. The real runaway star of the film, however, is Elizabeth Olsen, who does a beautiful job of taking a heroic mainstay in the narrative of the MCU and, through some VERY clever screenwriting and character development, twisting her into something dark, dangerous, sometimes genuinely terrifying and ultimately heartbreakingly tragic in her paradoxical sympathy (I swear, your heart breaks for Wanda even when she’s scaring the wits out of you). Sure, at times this is glaring by-the-numbers MCU and there are times when it doesn’t quite work, but there are also moments of downright GENIUS on offer here, from some elaborately inventive action sequences (a scene involving music as a weapon is beautifully conceived), while the skill of everyone involved is certainly great enough to keep things on the right track and paper over the cracks when they DO appear. Certainly Raimi’s firing on all cylinders here, producing what’s most definitely his best film since the heady days of Spider-Man 2, and it certainly does an admirable job of establishing the Multiverse in the MCU in the interests of opening the franchise up to much wider scope in the interests of moving forward into its future. Maybe bringing him on again for another entry somewhere down the line might be a smart move for Feige and the boys if THESE are the kind of results he can deliver …

17. HELLRAISER – I’ll admit, when I first heard they were making a new soft reboot movie adaptation of Clive Barker’s classic cosmic horror novella The Hellbound Heart, which of course spawned a much beloved cinematic franchise (even though it ultimately went off the rails after the third instalment, albeit with a few decent blips in the interim), I was deeply sceptical. Then I heard that it was going to be directed by David Bruckner, who did such a phenomenal job with the spectacularly creepy horror flick The Ritual, and I started breathing a little easier. Then I heard about some of the casting choices, and it sounded like they were definitely heading in the right direction … and then I saw the trailer, and THAT had me frothing in my excitement. Needless to say when it finally arrived I POUNCED, and it did not disappoint me in the slightest, as you can see. XD Thankfully this has followed the smart move of taking things RIGHT BACK to the start, although this time round they’re trying things a little different, introducing a new, richer narrative take that expands on the established mythology while also carving a fresh path for the future. That being said, the classic ingredients are still present and correct – the lethal puzzle box, the Faustian pact, the Cenobites, it’s all there, and all handled exquisitely. Odessa A’zion (Fam, Grand Army) makes for a plucky and determined but also compellingly vulnerable lead as Riley, a recovering drug addict who stumbles upon the cursed box after one bad night drives her to do something really stupid, but then things go from bad to worse when the device is triggered, the Cenobites come calling and her brother Matt (13 Reasons Why’s Brandon Flynn) is taken. Now she must solve the mystery behind the box’s ever-evolving puzzle in an increasingly desperate bid to find her brother and save her soul from unknowable, nightmarish torments, tumbling headfirst down a dark rabbit hole of twisted conspiracy and demonic vice spearheaded by monstrous nihilistic playboy Roland Voight (Goran Visnjic). Your heart genuinely hurts for A’zion as she goes through hell, but she’s got some impressive steel in her when things get hard, while there’s interesting supporting turns from Adam Faison as Matt’s sweet, straight-laced boyfriend Colin and Drew Starkey (Love, Simon and The Hate U Give) as Riley’s twitchy enabling lover Trevor; Visnjic, meanwhile, brings his inherent edgy dark side to the fore as a suitably despicable, entitled villain, and the Cenobites are a spectacularly nightmarish bunch, especially Sense8’s wondrous Jamie Clayton, who brings us an intriguing and strangely sensuous new take on fan-favourite Pinhead. The horror elements are, interestingly, somewhat stripped back throughout much of the film, Bruckner again clearly preferring to value atmospherics and plot-based intrigue over gruesome shocks and cheap jumpscares as we follow Riley while she delves into a suitably labyrinthine mystery, although when the film DOES decide to get scary it sure don’t pull its punches, delivering some truly twisted moments that are sure to please the hardcore faithful. Gods know I was impressed throughout – no only is this a PHENOMENAL step back in the right direction for a franchise that’s been flagging for far too long, but it’s also a glorious tribute to the undeniable horror master who birthed the original. Clive deserves to be proud, from the looks of this his baby is in very safe hands indeed.

16. BULLET TRAIN – The award for the year’s most spectacularly OTT blockbuster went to the latest magnificently bonkers darkly comic action-packed thrill-ride from hot shit stuntman-turned-director David Leitch (the first John Wick, Atomic Blonde, Deadpool 2, Hobbs & Shaw), which has a title which tells you pretty much all you really NEED to know about this going in. Convinced? Then just go and WATCH IT, you won’t be disappointed, and there are plenty of neat little twists and turns in this that mean this is best watched going in good and cold (ESPECIALLY if you haven’t seen any of the trailers yet). Still with us? Well all right then … adapting Japanese author Kōtarō Isaka’s popular black comedy novel Maria Beetle, it follows a disparate collection of contract killers and a professional thief onboard a speeding Japanese bullet train who are brought into frequent violent collision by a series of bizarre events and the deadly machinations of a brutal legendary crime boss known as The White Death. Brad Pitt is already well-established as a bankable action hero who can easily pull off the physical requirements of his leading man role here, but once again he shows us that what he TRULY excels at is COMEDY, winning us over with brilliant hangdog exasperation as Ladybug, the thief in question who’s long suffered from BIBLICAL levels of bad luck, hired to go onboard purely to steal a briefcase full of money, only to find his personal curse keeps throwing him into increasingly crazy confrontations while he’s desperate to just GET OFF THE TRAIN and deliver his ill-gotten cargo; Kick-Ass’ Aaron Taylor Johnson and Atlanta’s Brian Tyree Henry, meanwhile, are an unapologetically chaotic pair as Tangerine and Lemon, “twin” British hitmen who’ve been charged with rescuing The White Death’s son (Percy Jackson’s Logan Lerman) from kidnappers and returning him to his father, although their constant bickering quickly lands them in much deeper shit once Ladybug’s stolen the case-full of ransom money they liberated while they were at it; then there’s the Father (Snake Eyes’ Andrew Koji, hard-bitten and magnificently vulnerable throughout), who boards the train with the intention of killing the person responsible for putting his young son in a coma, only to fall foul of the devilish machinations of The Prince (The Kissing Booth’s Joey King, manipulative and frequently downright CHILLING in her sociopathic Machiavellian brilliance), a mysterious young woman plotting something truly TERRIBLE when the train reaches its destination; and finally there are excellent supporting turns from the likes of Deadpool 2’s Zazie Beetz, Michael Shannon, Sandra Bullock (wonderful as Ladybug’s much put-upon handler Maria) and the legendary Hiroyuki Sanada in a variety of rich and meaty roles I really couldn’t begin to get into because of, y’know, SPOILERS … needless to say Leitch and his crew are on comfortably firm ground to bring more of their patented overblown mayhem to bear in a series of explosive and frequently batshit mental set-pieces that also play beautifully into the film’s jet-black sense of humour – this is a story that SHOULD NOT be taken seriously for a second, and the hit-rate for the substantial procession of quickfire gags, skits and ingenious call-backs and references is one of the highest I’ve ever seen in an action comedy. The end result is a work of pure mad genius, and despite the critical detractions (and somewhat surprising accusations of whitewashing given the author himself gave the adaptation his full blessing) this is about as close to perfect as an action movie can get, a precision-crafted masterpiece you need to pay close attention to since there’s so much going on and it’s all so intricately important because every brilliant little detail ALWAYS pays off in the end. This is BY FAR the most fun I had at the cinema all summer, some of the most fun I had with a movie ALL YEAR even, and I can’t recommend it enough.

15. DC LEAGUE OF SUPER PETS – My animated favourite of the summer is a pretty interesting beast (yeah, I know, cute choice of words in this context, ha ha ha, etc). I’m sure it was originally conceived as an amusing little distraction for DC Universe fans while their favourite properties’ futures are in such great upheaval on the big screen, but ultimately I think this is actually the one DC flick I’ve come across that most perfectly GETS the overblown hilarity at the centre of the whole property. Certainly Jared Stern (who co-wrote The Lego Batman and Ninjago movies, here marking his second feature as a director after his debut with Netflix romantic comedy Happy Anniversary) understands this better than some, having expertly lampooned (and somewhat perfectly captured) the inherent truths behind the classic core members of the Justice League of America and their encompassing universe in a 105-minute animated comedy adventure that focused everything through the simplified viewpoint of Superman’s beloved pet dog Krypto. Dwayne Johnson (who got his own major DCEU debut when Black Adam hit our screens in the Autumn, for what it was ultimately worth) is a fine choice for the vocal role of the super-pooch in question, who finds himself suddenly de-powered and forced to enlist the help of a quartet of rescue pets who’ve just been “gifted” with superpowers by a tiny fleck of orange Kryptonite – Johnson’s Central Intelligence co-star Kevin Hart is Ace, an independent but loyal boxer dog who becomes super-strong and indestructible, I Love You For That’s Vanessa Bayer as PB, a Wonder Woman-fangirl potbellied pig who develops the ability to grow or shrink to insane degrees at will, Natasha Lyonne as Merton, an incredibly old, extremely near-sighted box turtle who inherits super-speed, and Rogue One’s Diego Luna as Chip, a neurotic squirrel who’s granted lightning powers – acquired by Lulu (Saturday Night Live legend Kate McKinnon), a megalomaniacal hairless guinea pig obsessed with Lex Luther (legendary stand-up comic Marc Maron), whom the shard grants terrifying telekinetic abilities which she uses to imprison the Justice League and kickstart her own plans for world domination. Yeah … sounds pretty bonkers, right? Thing is, anyone who really knows DC Comics knows how this really is pretty par for the course with a lot of DCU backstory, which is definitely something Stern and his regular co-writing collaborator John Whittington totally understand and definitely ran with here – the inherent batshit craziness of the premise is milked for all the comic genius it’s worth, with the film paying delightful homage to the JLA, the titular pets themselves and a whole raft of other brilliant little winks, nods and easter eggs along the way, while also ruthlessly lampooning the DC Universe with utmost love for the property itself. The voice cast are all ON FIRE here, with Johnson and Hart again hitting it off magnificently as a thoroughly entertaining canine odd-couple, while McKinnon consistently steals the film right out from under everybody with her unabashed comic genius, and Lyonne is an absolute delight all on her own; the Justice League, meanwhile, are brilliantly realised in a delightfully skewed comedic take that nonetheless does them all (ahem) justice, pitched to perfection by the likes of John Krasinski (Superman), Jemaine Clement (a cracking piss-take on The Water Guy, Aquaman) and, best of all, Keanu Reeves (a glorious deconstruction of Batman at his broodiest). The animation is some of the best CGI work I’ve seen from the Warner Animation Group to date, the set-pieces are definitely pitched for laughs but surprisingly well-done in pure action terms, and the humour levels really are full-on OFF THE CHARTS here, but Stern and Whittington have also wisely injected a whole lot of emotional heft and pure HEART into the film too. The result is an animated feature that’s a thorough joy to behold, keeping you gripped, entertained and stuck in the feels right through to the end. This is definitely a film anyone trying to make a GOOD DCEU movie NEEDS TO WATCH, because it’s about as true to the Universe as I’ve EVER seen a movie get … even while mercilessly spoofing it …

14. BELFAST – Kenneth Brannagh’s an interesting duck. As an actor, I love his work, he’s consistently impressed me over the years, blowing me away with some truly spectacular performances, whether in his favoured territory (essaying Shakespeare) or doing something fun and different (such as The Road to El Dorado), or even just providing some solid support to other stars in a smaller role (Dunkirk instantly springs to mind); as a director, on the other hand … yeah, the results have been mixed at best. For every masterpiece like Henry V, Much Ado About Nothing, Thor or Murder On the Orient Express, he’s also brought us dreck like Dead Again, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein or (gods help us) Artemis Fowl, and a fair amount in the middle ground that’s either kinda meh or actually not too bad if you just go with it (Hamlet, Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit and Peter’s Friends are certainly ones I actually kinda liked). Approaching a new release, therefore, is always a trepidatious business, you never know what you’re gonna get … so you can probably imagine my surprise when his OTHER latest offering (JUST preceding the pretty decent Death On the Nile) ACTUALLY turned out to be the very best feature I’ve ever seen from him. Then again, this is BY FAR his most personal film to date, Brannagh going RIGHT back to his roots with a semi-autobiographical story which is HEAVILY based on his own personal experiences as a boy growing up in the titular city in Ireland at the height of the Troubles, specifically the August Riots of 1969. The film is told largely from the point of view of nine year-old Buddy (newcomer Jude Hill), the younger son of a small working class family living on a mixed denomination street, who find themselves in the middle of a powder-keg when anti-Catholic resentment starts to boil over in their neighbourhood. His dreamer “Pa” (Jamie Dornan) is looking at the possibility of a brighter future for him and his family if they move abroad to greener pastures, but forceful and pragmatic “Ma” (The Beauty Inside and Ford V Ferrari’s Catriona Balfe) just wants to stay put, and both are forced to make hard choices that directly affect the family’s future as the Troubles start to impact their lives as a whole. Dornan and Balfe are both exceptional throughout, Balfe in particularly shouldering a lot of the film’s heavy lifting with spectacular skill and undeniable talent, while Dame Judi Dench and Ciaran Hinds warm our cockles and pluck at our heartstrings in equal measure as Buddy’s grandparents, two people who are clearly still deeply in love even in the twilight of their time together, and Merlin’s Colin Morgan brings a charged menace to proceedings as the film’s nominal villain, Billy Clanton, an up-and-comer in the local sectarian movement who wants Pa to join The Cause. Buddy’s the undeniable beating heart of the film, though, Hill instantly showing he’s gonna be a star in the future as he essentially brings a young Brannagh to life, a deeply imaginative boy who loves movies and science fiction (especially Star Trek) but is struggling to find his place in the world and what’s going on around him. The director shows as much skill with his writing as he does behind the camera, weaving a compellingly rich tapestry out of a deceptively simple storyline and bringing some genuinely palpable, fully realised characters to vital breathing life (although I guess he had STRONG inspiration to draw from), as well as paying frequent, loving respect to all the massive influences he’s drawn from over the years, from the films he grew up with (Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and One Million Years BC among others) to the music his parents taught him to love (the soundtrack includes several gems from the great Van Morrison). The resulting film is a powerful and rewarding experience, a clear labour of love which is equal parts dramatic, moving, heart-breaking, warmly funny and deeply inspiring. Brannagh wins our hearts by wearing his on his sleeve.

13. THE BLACK PHONE – I see now why Scott Derrickson pulled out of directing the second Doctor Strange film – he had to get what was ALMOST the horror highlight of the summer out of his system. Adapting Joe Hill’s short story with his Sinister co-writer C. Robert Cargill, Derrickson’s comfortably ensconced back in the genre he clearly resonates with best, crafting a fiendishly complex and spine-chillingly intense suspense thriller out of a deceptively simple premise that, at least on the surface, has been reworked more than once before on the big screen. The year is 1978 (that’s when I was born!), and a serial killer is stalking the suburban streets of Denver – the Grabber, a mysterious man-in-a-van who kidnaps teenage boys who are never seen again. His latest victim is Finney (For All Mankind’s Mason Thames), who wakes up in a basement with a defunct payphone on the wall before being periodically visited by the mysterious masked killer (Sinister’s Ethan Hawke) who repeatedly tries to involve Finney in his wicked, sadistic mind-games … only for him to be warned of his fate and coached on how he might escape by the spirits of the Grabber’s previous victims, with whom he communicates through the broken phone (yeah, I know it sounds like a bonkers premise but it’s portrayed in such an ingenious way you never once fail to swallow it hook, line and sinker). Meanwhile his younger sister Gwen (The Mandela Effect’s Madeleine McGraw) is trying to find him with the help of her wildly unpredictable psychic dreams, despite the consternation of her troubled father (the incomparable Jeremy Davies) and the deep scepticism of the detectives assigned to the case. Hawke delivers what’s definitely his most unhinged performance to date, taking his charismatic, likeable leading man persona and tearing it to shreds by investing the Grabber with an air of unpredictable menace and sadistic malevolence that frequently chills the blood even though he spends essentially the whole film with his face obscured by an intriguingly malleable demonic facemask; the two young leads, meanwhile, are both an absolute revelation, with Thames bringing an unbearably palpable uncertainty and vulnerability to Finney which makes his ultimate manning up so deeply fulfilling, while McGraw is a sweet but decidedly salty (and sometimes VERY SWEARY) joy in a rewarding turn which steals every scene she’s in; in the supporting stakes, Davies is enjoyably complex, a drink-addled bad-dad who nonetheless has a good heart beaten down by powerful personal tragedy which ultimately makes us root for him, especially when he finally starts to open himself up to the possibility that Gwen might actually be onto something, while Sinister and It Chapter 2’s James Ransome delivers a delightful crackpot turn as a local conspiracy theorist who thinks he’s got it all worked out. This is a beautifully written film, skilfully realised by a marvellous up-and-coming talent of literary horror and then further refined by a true master of the genre on the big screen, Derickson constantly defying expectation as he throws perfectly pitched twists and turns at us before finally bringing the film to its nail-biting, piano wire-taut climax. Far as I’m concerned this is the best film he’s ever made, and with his track record that’s an impressive feat – I can only hope this is a sign of even greater things to come from him in the future …

12. KIMI – we were already getting movies about the COVID outbreak and the resulting chaos that the Coronavirus has wrought upon us around the world as early as late 2020, but for the most part it’s largely been small, under-the-radar indie stuff. Now we’re starting to get BIG stuff, and the latest from Steven Soderbergh is one of the most impressive offerings I’ve seen to date. Written by thriller cinema extraordinaire David Koepp (Carlito’s Way, Panic Room, Stir of Echoes), this is a spectacularly taut and blissfully streamlined suspense thriller that not only brings the impact of the Pandemic into sharp perspective, but also our growing overreliance on smart device technology and social media – altogether then, fertile ground for a socially-conscious filmmaker like Soderbergh, who essentially PREDICTED all the shit COVID just put us through with 2011’s terrifyingly prescient outbreak-thriller Contagion. The Kimi of the title is the latest creation of the film’s fictional tech conglomerate Amygdala and its visionary CEO Bradley Hasling (Derek DelGaudio), an all-encompassing smart speaker which revolutionises the technology by taking the potentially controversial step of having live human moderators overseeing its operation instead of AI in order to cut down on potential voice recognition-based cock-ups. The film’s main narrative focuses on one of these moderators, Angela Childs (Zoe Kravitz), whose long-standing social anxiety and agoraphobia have been immensely exacerbated by lockdown to the detriment of many aspects of her life. Then a routine review of some of her daily moderations uncovers something deeply disturbing – what sounds to her VERY MUCH like a break-in and the murder of a Kimi owner. Under pressure from Amygdala to bury the information but driven by her own conscience and personal trauma from a similar incident, Angela decides to take matters into her own hands instead … this might be the best performance I’ve EVER seen Kravitz deliver (which is definitely saying something when we just saw her PERFECTLY embody one of my favourite comic book characters of all time), as she invests Angela with twitchy awkwardness but also fierce, unshakeable determination when faced with insurmountable obstacles, creating one of the most refreshingly compelling and resourceful lead protagonists I’ve come across in cinema, and since big chunks of the narrative are a one-woman show with many of her interactions with other characters playing out through phones and computer screens, this means she largely DOMINATES the film. That’s not to say there aren’t other great performances in this – DelGaudio does a lot with quite a small part, while there are excellent turns from Byron Bowers (The Chi, Honey Boy) as Angela’s occasional casual friend-with-benefits, Terry, who wants to become something more to her, Devin Ratray (Blue Ruin, The Tick) as Kevin, a fellow shut-in neighbour, and Rita Wilson (Runaway Bride, The Good Wife) as Natalie Chowdury, an executive with Amygdala to whom Angela attempts to blow the whistle on her findings. Soderberg and Koepp have crafted a spectacularly suspenseful thriller which expertly ratchets up the atmospheric dread of Angela’s situation from the slowburn scene-setting start to the fraught and harrowing climax, the film’s determination to keep its focus squarely on Angela meaning that we’re right there in the thick of it with her throughout all her anxiety, paranoia, terror and downright feral fight for life. This is one of the best films either Soderbergh OR Koepp have delivered in a good while, and definitely one of the year’s top big screen thrillers. Not bad for something which was inspired by and executed entirely in the midst of COVID.

11. ENOLA HOLMES 2 – Back in 2020, while we were waiting for Guy Ritchie’s long-mooted but still conspicuously absent third Sherlock Holmes movie, we got a welcome surprise from another quarter – director Harry Bradbeer, taking a break from making TV shows like Fleabag with something a good deal more ambitious, and screenwriter Jack Thorne (His Dark Materials, Wonder). Adapting the intriguing “AU” young adult novels of Nancy Springer, they brought her intriguing character to the fore, unleashing Sherlock and Mycroft’s previously unknown kid sister Enola Holmes upon the cinematic world in fine style in the form of Stranger Things’ Millie Bobby Brown. The resulting breezy, cheeky and enjoyably irreverent mystery adventure was, rightly, a major hit for Netflix when they released it in the middle of the Pandemic, so it was a no-brainer for them to order a sequel right away, and having had a ball on the first, Bradbeer and Thorne were HAPPY to deliver once again. Better yet, the resulting sequel is JUST AS GOOD as its predecessor … after the events of the first film, Enola’s trying to carve out her own career as a sleuth-for-hire like her brother, but the inherent prejudices of Victorian society regarding her youth and, more importantly, GENDER are very much working against her … until she finds herself called upon to help a young matchgirl who wants to find her missing sister, and once again Enola finds that her seemingly simple case is, in fact, just the tip of a massive conspiratorial iceberg, one which also relates to her brother Sherlock’s own latest case, one which seems to be vexing him like none before. Once again, it’s an absolute joy to join Brown on her adventures, the immensely talented ingenue perfectly portraying a fiendishly brilliant, naturally-talented mistress of detection whose frequent fourth-wall-breaking asides always tickle me; Henry Cavill, meanwhile, is once again clearly having immense fun as the most famous gentleman sleuth of all time, as well as getting to bring an intriguing new dimension to his portrayal as we see Sherlock revealing frustration and ennui for the first time as he has to deal with a mystery that just doesn’t make sense. When they’re together they’re a joy to behold, and I truly hope we’ll get to see more of them working as a team in the inevitable follow-ups, while the other returning faces from the first film are all given plenty of time to shine in their own right here too, from Louis Partridge (Pistol) as sweet but quietly determined young Viscount Tewkesbury to Helena Bonham Carter as Enola and Sherlock’s wayward revolutionary mother Eudoria, while there are some equally talented newcomers to enjoy here too, with David Thewlis’ brilliant but hateful corrupt Scotland Yard Superintendent Grail particularly impressing here, while the film does a brilliant job of introducing a couple of other key characters from Arthur Conan Doyle’s pantheon for future instalments in suitably interesting ways. As with the first film, this is a bright and breezy adventure that rattles along at an impressive clip, Thorne’s razor sharp script sparking and fizzing appropriately as the story unfolds, while we have plenty of fun following Enola as she navigates her world’s various social pitfalls and idiosyncrasies with her usual irrepressible determination and exasperation. Once again, it’s also frequently LAUGH-OUT-LOUD funny, from Brown’s adorably playful narration to the perfectly observed social satire … that being said, there’s also a good deal of HEART here too, with the central story dealing with some very potent hot button subject matter which is as relevant today as when it was actually happening (no I WON’T say what, you’ll just have to watch it and find out). Altogether this is another phenomenal instalment in an already brilliant new franchise, and one which EASILY rivals the other popular, established adaptations we already know and love regarding Conan Doyle’s more famous Holmes sibling, and I for one cannot wait to see what Bradbeer, Thorne, Brown, Cavill et al are gonna bring us next …

#the woman king #the tragedy of macbeth #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #hellraiser #hellraiser 2022 #bullet train #bullet train movie #DC league of super pets #belfast #belfast movie #the black phone #kimi #kimi movie #enola holmes 2 #2022 in movies

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supercimi · 4 months ago

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recently i hadn't been successful at getting myself to write

althu i defnitly have the want to write feeling, but my time hadn't been timing very well ;<

okay maybe im also lazy --;

but i have managed to brainstorm stuff while busy with real life stuff so that's a good thing :D (althu i mainly did that without writing it down because i will be mid work or chores but it's alright..i remember some of it...or i will....probably -x-;)

funny thing is when i do finally have some free time i will do anything but write TwT

even browsing my old stuff :D the stuff that never saw the light of day >:3(kinda proud of that for some reason?)

was reading what seemed like a piece i wrote for some tag game or something? it really didn't feel like something i wrote xD

according to google docs i last opened that one back in 2020? but im not sure when exactly i wrote it

btw it's incomplete and probably willl never be(maybe? who knows?) but here it is cuz it made me laugh ;3

======loading========

Today was awful, and not okay, kinda awful, nope. It was just awful.

ok, that was a bad start, let's be classy.

Hello, 4th wall alien, this is Ribbica, and your day can’t be worse than mine.

Also, I am lost.

How lost?...well…*looks around*...somewhere underwater I guess?

*you are filled with disbelief*

*it shows in your reading*

You don’t believe me, do you? Well, can’t blame you. Who’d believe some fictional character they are reading about?!

…..

Oh, you are still reading?....guess aliens aren’t all that bad.

Then seeing as you are my only source of escaping reality. I'll rant about my awful luck recently, we cool? Rather, you don’t get to say no.

'Hello and welcome to our esteemed yeeting service, here we can throw off any stress or emptiness you feel!'

It started with a flyer smacking my head on the way to work. With all the wind and sand in the air that morning, I am lucky it was just a flyer that hit me.

What? It was windy, yes. But windy weather won’t pay bills.

Anyway, seeing it odd I threw it right away, go smack someone else’s face.

That certainly won’t be the last time I see that ad, or so my gut was warning me. But I ignored it, work won’t do itself.

As if howling winds and angry bosses weren’t enough, the weather kept getting worse.

One day it was just strong winds.

Another was heavy rainfalls.

The rest were nearing a typhoon.

But nope, work won’t be cancelled, can’t work outside? work inside! working online to be exact, all the lagging and errors didn’t make it any easier.

Another thing to add to my stress. Hmm? What? You also had to work online? Oh then maybe studying?..hmm strange didn’t know aliens needed to do that.

Anyway, the weather cooled off, enough to be a freezer yeah. But we were getting the hang of it.

Sadly that meant no going out, getting out meant freezing to death, not getting out was dying of boredom or nagging bosses in the comfort of your own house, alone.

At least I could practice painting. If my crazy workload ever lessened, Being an overworked adult isn’t fun.

Join a good company they said, having so much work they’d pay well they said,

Yup, wonder why.

The odd ad chose those days to strike again. Online this time.

Even creepy ads were cooped at home huh?

By that point, I had just gotten nagged at online and ran out of my comfort food.

So it was just me and this ad, I ignored it for being annoyingly tempting.

Then it was the same old routine: wake up, prepare for work over some fruits, work, work, some more work over noodles, lagging and heavy workload crashes, other work, and so forth.

I might as well have turned into a computer from how much work I did.

Even my beauty sleep was spent dreaming about work.

As if accompanying my tired self, the weather outside was getting quite crazy.

Once it’s a blizzard, another a typhoon, others a sandstorm.

Scientists were theorizing about all this being a dream, seriously just what happened?

Leaving the world crisis aside. Work went on as usual.

Those slave drivers didn’t relent at all. I had good pay at least, didn’t get to relish in its benefits at all, but, meh. Who needed entertainment anyway. Lol

*you strangely feel a certain camaraderie with this character*

Don’t gimme that look, I don’t need a 4th wall breaking alien to pity me.

Anyway, being a work zombie was my life at that point, didn’t matter that scientists found out about a black hole nearing earth and causing an utter disaster, didn’t matter that earth was being colonized out in space, didn’t matter that my car was stolen by a crazy monkey. None at all.

At least until the power went out, a blackout in the middle of a global crisis, who would’ve thought?! Just nice!

My work-zombie mind couldn’t process what happened and had the great idea of going outside.

#drabbles?#gotta learn what to tag my mess already...#yeah probably later #story time? for drables like this maybe?#k #this is story time #stuff wrote on the spur of whatever creative moment i was in :D

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craetor · 2 years ago

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Another Death Note book, another Tumblr post of overanalyzing details within it

This is a literal reformatted Twitter thread that was collected as the book was read, so, in theory, one could just flip through the book & find the things addressed all in order. Enjoy my needlessly high IQ going to town on this damn legendary expansion pack AU spin-off novel...

This obviously contains spoilers to L Change The World

"I'm no good with girls" - L Lawliet, like 2004? (He probably had a real good time having Misa around)

L calls the kids of Wammy's House "letters" (*tries not to explode*)

It's verified that the orphans are entrusted with solving cases as grave as murders to prove & train themselves

Beyond Birthday is mentioned to crack his neck in LABB, which is oddly enough also a habit of Ryuk's. Shinigami urges, especially those of the rather unhinged kind

Suruga heard that L never even showed his face to Misora, meaning she kept quiet about their encounter to everyone until her very death. Which is pretty nice.

Tbh Beyond wasn't too far off about mocking L's behavior. He does tend to crawl when he's being frantic & is also a messy eater (from getting food on himself when not provided with utensils (even when he is...), to consuming excessive amounts of sweet toppings)

There's too many "god"s in DN names... ('Kagami' can be translated to 'nurse god' which is so stupid & uncreative /affectionately)

"L's back grew rounder as he sat on the sofa with his knees tucked tightly against his chest. [...] He seemed to be burdened by the weight of something very heavy that she could not see". L's slouch gets lower after Watari dies under his surveillance. Nothing new, just fantastic symbolism that I love about him.

Also how actually well L suppresses his emotions while working on cases is really outlined in this book. It gets to a point where he seems apathetic, as people who've seemingly gone through trauma reunite over tears in front of him, while minutes beforehand, he's exuded real sadness over Watari's passing. (this is not inherently negative or positive)

His reputation with the FBI really sticks to him like a tick, yet it's suppressing his humanity that gets L to do what's needed & initiate measures necessary (which earned him the ill-willed reputation of kinky bizarre murder-loving detective. Whereby I still can't quite locate the origin of the "murder-loving" part..)

"Nobody would think anything important to be in a bag of potato chips, don't you think?" Honey, first of all, how did you fit an entire notebook into a bag of potato chips without it looking like it's your 1 pound hershey's chocolate stash... Oh, and L has a pattern of emulating tricks that people have used to try and fool him

It seems that L wasn't lying when he said that he's a fan of Misa's work, though idrk what to make of that... Not everything in the half-canon is canon, kids. M went a bit too hard on that 'L is weird & creepy' at times. Until it's not even goofy and ridiculous anymore, I'm just.. concerned?

L seems fulfilled and glad when he's stressed about saving the world. Nothing like a superiority complex, just very INTJ.

L will know to evaluate people so much as to accept food from the ones trying to deceive him, if he knows they're pacifists. Having them vacuum his room & stuff, letting them think they're earning his trust. A side of him we haven't seen thus far, just thought it to be important to share.

Watari, now officially L's mentor and father figure (we knew this but i love it)

The fact that L prones to share sweets with anyone compatible to himself or whoever he wants to tempt is not just a quirky gesture of respect, but actually seems to write out, more than anything, 'let's put us on the same level here. Have this thing that indicates gross luxury within societal hierarchy while also being the thing that keeps me going on an everyday-basis'

Fem-disguise flirty L. He's enjoying the vibe & living vicariously. That's it that's the jot

And then there's page 151. And i wonder, am I needed here at all?

The "L-organization" Blue Ship made up is comically the truest hypothesis that has existed as a theory about L. After all, Wammy's House is the founding ground of 26 Ls each generation to come

Watari seems to be involved with the Wammy's kids more than initially thought. But this could also be Kujo's illusion, as having any contact with the one closest to L at all would be a big deal and in her mind more prominently

And finally, the relationship that was created between L & Light is closer to love and worship than friendship. Even best friends. L's reliance on the thought of Light even exists as comfort in heavily emotionally distressing situations. Your definitely romantically touched soulmate-other-half-comfort-human can be your best friend too is what I'm trying to say. Like, you don't have to choose. Just add it to the list.

Verdict: I assume the main point of the book is literally to clear up misunderstandings about L, hence information about him is being blatantly pointed out and aggressively reinforced around every corner. But I'm here anyways because page 151 exists for me and me only (and everybody else who's done their thing correctly before having read this thing) as a pat on the back and a hearty 'good job'. It was fun to have found a couple more hidden details along the way too though. L called Light his 'best friend' like he called Misora 'some guy in the US who told me about capoeira'

#i know 'kagami' means mirror but he's a doctor & im too lazy to think about a deeper meaning in this random side character's role #misora saying 'married couples think alike' is peak lawlight moment #pretty impressive that 'Tucked Tightly' isnt a name written in the death note #legit hated the writing style at points but went through with it just to pinched-fingeredly pick out must-have bullet points given by Ohba #on another note i also adored it #oh death note....#l change the world #character analysis #my writing #wammy's house #maki nikaido #beyond birthday #naomi misora #i mentioned her so much come on..#light yagami #i bet reading it in Japanese is better tbh #l lawliet

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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 2 years ago

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BTHB - Going Into Shock

Malik does a little arts and crafts project and makes a self discovery along the way (:

Finally I've had the time to finish this stupid fic. The irony that it took me twice as long to finish a WIP that's almost half the amount I usually write is not lost on me...

As always, if there’s a tag I missed or anything you’d like me to specifically mark, please let me know so I can add it for future fics!

Taglist : @whumpsday @painsandconfusion @suspicious-whumping-egg @t0rture-me

CW: Graphic depictions of blood, Cutting (Of Another Person), Mentions of Self Harm/Suicide, Creepy/Intimate Whumper

Word Count: 5.2K

There was something satisfying to Malik in the way his and Jonas’s names were complementary to each other. Five letters, two syllables, alternating between consonants and vowels in a pattern. When Malik’s name was written in all capital letters, it was made up of sharp angles and long lines. When Jonas’s name was written in lowercase, all the letters curved into soft, round shapes. His name could loop over itself a dozen times when written in cursive whereas Malik’s still remained uniform with straight peaks, much more orderly and neat. The name Jonas was more fun to scribble with the flick of the wrist, but the name Malik was easier to scribe with simple marks.

Therefore, it made sense that it should be Malik’s name he cut into the quivering flesh of Jonas’s forearm. Tempting as it was to sit here with the pretty boy squirming in his lap while he tried to finesse his blade into carving neat curves, there was too much room for error to mess up the calligraphy. Skin was a soft, fickle organ that liked to split into large gashes if the angle of the knife was too bent. One tight curvature could accidentally dig deeper into the fatty layer, creating an unsightly flap of skin dangling off the appendage rather than a perfect loop. Jonas’s name was very lovely, but it wouldn’t do to mar his body with failed attempts at lettering, not when Malik could write his own name perfectly on the first try.

And really, what better way to remind Jonas of who he belonged to than the elegant marking of his captor’s name taking up a majority of his forearm? To remind everyone, honestly, both in public and post mortem if it came to that. Thin, silver scars surrounded by colorful bruises on tan skin, what a pretty visual. A wound that could heal from a series of bloody cuts to dark scabs to discolored skin, but never truly fading the same way split lips and fracture digits could heal themselves. Jonas would carry Malik’s name with him forever whether he made it out of this basement or not, unable to forget him for a second unless he willingly amputated the whole arm to no longer see the reminder.

The idea of Jonas mutilating himself to such an intense degree gave Malik butterflies in his stomach.

He hadn’t even been intending on branding the poor boy with his name when he originally began carving into Jonas’s battered skin. For some reason, Malik had woken up with the innate desire of making the other bleed, so that was exactly what he did. He wanted to see Jonas drenched in blood, be it his own or splashed with someone else’s. He wanted to see thick, dark beads of red running down his neck and steadily dripping from his fingertips. He wanted to see old and new injuries hidden behind a thin layer of gore. He wanted to see gorgeous green eyes running over with tears to cut through the sticky stains on gaunt cheeks. Red and green were perfect complementary colors as well, weren’t they?

Unfortunately, he didn’t have any spare ‘actors’ at the moment to siphon a couple buckets of blood from to paint Jonas himself. Double unfortunately, the amount of red he wanted to bleed from Jonas would most certainly kill him. While that wouldn’t be too horrible of a thing to watch, Malik was still under verbal contract with Tucker to keep the Belmont boy alive until the ransom deadline was up…whenever that was. As much as he would love to hold tight to his writhing form while the life slowly drained from a multitude of bone deep cuts, Jonas needed to remain breathing and (mostly) in one piece. For now. So, Malik had to make do with what he had available to him: a pretty boy, a hunting knife, and two slender arms begging to be littered with superficial slices.

He couldn’t go too deep with his cuts and risk nicking a major artery, yet Malik wanted to make sure the skin had been sufficiently hacked so the wound healed with a lovely pale scar. Many years ago, when Malik was only allowed to photograph the cadavers brought into the backrooms of his father’s funeral home, he asked about a woman that was being prepared on the table with wicked gashes down her arms. There were telltale signs of old, pink cuts going horizontally over her wrists, but the long, inch deep slash from her elbow to her palm on each arm were what was listed as her official cause of death. His father, ever so eager to teach his son the studies of mortuary, explained that by cutting straight down she was able to dig into the main vein in such a way it would be extremely difficult to stop the bleeding, similar to when someone had their throat slit.

That was when Malik learned the intricacies of cutting. The difference between truly wanting to bleed to death and just wanted to bleed as some form of release, be it pleasure or pain. It was down the road, not across the street, he memorized. Cuts going side to side in short, light strokes could still bleed in varying degrees, enough to satisfy his craving to drain a person a couple pints without worrying about stopping their heart. It wasn’t just the blood he had a morbid fascination with, but the reactions people had about having their skin peeled and sliced when they weren’t intending to self harm. The way the muscles and tendons tensed, causing more blood to well out of the cuts. The way they struggled in whatever bindings Malik had them strung up in. The tears, the whimpers, the screams, all for something that could be patched up with some gauze, maybe a stitch or two.

God, it was killing him not to stab the knife into Jonas’s shoulder and drag the blade all the way down his arm to the tip of his middle finger, scraping against bone and severing as many vessels as possible along the way. To flay the entire limb and watch the blood squirt from his ruined wrist like a grisly fountain, red raining down in a puddle onto the floor to bleed him dry in a matter of minutes. Malik wanted to hold the boy close the entire time and revel at the progression from thrashing to weak squirms to limp to stiff. From hot to cool to frigid. From wet to sticky to dry, crusty red flakes. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t an animal, he could restrain himself just fine from the visceral urge to mutilate Jonas for overwhelming pleasure.

As soon as that deadline was missed, though, Malik was diving straight into his pretty little intestines with his bare hands.

Jonas arched his back against Malik’s chest, unhappy with the close proximity that came from being forcibly situated between his legs on the floor. Or maybe he was unhappy with the fresh collections of cuts now decorating his right forearm. Really, Jonas should be thankful Malik was kind enough to snap off the zipties on his wrists for any extended period of time, even if one arm was trapped between Malik’s bicep and side while the other was firmly grasped in his free hand. The arm was fully extended to reveal his skinny canvas of tan and mottled purple skin, the flesh twitching as the rest of Jonas trembled and broke into a cold sweat. Six slices of varying angles presented themselves in neat little lines, weeping beads of blood that trickled over the curve of his arm to drip onto Malik’s jeans.

Sure, it wasn’t the bloodbath he was craving to submerge Jonas in, but it still made his heart beat with excitement hearing the boy mewl through the duct tape over his mouth. Bony limbs tried to wriggle out of Malik’s hold to avoid any more wounds, thin legs still bound with rope kicking against his boots. The way Jonas’s head lolled back onto his shoulder, inadvertently pressing into the crook of his neck felt wonderfully intimate. Warm tears sliding over his cheekbones to soak into Malik’s sweater was an additional bonus, of course. He was panting hard, unable to fall victim to full hyperventilating as he could only puff air through his nose. While Malik was a fan of all the noises that have ever spilled out of his mouth, but he really didn’t need Jonas hollering at the top of his lungs right in his ear. It was a shame; it meant he also had to silence all of his endearing sobs and pleas with a gag.

Malik had just finished another line across the poor boy’s wrist when he noticed an interesting pattern in the cuts. Because some of them were slanted while others were straight, it almost looked like a blocky ‘M’ had been written in blood. How fitting. If he focused on different cut placements, one almost looked like an ‘A’, though it was missing its middle dash. At that moment, it was as if a lightbulb went off in his twisted mind. What a fun way to keep this game going, making Jonas wriggle and bleed for his amusement. Making Jonas bleed for him. He had always been Malik’s current favorite, he openly admitted as much, it would do good to solidify that statement. Bruises and bloody noses could heal, though maybe not the missing pinky finger, but this would be a claim to last for the rest of Jonas’s life. Whether that meant another miserable sixty years of living or until next Wednesday didn’t matter much to Malik.

He released his iron grip on Jonas’s thin wrist, much to his relief. The bloody limb dropped to his side, red smearing on his nightshirt and against Malik’s thigh. It was impossible to miss how the entire arm was shaking, as if it was a seizure isolated to one area of the body. Intriguing how even after having his finger amputated for a ransom reminder, after taking so many kicks to the ribs and stomach, after being (accidentally) starved and smacked and strangled, Jonas still had quite a low pain tolerance. Was he hemophobic, Malik wondered? Surely not, the Belmont heir had seen plenty of viscera when Malik needed to keep him near whilst doing his…work. Maybe it was different seeing someone else’s blood compared to your own, to know it was oneself bleeding and in pain. Malik hadn’t even cut that deep, he made sure he wouldn’t mistakenly let Jonas bleed out in his lap! Still, the boy was moaning and trembling like he had ripped the artery out and showed it to him.

So dramatic. He hoped he would continue to put on this cute little show when he cut up his other arm.

Duct taped muffled the strangled yelp of pain when Malik swapped his hold on his arms, switching to extend the fresh one while sandwiching the still bleeding one against his body. He could feel the warmth of blood prickling his side, the fabric of his sweater irritating the open wounds enough to make Jonas whimper on contact. Poor thing kept instinctively trying to yank his arm out of the hold, worsening the stinging pain with each unsuccessful tug. When Malik flipped the unmarked arm around into the same position as before, Jonas shook his head in an attempt to convey the pleads trapped behind his gag. He didn’t want to go through this again. He didn’t want to feel the bite of the hunting knife digging into his already tenderized flesh. New tears cascaded down his paling cheeks, unable to do much else. If it weren’t for the duct tape on Jonas’s mouth and the bandana on the lower half of Malik’s face, the older man wouldn’t be able to stop himself from locking their lips together to steal every last pretty sob from his lungs.

“What’s wrong, lover?” Malik crooned, knowing full well that Jonas wouldn’t be able to respond to his rhetorical question. “Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?”

Jonas nodded like he was trying to break his own neck. Curls matted with crusted blood and damp with sweat nuzzled against his covered jawline. They had felt so soft when Jonas first arrived. Malik loved threading his fingers through the chocolate brown locks to yank him up to eye level. He should hose him down some time in the near future to clean off the build up of grime and gore, revealing once again clean, soft skin and fluffy curls. Almost like a fresh canvas. If said canvas had already been slashed with a palette knife and stained with colors of purple and red. Maybe he should bring Jonas upstairs to let him use the employee shower with Malik, or maybe he should just dunk his head under water in a basin. Depends on his mood.

He hummed, the vibration of his voice echoing through his chest and against Jonas’s back. The way he shifted uncomfortably from the sensation, unintentionally nestling further between Malik’s legs, made the other tighten his hold on the fragile wrist. God, it would be so painfully easy to snap the joint backwards. Jonas would probably scream, perhaps even vomit. He was so pretty when he was heaving bile and blood and spit. Damnit, Malik should have set up his camera to record this whole ordeal to watch back later. Oh well, there would be plenty more opportunities to make Jonas squeal for his amusement. Like in the Red Room. Just imagining Jonas strapped to the gurney, helplessly staring up at Malik with those terrified green eyes, trembling lower lip begging to be bitten and bruised skin quivering under Malik’s hands while he sings such pretty pleads.

Can’t get too ahead of himself. Need to focus on the task at hand.

Malik twirled the handle of the hunting knife between his fingers before adjusting his grip, pressing the tip into Jonas’s forearm just a bit past the inner elbow. “You know what they say: suck it up, buttercup.”

Unfortunately for Jonas, there was hardly anything he could suck up with his airways being restricted to his nostrils. The duct tape across his mouth tried to expand and contract with each failed gasp, creating the faux sense of suffocation as Jonas wasn’t able to hold onto a full inhale. His adam’s apple bobbed with each silenced cry, kicking his bound legs with renewed vigor while Malik carved the first of many lines needed to spell his name. The kicks were weak, barely nudging his boots to the side, stifled by weeks of depleted energy and ankles bound like a fish tail. It was cute in a way, to watch Jonas struggle with all his limited might while Malik didn’t break a sweat to keep him securely in his embrace. They just fit so perfectly together, the boy’s lithe frame easily swallowed up by his larger, stronger form. So perfect perfect perfect–

The moan of pain caught in Jonas’s throat when Malik finished carving the last line of the ‘A’ would have made a lesser man blush. Such sweet sounds whimpered by a pretty boy. If his hands weren’t preoccupied with marking his claim, he’d love to squeeze them around the Belmont heir’s abused windpipe, adding to the collection of finger shaped bruises, feeling the pulse flutter against his palm while more whines vibrated into his skin. Maybe later. Right now, Malik was focusing on the delicate work of his bold calligraphy, keeping his lines as straight and even as possible. No sense in making it look like chicken scratch. He wanted it to be clear and legible.

When Malik dug the blade down the forearm to finish the tail of the ‘L’, Jonas howled as much as he was physically capable of. While the cut itself was nowhere near as long or deep as the typical wounds needed to end a life, it must have still hit the same bundle of nerves to cause such an immediate reaction. The slash welled up with dark droplets of blood faster than the other slices that were only now beginning to trickle down the curve of Jonas’s arm. This time, that arm that had already been subjected to a cutting session reached up to paw at Malik’s bicep in a panic. Four remaining digits uselessly dug into his sweater’s sleeve, trying to pull the offending limb away from how it coiled around Jonas’s chest that heaved with uneven breaths. All he was managing to do was give a few frenzied tugs, like a child eager for their parent’s attention, making little difference to Malik.

Still, he made a point to shift his arm to readjust the snare across Jonas, squishing the flailing limb further into his side. The boy yelped, the collection of cuts slowing into a sluggish drip but still stinging something fierce when compressed. To further regain his compliance, Malik squeezed the wrist of the arm he was in the midst of eviscerating. The bones painfully grinded together, popping the joint with a weak crack to send an extra tingle down the inner nerve. Jonas lurched at the new shock of pain, throbbing instead of burning hot, a little break up in the monotony of his torture session. With just a little bit of extra force, Malik could bend the brittle bone and snap it like a twig. Honestly, it never felt like it would take much effort to tear Jonas to shreds, piece by piece, limb from limb. And from there he could carry his remains upstairs in buckets to the embalming room to be hand stitched back together, preserved in scars and chemicals until at last he rotted to bones.

Since when had Malik become so sentimental, wanting to save his dearly departed lover until decomposition claimed them at last? Sure, he’s kept the odd memento mori – or trophy, or whatever people wanted to call it – from a select few of his favorites. Just a pocket urn with a bit of their ashes before he cleaned out the cremator. It helped put the memorial vases on display in the front viewing room for grieving families to peruse their options. What a strange feeling this was. Foreign, out of his usual routine.

Interesting.

“Quit your fussin’. If I mess up, I’m going to have to start over,” Malik warned. To Jonas’s credit, he stopped his pained squirming, but there was little he could do to quell the involuntary trembles that wound his muscles up so tight. That was fine, nothing he couldn’t manage on any other Tuesday afternoon.

Even though the thickness of his sweater, Malik could feel the way Jonas’s skin was becoming clammy with sweat. Granted, he had always run at a much cooler body temperature than Malik, especially now that he had been locked away without sunlight and iron rich (or frequent) meals. It wasn’t just blood leaking from the cuts now, but his internal source of warmth was being sapped with each drop running down his arms. The shaking was getting worse; a combination of overly tense muscles and an unbearable chill seeping into his bones. Jonas was more than welcome to press himself as tightly as he wanted against Malik’s chest to steal a bit of heat. He certainly didn’t mind sharing.

What was most strange was just as Malik finished the simple line meant to be the letter “I”, the muscles vibrating with terror practically went limp. Not completely, but enough for him to notice the way Jonas sagged fully into him. The arm was still taunt, stiff like rigor mortis while the nerves flared to keep the limb aware of the damage it was sustaining. Good enough for him. Jonas’s head drooped down, yet little moans were continuing to squeak in his throat, a sign he was still conscious. Malik rolled his shoulder to be able to force the boy’s head back up. Need to make sure he was still awake and aware to enjoy the show of his mutilation, now tucked up under Malik’s chin. The sight of his bloody arm, one letter away from spelling out his captor’s name permanently, made him gag on a sound that was unable to slip through the duct tape. Considering he had yet to feed Jonas today and was about…sixty percent sure he didn’t remember to do so yesterday either, there was nothing to worry about him choking on stomach contents if he truly needed to retch.

Ah, shit, it was low blood sugar, wasn’t it? The pain and gruesome nature was horribly distressing to endure, of course, but the lack of glucose in his steadily dripping blood wasn’t doing Jonas much favors. Without any sugar or water in his system, coupled with the overwhelming emotional trauma he’d been experiencing daily under Malik’s care, it was making him much more susceptible to falling victim to shock. Pathetic, really, to see the younger man shutdown the same way previous victims had when he had flayed their stomachs to poke around their intestines on camera. Honestly, a couple tiny puddles of blood was his body’s breaking point? How disappointing when this was only the tip of the iceberg Malik had in store for him. They would need to work on building that tolerance up quickly if he were to have any fun with his new lover.

Oh well, he was almost done at this point, Jonas was just going to have to tough it out while he added the last two lines needed to make the letter ‘K’. It was funny, ironic actually, that when Malik strapped him down to hack off his finger for dear ol’ mom and dad’s collection notice he never succumbed to any type of shock. He screamed and begged and sobbed and writhed, even before the digit was actually severed, yet he still didn’t pass out from the pain or a seizing heart. Perhap this reaction was just an accumulation of everything Jonas experienced over the last several days. His poor, weakened organs unable to take the continued stress anymore, needing a break from the constant rush of endorphins to repair the damage taken. Malik will be sure to give him a shot of morphine and something sweet to prevent any future relapses.

The chest under his arm started to slow its short, hyper gasps in favor of deep, though still uneven, sniffles punctuated by quiet groans. If Malik had to guess, those lovely green eyes were probably unfocused and rolling back, no longer damp with tears. That wouldn’t do; he was already being nice enough to contain the raging need to paint Jonas red in favor of a few, simple cuts. It was the least the boy could do to stay conscious enough to keep playing this game.

“C’mon now, none of that,” Malik scolded, giving him a light shake back into wakefulness. “I have plenty of things to perk you right up if you’re going to be difficult.”

He smirked behind his mask to see Jonas fight with the urge to submit to his own body’s needs. The ingrained need to comply with his captor, the fear of being subjected to anything worse than what was happening now, led him to resist the physical desire to relax into a mental reset. Shock could be quite fatal if left untreated for too long…well, the medical kind of shock, with infected blood and all that fun stuff. Psychological shock though? Malik couldn’t be too certain. He supposed now would be as good a time as any to let the results run how they may. Worst comes to worst, there was a defibrillator in the Red Room he could charge up to get Jonas’s failing heart back up to speed. Plenty of former victims had passed out as a result of what they’ve seen compared to what they physically experienced and turned out mostly okay.

The tip of the blade punctured the tan skin for the last time as it sliced a short, diagonal line to complete the final letter in Malik’s name. A fat drop of blood was already chasing after the knife when it removed itself from the carved flesh, making way for a stream of red to trail down Jonas’s wrist and smear along the fingers holding it steady. There was no need to dig his hunting knife into the poor, abused arm any longer, but that didn’t mean Malik couldn’t take delight in ghosting the flat edge of the blade over the inflamed cuts, feeling the swollen bumps rise and fall against his weapon. Thicker puddles of blood were crudely wiped away by the caress, ripping away still damp scabs that were trying to stop the leakage of red dripping down Jonas’s forearm. Even with so much blood welling up and obscuring his recently signed name, Malik was still able to see a faint outline in the pattern of droplets that clung to the skin.

“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Malik asked, only receiving a weak moan in response. He at last pulled the blade away before it could nick anymore of the flayed flesh and dropped it into Jonas’s lap. It was lucky for him it didn’t land on its tip to embed into his thigh. “Here, hold that for me, lover.”

With his hand now free, Malik forced Jonas to bend the arm he had been holding straight out so that the wounded limb was brought closer for the two of them to observe his handiwork. Poor boy, if it wasn’t for his weak stomach and steadily crashing blood pressure, he’d be able to grab the carelessly discarded knife and stab it into Malik’s neck fifteen times. But he couldn’t, and Malik knew as much. Cold fingers remained loosely curled in on themselves, useless to do anything. He wondered if Jonas was even aware enough to appreciate the cruel taunt being left out to him. These kinds of games weren’t nearly as much fun when the one on the receiving end wasn’t lucid enough to respond. Malik would have to settle once again for a watered down version of what he was actually seeking from Jonas. Couldn’t drench him in his own blood, couldn’t make him squeal for hours on end, what a disappointing day this has turned out to be.

There was always tomorrow, though.

Malik pressed his thumb into the middle of the collection of cuts, marveling at how excess blood was pushed out of the wounds to run down the forearm. The hiss of pain Jonas tried to suck in through the duct tape made him smile again. Despite his body failing him, the shock of adrenaline was just enough to make the exerted heart pump faster for a moment, causing the flow of red on both arms to trickle out a few extra drops.

With his thumb still aggravating the wounds, Malik rubbed the digit to clean away some of the mess to better see his claim spelt out in inflamed ridges. “What do you think, hm? Do you like it?”

No reply, unsurprisingly. Not even a little whimper or a single tear to be shed. As badly as Jonas wanted to obey the command of staying fully conscious to endure Malik’s whims, it was a losing battle with the toll it was taking on his body. Malik supposed he could grant him this one, small mercy of being allowed to pass out now that the session was done. Such a good boy, sticking it out until the end, though he wasn’t able to fully enjoy the visual of Malik’s bloody name as his clouded green eyes had lost the ability to focus some letters ago. He deserved some kind of reward for that, perhaps. Or maybe a punishment after Jonas woke back up for not reacting how Malik wanted him to. Decisions, decisions…either option could be quite fun.

“Aw, c’mon now, lover, don’t be that way,” Malik crooned as if Jonas was pouting and not actively going into shock. He still looked awfully cute slumped in Malik’s embrace, partially tucked into his chest and smeared in his own blood. “Too much fun already? What’s the part that got you all tuckered out? Was it the blood, or the pain?”

Even if Jonas had the strength to move his tongue to form coherent words, he wouldn’t have been able to answer the barrage of questions with the duct tape firmly silencing him. It didn’t seem like Malik was genuinely looking for a response anyhow, shifting the Belmont heir’s limp body in his arms so that he was better cradled sideways in his lap, allowing for a full view of his sickeningly pale face. With so much color drained from his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes looked more prominent and sunken. Jonas needed a little pop of color to brighten his features back up. Something to contrast nicely with his dull, half lidded eyes and ashened skin. How convenient that Malik’s fingers were still slick from playing with the slowly congealing wounds on his arms. Like a child finger painting their masterpiece, he swiped one blood soaked digit from each end of the duct tape over Jonas’s lips, arching the path upwards to create a faux red smile.

It looked quite pretty against the silver background of the gag, helping it stand out more pronounced. Malik wished Jonas was aware enough to understand what was happening so he could see those lovely eyes overflow with tears and his thin eyebrows scrunch together in distress. Then again, he could get that expression on any other given day with minimal effort.

“Know what I think? I think you get just as excited being this close to me,” he purred, curling the hand that had been hovering over Jonas’s face against his neck. He could feel the slow pulse against his fingers, still faithfully drumming beneath the collar of bruises. So long as that beat didn’t stop, Malik was satisfied enough. “I’d reckon you even like when I touch you like this, no matter how much it hurts. ‘Cause you’re a touch-starved li’l thing, ain’t you?”

Jonas couldn’t confirm or deny the allegations which by default meant that Malik was correct with his assumptions. It wasn’t too hard to come to such a conclusion anyhow: richie rich kid with distant parents, no experience with familial or romantic love, he’d probably eat any gentle touch up no matter who it came from. Including from a serial killer in the basement of a funeral home. Malik could have the poor, neglected boy wrapped around his bloody finger in no time if he really wanted to. Only a handful of weeks into this captivity and he already knew how to make Jonas squirm and how to make Jonas melt. But it was the fight to survive that still distantly burned inside of him that kept him interesting enough to catch Malik’s attention. Total obedience and attachment sounded like too much of a hassle right now.

Malik reached back up to Jonas’s face to tuck an errant curl behind his ear, not missing the way his eyes finally slipped closed from the gentle touch. “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, lover. I won’t let you go.”

108 notes · View notes

mercy-burning · 4 years ago

Text

She’s An Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer discovers that Reader has a rather promiscuous personality behind closed doors, and he can’t help but give into her. Category: SMUT (18+), (there’s a lil fluff at the end, but it’s mostly filth lol) Warnings: Language, heavy flirting and sexual tension, female/male-receiving oral sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, innocence kink (kinda?), breeding kink, dirty talk Word Count: 10.8k

***EDITED: 7/23/2021***

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hi, guys! This is my entry for @willowrose99 ‘s 1-Year Writing Challenge Celebration! My prompts were: Only Angel by Harry Styles (fun fact, this is my favorite Harry song! And the notes/texts that Reader sends to Spencer are lines from the song), stealing clothes, and the dialogue “You know, I kinda like it when you call me -pet name-” I hope you all enjoy it! I had SO MUCH FUN writing this!!!

Also! Little fun fact: sex and metaphors/references to religion is like... my favorite thing in the whole world, so I made a tiny playlist for you to give a listen if you’re interested! If you have song recs so I can add them, please let me know! I’m always on the lookout for new stuff :) Enjoy!!

***

He didn't think much of it the first day she started working at the BAU. If anything, Spencer was glad that they had an intern— someone who could share some of their responsibilities without completely changing the dynamic of the work. She even became part of their family, going out with them after cases, attending every workplace gathering, whether it be a wedding for a co-worker they didn't see often, one of Rossi's dinner parties, or Henry's birthday party.

It wasn't until they were setting up for the BAU office Halloween party that he noticed something was... different.

Y/N and Spencer were put on decorating duty while everyone else brought food and music, and whatever else. They stopped by extra early to set up, meaning they would be there together, alone, for at least two hours before anyone showed up.

Normally that wouldn't have been anything to worry about, but Y/N showed up in costume, and it completely threw him for a loop.

Now, he wasn't one to really care whether or not people used Halloween as an outlet to dress like sexy nurses or cheerleaders or whatever else. Sure, he'd rather go with something on the scary side, something with a creepy mask or intricate makeup, but in the end the holiday was everyone's to enjoy how they wanted to. And one way or the other, he never saw anyone in a sexy Halloween costume and found himself tempted by them in the slightest. In fact, it was rare that he ever saw anyone in one at all.

So, when Y/N slowed up to the office wearing a very skin-tight, tiny schoolgirl costume, and his heart leapt out of his chest, mouth going dry and blood running hot at the sight of her?

He was a goner.

Her eyes lit up when she saw him, dropping the large bag she was carrying to run over and give him a hug, which he shakily returned, trying to snap out of his daze. Suddenly he felt a little underdressed, not wearing his costume yet, and truthfully, he wasn't sure if he wanted to wear one at all now, fearful that she'd think it was too immature.

Even more frightening than the holiday itself was the fact that Spencer found himself caring about what Y/N would think of his costume when a minute ago it hadn't even crossed his mind.

He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly before she released him from her hug, hoping to expel his fear and remember that she was his friend and she'd never actually say anything bad about his costume. Not that that'd even mattered in the first place. It shouldn't have mattered, right?

God, pull yourself together! She's just a pretty girl dressed in a suggestive costume, it's nothing you haven't seen before...

Though, he wasn't even sure he could call her a pretty girl right then.

Because when she pulled away from him, talking about some of the decorations she brought, he had ample opportunity to get a good look at her costume up close. And she wasn't pretty. She was downright sexy, all legs protruding underneath a short plaid skirt and adorning shiny black heels, curly hair tumbling down her shoulders in pigtails. Her shirt was so low, most of the buttons undone to reveal a black lacy bra underneath. She wore a pair of glasses that sat cutely on the tip of her nose and minimal makeup, the only noticeable thing being bright red lip color.

That wasn't what was different, though.

Sure, she'd never worn anything that scandalous around work or even on nights out, but it wasn't the fact that she'd done so now that felt strange. No, it was the way she looked up at him, her head hung low and her eyes looking up through eyelashes. When she got excited to tell him something, she pitched her voice higher. And often times, she'd put herself in compromising positions, and it seemed like it was on purpose.

At one point she stood right in front of him trying to hang a streamer on a beam she was most certainly not tall enough to reach. Her arms stretched high, all fabric on her body rising up and exposing more skin. Spencer quickly tried to avoid any problems, offering to help so she wouldn't hurt herself, first of all, but also so that he wouldn't find himself staring too long when he shouldn't have been staring at all.

The whole time they were decorating, she found excuses to drop things and pick them up, to stumble and hold onto his arm for steadiness, to accidentally brush past him... And that's what was so different about her.

He didn't want to assume she'd been drinking before coming to the office, and if he'd known any better he wouldn't have assumed it in the first place. But that was the one and only thing that crossed his mind that could have been the answer to her strange behavior, despite the lack of alcohol on her breath. (The only reason he knew her breath didn't smell of alcohol was because at one point, she hugged him again and pulled back to look in his eyes, brushing stray curls from his face and telling him they did a good job finishing up the room they'd been working on.)

Now they were in the conference room, and Spencer was hanging streamers as Y/N sat in one of the chairs, wheeled back to the middle of the room so she could observe everything. Well... observe Spencer was more correct. At least that's what he figured, anyway. It was like he could feel her eyes burning into the back of him. Or maybe he was just still unable to get over the fact that she and her stupidly hot costume had had that big of an effect on him.

He stood down from the chair and asked Y/N to hand him more tape, refusing to look at her.

"Spence, are you alright?" she asked sweetly, rolling her chair over to the table so she could reach the tape. The innocent concern in her voice had that same suspicious tone to it that wouldn't leave him alone, like it was nagging him and calling to him... begging to confront her.

He flicked his gaze down to meet hers for the briefest of seconds before looking back at the table. "N—Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" She picked up the tape and toyed with it between her fingers, which were manicured a light pink color. He couldn't help but stare at them. "You seem a little... on edge."

With a swallow, an attempt to bring moisture back to his throat, Spencer shook his head. "I'm... No, I'm sure. Everything's fine."

Y/N sighed. "Well, I've been working with you profilers for some time now, and... I think I can tell when you're lying. Was it... something I did?"

There she went again, her voice high and soft. Innocent. Like she was in character.

Spencer looked at her face again, and then immediately he regretted it. She was half pouting at him, doe-eyed and head tilted to expose her neck. He swallowed again, trying to figure her out while also figuring out what to say.

"No," is what he settled on, audibly nervous.

She could tell, too, because he thought he saw her smirk for just a split second. But then it was gone, replaced once again by her pout. "Oh... Good. Because I thought for a second that you didn't like my costume."

She obviously had to be up to something, right? Was she... flirting with him? And more importantly, did he want her to flirt with him? He'd never really thought about Y/N in that context before, but she was single, beautiful, and... well, truthfully that's all he really knew about her. They'd been friends for about a year now, and he couldn't put together one single thought about her other than the stuttering, muddled confusion over the fact that she was in a sexy Halloween costume and most likely openly flirting with him.

What was that Emily said once about his IQ dropping in the presence of a pretty woman?

Y/N had rendered him utterly thoughtless.

And speechless, too, apparently, because he stood there, staring at her without saying a single word.

"Spencer," she called out softly, almost like a lullaby. Her chair rolled back, away from the table to give him a better view of her legs as she un-crossed them and very slightly opened her knees. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

As if he wasn't already practically burning inside-out since the moment she arrived at the office, now his blood ran hot, and he was suddenly very uncomfortably warm. "U—Um, y—yes, you're... You're beautiful, y—your costume... It's nice, it looks nice on you."

Her pout slowly turned into a smile as she patted her knees. "Thank you... I wore it just for you, you know."

Is this some sort of bizarre dream? he wondered, his knees almost buckling at her words, their tone, and the meaning of it all.

"Y—You did?" he whispered brokenly.

"Mnmm," she drawled as her fingers toyed with themselves. "You teach, right?"

"Sometimes."

Y/N hummed and nodded, her legs still closed enough that he couldn't see anything... extra promiscuous. "You know, I bet you have quite a few students who find you attractive... Tell me, do any of them dress like this?"

She leaned back in the chair and started to run her hands slowly up the inside of her thigh, just above her knee. "Do they ever... Sit in the front row and... spread their legs just enough for you to see the pretty panties they picked out... just for you..."

By now her hands were resting on the inside of her thighs, her legs spread in exactly the way she'd described. He couldn't help himself. There she was, offering herself to him, and in his line of vision was the faintest glimpse of baby pink fabric that matched the color of her fingernails.

He didn't even know how to verbally respond. By now he was sure his face was beet red, and his palms were sweating so badly and struggling to keep him upright as he leaned forward on the table. Ah, the table— the only thing separating him from her, a fact which he wasn't quite sure if he was thankful for or not.

The spell she had around her broke when her phone rang. And just like that, it was like she was... herself again. At least, the 'herself' Spencer had always known. She sat up and walked over to the other side of the room to grab her phone from her bag, reading the screen as he struggled to catch his breath.

"It's Penelope. She has a costume emergency I have to help with. Are you good putting the rest of these up?"

"U—Um, yeah. Yeah, go."

Y/N smiled and grabbed her bag, thanking him as she walked past and left him behind.

He heard her call back as her figure was etching itself into his brain, ready to remain there until the end of time. "Can't wait to see your costume!"

***

Luke and Tara were having a conversation that he was supposed to be paying attention to, but Spencer's mind was still occupied by Y/N and her... outward display of sensuality.

Her voice was echoing in his brain, replaying over and over how she'd dressed up for him. And the longer he tried to wrap his brain around everything, the more he wound up confused. Where had her forwardness even come from? Had she been actively interested in him this whole time and he just hadn't seen it until now? A possibility, but why had she chosen to go to that extreme rather than just tell him the truth? Maybe she'd just found being overtly sexual an easier tactic than others?

Or maybe, in the end, she was just messing with him. Even though Derek had moved away, it was entirely possible that he'd somehow concocted one of his ridiculous pranks and roped Y/N into helping him since he wasn't around to do it himself. A smart move, though it was highly unlikely.

Spencer just didn't know what to do. Depending on how the rest of the night went, he was probably just going to have to muster up the courage to ask her what her intentions were. And depending on what she says, he was going to have to figure out what he wanted from their relationship... Did she want just sex? Did he want just sex? Did she want to go out with him? Is that something he would want as well?

He was just about to mull it over when Penelope's boisterous laugh sounded from the other side of the room. Spencer looked up, eager to see if Y/N was with her, since she'd been called away on a costume emergency. Penelope was dressed as a devil, red sparkly horns on her red-streaked, curled hair. She was dressed head-to-toe in a red dress and shoes that felt very much like her, with feathers and sequins, and her makeup was also red and black and absolutely glittery.

And sure enough, behind her stood the woman who'd been occupying Spencer's mind for the past hour and a half. Though, she wasn't dressed as a schoolgirl anymore.

He found himself swearing under his breath as he took her in, shimmering where she stood, dressed in all white.

She was an angel.

An actual angel. Her hair fell loose around her, accessorized with a headband with a golden halo attached to it. Her dress was still pretty form-fitting, though nowhere near as scandalous as her previous outfit. It was long and flowed out at the bottom until it hit the floor, a ring of gold at the hem. The sleeves were also long and bell-bottomed, accented with gold at the end.

And from where Spencer stood, even that far away, he noticed the glitter that surrounded her eyes, gold to compliment the color on her dress. Her lips were still bright red, and her glasses were gone. And the wings... As small as they were—most likely to keep from taking up too much space—they stood out in any crowd, purely white and outlined in gold, just like the rest of her outfit.

Why had she changed? Did... she actually change at all? Had he truly only imagined their encounter hours ago?

"Any... specific angels crossing your mind?" Spencer heard Luke say, punctuated with a pat on the shoulder.

He blinked and looked at him. "What?"

"Y/N... She makes a pretty good angel, eh?"

"Uh, yeah, I—I guess so."

Luke and Tara laughed, obviously amused by all of this. But they hadn't seen her earlier. They hadn't been there to witness her seducing him and acting like she'd done it a million times over. They didn't know what she was doing to him, inhabiting every corner of his brain and driving him mad trying to figure it all out.

But it wasn't uncommon for his friends to tease him about the female attention he got sometimes. And when it was obvious that he was flustered, they kept the friendly teasing going. And every time, he settled on leaving it alone, because he knew it would pass and he wouldn't have to worry about it again, at least until the next woman hit on him in public.

And Y/N? She worked with them. As long as she was in his head, he was afraid he'd never stop being flustered in her presence.

So he had to know. He had to talk to her and see what was going on, no matter how awkward it might get.

For now though, it was Halloween, and he was going to spend the night with his friends while doing the very rare amount of drinking and the more frequent amount of laughter.

The night didn't come without a few looks in Y/N's direction, though. She never came up to him directly, though a few times he'd catch her looking at him. And each time, she'd wave and continue on her merry way, laughing with Emily or doing some silly dance with Penelope in their coupling costumes.

Honestly, if earlier hadn't happened, he would have thought nothing of it. She was being completely normal. Happy, friendly... Simply Y/N, as he'd known her for the past year and a half.

He just finished saying goodbye to JJ, who was leaving early to go trick-or-treating with her kids, when she finally approached him. At the sight of her getting closer, her otherworldliness making his blood go warm again, he tried to compose himself. After all, there was no way she'd do anything sensual in public like this, right?

"I didn't get a chance to compliment you on your costume yet," she said brightly, her voice not carrying that higher tone from before. "You make a very believable zombie."

He looked down at his tattered clothes, a small laugh escaping him. "Thank you... It's no high-level makeup job, but I tried my best."

When he looked back up to her, the shimmer of her makeup basked her in a glow that made it incredibly hard to breathe. She really was pretty. Still sexy, of course, but in an understated way this time.

And he couldn't help but bring up the difference. "You... changed."

Something sparkled in her eyes then, giving them a devious glint that inherently contradicted her costume, and the mere implications of that made him tremble, especially as she said, "Mhm... I figured the schoolgirl costume was a little too inappropriate for the workplace. And besides... I did say I wore it just... for you..."

So he hadn't imagined the whole thing... On the one hand he was relieved to know he wasn't freaking out over something that hadn't actually happened. But... on the other, what did that leave him with?

It left him with a woman who was standing in front of him, dressed like an angel while giving him all sorts of devilish feelings.

Once again she'd rendered him speechless, though now his thoughts were filled with images of those pretty, glimmering eyes above him, watching as he worshipped her between her legs... Of her hands twisted in his hair as he showed her just how much he wanted her, to show her how beautiful she was.

Those thoughts were interrupted when she got closer, toying with a stray curl that stuck out from his head. She twirled it around her finger and looked up at him, doe-eyed again as she purred, "Happy Halloween, Doctor Reid."

She was gone too quickly, whisked away by the throes of an office holiday party that, one way or another, served as the beginning to a long, tempestuous affair.

***

In the weeks that followed, Spencer went about his days as normally as he could, focusing on work, and getting ready for another month of teaching, where he'd be away from his friends and, therefore, also away from Y/N.

It's not that he necessarily wanted to be away from her... Yet, after constant flirting with no direction other than his dreams filling with filthy images of the two of them together and no actual outlet for it, he figured a break would do him some good. Of course, he wasn't sure what would await him when he came back—if she'd forget about all of it and give up or if she'd come at him stronger than before.

It was his final day before leave, and so naturally, Y/N had to make it hard on him. He was sure that's what she was doing.

Since it was getting colder, she strayed away from skirts, though occasionally she would show up to work in a longer dress or a shirt that hugged her in all the right places, especially on the days that he would be working with her more. She had the BAU's schedules on hand always, so she had to be using that as a way to get to him.

On those days, she often used her higher pitch when she spoke to him, and her eyes were always adventurous— they wandered over every part of his body and sometimes quickly blinked away when he caught her, accompanying an embarrassed smile. (Though, Spencer was convinced she really was absolutely not embarrassed.)

Other times she pulled the "Oops, I dropped something," trick, and "You know, it's almost Winter but it's still so warm in here, don't you think?" followed by a stretch of her body as she slowly put her hair up or dragged it over her shoulder.

His plan was to wait until he got back from leave, assess their situation from there after he'd cleared his head for a while, and then talk to her about what the hell was going on. Though the thought of confronting her scared him a little, he knew he couldn't let this go on any longer without some sort of conversation about what was next... What it all meant. It would drive him crazy otherwise.

With all the sensual, suggestive looks and actions she was throwing at him, though, it was a wonder he hadn't gotten to that point already.

As if she'd figured this out—because of course she would have found a way to get into his brain and know what he was thinking and feeling before he could even do so himself—Y/N stood by a storage closet with a clipboard. She pretended to write things down, when in reality she was looking up at him every so often, biting her lip and crossing her legs where she stood. She looked utterly desperate for something, almost like it was painful for her to be deprived of whatever it was she was looking for.

Spencer had a sneaking suspicion he knew what that was. And the thought sent a wave of electricity through his veins. All day she'd been going extra hard in attempts to catch his attention, and since it was his final day before leaving for a month, he knew that had to be the reason why.

If catching his attention was her goal, she'd definitely succeeded.

Across the room, and across a small sea of co-workers who were head-down, going through paperwork, he caught her eye and waited, his fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out to her. She tilted her head to the side and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, staring back at him like she was in a daydream.

And sure enough, she was standing underneath a light, one singular beam that sat atop her head like a halo and bathed her in a soft glow.

Even without the costume, she was an angel... For a moment Spencer wondered if maybe she'd planed on it all from the start— making her move by dressing like an angel on Halloween for one night and then finding any way on purpose to replicate that presence without actually dressing up again. Was it a way to mess with his head, to make him believe that she was calling to him? That she would... save him somehow?

He had to know what she was doing.

So he gave in and stood up, his eyes keeping contact with hers as he got closer and closer. Before he could get to her, though, she winked and then turned around, entering the storage closet and disappearing before his eyes. Still, he followed her, desperately hoping that's what she wanted.

And with a silent prayer that felt ironic as he thought it, Spencer opened the door and entered the adventure that awaited him. Whether it would be heavenly or otherwise he wasn't sure, but either way he was ready to confront it.

Y/N had turned on a desk lamp, its orange glow the only source of light in an otherwise pitch-black space. She leaned back against a table, still standing with her legs crossed over each other, hands bracing themselves on the tabletop. "How's it going, Doctor Reid?"

"What are you doing?" he asked, almost immediately after she greeted him. Now that he was alone with her, away from unassuming eyes, he exhaled and visibly showed his confusion through pleading eyes. "Please, I need to know what you're doing..."

He barely saw the contours of her face through dim lighting as she smiled. "What do you mean?"

"Y/N... Don't do that." He took a step closer, even though the quick beating of his heart signaled that it might have been a dangerous move. "Tell me..."

"Isn't it obvious?" she cooed, her hands coming out to toy with the hem of her frilly skirt.

As he looked down at it, he had to wonder if there really was a God out there, some higher being that sent this angel down to destroy him. How else did it stand to happen that even though it was nearing the end of November, the one day it was warm enough for Y/N not to freeze while wearing a skirt was the final day he had before leaving for a whole moth?—Before it was inevitably snowy and she wouldn't have the luxury to tease him with her skin?

She must have caught his lingering gaze on her legs, because she laughed softly, spreading them to stand a bit further apart while her fingers very lightly pushed the fabric of her skirt up. "I've been trying to get your attention ever since I got here... But you never seemed to notice. So I figured... Why not be a little more... forthcoming..."

"Y—You could have... said something," he whispered, forcing himself to look at her face. But as he was learning, he couldn't look at any part of her without his whole body going up in flames.

By now she was walking closer to him, small, languid steps that perfectly showcased how her body could move. "Well... Truth is, I was scared... Every time I tried to talk to you, I got really nervous..." Her voice was demure, apologetic almost... Embarrassed. But it had to have just been part of the allure, right? Part of her show? "You're just so... intimidating."

Spencer swallowed, a small laugh coming from him as he tried not to collapse at her closeness. "I'm... I'm really not..."

But she laughed, finally close enough to reach out and grab his tie, which is what she did. She held the fabric in her hands for a few seconds before letting it drop, bringing her pointer finger to gently trace patterns on his chest. "Not in a mean way, silly... You're... incredibly smart, and you're good at your job... You're always so nice to everyone... And I bet you really know how to make a girl feel good..."

He found himself trembling under her touch again as she brought her hand down to meet his. She leaned up to nudge his chin with her nose as she moved his hand to the inside of her thigh. It was only the slightest of touches, nothing rushed or passionate about it. In fact, Y/N seemed more taken with the idea of using her touch to draw everything out— to make him pine for it, lose all semblance of sanity until he finally gave in and did whatever he wanted to her.

"Don't you wanna know what it feels like to touch me?" she whispered, her breath hot on his neck. Meanwhile her hand guided his own farther up her skirt, until he felt her skin getting warmer and warmer with each millimeter. His throat was dry, breath shaky as he fluttered his eyes closed and embraced the moment, embraced the guidance... "To feel how wet you make me?"

His heart practically leapt out of his chest once his hand was finally met with said wetness. Her panties were damp and oh so warm, and he couldn't stop the whine that left his throat as she pressed his fingers hard into her against the fabric. Her fingers covered his like a glove, guiding them in small circles over her clothed clit as she sighed into his neck.

"You feel that?" she asked, nuzzling into his skin. "That's what you do to me, Doctor. From the moment I saw you, I knew you'd ruin me..."

He breathed a laugh then, finding it utterly ironic how that's how she felt. She could have just been toying with him, but there was enough longing and desperation in her voice to let him know she really meant it. She'd been waiting for him to come along and whisk her away...

So that's what he was going to do.

Spencer removed his hand from her then, walking them over to the table and pulling her right to him by gripping the waistband of her panties and keeping her still. The gasp she let out fueled him in a way that would have wrecked him if the job hadn't already been done. As he looked down at her, her body was basked in the soft orange luminescence of the desk lamp, a sight that aesthetically added to his desire and farther fueled the heat that had been accumulating in his veins, waiting to be released.

"Is that what you want, angel?" he breathed, the words even taking him by surprise. His sexual experience was far from non-existent, but it was limited enough that he'd never acted this feral before. Never had a partner ever had this strong of a hold on him, so tight that he found it a struggle to breathe. Add on the fact that he wanted to embrace that struggle if it meant being this way with her, and you had a man who was completely unraveling under the allure of one single woman until she ultimately brought forth his demise. "You want me to ruin you?"

Though he was giving in, like he assumed she wanted in the first place, Y/N hummed, tilting her head again and blinking up at him. "You know, I kinda like it when you call me angel..."

Spencer gripped the fabric tighter, and she whined. "Is it what you want?" In other words, Do you want this?

Y/N nodded, and then he crashed his lips with hers as he tugged at her panties and let them drop to the floor in a pool around her feet. She flung her arms around his shoulders and pressed herself into him more, allowing his tongue to part her lips and explore her with liveliness. She was more than welcome to embracing it, verbally giving him praises in the form of whimpers and physical ones in the form of her hips rolling forward to get more friction.

As one of his hands found purchase under one of her thighs, he thought back to Halloween night, and how he'd imagined his head between her legs. The memory had his entire body tensing with pleasure, and without a second thought, he pulled away and dropped to his knees, looking up at her with what he hoped was the purest form of desire.

He looked up at her, admiring the way her face looked in the dim light, as he lifted one of her legs and placed it on his shoulder. Still keeping eye contact, he tilted his head and kissed the inside of her leg. But eventually he let his focus lean to immersing himself in her pleasure, tearing his eyes away from hers and completely shifting his head to face her leg. His lips trailed upwards, taking his time to remember the taste and the feel of her soft skin.

The higher he got, the heavier her breathing became, and it wasn't long before he fully had his head under her skirt. She tried to move the fabric so she could see him, but he gripped her wrists and pinned them at her sides, eliciting a laugh from her that quickly turned into a whimper once he brushed his nose over where she ached for him.

Without being able to stop himself, Spencer inhaled, breathing her in and letting out a shaky breath as he inched closer and involuntarily closed his eyes, completely wrapped up in her like he'd never felt before. He was intoxicated by her, even more so when his mouth finally made contact with her dripping cunt.

Feeling her shudder above him was almost as heavenly as the way she tasted, sweet and bitter and oh so delectable. He'd never craved anything more than her in that moment, his tongue lapping her up and making a point to taste all of her. He explored and worshipped and praised her just how he'd imagined he would, though now that it was actually happening and he'd really had a taste of her, he wasn't sure he could ever go back.

Not that he wanted to. Especially as she whined and rolled her hips against his face, seeking more pleasure as she tried to be quiet in the closet.

Spencer, though he knew the importance of keeping it quiet right then, couldn't say he was the same way. Since his head was hiked up her skirt, and his sounds were muffled by her skin, he was as loud as he wanted to be, groaning into her and mumbling praises in between while catching his breath. He reveled in the feeling of her wetness coating the lower half of his face and the sounds that both pairs of her lips were providing. It truly was better than any symphony or choir he'd ever heard, and if he could spend the rest of his life down there, worshipping at her altar and giving her everything she desired, he would have.

But they were at work, and if they were gone too long, it would get suspicious.

So, as much as he wanted to draw out her pleasure—and by association, his own—he focused on getting her to her peak, flicking his tongue out over her clit and letting her hips rock forward to get her exactly where she wanted to be.

He knew she was about to come when she stopped whining and whimpering altogether, the leg she had draped over his shoulder curling and tightening around him to keep herself steady.

His tongue was relentless, keeping at what it was doing while Spencer imagined what her face must have looked like. Were her eyes rolling to the back of her head or were they squeezed tight? And her mouth— was it hanging open? Was her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she attempted to keep herself from yelling out? And as her hands struggled in his grasp, trying to escape most likely in favor of gripping his hair, he imagined them tied up above her head, attached to his bedframe as he took his time, drawing out every little sound she could have possibly made until she was just as unraveled as he was.

And then her grip loosened all around him, a whiny sigh escaping from her mouth, and Spencer reluctantly drew himself away from her. He dropped her leg from his shoulder and licked at his lips, tasting as much of her as he could before he had to return to work. And then, when he was moving to remove his head from under her skirt, he caught sight of her panties on the ground, picking them up and sliding the garment lightly up along her leg as he stood.

The only thing was, he wasn't putting them back on her.

No, they hung loose between his fingers as they tickled the inside of her legs, and when he finally stood tall enough to tower over her again, he got as close as he could to her, bringing the fabric up between her legs, right where he'd just been, and pressed them firmly to her sensitive pussy.

"Time to clean you up, angel," he whispered, swiping his hand forward and doing exactly that. Y/N whined against his mouth, faintly tasting herself on his lips as he cleaned her.

He kissed her then, gently, removing his hand from under her skirt and depositing the damp fabric right into his pocket.

If Spencer hadn't known already that he was done for, he would have figured it out right then, when he pulled back far enough to see the high, blissed out look in her pretty eyes. She blinked at him and sighed, telling him one final thing before she pushed past him and walked out into the office with no underwear and half-wobbly legs.

"I miss you already, Doctor..."

***

He missed her, too.

The month-long leave was supposed to assist in letting him clear his head, but the longer he was away from her, the more it drove him mad. Occasionally he'd still taste the sweet tanginess of her on his tongue, and no amount of coffee could rinse it out. Sometimes he'd be grading papers and daydream about hearing her whimper out his name as he took care of her.

It didn't help that she also sent him texts, little things that would have sounded innocent to anyone else but had a way more promiscuous meaning to the both of them. They mostly involved the discussion of angels, of course, as she left him with a quote or a song lyric, and other days with a fact about a specific angel.

Today, the morning before classes started, she sent him, She's gonna be an angel, just you wait and see... Spencer didn't know what it meant, what it was referencing, but it was innocent enough that he didn't think anything of it until lunch rolled around and he checked his phone to see another text.

...When it turns out she's a devil in between the sheets.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. All day, even as he was trying to distract himself by lecturing, all he could see in his mind was Y/N. Sometimes with her angel costume on, but mostly with nothing on, her body fitting into his like a puzzle piece as she sighed out his name like a prayer.

And to think, he had one more week until he would see her again.

But then he was looking through his students' quizzes, small sheets of paper with some terminology and matching definitions they needed to pair together. Since there were only about five minutes left until the class was over, he let his students spend the rest of the time how they chose, not really in the mood to burn himself out speaking when he knew it was only a matter of time before he slipped and said something about Y/N that he shouldn't.

The next quiz he grabbed was folded in half, unusual, but he opened it and was looking to go about his merry way regardless. But then he saw a post-it note right in the middle of the paper, reading She's an angel, my only angel, and punctuated with a pair of red lips.

The first thing he did was drop the pen that was in his hand. Not like he did it on purpose, though, he was pretty sure all joint and muscle function was lost upon reading the handwriting he knew so well, and a reference that only she could make.

And then he looked up, eyes scanning the sea of students to find her. She had to have been there, right? A few of the students found it odd that he was just looking through all of them, but all he was worried about was finding her.

And there she was.

Y/N had tucked herself all the way in the back, her eyes locked directly onto him. She winked then, when she knew she had his attention, and all Spencer could think about was how it must have been another dream. Her texts from earlier had gotten to him more than usual, and because of it, he was seeing her everywhere, seeing what he wanted to see.

Even though he wanted to keep looking at her, to try and figure out if she was really there or if she was just a figment of his devilish mind, he didn't want anyone to catch him. To anyone else it would look like he might have been staring at another student, and with the lust he knew was definitely swimming in them, the last thing he wanted to do was get in trouble like that.

So, to his dismay and reluctance, he slipped the note into the drawer beside him and quietly finished grading, even though he was longing to see how else he could let Y/N destroy him.

Even as the bell rang and everyone filtered out, Spencer kept his head low, refusing to look up until everyone was gone and only one person remained.

The quieter it got, the harder he could feel his heart beating. And then the only thing that cut through the silence was that unmistakable, angelic high pitch that would surely never fail to bring him to his knees.

"Did you get my note, Doctor?"

Only then did he allow himself to look up, and when he did, seeing her closer to him than she'd been in almost a month now, it was like the stars aligned. "Yes," he whispered, getting out of his seat and walking around the desk to be as close to her as possible.

She laughed and met him in the middle, nearly trapping him between herself and the desk. Her hands reached out to grab at his suit jacket and he wished that she'd touch him somewhere else. Anywhere else, just to feel the soft warmth of her skin.

"And my texts?" she cooed, taking another step and actually trapping him between her body and his desk.

"Y—Yeah, I got them."

"Oh, good. I've been thinking a lot about how you left me..." She slid her hands then, under his jacket and across his stomach until they reached his waist. "The second I got in my car to go home, you were already on your way here... And I couldn't help but wonder what you were doing with my panties..."

They were currently back in his hotel room, in the drawer and laying atop of his own clothes, a vision that had him reeling, wondering if she was wearing any now. So he asked. "Are... Um..."

Well, he tried to ask, anyway.

Y/N caught on, though, beaming at him as her hands removed herself from him and slipped up her skirt. "You wanna see the pair I'm wearing now?"

"Y/N... There's... Someone could come in, I..."

She clucked her tongue. "Oh, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble, don't worry. I'll just... Give you a quick peek."

She didn't wait for him to respond, lifting the hem of the skirt and stepping back so he could see the front of her underwear, which were white and printed with black cursive lettering.

Angel.

As soon as he exhaled, loud and obviously very turned on at the sight in front of him, she dropped the skirt and smiled. "You like them? I needed to buy a new pair since you felt the need to steal my others..."

Spencer really didn't know what to say. All he knew was that his body was on fire, and the tightening of his pants was extremely dangerous since he had another class in a half hour and there wasn't enough time to take care of it unless they did something right now. And even then, they were in a public area with hardly anywhere to go. His best bet would be to go to the bathroom and be as inconspicuous as possible to take care of it himself. Or, Y/N needed to leave immediately so he could settle down and just let it go away on its own.

Unfortunately, he seemed to have a hard time denying her of anything.

Which was why he didn't stop her when she sunk to her knees.

As she undid his belt, looking up at him with sparkling eyes, she spoke to him. "Honestly, I had every intention to just make out with you a little, just enough to satiate myself until I can see you again next week, but... Well, I'm wearing lipstick, and I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

He'd made out with a woman before, who'd worn lipstick, and surprisingly it was pretty easy to remove, so he knew she had to have been lying as some part of a bigger scheme, but... he couldn't quite figure out what that was. Obviously she had plans to take care of his erection for him, so why make up the story?

But then she kept talking, only slightly pulling down his pants and palming him through his underwear. "And then I thought about how pretty you'd look covered in lipstick kisses, and, well... It's always good to start somewhere, don't you think?"

Oh...

His stomach did flips when she traced his dick through the fabric covering it, gently with her middle finger. And then, looking into his eyes from below, she pulled it out and slowly stroked it with her hand, a low hum coming from her throat. "Mmm, I can't wait to mark up this pretty cock..."

That's when he lost all semblance of control, a strained groan falling from his lips, coming from the great depths of his chest, just from her words alone. And she took that moment to lean forward and press the gentlest of kisses to the base of his dick. She held her lips there for a second or wo before removing them and moving just a little higher, her eyes never leaving his face.

Her kisses trailed higher and higher, centimeter by centimeter until she reached his tip, where she ever so slightly flicked her tongue over the slit at the top, tasting his precum. And then gave him one final kiss—one final red mark.

The temptation to grab her hair and hold her there while he fucked her throat was strong, but as he looked down at her, she was examining her handiwork with a seductive hunger that made him realize that no matter how strong his urges got, she would always be the one in charge. Even if she acted all innocent and submissive, she was the one who held the key to his sexual desires, and therefore she was the only one who had the ability to unlock them.

So, he contained himself as she looked up at him, winked, and quickly tucked his hard dick back into the confines of his pants.

And when she stood up, she leaned up to his cheek and pressed another kiss there, leaving behind a red mark and all all his sanity with it, quickly turning away before he could catch her.

"See you later, Doctor," she called over her shoulder before she disappeared out the door.

Spencer let out a long, unsteady breath, debating on whether or not he should take care of his situation in the bathroom or right there in the classroom, behind his desk and into the trash can underneath it while he still had ample time to do so.

He sat in the chair about a minute later, his hand moving furiously under the desk as he breathed out hushed whispers of her name.

***

No matter how badly he wanted more alcohol in his system, he wasn't going to allow it. After one drink he was already starting to feel the affects, veins buzzing right along with the low hum of the music from inside. The single streetlight above him provided only the dimmest of lights as he took deep breaths in and out, focusing on the bitter cold from the December air and the soft pelting of snowflakes upon the skin of his cheeks.

Y/N's touch still burned him, right along his inner thigh where her hand had firmly rested while they and the rest of their friends ate dinner at the bar. All night so far, she'd been teasing him to no end, whether it was a brush of her hand against his crotch or a tiny kiss on the shoulder when no one was looking.

How no one had figured them out yet was a mystery.

Spencer rubbed his hands together, trying to keep them warm when he felt it. She was behind him.

"You've been out here for a while, Spence, is everything okay?" Even when she wasn't speaking to him in her angelic higher pitch, he still felt like succumbing to the sound her voice regardless.

He turned around to face her, and sighed. It figured that even surrounded by a street that was covered in brown-tainted snow, she wouldn't have let it taint her beauty. He was convinced that no matter where she was or what she looked like, she'd always be perfect— capable of knocking the breath out of him every time he looked at her. "Honestly, you've been driving me crazy."

"Oh," she said, her eyes slightly shifting to the ground. "Maybe I... did take it too far, I... I'm sorry." The slight tinge of embarrassment and maybe regret that filtered through her voice nearly ran him to the ground— How could she ever believe that he would feel overwhelmed by her? Sure, to some extent, he was extremely overwhelmed by her, but it was never a negative thing.

"Oh, angel, that's not what I meant," he explained softly, taking a few steps towards her.

She lifted her head, eyes doe-eyed and sparkling, though not as they usually were. This time they were swimming in a softness that made him yearn for her even more. "What?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm absolutely mesmerized by you... Y/N..." Spencer brought a hand to lightly caress her face, and when she leaned into his touch it made him so warm he thought it would melt all of the snow. "I can't get you out of my head, and I... I don't know if I ever want to. I mean that."

"Y—You're not... weirded out or anything?" she asked softly. "That I just... sprung all my feelings and my lust out onto you all at once? B—Because I know it was sudden, and I came on really strong so fast, I just... I thought you liked it, and so I just kept going, but really I should have stopped and... I don't know, asked if you were okay with it..."

He'd seen this softness in her before— When she watched over JJ's kids in the office sometimes, and when she helped Penelope set the table for their 'family dinners'. Every time, on the rare occasion that she actually went on cases with them, when she helped JJ comfort the families who'd lost their loved ones, he saw it. And even through all the lust, that sweetness in her soul was what truly made her an angel. Even though the lust is all he'd been swimming in since Halloween, deep down he really knew that it was only a small part of who she really was.

So, he said to her, "Y/N, I'm enchanted by all of you. I don't... I don't know what happened to make you want to come on strong to me, but... I'm glad you did. Believe me when I say, there is nothing about you that would scare me away."

He didn't know how she was feeling, but she practically visibly melted at his words, right in front of him. "You really mean that?"

With a smile, Spencer stepped even closer and brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. "Of course I mean it, my angel."

She laughed then, her hands wrapping themselves over his waist. "Your angel, huh?"

"Mhm... If you'd like to be..."

Y/N leaned up and pressed her lips to his in answer, firmly and with all the sweetness she had nestled inside her soul.

But the longer they stood there outside the bar, kisses growing warmer and hungrier with each passing second, Spencer realized that he didn't want her sweetness any longer, not tonight anyway. He cradled her face in his hands, feeling the fire in his veins come alive when she whined into his mouth and willed herself closer.

Before he could say fuck it and decide to take her right there outside, he pulled away, still needing her but not entirely willing to get themselves caught for public indecency.

Y/N spoke before he got a chance to, her higher pitch coming back and almost bringing him to his knees.

"What do you say you take your angel home and show her a good time?"

***

She didn't even get a chance to close the door to his apartment before he was on her, his hands tugging at her coat to get it off.

It was a frenzy, at least while they were stripping. Jackets and boots and scarves were strewn across the entryway and leading into the living room, until each of them only had two layers: their regular clothes and what they wore underneath. And that's when they finally allowed themselves the luxury of wrapping their limbs around each other.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he grabbed ahold of her ass to keep her steady. For added support, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him the whole way to his bedroom, but not without a few stumbles. Either way, they were so quite literally wrapped up in each other that the imperfections didn't matter.

Like she could ever come with imperfections... Spencer thought as he set her down, immediately bringing his hands to the back of her dress.

Meanwhile she unbuttoned his shirt, fumbling around so much that he thought she might choose to rip it open, and selfishly he wished she would have. But she got it open without tearing any buttons, and the fabric slid easily off his shoulders at the same time her dress slid off her own.

He was going to kiss her again, but once he caught a glimpse of what she'd been hiding under her dress, there was nothing he could physically do but rake his eyes over her figure and pray for forgiveness for all the devilish things he wanted to do to her.

It was a white set, all lace that was detailed to look like feathers as it hugged every curve of her body perfectly. She wore a set of garters that attached to the panties, which he was pretty sure were crotch-less and outlined in a pretty gold shimmer.

"I knew you'd like it," Y/N drawled sweetly. The pure innocence that dripped from her tongue would have thoroughly wrecked him had her appearance already not taken care of that. And she seemed to understand how immobile he'd become at the sight of her, because she moved of her own accord, gliding over to him and reaching her hand out to undo his belt. "I'm gonna take your silence as a good sign..."

"You're stunning," he breathed, just barely, and she gave him a smile through softly biting her bottom lip.

"You're too good to me..." Her hands pushed down his loosened slacks and waited until they fell to the floor. And then she hooked her fingers under the waistband of his underwear and leaned into his neck. "And I think your kindness deserves a reward..."

Her lips gently pressed to his neck before she dropped to her knees once again, and as she descended, her hands and his underwear did the same, leaving him completely bare and open for her to do whatever she wanted. No matter how badly he longed to throw her on the bed and get to showing her just how much she'd inhabited his every fiber of being, he didn't dare stop her as her tongue darted out and licked a featherlight line along the length of his hard cock.

He let out a sigh and twitched at her touch, a feat that must have pleased her, because she smiled and hummed happily as she repeated her action. Only, this time her tongue was more firm on him— not teasing anymore, but it brought him to damnation all the same.

And then she fully wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, slowly gliding herself down until he hit the back of her throat.

The sound he made was inhuman.

She wasted no time then, bobbing her head at a steady rhythm and moaning around him as she did so. It didn't take long for saliva to start gathering above her chin and dripping down onto the exposed area of her breasts, just above her bra. Occasionally she would hold him at the back of her throat and choke as she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and the sight of his little angel happily crying with his dick in her mouth sent Spencer into a tailspin.

But as tempting as it was to paint the back of her throat white, he knew he'd prefer to take that action to a more interesting place. So he pulled away from her and breathed out, "Please, not yet..."

He looked down at her as she smiled, wetness coating her skin in the form of tears on cheeks and saliva on breasts. Her hands rested at the tops of her thighs, even as she stood up and blinked a final stream of tears down her left cheek. "Why, is there somewhere else you'd rather fill me up?"

"Please," was all he said, his breathing labored as he imagined what she would feel like.

Thankfully she seemed to take mercy on him— Y/N grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bed, where she laid him down at the headboard and straddled his thighs. "As much as I love spreading my legs for you, I think I'd much rather take a ride..."

"Anything you want," he told her, his eyes traveling up the length of her body as she got comfortable. She was, in fact, wearing crotch-less panties, and the feeling that coursed through him at the sight of her glistening pussy in decent lighting (AKA when he wasn't under her skirt in a storage closet) sent him straight to Hell all over again.

He sighed out as she played with herself, gliding her fingers delicately along the planes of her body, from her thighs to her clit, and eventually she gripped his dick to line it up, lifting her hips above him.

"Are you ready?" she asked gently, rolling her hips to slick him up with her arousal.

"Always ready for you, angel..."

The pet name sprung her into action. She sunk down slowly onto him, and he willed his eyes to stay open so he could watch as her mouth dropped open, eyes rolling back into her head as she moaned out deliciously. He let out a groan himself, the feeling of her tightly wrapping around him like velvet almost too much to handle.

"Ohhh, you fill me up so good," Y/N sighed, gently grinding her hips in slow circles as she finally had all of him inside her. "Just like I knew you would..."

Everything she was doing, between the gradual increase of the speed at which her hips rolled and the way she looked down at him with pure desire, had Spencer wondering what he'd ever done without her. What had he known before knowing the feeling of her nails gently digging into the skin of his stomach as she rode him, before knowing the sound of his name falling from her lips in a whisper? It couldn't have been anything good, because as far as he was concerned, she was as good as it would ever get.

But at some point it felt like he needed to take more. She was giving him her body, offering it to him like the most precious gift she had to offer, and yet he wanted to tear into it and leave nothing behind except her voice, calling out his name into the heavens above. He longed to give her something in return, something that would leave her just as ruined as she'd left him.

And, as always, she could tell.

Y/N laughed seductively as she leaned down, her hips still rocking into his. Her lips pressed a gentle kiss to his before she spoke. "Everything alright, baby?"

All he could do was let out a broken moan as she clenched around him on every upstroke.

"Aww... You want more? Huh, you wanna lay me down and give it to me good? Show your little angel what it feels like to be fucked so good she can't even speak?"

"Don't... tempt me," he was finally able to choke out, and she laughed.

"Aww, come on... Show me what you got..."

Spencer wasn't sure when he actually did it, but one second she was nipping at his bottom lip, challenging him to take control, and the next he was on top of her, her legs spread as wide as they could possibly get as he rocked his hips into her at a deep, bruising force.

She laughed amusedly through whimpers of pleasure, her hands spreading out at her sides like wings as he gave her everything he had. Looking down at her, head thrown back and hair fanned around her head like some sort of angelic crown, he soaked it all in and wondered if this was what Heaven was— the feeling of her succumbing to his lust, the sight of her lost in the throes of weeks of pent-up sexual tension that never entirely got released, the sound of her near-incoherently whining at how good he was...

If it wasn't Heaven, it was surely something pretty damn close.

He was almost there, tension stretching out inside the pit of his stomach, when Y/N grabbed one of his hands and brought it to her lower belly. He felt himself slamming into her at full force every time, the small bump against his hand bringing him further along the road of release.

"You feel that?" she whined, keeping his hand there. "You know what that means, don't you?"

It could have meant a lot of things, but his brain was too far gone, lost in in the fog of pleasure to even begin to think about what it was. But then she answered for him, and it was just about the hottest thing he'd ever heard come from her mouth.

"It means I'm all yours... to do whatever you want with... to fill me up with your cum as much as you want... maybe turn your little angel into a mommy..."

With a loud, guttural groan, Spencer held himself still, deep inside her, and gave her every last drop, his hand remained pressed firmly to her stomach. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel his cum spilling out and filling her to the brim through the barrier. She pulsed and came around him at the same time, warmth spreading between the two of them like a drop of water would soak through fabric, until it completely enveloped them like a heavy blanket.

And then they'd given everything, their bodies clinging to each other for dear life as they settled into the gentle aftermath of such a heavy feeling of ardor. Their breaths slowed and their lips explored each other tenderly, hands doing the same until, finally, they felt themselves drifting off.

***

Spencer dreamt of Heaven that night, glimpses of a future he'd always longed for with other people, but that he would get to spend with her.

A wedding dress, white, but haloed by a gold fog as the woman wearing it glided along the aisle and made her way to him.

A house, small, but fenced in and just perfect enough for the two of them and the baby that was on the way.

A picnic table, damp, but drying out in the sun as it gradually became littered with plates of birthday cake and a little candle that was shaped into the number 3.

A woman, old, but beaming as she showed a photo album to her multitudes of grandchildren, telling them stories about the wonderful life she lived with her husband who always called her Angel.

And when he woke up, seeing that old woman as she was now, sleeping in his bed as the sun beamed through the curtains and basked her in a heavenly light, he knew what Heaven really was.

It was her.

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