#the fingerprints/evidences of which are still apparent even in this world too»

[artificialqueens]

Taste Your Beating Heart (Taywhora) - Holtzmanns

word count: 3142 | read on ao3

What do you get when a vampire wrestling with a morality crisis or two bumps into a student protecting herself with a pocketknife in one hand and a Percy Pig bag in the other? Quite the late night encounter, that’s what.

AN: Thank you all so much for the love on my first two taywhora fics! This one is slightly insane and popped into my head fully formed somehow. Thank you Writ for betaing and always helping me bounce ideas around and thank you Pop for taking out anything too North American sounding. Enjoy! Title from Howl by Florence + the Machine.

Tayce deserves a little treat.

It’s been a few months, anyway, since her last one. A girl’s got cravings.

The vegan selection just doesn’t do it for her after a while. She doesn’t get how Bimini sustains themselves on only ethically sourced blood.

Being a vampire in the twenty-first century brings its own unique set of challenges, that’s for sure.

It had been easier in the 1800s, before fingerprinting and DNA evidence existed and Tayce could get her blood and dispose of the bodies without a care in the world. Now, though? She has to be careful. Murder is apparently now much more trackable in today’s society.

The audacity of it all, really.

But Tayce is careful. She’s adapted with the times, perfected her strategies of getting rid of bodies that she’s fed from without leaving nary a trace. She hasn’t had any fingers pointed in her direction yet, and it’s probably for the best, to stay under the radar.

Plus, she does feel a little bad once she’s done with a body and effectively offed someone. Just a little.

So really, every few months is perfectly reasonable.

She’ll look for someone pretty today. Someone who she can enjoy. No one too old for a human, not when the blood gets a little stale by the time they’re in their eighties. Someone who’s hopefully better than her last human snack, when she had to go for a bloke that was trying to catcall her. Then again, bearing her fangs had never felt so satisfying as it did right then.

Tonight, she’ll go for someone a bit more delicate. There’s a head of white blond curls farther down the street, ducking towards an alleyway a block or so down, and Tayce can feel the excitement run through her veins because she’s perfect. An easy, discrete target.

Tayce speeds up her pace until she can practically smell the girl’s blood as she gets closer, and the girl is still in the alleyway and Tayce can’t sense anyone else near her and really, she can’t ask for an easier catch. She flips her hair over her shoulder before turning the corner, her steps light enough not to make a sound before-

“Oh, hello! Didn’t see you there!”

Tayce freezes in her tracks when the girl’s suddenly turned around, a curious look on her face, and shit, Tayce usually gets close enough to bite their neck before being noticed just a second too late.

“Just trying to look for a snack for my walk. I’ve got half a bag of percies left somewhere in my bag. Food for the road, y’know?”

The girl’s rummaging around in her bag again and this is it, the perfect timing and Tayce can finally have a good meal for the first time in months, none of that vegan shit, but-

The girl looks up again, a triumphant grin on her face with an empty looking bag of Percy Pigs in hand.

“Success. There’s only one left in here, though. Sad. I’d give you one if I had more. You want half of this one? Not too fun to be out walking so late,” the girl shrugs as she opens the package.

Tayce manages to shake her head through her own disbelief, mostly at herself because this really is the perfect time to just strike , but the girl’s trying to pull the gummy in half and it really is a sight to see.

“I’m vegan,” Tayce mutters, because really, watching the girl try to break the gummy in two is a little ridiculous, when Tayce can’t even eat it.

She wants her own snack, which, for some godforsaken reason, she hasn’t even tried to go for yet.

“Suit yourself,” the girl shrugs before tossing the gummy candy into her mouth. “What did you say your name was again?”

Tayce pauses. “I didn’t.”

It’s starting to get truly silly at this point. On Tayce’s other hunts the human would be long departed, and Tayce’s cravings satisfied. But here she is now, standing in an alley with her human target munching on a bloody Percy Pig and looking adorable while doing it.

Unbelievable.

The girl, for her part, looks completely unfazed. “I’m Aurora. Not the princess. Though I would be in a jacket like yours, though, it’s absolutely beautiful. Where’d you get that from?”

“Huh?” Tayce blinks, before realizing Aurora (she never learns her targets’ names, Christ) is looking at her with an expectant look on her face. “Oh. A friend made it back in the day.”

Back in 1865. Not that the human needs to know that.

“The lace trim. My god. Stunning,” The girl is gushing, getting closer to her and reaching for the jacket, and really, Tayce should just go for it, have her snack with a bite to the neck but it’s strangely fascinating, the way the girl’s fingers graze against the jacket.

Maybe the girl can live for five more minutes or so. Tayce isn’t that hungry. But only because Tayce likes to watch humans in their natural habitats.

“She’s a good designer,” Tayce gets out, and there’s a voice in her brain yelling at her for wasting her time, conversing with a human, but really, as much as she hates to admit it, it’s a little fun.

In a strange, morbid sort of manner.

“She really is,” Aurora murmurs. “She got an insta or anything? She take any commissions? I’d love something like this.”

“Not sure. I’d look but my phone is dead, sorry.”

Christ. Tayce is really out here entertaining this woman’s interest. Coming up with a cover story for the fact that Ellie made this centuries ago.

But who knows, maybe Ellie does take requests. Not that she would from a human.

“Shame. I’ll definitely have to look around for something similar, because it’s to die for.”

“To die for, indeed,” Tayce murmurs, and she can almost hear the girl’s heart pumping and pumping and finally, she can have a worthy midnight snack, one who tastes as good as she looks.

She takes a step closer, but then the girl’s brushing past her out of the alleyway and waving at her cheerily with her bag slung over her shoulder. “I better get going. Lovely to meet you, though! Toodles!”

“Toodles?” Tayce mutters under her breath, because honestly, it sounds like something she’d say herself.

The girl’s walking away and Tayce is too caught up in the shine of her hair under the streetlights to go after her.

Besides, the girl says words like toodles. She deserves to live another night just for that.

Tayce sighs as she watches the girl walk away. It’s like catching and releasing a perfectly good fish, really. Rather stupid. But hey, she can find another target, it’s not an impossible task.

She doesn’t have to look very far, because there’s a man by the closest corner, and he’s watching Aurora on the other side of the street, and Tayce has to wrinkle her nose when she notices the look on the man’s face.

Leering. Hungry.

Yeah, it’s fine when Tayce does it, but for a man like this? Who certainly doesn’t have good intentions?

Well, Tayce will just have to take care of it.

His blood is tangy, not at all satisfying in the way that Tayce had hoped for when starting her hunt earlier tonight. But he will have to do.

Tayce will wait a few more months before another good snack, like she’s used to. In the meantime, it’s back to sipping through a straw from blood bank bags. Not her favourite type of beverage.

Tayce makes it to two months before she starts to get the itch for another hunt. It’s not that the bagged blood isn’t satisfying, because it is. It keeps her from being hungry. But bloody hell, does she need a drink that’s a little more fresh.

Cara snorts from her spot on the couch when Tayce ties her hair back, slips a jacket over her shoulders. “You always make it such an event, and for what? You could just do it every day like the rest of us.”

“Excuse me for trying to be a good person,” Tayce grumbles, bending down to tie the laces of her trainers. “I don’t want to hurt humans that much.”

“Only every couple months. How nice of you.”

“The bagged blood isn’t so bad, y’know,” Tayce starts, picking up her keys. “Perfectly reasonable for any vampire to sustain themselves on.”

Cara makes a face. “Yeah. Any depressed vampire who hates everything and everything.”

“Bimini does it all the time. We both could be more like them. Do some good in the world.”

“Some good in the world? Honey, I’m here for both a good time and a long time. Seeing the humans suffer provides some entertainment, at least,” Cara grins, and Tayce can’t help but snort.

“You’re an absolute beast. Both figuratively and literally.”

Cara waves when Tayce reaches for the door. “Get home safe! Don’t let the humans hit you with a morality crisis on your way home.”

Tayce wonders, as she heads out onto the street, how easy it would be to have Cara’s mentality. To not care about the chaos she creates, to eat however she wants.

A tiny, tiny little part in her brain does care, though. About how the families of her meals react to their loved one going missing. How they search and search for answers.

Can’t be very nice.

But then again, Tayce does have cravings. Indulging every few months can’t be that bad, can it? Not when it cancels out.

The city is really nice, late at night. Tayce doesn’t have much to fear, not when she can decimate any men that saunter her way with rather insidious agendas. She can enjoy the crisp air and focus, really focus, on the scents around her, perhaps something human that’ll lead to a nice meal that she can enjoy, and-

Oh, no. Tayce knows that smell.

“Hey, you! I know you!”

That voice. Tayce certainly knows that voice.

Aurora’s hair is dark brown now, but Tayce would recognize that grin anywhere, when it lights up her face like that. She’s got a messenger bag on her shoulder, and, oh, of course. A Percy Pig bag in hand.

Naturally.

“What you doing out, so late at night? There are monsters lurking out yer in the dark, you know,” Tayce purrs, and wants to kick herself for it when the girl’s eyes light up at her voice.

She needs to stop egging this on. Interacting with the girl the first time and letting her go was already dangerous enough as it is.

But still, it’s interesting to see her again. Someone who was almost prey.

“Oh, no. I’m prepared,” Aurora says while reaching into her pocket, her voice incredibly self assured for someone so scrawny. “See?”

The pocket knife between Aurora’s fingers is tiny, and one that Tayce would easily be able to bend in half in her palm. It’s cute in a way, if she’s being honest.

Tayce plasters on the best poker face that she can, never mind that Cara’s made fun of her lack of acting skills in the past. “Very fierce and intimidating. I’m terrified.”

Aurora shrugs. “Since pepper spray and tasers are banned, this is the best I’ve got. I did Google, just in case.”

“What you out so late for, anyway, missy?” Tayce can’t help the question slipping from her mouth, ignoring the voice in her head that’s shouting at her to stop talking, to not dig herself into a deeper hole with this girl.

But Tayce can’t help it, she’s curious. This is the second time she’s seen this girl out so late, entirely too cheery for one, two, in the morning. It does beg the question.

“I’m a fashion student, and I intern at Vivienne Westwood. With all the deadlines? Late nights at the studio are my best friend.” Aurora grins, and Tayce can see from the excitement on her features just how proud she is of herself.

Tayce should have known, really, from Aurora’s obsession with her jacket the last time they met.

“Well, well, well, baby, look at you. A girl on the job,” Tayce murmurs, and she’s not sure if she’s imagining the girl absolutely basking in the phrase.

Aurora does seem easily pleased.

“What about you? What you out so late for?” Aurora asks, genuine curiosity on her face.

Tayce pauses, pursing her lips together to keep her smile from spreading. “You could say I fancied a late night snack.”

She can almost hear her own stomach rumbling. She’s practically starving at this hour of the night.

“Yeah? I get you there girl, honestly. My favourite spot’s this kebab shop down the road from-” Aurora pauses, her eyes squinting as her head tilts slightly. “Huh.”

“What?” Tayce raises an eyebrow, because Aurora’s eyebrows are already high on her forehead and she looks a little too interested in examining Tayce’s face.

“You…nevermind,” Aurora mumbles, and Tayce can sense the way her heart is beating just a little bit faster in her chest.

She’s nervous. A first. But why?

“You notice something?”

The air feels just a little bit more charged once Tayce asks the question, because Aurora’s eyes are widening and her eyes keep flicking down towards Tayce’s mouth and oh, maybe it’s because Tayce has gone and smiled.

Fully smiled.

Fangs out.

Oops.

“Where’d you get those from?” Aurora breathes out the question, the heave in her chest visible, and fuck it.

Tayce has come out to roam the streets tonight for a singular purpose, anyway.

She takes a step towards Aurora, getting in her space and crowding her until the backs of her shoulders are up against the wall, and the blood pumping in her veins is almost tantalizing.

Getting to know her snacks before indulging seems to have been a great idea.

“Where do you think?”

The question hangs in the air, almost pausing time around them for a millisecond before Tayce reaches down, circling Aurora’s wrists with her grip before pulling them up overhead, against the wall. Keeping her in place. Not that Aurora would be able to outrun her, anyway.

“Oh,” Aurora gasps, and her pupils are blown and her lips slightly parted and she’s not scared, she’s…

For a lack of better wording, the girl looks rather turned on.

“Do you like that, baby?” Tayce shifts her position so that she’s holding Aurora’s wrists with one hand, bringing her other so that she can run her fingers through Aurora’s hair, before tilting her face up by her chin.

Aurora’s pliant, leaning into her touch, and it’s almost intoxicating, in a way. The way she’s got Aurora trapped, but also how Aurora’s letting her.

As if she has a choice.

Not that Aurora looks particularly worried, for her situation. “Are we about to kiss? Are you going to lean in, or is this more of a thing where we both initiate it, or…”

Bold. But it’s an invitation for Tayce to play with her food just a little more.

“You do know that I could kill you any second now? You’re on a very slippery slope, girl.”

“Kinky,” Aurora squeaks out, and Tayce can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“Drain your blood, and all that. Suck you dry.”

“Hot. Take me out first though, yeah? Treat a girl nice before draining her life force?”

Aurora’s batting her eyes, a contrast from the bead of sweat at her temple, the speeding up of her heart. She’s a fight or flight response wrapped up in a false sense of bravado, making the game just a little more intoxicating.

So Tayce grins, stepping in just a little bit closer to Aurora, her lips near her ear so that she can whisper in a way that’ll make the hair on Aurora’s skin stand on end. “Oh, she’s negotiating. She has demands.”

“What, afraid you won’t be able to satisfy them?” Aurora’s response is immediate despite the way she’s squirming in Tayce’s grip, and Tayce doesn’t miss the way her thighs press together.

Tayce has experimented in a multitude of ways during her immortal lifespan, but this? A human pressed up against a wall, inches away from her fangs while pretending to be completely unfazed? Tayce is enjoying it more than she wants to admit.

The girl’s face takes on a simper, the corners of her lips curling upwards, despite remaining trapped in Tayce’s grip. “Y’know what? I think you’re scared to do it. You’ve been hesitating this entire time for a reason, haven’t you? You can’t bear to kill me. I’m too pretty, aren’t I?”

“Don’t play with fire, baby.”

“Prove it, then. Do it, yeah? If you’re going to. Don’t keep a girl waiting,” Aurora breathes out, her breath hitching in her throat and Tayce pauses, her eyes flicking from the girl’s eyes to her lips to her neck and-

She decides. Albeit a second too late.

Because Aurora’s leaning forward and kissing her before she can strike.

There’s no way in hell she can tell Cara about this, the fact that she’s kissing a fucking human while she can still smell her blood pumping, and Tayce is hungry, damn it, she can feel her stomach rumbling as she weaves a hand into Aurora’s hair.

Aurora licks into her mouth, her wrists straining against Tayce’s grip as she whines and Christ, it’s been too long since Tayce has done this. Any self respecting person would not feel as affected as she is, or find it as dizzying or want more. Because Tayce needs more, wants more, from this human whose hips are pushing forward to grind against hers.

Aurora bites at her bottom lip and Tayce can’t help but smirk as she pulls back from the kiss, because Aurora’s breaths are coming out in pants and she looks as dazed as Tayce feels. “Looks like I’m not the only one who likes to bite.”

“Enough incentive to keep me around, yeah?” Aurora murmurs, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and Tayce hates how much the sight of it is absolutely doing it for her. “You going to whisk me back to your Dracula castle, or not?”

“Your survival instincts are incredibly slutty,” Tayce snorts as she lets Aurora’s wrists go.

Aurora wastes no time, her fingers grabbing Tayce’s belt loops to pull her closer. “Not difficult when the creatures of the night turn out to be hot as you are.”

Tayce can’t help but ghost her lips over Aurora’s, grinning when Aurora lets out a small gasp. “Y'know, you’re the only human to successfully whore their way out of being killed. I’m impressed.”

“Now, you know they don’t call me A’whora for nothing.”

“Pardon? They call you what?”

[idyllicstarker]

i love your writing!! could you maybe do something with stalker!tony and victim!peter??❤️

Thank you so much, that means the world. 💖

I definitely tried. It turned into a little bit of dark!tony and it was very back and forth from trying to get both Peter’s and Tony’s side of the story in so I struggled a little. I hope you still like it!

I wanted to expand more, but I also knew If i did, it was going to have to be long, and I didn’t think I could write that. So I hoped everyone doesn’t mind I stopped it where I did

Warnings: Implicit references to sexual themes, dark!tony, stalking, kidnapping

Fear wasn’t a far good enough word to describe the way Peter felt. In fact, it barely skimmed the surface. He couldn’t shake the underlying truth - he was in danger.

Paranoia was no longer a plausible explanation. This wasn’t a joke, or a silly prank by someone from school. It had gone too far. He didn’t feel safe within the apartment, not when he thought, no.. he knew someone was watching.

It had started with simple uneasiness. The feeling that he was being followed wherever he walked. But this was New York. Everyone was bustling and rushing around to get to somewhere, no one stopped twice to look at Peter, let alone watch his every move. He thought nothing of it. He had no reason to. So he continued on with his everyday life as if it was nothing.

“May?”

As custom, he called out as he entered the apartment, only to, like every other day, be met with no reply. He liked to joke with himself that one day he’d call out and a low rumbling voice, very much unlike May’s, would call out back. At least it would give him time to bolt back out the door. That was just a giant hell no!

Yet today, he was closer to that joke then he’d ever thought he’d get. No voice called out, but they didn’t need to. Making his way to his room, he threw his key on his desk and set his backpack down before he blinked, his face scrunching up. “Why is it so cold in here?” he muttered, curious eyes flicking to the window before he paused. It was open? Peter never left the window open whilst he was at school. It was hardly ever open at all, and he distinctly remembered he didn’t leave it open last night. He was weighing up the probability of May having opened it when he looked towards the bed.

“What?”, he gasped out quietly.

He wasn’t notorious for being the best bed maker in the world. But he certainly hadn’t left his sheets all bunched up at the end of the bed like that. And was that the outline of where a body had lay? Surely… surely that still can’t be there from where Peter had woke up this morning. Taking a cautious step closer, he realised that something had been left. A note, a small piece of card, and a flower. Raising an eyebrow, he let out a deep breath. A sudden glance back to the window left a sunken feeling in his chest, he moved to slam it shut, leaning back against the wall as he tried to collect his breath. He didn’t even want to look, it couldn’t be true. Someone hadn’t been here, it had to be May. Right?

Swallowing the lump that had formed, he closed his eyes. He was a big boy. He could look at a damn note without getting spooked. He refused to sit on the bed. Instead, licking his lips he stooped down to grab the small white card. But the instant he did, his nose scrunched as he pulled back. There was no denying the stench of aftershave left in the dip in the bed. Some kind of masculine, musky, light aftershave. Peter didn’t know which one, but it smealy expensive if smells could have wealth. Like something a celebrity would wear. But this couldn’t be a celebrity. That would be a total weird reversal of roles. Surely Peter should be the one breaking into their house and leaving notes of.. he looked down to read over the impatient scrawl on the card. But any identification of whatever this was instantly flew from his mind as he gasped.

His cheeks drained of colour, as he stumbled back so sit in his desk chair, the offending message falling to the floor.

‘To my dearest Peter,

You don’t know who I am. But I know everything I need to know about you. You’re beautiful, amazing, and so perfect. I want you. And I won’t stop at anything to get you. Don’t bother asking for help, the authorities can’t do anything. And I will know. And trust me when I say, I’ll take everything you hold dear to your heart if you do.

Your loving,

TS

P.S. The sweater you’re wearing today, the pale blue one, the only blue sweater you own... it’s adorable. I think you should wear the cream one tomorrow one, the knitted one, you’d look so pretty, but then again, you’d look pretty in anything’

~

“He knows where I live, what part aren’t you understanding? He broke into my house. He knew exactly what I wore today. And apparently he knows my wardrobe. He must be watching me.”

“I still think it’s cute.”

At his best friend’s reply, Peter let out an aggravated huff. He didn’t need to look at the screen of the video call to see Ned had rolled his eyes.

“I’m just saying. He even left you a flower”

“HE BROKE INTO MY HOUSE!!”

“For once I agree with him. This isn’t good, it’s dangerous. And.. as much as having a secret admirer seems romantic... this seems borderline psychotic. He’s stalking you”, Mj of course chimed in with a voice of reason. Looking up from her sketchbook for the first time since the call started.

Peter sighed, evidently in distress, as he let out a shaky breath. “Well what do I do? Go to the police?”, he asked.

There was silence from both, which just meant that the answer was yes, no neither really wanted to say it. “Let me see the flower”, Mj eventually spoke, pushing away that idea for a second. They all knew that going to the police made this official. And Peter didn’t want that on his shoulders. The boy had already been shaking, terrified, on the verge of tears when he first phoned them.

He looked over to the bed, sighing as he moved to grab the flower before holding it up at the camera for her to see. She narrowed her eyes, squinting before she tilted her head. “It’s a camellia”, she said.

“That means he’s longing for you.”

They both looked towards Ned, surprised at his sudden words. He gave them a ‘duh’ sort of look.

“You know.. the language of flowers. It’s a white Camellia… that means the giver is longing for the person that they gave it too”

Despite the situation Peter couldn’t help his soft laugh. Even Mj covered her mouth with her hand to hide her amused smirk.

“I didn’t know that Ned. But thank you”, he said, before sighing, and biting down on his lip.

“I don’t get it, why would anyone want to stalk me?”, he huffed, biting down on his lip.

“He told you why Pete”, Ned said, he was delicate to Peter’s emotional state, in no way mean, just stating the truth. “You’re asking the wrong questions. Who is this man? Who’s T? Is what you should be asking.”

Peter watched as Mj nodded from the corner of his eye. “I know you said it’s a man because of the aftershave. But we have no concrete evidence it actually is a guy either. It could be a woman who just masked the smell with aftershave. But you go to the police, and he- they, actually did lie in your bed, I’m sure they’ll be able to get fingerprints or something.”

Peter whimpered, a small quiet sound, playing with his fingertips nervously. “I can’t”, he saw them both open their mouths to object but he held up his hand to silence them. “You saw what he wrote. I can’t risk it. If he hurt you guys, or May.. I don’t know what I’d do”, he muttered softly.

~

Tony looked up from the screen he'd been staring at intensely ever since Peter had returned home. Happy stood in the corner of the room, and Tony nodded his head. “I have to admit, the camera in his room was a good idea. Saves you having to sit outside his house”, he said, smiling at the man.

“I thought you’d enjoy being able to watch the boy, Mr. Stark”, Happy said. When he was dismissed, he left the room, and Tony settled back in his chair, gaze falling over the laptop once again.

He’d watched the whole scene unfold. Obsession? Maybe. He wasn’t guilty. He’d been watching the boy for a while now, or he’d gotten Happy too. He knew his routine better than he knew his own. He thought it was about time he swooped in to take his shot.

The apartment empty, he climbed up onto the fire escape. A simple tool was it took to unlock the window. And he was inside.

The temptation to sink into the bed was too much. He craved to feel the space where Peter’s body lay. To smell the remnants of his scent. The temptation was far too much, and far too great to miss. He didn’t even mind that he was messing up his suit to do it. He buried his nose into the pillow, groaning as he realised.. that’s what the beauty’s shampoo was like. His mind wandered to all the times Peter must have let go of himself in this very spot. Feeling himself hardening in his slacks Tony was so very close to relieving himself then and there. But he didn’t, he had more respect for himself than that. And with the camera he’d fitted, almost perfectly hidden in the room, he may as well wait until he can get a full HD video of the real thing.

Peter would never guess that a camera had been left. And it was fun for Tony to watch him phone his friends as they discuss what he’d done. It was only going to get better and better, and Tony couldn’t wait.

~

The second letter came the very next day much to Peter’s dismay. This time it had slipped underneath the door. Tony not wanting to risk breaking inside again and Peter going back on his word and actually going to the police. But still when Peter slipped inside and looked down at the small card, he groaned, his heart skipping a beat.

He was quick to dash to his room with it, making sure no more flowers were there. But this time it seemed exactly like he’d left it.

He turned to look over the letter, his face scrunching up slightly.

‘My beautiful angel,

I’m a bit sad you didn’t wear the sweater I told you to wear. But I loved the black hoodie nevertheless.

You’re a good boy for not going to the police. Well done.

T’

Tears filled Peter’s eyes as he threw it to the ground and crumpled to the floor. Peter was weak and Tony knew.

Tony hadn’t wanted that reaction. But he knew to expect it. Peter wouldn’t warm up to him fast. It would take time for that. Time when they finally meet. But for now, this was enough. He enjoyed following him to and from school. And he would continue to enjoy it.

~

The letters kept on coming. But soon enough, Peter stopped reading them. He was trying to block it out. As soon as he returned home and he noticed another, either at T coming into his room, or him slipping them under the front door, he’d moved to shred them instantly. He’d shout at that he was making him go crazy. And he’d cry. And then he’d repeat it the next day as if everything was okay.

Of course this only angered Tony. There was little he could do now. Peter had yet to realise that the camera was in his room. And god had he’d seen some beautiful shows through that little lense. It seemed even the threat of someone watching somewhere, wasn’t enough to stop Peter’s hormones from growing too much.

But that’s beside the point. Peter didn’t leave the house unless it was for school. Tony had nothing to do other than stare at the camera. It was starting to become tedious. He wasn’t even reading his letters anymore. And he didn’t like it. So, he decided he’d take it a step further.

For a while the letters stopped coming, and Peter held onto a tiny shred of hope that maybe, just maybe, Tony had given up. He smiled more, there was a lighter bounce in his step, no longer tense, or on-edge. On the days Tony didn’t watch him to and from school, Happy did, and the man was always happy to report to his boss that the boy was back to being his bubbly and cheerful self. An angel in disguise, as Tony liked to put it.

Yet his angel was rebellious. He didn’t like to cooperate. And the scowl on Tony’s face after he watched Peter scream, and break down and cry when he saw the gift he left for him one day, was murderous. Much like last time, he snuck in, but this time he left something much more elaborate. The room was full to the brim, with white and red roses.

Peter’s sob, although heartbreaking, was far from what Tony had wanted. He growled. Peter was going to have to deal with this. Tony was done with trying to gain his affections in this way.

Peter called Ned and Mj once again, crying out about how scared he was, but he couldn’t tell May because she’d want them to leave the apartment but they had nowhere to go, and they couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel. She’d only go to the police and Peter couldn’t risk that.

They eventually, thanks to Ned, came to the conclusion that the whie roses meant “I’m worthy of you” (Peter let out a scoff at that) and the red of course, “I love you!”

“How can he love someone he’s never met. This isn’t right, he’s stalking me, clearly. He’s sick in the head!!”

“Well I mean, we don’t know for sure that you don’t know him. We looked at anyone with the initials given but for all we know.. It could just be an alias”

Peter glared at the woman, but he knew she was right. He looked around his room, ankle deep in flowers, and the stench, although beautiful, only sickened Peter. He sighed and got to work in trying to hide them from his aunt.

~

The three of course came to the conclusion that Peter was most definitely being stalked. You could say they weren’t being observant enough but Tony was clever… and rich. The camera he used in Peter’s room blended into the wall almost perfectly. Unless you hunted for one, you’d never find it. Fortunately, after watching Peter for over a year before making a move, he realised the pretty boy was naive. Tony never used the same car to trail after him and his activities for more than two days in a row. The only detail you’d pick up on was that all the windows were tinted in every car.

But Tony realised hiding behind a mask was something he didn’t want to do anymore. He wanted Peter, he wanted him badly. And he was going to get him.

Five days after the flowers graced his room, Peter got something much better in Tony’s opinion. Tony himself.

As the boy pushed open his door, bracing himself for a note, or maybe more flowers, he never thought he’d see a random (although handsome) man sitting on his bed.

Peter’s jaw dropped, breath catching in his throat as he grabbed the nearest thing he could reach to protect himself. “Who the fudge are you?”, he shouted, arms shaking as his mouth went dry.

Tony smirked, laughing softly before he shook his head. “Now princess, there’s no need to yell. I doubt your physics textbook will do much damage to me so I figure you should just put it down.  I think you know who I am. Although I’m a bite offended you never seemed to like my gifts, trust me, I saw everything.” He pointed towards the camera on the wall.

Peter’s gaze locked on it, a heartbroken gasp leaving his throat as he dropped the book, arms curling around his body. He felt… dirty. “It was you… you… you’ve saw everything… m-my body…”

Peter was slowly becoming more distraught, and Tony shook his head. “It’s okay hun, you’ll soon know soon enough that I mean no harm..”

“You’re disgusting”, he spat out, letting out a choked sob.

Tony’s jaw locked as he let out a huff of a breath and calmed himself. “You’re just as stubborn in person”, he muttered, before sighing and shaking his head. “Well, It’s all fine, I guess we’re just going to have to do this the hard way”, he said.

Fear flashed through Peter’s eyes, taking a step back cautiously. There was a moment where they stared, before he turned and ran. But Tony, despite him seeming much older (again attractive but it didn’t change the fact that this man was still a physco) Tony was much too fast for Peter. Barely seconds later, he was tackled down the couch. Tony’ warm strong body holding him flush against it, the man’s head so close to his neck that he could feel the scratch of his beard against his skin.

“Wow I have to say I do quite like this position”, Tony smirked, ignoring Peter’s whimpers and screams as he tried to break away. “I’ll see you in a few hours pet”, he whispered casually against his ear, before Peter felt a cloth against his nose and mouth. He held his breath, shaking as he tried not to breath it in. Begging, hoping, that May would make it back early from work today, But eventually it was too much. Letting out a broken sob into the rag, his tears soaked the material.

His eyes closed, as he fell into a sleep, feeling Tony’s wet lips pressing kisses to the back of his head.

[danyka-fendyr]

Absence of Good - 9

Chapter Nine: Legerdemain

Hello everyone! As promised, I am posting another chapter of Absence of Good within the same week! I know, I’m kind of stunned too. If it comforts anyone, this is completely unedited, so that’s still on brand for me. I’m really excited for where I’m going to take this series next. I have some ideas for what the plot conflict is going to be now that our two idiots are together, hehe. For now though, enjoy this mostly wholesome chapter (minus the murder, obviously).

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli @alwaysadreamingoptimist

AoG Taglist: @pancakefancake @prettyboyspenerrr @youreasnack @alioop3818 @newtslatte @rathersuspiciousbumblebee @andiebeaword @stalker83005

Wordcount: 3206

Warnings: Murder. Some gore. Generally disturbing themes. Mentions of abuse.

“I don’t know what they are called, the spaces between seconds– but I think of you always in those intervals.” ― Salvador Plascencia

You had been on this case for a week now, and it was starting to take a toll on you. Hotch had put you all on a plane about 5 minutes after your confession to Spencer, which at the time you hadn’t been worried about. Little did you know this would be the world’s longest-running case, and you had barely gotten 5 minutes with Spencer.

This was one of those rare times where splitting you and Spencer up was pretty much unavoidable. They needed his brain at headquarters to track this guy and they needed your body out in the field to catch the guy. You and Emily had been teaming up a lot, and while you had learned a lot from her, she was no Dr. Reid.

You missed him. You didn’t realize how much time you had been spending with him until the most you got was a quick, “Hi, how are you?” as you handed him coffee. He had been throwing himself at the books, forgetting to do basic things like eat and drink, so you tried to remember for him when you could. You were all at the end of your rope with this guy.

This unsub, whoever he was, just so happened to be extremely clever. You could only imagine how high his kill rate was, as you were sure this was not where he had started. No, the precision this guy worked with was almost a thing of beauty, if it hadn’t made you want to vomit. Apparently, eyelids were very hard to sew together, but this guy, he was pretty damn good at it.

You climbed up the hill, thighs burning as you approached the top, boots digging into the soft dewy ground. The sun had only just started rising about an hour ago, and you felt your eyelids weigh almost as heavy as your limbs. Emily was right behind you, the ragged pace of her breathing matching yours.

When you reached the top of the hill you couldn’t say you were greeted by your favorite sight.

“Oh. Well that’s just lovely,” you huffed out.

“It’s certainly new.” Emily was turning a little green around the gills.

Evidently, your man had gotten bored of just sewing people’s eyelids shut. This guy had his eyes sewed shut, sure, but he was also cut in half. So that was fun.

“Do you see the dove?” You started scanning for it, knowing it would be present somewhere on the crime scene.

Emily found it first, lying a few feet away from your victim. She bent down to closer inspect the plastic bird, looking for any sign that the killer might have left behind a message or a fingerprint. No such luck.

“Okay, well we know this had to be time consuming, right?” You said.

“To sever a man’s spine? Yeah. That’s no easy task.”

“He’s escalating. Showing off. He’s laughing at us,” you mumbled, leaning over the body.

“I think he’s earned the right to. 5 kills in one week? That’s…”

“Not good.”

“I was going to say scary, but that works too.” Emily grimaced.

“Want to head back to the station? I don’t think we can gather much more from here. We’re better off waiting for the M.E.’s report.”

“Hmm…Sure you don’t have any other reason for wanting to go back to the station?”

“Like what,” you said airily.

“Really?” she said. “You don’t think I’ve noticed you’ve been missing your usual partner? It’s okay, honest. You’re not hurting my feelings any.”

You laughed a little bit, relieved that she had either not caught on to anything or had chosen to keep it to herself if she had.

“Hey, I think you make for fine company. That being said, someone has to watch Spencer. He’s losing his mind right now.”

“Yeah. Hotch had to stop him from throwing a book across the room yesterday.”

“Wait, really?”

“Our resident genius is coming a little unhinged.”

You sighed, beginning the descent down the hill.

“I’m worried about him,” you confessed.

“We all are. He’s taking these deaths too personally. I think he feels like it’s his responsibility to figure this guy out, like he’s the genius and he’s not doing his job or something.”

“He puts too much pressure on himself.”

“You can say that again.” Emily rolled her eyes, but her face quickly settled back into a worried frown. “He always has. This case is just difficult. No pattern with the victims, no obvious clues, and no clear connection between eyes, doves, and now being split in two. It’s just a little mystifying.”

You nodded, climbing into the passenger side of the car. Emily liked to drive, and you usually fell asleep in cars, so in that sense at least you were the perfect duo. You laughed at the thought that Hotch would have paired you up for that alone.

“Maybe something about this will make sense to Reid. Maybe this is the piece we’re missing,” you said.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Emily does not sound hopeful.

 As soon as you got to the station you were making a beeline for the coffee machine. It was quite literally the only thing you could think about right now. Selfishly, you got your own coffee first, taking a couple of sips to get your brain and heart working in proper order. You definitely hadn’t been this dependent on coffee before you started this job.

Once you felt like you could be reasonably mistaken for a human being again, you made another cup of coffee, dumping a few cups of sugar in. Just how he liked it. You smiled to yourself, probably looking a little crazy. You had known how Spencer liked his coffee forever, but it just felt different now, more intimate somehow. Stupid human brain with its stupid human hormones.

Spencer was alone amidst an entire library’s worth of books. He was sitting surrounded by them on the floor, some of them stacked up around him, built up like a little castle. You tip-toed your way through the maze, heading towards the oblivious genius who clearly had his defenses and his drawbridge (the meager path you had carved for yourself) down.

“Spence.” Your voice was a soft echo in the room.

He jumped, turning around bewildered and bleary. You took in the site of him, the circles under his eyes that were moats of purple and the way his hands twitched like they were trying to turn a page or hold a shield he had misplaced. Gently, you smoothed out a stray piece of hair that was falling into his eyes.

“Brought you coffee,” you offered, shuffling around a few books to settle down on the floor next to him.

He relaxed, reaching out to take the cup.

“Find anything?” you asked.

“Nope. What about you? Hotch told me there was a new body this morning.”

“Yeah. This guy was chopped in half. We’re waiting on the M.E.’s report. Other than that, nothing new except for me almost losing my breakfast. Not cute.”

“I think you would have been very cute projectile vomiting over a corpse.” He grinned at you.

“Is that what you tell all the girls Dr. Reid?” You raised an eyebrow.

“No. Just you.”

“Hmmm…” You squinted at him playfully. “Then what do the other girls get that I’m missing out on?”

“What if I said there are no other girls?” He raised an eyebrow, but a hint of seriousness crept into his voice.

“Then I would say you’re a liar,” you whispered, leaning forward until your face was dangerously close to his.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, voice low, eyes lower as they traveled well below your own.

“Oh, do magic tricks for me like one of your French girls, Spencer!” You feigned a swoon, one palm falling back onto a red leather-bound book to support you, the spine digging into the heel of your hand.

“Well, I could. Or I could return your hair tie.”

You glanced down at your free wrist, alarmed to find it hair tie free.

“How did you?”

He just smiled charmingly, pulling it out from behind your ear.

“I can think of other things you could do that with,” you suggested, waggling your eyebrows. “But seriously, how?”

“A magician never tells his secrets.”

“Yeah, well I wish they would start.” You soured again, thinking back to the case. “I would love to know how this guy sawed his latest victim in half.”

Spencer sat up rigid, eyes going blank as he thought faster than you could ever hope to process.

“Spence?”

“We need to get that M.E.’s report right now,” he said, standing and leading a one-man charge out of the hardbound, softcover castle he had built.

You followed behind him, scrambling to keep up. Unsurprisingly, you two ended up at the M.E.’s, who was mid-examination.

“Was the victim sawed in half?” Spencer said, not bothering with any niceties.

“He’s Dr. Reid, we’re with the FBI,” you clarified, confused where he was going with this.

“Umm…” The medical examiner looked a little bewildered but answered the question anyway. “As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure this was the work of a saw. Not an electrical one either. Very unusual. Probably took him a very long time to do.”

Reid spun around, heading right back to his books, leaving you to helplessly follow after tossing a hasty goodbye to the poor M.E.

“Spence, what is all of this about?” You asked once you had wended your way back to where you started.

“Don’t you see?” He asked, a slightly insane light to his eyes. “It all makes sense now. The dove, the saw, even the eyes. It all connects!”

“Spence, I think you need to maybe go lie down for a little bit.” You reached for something he could eat, spotting a box of donuts left half-empty on a table in the office space he had appropriated. “Why don’t you have a piece of bread and maybe you’ll calm down.”

“No, look,” he said, finding the crime scene photos amongst the shuffle of information he had acquired. “What do all of these things mean put together? How saws people in half? Who uses doves as part of their show?”

Finally, it clicked.

“Magicians,” you breathed, Spencer’s energy suddenly becoming contagious.

“Magicians!” He crowed. “Even the eyes make sense. It’s a taunt. ‘Now you see me, now you don’t.’”

“Because he always disappears!”

“Exactly!” Spencer pointed at you triumphantly.

“Okay. Now we just have to find a magician with a bone to pick,” You said, deflating slightly. “How hard could that be in a city of a couple hundred thousand?”

“Better go tell Garcia to start checking Fort Wayne’s yellow pages.”

“Yeah.”

 As it turned out, it was apparently not that hard to find a magician with a grudge. For some reason, there were several in this city. However, only a few had the migratory pattern of your culprit, who had been clever enough to cross state lines. He had been playing a long, subtle game before he started to toy with you, but the eyes had always been the same, a very unique touch of his.

“Okay team,” Garcia said, bubbly as ever. “We have learned two things today. One, our guy is probably Larry Harlborrow, A.K.A. Axel Ranger, traveling magician who just so happens to have stopped by all of our unsub’s previous places of residence and stuck around for a while. Two, never trust a magician.”

“Hey!” Reid interjected.

“Never trust a magician whose name is not Spencer Reid,” Garcia amended over the phone.

“Better. Carry on.”

“Anyway, it looks like our guy’s stressor was a messy divorce with his wife. Apparently, the magic business didn’t make him a very good bread winner, and the multiple charges of domestic abuse weren’t exactly a winning point for him either. I suspect it was the latter though that caused her to leave him, taking sole custody of the kids and getting a very neat, tidy restraining order put up against him. More power to her, but that’s where we come to our trigger and coincidentally where our timeline of murder starts. But hey, I’m sure there’s no connection there, right?”

“Address?” Morgan asked.

“Oh, you know I’ve already sent it to your cell, sexy,” Garcia purred.

“Alright, well as grateful as we all are, I think it’s time to hang up while this call can still be called PG-13,” JJ said.

“Good luck my darlings!”

“Thanks baby girl.”

Thankfully for you, it was just a simple snatch and grab, and it was about time you had one. He was at home, so confident in his own skill he didn’t have the slightest inkling you would be interrupting his afternoon. Classic narcissist. The homicide was a fun twist, but you couldn’t call it original.

Morgan kicked down his front door and you burst through to where he was, disgustingly, in the middle of sawing in half another victim. His entire living room was coated in plastic sheets, the kind you draped over furniture if you were painting. You couldn’t say you liked the way blood red matched the rest of his décor.

“Hands in the air!” You shouted, aiming your gun.

For a moment he paused, saw still in his blood covered hands, victim well and truly dead before him. You couldn’t believe he was actually considering not giving himself up.

“Piece of advice? Don’t bring a saw to a gunfight,” Emily warned.

That seemed to be enough to snap him out of it, and slowly, he raised his hands in the air. You cuffed him, trying not to look at the body so close to you.

“Try slipping your way out of this one Houdini,” you growled before starting on his Miranda rights.

After safely stowing your mad magician into the back of a cop car, you made your way back to the station to pack up and get ready to go home. It had been a very, very long week. All you wanted was a shower and your soft, warm bed.

You fell asleep almost immediately getting into the jet, your head resting on Reid’s shoulder. You didn’t even care that the rest of the team was watching. This was innocent anyway, and they were all far too tired to care.

When you touched down, you were still so blurry you weren’t sure you could be trusted behind a wheel. Thankfully for you, Spencer noticed.

“I’ll drive Y/L/N home. I still have enough coffee in me for that I think,” he said.

“Okay. I’ve got Emily,” JJ said, supporting her equally sleeping friend.

Spencer bundled you into the car and once again, you were dead to the world for a while, until he was waking you up again to lead you into your apartment.

“Will you stay?” you asked, lazily fumbling for your keys and allowing him to open the door for you.

“Of course,” he said, tucking you under one arm and guiding you inside.

“That was such a long case,” you groaned, stretching out your limbs.

He nodded, setting his satchel down in your doorway.

“Yeah.” A beat. “I missed you.”

You felt everything in you soften at those words, a gasp of relief that it wasn’t just you who had been feeling like this.

“I missed you too. So much.”

He crossed the distance between the two of you in your tiny apartment, wrapping you up in his arms, and you breathed the scent of him in. There was something deeply comforting about this, about the soft material of his sweater and the tickle of his hair brushing against your nose. It was starting to get long again.

“You need a haircut.” Your voice was muffled by his shoulder.

You could hear the frown in his voice. “You don’t like it how it is now.”

“No, I do.” You reached up to play with the longer strands in the back. “Actually, I think you should keep it this way. If you change anything you might get sexier, and then I’ll never be able to focus on cases.”

“Hmm, maybe I will cut it then.”

“No,” you whined.

“I think you need to go to bed.”

He combed a hand through your hair and you sighed blissfully.

“Are you offering to take me to bed Dr. Reid?”

“Something like that,” he said, scooping you off of your feet.

You let out a surprised squeak, wrapping your arms around his neck. The alarmed beating of your heart woke you up a little bit more, enough so that your brain could process the full implications of the fact that Spencer could pick you up with ease. You filed that information away in your brain for future use.

You let him settle you down gently onto the mattress but refused to untwine your arms from where they rested. He tried to move away, but you stopped him.

“One kiss.” A soft, tired plea.

He hadn’t kissed you in a week, and you were starting to forget the way it felt. You never wanted to forget that, the absolute rush of it. Little did he know you had been obsessing over it, pining after him the entire time you had been on this case. You could still focus on your work, but you had always had him in the back of your mind somewhere, holding you, kissing you, making snarky commentary. At some point, Spencer had become an integral part of your life. Without him something important seemed to be missing in a way you couldn’t explain.

“One kiss,” he agreed, leaning down to brush his lips softly against yours.

A shuddery little sigh unwound in your lungs, fluttering out of your mouth to meet his, and in response he deepened the kiss. One hand cupped your face while the other buried itself in your hair, and you loosened your grip on his neck so that your fingers could trace his face. They danced across his features as his lips danced against yours.

You loved the way he kissed. Every time he did it, it was with his whole body. Like it was the only thing he was thinking about, like it was the only thing he would ever think about. The way he curved into you, the furrow of his brow that you traced with the tip of your finger. You almost wanted to open your eyes, to immortalize this moment, but you couldn’t. You were too absorbed by the feel of him.

All of the effort, the concentration that Spence put into his kisses paid off. He was absurdly good at it, stealing your breath away, making you forget that there was anything else in the universe. The flick of his tongue against your lower lip was positively indecent, and you arced into him, pulling him closer.

Disappointingly, he pulled away, breathing hard. You realized you were doing the same, having forgotten about paltry things like breathing while he was kissing you. He walked around to the other side of the bed, toeing his shoes off and coming to lay down beside you.

Gently, he laid a kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

“if only these treasures were not so fragile as they are precious and beautiful.” ― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

[19mrs-barnes17]

How Could I Ever Forget?

Summary: “Hello! Can I make a request for Dean x reader. Dean x reader have recently confessed their feelings for each other. Soon after, the reader loses her memory. The brothers help her have a “normal” life away from hunting & they stay away from her. After a few weeks/months, the reader calls Dean, because she has a nightmare and he rushes over to see her. He secretly keeps seeing her and over time she slowly starts to fall for him again. Maybe you can include them being soulmates? Thank you!”      -Anonymous

Part: 1/1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings:

Word count: 3,245

A/N: wow this one had some plot to fit, haha. Enjoy! (Ps. title is from a Next to Normal song)

~

“C’mon Via, I can handle a shopping run. My memory is getting better and I’ll have the list to help. Please? I need to get out, being cooped up here is driving me stir crazy.” Your sister’s eyes darted to the side, mind running through the request several times before caving and nodding. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

She handed over your emergency phone and the list, still nervous about your first solo excursion since the accident. No one would tell you much about it, you had been hit hard on the head and had forgotten three years worth of your life. But, nobody said what did it or any other specific details about that night. Only ever saying your phone broke and providing you with a new one full of only family members. 

The last memory you had before the gray three year gap was of your sister calling you in a motel room. For the life of you you couldn’t remember the name or why you were even there. It was too fuzzy and the only thing you were able to recall was that you were meeting people. But no one would tell you who or why? Some said it must have been some dream or figment of imagination but you knew better. And one day you’d find out.

For now you strolled down aisles and pushed a cart, your pace quite slow as you attempted to prolong your excursion. You had missed doing mundane activities as silly as it may sound, you had been treated like a glass figurine. She had denied you every request, not allowing you to do anything that could be remotely dangerous. You couldn’t even help in the kitchen, she was terrified of any more damage befalling you. It was suffocating. 

“Hey Y/N? Can you grab me some washcloths from the closet?” It was one of the few tasks that she deemed safe enough, what could towels do to you right? Knock down a couple boxes apparently, but thankfully you caught them and no one was alerted. You couldn’t handle further seclusion.

One box had your name on it, but you had never seen the thing in your life. Unless… Quickly you hid the box in your room and emerged from the hall with some rags. You excused yourself to get washed up for dinner, doing your best to not trip up. When you were alone you pulled the box from your closet and sat on your bed, hands frozen on the tabs. You were terrified that you’d find nothing special, but frightened of finding something that had been hidden from you. 

A sharp pain stung in your chest as you rifled through the objects that held a strange familiarity. There were photos of you, people you didn’t recognize with arms around you and smiles on your faces. A pair of green eyes gazed up at you from a bright screen at the bottom of the box, your hand having brushed against it. One fingerprint and a button later and you were staring at a home screen background of you and the man. Your head rested against his shoulder as you looked at him from the corner of your eyes. Both of you held bright smiles on your faces, his beautiful green eyes on the camera as he was likely taking the photo. 

You stared at the small markings on your wrist, they were what showed up when you met your soulmate. It was said that it was some ancient language and that the name of your soulmate was written in it, but no one seemed to be able to crack it. Not one person could translate the language, it had perplexed the world for years and eventually fell into the background of news. Even despite the discovery that when you read your soulmates markings it translated in your head. Only you could read your own name on their wrist. You wondered if this was some relationship you had found with someone who wasn’t your soulmate, or if he was your soulmate. But if he was, why wasn’t he here?

Footsteps echoed in the hall and your name was called, you quickly shoved the box under your bed and gathered yourself. Now was not the time to tear down the hope of more freedom, not before you found out more. You needed insurance that this was worth it and you weren’t seeking out someone who wasn’t there. He could have died in the same accident for all you knew. God you hoped not. 

Dinner passed by in a blur and you excused yourself for bed, faking a yawn and lying about an early start on cleaning tomorrow. In your room you sat with the empty box on the floor and the contents sprawled across your bed. Time to research the hell out of this green eyed guy. For some reason his name pulled up police reports and wanted ads, you were terrified. When you looked into him, Dean Winchester as you soon discovered, he was reported dead. So many years ago, and yet somehow you had been with him in the last three years. Maybe they were doppelgängers. They had to be. But this left you at square one, no lesser known guy with the same face showed in your search. 

Eventually you gave up, you weren’t finding anything this way and you were going to have to find out by asking your sister. You were really not in the mood to be rejected and ignored so you put off continuing the search until tomorrow. Eyes growing heavy and your body falling into exhaustion you slipped beneath the covers. Tomorrow you were going to hunt down that man and find out the truth, by any means necessary. You had to know.

There were flashes of lightning as the rain shot down in rough droplets from the stormy clouds above. It was a violent storm and you were caught in the middle of it, alone. Or at least, so you thought. As you pressed onward you heard a stranger's voice call out your name, and it oddly felt normal to hear. When you whipped your head around you saw those green eyes you’d been hunting all night. He called out for you to duck and you obliged, a shot rippling overhead. When you turned a man, no a creature, lay still on the pavement with a pool of red dispersing from its lifeless body. It terrified you how calm you were about the murder you had just witnessed, but what really scared you was how relieved you were. Like it was a job well done. 

You slipped when making your way to the green eyed man, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. What you saw next fizzled in and out and you could hardly make it out. You saw flashes of a taller gentleman by a vintage car, the trunk filled with weaponry, and images of a hand held out to you.

You were coated in sweat as you shot up in your bed, body shaking as you tried to stand only to fall to your knees. What the hell was that? An hour passed as you attempted to discern fiction from reality, the nightmare had felt so real. Almost like a memory which scared the hell out of you. What happened over the past three years. You had been a hunter of sorts, that was all you remembered. But, a hunter of monsters?

You sat back in your bed, eyes never leaving the newly found phone. There weren’t a ton of names in the contacts but there were so many non-family members, and that scared you. Not a single name that you scrolled past did you recall ever meeting. There were text messages and conversation you could have sworn you’d never had if not for the overwhelming evidence before you. When you reached W in the contact list your heart dropped, there he was. Dean Winchester. Green eyes and all, smiling up at you from the phone screen. Curiosity struck and you opened up your messages, eyes freezing on the most recent in a series of missed messages.

I love you and I miss you.

It was sent only two weeks ago, and only a month after you had woken up in the hospital with a chunk of your past missing. Whoever he was, he was alive and he wanted to see you or at least he did weeks ago. It was stupid, but you were desperate and couldn’t believe you hadn’t thought of it before. Your finger hit the green button and you were pleased to hear the ringing. You still had access to the past, and you’d be damned if you didn’t take advantage of it. 

There was a click but no voice spoke from the other end, you were afraid he no longer wanted to speak. What if he had cut his losses after you continuously didn’t respond, moving on with someone else? Whatever the case, you still had to know.

“I know you answered. I can hear you.” There was a pause of silence before he spoke, his voice tired and soft. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again. Are you okay? Did something happen?” He was spiraling rather quickly and you could hear the pain and anxiety dripping from his voice. “Sammy said your sister came to take you home.”

“Sammy? Who- I…” He didn’t know, he didn’t know. Oh, god. How the hell do you tell someone who loves you that you don’t remember them? How can you break their heart like that? 

Well, it certainly wasn’t over the phone. You slipped on a jacket and snuck out of the apartment, keeping Dean on the line. The box was in your hands as you crossed several streets to the nearest open park.

“Okay, I’m out.” He started to make concerned comments about your phrasing but you cut him off. “I need your help.”

“Done. What do you need?” It was strange for someone you didn’t know to have such faith and trust in you, to immediately offer his assistance with zero hesitation. You gave him your sister’s address and asked him to meet you at the designated park before you gave him any more information.

The moment you heard the rumbling of an engine you knew it was him, though it was still at least a street away. You weren’t a car person but the familiarity of the engine was all too memorable and you couldn’t deny that you knew that car. It was unmistakable. But when the man exited the car, his door slamming shut before his green eyes lifted to meet yours, you felt the strangest pull in your chest. Something in you wanted to jump from the swing and toss the box to the side, to wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. It scared you a little, the strength of the emotion. 

“Dean.” A soft smile tugged at his lips, but there was concern clouding his eyes. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He nodded and moved to sit in the swing beside you, his eyes wandering to the box you held in your arms. You moved to open it, pulling photos and a necklace from within and handing them to him. Taking a deep breath you prepared yourself.

“That’s you and Bobby outside his house in the junkyard. You’d helped him fix up a car, it was your first one and he… He wanted to commemorate it. Always was into that cheesy stuff when it came to us.” Your brow furrowed, eyes flickering between him and the photograph.

“You knew? You knew I didn’t remember?” He nodded softly, eyes tearing up as he ran nostalgic fingers over the glossy image. “And you left me to figure out the last three years on my own?”

“I’m sorry.” His head hung low, eyes closing as a tear slips down his cheek. “I only figured it out when your sister ran into me outside her apartment building. She cornered me, the only one who knew about your secret life, and told me to back off. You finally had a chance at a normal life, and I knew she was right. So Sam and I stayed away.”

“How could she?”

“She was only trying to help. You were pretty banged up after that car wreck and she only wanted you safe.” Dean wiped the tear trail from his cheek, eyes meeting yours once more.

“Car wreck? What about the rest, the creatures I see every night when I close my eyes? Why do I keep seeing you?” You were growing more hysterical by the minute and Dean slipped off his swing and knelt before you. He caught you as you fell into him, arms wrapping around him as you let the tears flow and soak his shirt. 

“I can’t explain everything, not in just one night. Not only is it kind of impossible, it's probably not healthy for you.”

“Then you come back every night. You come here and you tell me it bit by bit.” Your eyes were frantic as you searched his eyes. He sighed before nodding, and you hugged him tightly. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” You pulled back and looked into his eyes, your expression growing serious. “Okay, business first I see. Where to start?”

“The beginning.”

You sat before him in the empty park for hours, listening to the story of how you met and how you had been a hunter. You still had so many questions but it was beginning to get light out and your sister would have a fit if she saw you weren’t in your bed. One more hug and you waved Dean off, his sleek black car fading into the distance. For weeks this went on and you listened to him describe your life and the people you had met. Once he had finished, after several nights of storytelling, he handed you a journal with your name on it.

“Here, it's your hunter’s journal. Cases you worked on and sometimes mentions of people you encountered. All inside, in your words.” You remembered, a little surprised it wasn’t included in the box. It started when you and your sister lost your parents to a vamp, ending just days before the crash. Scanning over your handwriting tears welled up in your eyes, you couldn’t thank him enough for his help. Though you hadn’t magically regained your memory, you at least had answers and that was enough for now. But something was still missing.

“Time to finish the story.”

“I did, the crash and your sister telling me off is the last I know.” You raised a brow at him and pulled up your photo album on the phone, swiping until you found a picture of you kissing his cheek. 

“You sure about that? Because I know for a fact I don’t exchange ‘I love you’s’ freely and I certainly don’t go around kissing people on the cheek.” You handed over your phone and he smiled softly at the photo but there was still a flicker of sadness in his eyes. “Who are you to me?”

“Officially? Nothing that planned on being something. You got into the crash three days after I told you I loved you. So, I’ve never actually heard you say it back. But, I thought we were something.” Your heart dropped, eyes closing as you took in a deep breath.

Three days after he confessed and you reciprocated interest. Only three and he lost you in a mere instant. You had found someone and lost them in less than a week. It was no wonder you felt such strong pulls toward him, you loved him and you had forgotten. But in these few weeks of meeting nightly you had begun to see why he had been someone you stayed by. He was a good man who had had a rough run, and you knew the feeling all too well after what happened to you. 

“I can’t remember loving you.” His eyes met yours but soon tore away to his car, looking at you becoming too painful. “But every time I see you I feel it, I feel the pull and I know I did.” 

“You… do?”

“I know I love you Dean Winchester. I just have to know you again.” You placed a hand on his cheek and suddenly his eyes widened. “What?”

“Your wrist, I uh, It’s my name. It says my name.” You quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled back his jacket, eyes growing wide.

“And there’s mine. Clear as day.” You chuckled softly to yourself and shook your head.

All this time you had known your soulmate and fate had ripped him from you, taken him without remorse. Your eyes met his and you sat wondering how the two of you never noticed before, how neither had tried to read the others. He had been before you, sitting with that dopey smile that made you want to kiss him all over. There was no way you were letting him out of your sight, not again. Screw a normal life, something would have found you sooner or later. You’d rather spend your days getting to know the love of your life all over again.

“Stay here.” You placed a soft kiss on his cheek and ran, your legs burning when you reached your sister’s home. The light flipped on as you were stuffing a duffle bag with all your necessities and you froze in place.

“Y/N? What are you doing?” Via stood wrapping her robe tighter over her pajamas before crossing her arms. “Where are you going?”

“I found him Via. He was there all along in my missing years, my soulmate.” Your sister’s eyes softened and she nodded. “It was Dean.”

“Well, then we better make sure you pack it all safely. Tell lover boy to bring that Impala he nicknamed around.” She smiled softly at you through the tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m gonna miss my big sister, you and him better visit. I mean it.”

“Of course.” When all was packed away you hugged your sister and called Dean, he was there in minutes. “You don’t mind me moving in right?”

“Hell no. Sam and Cas will be glad you’re back. Even if they had a problem I’d still move you in.” You chuckled softly at his serious expression and his eyes softened. “I’ve missed you and your laugh.”

“Good. Cause I’m not leaving you again anytime soon, so better be sure.” His smile slowly faded as he approached you and wrapped an arm around you. 

“I’m dead certain. There’s no one I’d rather have at my side than you, no one I’d rather love.” You leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips, unsure where the courage came from.

Wrapping both arms around his neck you continued to kiss him and kiss him like you’d starve without the taste of his lips. He held on, not wanting to lose you again and you gladly welcomed the feeling. Your sister coughed loudly behind you and shooed the make out session “off her single and lonely property”. Dean smiled as he pressed down on the gas pedal and held your hand in his, everything was finally starting to put itself back together.

~

Tags: @qtmeryr @broken-hearted-barnes @cantnkrusshedevil​

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[galahadwilder]

A Thief, Redux

Chapter 1: A Cellular Mix-Up

A sequel to A Thief, a Thief, inspired by @sweetmeatdale

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KleptoMariac Archive

AO3

*

Lila Rossi has not been having a good week. She’d been planning to frame Marinette for a month now, and the whole plan went down the tubes in seconds. She got chewed out by both Gabriel and Hawkmoth (who she’s pretty sure are the same person, but she hasn’t quite gotten enough evidence to prove it); apparently he’d been all set for a repeat of Scarlet Moth and nothing had happened. And isn’t that galling—even Hawkmoth has ridiculous amounts of faith in Dupain-Cheng, if he thinks destroying her image is enough to pull a repeat of what required turning Ladybug and killing Chat Noir the first time.

Everybody loves Marinette, even Paris’ worst terrorist, and it is infuriating.

Framing people for things isn’t the easiest thing in the world. Theft is easier; people leave stuff like their lockers and their backpacks unguarded all the time, thinking that if you can’t steal from them you can’t hurt them. Nobody ever thinks about sneaking things in. Except that that won’t work on Marinette now, because everyone in the class somehow finds it endearing when she steals from them? It’s ridiculous!

She needs another plan. Something foolproof, something that won’t backfire on her, something that won’t be traced back. Unfortunately, she has nothing.

A week passes by of people assuming that her and Marinette are finally becoming friends, and Marinette is so cloying, so sweet, and Lila just wants to strangle her with her own intestines but she has to keep up the image so she pretends to be just as sweet back. But in private... in private she’s scheming.

*

Adrien has a fencing meet on Friday, and Lila knows that Marinette is going to be distracted. She’s distracted by anything involving Adrien. So during the meet, when everyone is distracted watching Adrien and Kagami tear up the competition, Lila sneaks into the locker room.

She learned to pick locks ages ago—it’s astounding what you can learn from internet tutorials. In seconds, Marinette’s locker swings open, presenting its secrets like a chest of pirate treasure.

The inside of the door is wallpapered with photos of Adrien—expected, if gross—and also one or two of Chat Noir, which is downright offensive. The inside of the locker doesn’t have much in it—a few books, a bag, things Lila could steal to give Mari a fright but nothing in particular she could use to ruin her. A missed or redone assignment or two is nothing.

Lila sighs, flips open Marinette’s custom pink briefcase/backpack thing. There has to be something...

That’s—that’s a phone. She just... left her phone in her locker?

Lila lifts the smartphone gingerly out of the bag, cups it between her hands. It has a Ladybug appliqué on the back, which is surprising, she never took Dupain-Cheng for the type. Still, she can’t believe her luck—she can wreak so much havoc with this.

“Say goodbye to your friends, Cheng,” she says, leaning forward to breathe on the screen. The fingerprints for the passcode show up, swirling gaps in the clouds of condensation, and Lila grins. “Who should I message first?”

*

Adrien lunges, and the tip of his blade slams into his opponent’s torso, the scoring machine lighting up red behind him with a honking buzz. Alya leaps to her feet. “GO SUNSHINE!”

Adrien twists to look at her, and at Mari (who is currently attempting to hide behind her), and he salutes with two fingers.

“TAKE HIM OUT!” Alya screams, holding up a fist, and Adrien jerks backward in surprise. Alya smirks. What kind of friend would she be if she didn’t mock him a little bit?

“That’s... not how this works, Alya!” Marinette squeaks, tugging on her arm, yanking her back into her seat.

“I know,” Alya replies. “But did you see the look on his face?”

Marinette tilts her head and raises an eyebrow.

Alya laughs. “Okay, poor choice of words,” she says, turning back to look at the fencers—all of whom are wearing helmets that completely obscure their faces. Still, she imagines that Adrien’s expression was hilarious, and damn, she wishes she could’ve gotten a picture.

As if reading her mind, her phone buzzes a text notification.

She looks down, confused. Who’s texting her right now? She’s busy—everyone she knows knows not to text her unless it’s about an Akuma, and if it’s a family emergency she’d be getting a call, not a text.

She reaches into the pocket she’d had Marinette add to her jeans and yanks the phone out, turning it as she pulls so the case won’t catch on the denim, then taps the side button to pull up the text. Two more arrive as she does:

Adrien: hey Alya

Adrien: uh

Adrien: I’m not sure I can be friends with you anymore

...What.

Alya looks up. Adrien is... definitely currently on the gym floor, determinedly brushing aside his opponent’s sword. There is no way he even has his phone on him, much less is texting her right now.

Alya: what do you mean?

Adrien: it’s just

Adrien: it’s impossible to get you to listen to me anymore

Alya blinks, glances back up—buzzer honk, Adrien just won the point. Or, apparently not, there’s a technicality, something about right of way. Any other time she’d have asked Mari to explain, but right now she looks back at her phone. What the fuck?

Alya: what are you talking about?

Adrien: with Lila! You refuse to listen that she’s lying to you

Adrien: and you keep dumping stuff on me when you KNOW I have no free time

Alya: Wait what

Adrien: and pushing me into talking to Adrien when I’m clearly not ready!

Alya: back up please

Adrien: I mean seriously when’s the last time you did anything for me without forcing me into it

Alya: Mari???

Adrien: ALYA PLEASE JUST LISTEN

Alya glances to her right, and there’s Marinette, 100% not holding or even looking at a phone—she’s too busy watching... ah, her eyes are locked on Adrien’s patoot.

She jostles Marinette with her shoulder. “Hey, Mari?”

“Hmm?” Marinette says. She seems to be fugueing a little—her eyes haven’t left Adrien’s rippling glutes.

“Do you know where Adrien’s phone is?” Alya whispers.

Marinette’s gaze immediately snaps away from Adrien, and she shrinks, clasps her hands between her legs. “Um.”

Alya raises an eyebrow.

“It’s... it’s in my locker,” Marinette mumbles, staring at her hands with reddened cheeks. She blinks upwards. “I swear I was—I was gonna give it back!” She squeezes her elbows together and sigh, looking back at her feet. “...Well, after it finished defragging.”

Another buzzer honk from down below, but Alya isn’t even paying attention to that now. Instead, she smirks, clutching Marinette’s forearm. “It’s okay,” Alya says. “He’s gonna be flattered, remember?”

Marinette closes her eyes and nods. She’s clearly still feeling guilty about it, but her body loosens a little.

“But,” Alya continues, holding out her phone, “you need to see this.”

Adrien: I’ve tried to be your friend, Alya, I’ve really tried

Adrien: but what’s even the point anymore?

Adrien: the pics for my website are terrible, I had to hire a professional to fix them

Adrien: like

Adrien: do the readers of the tabloid you call a blog even CARE about quality?

“Adrien is sending this?” Marinette shrieks, launching to her feet.

The entire stands turn to look at her, and Adrien stumbles, his opponent’s sword striking him in the chest. Buzzer honk.

Marinette flushes to “not-breathing-purple,” her eyes nearly popping out of her skull, and she drops back to her seat, cradling Alya’s phone with her hands. Then she looks down, sees Adrien on the gym floor. “That...” Her eyes narrow. “What.”

“I think whoever’s sending this,” Alya says, taking the phone back as everyone returns to watching the match, “is pretending to be you.”

Adrien: I think it’s best if we don’t talk anymore

Adrien: block my number and don’t come back to the bakery again

Adrien: please don’t approach me at school either

Adrien: I’m sorry

Adrien: but I think this is for the best

Alya: ...okay. If you’re sure.

Adrien: I am

Marinette’s face steels and she pops open her purse, pulling out her phone. In a single second, she’s transformed from nervous wreck into Everyday Ladybug, and she has a plan.

“What are you doing?” Alya says.

“Texting everyone in the class,” Marinette says, not looking up.

Alya’s phone dings.

Marinette to Group Chat: someone stole Adrien’s phone and is pretending to be me. They’re gonna say a whole bunch of mean things. Don’t believe them.

Alya grins, locking her phone and forcing it back into her pocket. “Attagirl,” she says, then tilts her head. “Um...”

Marinette’s eyes flick up. “Yeah?”

Alya swallows. Most of what the thief had sent was clearly precisely targeted lies, but... “Have I been... pushing you too much? With Adrien?”

Marinette’s face falls, and Alya knows the answer.

*

Lila giggles as she sends the last message to Alya. Marinette’s relationship with her is wrecked, unrecoverable, and she can’t wait to see the fallout.

She scrolls through the phone contacts, looking for Adrien, but there’s no number there. “God, is she that much of a coward that she never even got his number?” she hisses. Inconvenient—infuriating.

Okay, next. Randomize maybe? She slides her thumb across the contacts list, letting it roll past, then stops randomly.

Hmm. Father? Oddly formal for Marinette, but still an opportunity. Lila grins wickedly beginning to plan a message for Marinette’s dad.

KleptoMariac Archive

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[debbierhea]

proximity - chapter 5

wc: 1624 / tw: alcohol mention / msr, ust, season 4, cancer arc

summary: they don’t do this.

(chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4)

i love constructive criticism or just comments in general! feel free to message me here or find me (and my other writing) on ao3 here and leave me a comment. xx

Their rooms were on the third floor - 312 and 314 - side by side and linked together by a door. Scully often thought of their adjoining hotel rooms as an apt metaphor for her and Mulder: physically separate, functioning individuals, cordoned off from one another. That is, unless both doors were unlocked, then opened at the same time. Throughout their partnership, she thought she had heard the lock on his door, on his heart, rattle. She even thought it may have wholly unlatched once, but it was never quite in sync with the turning of hers and she was always too afraid to open the door. Now, it was too late to get the timing right and her room was full of termites and dry rot - nasal cavity full of malignant tumor and veins full of free wheeling cancer cells - and she had no idea why she was letting herself lean into him like this on the elevator.

The elevator car shook as the door screeched shut. The silence that followed was more deafening. He was radiating heat at her side but she felt frozen. Scully didn’t know what to do, what to say. She wants to turn and shove her tongue down his throat again, run her hand under his rumpled collared shirt, or maybe just run.

Instead, she decides to remain pressed to his side and say, “We should have taken the stairs. I’m scared to think of how long it’s been since this elevator has been inspected.”

She can feel him turn his head and look down to her.

“My feet are killing me, but three flights of stairs may be preferable to this death trap.”

He’s smirking. She’s rambling.

There’s a pause when his fingers grip her waist.

“If we had taken the stairs, then I couldn’t do this.”

He’s leaning down now, and she wants to roll her eyes, because what a line, but there’s not enough time because their lips meet and her eyes are closing instead, just as he closes the remaining space between their bodies, just as she closes her mouth around his tongue.

He tastes like dark wine and orange slices and when she runs her tongue over his bottom lip she can taste his sweat. Mulder breathes deeply, not quite panting, as he smooths both hands from her waist down to cup her ass. They kiss and kiss and kiss, Scully’s hands roaming his back, his chest, and finally land at the waist of his slacks. He inhales sharply when her nails slide against bare skin, untucking his shirt. They’re making out like teenagers in the backseat of an old Cadillac DeVille at the drive-in, instead of two thirty-somethings standing in a hotel elevator with shag carpet that almost surely hasn’t passed a safety inspection since the Reagan administration, and Mulder feels like the luckiest person in the entire world.

She bites at his lip and he grabs two handfuls of her ass, hard. Scully moans at the neediness in his grasp, at the pinch of pain it causes. She hopes he leaves bruises. She wants him to leave something behind, some evidence, some quantifiable proof she can discover tomorrow, perhaps in the mirror while stripping for her morning shower, like dusting for hidden fingerprints at a crime scene. She is a scientist after all.

Her moan turns to a breathy laugh as he grabs for her again, apparently choosing his need of her touch over balance, and they both tip backwards and hit the wall. Mulder’s head cracks against the fake wood paneling and their lips separate. His eyes are still closed, face scrunched up, as he lifts one hand from her body to rub the back of his head.

She huffs another laugh when he finally looks down to her and widens his eyes. “Ow.”

His glance catches on the curve of her lips as she laughs, high and goofy, so antithetical to the Scully she projects to the world. Her prim suits and glares as sharp as her stilettos send a clear message to most - “Though she be but little, she is fierce!” He’d said that to her once. She had been in top form that day, white blouse pressed and tucked snugly into a black pencil skirt that fit like a glove. The police sergeant in Round Top, Texas had been referring to her as Little Lady and variations thereof since they had graced his front door five days earlier. Her speech was level and succinct, but there was fatal venom behind it as she laid into Mr. Misogyny after a buccal swab from the crime scene had been contaminated. She sent him home with a bruised ego and his tail between his legs. The daggers she’d thrown Mulder’s way at his whispered comment made him want to turn on his heel and follow in the sergeant’s footsteps. Maybe the message she sent the world was more like, “Fuck you.” The next day, the sergeant extended a coffee, a powdered donut, and his hand with a mumbled, “Apologies, Dr. Scully.”

That Scully, the no-nonsense FBI Special Agent née Medical Doctor with the clipped but prompt email responses and sleekly tamed bob, was for everyone else. His Scully, Mulder’s Scully, was a different creature entirely. She bantered and argued and threw soft smiles his way. She made him get a side salad or steamed vegetables at least once a day on the road and leaned into him when discussing a theory. Her eyes shone with excitement when she spoke about a new article she’d read in one of her medical journals and she scowled when he flicked sunflower seeds onto the floor of their rental car. She had wavy hair and flannel pajamas and talked in her sleep. She was his toughest critic and his fiercest ally and she let him rest his hand on the small of her back as they roamed the country in search of the truth.

This is the Scully blinking up at him now, cheeks flushed, lipstick smeared, dark bags under her eyes. She is beautiful. Heart-achingly beautiful. And there’s that goofy as hell giggle again, the giggle that makes him crack a smile just thinking about it. They are opposites in every way except those that matter and he can’t take his eyes off her smile. This time it’s Scully that leans in, his Scully.

She sighs quietly at the meeting of their lips, gentle this time, soft. It’s tender and it’s delicate and it’s heavy with emotion and the weight of four years’ worth of struggle, pain, and heartache. Scully thinks for one indulgent moment that maybe it isn’t too late, maybe they’re just in time. But then, there’s a soft “Ding!” and a loud, metallic screech and suddenly they are not alone.

Bodies in sync, they both turn their heads toward the sound. A man, woman, and two young children stand at the now open entrance to the elevator. Mulder is suddenly very aware of his hands on her ass. Her face is scarlet.

Scully decides she cannot take the embarrassment and buries her face in Mulder’s chest. So much for “Fuck you,” he thinks. The two children are having an animated conversation about the latest episode of Scooby-Doo as they enter, none the wiser. The parents, though, seem to be sizing them up. Mulder sees the woman raise her eyebrows, widen her eyes, and realizes he’s still gripping Scully in a not-so-family-friendly place. He slides his hands up to her waist and then continues to move the other to the middle of her back, making small comforting circles. She shakes her head into him, her arms wrapped around his torso, grabbing the back of his shirt underneath his suit jacket.

The couple stay near the front of the elevator. The man punches a button and then looks over his shoulder to Mulder.

“What floor?” The man is smirking and Mulder’s eyes go wide as he glances up to the arrow still pointed at the letter G for Ground Floor.

He clears his throat. “Three.”

The man punches that button too and soon the elevator doors are squeaking shut. The children continue their conversation, their parents silent and stiff as boards beside them.

Scully whispers so quietly he feels the vibration in his chest more than hears it, “We forgot to push the button?”

He huffs out a laugh into her cinnamon hair and nods. He can feel her smile.

There’s another off-key “Ding!” as the elevator jerks to a halt. Third floor. Mulder grimaces as he realizes they have to walk past the family to gain their freedom. Hand reaching for Scully’s he strides forward, passing between the two children and their parents. Scully’s head is down and her steps quick and wobbly as he pulls her behind him.

As they finally leave the most pleasurable and embarrassing elevator ride of Mulder’s life, the man gives a sharp clear of his throat, as if trying to grab their attention. Scully plows forward, not looking back, but Mulder turns his head and receives a sly wink and a-okay hand gesture from him. His wife swats at his hand as the doors close.

Their hands are still tangled together as they turn to face each other. Scully has a death grip on his left hand and throws him a look of sheer horror, the likes of which he’s only seen in the presence of Flukemen and Jersey Devils. The expression on her face, one reserved for the aberrant and anomalous, is so desperately out of place in the hall of this grungy, though unremarkable hotel, he can’t stop the laugh from escaping his lips.

He squeezes her hand and then she’s laughing too.

[krispwrites]

WIP Intro: Down the Rabbit Hole

Synopsis: The defendant of a cut-and-dry attempted homicide case dies when the guilty verdict is cast down. Unwilling to accept that it may have been a suicide, the police and prosecution arrest Ernest Talbot, the defense attorney who had been representing the victim.

Laurel, a defense attorney from the arrestee’s firm, and her coworkers do not believe that their boss could commit such a crime. She investigates herself, with the help of her computer specialist sister Coral, willing to uncover clues for her boss’s defense team if she cannot defend him herself.

But on the other side is Ivy, a K-9 detective and her other sister... whom Laurel hasn’t spoken to in almost a year. Ivy is dedicated to her job and the courts, teaming up with prosecutor Xavier Wolfe to find the evidence to keep Laurel’s boss behind bars.

A chase to find the truth ensues, uncovering not only pieces to Mr. Talbot’s case, but also cases from the past.

Genre: Mystery, crime, drama

POV: First-person, multiple POVs.

Status: First draft

Themes: Family (found and reunited), friendship, confronting the past, murder, justice, loyalty

Excerpt: We rose for the judge, the prosecutor said her opening statement, and the trial began. I glanced at Mr. Sidney Hale sitting in the defendant's box. His posture was rigid, his arms crossed loosely before him, and his head barely inclined in any way while listening to the proceedings. To my gaze, it seemed as if he was already resigned to whatever verdict he was to get. I presumed Mr. Talbot hadn't gotten Mr. Hale's hopes up too high with the possibility of a not guilty verdict.

Adriana Knights was the prosecutor on the case, the junior prosecutor Xavier Wolfe assisting her from the prosecutor's bench. Her tone was professional for the most part as she reiterated every piece of evidence that was stacked against my boss's client. The click of her boots punctuated her words as she moved about the trial floor, holding up the bottle of poison disguised as a sugar container that had gotten the victim sick enough to land in the hospital.

The victim – an elderly neighbor of Mr. Hale's – had lived, barely, and I was sure she wasn't supposed to. Once she was discharged of her hospital stay, the victim had charged Mr. Hale with coercing her to add him to her will just a week prior to her hospital stay. As elderly as she was, the victim's mind was still sharp. She surmised that the change of the will and the fact that she fell ill at her usual weekly teatime with Mr. Hale were connected.

"I call the officer that had discovered the poison at the scene to the witness stand. Ms. Ivy Reed," Ms. Knights announced.

I froze as my sister took the witness stand. A simple pantsuit in dark hues and flats had always been normal for her, ever since she joined the career world, but she wasn't as recognizable as I thought she would be. Her hair was short, falling in angles towards her jawline, when it had always been long and plaited behind her. Her frame was lither, a little more muscular than I remembered, which I suppose was to be expected with her job. There were no more glasses over her eyes, although her hand still hovered by her face as she sat down, as if she were going to adjust her frames. Smoothly, her fingers brushed some of her hair behind her ear to hide the tic. Her contacts must be fairly new still, then. Perhaps she switched when she had moved back to this district.

If either of us had bothered to connect with the other when she had been transferred six months ago, I wouldn't have such arbitrary thoughts.

When prompted for her name and occupation, my sister stated, "Ivy Reed, K9 officer for East Santham."

"Describe to the court how you came to find this poison," Prosecutor Knights said.

Ivy briefly nodded before speaking, her tone rehearsed and clipped. "Once the toxicology report was returned regarding the victim's hospitalization, my canine partner Mocha and I were dispatched with a team of fellow officers to search the crime scene for anything suspicious. The bottle of poison was recovered buried in the middle of the trash in the victim's kitchen. Mocha caught the scent of an individual on the bottle and tracked the scent down the front walkway and past three houses before leading me to the source of the scent."

"And the source of the scent?" Prosecutor Knights asked for show.

"It was the defendant," Ivy reported. "He was outside at the time working on a car in the driveway and was apprehended."

I glanced at Hale and saw him pointedly staring at his shoes. Mr. Talbot's shoulders shook with a deep breath as he added a packet of sugar to his coffee.

"Your witness." Prosecutor Knights looked to Mr. Talbot and gestured towards Ivy, apparently certain that my sister's testimony was ironclad, as she took her seat next to Prosecutor Wolfe.

"Thank you. Ms. Reed…" My boss hesitated for a moment on the name, and I knew I would get asked questions about my family whenever the trial was over. He started again with, "Ms. Reed, would you agree that your canine partner could have tracked my defendant due to the fact that he has shared tea on a weekly basis with the victim?"

"Mocha tracked the scent that was specifically on the found bottle of poison," Ivy said as her response, "rather than a general search of other persons that could have been on the scene."

"The bottle of poison was buried with garbage. Could Mocha have made a mistake?"

Ivy glowered enough that Mr. Talbot took a step back. "You are not questioning my canine partner's training."

"I'm certain Mocha is an excellent K9 unit." Mr. Talbot cleared his throat. "Yet, with the garbage and the fact that Mr. Hale was a frequent visitor to the victim, it is possible that my client was mistakenly connected with the bottle of poison."

"The defendant broke into a run toward the backyard when Mocha led me to him," Ivy said. "There were no words spoken. He knew what we were there for. I allowed Mocha to give chase. She took him to the ground before he could leave the yard."

I knew what Ivy left unspoken. If Mr. Hale was innocent, there would be no reason for him to try to escape from an officer.

"Perhaps it was a mistake for my client to run," Mr. Talbot conceded, "but maybe he was spooked by seeing such a large dog. While I'm sure Mocha has wonderful manners, seeing a dog of her caliber very well could have scared my client into taking cover. After all, unfamiliar German shepherds and Doberman dogs can look frightening."

"Mocha is a chocolate lab."

There was a ripple of chuckles in the gallery around me at the idea that a grown man such as Mr. Hale would be frightened of one of the friendliest-looking dog breeds around. My boss could have played up the idea that his client was frightened of dogs in general, but it seemed pointless at the moment.

Instead, with a look to the jury box, Mr. Talbot pressed on with, "Even so, it is possible that my client was wrongfully pinpointed as the main suspect due to the mistake of a dog."

Ivy leaned forward on the witness stand, her fingers forming a steeple in front of her face. "My partner tracked down the defendant so he could be apprehended. This apprehension allowed his fingerprints to be recorded and matched with the fingerprints that our forensics team found on the bottle of the poison. Does that clear up your doubts regarding my partner's abilities?"

I bit my lip as my boss squared his shoulders before murmuring, "No further questions," to the judge and returning to his seat. Prosecutor Knights was having a difficult time hiding her smirk behind her case files. She shared a nod with Ivy as the judge dismissed my sister from the witness stand and Ivy returned to her seat in the lower gallery.

The testimony my sister had provided seemed to have dismissed whatever hope my boss had to get an acquittal. The victim's will had been the motive, the poison the means. To the jury, it seemed like Mr. Hale wanted whatever was promised to him in the victim's edited will as soon as possible.

An open and shut case. No one was shocked when the jury took only fifteen minutes to deliberate before returning with a guilty verdict. What did shock the courtroom was seeing Mr. Hale shake my boss's hand before Mr. Hale dropped dead.

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 12: Chiaroscuro

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 2138

Content warning:  Content warning for references to child abuse and overtly racist cops.  Bear in mind that it was already written into the plot before 2020 happened.

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the brilliant pandabearer

“I am disheartened by this reprehensible act against two of our citizens.  We do not condone hatred, bigotry, racism, or intolerance of any kind here.  I hope this brings us together as a community.”

         -Narinder Rao, Bryson City Mayor

         The sheriff was trying to play dominance games with an alpha.  He left Remi cooling his heels in the waiting area for ten minutes despite the fact he’d arrived promptly for their scheduled meeting.  Shaw had tried to avoid him outright, but Remi pulled the media card and he relented immediately; he’d won his position by a scant margin and didn’t have the political clout to withstand a media frenzy.  If he still refused to play ball after this, well, Remi still had a few more cards up his sleeve.

         Several deputies seemed to have important business in the front office while he waited.  While he wasn’t in the mood to play, RainFire needed to cultivate as much rapport with Enforcement as possible.  So he donned his easy-going demeanour like the well-worn armour that it was and flirted and charmed while not promising anything.

         “Mr. Denier,” Shaw called, noticeably irritated he had to come in person since his receptionist was currently slipping his phone number into Remi’s hand.  He’d scented the other man before he spoke, of course, but there was no need to be rude to the young psy in front of him who was obviously inexperienced in flirting.

         “À plus tard, cher,” he winked, tucking the slip of paper into a pocket to dispose of later.  Red flagged the younger man’s cheeks and he ducked past his boss to make his way back to his desk.

         The sheriff’s polite smile was strained as Remi sauntered over to him; he made sure to keep the leopard in his line of sight as they walked back to his office in silence.  Stale coffee and the maelstrom of dozens of people assaulted his senses.

         “I always wondered, what made you decide to come here?” Shaw asked, southern accent thick, as Remi settled in one of the two chairs facing his desk.  He stifled the urge to bare his teeth in annoyance at the small talk when all the animal wanted to do was tear out the throat of its enemy.  It was too uncivilized to bother with social niceties, especially when it saw the man as a threat to be eliminated

         “It was what was available for a new pack,” he shrugged, seeing no need for prevarication.  The information was out there for anyone who cared enough to look, and he had a feeling the Sheriff had done his homework.  There was more to the process, of course, but that was the bare bones of it.

         “Doesn’t seem right that the good folk of this county don’t get a say in a pack of predators moving in,” Shaw feigned bewilderment and shook his head, light glinting off a pate shaved to hide the fact he was mostly bald.  “It would’ve been better for everyone if we’d all stayed in our own lanes.  Nothing good ever came of pandering to the other races.”

         “Talk to your Trinity representative about that,” he said flatly.  “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, where are you at in the investigation into the assault that occurred outside Acapella two nights ago?”

         “Mr. Denier-”

         “Alpha,” he corrected.  “My proper title is ‘alpha’.”

         “Alpha Denier, it’s still the early stages.”  In a false display of sympathy, Shaw leaned forward to loosely weave his thick fingers together on top of the desk.  “We have no fingerprints, no DNA, no witnesses, and no suspects.  You must understand that we have limited resources and an inquest would require much of that with very little chance of success.”  Shaw spread his hands as if in remorse.

         “DNA evidence was taken at the hospital.”  What he didn’t say was that the pack had taken their own samples, while theirs wasn’t admissible in court, there was still a chance that it would help identify the assailants for some extra-judicial justice.

         “The hospital didn’t have a protocol for preserving evidence, no need for it before you people moved here.  The samples weren’t logged properly and got destroyed.  A damn shame, but I’ve been assured they’re remedying the situation.”  It didn’t take the nose of a changeling to tell that Shaw was lying, he didn’t bother to hide his smugness at stonewalling Remi.

         “RainFire offers its assistance in the investigation.”

         “You don’t have the authority.”  The flat rejection was no less than what Remi had expected.

         “One of the survivors is changeling, therefore changeling laws apply should RainFire choose to exercise our rights.”  What went unsaid was that changeling justice was swift, brutal, and brooked no interference.

         “Forgive me if I doubt you’n’s impartiality.”  The smirk that had been dancing in the human’s eyes died, leaving them flint hard.

         “Local Enforcement leadership has already proven its own lack in that area.”

         A vein in the officer’s forehead throbbed as his blood pressure and heart rate increased.  The cat wondered how hot the blood would be, how far it would gush if it sank its teeth into the human’s carotid arteries.  The temptation to allow the leopard to surface was callow, yet strong, and completely unnecessary.  Fear filled the office, hovering beneath the thick cologne Shaw wore.  He wondered if the sheriff’s sense of smell was dulled or if he thought the cloying concoction would hide his reactions from Remi.  It might have worked against a changeling who hadn’t grown up surrounded by the stink of constant fear, but the acrid bite was etched too indelibly in his memory.

         “It’s becoming increasingly clear that local Enforcement’s reluctant to protect the changeling community but is more than willing to police it.  RainFire will respond to any attack on changelings or humans with changeling affiliations within the area we have claimed.”  Remi let the leopard rise in his eyes, not enough to change his pupils, just enough to remind Shaw he was right to be afraid.

         “I won’t tolerate a witch hunt.”  The sheriff gave his best imitation of a snarl.

         “Nor will we.”  The leopard’s growl was genuine.

         Whenever Lorel found herself in need of parental advice, she inevitably called her aunt.  Maternal, of course, since she only knew her father’s name and that of his now-defunct pack.  Even though her grandparents raised her, calling them was out of the question, unless she felt like a lecture and shame; in her experience, there was no such thing as unconditional love.  No, what she needed was a calm perspective from someone who wanted the best for her.

         Pacing the living room while the call went through, she rubbed her palms up and down her arms.  There was a strange buzzing under her skin.  All the feelings and sensations bouncing around in her head drove out what she intended to say by the time her aunt Nora answered.  What came out instead was peevish.

         “Did you know that RainFire intended to expand their territory?”

         “Sorry… you… breaking… up.”  Her aunt’s words came haltingly even though there was no interruption in the video itself.  Lorel could still make out every coil of hair that was so like her own, albeit auburn compared to her copper, glowing in the Australian sunlight.  The vague, pastel memories of her mother showed in the older woman like ghosts.  Her childhood impressions of her mom were of someone a little less colourful, gentler, but with the same mass of curls.  The familiar sight seemed to chase back the gloom of early evening filling the corners of her own living room.

         “Static hasn’t been an issue for nearly fifty years.”  Not since the psy had invested in international telecommunications infrastructure.

         “Yes, I did know, and I knew you wouldn’t have taken over the bakery if I told you.  You deserve to-” she sighed and held up her hands, apparently at a loss for words.  “To be whole.”

         “I’m fine,” snapped Lorel.  “What I don’t need is a pack of leopards threatening to kill me for the crime of living where they want to stake a claim.”

         “What you need is something you’ve never been given,” she replied evenly.  “And I’m partly to blame for that.  I should have done more.”  At that, Lorel swallowed the acerbic words on her tongue.

         “We’ve been over this: you’re barely fifteen years older than I am and were in college halfway around the world,” she reminded her aunt with as much gentleness as she could summon.  “Speaking of which, how are your classes going?”

         “Harder than I remember, but I’m enjoying it so far.  Nice attempt at changing the subject, though.”  She wagged a finger at her niece, who pretended to be abashed.  “Give them a chance, Lolo.  If it’s not what you need, my cousin’s still willing to buy you out, but at least you’ll know.”  Unable to look into a face filled with such tender love and concern, Lorel hugged herself and looked down at her feet.

         “Besides, some of those cats are drop-dead gorgeous.”

         “Aunt Nora!” she snapped her head up to gape at the other woman.

         “I’m old, not dead!”  Laughter lit up her entire being, wrapping around Lorel like a warm hug, and she couldn’t help but smile along with her even as she shook her head in fond exasperation.  While she was on the edge of forty, her aunt could be- and had been- mistaken for her sister, and certainly young enough to be studying for a second career as a marine biologist.

         “I love you, Lolo, and I know you wouldn’t have taken this risk on your own.”

         “Yeah, who wouldn’t want to risk death threats?”  Lorel unfolded one arm to wave her hand in a flippantly sarcastic gesture.

         “You have choices: give the leopards a chance or sell to Marselo.”  Her harsh, no-nonsense tone had Lorel twisting her face into a moue of distaste.  Sometimes she wondered how Nora and Klaudia Maddox could possibly be related, but then, when least expected, her aunt revealed a spine of pure steel and the family resemblance was undeniable.

         “You didn’t even want SweetCheeks, something about moving to Hicksville, Nowhere?  I had to guilt you into it.”  The older woman’s insistence had seemed strange at the time but made sense now that Lorel knew what her ulterior motives were.

         “Yeah, well, I like it so far,” she admitted begrudgingly, burrowing her bare toes into the Aegean blue area rug.  “You built up a good business.”

         “Damn straight,” Nora sniffed with obvious pride.  “So, you better take good care of it, ya hear?”

         “Yeah, yeah, love you, too.”  She rolled her eyes and thrust both hands into her hair.  “They’re dangerous, No-No.”

         “You’ve survived things that would break other people.  I know you were taught to fear them,” a shadow of remorse crossed her face, “but my money’s on you.”

         “What if I can’t?”  The question was a whisper because she couldn’t speak past the knot in her throat.

         “What if you can?  Imagine what you’d be capable of.”  The strength of her aunt’s love and confidence in her was still a kick to the heart and she’d always regret not confiding in the other woman when she was younger.  Nora had fluttered like a vibrant butterfly at the edges of her youth; shame and a twisted sense of protection had kept Lorel from reaching out to her sooner, she didn't want her spirited aunt to put her life on hold for Lorel's sake.  What support Nora could provide, no matter where she was in the world, had gotten her through some of her toughest years.  As an adult, she soaked in as much of Nora's love as she could, and tried to return it as best she knew how.  “I have to go, I have a date with some algae.  Let me know what you decide.”

         “I will.  I love you, No-No.”  She kissed two fingers and pressed them to the comm screen.

         “Love you, too, Lolo.”  Her aunt mirrored the gesture on her end before they both hung up.

         Twilight seemed to rush back into the room once the screen went blank; for once, she didn’t bother turning on a light and allowed the shadows to envelop her.  It wasn’t fully dark to her eyes, never had been, yet she still kept nightlights around the house; a childish habit Nora had never ridiculed her for, seeming to understand without words why an adult changeling would fear the night.

         “We are all sons of light and sons of day. We are not of night nor of darkness.”  Her grandfather’s voice echoed in her head, accompanied by the remembered pain of sudden light on her sensitive eyes.  “Why are you sitting in the dark?  What are you trying to hide?”

         Maybe it was time to stop hiding.

[sgtrolandhills]

Mime of My Life || Arthur & Roland

TIMING: About 5 days ago PARTIES: @arthurjdrake & @sgtrolandhills SUMMARY: After finding Arthur injured, Roland goes to visit him in the hospital to get information about his attacker. 

With the injuries addressed, Arthur had been transferred to a spare bed in an isolated area to recover after the ordeal of the night. One of the hospital security workers had been stationed on the door, just in case whoever had attacked him thought of coming here to finish off the job. Nurses flitted in and out of the ward, occasionally taking readings from the monitors and otherwise checking in on how he was doing. Mostly Arthur slept. 

After being checked over and with some of the tubes extracted from his throat, Arthur was left with an oxygen mask and a meter on his finger. The slow beep of the heart rate monitor and whirring electricity the only noises to keep him company in the otherwise silent room. He lay there, eyes closed and feeling like he’d been flattened by a trillion kilo steamroller almost certain that if there was one thing that would drive him to insanity that beeping would be it.

The hours ticked by, no one else turning up to check on him. No visitors, no family or friends. A lonely fact, but simply another part of Arthur’s world. He only hoped everyone else was safe. And so he was left to sleep and dream of his own doppelganger driving a blade into his chest over and over the memories occasionally causing his monitors to spike and a concerned attendee to return. It was after waking in a morphine induced numbness that his eyes blearily focussed on a nurse standing nearby speaking words he could vaguely make out. “Mister Drake? There’s an officer here… He’s hoping to get a statement about the case… Can I let him in?”

He nodded mutely, the act enough for the nurse to smile, pet his hand and tell him that if he needed anything just to press the button on the remote attached to his bed before she vanished once more. Leaving Arthur to sink back into the pillows, his eyes rolling closed as he took slow shallow breaths from the mask covering his face.

No matter home many times it happened in his career, Roland always hated coming across an injured civilian. Ideally, he wanted to be on the scene before anyone had the chance to get hurt. The world rarely ever worked out that way, but it was still nice to strive for as much every time. He was able to accept that all he could do for the people in his community was his best. This man had been unconscious and severely injured when Rolan came across him. Hopefully, he was able to recall the details surrounding his injuries so they could get the culprit behind bars sooner rather than later.

Conducting investigations in hospital rooms was not his favorite. Hospitals always left him feeling slightly uncomfortable and with good reason. His own discomfort couldn’t get in the way of his doing his job. Violence in the community had spiked and if his hunch was right, the mimes had something to do with this man’s injuries. It was hard to be certain of what their motive was, but they definitely had a taste for theatrics and violence. 

One of the nurses had escorted him to Mister Drake’s room so he could ask a few questions. Hopefully he wasn’t too much of a bother, but the longer the waited, the more likely the perpetrator was likely to get away scot-free. With a nod, he walked in and took a seat by the bed. “Mister Drake, I’m Officer Hills. I’m the officer who found you on the scene. I was wondering if you’d be able to answer a few questions regarding your attacker.” 

By the time the officer in question was brought to the room, Arthur was barely half-awake on the morphine being drip-fed into his arm to stave off the pain from the several stab wounds across his chest which were now patched with sterile surgical dressings. Perhaps if he’d had a chance to get to his supply he could’ve dealt with the more significant damage, but the situation and amount of blood expended during the course of the fight hadn’t lent itself to that. And so, here he was, rigged up to an oxygen tank to take some of the burden off his lungs. One of which he’d been helpfully informed had collapsed from one of the stabs he’d received but had since been drained and reinflated. But it would take time to heal.

His eyes cracked opened, rimmed by tiredness despite the apparent amount of time he’d spent sleeping focussing on the uniformed man that had taken up a seat beside the bed. Officer Hills. He repeated the name to himself in his mind for a moment, feeling uncharacteristically slow on the update but he likely had the drugs to thank for that. A hand raised after a moment, grasping the mask and pulling it down so he could speak.

“I’ll do my best officer… Not sure,” he coughed the act making him grimace at a flare of discomfort in his chest “not sure… It’ll make much… sense. But I’ll try.”

There was a good chance Roland would have to revisit Mister Drake at a later time due to his current condition. It was likely he was on a lot of pain medication, but he hoped the man had enough of his mental facilities to at least give him a physical description of the perpetrator. The sooner they knew who they were after, the better. If time hadn’t been so vital in these cases, he’d have let the man have some more time to rest. 

He had a mask on and his eyes were just barely open and looked tired. Roland would make a point of getting through this quickly so he could go back to getting some much needed rest. His body had taken a lot of trauma and needed time to recuperate. “I appreciate as much,” he said, offering a sympathetic look as he pulled out his notepad. 

“Do you have any recollection of what the person who stabbed you looked like,” he started, it was the most important question so he figured it was best to get it out of the way first before the morphine or exhaustion set in too deep. 

Arthur gave a small nod, moving to sit up a little more with aid of the electronic backrest of the bed. It wasn’t very comfortable but it would serve for the time being he supposed. Idly his thoughts went to Mercy, Nadia, Evelyn, Regan… All the others out there in town that might not know about whatever was unfolding in town. He’d have to ask one of the nurses whether they might be able to pass on a message for him. A phone would keep him far more sane in this room all things considered. 

But that wasn’t the thing to focus on as Officer Hills was asking a question he both anticipated and dreaded. How did you even begin to explain what had happened without sounding out of your mind?

“He… He looked like me but… a mime… Silent. It was-- fuck it was freaky.” He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes for a moment as he replayed the events of the night in hazy flashes the heart rate monitor’s beeps speeding up just a fraction. “I was asleep… Woke up to it just standing there over my bed and blood everywhere… But no weapon… There was no weapon...” How was there no weapon and yet… This? Was it just invisible or something else?

Roland’s brows furrowed as the man explained the mime looked exactly like him. His mind quickly darted back to the mime he arrested that looked just like Winston. This whole thing with the mimes was getting crazier the deeper he dove into it. Gangs weren’t a foreign concept, but why mimes? It’s not like they were clowns which were more traditionally seen as frightening. They were mimes! Clearly, they were doing a fair amount of damage in the town. 

It was a lot to take in, especially the lack of weapon. That could have been the drugs talking though. They had Forensics on the scene to collect more evidence. “Another mime impersonator. This isn’t the first report we’ve got of this. I can assure you we’re taking this very seriously. Are you sure you didn’t see any sort of weapon? This could help us identify and capture the perpetrator.” 

Arthur knew how it sounded and seeing the way the Sergeant’s face changed was enough to tell him enough about what the result of this investigation would be. It wasn’t really surprising, but if he really wanted to pursue this then all credit to him.

“Another?” how many more of these things were out there… “This has happened to other people?” Fuck, there was a moment of panic that sent the monitors beeping a little more rapidly. “How many?” Gods damn it why had he not grabbed his phone? Who did he need to check on? Frey, Nadia, Evelyn, Regan, too many people to count. But the next question brought his drifting mind back to focus for a moment. “Right…” very seriously, somehow it didn’t put Arthur at all that much ease to hear “no weapon... but… we fought… Maybe it... fell out of his hand?” It wasn’t true and Arthur knew, but he didn’t want his hospital stay extended by this sergeant thinking he was out of his mind.

Roland hadn’t meant to cause the man any alarm. Recovering from traumatic injury was difficult enough as it were, the stress of murderous mimes only made it worse. If he wanted to capture these murderous mimes and figure out what their aim was, he needed to chase every lead that came his way. 

“Yes,” he said calmly, no need to tell the already shaken up man that all the mimes they had arrested had disappeared from their cells without a trace, “We’ve had several reported cases and arrests in regards to similar situations with the mimes. We’re doing our best to track down who’s calling the shots.” It appeared he’d have to take a look over the scene again. No weapon had been found in an initial sweep, but maybe it was stashed away somewhere. Fingerprints would be a good start, “We’ll take a look over the scene again to see if perhaps they left it behind. Prior to this, have you had any negative dealings with the mimes?” 

Arthur’s expression remained visibly worried at the mention of there being several more incidents. Of course there had been, some of the earlier tiredness had been replaced by a mild case of fear regarding the well-being of several of his close friends. What if they didn’t know? “Surely… Shouldn’t the town be warned about this? People... need to know...” 

“Were there… reasons for the other attacks?” Idly Arthur wondered if this was all pre-meditated somehow, but then what had he done to warrant this? If anything he tried to go the opposite direction whenever these mime fucks were involved. In his opinion the further he was from them the better in the grand scheme of things. Though… look where that mentality had gotten him. “No… well, I was assaulted at a person’s birthday party… It was held at that stripe club place… But nothing happened.” For a moment he grew quiet, wondering whether it was pertinent… But he supposed mentioning it wouldn’t hurt in the grand scheme of things, “I… Um… I don’t know if it’s relevant but… I’ve been… Well, feeling like I was being followed for the last week… It was weird because I was always alone.” But maybe he hadn’t been… The question was how had these fucks gotten around without him noticing?

The more Roland learned of the now widespread mime attacks, the more confused he found himself. There were always more questions than answers the more he thought it over. Nothing quite added up. Pieces fit together, but the whole picture was just missing something. It was reason to be alarmed and he’d made sure the citizens knew as much, even if he did have to face backlash from that one mime restauranteur. 

“Nothing connects the other attacks just yet, but we have taken steps to make sure the people of the town are on the lookout for mimes impersonating them,” he answered calmly. He tried to keep his voice soothing, not wanting to cause too much stress to the man as he was healing from substantial injuries. “So you’ve visited The Stripe Club. That’s some sort of connection. What was the nature of the assault at this establishment? Were there indications that any of them were violent or had some sort of leader?” It made sense that he’d have the feeling of being followed if the mime was impersonating him. They had to learn mannerism and appearances to make this whole very strange series of attacks possible. “Did you notice the being followed shortly after you visit to the Stripe Club?” 

In a way, Arthur felt bad for those that chose to deny what was right in front of them. He understood why they did, of course, but it was difficult to just stand by and watch someone try to work through something they truly had no answer for. But he’d done enough when it came to bringing certain people into the know, and somehow he wasn’t sure the sergeant would believe him even though he would have been telling the truth. But none of that mattered, the main thought his hazy mind kept circling back to was his friends. Did they know? Gods he hoped they knew.

Clearly whatever steps they had tried to implement weren’t enough, the thought caused a slightly sour expression to cross his features. Why else would he be here save for not knowing a damn thing about what was going on? 

But focus was drawn once more, and he blinked past the haze of the drugs clouding his mind. Slowing it down and leaving it drifting in circles. “Once… It was… a joke honestly,” he didn’t even know the guy in question, “nothin’... serious… Just a mime… a mime fucker trying to drag… drag me on stage. But I didn’t...” He shook his head at the next question, “no… but… There was-- one… Obsessed with… uuuh washis name? Fuck dog… pest control… Lanky?” He groaned mildly in frustration over the details of everything being so fuzzy where he was used to clarity of detail, one hand going to his face as he pressed his eyes closed. “Karen… Langley? It was his party… One seemed to be in charge then… maybe?” He tried to think, focus on the exact information that seemed to slip from his grasp every time he tried to retrieve it. “No.. No, started last week.”

Roland was surprised to hear that Mister Drake knew Langley though he supposed it was a small town. The officer couldn’t have been more grateful to have missed that trainwreck of a birthday party. Mister Drake was a better sport than he was, even if he had moved here already, there was no one worth stepping in a mime strip club for. There were certain lines and a mime strip crossed about twelve of them. Especially now with all the mime violence, it had even less appeal. That little detail didn’t help with making any more sense of this whole strange situation the town was going through. 

It was hard to not notice the change in expression and Roland knew he had to wrap this up. Mister Drake needed rest and some time to not think about mimes. He looked down at his hands clasped around his notepad, his right hand squeezing the pen harder than he needed to to jot down the information Mister Drake provided. 

“Thank you for the information. I can assure you we’re looking further into this and bringing as many of the violent people dressed up as mimes in. I’m sorry you had to go through this,” he said, his gaze cast back on Mister Drake, as he frowned slightly. “Last week, that’s something to work with. Have you been anywhere in the last week that would have security footage I could look into? I promise this is the last question and you can get back to resting. I know you need it.” 

Arthur wasn’t sure whether it would be beneficial in any way, but it was the nearest thing to organised structure and even that was a leap and a half. Honestly, what did any of them truly know about the mimes? Other than the fact they were now trying to murder the townfolk. But what could be done to stop them? There had to be some kind of answer… Maybe once he was back on his feet he’d look into it.

He gave a small nod of his head feeling a wash of tiredness creeping over him, apparently trying to think about everything that had happened took a fair chunk of energy. Not to mention the current shock of coming to terms with the fact he’d almost died today… And the fact he’d killed someone.

There was blood on his hands, and whether it was self-defence or not… The notion was enough to make him feel all sorts of queasy. He was a professor, he taught people and helped them better themselves… He didn’t… He didn’t kill people or even things that resembled people… “Um… I walk… The Quarter - downtown… Near the university.” There might be more, but the pieces were falling from his mind like fine grains of sand slipping through a net. “M’sorry…” his voice wavered, uncertain and upset. Gods was he a murderer now?

It appeared Mister Drake was becoming more and more strained, so Roland opted to end any further questions. The Quarter was something to work with, or at least it had been a little more of a lead than he previously had. After the incident at A Quiet Place, it was clear getting straightforward answers from any of the mimes working at the mime restaurants and bars in town. It was frustrating, but it meant he’d just have to get more creative with how they solved the case. 

“I can check that out. In the meantime, you rest up,” he answered, trying to keep his voice level and soft. Once he healed up, Roland’s card would be there for him to use if he thought of anything else. Right now, he could work on chasing a new lead and hoping it led somewhere. He placed his card on the table by the bed, “If you think of anything else, give me a call.” 

With a nod, he left the room so Arthur could get some much needed rest. It was hard to see someone in so much pain. He could only hope they got to the bottom of this mime situation sooner rather than later.

[saranghae-hoe]

PARTNERS IN CRIME [sarawat x tine fanfic]

Summary:

Sarawat didn’t do it. He didn’t do any of it, despite the evidence being stacked against him. The school, the cops, the victims…everyone was pointing the finger right at him. The only person who believed him was the one person who hated him the most, his combative roommate, Tine.

Tine just wanted a normal college life. Date pretty girls, make some good friends, get drunk, and maybe learn a thing or two if he had time. With Sarawat as his roommate, none of that was possible. Wat was being accused of the unthinkable and no one was on his side. But Tine knew Wat didn’t do the things they said he did. As much as he hated the guy, his morals just wouldn’t let an innocent person take the fall.

The pair are going to have to take matters into their own hands…work together and solve the crime themselves. However, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions…

PART 1

PART 2 AO3 Link

The car ride to the police station was one of the strangest things that had ever happened to Tine. He felt like he was having an outer body experience the entire time. They passed by familiar buildings and his favorite restaurant. They even drove past his old elementary school. But it felt like he had never seen any of it before. Had he actually ever set foot in any of those places? Had the town always looked so...rundown?

He had always wondered what it was like to ride in the back of a cop car. Nauseating, apparently. He almost had to laugh at his naive old thoughts. Sitting there wasn’t giving him any kind of ‘street cred’, like he imagined it might. No, all the kids back at campus were going to think he was a murderer. And no one liked a murderer.

The sickening feeling in his stomach wouldn’t go away; it was only getting worse. Tine glanced over at his roommate who sat staring straight into the back of the headrest, his handcuffed hands lying gently on his legs. If Tine felt this shitty, he couldn’t even imagine how Wat felt. He felt like he should say something. “Hey...Wat.”

Wat didn’t move an inch, didn’t even blink. 

Or not..

“You guys are making a huge mistake.” Tine focused his attention on the sentient people in the vehicle. 

“Ya know, if I had a dime for every time someone in your seat said that to me, I could have retired before you were even born.” The cop in the passenger seat said with heavy sarcasm. 

“Aren’t you guys supposed to read me my rights?” Tine said, pretty sure he had heard something about that before. 

“I’m not sure exactly how many times I have to say this,” the cop said with measured patience. “But you’re not under arrest, kid. We only read the rights to people under arrest. Man, cop shows really ruined this whole job. People think they know more about my job than I do just because they watched a couple episodes of some shitty crime show where they wear mini dresses and Oxford shoes at a goddamn crime scene. You know, I tell ya…”

The man continued, but Tine tuned him out. He turned back to face Sarawat. Cautiously and slowly, Tine reached out his hand and gently touched Wat’s arm. Wat flinched at the touch and finally met eyes with him. Within his deep set, warm brown irises, there was so much sadness. Such unbelievable grief. Tine gave Wat’s arm a squeeze. Did they get along? Not even a little bit. But was Tine going to let Wat take the fall for something he didn’t do just because of personal squabbles? No way in hell. Tine tried his best to convey this feeling to Wat without saying anything. He really wasn’t sure how much Wat was processing, though. It felt like he was looking right through Tine, like he wasn’t even there. 

The cops up front were still lamenting away about how cop-wannabes were ruining the world, so Tine quietly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He quickly typed a message and slid the phone across the seat so Wat could see it.

Do you want a lawyer?

Wat glanced down at the phone and then back at Tine. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. 

Tine frowned. Why?

Wat just shook his head again and turned to look out the window. Great, Wat was going to try to be a martyr or something.  

The car finally pulled into the police station and the cops got out, each of them opening the back doors to let their captives out. Walking towards the doors felt like marching towards the guillotine. When you’re little, your parents tell you that the police station is somewhere safe. Well, Tine’s parents were idiots. He didn’t feel safe at all. 

“We’re going to question you both together for now, okay?” The cop said. “This is just a preliminary interview. Would either of you like a lawyer?” Tine looked to his roommate, who, just as he had in the car, shook his head no. The cop seemed a bit surprised, but then turned to Tine. 

“Neither of us are involved in any way.” Tine said. “You’re wasting time talking to us when you could be hunting a real murderer on my campus.” 

The cop grinned. “I guess we’ll see about that, now won’t we?”

They were led to a small, windowless room. A different man walked into the room, setting 2 cups of coffee down on the table. “Have some.” He said, sounding genial. 

Tine wasn’t going to touch that cup. Yes, sure maybe crime shows had ruined the world, or whatever. But at least they had taught him not to give away his fingerprints or DNA for free. He snuck a peek at Wat to see if it looked like he was going to take a drink, but Wat looked like he didn’t even know the cup existed let alone wanting to take a sip.

The detective gave Tine a knowing smile. “So, I heard you boys are in a bit of trouble. What’s the story here? I need you to tell me exactly what happened.” 

Wat seemed incapable of speech still, so Tine took the lead. “Nothing. Nothing happened at all. We got this emergency alert that something happened on campus, and then suddenly the cops are running down our hallway. I noticed they were in front of Wat’s...friend’s room and then Wat ran after them.”

The detective nodded pensively. “Friend, huh. Well, your friend Wat here said that the victim was his boyfriend.” 

“Does that make a difference?” Tine muttered.

“A big difference. You see, we’ve already begun receiving tips from your school. Lots of people calling in saying they had quite the nasty breakup not too long ago.” 

So this was the angle they were going to play…

----------

2 months earlier

The freshman orientation was bustling with anxiously excited students, all trying to make as many friends as possible all at once. Everyone had a nametag on that said their major and dorm room. This was your chance to find your roommate for the year. Tine had been navigating the crowd for about an hour and still hadn’t found his roommate. Maybe he didn’t have one...the thought was super appealing. 

A large group of girls began screaming and Tine looked to see what the commotion was all about. One single man was surrounded by a hoard of screaming freshman girls. It wasn’t hard to guess why they were in such a frenzy. The guy was appallingly good-looking. Perfectly tanned skin, perfectly coiffed hair, perfectly plump lips…

Tine slapped his cheeks. What was he even saying? His eyes traveled down to the guy’s name tag and realized his dreams of a single room were being dashed. Tine pushed past some girls and stuck out his hand to the stupidly handsome guy. “Looks like you’re my roommate. My name’s Tine.” Now, Tine never thought of himself as lacking in the looks department, but this guy was putting him to shame.

“I’m Sarawat. You can call me Wat.” 

Damn, even his name was kind of cool. 

Before Tine could comment on how handsome he was (in a totally straight way), another attractive male walked up and slung his arm around Sarawat’s shoulder. “He’s gay, you know.” The new guy smirked at Tine’s shocked expression and then slinked away. 

Wat looked enraged and turned to chase after the guy. Which left Tine in the middle of the circle girls, half who looked dismayed and half who looked excited in a new way. The one thing that was clear though, was the fact that none of the girls even gave him a second thought. Not sure what else to do, Tine wandered away from the orientation table and headed to find his dorm room.

When Tine arrived at the right dorm room, he felt a sense of excitement. This was going to be his new home, no matter how cramped it was, he was going to make the best of it. He slid his key into the lock and pushed the door open. Just in time to see the guy from before deliver a sharp slap to his roommate’s face. 

“Hey!” Tine shouted. 

The guy seemed surprised, but quickly recovered. “Don’t worry, I’m done here.” He said, holding up his hands. 

Tine met his roommate’s eyes. Sarawat looked like he wanted the floor to open up and bury him. “Look, man. I’m not sure what’s going on, but he’s my roommate and if this is going to be an issue, then I’m going to have an issue.” Tine tried to puff out his chest to be intimidating, even though the guy had a good 6 inches over him. 

“Issue…” The guy echoed. Shane, was his name, according to his name tag. “If you call seducing a straight man and then telling his parents about their relationship when he was asked, even begged, not to an ‘issue’, then yes, I suppose there’s an issue here.”

Tine blinked. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it really wasn’t what Shane had said. Sarawat looked about ready to explode. Clearly there was a lot more to the story, there always was. But Tine really kinda didn’t want to hear anymore about this lover’s spat. 

Shane sighed. “Sorry, it doesn’t matter anymore. As I said, I’m done here.” He headed to the door, brushing past Tine. “If you ever need a break, my room is just down the hall.” Shane offered and the door slammed shut behind him. 

---------

“And so because they broke up in a not-so-great way, he’s guilty?” Tine felt outraged. Actually, he felt doubly outraged. Wat didn’t seem to be feeling much of anything, so Tine felt like he needed to feel it for him. “No one in the history of breakups has ever said to themselves ‘oh, that went well’. So is everyone walking around just a bunch of murderers lying in wait?”

The detective frowned, not amused. “How about you leave the mental gymnastics to someone who’s capable and just stick to answering my questions?” 

That was like the 3rd time he had been called stupid today. He sulked against his seat back. Sarawat suddenly stirred and reached out his hand to grab the coffee cup. Before Tine could slap it out of his hand, he took a sip. Fucking hell. 

“Detective, if I tell you everything, will you let my roommate leave?” Wat spoke in a monotone and Tine felt his heart almost stop. This idiot really was going to play the martyr!

[moviereviewsandtingz-blog]

Inside The Mind Of Lino Brocka

Films are an incredibly versatile example of a medium an artist can mold into whatever shape they deem fit, it has the ability to portray and visualize virtually anything. With that, not only is film versatile, but it is also a powerful and effective vessel for art. For many people, knowledge of a particular place, culture or historical event are only introduced and explored in film. Certain ideas may possibly only be introduced to people then. Ideally, filmmakers or artists opt to make their films revolve around specific ideas, themes, places, etc. Though essentially, films are not only made up of ideas, but rather it is a culmination of technicality and artistry. Comparably, in literature, there are two pivotal elements; language and grammar. However, in film, there is also an intricate series of elements that compose a film whether it be the music, the script, the direction, the cinematography, the list goes on. With that being said, films hold a great deal of importance given that it calls for the involvement of many artists and specialists.

 The power of cinema can be quite unparalleled, its influence can be seen all throughout history. In times were dictators and tyrants ruled the world, film was a tool they utilized to make their presence known. During the time of World War II, prominent names like Hitler, Kim Jeong Il, and Stalin whose propaganda was disseminated through film. Film can easily influence people, changing people’s opinions or outlooks on life. However, a trademark of a good film is how well it is able to impact the audience, given that the main objective of film is to send a message or to tell a story. Consequently, films play a rather large role in the society we live in today given its influence, some good, some bad. 

 Film is a prime example of the embodiment of culture, not only culture but life in general. It often molds itself after the influences around it. Films such as Steve McQueen’s 12 years a slave (2013), which is a biographical period-drama film depicting the life of an African American man wrongly sold into slavery is a gripping and chilling portrayal of slavery in the early days of the United States. With that, we can assume that films not only reflect culture, but it also actively influences it. What we can gather from this is that film is a peek into the visions of a person or a group of people. In addition to that, several people may have different ways of looking at the world, similar to how filmmakers have different art styles they take after when creating a film. Legendary filmmaker, French director Francois Truffaut once said “There are no good or bad films, just bad directors.”

 The world is far too big and far too complex for people to only look at it from one perspective. Somehow, we can say that directors are visionaries, they see what they want to see and make it a reality, turning mundane ideas into a visual spectacle of sorts. However, in the discussion of directors, people tend to become divided as to why directors are generally more known and renowned than anyone behind the film, except the actors of course. Whether it be in local film festivals like PPP (Pista ng Pelikulang Pilipino) to more renowned festivals such as the Cannes Film Festival, we can see how directors are being celebrated gallantly and generously, receive accolades of sorts for the things they do. We can assume that this is largely due to the fact that they are the powerhouse of the film, so to say. They take on heavier workloads, their involvement on the film is far greater than that of anyone on the film, and in a general sense, they have more responsibility over the film. That being said though, considering the amount of credit they receive it is important to note that however good or bad the film turns out to be it is often carried by the director themselves.

 Although, a film altogether is a collaborative effort of many people and their many specialties and abilities in their respective field. There are many visceral elements that comprise films, from actors, producers, cinematographers to lesser known roles like SFX personnel. There are virtually hundreds, sometimes even thousands of people behind a film. Every single person contributes to the production of the film, however some contribute more than others like in the role of the director in many cases. With the many people behind one film alone, there can be utter pandemonium behind the camera, there can be an imbalance but the nevertheless, the director balances out all the elements by managing everyone.

 Which begs the question, “Why is the director called the auteur?” or, “Why isn’t the writer the auteur of the film given that he’s the one that wrote it?” To answer that, the quality of the film is often attributed to the execution of the film itself which is largely thanks to the director of the film. Though on the other hand, writers still have a visceral part to play in creating a film but all throughout the process of filming, the script is constantly changing and writers come and go. One of the best films of all time Casablanca, starring Humphrey Bogart had 5 writers. As much as a good script is a fundamental part of a film, whether the film will be a success or failure is in the hands of the director because he assists in all departments ensuring that the end product is executed properly and that the vision he has for the film is embodied.  

In relation, the auteur theory exemplifies just that. It refers to the way of looking at the director of the film as its author. That one’s films are an expression of their freedom and identity as an artist and as a writer of the narrative they wish to portray through film. The auteur director shapes every part of the movie. Their fingerprints are visible on every aspect. Many directors, in fact, most, are not auteurs. There is a particular set of rules for defining a director as an auteur.  The auteur of a film is the film's true artist. The visionary behind it. The prime mover.

Take for example film heavyweights such as Wes Anderson, and his famous work in The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014) to lesser known films such as The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004), to his most recent animated film 2018’s Isle of Dogs. All three films represent his quirky, eccentric take on cinema with the use of symmetry and bold color palettes tinged with vintage influences. On the other hand however, there are also filmmakers that offer a different approach to filmmaking and have established a distinct visual style of storytelling such as David Fincher. Fincher’s treatment of film is quite the polar opposite to that of Anderson, this is visibly apparent in his distinct color palette, opting to make use of a darker palette making for a desaturated look in many of his films such as his award winning work in the film Gone Girl (2015), to the 1992 smash hit Alien, and cult classics like Fight Club (1999). Another notable characteristic present in the work of Fincher is his use of realism, and his true-to-life depiction of reality opposed to Anderson’s hyper realism.

 With examples such as these it is visible that many directors have different perspectives they wish to portray on film, and that one idea may have several different interpretations and explanations depending on how one perceives it and executes it with the elements they choose to utilize on film. Examples such as those stated above are also prevalent in Filipino cinema, with directors such as Cathy Garcia Molina who directed blockbusters such as Four Sisters And A Wedding (2013) and crowd favorite, One More Chance (2007). Molina is best known for directing lighthearted romantic-comedy films starring teen heartthrobs and the latest love teams of showbiz. Comparable to the likes of neo-realist director Brilliante Mendoza whose films are internationally renowned in various foreign film festivals with examples such as Kinatay (2009) and 2016’s Palm d’Or nominee, Ma’Rosa. With this, it is evident that auteurs are also a pivotal part of Philippine cinema.

 With the vast array of phenomenal film directors out there in Philippine cinema, from cinema staples such as Lino Brocka to Ishmael Bernal, to more contemporary visionaries like Mikhail Red and Erik Matti. Bearing this in mind, might we ask “Where does Philippine cinema exactly start?” Film auteurs have been around for as long as cinema was introduced here in the Philippines.  In fact cinema is considered to be one of the youngest art forms existing here in the Philippines. Over time it has evolved to an art form many people have grown to love. Astoundingly, film was only introduced to us in 1897, though it has endured many changes evolving from silent movies to talkies, from black and white to Technicolor. Outpacing its predecessors by gaining public acceptance, from one end of the country to the other, its viewers come from all walks of life. At present, there are over a thousand cinemas nationwide which just goes to show how universal of an art from film and cinema is altogether. In the 1980’s alone, research showed that there was an estimated 2.5 million Filipinos patronizing cinema. Generally, it is a mirror of how we are as people, our beliefs our customs and more often than not, it shapes our consciousness.

However the filmmaker we will thrust into the limelight today is the late, Lino Brocka. One of most prominent pioneer auteurs of Philippine cinema. Deemed the Philippines’ greatest director by some, Lino Brocka was a groundbreaking filmmaker who paved the way of intelligent, socially aware films through his many esteemed works in his lifetime. Many of which went into the nitty gritty of Filipino culture, even the parts that are less glamorous. Here we explore his life, his career but most importantly his work in Insiang (1970) and Maynila sa Kuko ng Liwanag (1975)

Born Catalino Ortiz Brocka, better known by Lino started with humble beginnings, in Pilar, Sorsogon, in the year 1939. Gifted as Brocka is, this is largely thanks to the influences of his father, Regino. His father taught him a great deal of what made him the influential filmmaker we know today, Regino taught him English, Mathematics and well, Art. However, later in life, his father was found dead in a political murder, forcing him to flee his hometown with his brother, his mother and his aunt. Life was not all good for Brocka, he went through and suffered significant amounts of physical and verbal abuse from his relatives forcing them to hard labour. Such experiences helped shape the phenomenal director and influence his later works. Despite hardships in life he maintained a steadfast mindset, even excelling academically which later won him a scholarship in the prestigious University of the Philippines. He had initially wanted a different life from himself, taking up a pre-law course but later getting in touch with his creative roots studying literature. During his stay in the University of the Philippines or U.P., he joined a dramatic club but was ostracized because of his strong provincial accent and upbringing, an experience he deeply despised. Because of this, Brocka took the initiative to immerse himself in the world of American films to practice his English. Later, he realized college was not for him causing him to drop out of college. He had somewhat of a spiritual epiphany, converting his faith to Mormonism. As a matter of fact, he was a humanitarian before he was even a filmmaker, even travelling to Hawaii to aid those infected with Leprosy. He also took up jobs here and there in his stay in the United States, however, one day he decided to pack up and return to his motherland to pursue his love for film. With his perseverance and commitment, he later made a name for himself in the world of Philippine Cinema. Later being the co-founder of CAP or the Concerned Artists of the Philippines.

In spite of this, his works remain relevant to society today. Brocka’s films were very raw, they featured characters that any Filipino could sympathize with, someone they could see themselves, those struggling, barely getting by while trying to fight the system. Interestingly enough, Brocka was a director who was not so fixated on the actors of his film, opting to cast lesser known actors. Brocka truly changed the lives of these actors, taking these actors from obscurity to stardom. He catapaulted the careers of actors such as Hilda Coronel, Laurice Guillen and Bembol Roco, who he worked with repeatedly in many of his film projects. His films were intelligent, they truly had a message to say. At an age where martial law was prevalent, his works remained socially conscious. As mentioned, Brocka was a Mormon but despite this the filmmaker was openly gay. His sexuality played a pivotal role in his films given that he incorporated splashes of sexuality in many of his films which he often revolved his narratives upon. His films often showed women who were head-strong, sexually positive which we can assume, was inspired by his mother. Brockas films were truly ahead of his time, tackling minorities and sensitive topics like discrimination, sex work and prostitutes, street hustlers and his favorite, the slums. In an age where martial law limited the perspectives of people, Brocka wanted to broaden their horizons through his work.

We can assume that as an auteur, this was his trademark, something that set him apart from different directors. Similar to that of Cathy Garcia Molina whose films are often young adult, tearjerker romantic-comedies. On the other hand, Brocka’s penchant for the he marginalised and ignored sectors of society was what truly makes him an auteur of his time. Taking for example his works in Insiang (1970), a drama set in Manila that centered on the protagonist Insiang, who after being raped by her mother’s boyfriend exacts revenge on those who dragged her down. His Brocka-esque touches are scattered all throughout the film. Rightfully so, the film was set in the slums of Metro Manila. Yes, you guessed that right, Insiang is a regular Jane who struggles to make ends meet as a labandera. Her life revolves mostly on her sharp-tongued mother, Tanya, who torments her and those around her, and whose boyfriend preys on Insiang, later raping her. Given the filmmakers proclivity for sex positive films, he gave his audience an unprecedented take on sex, that are not for the faint of heart. We see this in particular in the scene wherein her mother Tanya’s boyfriend, Dado violates her. When news spreads of her rape, her community discriminates her, somehow branding her with a scarlet letter. Generally, despite the sensitive themes against women in the film, it is after all a film about the Feminism movement. Though in the eyes of the regular viewer, it can be seen as a story of rape but what Brocka wanted to highlight was Insiang’s refusal to be a victim of her past, given that the film also talked about how she was able to successfully plot revenge. Insiang (1970) has the makings of every quintessential Brocka film, a gritty look of Manila, sexuality, and feminisim.

Insiang (1970) is comparable to that of Maynila sa Kuko ng Liwanag (1975), both tell a compelling story with flawed, yet complex characters. In the case of the latter though, the film fights for something different. Maynila sa Kuko ng Liwanag is a drama mystery centered on Julio who ventures out to Metro Manila to search for his other half, Ligaya who disappeared without a trace after she flees to Manila for work. The film is a depiction of Metro Manila and its illusion of luxury, and false promises of greener pastures when in reality, the city is a cesspool of thieves and corruption. Julio, representing the regular Filipino whereas Ligaya quite literally embodies happiness. In the film however, Julio valiantly fights through his odds, conquering many of the obstacles to find his beloved. All throughout, Julio struggles to stay afloat jumping from one job to another getting by from paycheck to paycheck, even dabbling in sex work as a male prostitute. Brocka’s influences clearly shown in the film’s portrayal of sex work and homosexuality. In contrast to Insiang, the film ends with Julio empty handed without Ligaya, his story left rather unfulfilled. Hot off the heels of the Marcos regime, the film can also be seen as a metaphor for Filipinos during such oppressive times. During this era, filmmakers struggled to make their presence known given the grip of the administration on media. Films such as these were somewhat of a silent rebellion against the system, these films spoke for the people lending their voices as a platform of the poor.

With these two films we can see how the filmmaker’s earlier struggles in life helped influence characters such as Julio and Insiang. We can see how he wanted these films to speak for the things he overcame in life. As such, he established his own unique footprint in the world of film. Brocka’s films were made almost 50 years ago, yet such themes remain relevant to society proving how his films transcend time with how well it aged. At an age were film was an expression of ideas, his films were a marriage of purpose and expression, one having the objective of speaking up and having an important story to tell while unleashing his artistic expression on film. His approach on auteurism, is something admirable given that he not only did this to have artistic freedom to express his ideas how he wanted to, but he spoke of these ideas and portrayed them the way he wanted to because he believed that film was a platform much greater than cinema itself but something that spoke and influenced society. The change he wanted to see in the world, was something he depicted in his movies which later influenced millions, thus making him deserving of the many accolades in his career, not doing it for the prestige but for the love of film.

[ariadne-rx300-blog]

(R)e:volution

Summary: The RX300, arguably the most elusive design of Elijah Kamski's creation. An undisclosed prototype tasked with human-android relations espionage, equipped with a real-time observational UI, social protocol, combat tactics and looks to kill. How does a painted genius so easily lose track of his own spy? (Android OC/Connor)

Additional Tags: Pre-Deviant Connor, Pre-Android Revolution, OC backstory, Mostly Canon Compliant, Elijah Kamski has ulterior motives, OC is Kamski’s surveillance android, sort of like when people say Google is listening to your conversations, she’s kind of like that, OC observes Connor at work, for “observational research purposes”, this totally isn’t one of those types of romances, except it totally is, probably, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Angst, Deviant Love, Connor Deserves Happiness, Big Brother is Watching

Link to Chapter 1

2 || At Any Cost

Chapter Summary: "What makes me what I am?”

RX300 #151 073 925 - 21

Awaken, fair Eve, skin as alabaster in the light of an artificial moon. The Garden has unfinished business with you.

                                                                                                    AUGUST 15TH 2038

P a r a d i s e

As dusk fell, Kamski's simulated arboretum[1] had taken on an ethereal light, jarring in Eve's vision as she stepped forward into inverted god-rays on the rocky path. One foot in front of the other, she pushed past glowing plants with fronds brushing synthetic skin, tickling her cheek had she been capable of the sensation. Her LED spun blue in the simulated darkness, displaying her calm distance from that which was subjectively beautiful. The pathway before her formed itself slowly but steadily, illuminated by her steps as she went with her main directive in mind.

He stood on a pedestal in this dreamscape, arm extended as he stroked a large paintbrush across a previously-incorporeal canvas, hues of blue forming on the pillar before him, contrasting the inverse nature of the world around them.

"Elijah," Eve addressed him, simulated breaths expressed in glittering plumes. He paused, a smile passing over his features as he set his idle painting aside. Stepping from his pedestal and down to her level, he regarded her with the kind of consideration that could only be expected of a man in constant search of answers.

"Eve." He hummed as he approached, eyes glimmering curiously, "I've been closely watching your work. As you're already aware, you are equipped with the latest observational technology--in particular, an interface that I as your sole director may obtain oversight of at any time." She stood still as he circled her contemplatively, her face fixed forward, expression unchanged. "You are my eyes. Anywhere that you can go, I can go. It is a great gift, but one we must hide."

She blinked like a child with tired eyes to his lecturing. He placed his hands upon her shoulders, reaching just a bit taller than his own, his eyebrows rising and falling as he processed her rigid response to his grasp. "Your task is of great importance to me," He gently chided, "to my company. To the world, inevitably. The information we need is imperative to the advancement of human history."

"I understand," she spoke deliberately, "it is my purpose to uphold the expectations you have for me. I am designed to impress, not disappoint." Words fit for the ears of her creator. He'd programmed her well enough to give him adequate lip service, even in the event of a miscalculation or subsequent error.

"Good," He grinned, heaving a sigh that seemed to betray his outright confidence in her abilities. "At the moment, I believe I have an urgent case worth looking into." He stepped backward, finding his place among the luminescence of simulated flowers, turning on his heel and spreading his arms wide. His hands closed, fingers splaying to conjure a transparent monitor in the space before him. Pictures and videos flooded the screen, as well as various taglines heading the articles that surfaced on its intangible display.

Eve surveyed the images, poised to take in only the details that would be deemed necessary. A prominent variable caught her attention and easily debunked this mentality, however; an android detective, purportedly on active duty in the same location, its[2] conventionally approachable appearance wavering in the ether.

"I've arranged transportation, your alibi has been forwarded to you. The authorization you'll need has just been cleared by the DPD. Survey the crime scene, and keep an eye--" Elijah gestured vaguely to the enlarged image of the android in question, "--on that one. Take note of its actions. Don't let anyone onto your motive. This is strictly confidential observational research."

New Objective Received.

A wave of sensory overload flooded Eve, causing her eyes to harshly blink open. Blueish, bruised moonlight caressed her arm where she stood at a large, arched window looking out over broken waves. CyberLife Tower. The room that greeted her was more or less a glorified walk-in closet, complete with an array of outfits fit to dress both androids and humans--or, in the case of Eve on covert occasions, androids posing as humans. This mission required as such, seeing as the DPD wouldn't take kindly to any android apart from the obvious showing up to observe an active deviant threat.

Tensions had risen so quickly, with curious attachment to the Detroit area. It made sense that Kamski would be so adamant about attempting to frame deviancy from every angle, as had been Eve's clear goal since her inception. Being unable to show up to a crime scene himself without flags being raised by reporters and by the American public as a whole--this was why he'd been so determined on sending her instead. On the outside, he'd declared his apparent resignment long ago, secluded himself away from the public eye for sake of personal privacy.

On the inside, he still headed the operation, pulling strings where needed and providing his legacy with the occasional adjustment; new amendments to his original formula where necessary. If he couldn't be where the action was to see for himself, at least he could have someone to act in his stead. In this case, something with the power to act as his inside source, his live feed.

                                                                                                    AUGUST 15TH 2038

T h e  P h i l l i p s '  R e s i d e n c e

Exiting the taxi had proven a hassle in itself. Eve moved through the throng of people who had gathered at the perimeter, buzzing with curious minds and excitable conversation over the active threat that was taking place high above them. The entrance of the apartment building burst open to reveal a disgruntled police officer holding a woman securely by the arm, escorting her through the flickering line of holographic police tape. She struggled frantically, and Eve saw her chance to move past personnel as the woman began to wail, much to the morbid curiosity of the gathered crowd.

"It has my child!" She bawled, "If you aren't going to save her, let me do it myself!"

Slipping into the complex and onto the elevator with ease, Eve ascended to the 70th floor. She prepared herself, armed only with words (to angle herself away from suspicion), a convincing ID (to provide evidence of the truth to her lies), a pen and notebook (to act as decoys; she had no real use for them aside from aiding her disguise), and an olivine polyester jacket (an aesthetic touch tailored to enhance her visual impression.) With some luck, the attention would be on the event at hand and not on her sudden, mysterious appearance.

She entered the luxury suite's foyer, casting her gaze around in silent surveillance. A framed photograph of the once-happy family to her right, a partly-drained aquarium to her left, shot-up yet still intact. On closer inspection, a single dwarf gourami swam within, unfazed by the circumstances that had befallen the household. The water that clung to her heels indicated the fish had recently been lying on the floor, leading to the conclusion that someone had carefully put it back in its rightful place. No human fingerprints... an android had saved it. Strange.

"Excuse me, miss, may I see your ID?" A prompt, as expected. Given the importance of the current events taking place across the country, DPD was sure to have the place on lockdown. What had once been a family home had turned into a crucial, currently-escalating case of deviancy.

Eve regarded the officer that questioned her, the woman's face drawn into a deeper emotion beyond her recognition. Eve shuffled in her jacket pockets, preserving her disguise as she put on a ruse of human forgetfulness. She 'found' her fake license soon after and proffered it to the officer, "I'm a journalist with Detroit Today," she lied, smiling with about as much excitement as she could simulate. "this is my first big break!"

The policewoman breathed out a sardonic laugh, "This is my first big case, too." Eve's expression faltered as the officer reluctantly handed back her ID. "I wouldn't look so bright if I were you, it's a bloody hellhole in there. That machine made a right mess of the place." The policewoman seemed satisfied thereafter and returned to her work guarding the entranceway, a slight stutter to her steps. Eve nodded to herself in delayed acknowledgment, taking a moment to recalibrate.

Proceeding to the main room, she quickly observed the damage that had been done by the perpetrator in question. Two bodies to the left and right; fatally shot by near-perfect aim. The first bodies Eve had witnessed. Glass had scattered on the ground from the ricochet of bullets leading back to the foyer. That mother was lucky to be alive; why would she have wanted to risk her life? She was untrained and would easily have been apprehended. If anything, her interference would have worsened the situation at hand. Her daughter, taken hostage by their own domestic android.

Eve stopped dead in her tracks as her view was obscured, thought process unexpectedly derailed. A tall man brushed past her, heeding her no mind as he went to examine the body in the living room. A correction was quickly made as she noted a spinning LED--a tall android had made its way to examine the body, leaving her in the lurch for a moment as she took in this new information. Given context clues and the general information she had, the only androids that had been permitted access to the crime scene (aside from herself, secretly) were that of the deviant perpetrating the crime and the android negotiator itself. This one, the one Kamski had wanted her to watch, the prototype detective.

SWAT bickered in the other room, apparently unable to make positive contact with the hostage or the deviant that had taken her. A few stood at the doorway to the terrace, arguing amongst themselves as they repeatedly aimed and lowered their weapons through shattered glass. Eve was invisible to them, a quiet bystander in an unexplained moment of weakness. She caught herself gawking and immediately straightened her back, keeping to the shadows as she observed the detective at work.

The android kneeled by the body of a dead man, stopping still as its programming kicked into gear. It stepped over the body, turning, and for a moment its dark, piercing gaze seemed to look right through her. Was it equipped with a function unlike her own? At most, she was aware of her own ability to pre-construct scenarios, had she the need to defend herself. But, the ability to recreate events that had happened prior? Now that was an interesting function of which she was not capable.

The detective blinked, then stooped to interact with an object on the ground. An electronic tablet likely dropped by the victim in his last moments. A look of recognition seemed to pass over the android's features; it turned its head to the terrace entrance, occupied by armored officers, then stood up to stalk over to the other body. A blue-blooded bloodhound, as was the comparable analogy that came to mind. It was strangely incredible, watching another android acting solely upon its programmed instincts.

In turn, Eve paused, blinking her eyes closed as she sent out a cursory report on her findings. Come to find, when she opened her eyes again, the bloodhound was standing before her, watching intently. "Hello," it smiled as it politely introduced itself to what it had apparently assumed was human, "my name is Connor--I'm the android sent by CyberLife. I couldn't help but notice that you seem a bit... preoccupied with my actions." Bouncing gently on its heels, it seemed curiously eager to interact with her, even despite its current, rather pressing objective. "You said that you were a journalist, correct? Is there anything you would like to inquire about my functions?"

Her chest expanded as she inhaled, pupils widening like camera lenses to little effect. It couldn't scan her... but oddly enough she couldn't scan it either. "Eve." She reciprocated the smile, settling back into a more casual, 'human' stance. "What can you tell me about the bodies, Connor? I noticed you had little trouble looking them over." She chose her words carefully, lips falling open as she processed each phrase. "Is that part of your programming?" She readied her decoy notebook and pen.

"Yes," It gave a small nod, LED spinning yellow as it seemed to take in every detail of Eve's face. It blinked excessively, struggling in its repeated attempts at an assessment of her identity. No doubt, had Kamski enabled it to detect anything past her inherent cloaking technology, it would have been able to uncover her true nature off the bat. It was dangerous to be this close to something that could so easily dismantle you, had it reason to, though evidently this thought was lost on her. After all, she wasn't a deviant; she wasn't prey, and even in the crosshairs of the hunter she felt no fear. She felt nothing, frankly.

"I am an RK800 prototype model, capable of high-grade military combat and investigative tactics." Eve noticed it fall into humanlike mannerisms as it explained, its head tilting slightly, a lock of synthetic hair falling over its forehead. It was undoubtedly designed to appear trustworthy to the human mind and had facial features that were overtly soft in nature, with brown eyes that were almost... gentle? Odd. "Per your inquiry, I am equipped with the ability to scan and reconstruct past events using the evidence that is available," Its voice piqued interest and carried a warm, unassuming tone. "and I even have a social protocol, which you've clearly noticed." A wink, followed by that rapid blinking again. Eve's eyebrows furrowed.

"Where the fuck is that negotiator?" The SWAT captain, on his last straw, broke the atmosphere between the two like an arm. The detective android, Connor, straightened itself at the first sign of urgency, wordlessly refocusing its energy on the task at hand. It didn't waste any goodbyes on the false-journalist, strict in its obedience, instead returning with long strides to examine the dead officer lying in the center of the room. Eve scurried back into the shadows and out of the captain's warpath, though he set his sights on her the moment she made any sudden movements.

"You're obviously not one of mine;" he sneered impatiently as he approached, "Are you authorized?"

"I am." Eve insisted, standing tall and nearly as forthright. "Eve Turing with Detroit Today. I've already been cleared." He looked her over, assessing a final judgement, though she attempted to null his suspicions with mirrored impatience. "Exactly how many more times do I have to answer?"

"None," The captain, 'Captain Allen,' she noted, puffed indignantly. "Your name's on the list." He crossed his arms over his chest and gestured with a nod towards Connor, his demeanor relaxing substantially. "Just, stay out of its way. This is a high-priority case, and things are about to get hairier." Technically, Connor had approached her, not the other way around. She didn't dare argue that fact, though, instead dismissing herself from the conversation with a submissive nod. Captain Allen promptly turned on his heel and returned to his team, likely deliberating over a backup plan in the master bedroom.

Across the room, Connor crouched low. Eve stepped forward despite the captain's warning, stooping to better capture the android's actions. The detective reached forward, retrieving the deceased officer's pistol. It was against the law for androids to possess any form of weaponry, as Eve had been programmed to acknowledge--watching Connor holster the gun in its back pocket caused a stir in her. Was it still a crime if used to further the mission? In Connor's mind, apparently not. It had said that it was trained with military combat tactics...

'Fascinating,' She shut her eyes tightly to the sensation that abruptly overcame her, standing upright as she felt as though someone were digging around in her head with a fork. Kamski's commentary moved through her mind as though they were her own thoughts, yet still clearly foreign to her processing. 'It didn't even hesitate.'

When she blinked her eyes open again Connor was poised to exit onto the terrace. The detective slid the door open and she scrambled to frame the oncoming scenario, ignorant to members of SWAT who voiced their concerns for her safety. She perched herself at the shattered window as the primary event commenced.

A fair-haired android stood at the opposite end of the terrace, a PL600 of domestic function with a small human girl in its grasp--the deviant and the daughter taken hostage. Somehow the previous descriptions hadn't done the actual visual much justice. Things became real as soon as the situation had presented itself before Eve's eyes. The girl squealed, deviant gruffly murmuring under its breath. A shot ripped through the atmosphere as Connor entered onto the scene, the bullet making impact with its clothed shoulder, spattering blue blood and rendering its wounded arm exposed and sparking.

"Hi, Daniel!" It shouted, much to the dismay of the offending android. "My name is Connor!" A SWAT helicopter flew to hover ominously over the scene, the wind from its blades tugging aggressively on Connor's suit jacket.

"How- how do you know my name?" Shock evident in its tone, the deviant's expression quickly twitched into unadulterated anger. It was hard for Eve to comprehend the emotion that struck its synthetic skin so easily, as though what it was feeling were more than simulation, bearing deeper roots than its superficial make.

Connor started forward, slow in its steps. Calculated, monitoring Daniel's rising ire. "I know a lot of things about you; I've come to get you out of this!" Pool furniture having been flung across the terrace in the all-encompassing gale, Connor reached to push a chair out of the way as it continued. "I'm an android, just like you." The detective-turned-negotiator pleaded despite steadily worsening conditions, "I know how you're feeling!"

"What difference does it make if you're an android?" Sneered the deviant with little regard to Connor's shallow empathy, "You're on their side! You can't understand how I'm feeling!" Daniel growled frustratedly and the hostage frantically screamed. "Are you armed?" The deviant spat, one arm clinging to the squirming child with a death-grip, the other pointing a pistol at Connor with potentially fatal aim.

"No!" Came the instant lie. "I don't have a gun!" Eve held onto the windowsill with bated breath, eyes wide. Connor was especially brazen, approaching a highly unlikely situation and directly working to increase its chance of success. It was particularly breathtaking and nonetheless unprecedented.

Daniel called Connor's bluff, though the detective's resolve remained unshaken. "You're lying! I know you have a gun!" A tango with ultraviolence; it was ironic that the one who'd committed the crime would appear more frightened than that of its foil.

"I'm telling you the truth, Daniel, I came here unarmed!" Another bold-faced lie in the face of clear opposition.

A wounded officer lay dying in a red pool of his own blood, barely conscious. Connor set its sights on the man, multitasking. "They were going to replace you and you became upset. That's what happened, right?"

Eve blinked as the deviant seemed to momentarily withdraw its guard, somehow affected by Connor's words. "I thought I was part of the family. I thought I mattered..." It snapped suddenly, firing up into chaos once more. It shook the gun in its hand exasperatedly, the child along with it. "But I was just their toy, something to throw away when you're done with it!"

Steps away from the dying man, Connor poked at Daniel's nerve with a fine tool. "I know you and Emma were very close. You think she betrayed you, but she's done nothing wrong!"

"SHE LIED TO ME!" Daniel roared, "I thought she loved me... But I was wrong. She's just like all the other humans!"

The young girl in its hold, 'Emma,' wept openly. "Daniel, no..."

Connor's attention drifted from the dying man to the erratic deviant. It kneeled to address the wound that Daniel had caused--a bullet through the arm, the injury oozing blood onto concrete at an alarming rate. It was a wonder the officer hadn't already fainted from the trauma or faded altogether. "He's losing blood," Connor stated, expression vague. "If we don't get him to a hospital, he's going to die."

"All humans die eventually!" Daniel exclaimed with disdain and utter lack of sympathy, "What does it matter if this one dies now?"

The detective's lip twitched as conflicting orders flitted across its vision. "I'm going to apply a tourniquet," It said finally, moving to assess the officer's punctured arm. Daniel fired a warning shot, the bullet shooting sparks from where it crashed into the ground near Connor's kneeled position.

"Don't touch him!" The deviant ordered, "Touch him and I kill you!"

The threat was palpable enough. The PL600 had already murdered three people; Emma's father, and two first responders: one lying cold in the dining room, the other afloat, facedown in the terrace pool. Had attempted to murder a fourth, the officer under Connor's attention, and a fifth, the small girl helpless in his arm. Connor, however, was not a 'person' in that regard; solely by the given definition of being an android had it forfeited any right to individual importance.

"You can't kill me," Connor barked, quickly untying its tie and wrapping the wound tight. "I'm not alive." Daniel expelled a breath of frustration as the detective stood to its feet and resumed its careful approach. "Listen," It started, "I know it's not your fault." A pause, followed by a further move for sympathy. "These emotions you're feeling are just errors in your software!"

"No, it's not my fault... I never wanted this... I loved them, you know?" Daniel was selfish, shaken again by Connor's prodding and eagerly responsive with a volatile demeanor. "--But I was nothing to them!" It argued, still pushing back. "Just a slave to be ordered around!"

'Loved' them... A 'slave'... Eve's lips puckered in silent contemplation.

"I can't stand that noise anymore!" The deviant suddenly yelled, "Tell that helicopter to get out of here!"

Connor moved to optimal distance then did as asked, waving the helicopter away from the scene. "There," The terrace calmed as the windstorm slowly died. "I did what you wanted." Even as the negotiator acted in favor of Daniel, the deviant proved unsatisfied. Connor had reached the threshold, and the night was on its last leg.

"You have to trust me, Daniel!" It begged upon selective ears, "Let the hostage go and I promise you, everything will be fine!"

Daniel's pupils shook as retroactive weakness took hold. "I want everyone to leave... And I want a car! When I'm outside the city, I'll let her go!" With the gun to Emma's head, it switched objectives, attempting to bargain in the face of looming destruction. Striking a deal with the devil for the sake of self-preservation, a remarkably humanlike mistake.

With so many sins, what was there left to save? Connor's lips pursed into the fine line that kept the deviant away from its stained freedom. "That's impossible, Daniel." Justice to be served. It spoke logically, "Let the girl go and I promise, you won't be hurt."

"I don't want to die..."

"You're not going to die." It was almost laughable, the pile of lies that had built up to this point. "We're just going to talk. Nothing will happen to you. You have my word." The word of a being comprised of wires and synthetic skin, a mind made of mathematical equations and social protocol, of programming for the purpose of deviant suppression. The word of a deviant hunter. An untrustworthy, nonempathetic, inhuman being with no ounce of rank to live up to its own promise of credibility.

Hesitation. An atmosphere riddled with the pungent mixture of death, chlorine, and gunpowder. A final problem[3] waiting to be solved.

"I've spent my life taking orders..." Daniel lowered the gun, its free arm opening wide as it had inevitably surrendered to its fate, intending to take its hostage along with it as its shoes hit the edge. "...Now, it's my turn to decide."

Time slowed as the PL600 careened backward over the cityscape below. Emma's scream tore across the terrace, body struggling for purchase as gravity increased. Connor sprung into action, shedding its patience to meet Daniel's desperate act with its own. Eve gasped for air as the detective leapt for the girl[4], gliding forward to collide with the deviant and pulling Emma to safety in one fell swoop.

The two androids tumbled over the side and out of view as Eve left the scene with numbed haste.

                                                                                                    THE TRUTH IS INSIDE

1 Similar to Amanda's Zen Garden, but instead centered around Kamski, acting as a sister subspace to the prior. The two exist separately, with Amanda's Zen Garden existing for Connor and Kamski's Paradise simultaneously existing for Eve; two sides of the same coin ("nature versus nurture.") As opposed to Amanda's emphasis on both literal and metaphorical 'nature' in the environment around her, Kamski's is a combination of nature and technology, with an infusion of cosmic influence to represent knowledge and the 'nurture' side of the argument. The name "Paradise" refers to the Garden of Eden from the biblical tale of Adam and Eve... more or less showing Kamski to be a self-proclaimed 'God' figure.

2 This is written from the perspective of Eve, a nondeviant android. Although Eve perceives herself with female pronouns, she perceives the other androids around her to be "it"s, like nonsentient objects. It's a blind irony.

3 Referring to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's infamous Sherlock Holmes finale "The Final Problem," originally intended as the end to the beloved detective's stories as a whole. Holmes and his archnemesis Moriarty duke it out, inevitably perishing together by way of falling into the gorge of the Reichenbach Falls. This is mirrored by Connor's act of sacrifice, as both he and Daniel die by falling off of the apartment building.

4 Software Instability ^

[nerdylittleshit]

Thoughts about Spn 14x02

SPOILERS AHEAD! BEWARE!

A bit later, but man what an episode. I really liked it a lot, more than the season opener, and there is lots to talk about. The plot, just as in 14x01, was kinda there, but not worth getting into, because all in all not much happened. Considering this season contains 3 episodes less than usual, it is interesting to see how much time so far has been spent on setting up the characters instead of moving forward the plot. What made this episode were the character moments, and they had lots of them, and I really liked that instead of Sam and Dean (or Michael) our focus was this time on Cas, Jack and Nick.

One of the things I usually criticize Bucklemming for is their handling of the plot, because a lot of their episodes in the past had been crammed with plot, hardly allowing the characters (and the audience) to breathe. They did the exact opposite this time, taking out the speed, making a character driven episode, and now I wonder if this is where their actual strength is (and hoping we get more episodes like this from them in the future). I know I had in the past expressed my fair share of criticism of Bucklemming, though I try to be objective, but this time I really think both the writing and the acting is what made it such an excellent episode.

But, as always, let’s take a closer look.

Of monsters and men

“That's not a man. That's a monster. That's a monster, and then -- and then Lucifer found me and made me a monster, too.”

If you have read my review for the last episode you know that I wasn’t pleased to see Nick return. Part of that is my personal dislike for Mark Pellegrino. There are a lot of shows that I watch where I know little to nothing about the actors in it, with Supernatural however the actors and their actions are always part of my radar, and I admittedly have a hard time watching an actor/actress that I dislike for very personal reasons. That being said, Mark Pellegrino did a really good job in this episode, and a rather see him as Nick than as Lucifer. I also liked the direction where the Nick storyline is headed, which might be a bit of foretelling of what Dean will go through now that Michael has left (*Thor voice*: Is he though?).

The great question the episode asks is that of monsters and men, if Nick is one or the other, or maybe both. The story goes back to what little we know about Nick – a man who has lost his wife and son in the most horrible way and drowning in grief said yes to Lucifer, to get some sense of justice. It seems though that at first Nick didn’t even remember what happened and why he said yes, until Cas reminded him. Then however he becomes obsessed with the idea of finding out who killed his family. I don’t think we can blame him for wanting to find out the truth, however I think Cas already suspects that something might be wrong with Nick. He still uses Lucifer’s mannerisms, apparently unaware of it. Later he asks what Nick will do when he finds out who did it, perhaps already suspecting Nick might do something horribly, something Lucifer would have done.

And then we had the end scene with Nick’s confrontation with Arty and him murdering Arty, with the same weapon Nick’s family was killed. This is the first clue that Nick might have killed his own family. The others are that there was no evidence (no DNA, no fingerprints, because the murderer never had left), and that Arty said that there was no man. There are two versions here that could be true. In one Nick was innocent and a victim and what he did in the end was due to Lucifer’s influence on him. He was a man who became a monster. In the other version Nick had always been a monster, had killed his own family, and then supressed the memory so much that he believed a man had done it.

Personally I did like this twist. Everyone is convinced that Nick is a victim, Cas even admits that only because of it he can bear to be near Nick. Nick has convinced himself he is a victim, or rather Lucifer did. Lucifer did turn the narrative around, he made the killer into the victim, which would allow himself to become his vessel. Michael as well turns the narrative around, offering a world where the hunted become the hunters. It is, purposely or not, a comment to our current political climate, where offenders claim to be the actual victims, and victims are afraid to tell the truth, because there will be the ones to be blamed. It would fit Lucifer to see a man who had killed his wife and son and say, no look, you are the actual victim here, all why wearing the face of the dead wife.

Days of Future Past

“The past, where you came from, that's important, but it is not as important as the future and where you're going.”

I have a lot of feelings and they all taste like Nougat. Jack is still on his journey to accept his human self, but instead of improving his human skills he tries to find out when his grace will come back, thinking it is the only thing that is useful about him. Cas of course can relate, because Jack’s future is Cas’s past. And he gives some excellent advice.

“But I had something else that was extremely helpful. I had myself. Just the basic me, as, uh as Dean would say, without all the bells and whistles.”

Cas needed to learn to rely on himself, and that is a great lesson, in and outside the show. To find strength in yourself, even at times where you seemingly have lost everything. Both Cas and Jack had learned to associate their value with their powers, fearing that without them they are useless. And even when Cas says he had Sam and Dean, we know it is not entirely true. Cas was for some time completely alone, without his powers, and some very basic understanding of the human world. And yet he survived and it made him stronger, and all in all it did help him to become the person he is today, someone who has learned from his past, but doesn’t let the past define himself.

Last season the focus was all on Jack being Lucifer’s son, and what influence his father might have on him, and what he would do with his powers. Now without powers Jack turns to his human side and gets to know his mother’s family. I am so grateful the show doesn’t forget Kelly, and her sacrifice and how much she means to Jack. It saddens me that her parents will never know what happened to her, will never know who Jack really is, that they can never find real closure. And it is interesting that Jack describes them as the only real family he has left. Does that mean he no longer sees Sam, Dean and Cas as his family?

And then of course we have the conversation between Cas and Jack, concerning Dean and what will happen to him. Jack argues that Michael should be stopped at all costs, even if it costs Dean’s life, because that is what Dean would have wanted, rather than seeing Michael destroying another world. Cas of course argues against it, and it is evident how surprised and hurt he is by Jack’s word. And yet, a couple years ago, Cas was not much different, and would have agreed that one human life doesn’t weigh more than the entire world. Of course Cas has a much deeper emotional investment in Dean than Jack. Jack does care about Dean, but he has witnessed a world that Michael had already destroyed. Again, Cas’s past is Jack’s future. Jack is still at the beginning of the journey Cas has been on for years now.

Man in the Mirror

“Why be the hunted when you can be the hunter?”

The Michael aka Dinkle storyline was the least interesting to me. Then again I am generally not a big fan of the Michael!Dean development. Michael follows his plan from last episode, choosing monsters as the ones worth saving, as they are pure. (What ever happened to Jo after her call to Sam? What did she see, what did she tell Sam?) He experiments on vampires and then turns to werewolves, and in the end it seemed he found out how to make monsters stronger. Plotwise it means that the monsters the Winchesters will face in the near future will become more interesting again, as they can be no longer killed the way they used to before. The big question is however: Where is Michael?

It is possible Michael did leave Dean, and found himself a new vessel (can werewolves become vessels? They are technical still human). But it would involve a lot or trouble and Dean is after all his perfect vessel, so why leave? The other (more popular) theory is that Michael is still inside Dean, dormant for now, and will show himself in time. This way he would have access to all kind of weapons and information at the MoL bunker. If Michael simply left it would seem a bit anti-climatic, especially as he had no reason to do so, so now we have to wait for the other shoe to drop.

Some other things

New Bobby isn’t like our Bobby, and this was most evident when he wanted to kill the young vampire lady. He operates much more black and white, whereas Sam and Dean have for years now operated in grey areas. This will cause some conflict in the future.

Nick accuses Cas to be no different than Lucifer, and yet Cas couldn’t be more different than Lucifer. Lucifer never cared about anyone but himself, whereas Cas cares so much about everyone his heart is bleeding out from it. And with all the horrible things he has done, much of it to heaven and other angels, his biggest regret is still what happened to Jimmy and his family.

That being sad Cas is the worst babysitter. Both Jack and Nick left the bunker, one at a great risk of his own life, the other a great risk to everyone else. Please hire Steve Harrington next time.

 Until next week <3

[royallyanxious]

Fingerprints. Chapter 2

Ship: Prinxiety

Word Count: 3200ish

Trigger warnings (read triggers goddamnit): mentions of suicide, mentions of death, mentions of abusive relationship

AO3 link here

Chapter 1

Virgil never wanted a soulmate. Or at least that’s what he wanted to believe in. He thought that maybe indeed, few decades ago it was a romantic concept to have one destined person but now it was nothing more than a money-making business which in addition allowed the government to control people. In many aspects Virgil wished that he and his soulmate had never met each other. He would rather be alone than be forced to share all his secrets with a stranger just because they had his fingerprints tattooed on their body.

However when Chelsea grabbed his elbow, he felt a fire that he had never felt before. He could feel her fingerprints sewing into his skin in the form of dark, navy tattoo, that would stay with him forever. And it didn’t terrify him. He looked up and saw the same on her. She was shocked, examining the place where Virgil’s fingers touched her for the first time. His fingerprints were already printed into her skin. The purple small stains formed without their knowledge or agreement. The girl smiled at Virgil awkwardly, he smiled back just same nervous. Her short, ginger hair was ruffled by the wind, her face was glowing but her eyes were hiding the shadows that Virgil was determined to uncover. And at that particular moment he really believed that the fate made no mistakes.

 But life is a crazy fellow, full of surprises.

 And when Virgil was standing in front of a tombstone, a mere week later, he firmly bid his goodbye to the idea of supporting whole soulmate-business. After of all, the person that was meant for him was buried few feet underground. And not only that. Because clearly she had taken her life on purpose, she chose to leave him alone. Despite knowing that it’s not his fault, that was still something Virgil couldn’t stand, something that made his heart whine loudly in the silence of the night. He had plans after all. Just a day before her death they were planning to go to the local department to register themselves as soulmates and by doing that- starting  life together. Did she know back then, that these were nothing more than empty promises? With her life she had taken away all the hope and plans Virgil had buried down in his heart. The only person who could stand him, that emo loner, was gone. Soulmates sucked. One person who was his chance for happiness, destroyed his life. He would rather never meet her, than lose her so quickly. Checkmate from the fate, ruthless opponent. At this point Virgil was only 25, meaning that he had at least 50 years ahead of himself filled with nothing but loneliness and marked with 5 dark tattoos in the shape of someone’s fingertips above his elbow.

 The touch of death on his skin.

 All these thoughts were slowly rolling through his head as he was standing on the edge of the cliff, letting the rain splash his face, watching the forest underneath him. If he jumped, he would die instantly and no one would notice, at least until his parents or brother would try to call him from the opposite side of the globe.

Virgil closed his eyes, eyelids heavy with the rain and deeply breathed in the evening air. He knew that he should go back home soon but he didn’t feel like spending another night all alone again. The trees, the nature around him lived, making him feel a little bit less lonely. He knew this forest like his own pocket. It was his friend. Perks of living on the suburbs and being anti-social. Ever since he was a child, he used to explore the mysteries of these trees and shallow caves, first with his father, later on- by himself. The sound of the rain falling at the leaves and wet ground was putting him at ease more than anything. He could breathe here.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, his ears caught a new sound. Virgil opened his eyes and swept his wet bangs to the side before looking over his shoulder.

A single man, wearing too big, green jacket was walking in his direction. Virgil turned his face back to the view in front of him. Maybe the man would just pass him, without initiating the conversation…? It was getting pretty late though... Virgil had already noticed that big bag the man was carrying. Did he intend to camp here? It wasn’t a good season to camp. Sighing Virgil turned around to see that the man had moved significantly closer. A shadow of fear fell at his heart. What if this man was a serial killer or even worse- an extrovert freak who sold pots, knives and other kitchen-shit?

The man looked at Virgil but quickly turned his gaze away and stood in the middle of the road, looking to the right and left hopelessly. He didn’t look like a camper or hiker. Virgil with interest watched his actions, until after few minutes of inner discussion with himself the male started walking to the right.

“Wait.” Virgil said not thinking much. The man stopped immediately. His hair was getting curly with the rain, making him look like an angel drowning in the tears of the world or a wet chicken. Both equally adorable.

“What? If you want to kill me just go ahead, you don’t have to warn me.” He replied, blinking slowly as if he was trying to comprehend the situation he had gotten himself into. Virgil wanted to shrug it off but the tone of this guy’s voice, the hollow look in his eyes, there was something familiar about that. Loneliness and having nothing to lose.

“Nothing awaits you if you go to the right.” said Virgil finally and the man laughed sadly.

“Nothing awaits me wherever I go.” He said quietly but hadn’t moved from his spot.

“I know a place where you can be served a hot chocolate and no questions if that’s what you’re looking for.” Virgil straightened up his back, surprised with his own courage. The man’s golden eyes brightened up with interested for a split of second. “I’m Virgil.” Virgil added after a moment and reached out his hand.

The man stared at him for a while, trying to process the proposition, weighting pros and cons of the offer. Finally he shrugged in the way that clearly meant that at this point he didn’t care anymore. His hand brushed against Virgil’s before he took it back quickly.

“I’m Roman.”

Virgil nodded and not waiting for the other man, started walking down the road. Something in his guts, was telling him that Roman would follow without a word. He didn’t look back. Indeed few seconds later someone started splashing puddles on the road behind him. Virgil smiled. This man really didn’t know much about the forest.

They kept the slow pace, until the rain started to pour more heavily and Virgil stopped to take an umbrella out of his backpack. It was the first time he turned around to Roman. His face was wet, and if Virgil didn’t notice his red eyes, he would have said that it’s just the rain.

“Come here, I don’t want you to get cold.” Virgil said putting the umbrella above Roman’s head. The other man silently moved closer, careful not to touch Virgil.

As they were slowly approaching the asphalt road, Virgil noticed that Roman grew a little bit more restless. His eyes were scanning the landscape but not in admiration but in fear. As if he was looking for something, something that could make him run away.

“Say, Virgil…” started Roman quietly, trying to hide the shaking of his voice. “Do you by any chance know Felix? Does he know where I am?” his breath was hitched and Virgil could hear that even despite the noise of the rain.

“Felix? Never heard of him, sorry.” he said honestly, cautiously not asking who Felix was. He promised no questions.

Roman nodded and Virgil once again pondered on the rules this man followed in his life. Apparently Virgil’s words were enough of evidence that he indeed didn’t know Felix.

“We should be home soon.” hummed Virgil. Roman sneezed in reply.

 ---

 Just like Virgil ensured they arrived at his little house on the edge of the forest, after less than half an hour. The owner frowned upon spotting that few flowers growing by the fence had been broken by the wind. When Virgil finally opened the door in front of Roman, both of them were completely soaked.

Roman stood awkwardly in the middle of small hallway, letting the water drop on the wooden floor. He was just as lost as before.

“Give me your jacket.” asked Virgil and, after taking it from Roman, waved his hand at the door presumably leading to the rest of the house “Make yourself at home. The light’s switch is on the left.” added Virgil before disappearing in the bathroom.

Biting his lips, unsure of what to expect, Roman walked into the living room, turning the light on. The room wasn’t big, connected with the cooking space on the right and with spiral stairs leading upstairs on the left. Too afraid of staining the couch with his sodden with rain jeans, Roman quietly sat on the chair standing next to the kitchen contour.

When Virgil came back few minutes later, he saw Roman staring at his own nails as if they were the most frightening thing on the world. Trying not to scare Roman off, Virgil knocked the door frame, marking his presence. Their eyes met for a moment before they both respectively turn their gazes away.

“Hey, you can use the bathroom now. I assumed that most of your clothes are wet, so I left you some sweater and sweatpants… feel free to wear them and clean yourself. You look like you’ve survived a typhoon.” Virgil clicked his tongue before passing Roman and standing behind the contour, back-facing him.

That’s when Roman with a pinch of sadness and maybe jealousy spotted five characteristic marks above Virgil’s elbow. His soulmate’s fingerprints. Standing up and almost by a reflex rubbing his hip, Roman smiled to himself. Arms, huh? That was one of the places where people usually had their soulmate tattoos.

He firmly shook his head.

“No, I won’t think about it now. I’m done with this.” Roman thought entering the bathroom.

Neatly folded clothes lied on the edge of the bathtub while the bag which Roman brought was under the sink. Out of curiosity, more than fear or anxiety, he checked if his wallet was still there. He hummed when he saw that nothing was missing. Roman took a quick shower cautiously avoiding the dark spots on both sides of his hips. He pulled on the sweater and sweatpants. It smelt nice, like fresh pines. Something about this scent was really relaxing even though he could barely remember the last time he spent so much time in the forest.

Roman sighed, ruffling his wet, dark blonde hair. He still had no idea what to do with himself or his life but it seemed that, at least until the rain stopped, he had a place to hide. Maybe he would figure out what to do next over a cup of tea? His brows furrowed. That was unless Felix finds him before Roman would flee away. He shivered and walked out of the bathroom, tempted with the sweet scent of chocolate that was reaching his nostrils from the kitchen. He was about to enter the living room when suddenly a small blackboard hanging next to the door piqued his interest.

“Welcome to the VERGE of the world :)”

Roman smiled at the obvious pun. He had a feeling that Virgil wasn’t the one who wrote that. Probably his soulmate. After all opposites attract, right?

 In the meantime Virgil had moved from the kitchen space on the couch. Two mugs with steamy hot chocolate were standing in front of him and fireplace was already lightening up the space, filling the place with pleasant warmth. Roman thought that Virgil hadn’t noticed him until the latter patted the place on the couch next to him, handing the mug as soon as Roman sat down.

They were sitting for a while in a complete silence, listening to the rain and watching the fire. Finally, Roman gathered all his courage to ask the question that was trembling in his mind for some time now:

“Are you sure your soulmate won’t mind me being here?” as soon as he finished the sentence he took a loud sip of his chocolate, trying to hide himself behind that dotted, green mug. He glanced at Virgil to see only a blank expression on his face as he still stared at the fire.

“I’m sure my soulmate wouldn't mind.” Virgil said finally. He rested his elbows on the knees, letting the warm light of the fireplace brighten up his face. The shadows were dancing across his face and Roman couldn’t tell if the darkness in Virgil’s eyes was real or was it just an illusion.

“That’s a weird choice of words.” Roman said before his head managed to filtrate what he’s saying.

Virgil smiled slightly.

“Well, that’s how you word it when your soulmate is dead.” he said.

Roman flushed red. Of course, he had to mess up the first attempt of a conversation. It had been a while since he was having a normal talk with another human without Felix somewhere around.

“Sorry, I didn’t know.” mumbled Roman.

“I don’t have ‘my soulmate is dead’ tattooed on my forehead so no worries.” chuckled Virgil before turning his face to Roman “Seriously, dude. I knew her for only like a week or so. I’m over this. No need for special discretion or whatever.” he waved his hand off as if he was speaking about forgetting to buy eggs, not the death of his soulmate. “How about yours?” asked Virgil after few minutes of silence, watching Roman behind half-closed eyelids.

“How about mine what?” Roman echoed, tilting his head cluelessly.

“How about your soulmate? Won’t they be worried?”

Roman laughed, the sound as empty as the look in his eyes, something that scared Virgil more than he thought it would.

“Felix? Oh, I don’t think that ‘worried’ is the right word to describe his emotions right now. But then, we may never find out about that.” Roman hummed happily the end of the sentence.

Virgil wasn’t sure if it was good choice to ask that question. Not only he promised to restrain from asking about anything but also...This man, Roman, was acting really strange. His eyes looked almost dead yet his voice appeared to be honestly cheerful as if the vision of being away from his soulmate was filling him with joy. Roman smiled at Virgil, noticing confusion in his eyes.

“He abused me.”

Three simple words and suddenly all the pieces of the puzzles fell into right places. Virgil gasped quietly. He didn’t know Roman for long but he seemed to be a good man. Not someone who deserved to suffer by the hand of his beloved one.

“I’m not good at this man, but if you wanna talk about this… I’m all ears.” summed Virgil finally. He didn’t want to seem too pushy facing a situation like this.

“Ha! There’s not much to talk about!” chirped Roman “After two years of… This realtionship, I decided to run away. Stupid decision to be honest but I just couldn’t do it anymore, you know?” Words were spilling out of his mouth like an avalanche “And look at me now! Not even few hours passed and I was surprised with the rain! Turned out I forgot to take my umbrella! And I got lost too! Map? Never heard of her!” he was almost shouting at this point, his voice trembling and rancorous. Virgil very carefully wrapped his arm around Roman’s shoulder bringing him closer. Roman laughed nervously but yielded to the feeling. “I have nowhere to go!” he continued “I can’t use my credit cards! My phone! Even my passport! As long as I have these prints on my body, I can be easily identified and tracked down and...and…” he was drawing the air as if he was drowning while Virgil slowly rubbed small circles at his back.

“There, there…” Virgil cooed patiently “Everything’s going to be alright.” He whispered thinking intensively. He couldn’t let Roman go away now. Virgil knew that registering with a soulmate in the department, meant almost zero privacy. With surprise he realized how brave Roman was. Standing up against the devil in his lover’s skin, the whole world and it’s messed up etiquette… Roman needed a rest, he needed to regain the peace of his mind.

Virgil put a fluffy blanket around Roman’s arms in order to make him feel more warm and safe. Seeing that it brought only a little bit of help, Virgil tentatively took Roman’s pale and cold hand into his own before placing it on the level of his heart.

“Focus on my heart-beat and breathe. Close your eyes. Yes, good. Very good. Think of my voice. You’re doing amazing.” Roman listened to Virgil’s quiet and relaxing voice. For once the control someone had over him didn’t seem frightening.

They followed Virgil’s calm and stable breathing pattern until Roman was able to straightened up and breathe in regular manner on his own again. Only then Virgil said:

“Look, I’ve been living here alone for years now. I don’t have soulmate, she’s dead. I have nothing to live for. So if I can help you in any way… please feel free to stay here with me. You need time, Roman. Don’t worry about money, forget about the world. It sucks. Believe me, this situation can be good for both of us.” He laughed bitterly “Actually, if I think about it, I’m being a little bit selfish. But, I guess I just…” Virgil stopped abruptly, weighing the words in his heart. He knew how he felt but saying it out loud, suddenly felt too hard.

“You just…?” encouraged Roman quietly.

“I…” Virgil’s head dropped down as he tried to put his feeling into word. Roman’s fingers delicately brushed the hair that was resting on Virgil’s ear, causing the other man to shiver. The crackling fire, once again, took the responsibility of filling up the silence in the room.

“You just don’t want to be alone, do you?” asked Roman finally, taking the burden of Virgil’s arms. They were sitting so close to each other that their arms were brushing and, as Virgil heard the question, he took Roman’s hand into his own once again, tangling their fingers together. It was an innocent gesture but the small squeeze shot a scoop of energy and hope, feelings long forgotten, down his spine.

Virgil nodded quietly.

“I just don’t want to be alone.” he looked at Roman, with his eyes dark with sorrow, pain and years of loneliness. The time that was spent alone in that small house with all its problems on his shoulders. He was on the verge of the world. His own world.

“I don’t want to be alone either.” whispered Roman quietly, before resting his head on Virgil’s shoulder.

And they didn’t even realize when, feeling so safe and secure, they fell asleep, taking by the handful everything the presence of other human could give.

Time was all they had.

Next part

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you can buy me coffee now or whatever

[dylanreviewsthings]

Paul Simon Captured Future Hope In "Graceland"

Back in the 80s, Paul Simon was in his prime. His music defined the childhoods and good memories of the 1980s, and even today his music is a reminder of those times. While holding onto those times, Simon also wanted to look forward. Paul Simon captured future hope in Graceland, his 1986 classic that defined an era.

There’s a lot of hope written into Graceland, and a lot of the time it’s subtle. Tracks like title song ‘Graceland‘ come with a warm simplicity to it, its basic nature bring comforting in its own right. All the while, Simon has a deep want to look forward, ‘Graceland’ itself expressing a want to be better. This theme of there being something more ahead is a common one on the record, tracks like the lovely ‘Under African Skies‘ with the traditional African choir reigning in warm sunlight of a new day or the calming sound of ‘Homeless‘ promising that everything will one day be okay being only some examples of this.

The very sound of Graceland is surprisingly positive given its dissatisfaction with the present. Nonetheless, Simon pushes through his current pain and looks optimistically towards the future in each track, evident in the weird positivity of ‘I Know What I Know.’ ‘Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes‘ starts very sweetly before diving into repetitive verses, which almost feels like a commentary on monotony. ‘You Can Call Me Al‘ is loudly cheerful with a great bass solo at the end, while ‘That Was Your Mother‘ is all about having fun. Even closing track ‘All Around The World Or The Myth Of Fingerprints‘ as it wraps the record on a big, fun note while discrediting the normal comfort that we are all different: our differences are what make us similar. It’s a weird concept to grasp, especially while the positivity is still very apparent.

Paul Simon captured future hope in Graceland, beautifully bringing in the mood of the 80s while wistfully looking forward. It’s a beautiful combination, truly defining a decade with its sound. Simon’s words still echo hauntingly today, too.

Favorite Track: All Around The World Or The Myth Of Fingerprints

Least Favorite Track: I Know What I Know

Rating: 75 / 100

Stream or buy Graceland on Apple Music, and follow our Throwback Playlist on Spotify:

[ask-de-writer]

GONE TO SEA : World of Sea : Science Fiction : Part 18

GONE TO SEA

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

WORK IN PROGRESS (Word count unknown at this time)

copyright 2018

Writing started 2005

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Members of the Executive Council sat dour faced as they leafed through copies of the thick report.  Mister Sanch raised his glare to Pele, sitting in the Witness chair.  He snarled, “Why have you taken so long to let us know of all of these things that your school has been doing!?”

Pele shot back, “If you want a real answer, Sir, YOU and most of the rest of this Council ARE the reason!  I expected that stupid question and I have the FULL answer HERE!”

She pulled a fairly thick file of her own out of a brief case made, like her clothing and even the comb holding her hairdo, out of materials from Sea.

She stepped across the space between her chair and the Council's table and slapped the file down. On the table in front of him.  Hard.

“This is a detail of the times that I or Mister Mackle of Maintenance and Recycle have tried to tell you nose-in-the-air fools about our materials, our fibers, our SHIP designs and our foodstuffs!  We made OVER a thousand attempts to let you know what we have found and are doing!  You turned a deaf ear and a blind eye to what CHILDREN have done and still are accomplishing!

“It took our Bake Sale and Mister Hored's complaint, which we have PROVED to be false, to get your attention.  Now you want to sweep YOUR NEGLIGENCE under a carpet and blame us!”

Small Pele, leaning on both hands, glaring back across the Council Table with fire in her eye, taking the Council to task, made too good a picture for even the most hostile reporter to ignore.

It only got better when Mister Torres stuck an oar into the fray. “Mister Sanch, I personally have attempted to bring the Dock C School's accomplishments to the attention of this Council.  The idea that their boats can and do sail up wind was dismissed by you as a mere fluke.  

“Some fluke.  Maintenance has equipped all of their workboats with sails that were copied from the ones that the children designed.  They have saved both fuel and wear and tear on hard to replace metal motors.

“The notion that the school children have produced large quantities of nutritionally superior food from local sources was brushed off.  You dismissed it with the statement that they can't do it without station resources for Lysine, Thymine and vitamin C.  That is true, as far as it goes.

“It falls flat on its face.  The Dock C School could feed this entire station except for those three items which the facilities of the station can easily produce.  We can synthesize them or grow them without problems.  They have totally broken the food production bottleneck.

“Astoundingly, you are angry about it.  I know why too.  Your brother is working very hard in the Bio-safety and Nutritional Analysis labs to do the same thing.  And very bright children with a brilliantly unorthodox teacher did it first.

“Does Pele take credit for the success?  Only to the extent of providing them with guidance and critique.  Their discoveries?  Look in the report.  Credits.  For the kids.

“I suggest that we end this foolishness.  Thank Pele and her students, and begin to talk licensing.”

/////////////////////////

Alongside Dock C, the large center section of the New Dawn was floating.  The nearly sunken fourteen meter hull was being mated to it.  Big winches on the hull were drawing cables from the ends of the huge mounting trunion pins on the center section into mating sockets built into the hull.  With all lined up properly, the final pulls began.

It only took the school's children and the adult education students working together, about twenty minutes to get the pins set full depth into their sockets.

Parts made of stout cables made from many ropes twisted together were carried over to the hull by work boats.  Nobody on Dock C could see what was being done with the parts except that they were apparently threaded through the holes in the trunions where the pulling cables had been.  Students could be seen using heavy mauls to drive wedges in to tighten the cables.

When the cables that held the parts together were tightened to the satisfaction of Pele, she ordered, “Pump crews, get us 30 centimeters of freeboard on the hull!”

Taking a small boat, she returned to the floating dock.  There, she began directing the freeing of the large, twenty meter main hull from its storage place underneath Dock C.

A student called out, “Saboteur!  Stop!  Catch that man in the yellow shirt!  He was cutting cables with a knife!”

The man darted away and threw the knife into the water!  A girl from the school dove in after it.  

As time passed the minute mark, a reporter who was covering the work, announced, “Tragedy at the Dock C school!  A student who dove into the water for no obvious reason has drowned!”

Just as he was starting to speak of school irresponsibility, the girl surfaced, triumphantly holding the knife by its blade.  

She called out, “We have his fingerprints on the handle!”  She swam to a dock ladder in a leisurely way and swarmed up to the dock surface.  A station policeman collected the knife as evidence.

Pele inspected the damaged cable and requested, “What would you do, Mark?”

The student examined the situation and replied, “We can still splice up the damage.  We will need two number four fids and splicing twine. Better get two spools of it to be on the safe side.”

“Right, Mark.  Get your help and equipment.”  Pele turned her attention to other aspects of the work underway.  The reporter self importantly barged in on the repair the students were doing, saying, “How can you children possibly fix something this important?”

Mark, looked up from forcing his fid into the cable strands to get the repair splicing line in and asked, “Aren't you tired of bungling everything that you report?  

“First you said that the ship is sitting so low in the water because we will have to paddle it, which was not only wrong, the reasons for what we are doing were in the handout that we gave to you.  Then, when Cora dove after the knife, you said that she had drowned after only a minute.  She routinely dives for up to three minutes.  You would have known that if you had asked anyone here.

“As for this cable, it should be obvious to any person who can think.  We made this cable.  We do know how to fix it.  What we do not know is how to get you to act like an intelligent, responsible adult and civilized person.”

Mark turned his back on the dumbfounded reporter and went back to the complex task of repair to a cable under tension.

Pele came up to the reporter and handed him a note.  “This is a copy of our formal, written request to your superiors that you be barred from the entire property of the Dock C School.  Inquiry with Station Security has revealed that you personally told the policeman guarding the entry ramp that the saboteur was with you.  

“He is a worker in the boat yard and the entire boat yard staff has been formally banned from the school by executive order, as, it happens you already are.  You used the pretext of being a representative of the Station News Net to gain entry to the School's property.

“You were proved to be part of the false petition forcing early testing of our students.  You personally were involved in recruiting the “mob” to wreck the School while the students were away being tested.

“Besides that, your misconduct and improper, prejudicial reporting has materially interfered with our work here.”

A station policeman took the reporter by the arm and escorted him from the dock.

TO BE CONTINUED

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