#took five goddamn pages to get to the scene i meant to write

[elekinetic]

another script! (two in two days, who am i.)

party antics and... well... you can read it for yourself.

as always, lmk what you think :)

[sweetbitterimpossiblecreature]

A Brief And Concise Summary Of Is Wrong With The ACOTAR Series

I think we can agree that a lot of ACOTAR is pretty iffy. Consider this a very brief refresher.

What's Wrong With Feyre/Rhysand (juxtaposed against Feyre/Tamlin)

Rhysand drugs and sexually assaults her in Book 1

This is "for her own good". Because he "has no choice". Despite the fact that, from what we know of the plot, Amarantha thinks that Clare Beddor was the one Rhysand was diddling, and is only interested in Feyre because Rhysand, "her" man male, has taken an interest in her.

If we extrapolate from this we can figure that Rhysand is the one directly putting her into danger.

Now, let's be clear: drugging someone is bad. Sexually assaulting someone is bad. One could argue there were extenuating circumstances. But if, in such a situation, what your mind goes to is "I know, I should assault this person... for their safety" I have questions about your moral qualities. There were a million things he could have done. He could have done whatever he did to Clare - that is, remove her ability to feel any pain - easily. He could have helped her escape. Under The Mountain, he - while still there unwillingly - has a lot of power, as Amarantha's side piece. Maybe this would have resulted in him being punished- however, he is hundreds of years old and a badass motherfucker, and she is a nineteen year old human girl.

Now, onto Tamlin. Obviously not a lot of people really ship F/T anymore after ACOMAF, because compared to F/R, it's boring. I read another person's post about it, which was very enlightening: they said that Feyre's personality is essentially a mirror. When she is with Rhysand, she's snarky and malicious- because she is "bouncing off" his energy. When she's with Mor she's super feminist and "in awe of her strength". On the other hand, Tamlin is kind of an empty character. He's a pretty boy with anger issues, which should be more interesting than it is. SJM manages to make him bland. Because Feyre has nothing to bounce off of, (a lot of this is from the person's post), she and Tamlin together is mainly just him introducing her to his world.

What Tamlin Does: prevents a skinny twenty year old from going on dangerous missions with him and combat-trained soldiers, accidentally blows up a room with her in it, and, at the end, prevents her from leaving the house.

This is not a Tamlin apologist post. Obviously it was really fucking gross of him to do that, and their relationship was toxic. However, a lot of his abuse stems from their inability to communicate, as well as own negligence. He does not knowingly and purposefully sexually assault her or rape her mind. And tbh, leaving a girl without combat training at home while he goes on missions with a bunch of muscled sentries is... kind of reasonable?

Again: not a Tamlin apologist post. It was abuse. However, if Rhysand is "allowed" to sexually assault, mind-rape, and drug Feyre "for her own safety", why is Tamlin demonized for preventing her from leaving his mansion "for her own safety"?

Another pertinent point: Rhys is never punished for sexually assaulting her. It is brushed off as part of his "mask" or that his hand was forced. Jesus Christ my dudes, his hand was not forced under her skirt. If he has to maintain his gross rapist abuser tyrant oppressor mask... why? Who did that benefit beside him? None of his actions remotely helped Prythian. They were done solely for his buddies - five people safe in a rich hidden city - and no one else, which is explicitly stated.

Finally, the power dynamic is fucked up. Feyre is less than twenty five years old. Rhysand is 500. There is a tendency in fantasy romance to romanticize a centuries year old man with a young girl, because the man does not show symptoms of age, and so it is easily ignorable. However, can we just briefly acknowledge how fucked up it is? Rhys is over five times older than Donald Trump, Harvey Weinstein, Jeffrey Epstein, and other known predators/abusers. She is twenty. That is really fucking gross. She is in a vulnerable position and he takes rampant advantage of that.

If he had wrinkles, liver problems, and erectile dysfunction, more people would acknowledge it.

Let's be clear: I'm not saying writing a book with an uneven power dynamic is automatically bad. For example, in The Locked Tomb series, which is in my opinion THE BEST FANTASY SERIES THAT HAS GRACED THIS EARTH (lol i'm starting fires), one main character Harrowhark Nonagesimus is in a position of power over Gideon Nav, the other main character. However, this is not glossed over or romanticized. Gideon resents Harrow for this- there is a relationship of mutual antagonism, fraught with unwilling familiarity and intimacy from growing up together. They are roughly the same age. While there is a certain power dynamic (in that world, there is a dynamic of necromancer and cavalier, i.e. sorcerer and sword) the "empowered" character (Harrow) emphatically respects her and does not abuse this power, although both would of course deny this, and she does make a show of threatening and being aloof. In short, while Gideon obeys her, Gideon also has power over Harrow, and the idea of what is essentially slavery is not romanticized.

Feyre Doesn't Face Any Consequences For Her Own Actions

Let me present a radical notion: a guy preventing you from leaving his house does not justify completely fucking ruining his country and harming the people inside it.

In other words: Tamlin does not deserve what she did to him.

I know that sounds iffy. We're conditioned to think that if someone is an abuser, then they are the scum of the earth, they deserve to die, torturing/murdering/doing anything to them is completely A-OK. However, here's another radical notion: someone harming you does not justify you doing worse.

Obviously, the effects of psychological abuse can cause you to hurt other people (see: Nesta), but Feyre deliberately and maliciously (oh, God, that insufferable POV of her in Spring Court; she reads like a cartoonish Disney villain) dismantles his country. She uses sexual manipulation (Lucien), torture (causing the sentry to be whipped), and mind-rape (who didn't she do this to? lol).

A summary of the entire first half of ACOWAR: "It smelled like roses. I hated roses. For this capital offense against my olfactory system, Tamlin and the entire Spring Court deserved to burn in hell. I knew exactly what I was doing. I smiled at him sweetly: no longer a doe, but a wolf. He didn't see my fangs.............." *aesthetic noises*

Man. I'm starting to think SJM had a horrible experience at a Bath & Body Works and took it out on the rest of us. Don't do it, Sarah!! I know Pink Chiffon and Triple Berry Martini are way too strong, but don't take it out on an innocent population!!

She steals from Summer Court (there are, yk, other solutions to theft. Like maybe asking politely) and ruins Spring Court. Her boyfriend - yeesh sorry, MATE - does nothing while a dozen Winter Court children are murdered.

Now: moral ambiguity is not automatically bad. Again using The Locked Tomb as an example, in the second book (spoiler alert), Harrowhark has a sort of moral ambiguity. She was raised from the beginning to worship the King Undying as God, and so she obeys him without question. Because of this, she commits a lot of crimes in His name: she "flips" - i.e. kills - the life force of planets, and she plots murder (albeit the murder of someone who tried to kill her first). There is no attempt to justify this. There is also no attempt to paint her as a virtuous and yet also badass Madonna figure. She is desperate, plagued with the "wreck of herself", and the book clearly displays her moral pitfalls. While her POV is of course colored by her mindset, it also is limited by her lack of information, and we as readers can acknowledge that.

BACK TO ACOTAR: Feyre is seen by everyone as gorgeous, formidable, and essentially perfect. Rhys sees her as flawless, "made for him", wonderful, beautiful, blah blah blah. (THEY ARE SO BAD FOR EACH OTHER; THEY EXCUSE AND GLORIFY EACH OTHER'S CRIMES, IT'S SO BAD, GUYYYS). Tamlin is insanely batshit in love with her, or whatever. To the Night Court she's the High Lady. In this way she personifies the Mary Sue character. (Excerpt from the TV Tropes page on Mary Sues: "She's exotically beautiful, often having an unusual hair or eye color, and has a similarly cool and exotic name. She's exceptionally talented in an implausibly wide variety of areas, and may possess skills that are rare or nonexistent in the canon setting. She also lacks any realistic, or at least story-relevant, character flaws — either that or her "flaws" are obviously meant to be endearing. She has an unusual and dramatic Back Story. The canon protagonists are all overwhelmed with admiration for her beauty, wit, courage and other virtues, and are quick to adopt her as one of their True Companions, even characters who are usually antisocial and untrusting; if any character doesn't love her, that character gets an extremely unsympathetic portrayal." Sound familiar?)

There is the Ourobous scene. And yet, paradoxically, while presented as an acknowledgment of her flaws, it is in fact a rejection of them. She sees her own brutality... and instead of recognizing that she has these deep, deep moral flaws and realizing that she needs to grow and be better, she in fact "accepts" them.

Guys: Self love means: "I'm important to me, so I'm going to get a massage today after work", or "heck, why not splurge on some expensive lotion, you only live once" or "you know what? I had a tough day today. I'm going to get that strawberry cupcake". SELF LOVE DOES NOT MEAN "oh, I accept all the war crimes I have done, I love myself". LOVING YOURSELF DOES NOT MEAN ABSOLVING YOURSELF OF ALL WRONGDOING.

It's this refusal to acknowledge wrongdoing that is so grating about ACOTAR. It's so goddamn one-sided. And you can tell that after Book 1, SJM decided to completely change the trajectory simply because of how jarring Book 2 reads compared to the first one.

Also: Feyre is a very, very young girl (compared to the other ruling fey) who did not know how to read for the majority of her life. She has no experience whatsoever in politics. Her being High Lady is not a win for feminism.

Rhysand: He Sucks

First, he is 500 years old. He should be written as such, not as some 20 year old virile frat boy feminist. Fantasy is all the more compelling for its elements of realism, which is a concept that SJM does not appear to grasp.

Second of all, his morals are absurd. He is written as the Second Coming of Christ, as someone who can do no wrong, ever, and his flaws only serve to make Feyre love him more. Anything shitty he does is written as part of his "mask" and she can See Beneath It and knows that it "hurts" him to maintain this "mask".

Fellas, WHY DOES HE HAVE TO MAINTAIN THIS MASK???? There is no reason for it. If A) he does not give a shit about Court of Nightmares (we'll get back to that), only about Velaris, and B) Velaris is hidden/protected from the world, what is he pretending for?

It would not hurt him politically to be seen as someone who cares about his country.

"Pretending" to be "Amarantha's whore" does not in any way shape or form benefit the macro-world that is Prythian. In Amarantha's name, he commits atrocities. He commits war crimes; he systemically oppresses entire societies. It doesn't even really benefit Velaris, because Velaris is already hidden.

Let me put this in a real-world perspective. This would be like if Donald Trump was suddenly like: "I know I was a shitty president but IT WAS ALL PART OF MY MASK, WHICH WAS TO PROTECT THIS MICROCOSM OF PRIVILEGED PEOPLE THAT I CARE ABOUT". Like: okay? Sorry, or whatever, but I don't actually give a shit. What about the parents of the children who died? What about Clare Beddor? What about the people who were held in slavery, murdered, tortured?

Rhysand: omg it sucks that my cousin Mor was oppressed by this toxic misogynistic culture from the Court of Nightmares.

Also Rhysand: lol whatever, who gives a shit about Court of Nightmares. They all suck. They meanie. Lol what did you say? That there might be other girls just like Mor who are oppressed by this system? Lol whatever. I can't do anything, I gotta maintain my Mask. I gotta sit on this throne and show the entire Court that not respecting women is completely okay.

In summary: by parading Feyre around as his "whore" (!!) he demonstrates by example that it is completely okay for the Court of Nightmares to abuse their women.

A good ruler cares about all his people. Rhysand cares about a tiny tiny fraction of his people: those who were fortunate enough to be born into Velaris.

God, I'm exhausted. Onto Nesta:

The only character who successfully breaks the Mary Sue effect Feyre exerts on her people is Nesta. Her POV for the first half is a joy to read.

Obviously it sucks that Nesta was a huge bitch to Feyre for the beginning of her childhood. However, it was wrong for Rhysand to threaten her- he is a man male with a huge insane amount of power, and it is not okay for him to threaten to bring the brunt of it down on a young girl because she was a bitch to his girlfriend.

I've seen a lot of discourse on the morality of F/R sending her out of Velaris. Here is my two cents:

It was okay for them to cut her off of their money. If they don't want to enable her self-harm, that is their choice. Again, it's their money, even if it wasn't fairly earned (Rhysand born into an enormous fortune).

It was not okay for them to banish her from Velaris with the implication that she was an embarrassment. Let me explain.

If Rhysand and Feyre are talking to her as sister/brother-in-law, then that is that. They have the complete right to express disapproval and try to help. However, they should not be using their royal privilege against her.

If they are talking to her as ruler to subject, then they have the power to banish her from the city. However, a ruler would not give a shit about a random subject getting drunk and having sex. So, they should not be talking her about her problems as a ruler to subject.

I've heard it compared to her being sent to rehab. However, rehab is a system designed to help people with certain problems. It has specialized medical centers and involves therapy. Nesta gets her life threatened multiple times. It is not rehab.

In summary: why did SJM inflict this upon us. Throne of Glass was actually good! GAHHH! After the first few books she completely whipped around and introduced the idea of males and mates and fey and that C is actually A and the quality took a huge nosedive. Sigh.

Final horrible but unmistakable truth: The entire ACOTAR series reads like a bad A/B/O fic. I hate to say it but it's true. We're lucky there were no heat cycles. OH WAIT

[soulwillower]

if you’re too shy • richie tozier

(richie tozier x cam girl!reader smut)

[based off the song if you’re too shy (let me know) by the 1975.]

requested: i can't find it lol BUT 🤍anon (i think) requested a fic based off of the 1975′s new song, if you’re too shy let me know !!

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, switch!richie kinda, smut, unprotected sex, a tiny bit of cumplay i guess, mentions of phone sex, oral sex (female receiving), face sitting, a bit of dirty talking, UNEDITED as always

also i wrote this in a different style than usual and idk if i like it much but u can let me know what u guys think,, if its weird i can go in and change the povs since its 3rd person richie

[losers + reader are 21+ in this.]

7.4k words lol

♡

i see her online all the time i'm trying not to stare down there while she talks about her tough time

"h-hey, man, who's that?" the voice from right next to richie makes him damn near leap out of his seat. it makes beverly chuckle a bit as she takes a bite of her apple, shaking her head. "it’s nobody." richie says quickly as he tilts his phone towards his chest and shoots a toothy grin to bill. his friend raises his full eyebrows, "wh-what, so n-nobody was sending you n-nudes?"

"something like that." richie mutters, stomach fluttering as the image flashes in his mind’s eye - the curves, the dark red lace, the plush skin painting a perfect scene in richie’s vivid imagination.

richie looks back down at the photo. his his thumbs hover over the profile picture; he'd found her originally on his instagram explore page, the photos teasing and immediately he had to know more. y/n.

and then a few days later, he'd subscribed to her only fans, which he never quite thought he'd do with anyone, but he couldn't help it. she was so enticing, so perfect and so alluring. it was the playfulness that pulled him in; and he swears he's never lusted after somebody like he has with her. it was kind of starting to freak him out.

"is that o-onlyfans?" bill says and richie shoves bill's nosy face off his shoulder with a panicked grunt. "fuck off, mushmouth."

bill laughs and stan and bev perk up from across the table, staring at the two, interests suddenly piqued. "did you subscribe to a girl's onlyfans, rich?" stan says with a grin, setting his pen down on his notebook. 

richie just smirks and wiggles his brows a bit, enough to confirm his question. bill chuckles from next to richie.

"let me see." bev says, wiggling her manicured nails in a "gimme" motion. richie hands his phone over with red cheeks. normally he wouldn't care about his friends discovering he's paid money just to see a hot chick's bod, but this was different. for some reason, he felt connected to her. god, that thought made him want to slam his head against a brick wall. she doesn't even know him,  for all he knows she could live in the middle of.... montana, or like, ohio.

bev whistles and stan nods, "if i looked like that," bev mumbles as she tosses richie's phone back towards him, "i'd do that too. mad props."

noises of agreement fill the table but richie's just looking at the small smirk that peeks from the corner of one of the photos and he can't help but wonder what her eyes are like in real life. he wishes he could meet her.

girl of your dreams, you know what i mean there's something 'bout her stare that makes you nervous and you say things that you don't mean

it's a cold day when bill and richie find themselves stumbling in to the coffee shop for a drink. bill's muttering about some girl in his creative writing class that gave him head when richie's eyes catch a figure so familiar yet foreign that he stops dead in his tracks. bill turns to him, face confused. "r-richie, what's wrong w-with you?"

richie shakes his head, stammering in disbelief, "that-that's her, bill. the girl, from onlyfans. y/n." he whispers, gesturing with his eyes towards the girl working the register.

bill’s jaw goes slack, green eyes raking over her form and igniting richie’s stomach with boiling rage. as if bill’s doing something that only richie is allowed to do – as if they're not both being total creeps.

“h-holy sh-shit. she’s b-beautiful.” bill mumbles. richie elbows him in the ribs, shooting him a glare that prompts an eye-roll from his auburn haired friend.

richie swallows and watches, his throat feeling like sandpaper as she laughs at something the customer in front of them said. bill nudges richie, "i-i'm gonna get a s-seat. t-talk to her."

he winks and grins as he walks away, leaving richie with his reckless self. he thinks he's sweating through his sweater as he walks up, finding himself face-to-face with her. "hi, how can i help you?" she asks, giving him a smile

holyshitholyshitholyshit.

he might've just came right then and there. okay, he's gotta say something cool, something smooth. don't be a dumbass, tozier. 

"howdy, sugar. i'll have my coffee like i like my women." his mouth blurts as his brain sirens go off, PUT ON THE BRAKES, RICH – "a hot shock to the lap.”

she glares at him, cheeks light pink and eyebrows pulled together in annoyance and yep, richie's probably going to get hard because of that look but he's also probably going to toss his body off a bridge because what the fuck, tozier?

he can hear bill laughing quietly from a ways away and he quickly shakes his head, muttering quietly, "jail. jail, richard."

"funny." she deadpans, clearly not amused. because of course she isn't.

"sorry, i'll have a black coffee, y/n." he mutters, eyes widening to himself when he realizes she was not wearing a goddamn name tag and he just said her name.

this is a disaster. she gives him a bewildered, slightly creeped out look and if richie wasn't panicking, he'd gape at how she still managed to be effortlessly gorgeous even now.

he sighs, shaking his head, the door of the cafe opening and blowing a gust of frigid air through the warm room. fitting - douche chill. 

"look, toots, i don't want this to be weird. i- um, i recognize you." he says, cheeks aflame. she raises a brow, face straight for a few moments, unsure what he means.

it's not long after when recognition flashes over her own face - must have ruled out coffee shop, university and her local gym - and she nods with a tight, almost uncomfortable smile. 

he tries not to think of the livestream he watched last night where she showed all her new gifts and modeled lingerie, and how he’d spent his time to himself with his left hand immediately after watching. his cheeks are red with shame. 

"okay." is all she says, writing down a scribbled order on the coffee cup. her eyes shoot back up and give richie a once-over that really makes his fingers itch - god, why did he have to be this way? 

he almost runs his fingers through his curls but decides against it, eyes opting to focus on her own gorgeous eyes as they meet him. "i'm impressed i have a fan who looks like you, i must say. even if you are a complete jack ass." she purrs and his jaw nearly smacks the floor at its velocity as it flies open.

"what's that supposed to mean?" he asks then with a small grin, flattered at the tiniest of compliments that just barely, in his mind, eclipsed the insult that he so very much deserved.

"i'm saying you're kind of a dick. it's too bad, because you're real cute." she says casually, handing him his change. his stomach flips and butterflies release in his chest, a feeling that he's not felt in almost five years.

but damn, of course he messed up - he got the chance to talk to the hottest girl on earth and he started it by saying an awful joke that wasn't funny at all. of course she though he was a dick, he is one.

he's shocked, though, as he waits for his coffee with bill, who is still snickering into his hand every few moments, to find his coffee cup with extra sharpie scribbled on the white paper. a name.

y/n. and below it is a phone number with a small heart scribbled, and richie can't tell if it's a seven or a one but he figures he'd try every phone number in the damn state if it meant he could fucking text her. holy fuck.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking if you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

he didn't text her for two days and three hours. yes, he counted it. no, he won't think about why he was obsessing over the numbers - but since the time he'd finally had found the courage to text her today, things have escalated proficiently. 

she'd just mentioned how hot it was in her apartment since her heater had gone haywire - even though the winter winds were cold, she'd claimed she was burning up in what she was wearing.

and the mere mention of her clothing had sent richie into somewhat of a spiral, spending at least seven minutes glued to his phone and scrolling through the saved album he had of those photos of her that she'd posted; his sweatpants getting increasingly tight and his palm suddenly aching to slip through the fabric and find some release.

but, in true trashmouth fashion, he apparently needed that sweet, sweet rejection from a hot cam girl he'd somehow weaseled into getting the number of in order to wank off properly, so he types out a text and hits send immediately.

what are you wearing?

and then he almost vomits in embarrassment – what was she going to think? did he just royally fuck up? oh god, he’s going to have to shave his head and move to canada.

his phone buzzes and he nearly passes out when he lays his eyes upon the image attached – there her body is again, curvy and full and beautiful, her skin glowing in the fading light of what he assumes is her bedroom. and with it:

this. what are you wearing, rich?

and then he pulls his gaze from his phone and stands, breathing heavily because holy shit.

he's gotten nudes before, but.... none from someone like her. holy shit.

he walks to his bathroom, splashing water on his beet-red cheeks. he swallows, staring at himself in the mirror. fuck.

he slaps his cheek once, then winking at himself in attempt to muster any sliver of confidence. and then he snaps a picture, only in his boxers.

and then he has to physically refrain from making a joke about wearing the same lingerie set as her, instead sending a flirty text that he knows any other woman would blush at. he just doesn’t know with y/n, and maybe that’s why he loves it so much. she's keeping him on his toes.

you like what you see?

he sends that one afterwards, shaking his head because oh my god, she's going to respond with "no" and then bill him $40 for the nude she sent him. not that he wouldn't pay, but...

his phone dings and he nearly breaks an ankle running to his desk. 

yeah, i do. but maybe i'd like you better without any clothes on.

he almost yells out loud at this, but he has a feeling that waking up stan in the middle of the night would not be optimal after their 'roommate agreement' they'd made that explicitly states richie cannot scream between 1am - 9am. so instead he smirks to himself, face turning red.

he's getting harder by the moment, and as he stares at that picture she'd sent earlier, he lets out a breathy groan. the lace....

we could face time yk

or we don't have to.

he reads her words in live time, watching the thought bubble appear again and watching it like a hawk. he can just imagine her sitting there with a small smirk as another text comes in and he almost groans as his dick twitches.

like, if you're too shy or something ;)

he stares at the screen for two seconds at that sinful photo she'd sent just before those texts and then sighs, shaking his head and pressing the green face-time call button.

i've been wearing nothing every time i call you and i'm starting to feel weird about it sometimes it's better if you think about it this time, i think i'm gonna drink through it

three days later, richie was undeniably and unequivocally drunk. but, as he's just explained about three times to mike, he knows that it is just easier to not think right, especially about her, right now - and the best way to do that is by getting so piss drunk that even if he tried to "hit her line," as he so eloquently put it, his dick would be too whiskey'd out to make a full appearance.

it's for the best. mike had fake gagged at richie’s cadence with a laugh, but richie was dead serious because he was starting to think he had a real issue.

it was obviously just a fun thing to do between two near-strangers, but he'd found that he was starting to almost pavlov-style condition himself into getting turned on every time the name y/n came across his recent texts or face times, and it was getting to be too much.

especially when her post notification popped up and he cracked a fatty in the middle of his econ lecture. christ, the point of elasticity of markers in the u.s. was not something he pictured when he usually had to quell a pitch in his tent. so yeah, it's too much.

because yes, he loves her fucking body and wants nothing more than her, but in truth he longs for the feeling of her skin against his; to touch her, to kiss her, to make her his. all the time.

but yet, it was just a good way to get off without all the strings and ribbons and yarn and whatever the fuck her soft-looking knit bra is made from attached.

so much for not thinking about her.

but i see her online (and don't think that i should be calling) all the time (i just wanted a happy ending) and i'm pretending i don't care about her stare while she's giving me a tough time

it’s noon the next day and he's laying in (for some reason) stan's bed instead of his own with a blinding, mind-splitting headache and an insatiable craving for a cheeseburger, eyes squinting in lust and something akin to shame as he watches the livestream y/n had just started. she’s in a slip – a very thin, silk and see through slip and it makes him more frustrated than he’s willing to admit.

as he stares at her smooth skin and wonders how it'd be to touch it all, her eyes catch something in the chat and she smiles coyly. "hi, rich." she purrs and richie almost chokes - holy shit, she saw him join.

"do you like my gift i just got?" she asks coyly, snapping the straps of her bra with a small smile and he stiffens almost instantly, thinking of how many times he'd seen her skin in videos and photos that were just for him.

how she'd moaned his name two nights ago on face time, her fingers buried inside herself slightly off-camera. and oh, how he wishes he could see all of her, but they'd not crossed that line yet - anything they'd done hadn't been yet proven visually, only from facial expressions, noises, and the brutal honestly of being together through face time.

he wants her so fucking bad, he needs her like he needs water to drink and air to breathe and it's murdering him as he watches her react to the chat of her livestream, playing with the hem of her black lace panties.

god, he needs a cold shower or something if he's going to get anything done today.

and then he's calling her an a few hours after her stream ends because he just can't wait - he feels his stomach twist with shame as he realizes he should not be doing such a certainly a terrible idea. but she answers after three rings. "richie." her siren voice purrs and he literally feels himself fall deeper into the pit.

"hi there, toots. got any coffee in the pot for me?" he asks, sounding surprisingly eloquent compared to how she normally makes him feel. 

she hums in fake thought, and it makes richie grin. she's fucking adorable. "come to the shop, i have my break in ten." and then she hangs up. he sighs, rubbing his face with his hand as he shakes his head. he's utterly fucked.

he's there in record time, a smirk plastered on his face as he walks in and sees her sitting at a table, lookin' all pretty. just for him.

"what made you think of calling?" she says in loo of a greeting. he sits across from her and wills his eyes to meet hers. "nothin' toots." he says with a half shrug, taking a sip of the coffee placed in front of him that has the the name 'dick' written on it in her handwriting. he rolls his eyes affectionately.

"oh, so it wasn't anything to do with my livestream this morning?" she asks with a look, eyeing him. her eyes are swimmable, they hold so many stories and secrets and maybe richie's just hungover, but he's feeling very flustered.

"we-w, uh, no. what... what are you talking about?" he rolls his eyes at himself inwardly, cursing stuttering bill and his contagious speech patterns. "-i don't know what you're talking about, sugar." he recovers fairly smoothly, if he may toot his own horn. and honestly, he can pretend not to care as long as he doesn't look into that goddamn stare of hers.

he chuckles awkwardly, cheeks aflame as she stares at him with a bored look and a small hum. she still looks perfect and he's even more nervous now, because oh god, oh fuck, he's gonna get slapped in the face by y/n.

it was pretty unspoken since they'd started doing... stuff... that richie probably still watched her content online, but she'd never fully addressed it until today during the livestream in front of a thousand others. 

he's choking on his spit in shame but then a smile splits her face and richie's sure he's suffocated on his own saliva and gone to a sinner's heaven. or maybe hell.

"oh, richie, i'm just teasing you. look at your face!" she says with an airy laugh, pinching his cheeks and making him want to shrivel up as he turns even redder. what the fuck? "-so cute. alright, i've got to get back to work. i'll see you around, rich." she says with a wink, taking her coffee and tossing it into the trash bin as she stalks towards the employee back room.

he gapes as he watches her leave and then gets up and makes his way to the exit, clutching the coffee like it was trying to jump out of his grasp and make a run for it. god, she's too much.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking If you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

"-babe, you'll have to try harder than that." richie says with a chuckle, watching his phone screen as the beautiful girl on face time gives him a sly, challenging look. she's in a green lace bra, one richie's not seen yet and he can feel himself stiffen as she absently trails her fingers over her chest.

they'd been much closer over the last week since he last saw her in person, enough so that in the three-is weeks of knowing her, he's positive he's head over ass for her in a way that he shouldn't be. and yet, she still comes back every time, still texts him and answers those face time calls. he's baffled, honestly.

"i know you hate me because i'm right." he adds, not even totally remembering what point he's trying to prove as y/n shifts back a bit and more of her body is revealed, her hair glowing dimly in the soft lighting of her room. his eyes run over her curves, her full thighs and stomach and hips that fill over her panties and he almost groans.

"whatever, maybe i'd like you better if you took off your clothes." she says coyly. and richie's half flattered, as usual, but the more he thinks of it the more deflated he feels. he kind of thought they were growing something more than just getting each other off over face time like horny fifteen year olds. he grins nonetheless.

"you say that a lot, you know." richie says breathlessly as he stares at her. she tilts her head ever so slightly and grins, biting her lip as her eyes move around her screen with a conflicted look. "-why?" he adds.

she hums again.

"well. okay, so there's the visual world - like, the internet, onlyfans, instagram- it tells us that everything is amazing. and we should want everything. and it makes us yearn for everything that we don’t have and everything that’s unobtainable. you know, love, a relationship beyond physical. and even physical, it's different when it's online."

her words confuse him much more than they aid him. "you think... that because of the internet, love is unattainable?" he asks with furrowed brows, unsure how somebody so perfect and, quite frankly, lovable, would think that.

"it is for me." she says it with a small sense of forlorning but mostly it's whispered. enough that richie's heart skips a beat and he's, for the first time, not having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face instead of her body.

"what?" he asks dumbly. she just laughs, shaking her head and he stares at her on his tiny phone screen in the dark.

"that’s something that, you know. in real life, person to person, it has a lot of connotations of... trust and vulnerability and connection. doing what i do- and what we're doing… on the internet - it has the opposite of those connotations. like, before you, i didn't- i didn't really do this, i just was selling stuff. because guys don't want to fuck the girl who sells her body online. and you know now, i want to..." she trails off and richie doesn't dare interrupt her because he thinks she's about to say something he's wanted to tell her for a while now.

"i don't know, i guess. exploring someone's body in physical presence isn't seen at all as voyeuristic, or anything apart from...like, an intimate exchange." she says it casually, brushing hair from her face and shit, richie's swooning. he's in fucking love, he knows it, because y/n is so smart and intelligent and he's so fucking trashed for her. as she speaks, her hands move and distract him slightly from her body, doused in blue light from the screen and splayed out for him and only him on her phone camera.

the soft lace on her hips and chest make his body stiffen and it causes him to suppress a groan as she sighs, but richie knows he can’t screenshot this heavenly sight because she’ll definitely notice and she can probably already tell he’s having a hard time not staring at her alluring figure as she talks.

"-whereas, you know. as soon as it happens on the internet, it becomes kinky and cam-girly. and, you know, that's fine. i love doing it. it's just, i'm not sure where the authentic communication even is now. or if i get to have a happy ending." she says and he finally sees her blush for the first time.

he wishes he was there with her, he wishes that he could touch the redness on her cheeks and caress her curvy body and taste her skin on his tongue. he wants to feel himself inside her, he wants to be with her and kiss her lips and yet he can't, so he sighs and shifts in his position, moving to turn up the brightness of his phone so he can see better.

"shouldn't you get to be the one to decide that, doll?" is all he adds. because he feels kind of lost and just as confused as y/n is with this.

he's starting to feel weird about it, because... is this authentic? what makes things like hookups or whatever the hell they've been doing authentic? shouldn't this be easy? it's just phone sex, phone sex with a really hot girl.

a girl who is complex and alive and full of sincerity and richie is definitely falling harder than he should.

she just sighs but makes no other comment. and then they just stare at each other, richie's face illuminated in his dark room by the phone's reflection.

well, i found a motel it looked like the bins i think there'd been a murder so we couldn't get in i need to get back i've gotta see the girl on the screen

"come over and watch a movie with me." he says into the phone, biting his lip. the silence from the other end of the line is deafening as she makes her decision, because they both know she's not about to come over just to watch the shining or psycho. 

they've never done that before, and richie knows if she does come over, then whatever they have will crash down in a fiery mess. and he hates how excited that makes him as he waits in silence for her to drop the ball. so to speak.

"okay." she says, sounding shocked herself, and richie can't contain the excited grin from eclipsing his face. "yeah?" he asks breathlessly, and she's quiet for a little longer. "yeah. text me your address." 

she hangs up after that, and richie's thumbs shake as he types his address and sprints out to where stan, mike, ben, and bill are playing video games in he and stan's living room, wheezing at all of them to get out because someone fucking unbelievable is about to walk through that door.

she's there about an hour later, cheeks flushed when richie opens his door, looking just as nervous and flustered. "hi, chee." she says breathlessly, staring up at him with those goddamn eyes, the eyes that pulled him in the first time. his stomach flips in affection at her nickname and he offers her a drink as she takes in his shitty apartment. he wonders briefly if stan ended up buying that rosé that he'd given him shit for considering, and then prays that stan will stay the night elsewhere.

she's already pouring out glasses of wine when he snaps back to reality, and he grins at her, mumbling in thanks as she passes him a glass that's certainly poured almost to the brim.

"what are we watching, then?" she asks coyly, lifting a brow at him. his cheeks are red, but he tugs her arm down the hall towards his room with a grin, their wine sloshing from their glasses as they move erratically.

"we're watching psycho, y/n/n." he says as he pulls her into his room, glancing back to see she's already swallowed down almost half her glass, a lipstick stain on the side of it. faintly he knows stan will be frustrated if richie doesn't clean that off, but he's more distracted by her lips.

"i like psycho." she says with a nod and a cheeky grin, "the whole 'voyeuristic gaze' thing with hitchcock." she mumbles, and richie recalls faintly learning about that in one of his film classes freshman year and he grins as he takes a hefty gulp of his rosé, figuring he's already given himself away and if she's going to do that, he can too.

he hums, setting down his glass and grabbing hers to set it besides his on the bedside table. he turns around, intending on grabbing his laptop so they could watch the film, but she's so much closer that he'd expected and her hands fall onto his shoulders and he almost shits himself.

unpleasant, but honest. just richie's style.

"can i try something?" she asks with a grin, and richie nods, knowing that she could do anything to him and he'd gladly let it happen and most likely pay out of pocket for the damages afterwards.

and then she's pulling him from her grip on his shoulders, her lips sliding against his and making him grip her hips. his mind almost explodes at with y/n-sensory-overload because he feels her everywhere - on his lips, against his hands, on his shoulders, and pressing against his front.

her lips taste like chamomile and rosé.

she thinks his lips taste like vanilla and cigarette smoke, just as she'd always imagined. he feels so real, pressed against her lips and his body against hers, and she sighs as her tongue slips into his mouth because god, she's needed him for so long. and now she has him.

his hands move, touching every inch of her as their tongues fight for dominance. she pulls back, smirking as she gently pushes him onto his mattress, sliding onto his lap smoothly afterwards, grinding her hips against his slowly.

the moan he emits is heavenly and she could cry because she finally gets to hear it in person and not through the crackling static frequency of the phone.

so she grinds down on him again, eager to feel all of him. he's hardening against her core and she whimpers into his mouth in need as his fingers slip under her top, rubbing circles on her bare skin and making her shiver. she's noticed to this gentleness; it was rare when she did get to enjoy the comfort of another body with her own, and when she did they were hardly half as loving or caring as him.

she's desperate now, she needs to feel him inside her after all these weeks of teasing and waiting, so her hand snakes down to palm him through his sweats. he lets out a small groan into her mouth, biting her lip as he pulls back slightly. their eyes meet and his are hooded with lust, lips parted as she pumps him slowly from outside his sweats. his hips buck up lightly into her palm and she smiles gently, kissing him slowly.

"let me make you feel good, y/n." he mutters, eyes pleading as he stares up at her. her stomach flutters with butterflies and she nods, shocked that he wants to pleasure her.

he gently pulls her off his lap until she's laying on his mattress and he stares down at her, biting his lip as he takes her in. he can't fucking believe she's really here. she slowly pulls off her top, leaving her in her bra and jeans as she stares up at him with a wry, seductive smile. then she unzips her jeans and slides them off, leaving her in his favorite set of hers - black, lacy, and revealing. she looks utterly stunning and he groans, his hands falling to run over the skin, tracing the lace on her breasts. her cheeks are red as she gazes up at him.

"touch me, richie." she orders and he almost groans as he drags his lips over the valley of her breasts, sucking on the soft flesh and admiring the splashes of budding purple and pink that he's created. her heartbeat is quick under his fingertips and he moves to unclip her bra, kissing her skin as the fabric falls away.

she's slightly cold in his room, and goosebumps appear over her flesh as richie leans to catch a nipple in her mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. she lets out a quiet whine that has richie rutting into the mattress next to her, his fingers trailing down to dance at the waistline of her underwear.

and then he's pulling aside her panties, his fingers running up and down her slick folds and making her jump in lust. he can't wait, just like her, and he's rubbing her clit teasingly as she pleads, "chee, please."  her eyes are eyes closed in bliss as his finger slips inside her, crooking slightly as he moves it. he presses his lips to the skin of her breast, pumping his finger and then soon adding another, crooking them both in a way that makes her let out guttural moans of pleasure. he marks her breasts with littered pink and red marks, smiling to himself at her figure.

she can't help but swoon as she watches him, his hair in his face slightly until she brushes it back, his fingers curling inside her and making her gasp, pleasure coursing through her body. his thumb softly comes up to rub her neglected clit and she grabs his shoulders to steady herself, the pleasure almost too much.

she's honestly slightly shocked - knowing richie as little as she really does outside of the literal booty calls at two in the morning and the accumulative forty five minutes they'd spent in person, she'd expected him to be... well, good. just good. because there's no way someone so funny, caring, and smart could also be that good in the sheets.

but right now, he's making her see goddamn stars.

"i've been wanting to touch you for so long, sugar." he mutters, eyes raking over her figure as her breath comes in stuttering gasps. she watches him with blown-wide eyes as his demeanor changes right before her, making her fall apart at his fingertips.

"that feel good, honey?" he asks, smirking as she whimpers, clenching around his fingers. "yes, god you feel so good." she utters, making him groan in approval from where he's sat back, watching her face contort in pleasure. she lets out another moan and richie stares at her body, watching his fingers as they fuck into her. he can't take it, then.

"will you sit on my face, doll?" he blurts, and she nearly yelps out as his fingers leave her. it's abrupt, but she's started to notice that this is how he operates - impulsivity is his second nature. and she loves it.

her face burns as she nods, the thought of richie under her making her whimper with anticipation. "yes, richie, please." she moans out again and he's grinning, laying back on the mattress with a wink. "c'mere, need to taste that pretty little pussy." he mutters and she feels herself clench around nothing, desperate for him as she swings a leg around to straddle his head.

immediately, his hands wrap around her thighs, thumbs smoothing over her stretch marks as he stares up at her, eyes glinting with desire. slowly, his finger pulls the seat of her lace panties to the side and his breath hits her bare, throbbing pussy, making her breath hitch. she cards her fingers through his hair and lowers herself slightly, gasping in shock as his tongue darts out to lick a bold stripe up from her entrance to her clit.

"chee," she moans out, tightening her grip in his hair and sending a groan through his body that reverberates and makes her shiver. his lips attach to her clit and fiery pleasure snakes through her body making her legs shake, a moan escaping her lips immediately. he sucks lightly before releasing to swirl his tongue, her moans making richie impossibly harder through his sweats.

"so good, rich." she mutters and he groans, tongue spreading her wet folds and slowly prodding at her entrance, dipping in slowly before pulling out, teasing her.

she can't help but grind down slightly, making richie grip her tightly, tongue sliding into her again and making her yelp. "you taste so good, baby." he mutters lowly before slowly reattaching himself to her heat, her eyes rolling slightly at the sensation as he fucks his tongue into her. one of his hands snakes up to her ass, gripping it tightly and then slapping it, the stinging pleasure making her buck her hips against him, emitting a hiss from her.

"rich, i-" she cuts herself off with a sharp gasp, the pleasure from richie's mouth making it increasingly harder to speak. her toes curl and her head tilts back as his tongue flicks over her clit, teeth grazing it slightly and making her buck.

she's embarrassingly close already, and judging by the way richie's smirking under her, he can tell. "please, please." she mutters, hips rocking on him as his tongue swirls, nipping softly at her clit and making her cry out. "please, make me cum, 'chee." she mutters and his tongue moves quicker, hand slapping her ass again.

and then she's clenching her thighs on either side of him and grinding down as she hits her peak, moaning quietly as she shakes in pleasure on top of him. he rides through her high, lapping at her and pulling away with a grin as she moans his name dejectedly. she's worn out from the best orgasm she's ever had and he gently nudges her so he slides in between her thighs, her back now on the mattress. he kisses her cheek and she keens quietly.

"fuck me, richie." she mutters, eyes still closed. his eyes snap to hers, surprised at the dominance in her voice after how she was two seconds ago.

he moans quietly, kissing her deeply as he ruts against her and relishes in the feeling. he's pulling off his sweats and boxers in record time and then he's pumping himself as he grips her hips, turning her so she's on her stomach, ass propped up slightly. his hand runs over the smooth skin of her ass, snapping the elastic of her panties and making her moan quietly.

then he's lining up her hips with his, pulling aside the lacy seat of her underwear to press against her entrance. he waits a moment as he leans to press a soft kiss to her spine, slowly easing into her. she moans loudly as he eases in, her face pressing against the pillows. she smiles as she smells the scent she'd just recently come to know as his, his cock stretching her and filling her up fully as he buries himself to the hilt inside her.

"so tight, sugar." he mutters and she whimpers, getting antsy as she adjusts to his size. "richie, please, need it so bad." she mutters, bucking her hips back against him in need.

"say that again." he mutters, sounding strangled, and she grins into the sheets. "please fuck me, richie. need it so bad, need to feel you ruin me." she whimpers, chest fluttering in anticipation. his hands grip her hips as he pulls out of her slowly, almost as slowly as he entered, before stopping almost all the way out. she moans loudly in pleasure as he pushes back in, snapping his hips against hers and filling her completely.

she briefly thanks god that his roommate seemed to be out for the night as she moans his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

he sets a brutal pace, his cock thick as it fills her up and makes her toes curl. he pushes her hair away from her neck and presses kisses to it as he hits a spot inside her that makes her scream his name. his fingers move to pinch her nipples, rolling them as he fucks into her.

she's completely blissed out at the feeling of him inside her, so glad that he invited her over and that they finally get to touch each other. "rich, oh my god." she emits, eyes squinted shut in complete pleasure.

"fuck, toots, takin' me so well, aren't you?" he asks, hands kneading her ass before slapping her right ass cheek harshly, making her arch her back. at the new angle they both let out a groan and richie knows he'll fucking cum too soon if they stay like this, so without warning he pulls out completely.

y/n whines, breathing heavily as his hands come to flip her around. now on her back, they make eye contact and she bites her lip, pulling him in for a searing kiss that knocks the wind out of both of them. images of richie in his room alone, snaps and late-night face times play through her mind as he grips her and slides her hips down towards him on the mattress and lines himself to her again, pulling her legs up so they're against his chest before pushing in.

he gives no time to adjust to this angle and it makes her moan loudly as he hits a spot deep inside her that pulls her closer and closer to her second orgasm.

his name leaves her cherry lips like a mantra and he can't stop staring at her as he fucks her into the mattress - the way her tits bounce with his brutal pace, the way her face is twisted in pleasure, the way she clenches and spasms around his cock.

one hand grips her breast, rubbing her nipple with his thumb and forefinger as he kisses her again, addicted to her taste as he feels himself coming closer and closer to the edge.

"chee, fuck, right there." she moans out and he groans in pleasure, the feeling of her walls clenching around him making his hips stutter. he keeps his thrusts up, though, as her fingernails rake down his back leaving small trails of burning pleasure in their wake.

her skin is covered with a sheen line of sweat as she looks up at him, hair wild and lips kiss-bruised. "god, don't stop, 'm gonna cum." she mutters and he snaps his hips harder, eager to make her cum so hard all she can think of is his name.

he moves a hand down to rub at her clit and he moans into her neck as she clenches hard around him, her hips bucking spastically. he can tell she's about to cum, and after a hard thrust, she does for the second time, spasming around him and sending waves of pleasure up his body. she's moaning his name, pulling him closer in bliss as she becomes sensitive and god damn it, she's so fucking beautiful.

"please cum, richie." she whispers against his lips, "please."  and then at her will, he's spilling into her, hips stuttering as he pushes as deep into her as he can, loving how she clenches in sensitivity around him. he stays inside her for a moment as they breathe, coming down from their highs and eyes closed as they take in what just happened.

"holy shit." he says because yeah, that's like all he can say right now because he just got to fuck y/n and she's kissing his fucking collarbones right now and its making him blush and his heart flutter.

"that was...incredible." she whispers against his skin and he can feel her smile against his skin. it makes him feel all soft inside as he pulls out of her and flops next to her, kissing her forehead.

his fingers flutter over her sensitive core, smiling as he sees how wrecked she is, some cum dripping down her leg. he then soothes over the lace panties, patting her lightly and kissing her red cheek.

"rich?" she asks, making him look up at her. he hums in question, pushing some of her hair back. "can we still watch the movie?"

his heart swells and he grins, kissing her softly. "of course, doll. you're too cute." he says with a wink, making her roll her eyes. he hands her his shirt and then pulls sweats on himself, mumbling "stay here" and padding out to the kitchen to get her water and snacks,  then returning minutes later to see her holding his phone in her clutch with a smirk.

"what're you doing?" he asks with a smile, but she shakes her head, making grabby hands for him and the snacks. so he laughs, cuddling up with the girl of his dreams and watching a flick, falling sleep with tangled limbs and a lipstick-stained neck.

and after she leaves the next morning with a kiss and a wink, he checks his phone and smirks to himself as he notices the lock screen she'd apparently made last night while he was making snacks.

a photo of her in his bed, wearing his shirt, a soft smirk on her face, neck littered in budding hickeys and a hand between her thighs next to her black lace panties.

god, she's going to be the absolute death of him.

//tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @simplesammyx @dickology64 @clownsloveyou @emnotm @moon-shine-baby @toziershmozier @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @beauregard-s@finnskindofwoman  @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss \\

[unstoppableforcce]

dark side

CHAPTER FIVE: accuse

pairing: Javier Peña x reader (narcos)

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a/n: the end scene of this one was what I had such a hard time writing, it went through a few different interations and thats why it took so long so sorry for the wait !! please let me know what you feel or you think is going on!

5 in the morning was too early for a drink but he wanted one.

He settled for a shower instead.

But no matter how long he stood under the rushing water, he couldn’t make any sense of it.

“Do you know the CIA is listening or do you just think—”

“We know.”

Fiestl’s answer was too quick, too confident. They had something, real proof of their accusations and they couldn’t tell him any of it, not until he was face to face with them in Cali. And until he could get on that plane, until he could get his boots on the ground and get the information first hand, this guilt settling in his chest wasn’t going to go away.

The bloodied phantom hand was right on top of his as he washed through his hair, rougher than it was a few hours ago when it held you against his chest.

Maybe you didn’t know about the wiretaps.

The CIA practically kicked you to the curb when they assigned you to spy on him. It was a base-level assignment and you were too smart for it, far too smart for it. The human and weapons trafficking, the guy you mentioned, that was what your focus was on, you made that clear and he trusted you when you said it.

Maybe you didn’t know. Maybe Stechner was purposefully keeping you out of this, maybe he thought the two of you were together, maybe you didn’t know about whatever the CIA was doing.

Or maybe you did.

He hit the shower wall, not with the full force his arm could muster but just enough for a pretty decent thud before reaching up to rub over his face again.

Was he wrong to trust you? Was this whole ‘we don’t talk about work’ thing something you used to keep this from him?

Did you even think you owed him honesty in this respect? The two of you were sleeping together, maybe it was more than sleeping together, but it wasn’t a real relationship, or at least, he could tell himself that. Maybe you were telling yourself the same. Maybe that was how you were keeping it from him…

But he trusted you. He trusted you now.

“You’re not coming back to bed?”

He was so caught up with himself, he didn’t even hear you walk your way into the bathroom. But now that he had, you were all he could hear.

He could hear your toothbrush clank against his in the cup as your pulled it out, he could hear his medicine cabinet open with practiced precision, he could hear you sitting back against the sink as you brushed. He swore he could even hear your head turn back to the shower when he didn’t give you an answer.

“I’ve got to fly to Cali.” He sighed, brushing his hair back again, finally washing the rest of the shampoo out of his hair and stepping back to let the water hit his chest.

You spit into the sink before turning back to him, “It’s early.”

“I know.”

A few more seconds passed in silence, and he just waited for you to say something.

The curtain to the shower pulled back and you stepped in behind him, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your face into his back as you held him.

This was real. What he felt for you was real.

That’s all he could focus on for now.

“How bad is it?” You hummed against his skin, pressing a kiss to his spine, your body pressing up behind his.

“I don’t know yet, that’s why I have to go.”

You left another kiss, hot against his skin. “Is there anything I can do?”

He trusted you. If you were using him, it wouldn’t feel like this. Or maybe it would, maybe he was just being naïve to it all.

Turning around in your grip, he placed both his hands around your face and pulled your lips up to his. Yours eagerly met him there, your hands holding him at his sides as he back you up to the wall. The phantom hand was gone if he buried it into your hair and that had to be enough for now.

You tasted like the mint of his toothpaste...

You wrapped an arm around the back of his neck as he hoisted you up around his hips, his hot breath landing on your neck as you pulled away and laid your head back against the tile. But as he moved to lay kisses along your skin, you stopped him, holding him still with your hand at the back of his neck.

“What?” He panted out against your cheek as you brought your head back forward.

“Whatever is happening in Cali… You have to be back by tomorrow night you know…” Your breath was just as ragged as you locked your eyes back with his. “The Ambassador’s thing?”

His head fell forward onto your shoulder, “Fuck.”

“Oh, someone forgot?” You taunted as he drew his lips back to yours, but in leaning your head back, you left his lips your chin instead as you kept talking. “It’s okay, just tell the Ambassador you can’t make it, I’ll wear my pretty dress for you another day…”

The Ambassador did these things every so often, parties with drinks and diplomats, something about securing relationships with the government and such. It meant drinking and socializing, playing nice and dressing up. And as DEA attaché, he had to be there.

He was so stupid, he had actually been looking forward to it. To having an excuse to being around you, playing nice and drinking.

But he had to be in Cali first. He had to figure out this CIA shit…

He kissed your cheek, “I can be back by then.”

“What’s going on in Cali?” You asked, grabbing his chin to level his eyes with yours again.

But he just shook his head, shaking it out of your grip gently, “I’m sorry, querida, you know I can’t…”

“It’s nothing I can help with?” Rubbing your hand over his shoulders, filled to the brim with tension and none of it releasing as you held him close.

“No.”

You let your lips land on his again, deeper this time, pulling him in closer as he kept you pressed against the wall.

“It’s a nice dress, so you better be back in time…” You hummed with a chuckle as his lips moved to your neck.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

He took the first flight to Cali.

And that was when his agents put the cold, hard proof in his hands and his stomach sank even further than before. There was no shower, no drinks, no nothing that could get him out of this.

It wasn’t just the one phantom hand, there were two of them, holding over his hands as he read through the files again and again, looking for some other explanation, some way out of this that didn’t implicate you. But he read them again and again…

They were CIA files.

Stacks of CIA files. Transcripts of private phone conversations, records of Stechner ordering the wiretapping on embassy phones and their personal home numbers, documents and… there were at least a hundred pages here.

“73.” Van Ness muttered, “It’s 73 pages.”

“Where the hell did the two of you get 73 pages of classified CIA documents?” He couldn’t even believe the words as they came out of his mouth, he couldn’t believe the papers he was reading, he couldn’t believe any of it and he knew why.

The two of them sat on the couch across from him didn’t, but he knew why.

“They were faxed to us…” Fiestl answered..

“By who?”

“It’s whom…” Fiestl corrected but bit his tongue when Javier shot him the meanest look he could muster, “We don’t know.”

Javi blew out a breath, a heavy breath before dropping the papers in his hand to the coffee table between them, “So, the two of you are in the possession of 73 pages of stolen, classified CIA documents and you don’t know who sent them?”

“They’re files which prove the CIA has been illegally tapping our phones, embassy phones—”

He scoffed, moving for a cigarette, “Which were sent to you illegally—"

“I think we should be more focused on what the CIA is doing, Peña,”

They couldn’t exactly see into his head, but that was exactly what he was focused on.

These records had everything, every phone conversation they overheard, even Fiestl’s conversations with his kid… But none from his home phone line. None from the phone he used to call you and that didn’t seem like a coincidence.

Was it because you knew about the wiretaps and had his home phone excluded so you wouldn’t get caught? Was it because you sent the files to his agents and wanted to keep your private phone records out of it once you found out? Or was he jumping to conclusion? Did you not know at all?

“What do we do?” Van Ness postured, breaking him out of his thoughts as he brought the cigarette back to his lips.

“We need to figure out why the two of you were sent these, who sent them…”

“No, what do we do about the CIA?” Van Ness reiterated but Javi just shook his head.

“Well, we stop using our phones, but we don’t know why these were sent to us… we don’t know what the person who sent these wants from us. Maybe they’re looking to catch the two of you with stolen files, or trying to bring down the CIA…” He inhaled another breath of smoke, “We can’t play into their hand.”

“What about that the agent in your office, would she…?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, “I don’t know what anyone would do at this point…”

—

They reviewed the files about a thousand more times, looking for any clue as to who would send them the files or why would they send them the files… But nothing came up. Eventually, he had to head back to Bogota and get ready for the Ambassador’s party.

“You call me on the sat phones only.” He reiterated as he left with a promise to do more investigating on his own back at the embassy. And once he got off the plane, he went back to his apartment, got ready and headed towards the hell that would be the Ambassador’s party.

Because you were going to be there. And he was going to have to talk to you.

He was going to have to ask you some of the questions that were burning in his mind.

Did you know? Did you send the files? Did he trust you?

It would have all been easier if you weren’t wearing that goddamn dress.

Perched on the Ambassador’s desk, your legs crossed at the ankle , one heel over the other, and a drink in your hand, the dress only fell second to the plastered smile on your face as you entertained the officials around you. It was just a black cocktail dress, but it fit you perfectly, it made you a goddamn beauty right there in the middle of the room, catching his attention and taking his breath away immediately.

How the hell was he supposed to ask you if you either knew about the CIA’s illegal wiretapping or if you illegally smuggled documents to his agents…

“Agent Peña, I’m glad you made it.” The Ambassador quickly intercepted him before he could make his way to you though. “How was Cali?”

“It was fine, sir.”

“Get yourself a drink, socialize will you? People love to meet a hero.” He shook his shoulder slightly to shake the message through just in case it wasn’t clear why he was invited. He couldn’t help but laugh at it even as he walked further into the party.

He was there to be the hero, surely you were there to be smart and look good, just like Stechner used the two of out in the jungle. And while he was planning to head straight to the drink table, you seemed to be playing your role expertly, your legs and collar bones on display while you spoke animatedly to the officials around you.

That was, until you caught sight of him across the room, quickly finished your drink and excused yourself for another, making it to the drink table as he did.

“Welcome back, Agent Pena.” You cooed almost tauntingly as you sidled up to him at the table, a smirk painting your lips, one he wished he could mirror.

He wished he could play this game with you, he loved playing this game with you… It was getting you coffee and dropping it at your desk like it was nothing, it was following you into the file room to steal a few kisses, it was being fully immersed in an office romance and calling it anything but while trying to be casual.

But he didn’t have the heart for it as Fiestl’s words and the taunting lines of the files he just spent the past hours reading over and over again flowed through his head, taking over every thought.

He wanted to trust you, but he couldn’t do it blindly. He needed to talk to you, and if that risked everything… he needed to. He couldn’t have this with you without answers. He needed to know he could trust you.

“Is everything okay?” Your smirk fell away as he froze in thought, but even as he recovered and began making his drink with a nod, you certainly didn’t seem to believe him. You nudged him again, as best you could while staying casual around so many prying eyes before whispering, “Javi…”

“I need to talk to you.”

Those were some of the words he hated hearing in a relationship, he couldn’t even believe he was the one saying them. But you didn’t flinch from them as he always would. You just nodded and continued fixing your own drink.

“Okay, we can slip away—”

“Aw, look at my two favorite agents.” Because why would the two of you be able to escape Stechner for just two fucking seconds— “Is this for me?”

The balding CIA station chief wrapped his arm around your waist possessively as he reached for the fresh drink in your hand and Javi couldn’t help the sickness that rose in his stomach, he couldn’t even quench it by taking a hefty sip of his own drink.

“Agent Peña, do you mind if I steal my agent for a minute.”

He hated that he even asked, this man only spoke in condescension, it was disgusting. Like you were just a tool at his disposal, a weapon to keep strapped to his hip to use as he pleased. Javi hated it. It wasn’t even about the CIA wiretaps, it was just about you now.

“Why don’t you ask her?” He scoffed into his glass but Stechner just laughed.

“Well if I asked her, she’d have to say yes, she works for me…” He chuckled, turning his face to whisper something into your ear and you nodded. “Excuse us.”

You gave him a nod carefully, assuring him everything was okay as you were pulled away and he gave you one back. He’d just have to catch you when you came back.

That was if you came back.

He tooled around for at least an hour, talking to diplomats and soldiers he was hoping to avoid all together. He played nice though, while he waited. He sipped on his drink and smiled, he told brief Escobar stories and even laughed when he felt the Ambassador’s eyes on him, just waiting for you to come back.

And checking his watch as you walked back in, he knew you had been gone for an hour and a half before you stalked directly for him and excused him from his conversation.

“Let’s go home.”

He didn’t even have time to let his heart flutter around the idea of you calling going back to his apartment going home. You left his side and began saying your goodbyes before slipping out on his own, and left him no choice but to do the same a few minutes later, shaking the Ambassador’s hand and meeting you by his car.

That sly smirk you had at the drink cart was gone. Your whole natural disposition when the two of you were alone together was gone.

Whatever Stechner had said had set you off in some way, so the last thing he wanted to do was spark this for you before you were in private, before he had you back at home. But the second he got you back, opening the door to the apartment and letting you in first as he always did, you moved straight for his liquor cabinet.

“Querida, what did—”

“You said you needed to talk to me about something?” You didn’t let his question even finish, you just asked yours back and filled up a glass with more than a couple of fingers of whiskey before downing a heavy sip.

Now he wasn’t so sure if he did.

“Is it about what happened in Cali?’ You hummed the question the downed another sip, finally turning back to him and beginning to strip your heels off.

“Yeah, it is…”

“So?”

He took a step forward and inhaled a deep breath, with your eyes on him like this, he couldn’t hold off anymore. He needed to know he could trust you, he had to ask…

“My Cali team was faxed 73 classified CIA documents…” He shifted his gaze to his feet, he just couldn’t look at you and that dress, not if he wanted to get out all the points he needed to. “We don’t know who sent them, but they show the CIA has been illegally wiretapping the DEA embassy and personal phones…”

He watched you down the rest of your glass with a throw of your head back then place the glass back on the table. But you didn’t say anything, not right away, not until he moved to ask the question, enough time passing for you to finally process his words.

“What the hell are you accusing me of, Javi…”

“I’m not—”

Your scoff cut him off, bringing his stare back to your body as you turned to lean over the drink cart. “You’re telling me this morning in the shower, ‘we don’t talk about work’, but now we are, and you think you’re not accusing me of something? Why the hell else would you bring this up?”

“Because I need to ask what you know—”

“Oh, fuck you Javier.”

He had never heard your voice take that tone, not with him. He had heard it on the phone a few times but never directed to him, it wasn’t a sound he ever wanted to hear again. And as his face fell, his hand gripping the edge of his kitchen counter tight enough to nearly make his hand numb, he watched you take another step closer to him, the drinks left behind.

“Go ahead, ask me, see if you can do it without accusing me of either illegally spying on you or illegally faxing files to your agents, betraying my agency.” You fought, folding your hands over your chest almost defensively as he brought his hands to settle on his hips, chin raising to the challenge.

“Betraying your agency?” He scoffed, regretting it as it flowed from his lips, but he was too deep into I now. “You mean betraying the condescending man who treats you like a piece of meat that he owns, who undermines your ability and your assignments—”

“Yeah, he’s the condescending one…” you met his scoff with one of your own.

He tried to tell himself that it was the drinks that were fueling you and your smart mouth but that didn’t little to ease the slowly boiling heat in his chest.

“You think I am?” He fought defensively, his mustache twitching as his lips formed around the words.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Javier.” You shook your head, the exasperated words falling from your lips before you cared to stop them,“god, you’re accusing me of betraying my agency for what? For you? For this?”

For this? What even was this? He knew how he felt about you and he thought he knew how you felt about him but he was too blind in the moment to care about any of it. The heat in his vision paled in comparison to the heat of your body pressed against his, yet he kept shouting, hoping he’d feel less cold.

“It’s either that or you’ve been helping the CIA spy on my agents—”

Your chuckle was drenched in the same tone, “Which is a crime, you’re accusing me of a crime.”

“You work for the CIA and I’m not, I’m just asking because I don’t know—”

The hit at your agency might have been a low blow but was he wrong?

“And you have no proof—”

“I do have proof. Of the CIA, of you…” He took another step forward as your face twisted into confusion. “Of all the files sent over, Fiestl’s call with his kid, Van Ness and his mother… my phone calls weren’t there and I only ever call the office or you…”

You took an extra second to process that accusation, not a long one, but just one long enough to let you both catch your breath, to stop the interruptions and shouting.

Just long enough until you could only produce one word.

“Wow.”

Somehow that one hurt most of all.

His whole tone shifted, but yours merely hardened, “Querida, I don’t want to—”

“No, clearly you have it all figured out. 73 documents and it’s what you don’t have which caught me so clearly red-handed—” You couldn’t force more sarcasm into your tone if you tried but he wasn’t laying down just yet.

“I wanted to offer you a chance to tell me otherwise, I wanted to hear your side of the story—”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you! God, I’m so stupid.” You brushed your hair back and scoffed, holding your hands atop your head. “When you trust someone, you don’t accuse them of crimes against their country, Javier. And clearly I was stupid to trust you—”

“I do trust you, but if you had what I had, you’d be asking me the same thing—”

“No, Javier, I wouldn’t. Because I’m the idiot who wore this dress for you.”

You could’ve worn any dress in your closet, hell, you could’ve gotten away with the pant suit you wore to work. But you knew he’d like this one, you wanted him to like you in this one...

“Querida—”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“The CIA is spying on my agency, I have proof of that, and I’m sleeping with a CIA agent. I have a responsibility to my agency to figure out what they know, what they’re using it for, and to exhaust every possible avenue to figure that out—”

He sounded like the DEA handbook and he didn’t like it, but the words just fell out, or more so, we’re pushed out by the heat still bubbling over in his chest.

“Oh boo hoo, Javi. You’re under stress? This is fucking Colombia.” You scoffed, reaching down for your heels and purse, “Stechner pulled me aside tonight to tell me he’s diverting funds from my human trafficking tracking program to focus on Cali and your stupid fucking drugs, and the man I’m just ‘sleeping with’ just accused me of a couple of crimes. But yeah, clearly you’re under stress, that makes this okay.”

“I didn’t accuse you of—” He thought about lifting his hand in a show of surrender but the anger within him wouldn’t even allow it, even if the alternative was to watch you walk away.

“I’m such an idiot…” You blew past him, knocking shoulders with him but he turned around quickly to grab your wrist, only to have you rip it away, “Goodnight, Javier.”

His hand held out where it last touched yours, embodied by the haunting grip now. It wasn’t foreign, it was him, and it just pushed the woman he loved right out the door.

As the door slammed shut behind you and he walked straight to the drink table and picked your empty glass up. He filled it once, downed it, filled it again, downed it, then took the empty glass and threw it as hard as he could into the wall, shattering the glass around his apartment.

“Fuck.”

It wasn’t the stress. He did it. He could call it stress or the drinking or the fact that he’s never felt as alone as he did when his agents showed him files which implicated you... he didn’t want to believe it but it made sense. All signs pointed to you.

Except one. His gut.

His gut which screamed you wouldn’t, that he trusted you and you wouldn’t do either of the things he accused you of.

You wouldn’t betray your agency and you would have warned him if you knew about the wiretaps. He knew that, he trusted you.

What the fuck did he just do...

—

tags:

@the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @ms-dont-care @leo-moon @tiffdawg @readsalot73 @way-too-addicted-to-anime @keeper0fthestars @adikaofmandalore @opheliaelysia @magneticbucky @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @larakasser @littlevodika @mandoren @mistermiraclee (open)

[selanpike]

Abandoned Trollcops/Problem Sleuth fic

i’m bored so i’m posting this old trollcops concept i wrote a couple years ago

i meant to have it be this big sprawling thing, including all the trolls and the beta kids and team sleuth and the crew, but it was way too big for me, so all i ended up writing was the first three chapters--basically, the intros for sleuth, pickle and ace. 

i don’t plan to return to it. i still can’t get my head around the whole thing. but i like what i wrote, and maybe you might like it too? so here u go.

Chapter One

Spending any amount of time with Spades Slick is dangerous at best, you knew that. You also knew that you were making things worse by spending so much time with him, but you were counting on bruises and stab wounds, not this.

The interrogation room is sickeningly bright. The lights make it impossible to know what time it is outside. You know it was close to sunrise when they brought you in, but you’re not sure how long you’ve been here. Even the ticking of a clock would be a welcome reprieve from this boredom. You wish they’d just throw the book at you already.

The door finally opens, creaking a little as it does so. Apparently the Alternia Police Department can’t even afford a can of WD-40. Two officers walk in. You recognize them from your various interactions with the police in the past few years--Sergeants Terezi Pyrope and Sollux Captor. Sergeant Pyrope pulls up a chair and sits down at the table across from you, lacing her fingers together. You can’t read her expression through her opaque red glasses. You’ve heard that she’s blind, but she seems to stare right through you.

“Problem Thleuth.” Sergeant Captor reads from your file, standing behind his partner. “Thirty-five yearth old. Prothpitian. Failed out of polithe academy at age twenty-four. Ith that right?”

“I wouldn’t say failed,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “I jus’ didn’t like how y’all--I mean. I wasn’t a fan ‘f the bureaucracy.”

“Is that so,” Terezi says.

You nod.

“So you dropped out and became a private investigator,” she says. “Is that right?”

“You know the answer to that,” you say, rubbing your temples. “Don’t pretend like we’re strangers.”

The silence that breaks out is painful. You run a hand through your hair, quietly wondering if your hat is okay, wherever they’ve taken it. Why the hell did they take your hat? What sort of monsters would mess with a man’s hat? This sort of shit is why you could never cut it as a cop.

“You’re charged with being an accessory to arson,” Pyrope tells you. 

“Do me a favor ‘n arrest th’ guy who actually did th’ arson-ing,” you mutter.

“The alleged perpetrator is one Thpades Thlick,” Captor says, reading the file. “Damn, man. Thpades, really?”

“I ain’t an accessory t’ nothin’ that asshole does,” you say, slamming a hand on the table. “I was tryin’a stop that goddamn arson!”

“We have multiple witnethheth who thay they thaw you making out with the thuthpect before the fire broke out,” Captor says.

You wilt under their stares.

“I was tryin’a distract ‘im,” you say, weakly. “He’s a dangerous customer, after all. ‘S the ol’ honey pot maneuver, y’know?”

“It didn’t work,” Pyrope says, grinning her sharp-toothed grin. 

“N--no,” you admit.

Sergeant Captor hands Pyrope the file, and she makes a show of flipping through it. It’s a pointless gesture since you know damn well she can’t read it. You try to look at what’s written on the pages, but she pulls the file away so she can give it a good long sniff. You slump over, leaning your arms on the table, thinking about how fucked you are, and what you’re going to do to Slick to get back at him for this. They’ll put you away for ages for this, you just know it. The APD have never been fans of yours, and you’re sure they’ve been waiting for the opportunity to put you away. 

You jump when Pyrope snaps the folder shut. She puts it down on the table, sliding it to the edge.

“I’m going to admit,” she says, slowly. “That, considering your history of making trouble, we took this opportunity to get a warrant to search your office.”

“You--you what?!”

“Well, the thusthpect is thtill on the looth,” Captor explains, and you wonder if you punch him hard enough if he’ll stop with that goddamn lisp. “We had to check and thee if there were any clueth ath to hith whereaboutth.”

“And what did you find, huh?” You’re raging mad now, and you aren’t bothering to hide it. “A whole bunch of jack shit. Or are you going to charge me with possession of a deadly writing implement or something?”

The two of them stare at you for a moment, and then Pyrope pulls a photo from her jacket. She places it in front of you. It shows your evidence wall, a large corkboard you’ve set up in your office to collect clues in the murder you’re investigating.

“So, what? You gonna charge me with murderin’ th’ District Attorney now?”

Pyrope and Captor look at each other, then back at you.

“We’ve been investigating the DA’s death too,” Pyrope says. “But we haven’t turned up a thing.”

“And here you are,” Captor adds. “With evidenthe we never even thought to look for.”

You grin a little. “Oh darlin’s, are you jealous?”

“We know Kingpin was behind it,” Pyrope says, and her voice is uncharacteristically devoid of humor. “Like he’s behind every other high-profile murder in this city. I’m sick of him making a mockery of this force.”

“Stop bein’ such a joke, then.”

 She stands up, slamming her hands on the table. “Take this seriously!”

You raise your eyebrows and wait for her to get to the point.

“We’re willing to offer you a deal,” she says. “We’ll ignore this latest… indiscretion, and you’ll help us put Kingpin behind bars.”

You laugh.

You can’t believe they’re actually coming to you for help. How many times have they impeded your investigations? How many times have they told you to buzz off, leave this to the real cops? How many times have they told judges not to accept your evidence, or straight up confiscated your evidence and claimed they found it themselves? And now they want you to help them?

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, still chuckling. “I musta misheard. Y’ couldn’t possibly be askin’ for my help. I mean, I ain’t a cop or nothin’. I ain’t got no authority.”

“Don’t be a jackathh,” Captor snaps.

“This is in your best interest,” Pyrope says. “You are, after all, still under arrest.”

She does sorta have you, there.

---

You have your hat back when Sergeant Captor takes you outside, to the back of the department. The sun has definitely risen by now, and you’re treated to all the sounds of the city waking up.

“Thith whole thing ith completely off the record,” Captor tells you as he closes the door behind him. “Honethtly, I think it’th dumb ath hell, but at leatht if you get into trouble, nobody’ll blame uth.”

“As long as I don’t trail it back to you,” you add.

“Obviouthlly,” Captor says. He pulls out his phone and types into it. “But we need one of ourth with you. Making thure you’re not fucking up too bad.”

“I’d really prefer we skipped that part,” you say, fixing your hair and trying to find just that right angle at which to wear your hat. “I don’t need no cops following me everywhere. It’ll slow me down.”

“Think of it like exthtra security,” Captor says, still typing into his phone.

The door opens and a short troll walks over, hands shoved in his pockets. He isn’t wearing a uniform, save for a badge he has hanging on a lanyard over a ratty red hoodie. He approaches you and Captor, then squints at you.

“I know you,” he says.

“I get around,” you reply.

“You’re that drunk fucknut that’s always making a scene in Crew territory.”

“Guilty as charged. Y’all’re jus’ gettin’ me on ev’rythin’ t’day!” You nudge Captor. “Sorry officer, looks like y’ gotta charge me for another crime.”

Captor groans and rolls his eyes. He slaps the newcomer on the back and mutters, “Good fucking luck,” before heading back inside.

You wait for the door to click shut before you say, brightly as you can manage, “The name’s Problem Sleuth. Solicitations for my services are--”

“I’m sorry, do I look like someone who gives a fuck?”

You drop the friendly act. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Vantas,” He says. “Karkat Vantas. I’m the undercover guy. I figure I got stuck with this because they figured I could tell the Captain I’m investigating you.”

“‘N I’m sure she’ll buy it,” you add.

“Yeah.” He sniffs, and looks you over in more detail. “I don’t think I’m the only one they’re gonna hand you. I know for sure they said they’re putting my partner, Nepeta, on this case too.”

You rub your face. “Great. Good. More cops, beautiful.”

He asks for your phone, and you exchange numbers. You then tell him to find something else to do with his day, because you’re going home and going the fuck to bed. This investigation can wait until tomorrow. 

---

It’s well after 8am by the time you get home, and all you want to do is sleep for ten years. Pickle and Ace will bitch about you not being at the office, but you can’t bring yourself to care. They’re already going to bitch when they hear about this new arrangement, so what’s a little more?

Unfortunately when you walk in, you find Spades Slick rummaging through your refrigerator.

You toss your keys onto the table and sit down. He turns around, cold pizza hanging out of his mouth, and slams the fridge door shut behind him. 

“I figured they’d have ya’ in th’ slammer a few weeks,” he explains through a mouthful of pizza. “So y’ wouldn’t mind if I ate yer food ‘fore it went bad.”

“Y’ couldn’t possibly post bail for me?”

“Fuck no. Who do y’ think y’ are, my Crew?” He moves his mug of coffee from the counter to the kitchen table, and then sits down across from you. “So who’d y’ call. Th’ stickbug? Did ‘e hafta give up his booze fund for th’ month?”

“No, nothin’ like that,” you say, reaching over and taking the coffee. Obviously sleep isn’t happening anytime soon, so what the hell. “They let me off.”

There’s a loud clatter as Slick’s chair falls over, and a knife is at your throat. It always amazes you how fast he is. You raise your hands in a conciliatory manner as he snarls at you.

“You fuckin’ snitched, didn’t you?”

“Slick, my most precious of darlin’s,” you say. “I would snitch on you all day, ev’ry day. But that ain’t what happened.”

“Bullshit!” The knife presses harder against your neck, and you feel blood beading along the blade. “Th’ APD don’ jus’ let people go, ‘specially not when they been with me. Th’ fuck did you do?”

“They hired me.”

He looks at you like you just sprouted a second head. He doesn’t move the knife at all.

You go on. “They’re investigatin’ Kingpin. They wanted my help.”

He finally pulls the knife away, but he doesn’t sit back down. “Great. Jus’ what I need.”

“Yeah, Slick,” you say, sipping the coffee. You’re not surprised that it tastes like shit. Slick probably isn’t used to brewing his own. That’s what he has lackeys for. “It’s exactly what you need. You want Kingpin outta th’ way? Jus’ let me ‘n the cops handle it.”

“Kingpin’s mine,” he growls.

“‘Scuse you.” You put the mug down. “‘M sorry, but did you know th’ stiff we found last week? No. Fuck no, y’ didn’t, ‘cause he was th’ law, ‘n he was my fuckin’ friend, not yours. Kingpin’s mine. He owns this fuckin’ apartment, my fuckin’ office, he’s got me by th’ balls without even tryin’ ‘n he murdered th’ DA ‘n none’f that’s got anythin’ t’ do with you.”

Slick narrows his eye at you, before pocketing his knife and stealing the mug back. He chugs the coffee down. 

“Fuck you,” he says, slamming the mug back onto the table. “I’ll do it my fuckin’ self.”

“Right,” you say as Slick grabs his jacket and makes for the door. “So I guess I’ll see ya’ tomorrow, then?”

He grunts in response, and slams the door behind him as he leaves.

You know he’ll be back. Partly because you know he can’t resist making your life miserable--the two of you have been caught up in your fucked up little dance for too long, and he’s not about to give that up--but also partly because you know he can’t take down Kingpin on his own. He’s tried for months to do things his way, to just murder his rival crime boss, but Kingpin is careful, and he’s elusive. In the end, the best way to go about bringing him down is to turn the city against him, to get the law on your side. If you can get an arrest warrant on him you can have the whole of the city’s resources helping you track him down. You could freeze his assets, plaster his face on every bulletin board in town. You’ll leave him no place to hide.

You’re going to do it. Your name is Problem Sleuth, and you are going to bring down Mobster Kingpin’s criminal empire.

The APD are definitely going to steal the credit when it’s all said and done, though, and that fact makes you sick to your stomach.

Chapter Two

> Be Pickle Inspector.

You feel as though you’re being punished for Sleuth’s poor life choices.

Nepeta Leijon is a new hire at the APD. She, and her friend Karkat, used to be common criminals. Pickpockets, for the most part, although you remember seeing a few other items on their rap sheet. You’d encountered them once or twice. Never up close--their crimes were never complicated enough to necessitate your intervention--but they’d show up sometimes as witnesses.

Uncooperative witnesses.

You were aware of their being hired. Something about the APD seeing them as valuable assets for undercover investigations. You see the logic, but you’ve never been a fan of undercover operations. You stand out too much. You’re too tall, too gaunt, too recognizable. Your preferred method has always been surveillance. You set up cameras and wiretaps all over the city, in all the seedier bars and meeting spaces. Nothing escapes your omniscient ogle.

Nothing except Kingpin. He’s careful. He doesn’t discuss anything important on the phone, least of all the phones in any of his businesses. You can’t figure out where he lives or where he holds any of his most secret of meetings. Even if you could, he always has too many guards patrolling his places, making it impossible for you to sneak in and plant anything.

It was infuriating before, but now with the death of the DA it’s got you on the end of your rope. And now they want you to babysit this rookie cop? How the hell are you supposed to get anything done?

You asked Sleuth what he did to invite this upon you, but he won’t tell you. You suspect Slick was involved. Slick is always involved these days. 

You have a solution to this problem, though. Well, not to the Sleuth-Slick problem, there’s no solving that, but the Nepeta problem was easy: let her work on transcribing your recordings so the two of you can finish them twice as fast. It leaves you with just enough free time to make tea and doodle in the margins of your notes. 

You’re halfway through a wonderful drawing of a horse wearing a bonnet when your phone rings. You have specific ringtones for every person who calls you often enough, and you put your head in your hands when you hear this one. Nepeta notices, and watches you as you sigh and answer the phone.

“I’m busy enough,” you whine into the receiver.

“That’s a shame,” says the smooth, dark voice of Diamonds Droog. “And here I had something I thought you’d be interested in.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“Meet me on the corner of 34th and Feldings,” he says.

“D--do I have to?” you say, clicking your pen. “Can’t you just, just tell me? On the phone? Like a normal person? I p-promise the line’s secure.”

“34th and Feldings,” he says again. “Now.”

He hangs up. You put your phone down, put your head on your desk, and groan loudly. Why is this your life? All you wanted to do today was transcribe audio logs and not interact with anybody. You even packed a lunch so you wouldn’t have to go out and talk to any fast food workers. 

Without your realizing it, Nepeta has picked up your phone and unlocked it. You make a mental note to change the passkey and not let her see you input it next time. “Diamonds Dickhead?” She makes an exaggeratedly surprised face, and puts your phone back on the desk. “Is that who I think it is?”

You stand up and fix your tie. “I have to go out.”

“Oh! Let me get my coat.”

“No.” You grab your own coat, put it on, and start buttoning it. You make a deliberate effort to put the buttons in the right holes, and you’re secretly glad you haven’t had much to drink yet today. “S--stay here and, and keep transcribing.”

“I’m paws-itively sure that’s super important,” she says, putting extra emphasis on her pun. You’ve noticed that she likes cat puns. In less infuriating circumstances, you’d think it was cute. “But I’m not here to help you so much as to watch you.”

You smooth your hair out and put your hat on. “That’s a terrible idea. N-no, you should just stay here, and not tell a soul I went out. U--unless I don’t come back. Then tell Sleuth. Understood?”

She grins a catlike grin and says, “Nope!”

Droog is never going to let you hear the end of this.

---

34th street is where his tailor is, so Diamonds Droog didn’t have to go out of his way to meet you. It is also clear on the other side of town relative to your office, so you had to go especially out of your way to meet him.

This is par for the course, and you make an effort not to look exhausted when you get there.

He’s waiting for you on a street bench outside his tailor’s, smoking one of his expensive cigarettes. You approach him, but don’t look at him directly. You stand behind the bench, facing away from him, pretending to read a bulletin board. Nepeta follows along, but she sneaks a few glances at Droog when she thinks you aren’t looking.

He breathes out a long puff of smoke before speaking. “Is the detective business so bad that you had to take up babysitting?”

“I n--needed the second job to, to support my tea habit,” you respond.

“That’s a funny way to say whiskey.”

“Oh, no. I steal that all from m-my boss. You see, he has a wealthy patron with a vested interest in, in keeping him too drunk to make good decisions.” You lean back onto the bench, crossing your arms. “I’m s-sure you don’t know anything about that.”

“I’m sure I don’t. Can she leave?”

“I don’t know.” You look down at Nepeta. “C-can you leave?”

“I can, yeah,” she says.

“A--are you going to?”

She shakes her head.

“Sorry,” you say to Droog. “It’s a, a long story.”

He pauses and takes another drag from his cigarette. He taps some ash out on the ground, then reaches into his jacket pocket. You have just enough time to hope that he isn’t pulling out a weapon with which to kill the witness you’ve brought along, before he pulls out a couple of photographs. He passes them to you. They all depict various old-looking artifacts. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen some of these in the museum.

“All of these have gone missing in the past month,” Droog explains. “Obvious signs of a break-in, but no evidence pointing to a culprit.”

“D--do you think Kingpin was involved?”

“Absolutely.”

You scrutinize the photos further, and notice that all the artifacts share a theme. Every one of them either depicts a horrorterror, or symbols associated with said terrors. “This, um. It looks like your sort of thing.”

“Hardly,” he says. “The four of us get our magic from the Terrors, but we don’t need trinkets like this to channel Their powers. They give it to us freely.” He illustrates this by producing a small purple flame in his hand. “Kingpin, though. He’s Prospitian, like you. He doesn’t have the connection to the Terrors that we Dersites have.”

You think about that as you pocket the photos. “Do you think he’s trying to make a pact with the Terrors?”

“Perhaps,” he says, extinguishing the flame. “It’s possible he’s seen what we can do and wants that power for himself. I doubt he’ll be successful.”

You wonder whether it would be possible for a Prospitian to make a pact with the dark gods. You’re almost tempted to let Kingpin try, just to get an answer. It’s not your best idea. If nothing else, these robberies give you one more thread you can follow in your attempts to get any charge at all to stick to him.

“I’ll look into this,” you tell him. “Call me if--if you hear anything.”

“As usual,” he says, before standing up.

He smooths out his suit, throws his cigarette to the ground and snubs it out with his heel. Without once looking at you, he strolls away. Nepeta waits until he’s out of earshot before she says, “You know, Mister Detective, you don’t act much like a detective.”

“H--how’s that?”

“All the wiretapping, and purr-tive meetings with shady guys,” she says. “You’re more like a spy.”

You let out a small laugh. “Don’t say that one to the others. They’ll start coming up with spy names for me.”

“Pickle Inspector’s okay for a spy name,” she says. You start walking, and she follows you. She has to trot a little to match your walking stride. “Spies don’t put ‘spy’ right in the name! It’s too conspicuous.”

You’re enjoying this flight of fancy, despite yourself. “I’ll need to imagine up some clever gadgets, to uh, to get me out of pinches.”

“And you’ll need a car,” she says. “A fancy one, that turns into a submeowrine.”

“And a, a dangerous love interest,” you add.

“Oh? You don’t have that already?” She grins up at you. “You and Diamonds Dickhead had an awful lot of chemistry. You aren’t caliginous?”

“What?” You shove your hands in your pockets and look towards the street. “No. Obviously not. Th-th-that’s just, just gross, ew.”

She giggles, and you don’t like the knowing look she gives you. You reach into your jacket, produce a flask, and take a long gulp. It doesn’t help your mood any. It just reminds you of the last time Droog caught you drinking in the middle of the day, and had the audacity to call you “pathetic”, as if lots of people don’t drink before noon on a weekday.

She’s still giving you that look. Fuck.

“A--anyway, the, the case,” you stutter, trying to get back on the subject of work.

“I know somebody,” she says. “That might help.”

“Who?”

She shrugs. “Old friend of mine. She knows all sorts of things about old stuff like what got stolen.”

“That would be, it’d be really useful,” you say.

“I’ll call her when she gets off work,” Nepeta says, adjusting her hat. “In the meantime we can get back to listening to your wiretaps. The part I was on was pretty juicy.”

You’re relieved she’s so easily given up the subject of Droog and gotten back to the task at hand. She might, despite your initial misgivings, be useful to have around.

“I’ve also started a shipping chart for everyone you’re surveilling,” she adds.

After she explains to you what a shipping chart is, you are simultaneously horrified, and intrigued at the new avenues this gives you when cataloguing and interpreting your data.

Chapter three.

> Be Ace Dick.

Once upon a time, you were a police detective. You like to give Sleuth shit over his lack of occupational experience, but he seems to think that his two weeks of police academy are all he could need. For someone who brags about his charisma, he really doesn’t understand the importance of making connections.

You haven’t been working on the Kingpin case with Sleuth and Pickles. You think they’re out of their league. Kingpin’s ruled this city since Sleuth and Pickles were still in grade school, they didn’t stand a chance. So while they ran around on their fool’s errand, you were out hitting the pavement, solving more sensible cases and keeping the agency afloat. Sergeant Pyrope was a rookie when you left the force, but she remembers you. Whenever you have a case that requires some APD know-how, you hit her up. There’s a little diner next door to the station that’s popular with the coppers, and that’s where she meets you to give you the low-down on some two-bit drug dealer who skipped out on a debt.

You buy her a second coffee once she’s said her piece and you’ve finished writing it all down. Then you tuck your notepad back into your coat pocket and say, “So I heard y’ gave Sleuth a job.”

She shrugs, grinning. “It should be worth a laugh. He always says he can do better than us, so let’s see it!”

You shake your head. “Here ‘m always tryin’ to tell him to stay off that case, and you’re just eggin’ him on.”

“So you’re not going to help?” she asks, before taking a sip of coffee.

“Hell no,” you say. “I quit the force to get away from that malarkey. You at least payin’ him?”

She laughs. “Do you think he’s going to ask?”

“He damn well will, because I’m goin’ to tell him to,” you say, jabbing a finger at her. She can’t see the gesture but she usually can tell that you’re doing one. You’re not sure if she hears the movement or somehow smells it. You don’t know how her weird sense of smell works. “We got rent to pay, missy. If he’s runnin’ around chasin’ Kingpin he isn’t doing other cases.”

“We’ll have to set up a collection,” she says. “I’ll put a little can in the break room. ‘Pay Mister Candy Corn’s rent’.”

Detective Vriska Serket walks over, whacking your hat off your head as she passes you to sit next to Terezi. “Can’t be too much, right? Doesn’t he live in a cardboard box?”

“That sounds right,” Terezi says. “But in this city that’s what, 500 bucks a month?”

“Depends on how new the box is, probably,” Vriska responds.

Terezi nods. “Either way, Kingpin owns it so it is absolutely drafty and leaks in the rain.”

“I’m not opposed to makin’ jabs at my dumbass not-boss,” you say as you straighten your hat out. “But I’m serious. You’re payin’ him. And Pickles too, if you got him involved.”

“We do,” Terezi says. “He’s got poor Nepeta bored to tears.”

“That’s a lie,” Vriska says, taking Terezi’s coffee and putting it in front of herself. “She started writing fanfiction about those counterfeiters on seventieth street. I’m going to try and convince her to submit it as evidence.”

“While that is hilarious, don’t. The Captain doesn’t need to know about any of this.” Terezi takes her coffee back and chugs down the remainder before Vriska can make another attempt. She coughs. 

“Now there’s an idea,” you say. “If you don’t pay up, I’ll go let Captain Peixes know what you’ve been up to.”

“Why Ace,” Terezi says, leaning forward. “Are you threatening me?”

“Might be.”

“Maybe if the Captain finds out she’ll get embarrassed enough to put me on the case,” Vriska says.

“Gettin’ tired of solvin’ murders?” you ask.

She throws her arms up in the air. “The only interesting crimes are the mob ones! All the regular crimes are just dumb shit, there’s usually a witness or a camera or something, there’s no challenge!”

“I thought you liked racking up wins,” Terezi said.

“I fucking love racking up wins,” Vriska says. “But I want ones worth my time. Kingpin’s the biggest baddie there is, I gotta get in on that.”

“Maybe you should let her follow Sleuth instead of that angry kid,” you say to Terezi.

She snickers. “No, I’d give her to Tootsie Roll Frankenstein.”

Vriska slaps the table. “You think you’re kidding around but I’d love having that guy work for me! He’ll do all the tedious boring shit so I have more time to pound pavement and beat in faces.”

“I’m glad you appreciate Pickles’ special sort of appeal.” You stand up, straightening out your suit. “Thanks for the tip, Pyrope. Now please stop takin’ advantage of my teammates.”

She salutes at you, and it’s dripping with irony. “No, I don’t think I will. You’re welcome to come get taken advantage of, though!”

“Fat chance,” you scoff, getting out your wallet. You pull out a few bills, enough to pay for your coffee and Terezi’s, and drop them on the table. “Take care of yourselves, ladies.”

“Tell Sleuth if he gets evicted I just got a washing machine and he might fit in the box if he gets on all fours!” Vriska calls as you leave the diner. You hear the two girls snickering behind you.

They laugh, but you know the APD’s pay is shit. You do much better for yourself working as a private dick. The lack of benefits are a kick in the nuts, but at least you don’t have to deal with all the paperwork and politics, and every now and then you got a client who paid you a ridiculous sum for some dumbass thing. Sleuth could do as well as you. He’s certainly got the sleuthing skills for it. He just keeps wasting his time worrying too much about justice and too little about the real world.

You figure he’ll learn eventually. Kids like him always do.

[kastlenetwork]

Thank you so much to everyone who posted anything for Kastle Smut Week, this year! And thank you so much to everyone who didn’t post, but enjoyed the work of those who did and showed love for their work ♡♡♡

Below the break, I’ve compiled everyone’s work from the week for you to go through and see if you missed anything. 

You can also look through the KastleSmutWeek 2k19 Collection on AO3, if you’d prefer to check through there! Thanx again, everyone! Awesome group continues to be awesome ♡♡♡

nothing warmer than 'i love you' [tumblr link] | by: ofsinnersandsaints Frank tells Karen he loves her for the first time

i'll be your man if you got love to get done [tumblr link] | by: HeartonFire Frank and Karen are at a turning point in their relationship, and they have a few things they need to say to each other.

walk this way [tumblr link] | by: soixantecroissants It’s probably one of the worst dates she’s ever been on.Wouldn’t take a genius to figure that out. They haven’t made eye contact for at least the last drink and a half. Conversation has been pretty monosyllabic, when anything gets spoken at all. And the prick keeps checking his phone beneath the table every two seconds like he isn’t sitting across from the most goddamn beautiful girl in the world.

Frank shakes his head and downs the rest of his whiskey.

What the hell are you doing with this guy, Karen?

moodboard | by: @superrpowerlesshuman

what spring does with the cherry trees [tumblr link] | by: bottledbliss Karen comes home in a mood and Frank can't think of a reason why he shouldn't give her what she wants.

won't be lonely long [tumblr link] | by: ofsinnersandsaints Frank shows up at Karen's hotel room, and well---what else are two people supposed to do alone together in a cheap hotel room but go down on each other?

took the breath from my open mouth [tumblr link] | by: HeartonFire Karen's dreams have been haunted by Frank Castle for months. When he comes back into her life, after everything that happened, she wants to make sure she doesn't wake up.

these walls (are meant to fall) [tumblr link] | by: therestlessbrook “What’s going on?” Karen says, sitting up. She looks down at herself—hands with too-long fingers, scars along her knuckles and a heavy weight around her chest. It’s a vest. She’s armed. She’s—

Holy fucking shit.

She’s Frank fucking Castle.

(Or that body swap fic I’ve been threatening to write.)

“I don’t think you really want me to go”  | by: @thevampirecat

nothing ever stops you leaving [tumblr link] | by: HeartonFire Post-DDS2, Karen is drowning her sorrows at Josie's, when a familiar face appears and offers to take her mind off things.

so delicate the bones [tumblr link] | by: carrythesky Five months since the hospital. Five months of hearing about him on the news, reading about his exploits in the paper, and unlike the last time he came back from the dead, none of it is speculation now. Frank Castle, the Punisher—

She sees that goddamn skull wherever she looks.

jealousy and rooftops [tumblr link] | by: ofsinnersandsaints   Frank gets a call from Karen when she gets in a situation where she doesn't feel entirely comfortable and when he gets he discovers Matt, dressed up as Daredevil, already there and Karen watches as something like jealousy sparks in Frank and she gets to feel exactly what Frank's reaction in while on the rooftop. 

Boddice-ripper [tumblr link] | by: CharmingProcrastinator   Looking back on it, it really should not have surprised either one of them that their first time had started off like a scene lifted from a bodice-ripper.

both hands now [tumblr link] | by: soixantecroissants   outtakes from an elevator.

i’d kiss you as the lights went out [tumblr link] | by: HeartonFire   Karen brings Frank to drinks with Foggy and Marci, but when the power goes out unexpectedly, the night turns out better than she planned. 

long time coming [tumblr link] | by: ofsinnersandsaints   Frank gets a call from Micro that someone has taken hostages at a gala - and when he hears Karen is one of them he runs to save her. After a bit of fighting and killing he gets her to safety; only for her to turn around and save him.

Immediately, with adrenaline and desire coursing through their veins, they reach for each other in the elevator. Something which has been a long time coming finally comes to fruition against the wall with Karen's legs wrapped around Frank.

death is not a love, oh yes he is | by: @c-sand / @kastlenetwork

let me love you [tumblr link] | by: ofsinnersandsaints   Karen comes home to her boyfriend drunk and a little horny; Frank is recovering from an injury and is more than happy to let Karen take control.

When I Watch You Dance | by: @goddamnitkastle Some nights I just lose it all when I watch you dance and the thunder rolls

you're the only place that feels like home [tumblr link] | by: HeartonFire   Frank needs a place to stay, and Karen can't let him keep sleeping on the couch.

playlist [tumblr link] | by: @neatmonsterr

safer in your arms [tumblr link] | by: ofsinnersandsaints Karen's apartment is getting painted, and since she was given absolutely no notice, she needs a place to stay for the night- which is how Frank ends up waking from a nightmare in the middle of the night with Karen in his bed and going on instinct he reaches for her.

let the tide swallow me whole | by: @ck90

when you move, i’m moved [tumblr link] | by: HeartonFire   Frank asks Karen for a favor, and she says yes. Where they end up isn't exactly where either of them planned.

Contact [tumblr link] | by: @neatmonsterr / PastelKastle   They spend a few nights working undercover at a bar to take down an arms dealer that never shows up.

let the tide swallow me whole [tumblr link] | by: therestlessbrook   He’s in a suit. A good suit. Sharp lines and crisp edges. He has a short beard and his face is unbruised. She hasn’t seen him since the hospital room. Since he left with that kid. She hasn’t said his name in months, not since she murmured, Good luck, Frank.

And yet, here he is. Standing in front of her, a bottle of beer in his hand. “Get you a drink?” he asks quietly.

(Or, Karen goes undercover at a dating auction.)

say my name (beg for me) [tumblr link] | by: ofsinnersandsaints   Basically Karen and Frank make out to keep their cover as a married couple, which leads to sexy shenanigans in the shower.

you get me closer to god | by: mydirtybusiness   “Atta girl,” he repeated, knowing just how well it made her ache for him. “Now open your legs for me.”

how you get the girl | by: HeartonFire Frank comes back into Karen's life when she least expects it and they have a conversation they've needed to have for a long time.

Of Schemes and Sex | by: Fervent_dreamer   When Karen is losing her apartment because you can't pay rent in chickens, Frank thinks it might finally be time to talk about moving in together.

and the cold was as sharp as my baby | by: ImaginaryParachute "In the three months that Karen Page had lived in this building, she had established a reputation for herself as a woman who did not show up in the lobby at the witching hour with the dripping wet arm of a black-clad man slung across her shoulders. It seemed it was time to reset the counter on that one."

-

Frank has hypothermia; Karen has researched hypothermia treatment. Frank finds this pretty compelling.

art | by: @spacearts

[tessatechaitea]

The Sandman Universe Presents: Hellblazer #1

I just want to see Constantine enter a Magic the Gathering tournament.

Bah! Always a debt do! PTUI!

Years of DC magic-users casting backwards spells and magicking up solutions to problems without a hint of "always a debt do" and then, suddenly, nobody can cast a fucking cantrip without paying out of pocket somehow. I get the "always a debt due" when you're dealing with demons or devils or some other kind of help from a summoned or black magic creature. But why the fuck must all magic cost something insane?! Just let Constantine do magic but occasionally he's got to deal with more powerful creatures or magicians who want something in return. Don't make him need to pay for every little thing he does. Something has eaten the sun so Constantine writes the word "Fuck" all over a decapitated pig's head. Can a head be described as decapitated? Isn't that the adjective for the body? Or does it only refer to both parts after separation? Anyway, you probably knew what I meant! I mean about the pig's head being separated from its body and not about how Constantine writing "Fuck" all over it will help return the sun.

Wouldn't be Hellblazer without the C-word. Although is it appropriate? I'm reading this prior to the watershed.

That's Chas's brief cameo in this new series. You might wonder how I know it's brief. Well, I read the next page where Chas dies distracting the evil monsters so that the super heroes can get the sun back. It's the quickest way for Simon to let the audience know that Constantine will do anything to save the world, even betray his friends. Plus he makes sure to say, "I've done worse for less," just to drive the point home. It's one of those revelations that would have greater impact over a long run of multiple different story arcs. But modern comic books don't understand that kind of accrued history anymore. Things have to happen quickly and in comic book shorthand, before the comic is cancelled. Plus, who wants to wait five years for sixty issues worth of history and characterization?! Spurrier knows Constantine has years of characterization and history already built up! Why not shove all of that into the first few pages of this new series and move on from there?! Constantine takes a bit of Chas's taxi cab shrapnel in the side and now he's probably dying. Sure, he could probably save himself by casting a spell that sends five babies to Hell. But first he has to find five babies! Instead, he just runs into young Tim Hunter from the past. John is all, "Oh, hey! Tim! Remember The Books of Magic? Remember Fairie? Remember how we all hated your stupid prat face? Anyway, this is your future and the bad guy ending the world is grown up you. Jerk." Tim Hunter is all, "That's me?! I wonder if I've been laid yet! Man, just think how much my older self's dick stinks!" Tim Hunter goes off to, I don't know, sue J.K. Rowling or something, leaving Constantine to die. But before Constantine dies, he's visited by old man Constantine. If things seem a bit crazy, it's because Constantine kept mentioning something about the world going mad or everything leading to madness or something that I didn't mention. But now I'm mentioning it so that all of this weirdness makes sense. Old Man Constantine wants John's soul in exchange for saving him. That's a pretty good deal, really! I'd totally go for it! Give up your soul to yourself way in the future? It's like putting it away for safe keeping! How the hell do you pass up that deal?!

That was my point! Take the deal, mate!

Constantine thinks Old Man Constantine is probably a Constantine from another universe and that there'll be some kind of catch. But he's dying and he doesn't have much time to decide so he takes the deal. That'll probably be important later! Old Man Constantine heals John, tells him to be the best John he can be, and then transports Constantine to some mental ward somewhere. Another universe without the sun being eaten? Maybe that was just the prologue to describe how Constantine leaped from the main DC Universe to the Black Label DC Universe. And now we can forget all of that Tim Hunter ending the world stuff that was so 1990s DC Vertigo weirdness. Now it's time for Constantine Unplugged! That just means he can say cunt again. Constantine manages to talk his way out of Ravenscar psychiatric hospital and discovers he's in modern London where Brexit is happening. Or not happening. Or not not happening? I guess we'll find out the next chapter of Brexit after the special elections. Go Labour!

Constantine having a bit of a philosophical thought about his own entanglement in a comic book ret-con.

I feel bad for comic book fans who need a moment like the panels above to justify comic book continuity. Who dreams of having some kind of solid, historical timeline without any errors throughout? Especially when your main characters never age. What the fuck do they want? Magic?! Anyway, I think Spurrier does the best he can here dealing with the audience he knows he need to fucking explain every little thing to. He's just putting it right out front: "Yeah, Constantine has a bunch of memories that don't mesh at all and he's now in 2019 and he's in his thirties or something and yes he was heavily involved in the 70s punk scene and maybe just get over it, okay? You're reading a funny book about magic. Grow the fuck up." Constantine finds Chas possessed by all the demons that meant to kill him years ago. He's dying of cancer from second-hand smoke and tells Constantine to fuck off and ruin somebody else's life. So John fucks off to go ruin somebody else's life. Or maybe to be a better version of himself. Or just to go drink himself into retirement. Sandman Universe Presents: Hellblazer #1 Final Thoughts: I guess this is the Hellblazer #1 prologue introducing the new series starting this week in Hellblazer #1. That's going to be really confusing for my image tags if I forget that I labeled these images "Hellblazer1.jpg" and such. If the scans in this review don't seem to make any sense, it's because you're reading this a few months on and I forgot about the image tags and reused the same tags for John Constantine, Hellblazer #1 coming out this Wednesday (but which I won't probably review for another week or two). Sorry!

[lindsayslife]

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo - Taylor Jenkins Reid Rating: 4/5 Genre: Historical Fiction Length: 388 pages

Caution: spoilers

“The root of most of my problems is that I need to be secure enough in who I am to tell anyone who doesn’t like it to go fuck themselves.”

Synopsis

I finished this book a few nights ago and have since been enthralled with my latest read. But this book was very amusing so it definitely deserves a review! I read this for a facebook book club for June.

Monique is an amateur writer at Vivant. Her boss calls her into her office hesitating to explain that Evelyn Hugo - a movie star since the 1960s - agreed to do an article for Viviant only if Monique would interview her and write it. They were both shocked - why wouldn’t Evelyn prefer a more experience writer? Why would she choose Monique by name?

Monique went to her house and was greeted by Evelyn’s charming housekeeper named Grace. When Evelyn and Monique were going over the terms for the article, Evelyn stated she actually wanted Monique to write a biography for her - finally a tell all of Evelyn’s life. She allowed Monique to publish it and sell it after Evelyn passed. Monique was dumbfounded - how would she tell her company that Evelyn didn’t actually want to do an article with them? Would she lose her job? But this is an opportunity of a lifetime, to be able to write a book that the whole world would be interested in.

The book follows Monique’s & Evelyn’s sessions where Evelyn reveals her whole life from the very beginning. From growing up in Hell’s Kitchen, NYC to becoming an actress in Hollywood to all 7 of her husbands and lovers. After their meetings you see Monique change for the better - standing up to her boss, ex-husband, and to Evelyn to get what she wants. At the end, you find out why exactly Evelyn chose Monique as a writer (aside from enjoying her articles).

Thoughts

This book was like the dirtiest gossip you want to here but you don’t want to be apart of - so reading it as a book was the perfect medium to get in-the-know. Evelyn’s life was absolutely insane.

Discussion Questions:

1. Each husband’s section opens with an illustrative moniker (for example, "Poor Ernie Diaz," "Goddamn Don Adler," "Agreeable Robert Jamison"). Discuss the meaning and significance of some of these descriptions. How do they set the tone for the section that follows? Did you read these characterizations as coming from Evelyn, Monique, an omniscient narrator, or someone else?

I read them coming from Evelyn but thinking back it probably came from Monique when she wrote Evelyn’s biography. They give the reader a “taste” on what the men are like & how they treated Evelyn.

2. Of the seven husbands, who was your favorite, and why? Who surprised you the most?

My favorite was Harry BY FAR - even though he was gay I loved that they were best friends and they got to also live with their real significant others during that time. I’m glad Evelyn had a child with a man she truly loves rather than one of the other guys.

3. Monique notes that hearing Evelyn Hugo’s life story has inspired her to carry herself differently than she would have before. In what ways does Monique grow over the course of the novel? Discuss whether Evelyn also changes by the end of her time with Monique, and if so, what spurs this evolution.

4. On page 147, Monique says, "I have to 'Evelyn Hugo' Evelyn Hugo." What does it mean to "Evelyn Hugo"? Can you think of a time when you might be tempted to "Evelyn Hugo"?

To “Evelyn Hugo” is to stand up for yourself and get what you want. Monique had to do this multiple times throughout the book during interviewing Evelyn Hugo - with her boss, ex-husband, Evelyn. I would say I tried to do this when I didn’t get into my top choice podiatry school - so I contacted them, sent over more information, and tried to persuade them to give me an interview. It didn’t work out but it took a lot of guts to even try.

5. Did you trust Evelyn to be a reliable narrator as you were reading? Why, or why not? Did your opinion on this change at all by the conclusion, and if so, why?

Throughout the book I trusted Evelyn to be a reliable narrator while I read. She came clean in the end so I think it proves it even more that she is reliable. I don’t understand what her motive would be to even want to write a biography if she wasn’t going to be truthful.

6. What role do the news, tabloid, and blog articles interspersed throughout the book serve in the narrative? What, if anything, do we learn about Evelyn’s relationship to the outside world from them?

I think it drove home the point that tabloids are just what writers think the audience want to hear - and it may be wayyy far from the truth. Throughout the book you could also see Evelyn manipulating the tabloids to what she wanted them to say. I think you can see that the outside world is another game for Evelyn to play.

7. At several points in the novel, such as pages 82–83 and 175–82, Evelyn tells her story through the second person, "you." How does this kind of narration affect the reading experience? Why do you think she chooses these memories to recount in this way?

I think these points are low points in Evelyn’s life where she wants to disassociate herself from it. I couldn’t find the first chunk but page 175-82 was when she had a “quickie” wedding with Mick and slept with him. She did this in order to manipulate the media away from her and Celia. She really didn’t want to sleep with someone other than Celia and she knew she would hurt Celia in this process so by talking in second person she tries to disassociate from the situation.

8. How do you think Evelyn’s understanding and awareness of sexuality were shaped by her relationship with Billy—the boy who works at the five-and-dime store? How does her sensibility evolve from this initial encounter? As she grows older, to what extent is Evelyn’s attitude toward sex is influenced by those around her?

Billy would fondle Evelyn’s developing boobs for fun and this ingrained in Evelyn that her worth is only her body - and that’s all men will ever “love” her for. Her sensibility evolved from this by not letting men do this to her for free - she used her body to get what she wanted throughout her career. Eventually, Evelyn just got exhausted and all she wanted to do is have sex with the one person it actually meant something with. She stopped caring about what sex could get her, and started caring about things like love.

9. On page 54, Evelyn uses the saying "all’s well that ends well" as part of her explanation for not regretting her actions. Do you think Evelyn truly believes this? Using examples from later in her life, discuss why or why not. How do you think this idea relates to the similar but more negatively associated phrase "the ends justify the means"?

Honestly, I don’t think Evelyn ever regretted her actions, even in the end. The only instance I could think of her regretting was the Mick incident but even then, it got reporters off her back with Celia (but it meant she lost Celia for a few years). In the end I think she only regretted the time spent away from Celia. But to go off of “all’s well that ends well” - the last 10 years of Celia’s life that they got to spend in Spain was wonderful, especially with Evelyn’s daughter maturing into a bright young woman as well.

10. Evelyn offers some firm words of wisdom throughout her recounting of her life, such as "Be wary of men with something to prove" (p. 77), "Never let anyone make you feel ordinary" (p. 208), and "It is OK to grovel for something you really want" (p.192). What is your favorite piece of advice from Evelyn? Were there any assertions you strongly disagreed with?

My favorite piece of advice was what I quoted in the beginning of this review - “The root of most of my problems is that I need to be secure enough in who I am to tell anyone who doesn’t like it to go fuck themselves.” I am a firm believer that if people don’t like me, I don’t care. I am who I am and I’m not here to try to please anyone by changing myself.

11. Several times, Evelyn mentions having cosmetic surgery. What was your reaction to this? How do these decisions jibe with the value system and ethical code that she seems to live by? Why do you think Evelyn continues to dye her hair at the end of her life?

Cosmetic surgery is a huge part of many peoples lives - especially famous people. I don’t think it really has a direct correlation with her value system. She may continue to dye her hair because she never knows when someone may snap a picture of her or maybe she just feels better about herself by looking good.

12. Review the scenes on pages 199 and 348, in which Evelyn relays memories of conversing in Spanish after years without speaking it. Discuss the role language plays in her understanding of who she is. In what ways does her relationship to her Cuban identity parallel her experiences with her sexuality, and in what ways does it differ?

When Evelyn got famous, she was essentially stripped from her Cuban heritage. It parallels because in the beginning of her career she didn’t really care about either of them - her Cuban identity or her sexuality. But in the end, when her sexual relationship with Celia was blossoming and they were living in Spain, she was using Spanish to help her whole family that moved there. It differs because she didn’t use her Cuban identity to help her get what she wanted - she hid it from the world, while she used her sexuality for her advantage.

13. If you could meet and interview one celebrity at the end of their life, who would it be? What would you ask them?

I would interview Seung Ri from Big Bang and ask him about the recent scandals - why he would do that, if all they were saying was true, etc.

[paragonrobits]

in this liveblog i did while reading Vast Error, we shall see more of Albion, the gal who is all the Lantern Corps at once... kinda!

also i initially wrote this by copy-pasting pictures from the actual site into the google doc but it didn’t paste over, and some of my writing was, at the time, based on the assumption you could see that too, im sorry

Let’s see, last time i was reading Vast Error, I met this olive gal called Albion! Let’s check up what’s with her, yeah?

What the heck that’s a green lantern ring, its even the right shape and stuff? Also that is a very pretty sweater, looks like a christmas sweater almost

You are completely green and stable! Hooray! You already knew this, because your ring is always completely green and stable as that is your WILL.

Um that sounds a bit worrying, Albion, are you okay?? But stability = green/Will sounds about right! It looks like her ring is….. A literal mood ring. I love and hate this pun, it is my new kismesis.

Reading further along, I get the impression that her moods strongly dictate her personality and she won’t let herself feel anger at all, nor fear or greed. While that’s a laudable goal, I feel that this is not at all healthy for her state of mind, especially not anger. Also, pity instead of love! CONSISTENCY WITH TROLL ALIEN-NESS.

I got a bit of a smile on the white = life thing, ahhh now the Blackest Night returns to me. The connoitions of the Black Lanterns corps as blank is an interesting one, too.

Star Childre reminds me of both a play on the whole Lantern Corps thing, and back when you have New Age philosophies that referred to themselves or their kids like that? That whole Indigo Children thing. I know they had specific terms for autistic people that was probably meant to be nice but even then came off as condescending at best.

Albion im probably going to gently mock u a little bit at some point but in all honesty your room sense is very well together. Look at this excellent lay out! IS THAT A FROG POND IN THE CORNER OR JUST A LOTUS. EITHER WAY IS SIGNIFICANT. That’s almost definitely a bonsai tree on your desk, in any case.

Now you have to do a quest to find a scholar in Daedric languages, stay away from the Stalwards of Stendar, they are mean. Plus you literally look like a daedra and someone with the right mods could easily play as you, so…… be careful plz

You're taking the time to properly translate it to CURRENT TEXT first, which has been taking longer than you expected. Your language as of now is structured very differently than that of anything before THE RENIASSANCE, in both phrase and symbol. You've been staying away from digging deep into this scroll until you've gotten that done, you like to be surprised when you read tales of the past. You really have your priorities straight!

Though, from what you've seen just at this quick glance, it seems to talk about some sort of CURSE THROUGH BLOOD.

Curse through blood?? I iniitally would assume that this would have something to do with a Karkat analogue but I know there’s nothing like that going on here. I therefore assume that it is an ancestral issue that will come into play later, maybe?

Doing this task was for once not for your personal enjoyment, but at the request of your MATESPRIT, who you have been slowly teaching PLANETARY CUSTOMS as they are rather BEHIND.

Your ring begins to turn PINK.

You slap it.

It goes back to green.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAASP I DONT KNOW WHO IT IS BUT IM ALREADY SHIPPING IT. A lesson to other writers; if you want someone to ship the relationship you’re planning, a good idea might be to emulate that kind of writing. THAT is what they mean by ‘show, dont tell’

I wont lie, that looks disgusting as hell but it also looks genuinely relaxing. One time when i was living with my dad back when he was living with, and I’m not kidding here, an actual evil step-mother out for his money that abandoned him the second she cleaned him out, i took a mud bath in a giant hole we dug for…. Some reason. I don’t remember why. It was very nice, it was at a point of my life where ‘idk why the hell not’ is a legit excuse and i have recursed back to that era. The world may never know why this happens

You use GLOP ENHANCERS to make each experience slightly different, though you've been set on MIRACULOUS VIEW lately. The colors really permeate in both size and smell.

HMMMMMM. It’s just me remembering Gamzee, sweet as he was without Caliborn fucking him up, but ‘miraculous view’ has me deeply concerned and a bit suspicious here.

‘Recieve message from Taz’ AWWWW HELL YEAH, OUR GIRL IS BACK IN THE HOUSE, WHOOT WHOOT

You could feel the hot passions of her overblown conundrums coming from miles away.

I was already shipping this before i even know it was my fav purple wrestler gal coming back in to hug my brain in an angry fashion.

Its likely not deliberate but ‘hot passions of overblown conundrums’ makes Taz sound exactly like what would happen if Karkat and Gamzee fused into a troll gal or had a daughter. IDEA FOR AN AU, KARKAT AND GAMZEE HAVE A DAUGHTER, WITH TEREZI AS SURROGATE MOTHER GRUB, AND TAZ IS THAT CHILD. FILM IT AND I PROMISE YOU ALL THE MONIES WILL FLOW.

However, you'll need your ASTRAL PROJECTOR in order to use SKORPE and speak with her, a device which has been placed in your SPIROGRAPH MODUS.

I assume that astral projector is a very literal thing here, and a spirograph modus sounds HORRIBLY inefficient

Your modus is currently rigged to an eleven card system on a ten point graph.

The ASTRAL PROJECTOR holds a spot in the middle, which will always be a WHITE card. It is also surrounded by five currently inaccessible BLACK cards and five accessible GREEN cards.

The center card can be accessed and can have something new put in it at any time. Doing either of these actions will alter the arrangement of the spirograph.

There’s more but i didnt wanna copy the whole page and really i was not wrong when i said this was inefficient, but it IS very interesting!

Like i honestly LOVE, LOVE TO PIECES the more in-depth and weird sylladexes that primiered with the trolls coming into the scene. Fandom never employs sylladexes and this is a travesty, bring them back, do it now, with GUSTO.

New challenge: take a fantroll and give them a sylladex that’s weird and cool. Not a joke, DO IT NOW PLEASE

Luckily, you've rigged your modus with some of your less appealing sounding candles to have your item just where you need it.

The SPIROGRAPH now allocates one of your TRANSLATED SCROLLS into the center card, allowing your POTENT GLOP ENHANCERS, SPARE INCENSE, SEXTANT and GRUBBY JUICE SCENTED CANDLE around it as the INACCESS cards. Not that you'll be needing them anytime soon.

Aren't things much better when you plan ahead?

I have to admit, if Karkat or literally any of the other trolls with ill-timed inventories had thoguht ahead like you, a lot of messes would have been avoided. You’d make a FANTASTIC life coach to the canon trolls, someone get albion a machine to travel into other universes so she can do just that.

Taz comes along and winds up seducing equius just by flexing in aggressive ways, their children are lovely

You place the ASTRAL PROJECTOR in front of you, using your SPIRIT POWER in order to activate it.

You will now have electronic access in THE CELL.

Aw, nice-

WAIT A MINUTE

Did she say what i think she did

THE CELL.

Holy fuck

Is she in some kind of prison!?

If she is i assume she put herself in there on purpose

-----------

Is, is that a fucking sniper rifle aimed right at her head!?!?!?!

NO NO NO NO DO NOT FUCKING FADE TO BLACK ON ME, YOU HEAR ME!? YOU SCOUNDREL, YOU CADS, YOU ABSOLUTE FIENDS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ohhhhh oh okay wait a minute:

I may have been misinformed about this, it looks like this is something similar to a chakra point being opend, perhaps? A sign of enlightenment tied to her meditating? AND WHAT IS UP WITH HER EYES IN THAT PAGE

MIRACULOUS INDEED. Seriously it looks like Gamzee-tier colorfulness

No wait!

Rainbow eyes

Eyes the color of all the shades in the spectrum

That is goddamn cool i want that to be a thing for trolls in general that are transcending the limits of the hemospectrum: AU where terezi’s eyes do that when she does the mind-y thing?

Ooooh pretty even the background takes on thel ight of the hemospectrum and, if im not wrong, the colors are grouped in a similar fashion but a bit more chaotically arranged. That might just be color blurring into another in the normal way, though

Tranquility is an asset harshly under utilized in the minds of others.

That is why yours acts as a personal safe haven.

Well i mean you’re not wrong

That’s pretty dang sensible, i like this way of doing it

Letting your mind be a safe haven is just…. Common sense, really, we sohuld all strive to be like her

[fae-fucker]

Crown of Midnight: Chapter 1-2

Fuck you.

Fuck me.

Fuck this.

Let’s do this.

Chapter 1

We open on Sardines being all assassin-y (took you long enough, you silly blond bitch) and sneaking into some nobleman’s house.

Concealed beneath a black mask and hood, she willed herself to melt into the shadows, to become nothing more than a slip of darkness.

*deep sigh*

I can’t believe I’m doing this shit again. Why do I hate myself this much?

The [servant] hadn’t noticed the wet footprints on the floorboards.

How convenient. 

Lord Nirall was no older than thirty-five, and his wife, dark haired and beautiful, slept soundly in his arms.

Gotta make sure the wife is beautiful!! What else are women good for, right?

Feminism!

Sardines wonders what this man did to offend the king so. But then she doesn’t?

It wasn’t her place to ask questions. Her job was to obey. Her freedom depended on it.

If you wanted freedom so bad, why didn’t you just escape as soon as you found the secret escape route, you dumb bitch?

Her sword slid out of its sheath with barely a whine. She took a shuddering breath, bracing herself for what would come next.

I can’t believe it’s only chapter one and I already have to bust this one out, but damn:

Some assassin.

Chapter 2

Sardines is back in the castle delivering “Lord Nirall’s” severed head and some other goodies.

No one spoke as it bounced, a vulgar thudding of stiff and rotting flesh on marble. It rolled to a stop at the foot of the dais, milky eyes turned toward the ornate glass chandelier overhead.

Mmm, yes, Sarah! Sarah, I just LOOOOVE it when you get so edgy! Look how dark and mature your books are, Sarah! 

The king notes that he can barely recognize him because of all the cuts and slashes on his face. I’m assuming since Jammo can’t actually write a morally grey protagonist, it’s not actually Lord Nirall and Sardines has just been finding coprses that look like her victims or some shit.

Celaena gave him a crooked smile, though her throat tightened.

Yep, ok, that’s exactly what it is. 

Supposedly Sardines is supposed to be this brilliant social strategist, but as soon as somebody even slightly doubts her lies, she just flips her shit and starts getting nervous. 

Some MASTER MANIPULATOR. 

She extended the hand to Chaol, whose bronze eyes were distant as he took it from her and offered it to the king. The king’s lip curled, but he pried the ring off the stiff finger.

Why didn’t you just ... bring the ring. Without any hands.

Is it just to make it more gruesome, Jammo? Is that what it is? You realize it just makes it dumber, yes? 

And why aren’t these chunks of rotting flesh filled with maggots? Would that just be too icky, Jammo? You can only handle Hollywood edginess? PG-13 edginess?

“What of his wife?” the king demanded, turning the ring over in his fingers again and again.

“Chained to what’s left of her husband at the bottom of the sea,” Celaena replied with a wicked grin, and removed the slender, pale hand from her sack.

Why did the king even have to ask this? Didn’t he give the order? Did he just say “uuuhhh kill the guy” and Sardines didn’t even ask what to do with the wife? 

God, these people are so dumb.

The king mentions that there’s a rebellion brewing in Rifthold but he only has one name so far.

On [the paper] was a single name: Archer Finn. 

It took every ounce of will and sense of self-preservation to keep her shock from showing.

1) Someone teach this bitch how to pokerface. 

2) There’s just one name on the piece of paper that Chaol hands to her on the king’s order. Why couldn’t he just SAY THE GODDAMN NAME? With his mouth hole?

Whatever. Sardines recognizes Archer and mentions that he’s hot and she used to have a crush on him, so he’s probably mildly important or his death will be super tragic.

He’d been several years older, already a highly sought-after courtesan … who was in need of some training on how to protect himself from his rather jealous clients. And their husbands.

Uuh ... bonus points for male courtesans, I guess? 

He’d been handsome and kind and jovial, not a traitor to the crown so dangerous that the king would want him dead. 

It was absurd. Whoever was giving the king his information was a damned idiot.

Sardines, the smartest being in this world: UUUUHHH THIS DOESN’T MATCH THE THINGS I KNOW!!! EVERYBODY ELSE IS WRONG!!!

Though that’s probably true, since we all know Smaas could never handle Sardines being anything but absolute perfection. 

“You know Archer? I’m not surprised.” A taunt—a challenge. 

She just stared ahead, willing herself to calm, to breathe. “I used to. He’s an extraordinarily wellguarded man. I’ll need time to get past his defenses.” So carefully said, so casually phrased.

If you say so, curiously crusted book page. I mean it’s an obvious and rather clichéd attempt at making more time for herself, but I guess the king is a dumbass and SJM can’t actually write for shit, so this passes for cleverness. 

It works, too. The king, who’s supposedly a shitty dictator who’s afraid of this rebellion killing him, still gives her an entire month. Yeah, that makes sense. Gotta love it when you have to nerf your villains because your hero is a fucking imbecile. 

Honey, king-boy, the correct response here is: “BITCH, MY ACTUAL LIFE IS ON THE LINE, YOU HAVE TWO DAYS, GET!! ON!! IT!!”

It’s especially stupid when this is happening IN THE TOWN THEY LIVE IN. So the fact that this dumbass lie works is just pathetic, honestly.

“Then you have one month,” the king said. “And if he’s not buried by then, perhaps I shall reconsider your position, girl.”

Wow. Damn. SJM, be nicer to your heroes. We’re on the edge of our seats here. How will they possibly defeat this very intimidating villain.

“Be discreet. Your payment for Nirall is already in your chambers.”

1) Do you really have to tell your stealthy assassin to be discreet? Well, I guess since it’s Sardines, you kinda do. What a nice self-roast there, book.

2) Do you also have to tell her that her payment’s in the chambers? Hasn’t she done this a couple of times already? Shouldn’t she know this?

Smaas, why.

We switch POV to Doriass, who angsts about how edgy and evil Sardines is now and how she maybe doesn’t actually love him and manipulated him to love her!

Yeah, she’s not that smart, Doriass.

Actually, for the two months since she’d been named the King’s Champion, she’d been like this. Her lovely dresses and ornate clothes were gone, replaced by an unforgiving, close-cut black tunic and pants, her hair pulled back in a long braid that fell into the folds of that dark cloak she was always wearing. She was a beautiful wraith—and when she looked at him, it was like she didn’t even know who he was.

1) UNFORGIVING TUNIC.

2) This is the second time she’s described as a wraith in the first two chapters. Who edited this? 

A gibbon.

But he couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever meant anything to Celaena at all.

Cry me a river with your manpain, Doriass.

We switch POV back to Sardines. (Well, that was utterly pointless.) She angsts bout how Chaol hasn’t been looking at her the same way ever since she started with the murder and stuff, and she meets with him in the secret passages of the castle or what-the-fuck-ever-who-gives-a-damn.

“Are you still acting like the King’s Champion, or are you back to being Celaena?” In the torchlight, his bronze eyes glittered.

This is the second time his eyes are described as bronze in this chapter. 

I have a feeling that this book was created and “perfected” by a bunch of horny drunk women throwing their own shit at the walls. 

We get more of Sarah’s trademark tepid banter that the fangirls probably think is super hilarious and SASSILY FEMINIST. 

Chaol tells her that he’s been worried and thought she’d been murdered, so they hug it out.

He hadn’t held her since the day she’d learned she had officially won the competition, though the memory of that embrace often drifted into her thoughts. And as she held him now, the craving for it never to stop roared through her.

ROARED.

He tells her that she smells bad.

She hissed and shoved him, her face burning in earnest now. “Carrying around dead body parts for weeks isn’t exactly conducive to smelling nice! And maybe if I’d been given time for a bath instead of being ordered to report immediately to the king, I might have—” She stopped herself at the sight of his grin and smacked his shoulder. “Idiot.”

This is, like, AT LEAST 10 feminisms.

We get another scene change.

After a joyous Fleetfoot calmed down enough for Celaena to speak without being licked [...]

I’m gonna eat that fucking dog.

Sardines angst some more about Elena and about how ...

Fucking called it.

She’d given Lord Nirall the same choice she’d given Sir Carlin: die right then, or fake his own death and flee—flee far, and never use his given name again. So far, of the four men she’d been assigned to dispatch, all had chosen escape.

Apparently, this LE EPIC ASSASSIN saw that Sir Carlin was a cool dude and just couldn’t put a knife in his throat. She only killed BAD PEOPLE, remember? Which makes no sense, considering how shitty evil her mentor was. Why would he even allow that? Whatever.

God forbid we have an actual female anti-hero, right Smaas? You wouldn’t wanna imply your bitchy little twat princess is anything but a perfect beacon of morality.

Curiously, we don’t find out whether she saw the other men acting as kind and cutesy perfect as Sir Carlin. What if they were assholes? I wouldn’t enjoy Sardines playing god, but the fact that she did it before and doesn’t do it now makes no sense either. 

We find out that she’s been finding corpses from sick-houses to replace the dudes for the crime scenes. 

But with magic gone and those wise healers hanged or burned, people were dying in droves. Dying from stupid, once-curable illnesses.

Alright, here cometh an epic rant:

1) I can maybe buy that the king doesn’t know all of the nobles who live far away, at least not enough to recognize them by appearance. What I can’t buy is the servants not recognizing their masters. That’s just plain dumb. Even if she fucked up their faces or cut their heads off, they’r still recognize the bodies as not theirs. 

2) So, do they not have non-magical healers? Did the king know that the world needed magic to survive and that they had no non-magical medicine and still went “nah, just kill them all”. We never really find out if the king truly killed magic of if it went away, so like ??? What’s the truth here?

3) If they have no non-magical healthcare, WHY THE FUCK DOES THE KING LET HER JUST BRING DEAD THINGS INTO HIS THRONE ROOM AND WHY DOES HE TOUCH THOSE DEAD THINGS. WHAT THE FUCK!!!

4) If Sardines has been stealing corpses and not actually killed any of the dudes, then her little angsty thoughts about how bad she feels about killing this man and how it’s not her job to question but to obey are nothing but misleading bullshit. It doesn’t make any sense for her to be thinking that! WHY DID SHE EVEN UNSHEATHE HER SWORD IF SHE KNEW SHE WASN’T GOING TO KILL HIM?! HE’S MENTIONED TO OPEN HIS EYES SO HE’D JUST SCREAM AND FREAK OUT AND CALL ATTENTION TO HER!!

SJM why. 

Celaena fought a shudder. She was playing a very, very lethal game. And now that her targets were people in Rifthold—now that it was Archer … She’d have to find a way to play it better. Because if the king ever learned the truth, if he found out what she was doing … 

He’d destroy her.

God, I fucking hope.

It’s only been two chapters and I’m already tired.

[sturmxundxdrang]

Review #2 - 12/30/16: Reservoir Dogs

Director: Quentin Tarantino.

Stars: Harvey Keitel, Tim Roth, Michael Madsen.

Rating: 5/5.

Alert: It has spoilers. You have been warned.

Check this page if you want to read more reviews, or click here for a list of movies I’m probably writing about soon.

Okay, here I go, I’m gonna write this bitch and you will have to forgive me because there will probably be spoilers and I apologize.

So since I had to take a break in between Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs, in order to let the first sink in, I took a day or so, and it’s more than I promised my friend, but, at least I’ve watched, right? Honestly, I never checked to see how long was the movie, and I was surprised it’s not over two hours, actually, which made me kinda mad at myself for waiting so long to watch this. As I said in my Pulp Fiction review, I like Tarantino, therefore, it was expected that I’d like this one, right? First off, I’d like to note again how I hate the credits in the beginning, which seems to be a Tarantino thing. It bothers me a lot, specially when it’s extremely long. But, well, I can live with that as long as the movie is worth it. Which definitely is the case for Reservoir Dogs. It was recommended to me a lot of times, and by a lot of people, for years now. I even have it downloaded, but, well, I’m a lazy ass fucker.

I’m not going around and telling why the fuck I liked this movie right away, so yeah. Let’s go by parts: the whole first scene where the guys are all having breakfast and bickering around on the table about songs. Let’s face it, they all looked like an old couple arguing. It seems like, even if they just met each other for the job, they’ve gotten close. ‘Cause, y’know, you’re doing a job with these guys, you gotta trust your life in their hands because if someone slips, you’re damn fucked, right? And I guess in that little moment, you can see how they’ve bonded enough for that. Well, they trusted Joe enough to know he’d choose good people for the job (which he didn’t, dammit Joe, you had one fucking job), so they had to trust each other. I’m telling right away that it’s been a long damn time since a movie frustrated this much, and I’ll tell you why: my fucking favorite betrayed me. I liked all of the guys equally, but when I saw Mr. Orange all desperate ‘cause he didn’t wanna die, the kid got my heart. It was the first scenes and I wanted to cry while Mr. White held him (points for you, Tarantino). Then Orange and White were my babies which I’d protect from anything.

The movie goes on and on, you have scenes from the past, present... If you’re not paying enough attention to the movie, darlin’, you’re gonna miss it and get lost. Thankfully I was prepared for that and wouldn’t blink during this movie. So it goes on, I get attached to the guys, I think Mr. Blonde is a jerk psychopath, dislike him, then like him again... Which brings me to the torture scene. You know what I like about Tarantino? He brings some aspects of real life into his movies. Reservoir Dogs a lot more than Pulp Fiction, in my view, but the particular scene caught me. You see, Blonde is there, torturing the cop, then he walks out, you can hear the people outside, children playing, I think. He grabs the gasoline, he looks like a normal guy. I mean, most of his scenes, he did look very normal. It’s only when he’s free to express himself that he shows his true colors and can act on his psychopath behaviors. I feel like that’s what Tarantion wanted to show with this; the world is normal, nothing changes, but you never really know if the guy next to you is a psychopath waiting on a chance to do something. This is one of the things I like the most about studying true crime, and I loved how Tarantino put this into the movie. I’m probably not putting this the way I wanted to, but, hopefully you all got what I meant.

Moving on, Orange was a big strike on me. I never suspected him until the past scenes where we actually see that he was the big snitch. I was in shock, honestly. Like I said, he was my favorite together with White until that point, and so I felt extremely betrayed. You know what I think? This is exactly the point. They made us feel pity for him, get attached to the fucker and then throw at our faces that he was the goddamn reason for all the mess. We (well at least I) got to taste what those guys must have felt, knowing there was a damn rat between them. You see what this is? It’s fucking brilliant. This is what I wish I could do to characters in my books; write fuckers that are liked and then make people hate them. This is what I want. And this, my friends, is the reason I liked this movie so much. I’ve finished watching a few minutes ago and I’m still so pissed about how it ended! I even fucking messaged my friends to tell them how pissed I am about that damn fucker. This is what I watch movies for. I wanna feel something, y’know? I wanna connect to the characters, and it happened here. I know I’m not the only one feeling as hurt as White probably did in that last scene. I know I’m not the only one who’d have yelled to let Joe kill the fucker. Some people can say it’s boring, some can say it’s dumb, but you know what? To me it’s brilliant. This was a five out of five for me.

Final words on this: I fucking hate Mr. Orange. Poor Mr. Blue didn’t get much scenes in this movie and was fucking killed because of him. Dammit.

[homestuck-secret-santa]

Homestuck Secret Santa 2016

gift fic for @cronnchy– happy holidays!! (and sorry for the lateness ;;)

Dave’s first Christmas was fucked up.

Of course, it was probably unfair to put undue emphasis on his first Christmas. Upon further examination, it was safe to say that his second, third, fourth, and every Christmas of his thirteen years of life was fucked up, not just the first one.

This wasn’t due to the custom-made Smuppet ornaments that adorned the Christmas cactus, or the stockings made of the same material as an anime body pillow, or even the severed horse head his bro gave him, wrapped in Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff wrapping paper, ala The Godfather (thankfully with a plush horse instead). No, all of these things might seem strange to an outsider, but Dave didn’t even bat an eye (not like anyone could tell, either, with his certified Coolkid aviators controlling his emotional output at all times. Instead, the most bizarre, the most outrageous part of his childhood Christmases was that there was never any snow.

As any resident of Satan’s Asshole, or the southern United States, could tell you, snow was a rare sight, not just at Christmas but at any time of year. Oh sure, it would occasionally fall in January or February, slushy, fake snow that would end up melted by the afternoon– but Dave had never even had that. Every Christmas it was hot enough outside that he could’ve walked around in a speedo or jumped into a lake without even the slightest fear of hypothermia, both things his bro had done one Christmas or another.

Dave wouldn’t even have been so bitter about it if the phrase “White Christmas” wasn’t tossed around so much, and if every goddamn Disney movie or Christmas card had to shove perfect snowy scenes in his face every December. Every time he watched a Christmas special and saw the children rolling around in the snow while sleigh bells jingled overhead, the more he realized there was something fundamentally wrong with his version of Christmas.

Well. Aside from the Smuppets.

To add to this predicament, every time Christmas rolled around in New York Rose was ass-deep in snow, so all of her messages contained some complaint about the nuclear family and capitalist vestige of a “perfect white Christmas”. Normally Dave would be down for shittalking capitalism with her, but he couldn’t help but be annoyed at her ungratefulness, since he’d give anything to get out of the literal hell that was Texas and into some snowy, wintery wonderland, filled with pine trees and mansions in the woods.

Thankfully, Jade shared his predicament. Living on a tropical island with no one but her grandpa (or so he had thought, at thirteen years old, only to learn that she’d been all by herself for years, which was worse) she had no snow, no cold weather at all, and none of the trappings of a regular Christmas. She’d spent her December sitting in the greenhouse with her enormous dogs, eating atomic steaks and decorating a twenty-foot tree with homemade ornaments. (Which didn’t sound so bad, actually.) The two of them had commiserated for years over their lack of snow on Christmas, although Jade didn’t object too much because the warm weather was optimal for plant-growing and she didn’t think she’d like snow all that much, really!

Finally, there was John, who, much in the same vein as Rose, was no help. Living in Washington meant he got a decent amount every year, perfectly blanketing his suburban neighborhood. Every year he had pictures of snowmen with funny disguises, or his attempt at drawing Nicholas Cage’s face in the snow. Rose may have had quantity, but John had quality; he could sled, ice-skate, and make snow angels without worrying about hypothermia the way she did.

He did, however, sympathize with Dave. “No snow?” he’d said, two days before Christmas as they chatted on Pesterchum. Flurries were coming down outside his window, while the sun shone vibrantly outside of Dave’s. “That sucks. You need to visit me when it’s snowing, I’ll show you how it’s done!”

“It doesn’t take a genius to run around in some powdery white shit,” he’d replied, “but I’ll hold you to that promise.”

The truth was, as a thirteen year old broiling with teen angst and grappling with an unresolved crush on his best friend, there was nothing Dave would’ve liked better than to fuck around in the snow with John in the Washington suburbia, living out every one of his Hallmark fantasies. How and when they would meet in person, Dave hadn’t figured out, but he was determined to make it happen.

And then the world ended, and he had other things to worry about.

x-x-x

By the time Dave sees snow for the first time, the world he knew is gone. It all went so quickly; the meteors, the egg, the sword through his bro’s chest and the feathery bird version of himself who tried to save John from dying and John himself, sending fireflies and wisps of wind all across their session as he ascended to the heavens or something like that. Technically they still haven’t met in person, although John and Davesprite have; he can’t help but be jealous of that fact  He still has that crush, but then again he doesn’t have much time to think or dwell on anything  (ironically since he now has literally nothing but time). Still, he can’t help but remember John’s words as he crunches through the snow of LOFAF.

It had been too long since they’d talked.

Dave had been working overtime, running around timelines and spinning his timetables enough to make him sick. He had twenty-one dead Johns at his doorstep and a dozen Roses and Jades spread out across doomed timelines, but for the moment, he was going frog-hunting.

While Jade scampered through the snow, searching for the key to their entire universe, Dave took in their snowy surroundings. Jade had already been on LOFAF for awhile, so none of it was new to her, but to Dave, it was a whole new world. The snow piled thick and soft in huge drifts, painting the world a stark white save for the green trees, bright red flowers, and occasional frog or hummingbird. In the distance, Jade’s tower stood like a beacon against the gray sky, the lights of Skaia twinkling softly in the distance.

What he would’ve given to have a planet like this instead of his hellscape of heat and clanging metal.

“Hey, Jade,” he’d said, lifting her to inspect the branches of a tree. “Have you made snowmen or gone sledding or anything yet?”

“I had a bit of fun when I first got on my planet!” she’d replied, shaking snow from her hair. “But there really hasn’t been time for that. Especially now… we’ve got to find that frog!”

“Oh, of course. But I dunno… it feels pretty damn Christmas-y to me, even though it’s April or something. Assuming anyone’s keeping track of arbitrary shit like that now. Don’t you think we should celebrate the Christmas we’ve been deprived of?”

It was at this point Jade looked over at him, looking more serious than he’d ever seen her, and said, “Of course we are.”

Thus, the Kringlefucker was born because they decided, shit, let’s be Santa, and through great abuse of alchemizing, a merry time was had by all. It wasn’t quite the Christmas Dave had envisioned before the game, but nonetheless he was content to sit with Jade on the roof of her tower around a shitty jpeg tree, watching the snow fall softly onto her silent planet.

“John and Rose should be here,” Jade said, echoing Dave’s train of thought perfectly. But instead of succumbing to sappiness, he’d shrugged.

“When we create the new world we can have as many Christmases as we want together. We can even invite those weird troll guys. But first…”

“But first, we have to find that frog!” Jade hopped to her feet. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” He thought, in that moment, how thankful he was for Jade, and about how in the new world, he would’ve alchemized a sled for him and John, and how Rose would’ve been knitting away at ugly sweaters for all of them.

But, like usual, Dave didn’t have too much time to think or dwell on things. That was probably for the best.

Still, they couldn’t find those frogs fast enough.

x-x-x

The new world wasn’t exactly how Dave envisioned it.

There was a Scratch, and the Green Sun, and a bomb, and he and Rose godtiered and now they’re on a meteor hurtling through space with five gray alien trolls for three whole years, apparently. It would actually be a decent arrangement except for the fact that John and Jade were on their own ship, an actual golden boat, en route to the new session, and they won’t be able to see each other for those same three years. Nor would they be able to communicate– no Pesterchum, carrier pigeon, or Pony Express can help them now. The last semblance of communication they had was a letter in a bucket that caused Karkat to lose his shit, and that was it.

It was strange; Dave used to talk to John every single day on Pesterchum, talking about movies and webcomics and all manner of nonsensical things, filling pages and pages of Pesterchum with nothing. Dave would even keep writing after John had signed off, ranting and rambling and rapping, wondering if John even read all of those messages or just passed it off as the same bull he always spouted.

But all of that, only to lead to straight radio silence. Nothing. They weren’t going to be hearing from John and Jade for awhile, and he accepts that.

And frankly, the trolls weren’t too bad. Terezi was as weird as her messages had implied, which was a relief, and she licked any available surface, a habit so unhygienic and hazardous it was very distinctly Terezi. Her moirail, (whatever the fuck that meant) Vriska, was a shit-stirrer if Dave had ever seen one, and was also the troll who had guided John on his quest and fucked over their session in more than one universe.

The two of them made quite a pair, and despite Teresa’s tendency to not display any negative emotions, and the fact that Dave doubted if Vriska even had a soul at all, they seemed to care deeply together. They clearly had some history together, although Dave didn’t pry too much into details because the trolls had a lot of stories and they were all fucked up (and he’d find out eventually anyways).

As for Karkat and Kanaya, well, the former was loud and angry, about what Dave had expected, but they did adopt the disgustingly sweet habit of curling up on the couch to watch movies together, so he couldn’t be too annoyed by his short fuse and no indoor voice. As for Kanaya, she and Rose spent most of their time flirting in ways Dave didn’t really want to get involved in, but was sweet enough from afar.

And the less said about Gamzee, the better.

All in all, the meteor wasn’t exactly a terrible place to be, even if it did give them ample time to reflect on their shortcomings in the three years of doing jack shit.

It was hard to the gauge the passage of time when you’re essentially detached from it- unless you’re the Knight of Time, that is. Dave knew the time down to the exact second, which was why when Christmas came around he was the first to know.

“Holy shit,” he said, making Karkat look up from his romance novel. “It’s Christmas.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“There’s got to be some troll equivalent of it… you know, fat guy in a red suit gives you gifts, you song around a tree, you celebrate the birth of Christ?”

Karkat continued to stare at him.

“It’s that holiday you celebrate at the end of the year?”

“You’re probably thinking of Twelfth Perigree’s Eve, but that hasn’t happened yet and we don’t have any of the weird traditions you have.”

“I seriously doubt that.” Dave got to his feet. “Well, whatever. I’m going to go talk to Rose.”

Miraculously, Rose wasn’t already involved with Kanaya, so Dave sat right down, pushed her book away, and said,”Rose, it’s Christmas.”

“Is it really?”

“Try to contain all that enthusiasm, will you?”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of religion in my youth, and my mother’s overabundance of Christmas spirit rather killed the holiday for me.”

“Goddamnit Rose; you’re the only one on this ship that knows what Christmas is.Give me some Christmas spirit won’t you?”

“Ho ho ho,” she said drily.

“Thanks,” Dave said. “First you don’t appreciate all the snow you got, and now you’re completely devoid of spirit… I feel so merry.”

“You wouldn’t like snow either if it trapped you inside your house with your overbearing and passive aggressive mother.” Rose replied, pulling her book back in front of her.

“Well I was trapped inside with my bro whether it was snowing or not, so it would’ve been nice to have a little Christmas cheer while we were at it.”

“Listen Dave, if you’re that set on celebrating Christmas then I’ll knit us some ugly sweaters and we can go about it, but I don’t think anyone else on this meteor would care.”

“The trolls apparently have their own version of Christmas, so we can celebrate that too I guess.” Dave slumped over the table. “I wonder if John and Jade are celebrating Christmas now…”

“Considering that time is lost to everybody but you, I’d say no.”

“It was worth a shot. Hey, are you going to start knitting those sweaters or not? We’re wasting the Christmas magic.”

“I don’t think Santa would approve of that attitude.” Rose began to reach for the needles and yarn that were sitting across the table from her.

“I’ll save some mistletoe for you and Kanaya, how about that?”

“So thoughtful.” Rose pulled out a red ball of yarn. “I’ll get some for you and John, then.”

“Good luck with that, when he’s essentially a universe away. Who said I still have my shitty thirteen year old crush, anyway?”

“Trust me, I know you.” Rose cast him a glance. “After all, we are siblings, aren’t we?”

Dave paused. “I guess we are… huh.”

“Something strange about that?”

“Nah,” Dave shut his mouth before he said something sappy or appeared emotionally vulnerable, both dangerous when Rose was in his presence.

When he had celebrated Christmas with Jade, there had been so much going on he hadn’t even had time to think, whereas now he had too much time to do so. For a moment, he’d wondered about his bro– remembered their past Christmases together– and had almost, for a moment…

But he still had a family.

(Even if, when it came to Christmas, she was incredibly sacrilegious and was only celebrating with him out of pity and probably a mockery of the whole thing.)

“You know, I at least wish it’d snow.”

“Maybe we’ll pass through a dream bubble or something.”

x-x-x

“Shouldn’t we start making up our own holidays?”

Karkat looked up from where he’d been fiddling with the hand-knitted sweater Rose had given him. “What?”

“I mean, we’re gods now, right? We can make whatever holidays we want. We can even send down our own baby Jesus, and make our own Christmas and with better traditions.”

“I think Christmas’s traditions are just fine!” Jade exclaimed from where she sat next to Karkat. “And I thought you liked Christmas, Dave.”

“I do,” Dave replied. “But I mean, it could use some updating. And not just Christmas, we can create holidays of our own–”

“I say we make Nic Cage’s birthday a national holiday,” volunteered John.

“Goddamnit John, I thought we were over this Nic Cage stuff,” Dave groaned. “The carapacians don’t even know who that is. You’ve gotta come up with something better than that, man.”

“I don’t think the carapacians really know or care about what we do!” Roxy said cheerfully, walking into the living room where most of them were assembled and handing them each a mug. “Here, take some of Janey’s special eggnog.”

“Is it alcohol?” John asked dubiously.

“Come on Johnny, live a little!” Roxy said, nudging him. She had on a santa hat and had somehow managed to wrap a festive string of lights around her entire person. “Actually, I don’t know what’s in, but Janey makes everything with love.”

“Bleh,” John said, even though he accepted a glass and took a hearty swig from it. “Well, at least it’s not cake.”

“There’s plenty of that too!” Jane called from the kitchen, to which John made a face.

Miraculously, they had all managed to gather together for Christmas this year, with both of those terms being used loosely. ‘Christmas’ had little meaning, with the trolls and Calliope having no connection to the holiday and the rest of them, being literal gods, attaching little religious significance to the holiday. And ‘this year’ had little bearing as well, given that they were all effectively immortal. However, they had all been relatively busy, making gathering in one place quite a challenge.

And yet, here they were. Rose, with Kanaya’s grudging help, had hand-knitted everyone a sweater, which they were all wearing, despite the relative heat of the indoors. Jane and her dad had been cooking away all day with Roxy and Calliope’s help (why she would want to cook after working all day was a mystery) and Jake and Dirk were gracing Terezi with the glory that was Christmas movies (even though Dave had already shown her Elf.) Vriska, whom Terezi had somehow rescued from the void, was trying to replace all of their Christmas decorations with Halloween ones, with Karkat yelling at her. Jade had coerced John into helping her wrap a mountain of presents, and for some reason two new trolls– Aradia and Sollux– had arrived, presumably also from the void, like Vriska, bearing gifts (while Aradia’s red getup did suspiciously resemble Santa’s, Sollux’s blind and irritable demeanor suggested nothing of the sort).

It was still surreal to Dave that they were all together– unharmed, alive, and relatively enjoying life. Of course, the trolls had to cope with the fact that their numbers had been depleted, making Dave glad he had managed to survive with John, Jade, and Rose all still alive. They’d had plenty of trials along the way, but somehow, they survived.

And now they were celebrating Christmas together, like he’d always wanted.

It was almost too cheesy and picture-perfect for Dave to stomach, but he figured they deserved it.

“Hey, guys!” The front door of John and Jane’s house, where they’d all been gathering, slammed open. Jake charged in, apparently finished with his movie marathon, his glasses askew and cheeks bright red. “It’s snowing out there!”

“That’s perfect!” Roxy cheered. “Snow on Christmas day. I never had that in the future, it was always hot as hell.”

“Same,” Dirk sighed.

“Well, that sucks,” John said. “In my neighborhood we always had plenty of snow!”

And suddenly, it comes back to him.

“No snow? That sucks. You need to visit me when it’s snowing, I’ll show you how it’s done!”

All those years of staring out a window, looking for a snowflake– either that, or a ticket to Washington. Of running through the snow, looking for frogs, or sitting through a dream bubble of that very illusion. Dave’s Christmas has been pretty damn perfect but there’s one thing he needs to complete it.

Abruptly, he stands, dragging John with him, much to the latter’s complaints. “Where are we going, I didn’t even get to finish the eggnog–”

“Shut up, I have to talk to you.” Dave dragged him from the living room, packed to the brim with people and presents and a giant tree, and to the front step, shutting the door behind them. His breath forms a cloud and he rubs his palms together. “Remember that one time when we were thirteen and we talked about having snow?”

John cocks his head and Dave realizes it’s too mundane a detail for him to remember. He’s about to backtrack when he nods and smiles, slightly bemused. “I think?”

“Well, you told me you’d show me the right way to play in the snow.” Dave turned towards the actual winter wonderland that is Can Town before him. “Now do your worst, Egbert.”

And just like that, John began laughing. There’s no one around and the sound echoes in the silent white landscape. “You really remember that?” he said, wiping his eyes, before shaking his head and saying, “And you don’t know how to play in the snow?”

“The last time I was in snow I was too busy frog-foraging to have time to frolic.” Dave kicked a pile of snow. “Look at all of this white shit. It’s blinding.”

“Well, if you really want me to show you….” John adjusted his glasses, which had fogged up slightly. “I hope you can keep up.”

“I’ve been ready since the day you told me.”

John smiled, and Dave tried to keep his heart from flipping over in his chest. “Then let’s go.”

They start with the basics– snowman making. Dave could deal with that, easy, and began applying his own artistic merit until there’s a giant Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff in the front yard. He and John almost began snowscaping Nic Cage’s face, a favorite winter pasttime of John’s, before he decided it would take too long. They moved on, now working on snow angels.

Dave was genuinely surprised by how enjoyable it was to lay on your back and wave your arms and legs. The result was something that didn’t exactly resemble an angel, and yet he felt a connection with Northerners he’d never felt before.

They lobbed snowballs at each other for a solid twenty minutes, almost ready to engage in full on turf warfare before John decided that it was time to move on lest they break a window, or each other’s nose. It was at this point that he declared it was time for his favorite activity.

“Sledding!” he announced, going through the shed, where somehow he found a battered red sled. “I have no idea why this is here… but whatever. Let’s go find the biggest hill we can!”

“Hell yeah,” Dave said. “See, this is the kind of winter activity I wanted to do. None of those lame snow-angels or whatever. It’s no fun until you can potentially throw yourself into a tree.”

“You loved the snow angels,” John said, rolling his eyes. “Anyways, let’s get going.”

(By then, they had completely forgotten about everybody inside the house. Dave would miss Jane’s Christmas cake, but it was for the best, since John would have undoubtedly run from the room screaming.)

“Huh…”

“What?” John said, as they trekked through the snowy woods. Can Town’s buildings glimmered in the distance as they mounted higher and higher up a hill, their feet crunching through the snow.

“I just… agh, never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Ok, now that you’ve said that, you have to tell me.” John waited, then sighed. “Daaaave…”

“Fine, ok. When we first entered the game, I got to have Christmas with Jade. And then, when we were on the meteor, I had it with Rose. So now, I thought, I finally get to have it with you.”

Silence lapsed over the two of them as they climbed the hill, Dave feeling his cheeks heating even more. He was just about to keel over in the snow when John finally said something.

“I guess you’re right,” he cast his eyes on the ground, breathing out small puffs. “But we’ll have plenty of time to spend together now, right?”

“Yeah…”

“You know,” John said, staring up at the cold winter sky. “I really missed you.”

Dave feels a culmination of years and years of jumbled emotions rise up in his throat, but instead of feeling choked by them, it’s like a weight has been lifted from his chest. “I missed you too.”

“Hey…” John said, gesturing in front of them. “We’ve reached the top of the hill! You ready to go?”

And in an instant, the moment between the two of them vanished. But instead of being disappointed, Dave can’t help but smile. Ever since reuniting they’d bounced between being best bros or being something more, something Dave had tortured himself with for years. But it was  Christmas, and there was snow,  and they had got years and years to figure it out, whatever “it” is. (Even if the mistletoe Rose had hung over the door would answer that question soon enough.)

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Because Dave had plenty of time. And for once, there was nothing to worry about. 

[scrollsofeternity]

Forked Tongue || MM Trial || Hisashi

Okay, so Azusa’s the real king. So what? Hisashi watches the burst of flame with little more than an annoyed click of his tongue, before settling into the background of the scene as people respond and Hisato reveals just how fucking pitiful he really is. Kushiko’s sudden decision comes as little surprise, too. There’s a wayward glance spared to Arisa, but feeling little more than inconvenienced by the whole ordeal, it’s all eyes on their Lady of the Underground when she speaks again.

…Ah.

She tells Chiharu that she’s the one who killed Shizuka, and Hisashi feels a string tighten.

It’s when she tells Arisa she loves her that he feels the string snap.

He takes a quiet step back when a new wall of fire bursts up around Hisato and Kushiko, pointed knife dropping to his side. If anything, he’s thankful that Aria speaks first; it gives him time to collect himself against the sudden, white-hot anger building up in his chest as he stares across the room at Azusa.

Also, Aria leaves him with an easy leeway into the conversation. Same as always, huh?

“Why don’t you just call her a rat, Aria-kun? After all, it’s no wonder I got them mixed up. They both smell the fucking same.”

His words are hissed, laced with a hatred both familiar and unfamiliar – like the words spoken to Shika before he broke her nose, but infinitely more scathing.

Hisashi’s eyes stay on Azusa, sharper than any knife he’s held.

“He’s right, of course. It is hard to do, and yet – and yet! Here we fucking are, hm? Aha! Ahhh – honestly. Honestly! You couldn’t even bother rigging your own game to keep your girlfriend and best friend alive, you fucking morons – no, you threw her to the wolves for the sake of sanitizing an already failed scenario. Just how stupid are you? Both of you. All of this planning, and for what? It took all of five fucking seconds for one person to point out half the flaws in the entire goddamned thing.”

His head tilts, chin lifting defiantly as he sneers.

“Couldn’t spend a little more time researching what you were actually doing here, Azusa-chan? Couldn’t do more than open up a wikipedia page on the human condition – or maybe utilitarianism or whatever you remembered hearing about in an Ethics 101 lecture, Azusa-chan? Couldn’t pick up a single damn book about social theories and experimentation to learn the dangers of bias, A-zu-sa-chan? You people make the Standford fucking Prison Experiment look like the gold standard.”

A pause, long enough for him to take a breath and motion his hands to the side with a bitter grin.

“Ahhh– Aha! A little reading on normative theory and the unrealism of ideal theory would have saved us all a lot of trouble, you know? So high and fucking mighty, when your capacity for higher thought caps out at writing shitty little ciphers that take all of ten minutes to brute force. At least do me a favor and stop talking like you think you’re actually intelligent. How many times do I have to say this? Play stupid fucking games, get stupid fucking prizes. You made the stupid fucking game – it’s your own fault for not expecting the obvious results.”

The grin fades, replaced by something… Very purely angry. It’s an unfamiliar expression on him, visceral and human as he throws his arm in a wide, furious motion down to his side.

“Don’t tell her you love her. All of that shit about wanting her to be happy forever – that’s our tomorrow. That you’re just so fucking sorry. I wasn’t even cruel enough to do that to her. You don’t fucking talk to her like that – like you were ever worth calling family. You’re nothing.”

The last words are delivered in another low hiss, punctuated by the clattering sound of Hisashi carelessly tossing his knife to the side – and suddenly, he smiles, a bit too wide.

“Well – nothing but a stupid bitch, anyway. The both of you, again. Rats are rats are rats, hm? Aha! Ahhh – no, no. Whether or not we kill you here, I’ll be happy to make sure you’re exceptionally dead out there. So why don’t you tell us a little bit about what’s waiting out there while we’re going, Azusa-chan? How did you get us to sign ourselves away and end up in your half-assed isekai utopia – where the good are meant to prosper and yet, for some reason, I’m still standing here instead of every good person you let die.”

[tialovestelevision]

Birthday

“Cordelia learns that her visions will kill her unless she goes back in time and chooses a different path in life - one that doesn’t include Angel.” Y’know… “Turn Left” wasn’t a good episode of Doctor Who, and Russell T. Davies is both a better writer and a better showrunner than Joss Whedon, AND had Whedon’s mistakes to learn from when making that one. So let’s see how this pans out!

1. Cordy is crying and talking to us, about people being there for her. She says she loves someone. Namely, her fans. Her scrub brush is the Oscar. Gunn is dressed for hazmat. Wes isn’t back yet from getting ick remover. Ange came in with Connor. He won’t let anyone who’s dirty snuggle Connor. Wes comes in and asks where “she” is. Cordy is in the bathroom taking pills. Then she gets a cake and a surprise birthday party. The cake has super-Cordy on it. Jude Law isn’t here, but presents are. Now Cordy is holding Connor. Angel got her a present. Because he’s a champion. Now she’s having a vision. And it threw her into a weapons rack. Now she’s unconscious. And now she’s waking up. Or… no, she’s out of her body. Oops. Opening credits.

2. Connor is crying and everyone’s worried about Cordy, but she’s alive. Breath and heartbeat. She wants back in her body. She can’t tell anyone about her vision. The Host just walked through her. The Host says this is magic. They also know she’s on meds. Cordy doesn’t want people going to her house. Wes is doing research. There is a girl in Reseda about to be fed to a no-eyed three-mouthed monster. Also, she’s hearing whispering. She can’t pick up a pen.

3. Gunn and Freed at Cordy’s. Dennis has a party hat on and is setting off noisemakers. Fred introduced herself to Dennis, which left Gunn smitten. They’re telling Dennis about Cordy’s condition.

4. Cordy is reading over Wes’s shoulder about astral projection, but he turned the page. Meanwhile, Gunn has one of Cordy’s bras. Fred doesn’t want to talk about underwear. Dennis is hiding Cordy’s pills.Gunn is talking to Dennis about needing to know what’s being hidden. Dennis showed them the pills.

5. Angel is trying to talk to Cordy’s body. He says she pisses him off because she’s been hiding what’s wrong from him. Astral Cordy is upset with him for being upset. Now the Host is trying something. He doesn’t like it. The first thing Cordy tries to do is tell them where the vision says to go. But it didn’t work… the host couldn’t make contact. There’s the whispers again. Angel is threatening Lorne to get in touch with the Powers.

6. Cordy is sitting on the end of the bed her body is on. Angel fell asleep. And… Cordy just went into Angel’s body. She’s driving him. It’s not easy. She broke a glass. She’s trying to write, but she fell out of Angel. This isn’t working. Wes came in… Cordy is showing bad stuff in her brain. She’s dying. Wes told Angel to take a break. Now there’s wind and shadows rising and hey it’s Skip. He asks how it’s going.

7. Cordy: “You’re… you’re Death. You’ve come to take me.” Skip: *demonic laugh* “Kidding. I’m Skip.” Skip is impressed with Cordy’s self esteem. Skip says Cordy will die soon if she doesn’t come with him. Skip can’t tell her friends about the vision. She doesn’t want to die; Skip says not to. So she goes with Skip.

8. They’re looking at Cordy’s MRIs. They’re bad. Lorne comes in… he’s been beaten up. And cursed. But he sends Angel to a place.

9. Now Skip and Cordy are at the mall. The Powers’ mall. Skip likes The Matrix. He’s showing her Doyle giving her the visions. Her getting the visions was a mistake. The Powers are bad at love. They meet Tammy, who had the visions in 1683. The visions exploded the back of her skull. Tammy says Skip won’t steer Cordy wrong.

10. Now Angel’s in a place. Someone is talking to him. It’s the Conduit. The Conduit is unseen, formless. Angel is asking the Powers to take Cordy’s visions back. The Conduit throws Angel around.

11. Skip is talking about Cordy’s acting career. And is showing Cordy the time she ran into Angel in LA. He’s talking about what might have happened if she hadn’t met Angel at the party. He’s using football. He says Cordy was meant to be a famous, wealthy actress, and the Powers can fix things. Skip says that if she goes back to her body, she won’t wake up. She’ll be comatose, and the next vision will kill her. Cordy says Angel needs her. Skip pulls Cordy to where Angel is talking to the Conduit, just in time for her to get a partial conversation that sounds like Angel is insulting her strength and resolve. After she’s gone, Angel says, “I’m more afraid of her dying than she is.” But Cordy is already out of earshot for that, and Skip is going to make her a star.

12. Cordy is on stage filming a talk show or sitcom. It’s a sitcom. It’s named Cordy. It has a terrible theme song. I think a demon is one of the creators. She wants to go to the Hyperion. Her aide is making that happen. She’s at the Hyperion, which appears to be a functioning hotel. Yeah… there’s people in the lobby. She has a reservation for the  luxury suite. The receptionist is being creepy. She’s at the luxury suite. She doesn’t want to stay at the suite. She wants a different room. The receptionist tries to talk her into the luxury suite, but she insists. I think this is… yeah, Angel’s room. She’s walking through it, unsure why she’s here. She sees the wallpaper. It’s famous. She’s pulling it off. Aggressively. She hates the wallpaper. So does the receptionist. She found the writing she did on the wall as Angel. 171 Oak. Now she’s at the place. Door opens. The woman who opened the door is a fan. Cynthia York. Cordy is asking if anything bad has happened recently. Cynthia is home alone. Cynthia asks if Cordy wants to see something cool. There is a summoning circle. She’s going to cast a retrieval spell to get her dad back. And… the circle activated and summoned a demon. Oops.

13. Cordy tells Cynthia to run. She’s fighting the demon. Gunn and Wes came in. Gunn got Cynthia out. Wes is missing an arm. He’s fighting the demon with a sword. Gunn came back in to help. The last Cordy remembers of him is him fainting in front of things in Sunnydale. Cordy says something weird is going on with her.

14. Cordy is telling Wes what’s been going on - the Hyperion, the wallpaper, the address. Wes is introducing Cordy and Gunn. Kungai demon took Wes’s arm. And Wes is taking Cordy to meet Angel. Angel has the visions. They’re at Wes’s apartment. Wes doesn’t want to show Angel to Cordy. Angel’s a mess… he’s in a room with two misstacked mattresses. He’s ranting. Cordy goes to him. Asks if he remembers her. He’s afraid. And she kisses him, and the visions pass to her. Again. And she remembers. Skip is there again. Skip didn’t like Gladiator. Cordy is demanding that Skip find a way to let her live with the visions. Skip says that she can keep the demons by becoming part demon. That will be painful and possibly result in her not being able to live a human life. She doesn’t hesitate - she takes that deal. Skip says it’s been an honor to be her guide, then does it, and she screams, then wakes up in bed. She has no horns or tail. It feels good to be solid again. She’s having a vision now, without pain. Demon with five horns at a park in Glendale. Also, she’s levitating. Episode end.

Overall: Well, that was… deeply manipulative, wasn’t it? I thought we’d established Skip as one of the good guys back when he was holding Mr. Nope prisoner, but… here, he is openly manipulative. The scene that gives it away is the one with Angel, where he drops Cordy in just long enough to hear the most easily misinterpreted bit of Angel’s argument with the Conduit. The rest could have been him giving her good information and the Powers’ usual crypticness, but that thrown in? No, he set her up for this whole half-demon transformation thing. Not sure why or what it’s for, but Skip set Cordy up.

The whole “Cordy isn’t meant to have the visions” thing is bothersome, too. There are two means of attack that are constantly used against Cordelia - her womanhood (by way of mystical pregnancies or mystically-denied sex) and her visions. Both attacks undermine her as a character. This episode, and Skip’s manipulation, is the latest in a long list of attacks against Cordelia by way of the one power she has, and this one was used to get her to agree to a fundamental change in her nature.

At this point? I’m not even sure the visions should be causing her harm naturally. Has all of that - including the goddamn BRAIN DAMAGE - been setup by some external force to prime her for Skip’s manipulation? Can’t know for sure.

I guess I’ll have to wait and see.

[rueur]

Morning Pages #26 (05.02.2017)

Sunday 5th February - 9:02 a.m.

I actually woke up two hours ago, and I know I haven’t written for the past few days, which I regret not just because I slacked off but also because if I had persisted at least with yesterday, then today’s pages would be #27, but they are #26. I had an amazing night yesterday, and the stars would’ve been in alignment if the entry where I go into detail of this amazing time also happened to be #27, a lucky number of mine and my birthday too. I also realise that it’s been exactly a month since I started writing these morning pages, because I started on the 5th of January. So if only this entry had been entry #27!

I had a good excuse for not writing on Friday, and that was because I had to move back to Northcote on Friday, which happened very briskly in the early morning. Last time I wrote, I mentioned that my sleep cycle was thrown out of whack after I moved back to Mill Park and finished up with the theatre show. All at once, there was nothing to keep me occupied, and thus nothing worthwhile enough to get me to leave my bed in the morning. I’d be sleeping in until 10 or 11 a.m., eating breakfast at 1 in the afternoon, and dinner at 10 or 11 in the evening and then - because I’ve eaten so late - I’d start to fall naturally to sleep at 1 a.m. again and it just became an exhausting cycle of pathetic, unemployed failure. But moving back here has once again, given me something to live for. The cats rely on me to wake up at a reasonable hour and feed them, and because I’m up, I can write my morning pages too. I just didn’t on Friday because I had to get here by 11 a.m., and because school’s started up again, I had nobody to drive me. I packed my suitcase and my backpack and just carried all my stuff to Northcote. It was relatively easy, aside from the heat. I only packed a weekend’s worth of clothes anyway. Actually, I packed a few options, because I was seeing Evan on Saturday night, last night, and I always need some options for dates, otherwise I just get nervous. Then again, the options can also make me more nervous too. Because I’ll always leave the house asking myself if I’m wearing the right thing, if I could be wearing something better. I left the house last night wearing my baggy black and white striped top, a pencil skirt and stockings, and my black formal boots. And ammi’s big, burgundy coat with the massive pockets. It was 37 degrees during the day yesterday so the coat wasn’t too practical. It was more just about having pockets, so that I didn’t need to carry a bag instead.

I had a really lovely time last night. Evan called me on Thursday and we organised to catch up Saturday night, in Northcote at 7 p.m.. We ate at Lentils in Thornbury and then just went for a walk up High St, ended up at Westgarth Station, and then ended up at Dennis. From there, we walked to this park whose name I just looked up this morning: Johnson Park. It was this small rectangular block of land with a very neat layout, well-defined garden beds and pathways, and a picnic area with a sizeable playground. We goofed around a bit with the play equipment, went back and forth on the monkeybars and climbed the very very tiny rockwall, and then we just sat down on this little platform and talked for what was definitely three or so hours, perhaps longer. If we had dinner at  7 and the first time I checked my phone at the park was 9:30, and we left at ten to 1 a.m., then we were most definitely there for a while. We have a lot in common, I feel. Most of the time, we spoke about music and clothes, growing up and all the things we enjoyed as children. We spoke about food and books at the restaurant, and we made a lot of jokes. He’s very animated with his body. I wasn’t surprised when he told me that he tries to emulate Will Smith in Fresh Prince, because not only is his haircut was pretty reminiscent of teenage Will, - and the shirt he was wearing last night also had a similar pattern and colour scheme to teenage Will’s preferences - but his joviality and humour and the way he walks and talks, the way he makes jokes and the exaggeration of his limbs...he shares the lovable goofiness of Will Smith’s character. He has the ears for it too, I’m sorry I just have to say. He told me I have a beautiful smile at one point (which made me smile and THEN made me self-conscious as all hell about smiling), and then I told him in response to THIS lovely compliment, that he had ears big enough to emulate Will Smith. He’s got a fantastic sense of humour though. I really like him. Fuck. I feel like this is happening way too fast after Ikaros, but I also did not want to say goodbye to Evan last night. Not that I wanted to sleep with him. I mean, we made out for a long time. And it was pretty hot, actually. But last night was also the first night I got to talk to him properly, because when I met him we were too busy dancing and then on our first date, we were busy listening to music. Last night was the first night it felt like we had time enough to really get to know one another. And I did learn a little bit about him, but not enough. Pace yourself, Rue! Yes, I know! We have time enough to get to know one another. We’re both nineteen, we’re both nearly twenty, we have time enough to figure out what this is, if it is anything.

There was a lot of staring at each other too, like we were both trying to hold on to what was happening as it was happening. Or we were both just really into each other’s faces. He’s pretty cute. And his hands, goddamn! He has really firm hands and I am really into that. At one point, his hands were on my bare back and I just felt really protected. When I hold his hands, I just feel like this tiny thing that’s being helped up. I don’t know, this wasn’t supposed to sound condescending of myself. Holding his hands and feeling him touch me just made me feel so much more womanly than I otherwise feel. I couldn’t stand it most of the time though, I mean it was borderline too much for me most of the time. At one point, he had a hand on my knee and it was just unexpected and I shivered, I legitimately shivered. When I was on top of him and he was holding me close to him, I felt incredibly attentive, but I kind of also just wanted to bury myself in him. I was very tempted to kiss his neck, but just KISSING him was intimate enough, to be honest with you. Just kissing him felt illicit, so intense and somehow also so gentle. When I was resting my head on his chest and his arms were around me, I don’t know, we had been talking for AGES before that and I just remember thinking the whole time during dinner that what we were doing at the park last night was what I had been looking forward to these past few weeks. He told me that he’s been talking to some of his mates about me and every time he does, he gets really excited. I told him the same. I left out the part where Courtney called him a ‘gobber’, that bitch. I think she meant ‘goober’ maybe. She’s seeing a guy tonight too, Asato, a Japanese photographer she met online.

I can’t wait to talk to Dan about last night, actually. I’ve been telling Dan everything about Evan, about meeting Evan at Laundry and our first date, and spewing all of my insecure, overly analytical observations onto him so that he can wipe them all away with his third-party logic. I noticed he was holding himself back a little on the first date and now, after our second, I definitely know that the reason why was because he’s a gentleman. When he pulled me to him last night and I kissed him straight on, there was no question of our attraction to each other. After our first kiss last night though, I had to tell him that I was very new to the dating scene again and had come out of a relatively long-term relationship, and he said that he had been with somebody recently too, so we were equally a little anxious about making moves, I suppose.

I’m a little nervous right now too because I think it showed that I didn’t want to say goodbye to him. I took a while to go back inside, and he said that I should go inside because he’s not going to leave until he sees me go inside, I don’t know. Maybe he was just being caring, I don’t know. I keep doing this to myself, I keep over-analysing whatever awkward moments I get my hands on on otherwise fantastic dates. He also said we should do something again ‘a couple of weeks from now or a week from now’, which was odd. I mean ideally I’d like to see him again this weekend, I guess. The last time I saw him was two weeks ago and I did miss him a little bit, but that’s just because he was new and exciting. He’s still new and exciting, mind, but I feel like we’re getting to know each other a little more now. And we didn’t make out too much on the first date, but last night we got really into it and I just want to do that again. Next weekend. He’ll call, I guess. Or message me, I don’t know. I have other things to worry about, honestly, I know I shouldn’t spend all my time thinking about this boy that I feel I’ve connected with rather well.

I’ve taken up these past two or so pages (a little over) talking about this five hour date where all we did was talk. Oh, at one point last night, he asked me what I was thinking. I think it was in the middle of one of our bouts of just staring at each other’s light-streaked faces in the park. I was honest with him. I told him that this feels really comfortable, and that kissing him right now was like taking a breath of fresh air. He laughed at that. I’ll admit it was a little horribly cliched, but it was what I was honestly thinking. I feel like we’re really on the same page, though. I feel like we have a lot in common and that maybe, even if we don’t keep dating or maintain a romantic interest in each other (though I hope we do), I see myself knowing him for a long time. I’m on to the fourth page now, and I think I’ll stop here. This morning’s typing has exhausted me a little, and I need to have a shower right now, I feel all hot and weird. On Friday I went to the beach, I have to talk about that too. I totally ran out of room for that. It was fine, but maybe I’ll say a couple of words about it tomorrow morning. It’s 10:30 a.m. now (I had a bit of trouble typing today), and I want to eat as soon as I can. I am starving!