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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

Text

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy

Summary: Spencer's gay. He joins the BAU and befriends the team, but it is 2003. It's a secret he has to keep. He just didn't expect it to be this hard.

Tags: gay!spencer, coming out, hurt/comfort, insecure!spencer, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, dad hotch, protective!hotch, protective!derek, childhood trauma TW: one instance of explicit homophobia, but it is referenced a lot, as is Spencer's internalised homophobia at the start of this fic. A shit ton of heteronormativity but tbh that's just canon lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid/OMC, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Consider this my contribution to pride month 😌 I've waited so long to post it and I'm so glad I'm finally doing it because it's definitely one of my all time favourites <3 Gideon is here somewhere but just like with all my early season fics he's not really part of the plot I combined my moreid and gen taglists bc it was hard to know the audience for this, but just ignore it if you're not interested!

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. — richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

His mother guessed. For as long as he can remember, she’s used gender neutral pronouns when talking about his future partner, read him all the gay literature she could find, promised him that he’s perfect just the way he is.

The trouble is that Spencer only believes her until the first grade, when Ryan Sampson shoves him over in the playground and calls him gay. His mom had only ever used that term in a sweet, loving way, taking care to associate such words with positivity, as long as his dad wasn’t around to hear. When that word comes out of Ryan Sampson’s mouth, it is not said with sweetness and love; it is said with venom, and Spencer learns quickly that his mom is wrong. He is not perfect just the way he is.

And so, he keeps it a secret. When his mom notices him getting uncomfortable at the mention of future partners, she stops bringing it up, though she refuses to give up the diverse education she provides for him outside of school. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be a strapping young man and marry a nice girl in a church, and Spencer nods along. He ignores the way his stomach turns with anxiety at the thought. Ignores the screaming match his parents have that night. Ignores the fact that it started because Diana chipped in with ‘or boy’.

He’s in high school by the time he’s twelve, and the only part he’s grateful for is the absence of pressure to get a girlfriend. His dad’s out of the picture now, and Spencer tries not to let himself think that maybe if he wasn’t like this he might have stayed. Diana’s so out of it most days that she doesn’t remember what she noticed about him when he was a child, only recalling the last few years of shoving himself so far back in the closet he can hardly see the door anymore.

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

(He hates that a small part of him feels relieved she doesn’t remember; that he almost feels assured by the fact that the last person to know who he really is has forgotten. There is only this version of Spencer Reid now. No other exists.)

He makes the mistake during his second undergraduate degree. He’s just turned eighteen but he is already a doctor and, fortunately, this alienates him from most of his peers, but someone manages to slide past his defences. Ethan Miller is twenty, in the second year of his (first) undergraduate degree in Chemical Engineering, and he’s nice. Spencer doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but they get on well and Ethan makes him laugh. For the first time, he feels comfortable in the presence of anyone other than his mother.

They slip into an easy friendship: waiting for each other after class — Spencer back in the undergraduate buildings now he has his first PhD under his belt — and going out for ice cream and pizza and Thai food. Ethan goes to parties while Spencer studies, and then they reconvene to watch Doctor Who and play cards.

For almost a year, Spencer keeps his secret carefully locked up, hidden behind the mask he’s perfected after so many years. Even though he’s eighteen, nearly nineteen now, he doesn’t try and explore that side of himself. No, that’s far too risky. He doesn’t try and pretend any other way either, he just stays silent and lets people’s assumptions lie for him, but he can’t help the longing that claws up his throat when he locks eyes with a passing guy on campus. One time, he’d seen two men kiss on a bench in the city, and he’d run back to his dorm and had a panic attack. Why couldn’t he have that?

The feelings don’t stop, and he doesn’t know how to make them. He hates that he isn’t normal, but still longs for the touch of a man, the feeling of being wrapped up in strong arms, of being kissed by dry, chapped lips, and falling asleep to a heartbeat approximately 11% slower than that of a woman’s.

It’s a constant battle inside him, emotions raging, and he struggles to control it, suppress it, tame it.

He pays a sorry price.

Ethan makes him feel comfortable, and that turns out to be a detriment. He relaxes around the other boy: he tells him about growing up as a pre-teen in a high school, about how a child feels living 260 miles away from home, even about his mother’s illness.

And one day, it slips out. They’re on the beach, lying on towels as they look up at the blue sky, talking about what their futures will look like: Ethan will be a successful chemical engineer in Berlin, and Spencer will work for the FBI, profiling serial killers.

“You’ll have to marry a German girl,” he tells Ethan. “It’ll be tough to convince an American girl to move all the way to Germany as soon as you graduate.”

“Yeah, and what about you? You’ll be off fighting crime around the country, not much of a life for a family.”

“Oh, I imagine my husband will be the type to—”

“Husband?”

Spencer freezes. It shocks him as much as it shocks Ethan. He doesn’t even pay much attention to Ethan’s disgusted face and his outraged tirade. He hears slurs and insults, hears him say that he can’t believe Spencer tricked him like this, that he was probably waiting to make a move on him, that he was never to look in Ethan’s direction again, but Spencer is frozen in time.

He’s never allowed him to think much about what his personal life might look like in the future, but he’d said ‘husband’ on instinct, without thinking, and it’s clearly something he actually wants. Ethan’s words sting, but the moment brings about a realisation Spencer is thankful for; it instigates a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, of the joy of living as your true self.

He loses his first and only friend, but he gains something much more valuable. He visits gay bars — nervously sipping a non-alcoholic drink in the corner at first, before soon becoming confident enough to respond to the men who sidle up to him and ask for his name. He lets go and dances the night away, sometimes going home with one of the many dance partners he acquires during the night, sometimes heading back to his own dorm happily alone.

Makeup and dresses and skirts and heels make their way into his wardrobe, and he befriends girls and drag queens and other gay men who encourage him to be exactly the way he is. And the best part is, he never has to come out to any of them. All of them know, and that’s good enough for everyone.

The fun comes to a sad sort of slow, however, when he joins the BAU. Everyone knows law enforcement’s relationship with the LGBT community is less than adequate — Spencer’s seen it with his own eyes: butch lesbians and men in dresses getting roughed up by angry police officers for ‘lewd behaviour’ or ‘drunkenness’ when they’re just being themselves. It’s not safe for him to tell anyone, so he doesn’t.

He still goes out with his friends when he’s in town and wears makeup and dresses and crop tops when he’s at home, but presents as rigidly straight Dr Spencer Reid to his team at the BAU.

The hardest part about it is that he loves his team. He’s known Gideon for years — and he wouldn’t be surprised if he suspects something after coming over to his house unannounced one night, only to have a man other than Spencer open the door — but he settles into a comforting dynamic with Hotch. He can’t help but see him as something of a father figure, and he knows Hotch has a soft spot for him, always looking out for him and taking him under his wing without a moment’s hesitation.

Elle, JJ, and Penelope all take a shine to him, too, teasing him without a hint of malice in their tones, only the kind of playful kindness that reminds him of his mother. He forms a special bond with Penelope and they spend hours watching Doctor Who together and geeking out on all the areas their interests overlap, and the comfort he feels with her matches the comfort he’s found with his new group of queer friends.

(She doesn’t hold a candle to Ethan, he decides one night, after he’d cried at a movie she’d made him watch and she felt so bad she made him hot chocolate and jam toast and cuddled him until he felt better.)

Derek becomes a brother to him. He puts him in a headlock at least once a day — which Spencer has been reliably informed by multiple sources is a very brotherly thing to do — and teases him relentlessly, while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. Enough so, that Spencer sometimes wonders if he even has Hotch beat in that department.

He loves his team and his team loves him. It should be simple. It is still 2003.

He comes in one morning late for a briefing, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair is a mess, and he’s fairly sure that his attempt to cover the hickey at the base of his neck with concealer has been ultimately unsuccessful. It’s obvious why he’s late. Gideon is too engrossed in the case file to notice, but Hotch raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face as everyone else immediately takes to teasing him.

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

Elle raises an eyebrow to match Derek’s shit-eating grin, “Someone definitely got some strange last night.”

“When do we get to meet her, Spence?” JJ asks, smirking as he takes a seat.

He’s bright red — as if he needed to look any more debauched — and Spencer tries to ignore the hurt that seizes his chest at the reminder of his need to stay quiet. This team respects him, and he can’t throw that away just because Spencer gets too comfortable.

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

“None of your business,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Naturally, Hotch notices and swiftly moves the briefing on, and Spencer keeps his gaze locked on the case file, not missing the absence of a reprimand from his superior. He’s constantly thankful for the older man, but in this moment, he wishes he could hug him.

(A voice that sounds dangerously close to Ethan’s rises up and taunts him in his ear: he wouldn’t want a dirty homo like you anywhere near him—)

Derek doesn’t let up on the case, continuing to bug him about the special lady in his life. He does concede that it could’ve been a one night stand, which is one front he’s right on, but a couple more concessions are necessary before Derek comes close to the truth of last night.

Eventually, Derek stops, and Spencer notes that the cessation of comments comes suspiciously close to the last time Derek and Hotch were alone together. He doesn’t have it in him to feel angry at Hotch for stepping in when he had it handled; doesn’t have the energy to act as though his pride is wounded, because really, neither of those things are true, and he doesn’t need to add another item to ‘Spencer Reid’s List of Things He Pretends to Be.’

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

Things change when he finds his first proper boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the giddying rush of emotions it turns out to be, and Spencer spends his days smiling as he daydreams his time away.

His name is Oscar Wilkins, a History professor at Georgetown University, and Spencer falls quickly in love with him. Ever since their mutual friend had introduced them at a gay bar one evening, they’d spent all their free time together. He’s kind and gentle and understanding of Spencer’s hectic and unpredictable job, and he finally has the chance to experience everything he quietly and shamefully longed for as a teenager.

The only downside is the silent breaking of Spencer’s heart that the most important people in his life can’t meet his boyfriend. He longs to show Oscar off, to hold hands in front of his team, lean up to press a tender kiss to Oscar’s lips. He wants to put a framed picture of the two of them at the Washington Monument on his desk to remind him of why he needs to get through the hard days; he doesn’t want to have to sneak out of the hotel room he shares with Derek to whisper hushed, loving goodnights over the phone.

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

It’s different being who he is with his gay group of friends littered with wlws and drag queens and other gay and bisexual guys. They understand.

But Derek and Hotch are two extremely masculine, alpha men: Derek’s a ladies’ man and Hotch is married to a woman he met in college with a baby on the way and both have a strong and dominant energy that still sometimes manages to intimidate Spencer even after all these years. And Elle and JJ are lovely — some of his closest friends, really — but sometimes they remind him a little too much of the mean girls he went to high school with.

The hardest person to keep his secret from, though, is Penelope. She’s his best friend and he desperately wants to give her all of him, but he’s so scared. He’s lost a best friend to this secret before, and even though he’s certain she’d be fine with it, what if she accidentally let it slip to Derek? What if Hotch found out and didn’t see him in the same light anymore? What if the girls started teasing him? What if Gideon didn’t want to mentor him anymore?

The fear paralyses him. And it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to break.

Fear, though, doesn't stop everyone from noticing his daydreaming, his dopey smile when he checks his messages, his urgency to get home where he would’ve stayed until the small hours of the morning before. As excellent as he is at hiding his sexuality, he’s fucking terrible at hiding the fact that he’s in love: it was easy enough to pretend he was straight, but hiding something this all-consuming is an impossible ask.

Derek comes over to perch on the edge of his desk one afternoon, sighing as he sits down. “Pretty boy, this is getting ridiculous,” he says, snatching Spencer’s attention away from his phone. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last twenty minutes as you’ve texted Future Mrs Reid. When are we going to meet her?”

(He hates the new nickname the team has given his mystery significant other, although Oscar had found it hilarious. “It’s funny because when we get married, we’ll hardly be able to tell,” he’d argued through his laughter. “Neither of us will change our name because of our academic profiles, and we’ll both still be ‘Dr’. Our wedding rings will be the only indicator.”

Spencer hadn’t argued back, because he’d been too tongue-tied and flushed pink at Oscar’s use of ‘when’ in regards to their hypothetical nuptials. It was only made bearable by Oscar kissing him gently and tucking him under his arm, not embarrassing him any further as Spencer had sort of anticipated, warmth settling over his chest at the thought of their future together.)

“You won’t,” he replies, perhaps a little too curtly.

Derek starts at that, clearly not expecting it. He definitely should’ve tried to play it off as a joke. “What— should I be offended, pretty boy?”

You wouldn’t call me that if you knew who I really am.

“That’s up to you, Derek,” he says calmly, although he still can’t meet his eyes, “but you won’t meet the ‘Future Mrs Reid, so I think it would probably be best if you left it alone.”

“Damn,” Derek mutters under his breath, clearly pissed off and probably more hurt than Spencer ever intended. “Suit yourself.”

And with that, he gets up and leaves his desk. Spencer’s only solace is the text message he sees on his phone when he picks it back up: I love you so much. You know that, right?

The light-hearted ridicule comes to an abrupt halt after the incident with Derek, and it’s clear that he had been the biggest contributor to the teasing. He’s thankful that the jokes have stopped, but he wishes desperately that it didn’t come with the growing distance between him and his team. Loneliness takes the place of his previous irritated anxiety, and he isn’t sure what’s worse.

It all comes to a head at the end of a case in Michigan. They’re stuck in the lounge of the small inn they’d stayed in the last few days, a snowstorm having blocked them in and grounded the jet, although Gideon had long since retreated to his room. The fire’s going and they’re the only guests around, so it’s cosy enough, but Spencer can’t help but feel sick at the idea of another night away from home.

It’s only been two weeks since he’d snapped at Derek, but the chasm between him and the team is only widening with each passing day. He knows it’s not a case of ‘pick a side’, but the team’s morale relies on light-hearted banter and teasing, and him not being a part of that anymore has only brewed awkwardness. Everyone’s trying to give him space when space is the last thing he wants.

Oscar’s keeping him company over the phone at least, but it’s not quite enough to quell the loneliness swimming around his stomach, and the 'discrete' sideways looks he gets from the team only make him feel worse.

“At least it’s nice and toasty in here,” JJ sighs as she takes a sip of the hot chocolate the kindly inn owner had made for them all.

Elle hums in agreement. “There are worse places to be grounded.”

“I dunno, man, I just wanna get home,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the fire. Spencer can’t help but agree.

“Oh, come on,” Hotch muses, considerably more jovial now the case is over, “we’re here, and that’s not going to change any time soon. We should make the most of it.”

“It’s at least nice to be somewhere sort-of Christmassy now it’s December,” Elle points out. “We could be stuck in a dingy police station like we probably will be next week.”

“Ooh, I noticed that Jemimah and Kiran started planning the Christmas party last week,” JJ says, smiling at them. “I offered my help, but they seem to have it covered.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow“That’s probably a good thing. You don’t need more work on your plate.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” she murmurs, smiling as she brings her mug to her lips again.

Spencer doesn’t miss that Derek is still stewing on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you looking forward to the Christmas party, Spencer? Will you come?” Hotch asks, clearly trying to rope him into the conversation, which he appreciates. He’s been making a lot of effort with him the past few weeks, and it’s just about the only thing that’s getting him through each day.

Before he can reply, though, Derek erupts from the other side of the room; an already pissed-off man being pushed over the edge. “He won’t even let us meet his fucking girlfriend, Hotch, he’s not gonna want to come to the Christmas party!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air as he glares at Spencer with a stormy expression raging across his face.

Suddenly, Spencer can’t stay silent anymore, and his retort shocks himself just as much as it does everyone else. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

It might be the loudest he’s ever shouted in his whole life. He’s always been quiet and restrained, the type to state his feelings as calmly as possible no matter how he’s feeling on the inside. Even in the biggest fight he’s had with Oscar, his voice was barely loud enough to qualify as a shout.

There’s a brief stunned silence, but Derek quickly slices his way through it, voice raising to meet Spencer’s fiery emotion, fierce and loud. “Oh, don’t even go there, Reid, you’re really gonna try and argue that? You’re gonna lie about her as well as not let us meet her? What a boyfriend you are.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a girlfriend!” he repeats, voice catching this time as tears rise unbidden to the backs of his eyes and all the emotions of the journey he’s taken with his sexuality over the years flood him in a wave of intensity he’s not prepared for.

“You’re fucking lying—!”

“I have a boyfriend!” he yells. “Alright? I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”

The anger and emotion quickly dissipates, and he’s left standing alone in front of the team he’s put so much effort into hiding this from, watching shock spell out across everyone’s expressions. He’s never felt smaller than he does in that moment, and he quickly grabs his phone before running upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him.

“Oh God, Oscar, I fucked up so bad,” he cries over the phone as soon as his boyfriend picks up.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby,” Oscar says gently, but Spencer can hear the anxious concern in his voice, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just— Oh God, I just told the team.” A new wave of horror rolls over him as he realises what he’s done. Times might be changing, but it’s still only 2006, and he doesn’t know each and every nuance of his team members’ political positions and, fuck, he hates that his existence is a fucking political position.

Oscar’s been so understanding of his reluctance to not tell the team, even though Spencer’s met pretty much everyone in his life. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such a gracious and understanding boyfriend, but he’s not about to question it.

“Baby, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re really worked up right now,” he counsels, voice soft and reassuring, using the nickname he knows Spencer loves the most to make him feel as safe as he can from 700 miles away, “but it’s probably not as bad as you think. From what you’ve told me about the team, they love you so much, and even in the case that in the past they've had some issue with gay people, I can't imagine they’d ever actually think of you any differently when it comes down to it, Spencer.”

He’s crying too hard to reply, and Oscar understands immediately, gently transitioning into a story about his day that slowly starts to calm him down, and by the time he’s wrapping it up, his tears are starting to subside.

“Thank you, Ozzy,” he whispers into the phone, lifting himself up off the floor and making his way to sit on the bed instead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly. “Do you want me to stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” he whispers again, holding it as close to himself as possible, drawing all the comfort he can from his boyfriend’s voice.

He lies there listening to Oscar’s voice and trying not to think about the disaster downstairs for a good ten minutes before there’s a tap at the door.

“Oz, there’s someone here,” he says, voice panicked.

“I think you should probably speak to them, baby,” he urges. “I’ll stay on the phone with you while you do, if you like?”

“Please.” He gets up from the bed gingerly, keeping his phone tightly gripped in his right hand as he slowly unlocks the door with his left, revealing Hotch on the other side.

“Hey, Spencer. Do you mind if I come in?”

He’s riddled with nerves, but Hotch is smiling warmly, and he’s never said a harsh word to Spencer, so he steps aside and lets him into his room.

Hotch quickly notices the phone in his hand, visibly still on a call. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

His brows knit in confusion and his lips part slightly in surprise, but it’s all he can do to hand the phone over, watching Hotch carefully.

“Hi, Spencer tells me this is his boyfriend?” Hotch inquires politely into the phone, his tone still warm. “I’m Hotch, Spencer’s boss.”

He can vaguely hear Oscar speaking on the other end of the line, and he worries slightly that Oscar will somehow give away the familial feelings he holds for Hotch, but the conversation doesn’t last long enough for the anxiety to really take over.

“Everything’s fine here, I just want to have a conversation with Spencer, so is it alright if we hang up and I talk to him alone for a minute? He can call you straight back afterwards.” After a brief pause in which Oscar says something, Hotch looks back up at him. “Are you okay with that, Spencer?”

He nods hesitantly, and Hotch says a quick goodbye to Oscar before surging forwards and wrapping Spencer in a hug. It catches him off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time in burying his face into Hotch’s neck and soaking in the comfort and warmth that always radiates from his father figure.

“Come on,” Hotch says softly as they pull away a good minute or so later, “let’s sit down, shall we?”

“You’re not mad?” Spencer can’t help but ask, the question burning his tongue as anxiety — however quietened from Hotch’s hug — still swims around in his stomach.

“There are many things that could make me mad, Spencer,” he says earnestly, “but this is not one of them. I would never be angry at you for being who you are, okay? I might… I might be overstepping here, and if I am, then tell me and I’ll back off, but I’ve always seen you as a mentee, and over the years that’s developed— well, I see you more as a son these days. And part of that is wanting to protect and support you no matter what you do or say or who you are.”

Spencer wastes no time in diving back in for a hug, clinging onto Hotch for dear life as he hugs back, rubbing his back gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner, Spencer,” he says in a voice soft with affection and regret. “But I’m so glad you’ve told us now.”

He only presses closer at that, tears springing back to his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He knows what he’s implying, and even in a roundabout way, he’s glad he’s telling Hotch.

“Oh, Spence,” he sighs sadly, “you couldn’t do a single thing to lose me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

“Really,” Hotch promises, pulling away as Spencer does. “Now, you have a whole team of agents downstairs who are feeling very sorry for themselves and really want to see you.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach and panic springs back up as he looks at Hotch, desperate for some sort of grounding. “Are they angry at me? Do they hate me now?”

“No one hates you, Spencer,” he says firmly. “I promise you that. Everyone just wishes that they’d made you feel more welcome and comfortable. We all hate that you felt you had to lock up something so integral to who you are, and we can’t help but feel we played a part in it.”

“No,” he protests — the last thing he wants is family blaming themselves when it has nothing to do with them, “it’s not your fault, it’s just…”

Hotch nods. “I understand, it’s okay. Now, do you want to go down and see them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it might help ease your mind to see that they really don’t hate you.”

Spencer pauses, taking a moment to think. “Can I see Derek first?”

“Of course,” Hotch says understandingly, and the comforting smile that crosses his face makes Spencer feel safe and taken care of. “I’ll send him up?”

Spencer nods and Hotch hugs him once more before leaving the room almost reluctantly. He wastes no time in picking up his phone and sending a text to Oscar. You were right. Hotch is fine. He’s just sending Derek up before I go and see the team but he says that no one’s angry and I think I believe him. Thank you, Oscar. I love you.

Not even half a minute goes past before his phone lights up with a text back. I’m so glad, baby. Call me later, okay? I want to make sure you’re okay before I go to bed. I love you more.

Before Spencer can argue that actually, he is the one more in love with the other, a hesitant knock sounds on his door. Nerves suddenly flip his stomach, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before forcing himself to cross the room, revealing a very worried and regretful-looking Derek.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he says sadly, before crushing Spencer in a warm and tender hug. Immediately, he relaxes into the arms of one of his best friends, and relief courses through his blood at Derek’s reaction. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were gay or had a boyfriend. That’s completely on me. I don’t care who you love, Spencer, I just want you to be happy, okay? And if this guy makes you happy, then that’s fine by me. But if he ever lays a hand on you or—”

“Derek, Derek,” he laughs, “it’s fine I get it. Thank you, though, I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier and for snapping at you in the bullpen that time…”

“I understand, Spence,” he promises. “It’s in the past, okay? And I’m sorry for pushing so hard. I mean, I’d love to meet him but if you don’t feel comfortable or you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. It’s your life, man.”

“No, I… I think I want you guys to meet him. It’s been so hard to keep him away from the people I consider my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe after Christmas, we can all have dinner or something.”

Spencer smiles shyly. “Well, Oscar’s a great cook, so I reckon we could work something out.”

Derek grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders as he immediately jumps back into teasing him as they make their way to the door to go downstairs and see the rest of the team. “Ooh, lover boy’s got him a chef, hey? What else does this Oscar have going for him?”

Spencer chatters eagerly about his boyfriend to Derek, barely skipping a beat when he joins everyone downstairs, his friends taking his cues and joining in with the conversation seamlessly. He’s had enough fuss for one night, and the warmth and understanding on everyone’s faces tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow with eager expectancy as they all settle back into their seats by the fire, a warm and unbelievably happy feeling settling in Spencer’s stomach.

He blushes, digging out his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “More than a few, I think.”

He finds the most recent picture of his boyfriend — a candid shot of him cooking in the kitchen, spatula aloft, and a huge grin on his face — and hands the phone around.

“Oh wow, you like them buff, huh, pretty boy?” Derek teases as soon as he gets his hands on it, and Spencer’s stomach twists in a sudden bout of fear, expecting to see some hesitancy or even disgust on his friend’s face. What if he thinks that Spencer has a crush on him? What if he’s uncomfortable around him now?

But if Derek’s having any of those thoughts, they don’t show on his face. He’s smiling widely and openly, all the pent-up anxiety and frustration borne from hurt gone from his body language, and he looks completely comfortable sat next to Spencer, his arm stretched out behind him on the back of the sofa.

They sit happily around the fire for a couple of hours, settling into a happy, intimate familiarity Spencer hadn’t realised was missing when he was hiding something so integral to his being from his family, and he’s still smiling when they finally part ways to head to bed, the clock ticking closer and closer to 1 am.

He gets ready for bed quickly, brushing his teeth and throwing on the top he’d stolen from Oscar the first time he’d stayed at his place; a welcome change from his worn and wrinkled suit. As soon as his teeth are brushed and the lights are all off except for his bedside lamp, he pulls out his phone, knowing there’s one more thing he has to do before he goes to sleep.

“Spencer?” Penelope’s voice sounds down the line, clearly concerned. “It’s almost 2 am here, are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” he says, getting straight to the point. The main reason he ever kept it from her was because of his fear of it accidentally getting out to the team rather than fear over her reaction. After all, multiple of his drag queen friends are also hers.

“Oh my God,” she says in that small voice she uses when she’s not actually talking to you, before finally actually replying to me. “Spencer, I’m so happy you told me!”

He doesn’t miss her choice of words, or the way she says them and he tilts his head suspiciously. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, a couple of months ago I saw a text from Oscar on your phone when you went to the bathroom during one of our Doctor Who marathons, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the relationship.”

“And… wait, you’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?”

“Spencer! Of course not. I was waiting for you to be comfortable enough to share it with me. I felt awful that I knew without your consent but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to catch you off guard or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s fine that you waited, baby genius, I’m just so happy you told me now. What finally gave you the courage?”

“Well, it might have slipped out in front of the team this evening,” he admits sheepishly, “and the only reason I never told you was because I was scared that it would slip out somehow — accidentally, of course, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone on purpose — and now everyone knows. It’s been killing me not to tell you, Penelope, it really has because I love you so much and you’re my best friend and I trust you with my life, it’s just…”

“Whoa, slow down, Spence,” she laughs fondly, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I understand. But I’m glad you finally told everyone and you can be yourself completely with us, now. We all love you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. You should get some sleep, baby boy, it’s late and you’ve had an emotional evening.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I know. You should, too, Pen. I’ll see you when we can finally make it home, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too, 187,” she says softly, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight.”

As soon as he hangs up, he settles down into the bed, turning off the light and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders before dialling one more number.

“Hey, baby,” Oscar says, voice as gentle and caring as it always is, although thicker with tiredness now. “I take it everything went okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, already feeling tired as the safety he always feels at the sound of Oscar’s voice settles into the fibres of his being. “It went so well. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

“I can’t wait either, sweetheart. Are you in bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Can you talk to me as I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, Spence,” he says softly, before transitioning seamlessly into a story about the professors on campus, and his gentle comfort and the knowledge of the unconditional love his family has for him finally lulls Spencer into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

taglist : @criminalmindsvibez @moreidstrobed @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @temily @enbyspencer @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids (add yourself to my taglist via this form!!)

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motheatenscarf · 2 years ago

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I finally got around to watching The Sandman series, and MAAAN!! I’ve been waiting for this adaptation since I was 16, it was great! Like the comic, what was “meh” was meh, and what was good was fucking transcendent.

Not unlike the Good Omens adaptation a couple years back, this is also being modernized mostly for the better, but I do think modern technology and 30 years of societal changes do affect the suspension of disbelief on some of these characters’ issues. Like, I’ll grant you the “Serial Killer Convention” even in the 90s was very tongue-in-cheek, but in the 2022 police surveillance state we live in, it’s just... no, lol. That. No. That’s just dumb lol.

Mostly, I loved it, though, silly gripes aside. The stuff I loved about the comic was all there, the themes of what makes us human, the inherent need in all of us for stories and hope and wonder and the place of horror and despair among those needs, the utter alien coldness of most of the Endless and other immortal beings and their observations as outsiders on humanity, the contrasting and wholly moving warmth and empathy of Death, the entire thing hinging on the notion of change as this terrifying reality that we think we’re exempt from until we’re not and having to grapple with that even as we’re changing from within. Which.

WOOF, I gotta say, it has been like 10 years since I read The Sandman comics, and UHHH, I remembered these themes, in theory, but being 30, boy do they hit different! Goddamn. I first read these when I was 16, my favorite English teacher loaned them out to me and 16 year old Caitlin was like, “Oh yeah, cool, I love mythology!” But 30 year old Caitlin gets it now.... Holy fuck, do I get it now...

My only real complaint is that MORPHEUS’ HAIR WASN’T DUMB ENOUGH. That’s it. That’s my biggest gripe. His hair had potential in the first episode, but they overstyled it in the others... or maybe understyled it, idk, it wasn’t the big dumb Robert Smith lookin mop and I saw someone on twitter the other day call Dream “emo” which... god, if ever there were an argument for humanity’s destruction based on bad twitter takes. But I don’t think even that fool would have been able to ignore how obviously fucking GOTH AND BYRONIC Dream is supposed to be if you just gave him his big dumb 80s goth hair where he keeps all his feelings. You failed me, Neil!

But other than that, it was good and I loved it a lot. Definitely dragged a bit with The Dollhouse story arc, imo, the dialogue and delivery was really unnatural in a lot of places that was, granted, taken from the comics, but imo, better intonation or less stilted performances could have sold the “quirky found family” atmosphere better, but the episodes before that were VERY strong and picked up again in the last episode and a half.

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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 4 years ago

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if this was a dream pt. 2

Part 1 | AO3 | Fanfiction Masterlist

Thomas tried to steady himself as Alastair walked - no, more like ran - away. What was he doing here, by his bedside? In what universe would his parents allow Alastair Carstairs to sit with him while they slept? He seemed to recall many nights in his youth when his mother refused to sleep at all when he was unwell.

His mind ran through countless possibilities, each one less likely than the last, until his parents rushed into his room. He pushed those thoughts aside as mother ran to him, cupping his face in her hands and gently kissing his forehead. “We were so worried. How are you feeling?”

Besides blinding rage? He took a moment to actually consider the question. He’d been too distracted by the Alastair fiasco to take notice of it all. Alastair said that he had been injured. “Er, my head hurts, but other than that, I feel alright.”

She smiled. “That’s good. You were attacked on patrol about three days ago, and your injuries were quite severe. There’s a Silent Brother lingering around here somewhere, we should fetch him to check on you. I’m so glad you’re feeling alright, love.”

“Alright is one word for not being able to remember the past six months,” Eugenia commented, appearing in the doorway.

Both of his parents looked alarmed. “What do you mean?” his father asked.

“That’s what-” She cut herself off abruptly. “Thomas, what month is it?”

“Um…” He thought for a moment. Now that she mentioned it, he was feeling a bit blurry. Was the engagement party last week? Two weeks ago, perhaps? “It’s August.”

His mother looked at him worriedly.

“What?”

“It’s February,” Eugenia answered. She was always the most blunt out of all of them.

Thomas wasn’t sure how to respond, but his mother quickly reassured, “That’s alright, dear. I’ll go find the Silent Brother now. I’m sure this will pass as your head heals.”

She left the room and Eugenia came to the chair that Alastair had been sitting in earlier. She sighed. “I know you’re mad at him.” It took him a moment to realize she was talking about Alastair. “You should be, but also… try to keep in mind that a lot has happened over the past six months.”

He could feel the anger rising in his bloodstream again, but there was only so much he was willing to say with his father present. “Forgive me if I find it hard to believe that…” He trailed off. What was being implied here? He had no idea what was happening at all.

“Believe what you must, then,” Eugenia exhaled.

“Well, what did happen in the last six months?”

Eugenia thought for a moment. “Hm, let’s see… Well, Rosamund and Thoby got engaged. Cordelia and James got married, kind of. Matthew got a flat! And a car. And he’s trying to quit drinking now, though that’s a bit new, maybe don’t bring it up. Let’s see… There was the whole serial killer bit, we fought a couple of Princes of Hell, Lilith showed up, Lucie raised Jesse Blackthorn from the dead… Oh, I’m sure I’m missing some things. Your friends can explain it better.”

Thomas could only stare in response.

“See? Is your relationship with Alastair Carstairs truly the most shocking thing to have happened in the past six months?”

Thomas’ head had ached before, but now he could feel it pounding, trying to process all that his sister had just rattled off. “I- What-” He flashed his gaze towards his father, who seemed a bit concerned, but not the least bit surprised or upset. “My- I don’t-”

“I can see now that I’ve said far too much. You know what? It’s fine. Most of that doesn’t even matter anyways. The parts that do, well, you’ll figure them out. Besides, your memories may come back soon enough anyways. And it’s all truly not as dramatic as it sounds listed out like that.”

Thomas closed his eyes and tried to shove all of those thoughts, his sister’s words, the many questions needing answers, into some corner of his brain to be picked up later. “Perhaps we can just… avoid that as a topic of conversation.”

“Of course,” his sister said quickly. “By ‘that’ you mean-”

Gideon cut her off by clearing his throat. “Genie, would you please find Bridget and request some food be brought up for your brother, now that he’s awake.”

She shot out of her seat with nervous energy. “Of course. I’ll be back.”

Once she was out the door, he chuckled gently. “I have no idea how she still has that much energy after staying awake for nearly three straight days.”

Thomas bit at the inside of his lip. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

Gideon nodded solemnly. “You’re alright now, though, and you’re awake. That’s what is important.” He paused. “I know this has all been a lot to take in, but you needn’t worry about any of it, truly. All that matters to any of us right now is that you heal. You should try to rest, if only because Eugenia is less likely to harass you if it looks like you’re sleeping.”

He gave him a small smile and tried to relax. He attempted, unsuccessfully, to quiet the noise in his brain. Alastair, sitting by his bedside. The look on Alastair’s face as he fled the room. How his entire family had seemingly accepted Alastair as part of his life, as his… partner? Had Alastair sat with them these three long days, hoping, praying, that he would wake?

It didn’t make sense. Alastair had spread cruel rumors, terrible lies, about Thomas’ family. Rumors that had made his mother weep. He’d hurt Matthew so badly that the scars showed even now, four years later. He’d had a crush on Alastair in school, of course. Just a silly schoolboy crush, running after the witty and mysterious older boy with cutting words and sad eyes. Thomas had thought, for a moment, that he was falling in love with him, back in Paris. He kicked himself at the thought of it now. He’d been terribly lonely and feeling alienated, of course he would fall at the feet of the first person he connected with.

He felt it again, though, when Alastair arrived in London, in those stolen conversations at parties or in the laboratory. He knew now that the Alastair he’d shown to Thomas was not true. It was a facade he put on to please him, a trick. That Alastair would never be able to say such terrible things about his loved ones, even as some strange, sick act. This must be another trick, Thomas thought, one that he’d seemingly convinced not only Thomas of but everyone else, too.

Thomas silently scolded himself. There were much bigger issues to worry about than Alastair Carstairs’ games, such as the fact that he’d nearly died a few days prior or that Lucie had apparently raised Jesse Blackthorn from the dead. Those were the types of things that he should be worried about, or even the fact that this meant that it had been over half a year without his sister, or that he’d turned 19 last month and could not remember. And yet, his mind lingered.

His mother returned soon after with Brother Shadrach. Thomas allowed himself a moment of silent relief that it was not Brother Zachariah. He had no issue with Jem, but he suspected that his presence would make it a bit difficult to keep his mind off of a different Carstairs.

Brother Shadrach did a short physical evaluation. Thomas still had several wounds that had not finished healing, but they were reportedly improving nicely. His head injury was a different story.

With these types of injuries, recent memories are typically more affected than older ones. Only time will tell whether the amnesia is temporary or not. It is likely that even if you begin to regain your older memories, some of your most recent memories will never return, even if that is merely the days or weeks leading up to the attack.

Sophie thanked him for all of his help, and he left them with orders that Thomas be allowed light physical activity as he finished healing, though he should avoid anything that may make his headache worsen, such as reading. Or Alastair Carstairs, Thomas had wanted to add, though he did not.

Over the next several hours, his family tapered off in shifts, finally allowing themselves much-needed rest and meals now that they were certain that Thomas was alright.

It was Eugenia’s shift when he woke from a nap with too much restless energy to lie in bed any longer. “I’m going to walk around a bit,” he announced.

She sat up, closing the book she was reading. “I’ll come with you, then.”

“That’s alright, you don’t need to. Brother Shadrach said I’m allowed to walk around. I’m meant to avoid headaches, though, and I’d rather not have you talking my ears off.”

Genie’s face fell. “Oh.”

“I didn’t- That came out wrong. I only meant that I’d like some time alone.”

“I know what you meant.” She looked back down at the book in her lap. “Go. You have until I finish this chapter, and then I’m coming to find you.”

His wandering eventually led him to the library, though he was not meant to do any actual reading. In the library, however, was a man.

“Why are you still here?” Thomas asked.

Alastair looked up from the book he was holding. “I- Thomas! I didn’t realize that you were walking around.”

“Yes, according to Brother Shadrach, my head injury has not affected my ability to walk.”

“Right-”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Go home, Carstairs. How many times do I need to tell it to you? Do you need it in a different language?” He was about to tell Alastair to leave in Farsi when he was cut off.

“No, I’ll go.” He shut his book and stood up. “I’m sorry. I did not intend to bother you again, I simply-”

“I don’t know what game you’re playing or how you’ve managed to convince my whole family of it, too, but it won’t work anymore.”

“Thomas, there’s no-”

“Cease constantly addressing me by my first name. We’re not schoolboys any longer. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

Alastair couldn’t seem to find the words to respond, though his expression was as unreadable as ever.

Thomas could feel tears burning in his eyes. “I thought that you were different, but I was wrong. I will not allow myself to fall for your lies again.”

“Very well, Mr. Lightwood. I will take my leave. I did not wish to upset you.” His face was still blank.

“Really? Because you don’t seem to care all that much. We’re meant to be in a relationship, or something, according to my sister, but it doesn’t even seem like you care that I hate you.”

There, just for a moment, was a flicker across Alastair’s face, though Thomas couldn’t quite catch what it was. He thought for a moment before finally responding. “You’re allowed to hate me, T- Perhaps you should. It matters not to me because as long as you hate me, you are awake and you are alive, and that is an easier reality to contend with than one where you are… not alive. I hope you feel better, Mr. Lightwood.”

Thomas opened his mouth to respond, but was too flustered to find the words. He stared as he watched Alastair walk out of the library. For a moment, he thought that perhaps he would look back at him, but he simply kept walking, turning the corner towards the front entrance of the Institute.

Thanks for all of your support! taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @doitforthecarstairs @lifewouldbebetteronmars @delusioneon @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood

Part 3

#coi spoilers #chain of iron spoilers #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #thomastair #chain of iron #coi #the last hours #tlh #fanfiction #fanfic #if this was a dream fic

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longitudinalwaveme · 4 years ago

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The CW Rogues: My Biggest Gripe With the 2014 Flash Show

In many ways, the CW Flash show is what got me into comics. While I had watched (and loved) Justice League and Justice League Unlimited and read loads of DC guidebooks as a kid, it wasn’t until I saw a clip from the 2014 CW Flash show that I really got invested in the DC Universe. While I had already started watching B:TAS (and loving it), Batman wasn’t what got me into comics. No, that was the Flash...or rather, it was Captain Cold. While watching a clip from the Justice League episode Flash and Substance on YouTube, I saw a link to a clip from “Family of Rogues” (from Season 2 of CW’s Flash). Intrigued by the premise, I found the show on Netflix, watched the entire episode, and was hooked. Not only was the Flash just as nice as he had been on Justice League, but two of his Rogues were siblings, and they actually cared about one another. I wanted to know more, so I looked Captain Cold and the Golden Glider up. My research into Cold and Glider led me to the other Rogues, and soon I became a Flash fan. I watched the show, I re-watched “Flash and Substance”, I read articles about the characters from the comics...and eventually, I started reading the comics themselves. I loved the characters and the lore, and I enjoyed the generally lighthearted tone of the books even into the modern era. Unfortunately, as I learned more about the comics, I grew less and less interested in the 2014 TV show. It made too many alterations to character I liked in the comics...and eventually, I basically stopped watching the show out of frustration. Ironically enough, by getting me into comics, the show alienated me from itself....and a big reason for that was the way it handled the Rogues. Here’s a rundown of the CW Rogues, and why I was frustrated with most of them.

1. Captain Cold. I actually enjoy Captain Cold on the CW show; he’s recognizable as Len Snart and his sarcasm game is on point. (It doesn’t hurt that Wentworth Miller is really attractive, either). His relationships with Lisa, Mick, and Barry are fantastic, and it’s a relief to have him be treated as a competent threat. That being said...he’s a bit too suave for Captain Cold, isn’t he? Silver Age Cold thought he was suave, but he wasn’t; and modern Captain Cold is middle-aged, grouchy, and very rough around the edges. His smooth, suave nature reminds me more of classic Sam (the original Mirror Master) than Captain Cold.

2. Heat Wave. Dominic Purcell did a great job with the role he was given, and physically he’s an excellent match for Mick. That being said, CW Mick is very different from the Mick in the classic comics, who was a bit dim-witted and rather gentle and sweet for a supervillain. CW Mick, by contrast, is, as I think @gorogues put it, “Hothead McAngryman”, which wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t seem to have bled back into the comics themselves. Villains with fire powers being hotheads is a bit overdone, so I’m not thrilled to see comic Mick being put into that role.

3. Golden Glider. Hands down, Lisa is my favorite of the CW Rogues. Despite the fact that her costume and power set are completely different than they were in the comics, they managed to get her personality down pretty well; making her just as dangerous and competent as the boys. Flirtatious, crafty, devious, and yet still at least somewhat sympathetic, the CW version of Lisa Snart takes home the gold for the best adaptation of a Rogue. If only they hadn’t completely forgotten that she existed.

4. Pied Piper. Note that I have not seen his Season 6 appearance, so I’m just judging this based on his appearances in Seasons 1 and 2. Piper is disappointing; in his first appearance he wasn’t as fun as Silver/Bronze Age Piper or as sympathetic as modern Piper, and I’m not crazy about the idea of him being motivated primarily by revenge on Wells/Thawne, since that wasn’t his motivation in the comics at all. I also don’t remember him being able to puppet or hypnotize people with his music, which is too bad, since that’s his main schtick in the comics. What’s more, if you want to reform a character, don’t do it offscreen via reality warping and then forget about him for four seasons. It sounds like his Season 6 appearance was better, but I haven’t seen it so I can’t comment on it. Also, “the Pied Piper” is kind of a nonindicative name if he doesn’t play a pipe/flute.

5. Trickster II (Axel Walker). Axel was actually decent in the CW show. I still like comic Axel better, but they got the gist of his character down and even made him a bit sympathetic. In fact, he’s probably in the top three best Rogue adaptations that the CW did.

6. Trickster I (James Jesse). I love watching Mark Hamill play CW’s Trickster...but man, he is not playing Giovanni Giuseppi on the CW show. He’s playing the Joker with a different name. It’s especially weird since we know from JLU and that one short where Mark Hamill plays himself, the Joker, the Trickster, and Swamp Thing that Hamill can do a non-Joker Trickster and do it well, so my suspicion is that it was just because Trickster was also the Joker in the 1990s Flash show (where he was also played by Mark Hamill). Regardless, murdering random people and threatening to blow up small children during Christmas is not something the Trickster should be doing.

Although this does prove Mark Hamill could do a live-action Joker. I’d pay money to see that. Mark Hamill is a great Joker.

7. Weather Wizard. CW Weather Wizard isn’t egregiously bad. He’s not out-of-character like Trickster, and he’s not boring to watch, but at the same time it feels like there’s something missing. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t quote Twain. Maybe it’s because there’s not the sense that he was a loser before he got his powers. Maybe it’s because they changed his origin completely (and also made him older than Clyde for some reason). It could even be because he’s not wearing a green leotard with a huge collar, puffy sleeves, and ridiculous elf boots. Whatever it is, though, he’s just missing that spark that makes me like comic book Wizard so much.

8. Mirror Master I (Sam Scudder). I don’t know how you make Sam Scudder more boring than New 52/Rebirth did, but somehow the CW version of the character pulled it off. Granted, Cold had already stolen some of Sam’s characterization, so that didn’t help, but they could’ve leaned into his skills as an inventor or his love of showmanship or something. Instead, we got a generic thug with what was basically Evan McCulloch’s power set. Boo! Boo I say!

9. Top (Roscoe/Rosa Dillon). The Brave and the Bold Top is more interesting than the CW version, and he doesn’t even have spoken lines! That’s how boring this Top is. Also, the gender swap was pretty pointless. I wouldn’t have minded a female Top if she’d been intelligent and creepy and snobbish in the way that Roscoe is, but why even bother changing the gender if the character is going to have such a minor role? They also substantially depowered the CW Top, since Rosa can’t spin at super speed and isn’t telekinetic. A massive missed opportunity.

10. Mirror Master II (Evan/Eva McCulloch). I can’t comment on how good of a character Eva is, since I haven’t watched any of the episodes with her in them, but I will say I am disappointed that the character does not seem to be Scottish, does not have Evan’s weird sense of humor, and lacks his tooth gap.

11. Captain Boomerang (George “Digger” Harkness). Not only did he not actually appear on the Flash, but he was also boring and didn’t even seem to have an Australian accent. I was very disappointed with his role in the CW.

And now for characters who aren’t Rogues:

-CW Eobard is really good. I have no real complaints about him.

-CW Grodd is also really good, though I do wish he was from Gorilla City as per the comics rather than a lab experiment.

-CW Magenta got most of the important character beats down but felt a bit out of place with Barry as the Flash.

-CW Shade was possibly even more boring than CW Sam, which is saying something.

-CW Zoom didn’t really feel like Zoom at all. Not only was it weird to see him fighting Barry and not Wally, but he was just a generic serial killer and didn’t have Zolomon’s unique outlook on the world. The loss of his time manipulation powers was likewise disappointing.

-CW Jay is really good. I love him.

-CW Jesse Quick has very little in common with her comic book counterpart; I like the comic version better but don’t actually mind the CW version all that much.

-CW Wally is decent enough, though I don’t see why they couldn’t have kept him as Iris’ nephew rather than making him her brother. Also, they didn’t use him nearly as much as they should have.

-CW Barry I generally like a lot; Grant Gustin is a good fit for the character. That being said, I do wish they hadn’t given him the dead mom origin, which was a retcon I am not fond of.

-CW Iris is quite good (in the first three seasons, at least); she’s intelligent, loyal to Barry, dedicated to her job, and quite independent. The fact that she and Barry were foster siblings in the CW universe is kind of weird, though, since it makes their romance kind of awkward.

-Joe West is not Ira West (Iris’s father in the comics), but I actually don’t care. Joe West is made of awesome. (I like Ira too, but I like Joe enough that I don’t mind having him replace Ira.)

-The Fiddler on the CW had very little to do with the comic Fiddler.

-I’ve never been particularly invested in the Thinker (comic or show), but I will say that the CW’s version of the character was very different from his comics counterpart.

-CW Ragdoll was just as creepy and unsettling as comic book Ragdoll, though he had a very different backstory.

-I never expected Baby Josh to make it into the CW, let alone as a gender-swapped teenager named Joss who wanted to kill Weather Wizard. It felt like they never knew where to go with her character, though, so it was a wasted opportunity. At least she didn’t die like poor Baby Josh, though.

-Big Sir in the CW show is a MASSIVE improvement over the comic version. This is probably the only character I will say this about. Though I will say that I kind of wish he’d gotten his stupidly ugly comic book costume even though it would’ve made no sense.

-Peek-a-Boo is a pretty solid adaptation of her comic book counterpart.

-Rainbow Raider (Prism) is much better in the comics than on the CW show, where he only existed to be a boring plot device.

-Linda Park dating Barry was weird, but they actually did a good job with her character before she vanished.

This is not intended as a criticism of anyone who likes the show or its characters; it’s just me musing about my personal problems with it.

#flash rogues #flash comics #flash cw #barry allen #wally west #iris allen

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weekendwarriorblog · 3 years ago

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The Weekend Warrior 10/1/21: VENOM: LET THERE BE CARNAGE, THE ADDAMS FAMILY II, THE MANY SAINTS OF NEWARK, TITANE, MAYDAY, THE JESUS MUSIC

Yeah, so I haven’t had the time over the past couple weeks to write a column, and I kind of hate that fact, especially since I’m coming up on a pretty major milestone for me writing a weekly box office column and reviewing movies. In fact, that milestone comes next week! And once again, I’m struggling to get through the movies I was hoping to watch and write about this week, because I’ve been out of town and once again, very busy over the weekend. Let’s see how far I get...

Before we get to this week’s wide releases, I’m excited to say that my local arthouse movie theater, The Metrograph, is finally reopening for in-person screenings, and they’re kicking things off with a 4k restoration of Andrez Zulawski’s 1981 thriller, Possession, starring Sam Neill and Isabell Adjani, who won a Best Actress prize at Cannes for her performance in the film. I actually saw this at the Metrograph a few years back, and Metrograph Pictures, the distribution arm of the company is now distributing the 4k restoration. There’s a lot of exciting things ahead at Metrograph, including an upcoming four-film Clint Eastwood retrospective, including White Hunter, Black Heart (1990) and A Perfect World (1991) this Friday. Also, Lingua Franca director Isabel Sandoval will be showing her fantastic film from 2020 (a rare chance to see it in a theater and I’ll be there!) as well as program a number of other favorites of hers. Sunday will have screenings of Ingmar Berman’s Scenes from a Marriage (1973) in its full four plus hour glory, Steven Spielberg’s Jurassic Park (1993) and John Carpenter’s In the Mouth of Madness (1994).. In other words, the Metrograph is back!

Moving over to the weekend’s three wide releases, the first one up being Sony’s VENOM: LET THERE BE CARNAGE (Sony Pictures) with Tom Hardy returning as Eddie Brock aka Venom, joined by Woody Harrelson as the psychotic symbiote, Carnage. Taking over the directing reins is Andy Serkis, who has only directed two other movies, Mowgli: Legend of the Jungle and Breathe, but as an actor, he’s been heavily involved with the CG VFX (and performance capture) needed to bring the characters in this Marvel anti-hero movie to life.

Venom has been one of Spider-Man’s most popular villains and sometimes allies for quite a few decades now, starting out life as a cool black costume Spider-Man found on a strange planet during the first “Secret Wars,” which turned out to be an alien symbiote that had malicious intentions. Spider-Man got the costume off of him but it then linked up with Eddie Brock, a sad-sack journalist whose emotions drove the alien symbiote to become the Venom we known and (mostly) love, thanks to one Todd McFarlane. Venom continued to play a large part in the Spider-Man books before getting his own comics, and not before a super-villain was created for him in Cletus Kasady, a vicious serial killer whose infection by the symbiote turns him into Carnage. And that’s who Harrelson is playing.

Being a sequel, we do have some basis to go on, although the original Venom movie, released in early October 2018, also arrived at a time when it was only the second time the character of Venom was brought to the big screen -- the first time being Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man 3, in which the character was received without much love as Ryan Reynold’s Deadpool in X-Men Origins: Wolverine. And yet, Venom did great, opening with $80.2 million and grossing $213 million domestically, which is more than enough to greenlight a sequel. (It made over double that amount overseas, too.) For comparison, the Wolverine prequel opened with $85 million but at the beginning of summer, so it quickly tailed away with other movies coming out after it. Venom: Let There Be Carnage has to worry about the new James Bond opening a week later, so it very likely could be a one-and-done, opening decently but quickly dropping down as other big movies are released in October (basically one a week).

I’ve already seen the movie, and by the time you read this, reviews will already be up --including my own at Below the Line. Social media reactions seem to not be so bad though, so maybe it’ll get better reviews than its predecessor, which was trashed by critics, receiving only a 30% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. But if you look at the fan ratings, they’re higher with 81%, although it’s hard not to be

I’m thinking that bearing COVID in mind and the law of depreciation since the previous movie, Venom: Let There Be Carnage will probably be good for around $50 million this weekend, maybe a little more, but however it’s received, I expect it to drop significantly next week, though a total domestic gross of $135 to 140 million seems reasonable.

Another strong sequel to kick off October is the animated THE ADDAMS FAMILY II (MGM), which is following up the 2019 hit for MGM/UA Releasing with most of the voice cast returning, including Oscar Isaac, Charlize Theron, Chloe Grace Moretz, and Finn Wolfhard, as well as Nick Kroll, Snoop Dogg, Martin Short, Catherine O’Hara, and Bette Midler voicing the popular characters from the New Yorker cartoons, a popular ‘60s TV series, and two Barry Sonnenfeld movies from the ‘90s.

The 2019 animated film was a pretty solid hit for the newly-launched UA Releasing, grossing $100 million domestic after a $30.3 million opening, making it one of MGM’s biggest hits since it was restructured under UA and became its own distributor again. Who knows what’s going to happen with Amazon’s plans on buying MGM and whether the latter will remain a distribution wing, but MGM still has a number of movies out this year that likely will be awards contenders. But that doesn’t mean much for The Addams Family II, which will try to get some of those people who paid to see the original movie in theaters back to see the sequel… and if they’re not going to theaters, MGM is once again offering the movie day-and-date on VOD much like they did with last year’s Bill and Ted Face the Music, which opened much earlier in the pandemic (late august, 2020), so it far fewer options to see it in theaters compared to this animated sequel.

It’s highly doubtful that The Addams Family II was going to open anywhere near to $30 million even if there wasn’t a pandemic, and it wasn’t on VOD just because MGM just doesn’t seem to be marketing the movie as well as its predecessor. You can blame COVID if you want, but it’s also the fact they’re distributing the company’s first James Bond movie in six years, No Time To Die, on their own vs. through another distributor, ala the last few Daniel Craig Bonds. But we’ll talk more about that next week, since that’s going to be an important movie to help cover MGM’s expenses for the rest of 2021. (I haven’t had a chance to see this yet, but it’s embargoed until Friday, so wouldn’t be able to get a review into the column regardless.)

We’ve seen quite a few family hits over the past few months even when the movies were already on streaming/VOD, but parents are probably being a bit more careful with kids back in school, many younger kids still not vaccinated, and the Delta variant still not quite under control. Because of those factors, I think The Addams Family II is more likely to do somewhere between $15 and 18 million its opening weekend, maybe more on the lower side.

Third up is THE MANY SAINTS OF NEWARK (New Line/WB), David Chase’s prequel to his hit HBO series, The Sopranos, which went off the air in 2004 but still finds fans on the new HBO Max streamer. Ironically, this prequel will air on the streamer at the same time as it's getting a theatrical release, which probably won't be a very tough choice for fans.

Chase has reunited with director Alan Taylor, who won a Primetime Emmy for his work on the show in 2007 before moving onto other popular shows like HBO's Game of Thrones. Taylor has had a bit of a rough career in film, though, having directed Marvel Studios’ sequel, Thor: The Dark World, a movie that wasn't received very well although there were rumors that Taylor butted heads with the producers and maybe didn't even finish the movie. He went on to direct Terminator Genesys, which honestly, I can't remember if it was the worst Terminator movie, but it was pretty bad.

What's interesting is that because this is a prequel set in the '70s and '80s, none of the actors from the show appear on it, but it does star Alessandro Nivola, a great actor in one of his meatiest roles for a studio movie. It also introduces Michael Gandolfini, son of the late James Gandolfini (who played Tony Soprano, if you didn't know), playing the teenage Tony, plus it has great roles for the likes of Jon Bernthal (as Tony's father), Vera Farmiga (playing Tony's mother), Corey Stoll (playing the younger "Junior” Soprano), and Lesile Odom Jr, as the Sopranos key adversary, even though he ends up coming across like the good guy of the movie. It also stars Billy Magnussen, who oddly, also has a key role in next week's No Time to Die.

I'm sure there's quite a bit of interest in seeing where Tony came from and to learn more about his family, many who were dead long before the events of the HBO show, but will that be enough to get them into theaters when they already have HBO? I already reviewed the movie for Below the Line, and reviews are generally positive, which might get people more interested in this prequel.

As with most of Warner Bros’ movies this year, Many Saints will also debut on HBO Max and unlike some of the studio’s other 2021 offerings, it will actually make more sense to watch this one on the streamer since that’s how most people watched The Sopranos. That seems like a killer for Many Saints, and it’s likely to keep it opening under $10 million, where it might have done better on a different weekend (like sometime over the last two weeks).

This is what I have this weekend’s top 10 looking like:

1. Venom: Let There Be Carnage (Sony) - $50.4 million N/A

2. The Addams Family II (MGM/UA Releasing) - $16.5 million N/A

3. The Many Saints of Newark (New Line/WB) - $9 million N/A

4. Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (Marvel/Disney) - $7.5 million -44%

5. Dear Evan Hansen (Universal) - $4.1 million -45%

6. Free Guy (20th Century/Disney) - $3.3 million -30%

7. Jungle Cruise (Disney) - $1.1 million -35%

8. Candyman (Universal) - $1.3 million -48%

9. Cry Macho (Warner Bros.) - $1 million -52%

10. Malignant (Warner Bros.) - .7 million -53%

Opening in select cities is French filmmaker Julia (Raw) Ducournau’s TITANE (Neon), the genre thriller that won this year’s coveted Palme D’Or at the Cannes Film Festival. It stars Agathe Rouselle as a young woman who has an interesting relationship with automobiles, but she also has psychotic tendencies that leaves a trail of bodies behind her. On the run, she decides to pretend she’s the missing son of a fireman (Vincent Lindon), who has been missing for 10 years, and things just get weirder from there.

I honestly wasen’t sure what to expect from this although I do remember walking out of Ducournau’s cannibal movie, Raw, just because it was so gross, even though so many of my colleagues and friends swear by the movie, and this one, for that matter. Sure, there’s a certain “prove it” factor to me watching a movie that wins the Palme D’Or, because it’s very rare that I like the movies that do win that benchmark cinema award.

After a flashback to Agathe’s character Alexia when she was an obstinate young girl kicking the back seat of her father as he’s driving. They crash and she’s forced to get surgery that puts an odd looking piece of metal in her head. Decades later, she seems to be a pseudo-stripper at weird punk rock car show -- I guess they do those things different in France -- and hooking up with a fellow “model” afterwards. Agathe is actually a very popular model/dancer but when one fan gets too grabby, she pulls a knitting needle out of her hair and stabs it through his ear, killing him. Oh, yeah, she then has sex with a car and seemingly gets pregnant, but that only happens later. First, she goes on a bit of a killing spree and then goes on a run and decides that by strapping up her breasts and breaking her nose, she can pass off this fire captain’s son… and it works!

So the second half deals with acting great Vincent Lindon’s absolutely bonkers steroid-addicted man who seems to be sexually attracted to his own son, and most of his fellow firefighters knows that he’s gay but in the closet, but I’m honestly not sure what that matters. He’s a pretty disgusting character whose 70-year-old ass we see way too much of, and even those who might find Rouselle to be quite fetching, there’s a certain point where her nudity is not alluring but quite horrifying.

Oh, and at this time, Alexia (or Adrien, as she’s now going) has also gotten significantly pregnant, but it’s not a normal pregnancy because what should be milk from her breasts seems to some sort of motor oil. That’s because she FUCKED A CAR earlier in the movie!!! What do you expect when you fuck a car and don’t use protection, girlie? The fact Alexia/Adrien is trying to hide the fact she’s a pregnant woman from a station full of men isn’t even particularly disturbing. The part that really got me was when she broke her own nose to pass off as this guy’s son -- I actually had to look away for that part.

Listen I’m no prude, and I think I can handle most things in terms of horror and gore, but Titane just annoyed me, because it felt like Ms Ducournau was doing a lot of what we see more for shock value than to actually drive the story forward. There just doesn’t seem to be much point to any of it, and once the movie gets to the firehouse, and we see her interaction (as a young man) with her “father” and his colleagues, it just gets more grueling.

It’s as if Ducournau had watched a lot of movies by the likes of Cronenberg or David Lynch, or more likely Nicolas Refn or Lars von Trier, and thought, “I could be just as strange and horrific as those men… let’s see what people think of this.” And way too many people fell for it, including the Cannes jury. While I normally would approve of any good body horror movie, especially one with cinematography, score and musical selections as good as this one, I doubt I’d ever want to watch this movie again. And therefore, I don’t think I can recommend this movie to anyone either, at least no one I want to remain my friend.

As far as the movie’s box office, NEON is opening the movie in 562 theaters to build on buzz from various film festivals, including the New York Film Festival earlier this week. I think it should be good for half a million this weekend, although maybe it'll surprise me like NEON's release of Parasite a few years back. I just don't see this getting into the top 10 but maybe just outside it.

And then we have a few more movies that I got screeners for but just couldn’t find the time to watch, but might do so once I finish this verdammt column.

The faith-based doc THE JESUS MUSIC (Lionsgate) by the Erwin Brothers (I Can Only Imagine, I Still Believe) takes a look at the rise of Christian Contemporary Music through artists like Amy Grant and Stryper and everything in between, featuring lots of interviews of the artists’ trials and triumphs. Even though there isn’t much CCM I ever listen to, I’m still kind of curious about this one, since I generally like music docs and this is guaranteed not to be the sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll of most of them. I have no idea how wide Lionsgate intends to release this but it certainly can be fairly wide, because the Erwins have delivered at least one giant hit for Lionsgate, and I Still Believe may have been another one if not for the pandemic. It actually opened on March 13, just days before movie theaters shut down across the country, so it's little surprise it only made $7 million domestic. That said, the acts in this one have a lot of fans, and if Lionsgate does release The Jesus Music into 1,000 theaters or so (which is very doable), then I would expect it would make between $1 and 2 million, which would be enough to break into the Top 10.

I haven't seen any of the movies based on Anna Todd's YA romance novels but the third of them, AFTER WE FELL, will play in about 1,311 theaters on Thursday i.e. tonight through Fathom Events, and may or may not continue through the weekend. These movies just kind of show up, and again, having not seen any of them, I'm not sure what kind of audience they have, but this one stars Josephine Langford and Hero Fiennes, as well as Stephen Moyer, Mira Sorvino and Arielle Kebbel with Castille Landon directing.

Grace Van Patten (Under the Silver Lake) stars in Karen Cinorre’s action-fantasy film MAYDAY (Magnolia), playing Ana, a young woman who is transported to a “dreamlike and dangerous” coastline where she joins a female army in a never-ending war where women lure men to their deaths. It also stars Mia Goth, Havana Rose Liu, Soko, Théodore Pellerin and Juliette Lewis. It will be in theaters and On Demand this Friday.

The great Tim Blake Nelson stars in Potsy Ponciroli’s action-Western OLD HENRY (Shout! Studios/Hideout) about a widowed farmer and son who take in an injured man with a satchel full of cash only to have to fend off a posse who come after the man, claiming to be the law. Not sure who to trust, the farmer has to use his gun skills to defend his home and the stranger.

The romantic-comedy FALLING FOR FIGARO (IFC Films) is the new movie from Australian filmmaker Ben Lewin (The Sessions), who I’ve interviewed a few times, and he’s a really nice chap. This one stars Danielle Macdonald, Hugh Skinner, and Joanna Lumley, and it will be in theaters and On Demand this Friday. This rom-com is set in the world of opera singing competitions with Macdonald playing Millie, a brilliant young fund manager who decides to chase her dream of being an opera singer in the Scottish Highlands. She begins vocal training lessons with a former opera diva, played by Lumley, where she meets Max, a young man also training for that competition. Could love blossom? This actually sounds like my kind of movie, so I’ll definitely try to watch soon.

The second season of “Welcome to Blumhouse” the horror movie anthology kicks off on Amazon Prime Video on Friday with the first two movies, Maritte Lee Go’s Black as Night (which I’ve seen) and Gigi Saul Guerrero’s Bingo Night (which I haven’t), and actually I’ll have an interview with Ms. Go over at Below the Line possibly later this week. The former stars Ashja Cooper as a teen girl living in Louisiana who has a bad experience with homeless vampires, along with her best friend (Fabrizio Guido).

Also, Antoine Fuqua and Jake Gyllenhaal’s remake of the Danish film THE GUILTY will begin streaming on Netflix starting Friday after premiering at TIFF a few weeks back. I never got around to reviewing it, but it’s pretty good, maybe a little better than the original movie but essentially the same. I’d definitely recommend it if you like Jake, because he’s definitely terrific in it.

Also hitting Netflix this week is Juana Macias' SOUNDS LIKE LOVE (Netflix), a Spanish language romance movie that (guess) I haven't seen!

A few other movies I didn’t get to this week, include:

STOP AND GO (Decal) VAL (Dread) BLUSH (UA Releasing) RUNT (1091 Pictures)

Next week, it’s not time for James Bond, it’s time for James Bond to die… no, wait… there is NO TIME TO DIE! Also, a very, very special anniversary for the Weekend Warrior….

#The Weekend Warrior #Venom: Let There Be Carnage #Many Saints of Newark #Addams Family II #movies #review #box office #reviews #The Jesus Music #Titane

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yet-another-fan-girl9 · 5 years ago

Text

Different Worlds (1)

Summary: You’re the youngest Winchester, a girl who needs to show her big brothers that she doesn’t need help. Then one day, on a totally normal vampire hunt that you had all under control, three meddling Avengers come barging in.

Warnings: language, violence, complete canon divergence, slow burn

Word Count: 2227

A/N: Opps, I started another Bucky x reader series... This one isn’t going to have an update schedule, just whenever I finish a chapter.

~*~

Chapter 1: Vamps & Avengers & and Hunters, Oh My!

“I don’t know, Steve.” Bucky shook his head and looked at the file. “Just seems like a serial killer. Some guy that’s fucked in the head. Not really our stuff, especially when we’ve got Hydra on the run.”

“This is the third decapitation in a few days,” Steve protested, ignoring his friend’s swear. “It’s just over in Poughkeepsie. We can always drop it if we hear anything on Hydra.”

“Fine,” the brunet grumbled. “But only because I’m tired of sittin’ round on my ass.”

The pair, mostly Steve, was able to recruit Sam to go on their little escapade to Poughkeepsie. Bucky wasn’t thrilled to be joined by the Falcon, but could he ever really say no to Steve? The trio packed their bags for a quick investigation and made their way down to the hanger.

“So.” Steve pulled up images on a screen once they were in the air. “All three victims have one thing in common. They all hang around this bar, whether they’re a patron or an employee.” The images showed the three victims entering or exiting the bar. Then the pictures changed to display a multitude of young women. “All of these women went missing and their last known location was this bar.”

“Maybe this isn’t a serial killer,” Sam suggested. “Maybe they’re a vigilante.”

“Yeah,” Bucky reluctantly agreed. “Serial killers usually leave their victims worse than just missing their heads. This shit’s too calm.”

“What could be worse than missing your goddamn head?” Sam raised his eyebrow as Steve sighed, ready to intervene.

“For one there’s tor—”

“The bar’s closed until three-thirty,” Steve talked over his friend, “so we have just under two hours to search the place.”

The other two men nodded and they checked their weapons before they left the quinjet. Bucky took the lead and led them to the employee’s entrance in the back. Uh oh. This wasn’t a promising beginning. There was already one decapitated body by the dumpster and another one propping the door open. They pulled open the door and stepped over the corpse. All three men had their guards up as they followed the trail of headless bodies.

Everything was quiet, but if the two supersoldiers strained their ears, they could hear faint grunts in the direction the bodies were leading them. They walked through a corridor that seemed to lead into the building next to the bar. Eventually, Sam was able to hear the sounds of struggle. The team came to the end of the corridor and into a large, open room.

The source of the sounds was a woman lying on the ground while a large man with his back to the trio wrapped his hands around her neck. The woman was reaching for a bloodied machete that was just out of reach. No doubt that it was the machete that did the decapitating.

“Hey,” Sam shouted, but the man was too focused on the woman below him.

Bucky fired two bullets into the man’s back. The man did not collapse like the soldier was expecting, but it did grab his attention.

~*~

The vamps had just kept coming.

Okay, so maybe you didn’t expect such a big colony. And maybe you should have called someone for backup. And maybe one vamp got their jaws around your upper, dominant arm as you were swinging your machete around. But in your defense, he was really tall and strong. Other than that, your solo mission was going great.

Right now you were reaching for your machete that was knocked out of your injured hand by tall and strong’s taller and stronger brother. Said vamp had his beefy hands around your neck and was baring his fangs at you. Every time you saw the mess of pointed teeth, you wondered how the media had gotten vampires so fucking wrong that it was laughable.

“Hey!”

Someone else was in the room. Or multiple people. You could see three figures around the arm of your assailant. Then you heard the sound of a gun going off. Twice. Like that would do anything. Fortunately, the vampire released his hold on your neck and retracted his fangs to face the newcomers.

Your hand wrapped around the machete’s handle and with a swift swing of your uninjured, non-dominant hand, off with the fucker’s head. As the vamp collapsed due to the lack of his head, you cradled your injured arm and inspected the three new people.

They were all men, two with guns and one with a red, white, and blue shield. Just as you were wondering why they looked familiar, the shield registered in your mind.

“You’re the Avengers,” you stated obviously. You weren’t overly educated in the so-called ‘Earth’s mightiest heroes,’ but their names had appeared often enough that you were able to tell who was who.

“Ma’am,” Captain America stepped forward and lowered his shield slightly. Slightly but not all the way. Their guards were still up. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Oh, your arm. It was starting to sting and throb. “Oh, this? Psh, it’s nothing.”

“Steve, we should take her in,” the man with shoulder-length brown hair said to the Captain. The Winter Soldier. “She killed all those people.” He didn’t take his eyes off you.

You narrowed your eyes back at him. Take you in? Honestly, hunters didn’t like the Avengers. Sure they saved the world from alien invasions (the fact that aliens existed was like a big ‘fuck you’ in the supernatural world) and from homicidal robots, but hunters faced worse odds every day. All without glory, as every hunter would point out.

“Yeah, that’s a no.” You took a step back. There was another door behind you and your car was parked just down around the corner.

“Yeah, but you fucking killed like ten people,” the Falcon gestured around vaguely. Another step back.

“No, I didn’t.” Step.

“Uh, I think the eviden— wait!” The Soldier was cut off by your sudden movement.

You had turned and ran out the door, which was thankfully a push. Yes, you knew that Captain America and the Winter Soldier were enhanced to be stronger and faster or whatever, but you had lots of practice running away from things that were faster than regular people. You were also smaller and therefore more agile. You’ve taken a physics class once; you knew how aerodynamics work.

As you rounded the corner, you could hear three sets of footsteps behind you. Your dark blue ‘79 Chevy Camaro was within reach. Keys at the ready, you skillfully unlocked your car before hastily starting it. With a sigh of relief, the three members of the Avengers were very close to catching you, you pulled out onto the street while ignoring the incessant honking of a taxi you had just cut off. You chuckled as you watched them in the rearview mirror as they gave up the chase.

~*~

“How did she get away?” Bucky shook his head. The local police were loading up the bodies, fourteen in total, and he heard that the FBI would be involved.

“We didn’t expect her to run,” Sam tried to save his pride. “She was also so much faster than I was expecting.”

“Are you ready to head back?” Steve walked over. They all had to give their statements to the police. They nodded and made to enter the quinjet but an officer running up to them stopped them in their tracks.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” the officer started before pausing for a breath, “that there was a woman there.”

“Eavesdropping isn’t nice,” Bucky growled at the young man who shrunk back slightly.

“It’s alright,” Sam put the back of his hand on the ex-assassin’s chest as if he was holding him back. “Go ahead.”

“Uh, well, you see,” the officer stuttered and then took a deep breath. “There was this woman, not from ‘round here, poking around. She was asking about the bar and some of the girls who went missing from there. Even heard she made a trip to the morgue. I just think it might be the same lady.”

“What was she looking for?” Steve was intrigued.

“My friend from the morgue said that she was checkin’ out the body of the only missing girl we found. Everyone was talkin’ ‘bout it down at the station. Notta drop ‘o blood left in her body.” The officer was excited now his words becoming less and less pronounced. Then he leaned in with his eyes wide like he was going to share some radical conspiracy. “And just ‘tween you ‘n me,” he paused for dramatic effect and Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve humored him and leaned in as well. “Somma those people look like a few ‘o the missing girls.”

“If you get any confirmation, please have your superiors send it our way,” Steve commanded and Bucky could tell that his friend was just as curious as he was. The officer scurried away and the three heroes entered the plane.

“Man, something really weird’s going on.” Sam shook his head.

~*~

After driving for almost two hours, you sped into a mostly empty rest area just outside of Scranton, Pennsylvania. You wrapped your still bloody machete in a towel and made sure it was well hidden before draping your leather jacket over your shoulders to hide your wound. God, you hoped your jacket wouldn’t get too bloody. Blood was a bitch to get out and it was a new jacket, your old one having been ripped by a werewolf.

The bathroom was empty when you entered and you locked the door behind you. The bleeding had stopped quickly thanks to a magic pendant around your neck. A nice witch, as nice as they could get, gifted it to you in exchange for her own life and for ridding her town of the much more sinister competition. Healing magic was hard so all the pendant did was make you die slower.

You washed out the bite and flushed the used paper towels down the toilet. Leaving bloody towels in the trash for everyone to see wasn’t the best way to keep a low profile, you knew from experience. Then you took the knife that you kept hidden in your boot and cut away three inches of your large flannel shirt to wrap your arm.

Well, it was your brother Sam’s shirt, but he wouldn’t mind. Too much. Well, Sam and Dean were actually your half brothers. John Winchester was your father and his blood in your veins was enough to cause some shit faced demons to target you and your mother…

Woah, there. No need to wander down memory lane in some dingy rest stop bathroom in Pennsylvania.

You gently eased your arm through your leather jacket. Maybe Cas will be helpful and heal you up when you get back to the bunker. Vampire bites can leave some fucking ugly scars. Satisfied with your work you fixed your hair in the mirror before heading back to your Camaro.

While you were pumping gas for your drive back to the bunker, your mind went back to the three Avengers who had rudely interrupted your hunting trip. Okay, maybe they actually kinda sorta saved you but not really. Honestly, you thought you had it all under control. Dean would get a kick out of the story, you thought as you re-entered your car, drove onto I-81, and pulled up your brother’s contact on your phone. Probably leave out the part about your arm, though. Both of your brothers would flip their shit and ignore the rest of the story.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Dean’s gruff voice came through your phone. “How’re you doing?”

“Great! I’m doing great. Just eradicated a vamp nest in Poughkeepsie.”

“What’s going on?” You heard from the other side after a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh, no,” you quickly corrected. Damn, you’d momentarily forgotten your code. “I was actually working a job in ol’ ‘Keepsie, New York. Swear it.”

“Alright,” Dean responded slowly.

“But you’ll never fucking guess who showed up.”

“Who?”

“Ya don’t wanna take a guess first? No? Alrighty. It was… the fucking Avengers, boom!”

“Really? Like the superhero group?” Dean always liked superheroes even if they were clueless to the supernatural.

“Yeah. It was only three of ‘em, and they tried to shoot a damned vamp, but fuck if it wasn’t cool.”

You held no malice towards them unlike the majority of hunters, but sometimes you wished you would get recognition for your work. All you ever got was wanted posters thanks to some bitch ass leviathan and shifter. The three Avengers probably thought you killed everyone in the bar. Well, you did but they didn’t know the reason. In their eyes, you were a mass murderer. You pointed this fact out to Dean.

“I don’t think they deal with little cases like mass murder or strange deaths. That’s why we’ve never run into ‘em before.”

“What a world we live in where mass murderers are ‘little cases.’”

“Yeah, yeah. If they do start looking, all you gotta do is lay low for a while. Sit out on a couple of hunts.”

“Ight.” Damn those words you say as a joke but then actually become a part of your vocabulary. “You won’t be able to keep me benched, but I doubt it’ll ever come to that.”

~*~

Tag List (strike though means tag didn’t work):

@grav3dollie-666

#different worlds #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x winchester reader #bucky barnes x winchester reader #winchester reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam wilson #steve rogers #marvel #mcu #supernatural #crossover #supernatural crossover #marvel crossover #marvel supernatural #supernatural marvel

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when-they-write-stuff · 5 years ago

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Okay idk if ur taking prompts or if this is too vague but I really love the idea of Derek making up reasons to be close to Stiles/ touch him (kinda like how he made excuses in your shirt fic) bc he doesn’t know how to do relationships/ask for stuff/ is embarrassed. And stiles either being completely oblivious until he suddenly realizes at the end OR knowing the whole time but not saying anything bc he likes it. So if you would like, I’d love it if you wrote something like that :)

Stiles noticed the changes gradually.

The changes in Derek Hale, that is. Resident grumpy Alpha werewolf, Derek Hale, who had been throwing Stiles into walls a lot less and started acting quietly careful around him a lot more.

He noticed the changes gradually and the thing was, he didn’t know what to do about them. Because since when did Derek not want to rip Stiles’s throat out with his teeth? Since when was he not a giant grump whenever Stiles made a single comment?

Sure, they’d known each other for a while now. Stiles would like to say that he was a lot less scared of Derek and a lot more… well, he didn’t like to dwell on that. But Stiles would even go as far as calling them friends. Or very good acquaintances. Or something like that. The point is, Derek no longer avidly hated him. He was less growly. And he only glared sometimes when Stiles was around.

Then things changed.

Because suddenly, Derek was there. Just… there. At Stiles’s side. Swinging through his window every other night. Looking like a serial killer every time Scott sat too close during pack movie nights.

It was strange.

Stiles had started cataloging his changes because he was pretty sure something was wrong. Maybe Derek had been replaced by a duplicate, maybe there was something in the water, or maybe he was secretly dying. And in the process of secretly dying, Derek realized not being nice to Stiles was his life’s biggest regret. So he was trying to do things better.

Stiles kind of doubted that last one. But hey, a boy could dream, right?

At this point, Derek wasn’t always literally ‘there’ but he was being expressive too. If expression could be conveyed by standing too close, occasionally touching the back of Stiles’s neck, and sitting pressed up against him in the loft, that is. Stiles thought for Derek Hale, that was pretty expressive.

He tried talking to Scott about it. But Scott was never very good talking about anything non-Allison related. Erica just laughed at him. Isaac rolled his eyes.

Boyd didn’t even stick around long enough for Stiles to talk.

But the point is, Stiles was pretty sure something was very wrong. And he was determined to do something about it.

It started when Derek swung through his window that night.

Stiles turned slowly around and leveled the werewolf with his very best death stare. Derek froze with one foot in his bedroom and one foot still on the roof, and actually looked nervous. Derek Hale never looked nervous.

Something was so truly and unbelievably wrong.

“Stiles,” Derek said slowly, pulling himself the rest of the way inside. Stiles crossed his arms and tilted an eyebrow, and Derek blinked at him. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know, Derek, is something wrong?”

The other man stared at him. Then he huffed and moved over to Stiles’s bed, dropping down on the edge. “No. Have you started the research yet?”

“I don’t know, Derek, have I started the research yet?”

“What’s wrong with you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and shoved himself up. Clearly, this line of questioning wasn’t getting them anywhere.

Derek tracked his every move, looking a little wary, and Stiles paced the length of his room before turning around and pacing it again. He finally stopped in front of Derek and narrowed his eyes, studying the man.

Derek didn’t look any different, but it could be underneath the skin. Cautiously, Stiles reached out and poked at his face. Derek snarled and smacked his hand away.

“Stiles, what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me, Sourwolf, something’s wrong with you!”

Derek gave him a flat look and Stiles resisted the urge to poke at his face again. After a long moment of having the most murder-y staring contest in his life, Stiles tore his gaze away with a groan and Derek pushed himself up, shaking his head. “Just… have something to bring to the loft tomorrow.”

“Sure, yeah, whatever, Derek. If that’s even your real name.”

Derek gave him one more flat, confused look before pulling himself out the window. Stiles rushed after him, before the man could vanish into the night. Like a vampire. Or Batman. Or whatever the hell he was.

Because it wasn’t Derek Hale.

“I hope you know I’m onto you!” Stiles shouted after him. Derek didn’t even bother looking back, moving across the lawn and literally melting into the shadows.

Stiles slammed his window down too hard and lined it with mountain ash.

The next day, he arrived at the loft early. The only werewolves around were Derek and Peter, and Stiles shot Peter an unimpressed look the moment he stepped over the threshold.

But then he paused. Peter crooked up an eyebrow from the couch and over in the kitchen, Derek watched him warily. Stiles was pretty sure he was getting suspicious. Or nervous. Or something.

Good.

“Stiles. You’re early.”

“Am I?”

“Did you get anything done last night?”

Stiles studied the man. In truth, he had not. Nothing for the monster of the week, that is. But he had done quite a bit of research on doppelgangers, alien abduction, and brainwashing. Among other things. “I got more done than you’ll ever suspect.”

Derek looked confused. From the couch, Peter tilted his head and looked intrigued.

Stiles glared at Derek for a few more minutes before crossing the room and grabbing Peter’s arm, dragging him back toward the door. The werewolf made a noise of surprise and Derek was looking concerned now, but Stiles pointed one threatening finger at him and he froze.

“Stay, Sourwolf.”

“Stiles, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Stay.”

Derek’s expression turned murderous, but he didn’t move. Stiles dragged Peter out of the loft and then down the hall.

“Tell me when he can’t hear us anymore.”

“What?”

“Tell me when the thing inside the loft can’t hear us anymore,” Stiles said, shaking Peter’s arm. The man gave him an incredulous look and Stiles sighed, finally coming to a stop where he hoped Derek’s hearing didn’t reach. Finally, he let go, and Peter was looking at him like he’d just grown horns.

“The thing in the loft?”

Stiles crossed his arms. “Yes. I don’t trust it.”

“It.”

“Yes, it. Dude, are you even listening?”

“Derek.”

“That is not Derek.”

Peter’s eyes sparked and he titled his head, studying Stiles up and down. Then he sighed. “What has my ridiculous nephew done this time?”

“Oh my god, you’re not listening. That is not Derek,” Stiles said, jerking his chin toward the loft door. “He’s been replaced. Or possessed. Or duplicated. Or something, but that is not Derek.”

“And why would you think that?”

“Because,” Stiles hissed. “He’s less grumpy, he’s less growly, and he’s less intense. He’s nice to me, Creeperwolf, nice to me. A few days ago, he let me borrow a shirt when I spilled juice on mine and spent the rest of the afternoon smiling.”

Peter stared at him. Stiles swallowed hard.

“I think he’s been abducted by aliens and this is an imposter.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously! There’s something wrong with him!”

Peter had an expression on his face like he’d like to throw himself off the nearest cliff. He closed his eyes and sighed, before looking at Stiles again with an expression of thinly veiled distaste. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t… you don’t understand?” Stiles said, staring at him. “How the hell am I supposed to better explain this, Peter? You’ve lived with him! Don’t tell me he hasn’t been acting different. Like, light, smiley-er, and calmer different.”

“Yes,” Peter drawled. “I do live with him. And I have noticed.”

“So what the hell don’t you understand?”

“I don’t understand,” Peter said deliberately. “How you’re such an idiot. Or how my nephew has fallen in love with such an idiot.”

Stiles blinked at him. His jaw snapped shut.

“Why does an Alpha werewolf growl when people get too close to his things, Stiles?” Peter said. “Why does he bask in self-satisfaction when the object of his desire goes around wearing his clothes, or carries his scent from movie nights being pressed up too together? You’re a bright boy, Stiles. Can you put two and two together?”

Stiles’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Peter rolled his eyes.

“The pack meeting is canceled and I’m leaving. The next time you decided alien abduction is the answer, try ruling out the more obvious things first.”

Stiles blinked after him. Then he turned around and stared at the loft door before slowly moving toward it. Derek was still in the kitchen when Stiles poked his head inside and he arched a brow from the kitchen.

“Where’s Peter?”

Stiles just stared at him. Derek slowly set down his mug.

“Stiles, what did you do to Peter?”

“What? Nothing. He left.”

Derek looked suspicious and Stiles grinned nervously, pushing into the loft. He was pretty sure Peter was wrong and Derek was not in love with him. Alien abduction was the truth.

But at the same time, Stiles suddenly… wasn’t so sure.

“So,” Stiles said, fiddling with his hands. “There’s something I’m going to say and if it’s completely wrong then feel free to growl or rip my head off or maybe never talk to me again. That’s totally acceptable.”

Both of Derek’s brows were raised now. Stiles took a deep breath and nearly choked on his own spit, the words coming out so fast.

“Are you in love with me?”

Derek went still, his eyes flickering. Before he could lose his nerve and maybe melt into a puddle, Stiles plowed on.

“I mean, you’ve been all nice and soft and fluffy lately. I mean, you haven’t pushed me into any walls in a couple weeks and you sometimes loan me clothes, and get this weird expression on your face when I’m anywhere close to you and—”

“Stiles,” Derek said, cutting him off. Stiles closed his mouth with a miserable expression, sure he was about to get either punched or brutally told off. But instead, Derek looked a little nervous too. “Stiles, it’s the… alien abduction.”

And Stiles’s heart stopped.

Later on, when the story was retold, Stiles would deny to his last breath that he grabbed the nearest thing he could find (a table lamp) and nearly brained Derek with it. He’d also never admit that he was pretty sure Derek nearly attacked him at that.

But in his defense, Stiles had no idea Derek had a sense of humor up until that moment. And also? He hadn’t dragged Peter far away enough and the asshole of an Alpha listened in on personal conversations.

But Stiles didn’t brain Derek. And he’d never give Peter any of the credit to things that might have occurred in the loft after that.

Because see, Stiles noticed the changes gradually.

But there was nothing gradual about his (or Derek’s) reaction when figuring them out.

- -

This prompt was adorable, nonnie, thank you for sending it! And I hope I didn’t disappoint <3

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your underpaid student writer? Seriously, I’d adore you guys so much). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#sterek #teen wolf #this prompt is adorable #i love it #stiles stilinski #derek hale #peter hale ships it #prompts

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ohdearhiddles · 5 years ago

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SUMMARY: You grew up thinking everything about you was normal, but found that this wasn’t the case. One night, you discover that the normal life you had lived up until then was something of the past because every man you kissed since you turned 16 met a mysterious fate - death. While the world pegs you as a cold-blooded bachelor killer called the “Angel of Death,” you catch the eye of a raven-haired man in an equally black suit.

TITLE: Angel of Death

CHAPTER: 1/?

PAIRING: Loki x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3501

AUTHOR NOTES/WARNINGS: mentions of death; hello, hello! I came up with this idea really randomly, and I suddenly had an urge to write about Loki... and this happened. It's going to be a very short multi-chapter read - maybe 2 or 3 chapters. I'd put it all on one chapter but it didn't seem right to cram it all in one go. So, here I am with my tiny short story. I hope you guys like it! (AO3 link)

“Last night, another gentleman was found dead in his apartment. Local authorities cannot confirm the cause of death. However, it is believed that this may be connected to a string of mysterious deaths within this very city . Stacy, what do you have to say about your take on this potential serial killer in our midst?” The news anchor spoke loudly, his voice bouncing off of the walls of the small apartment. The television screen panned to a young woman in a lavender blouse, her small hands wrapped around the microphone with her company’s logo displayed on it. She was standing outside of an apartment complex that was bustling with men in dark blue jackets with the letters “FBI” sprawled on the back.

Seemingly unfazed, she spoke, “Sources say that the man was alone at the time of his death, but something tells me that he may have been on a date with our city’s Angel, Frank. There’s no trace of anyone in his apartment and locals are beginning to think he was ‘kissed by Death’s fate’ as they’ve been putting it.”

The news anchor now began to share the screen with the young woman, a joking look on his face even with the current circumstances, “Well, gentlemen out there, watch your backs. We’ve got an Angel of Death loose in our city. Who knows who’ll be next.”

Static filled the screen as the channel changed. You weren’t meant to be watching these kinds of things, not when you already had your suspicions on who the culprit was. Every fear that was within you overflowed, creating an abyss of darkness at your feet. The deceased - the man who was kissed by fate - he was kissed by you.

***

Two years had passed you by since the night all the dots had all connected, forming a big arrow pointed in your direction. It had been two years since you vowed to be alone forever because, no matter what you did, that’s exactly what would happen. If you so much as touched a man with your lips, he dropped dead by the end of the season. You didn’t test this theory, but after you had witnessed a man who had only received a kiss to the cheek being wheeled into the hospital, you didn’t dare try anything else.

An “Angel of Death” they called you. You were described as an angel of misery and destruction, seducing souls with promises of love in order to drag their spirits from their bodies until they were but empty capsules never to move again. It was harsh. The way they described you was harsh, but after you had watched multiple men meet their end, you didn’t see the point in arguing with the description that seemed to be more real than anything else you had tried to come up with.

You were Death in a human’s body. Human. Could you even call yourself that?

The guilt hidden behind every kiss you had administered to others was packed away, pushed into suitcases of repressed emotions that you had readily placed by your door. There was no use in crying over something you hadn’t even thought to be possible until the news proved you wrong. You couldn’t turn yourself in for being a murderer when they would just lock you up and probably run tests on you in order to make some zombie bride war ally. So, you sat. You sat under maple trees, and you sat under stars. You sat and waited for your life to end, waiting for your own Angel of Death to come grab your hand.

***

It was an autumn day. The sky was clear, people were laughing, and your supposed reign of terror on the city was something of the past. Six years had passed since your first kiss of death, and now the news was far too intrigued by aliens invading the city than they were ever intrigued by you. You held a book in your hand as you sat on the park bench, fingers tapping away at the edges as you tried to focus on the words. There was something distracting you. No, not something - someone.

A man sat on the opposite side of you. His hand held an older looking piece of literature, and for the first time in years, you were curious. You were curious about why this man was wearing an all-black suit when the sun was shining so brightly, and you were curious as to what he was reading. Why were his eyebrows furrowed? Was he deep in thought or simply trying to concentrate on the book with all the noise around?

Before you knew it, you were much more interested in analyzing the man than you were in reading your book. You watched as his raven-colored hair glistened in the sunlight, and you wondered if he needed a hat to cool down. His long fingers stroked each page tenderly as he went line by line, and when he was about to turn a page, he would lick the tip of his finger before doing so. The man’s legs were long, slender, and crossed neatly over one another while he sat.

As you watched him intently, you came to an important conclusion: no matter how you looked at him, he was beautiful.

An eternity could have passed you by, and you would have passed peacefully with the amazing view in front of you. But it wasn’t complete without knowing the beauty his eyes might hold. You wanted to see what treasures he hid within them, what secrets you could discover, and right as you thought about it, he looked up.

Your eyes widened as they met his. A small smirk played on the corner of his lips, eyes glistening with an emotion you couldn’t quite make out. Unable to look away, the both of you sat in silence, gazing at the other intently. His eyes analyzed every inch of you, making you feel incredibly self conscious. It was as if he was looking into your soul.

Just like that, though, he was gone. The man stood to his feet, the book in his hand shutting with a subtle clap, and he began walking. His eyes didn’t follow yours nor did he bother looking back, and when he didn’t even smile your way, you hastily gathered your things to go in the opposite direction.

***

You gripped your book tightly in your hand, silently cursing as you walked towards your usually bench. It was a nice day outside, and you were more than happy about being able to finally sit down and enjoy some quiet time, especially with all the children in school at this time. The world wasn’t having it, though, and it apparently wanted you to suffer.

A man sat on your usual bench, arms crossed and facing forwards. The autumn leaves were falling all around him, and part of you begged for your legs to carry you back home. You got closer to the spot and realized that a somewhat familiar face was occupying your space, a familiar man dressed that was dressed in all black.

His eyes met yours like they had days before but there was no reaction this time around. You approached slowly, walking at a pace that seemed more like you were walking down the aisle for a wedding than casually strolling towards an open seat. Your eyes wandered around to the other benches, hoping that there was another one open somewhere nearby. The action proved futile as you witnessed older couples sitting on them, nestling with one another under the golden glow of the morning sun.

There was only one option - sit with him.

You stood before him, almost as if you were a peasant standing before a king. His mere presence felt godlike while yours felt so miniscule. Your grip tightened around the book in your hand, palms sweating from the nerves of confronting this near stranger. His eyes bore into yours and you mentally noted that his eyes were impossibly gorgeous. You couldn’t be quite sure what color they were, but they looked like emeralds in the glare of the sun.

“May I sit here?” You asked politely, pointing to the seat besides him. He didn’t verbally respond, but instead, he gestured to the spot as if he were granting a servant a seat at his table. You felt slightly humiliated yet flustered from the interaction as you sat down.

Silence filled the space between the two of you as soon as you sat down and began reading. There was something in the atmosphere that was saying that you should try to speak to him, but judging by the way he was glaring at every man that walked by the bench, you felt as though speaking to him wasn’t an option. You glanced over from the pages of your book, watching his fingers as they tapped away at his thighs.

“An opportunity,” you thought. He wasn’t holding his book, so maybe he would be open to talking, but as you were about to open your mouth to speak, he beat you to it.

“What is it that you’re reading?” He questioned. For a moment you wondered if he was speaking to you. His voice was like velvet to your ears, and you noted that if his voice were a drink it’d be a smooth bourbon. It’d be masculine yet smooth to the taste, you were so sure of it.

“The Night Shift,” you responded as if it was a title he should have known. His eyebrows furrowed just as they had the other day, and you figured it may have been best to explain further. “It’s by Stephen King.”

“Stephen King.” He spoke, weighing the name of the author on his tongue. “And what is he the king of exactly?”

His question made you laugh, which only earned you a confused glance from the handsome stranger. Stifling your laughter, you raised a hand in apology for the outburst. He nodded in acknowledgment, waiting for you to finish your joyous moment, and for a split second you thought you saw him smile. It wasn’t until you calmed down that you saw that he was, indeed, smiling brilliantly in your direction.

“You smiled,” he spoke again, his eyes wandering to a woman with her child. For a moment, you saw something flash behind them. Sadness, maybe.

The statement made you flinch, the smile disappearing immediately from your face as you felt yourself cowering into the shell you had so readily made for yourself years ago. He turned back to face you, his eyes focusing on yours. Perhaps he wanted to get to know you as you wanted to get to know him, or perhaps he just didn’t have anywhere else to sit when he arrived, but something told you that this encounter may have been fate.

“Whenever you’re here, you seem content,” he continued, eyes still searching yours for an answer to a question he never asked. “But you seem weary all the same. I have never seen you smile.”

He had seen you before; he had just confirmed it. Strangely enough, it didn’t seem as though he had ill intent or obsessive tendencies that just might end with you in a ditch somewhere. No, the raven-haired man seemed sincere.

"It's a pleasant sight," he whispered almost as if you weren't meant to hear it.

You felt yourself smile again, but only a small smile. A sigh escaped your lips, your heart beginning to jump in your chest as you felt a single brick fall from the wall you had painstakingly built around yourself. He smiled, too. And if only for a brief moment, you were glad to have met him.

However, the happiness of encountering “Loki” as he had named himself exactly one week later was quick to deteriorate. Your interactions with the mysterious man continued for days and then weeks. The two of you met for weeks at your bench, bringing new books and stories to share from various parts of your life. The two of you talked for hours underneath the brilliance of the sun’s rays; you talked until the sun itself kissed the horizon, bidding it farewell for the night.

You loved talking to him, and from what you had gathered, he was named after the Norse God of Mischief. He definitely fit the title; in fact, if you weren’t sane for the most part you would have been suspicious that he really was the god who had attempted to take over this very city. You were certain that the real Loki could not possibly be in the city, not with the government still looking for him.

Those thoughts were besides the point, though, especially after the night he was meant to take you out.

At the moment of your slight panic attack, you were flustered over the fact that Loki had requested that you join him for dinner in the evening. For that reason, the two of you did not meet that day even though the sun had shone brightly and there were clouds to admire. Your hands were clawing at your arms as you thought of the endless possibilities in which the night could end, and as much as you wanted to say that a kiss would be the perfect ending, you couldn't let that happen. Even though you repeated the thought that you absolutely did not want to kiss him, your mind rejected it completely simply because you definitely wanted to. Hell, if you didn't have the slight dilemma of causing imminent death after a kiss, you would have done so the moment he told you that he enjoyed your company more than the coworkers he was forced to get on with.

So, it was safe to say that while you had to admit that you were extremely fond of him, it was hard to imagine getting anywhere with a relationship without being able to place your lips on any part of his skin. When you thought thoroughly about it, you decided that you must stop meeting with him once the night was over. If this was a date, or any form of romantic scheme, you could not take part in it. You couldn’t watch another man meet a fate that you had innocently led him to. You would not do that. Not to Loki.

A knock at your door cut through your thoughts like a dagger laced with poison. It was a knock that poisoned your life from that point on, leading you down the abyss you had thought you left behind when you vowed to commit to loneliness. You rushed to find your cell phone that you had just put down seconds before, but as per usual, it was nowhere to be found. The knock sounded again. Huffing, you went to open the door fully expecting to see Loki outside clad in black. The person behind the door was anything but the man you expected; instead, you were faced with a gentleman in a plain suit and a look that told you that he was not there on friendly terms.

“Miss Y/L/N?” He inquired, his chin lifting as he glanced over your shoulder and into the apartment behind you.

“Yes?” You responded, eyes wandering over his outfit, attempting to figure out the nature of his visit. Your attempts proved futile, but that didn’t matter. He was quick to state his business once you had confirmed your identity.

“My name is Detective Francesco, I’m going to need to ask you to come to the station for questions pertaining to a case that has recently opened back up in light of new evidence. Does the name Isaiah Walsh ring a bell to you,” the detective asked, his eyes accusing you of a crime you were only aware you had committed until after the damage was done. You froze in your spot, not sure how to react. Of course, if he hadn't stated his business, you may have thought that he was there to inform you of an accident or a death. This wasn't the case, and those thoughts did not occur to you. Why would they? You were a murderer. Nothing more and nothing less.

Isaiah Walsh - the man who was found dead in his apartment six years ago. A date gone wrong. You simply nodded, not bothering to answer the question in case it would make the detective even more suspicious of you. “Let me grab my things.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

It was clear as the words left his mouth that it was more than just questioning. You were a suspect, not a witness, to the crime he was investigating. As the detective led you down to his car, you noticed a man with raven-colored hair approaching the building with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. The flashing of the police car’s lights illuminated his lean figure as an officer opened the back of his vehicle to you.

Loki’s eyes met yours as he scanned over the scene in front of him. The bouquet fell to the ground, the smirk on his lips vanishing, as he witnessed you sit in the back of the car while a small crowd began to gather at the sight of someone they barely knew getting an all too noticeable escort.

***

You were sitting at a metal table with one of the big mirrors you see on TV. A typical interrogation room from what you could conjure from all the crime show reruns you had indulged in. Your hands folded in your lap as the detective sifted through a file on the table. Part of you wondered why he was taking so long to ask you any questions, but another part of you hoped he never would. Pictures fell from the file as he stood from his seat and your heart dropped to your stomach. It was a pixelated shot of Isaiah with his arm around a young woman at a popular bar just down the road from his apartment. The faces were blurred from the low quality image, but you knew just by seeing the time on the corner along with the date that the woman was you six years ago.

"Look familiar?" Detective Francesco questioned, watching your expression for any significant clue.

You nodded your head, knowing that full cooperation was probably for the best, "I was on a date."

The detective narrowed his eyes, sighing before opening the file again. Within a few seconds, four more security camera shots joined the first on the table. Each one showed the face of a different man with you by their side.

"For months," he began speaking again, "I was wondering why these men were chosen as the Angel's victims, and I couldn't figure it out until one year ago when I realized that the only common factor was you. You were the last person to see any of these men alive: why? Tell me, Miss Y/L/N, do you even remember these men?"

His voice was seething with spite. Your stomach churned and shivers ran down your spine at the look of determination on his face. You glanced down at your wrists, wondering if this was to be the last time you'd see them without steel cuffs on. The detective sat back down, pulling picture after picture from a folder of names you would have rather forgotten; yet, here you were, wearing their deaths as a tattoo on your soul - an imprint of the horrible monster you had somehow turned out to be.

"What about these men?" Detective Francesco pointed out to more photos of gentlemen that you had met at one point in your life. "This one was your high school boyfriend if my sources are correct, and this one," his finger tapped on an all too familiar photo of a face that haunted your dreams, "your own father."

Tears burned at your eyes. Over the years you had accepted many things, but the death of your father was never one. After just one glance at the photo, you found yourself unsure if you had the strength to look the detective in the face anymore.

"I'd like to speak to my lawyer," you mumbled, knowing that this was an uphill fight that you may or may not win. In fact, part of you hoped that you didn't win just so that the demons that crawled into bed with you at night, whispering damning words in your ears and flooding your subconscious with nothing but nightmares, would finally allow you to sleep in peace.

The detective nodded, eyes blazing with a victory he had waited far too long for. There were no fingerprints, no poison, nothing. Just your presence and the men's deaths. Even without substantial evidence against you, this was a start.

"We'll be in touch. You're free to go, but ma'am?"

You met his wicked gaze as you stood from your seat, "Yes?"

"Don't leave the city."

(Chapter 2)

#loki #loki laufeyson #the avengers #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson imagine #loki odinson #ohdearhiddles imagine #ohdearhiddles imagines #mutant!reader #mutant powers

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xlady-saya · 5 years ago

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better than a night light [fic]

Relationships: andrew minyard/neil josten

Summary: Neil hasn’t had the chance to examine the feeling of fear in a long time. He’s all too familiar with it though; from the nightmares, to the memories of a cold basement floor, he knows the feeling like the back of his hand.

But this fear is new, loaded with ridiculousness and a complete lack of reason. It’s nothing more than pixels on a screen, far away theories that can’t hurt him like his past can.

Maybe that’s why he’s beginning to not mind it as much. It doesn’t hurt that Andrew is also there to hold him through it.

Tags: neil is a scaredy cat, fluff, fluff and humor, the monsters watch alien movies

Read on ao3!

The movie poster Nicky keeps shoving in Neil's face doesn't exactly do much in terms of persuasion.

Neil stares at the bold graphics, at the text of the title that drips as if it’s oozing blood. It's got an almost static quality to it, not original, but not trying too hard to be. It's an older movie, that much is clear, so not exactly Nicky's usual taste. There's nothing there to tell him about the plot, just a few shadows and a stark silhouette standing in the center. Neil stares at the poster on Nicky's phone, then at Nicky's expectant expression, and then back.

Surely there has to be some kind of clue to tell him what this is all supposed to mean, but he's not seeing it.

Nicky does his best to show Neil a few more posters from the same movie, some restyled and revamped for the modern era, but...

Nothing.

"For fuck's sake," Nicky huffs, putting his phone away. "It's a classic horror movie, Neil, and we're watching it tonight."

Oh. Neil's not sure why he had to know that.

It's never up to him to pick the movies for movie night, mostly because most do nothing for him or bore him to tears altogether. Watching them with Andrew is typically the only time he bothers to pay attention, and that's for the commentary about the stupid characters.

Nicky is the opposite.

He and Allison fight over the films every Friday night like it's a ritual, but on the rare occasions the upperclassman are busy, Nicky takes over and tries his best to drag Neil into it too. A seasoned movie buff, he's made it his mission to find a movie genre Neil actually likes. Neil's attempts to convince him otherwise have fallen on deaf ears.

After weeks of action spy movies and no luck, Nicky's obviously decided to up his game by switching to a new theme altogether.

Neil's not sure what this will do, though. The horror movies Nicky has picked in the past only served to annoy Neil or make him laugh with their horrible effects and impractical plot points. Nicky had still labeled that as progress.

Already, Neil is rolling his eyes. Neil has dealt with real horrors; ghosts and poltergeists aren’t what haunt him. He's only seen one or two slasher films with the team, but those were just nonsensical.

It's not something he enjoys thinking about, but it's hard to be afraid of being sliced open by some fictional asshole in a mask when his childhood already made him numb to the feeling of a blade.

As if sensing the underlying truth behind Neil's annoyance, Andrew makes his presence known with a loud thump of his soda can against the counter.

Nicky jumps, but Neil turns on instinct, a small smile on his face. They have new barstools, and he swears they're a little taller than the other ones. Andrew's legs swing, almost carefree in nature, and Neil averts his eyes at the glare he receives for staring.

"I said no horror movies," Andrew says finally, flicking another page of his novel over. It's for a class, Neil notes, and beams a little brighter. Part of their pact; if Neil has to do better in school, Andrew has to start trying to, too.

With some encouragement...it wasn't a hard compromise to make.

"Technically, you said no slasher movies," Nicky says, smirking at the loophole. Andrew stares, thoroughly unamused, and Neil blinks between them. He hadn't known about that. He glances back over to find Andrew already looking at him, resignation clear on his face. It's a common expression from the beginning of their this—less rare now, but just as endearing in Neil's mind.

It's Andrew's 'you caught me caring about you, and I hate that because it's not hard' look.

Neil hops up to sit on the counter, and Andrew's gaze flicks down to his knee as if debating resting his chin on top of it.

"You don't need to baby me, those movies don't affect me," Neil says with a fond smile. It's the truth; he's not sure why, but the masked villains and their carving knives just seem tacky to him at best. He understands Andrew's reasoning though, and appreciates it more than he can say.

Andrew would never think of him as weak, and Neil can handle most things no matter how painfully they might stir up old memories. Regardless, Andrew will spare him if he can.

The look of acknowledgement passes between them, and Andrew nods.

Then: "Even still, they're bad," Andrew says, aiming the statement at Nicky. "I refuse to suffer through them."

Aaron, who up until this point has been a silent bystander on the couch, grunts an affirmative. Kevin's got his headphones in, not even listening.

"Killjoys," Nicky mutters, clutching his phone tight to his chest. He points an accusatory finger right at Andrew, and keeps it there in challenge. "You might like it too, if you would just give it a chance!"

Andrew, highly unconvinced, raises a brow at Neil. The blond and Nicky are a lot better at having actual conversations without Neil now, to the point where Neil wouldn't even call Nicky afraid of Andrew anymore. Still...looks like this is not a case Andrew has the energy to make.

Neil smiles, all too smug.

"I thought you said horror movies were overrated?" he asks Nicky, grin just the right amount of shit-eating. "And by overrated, you meant you're super scared of them and won't be able to sleep for days."

"First of all, Neil, fuck you," Nicky says without hesitation. Aaron snorts in the background. Unwilling to be defeated, Nicky holds up his hand, counting off the reasons. "Second of all, this one is different! It's an alien movie, and those don't scare me as much. I mean, they're super impractical!"

That's what's super impractical?

Neil rolls his eyes. Their whole lives are impractical. Ha.

But ah, Neil realizes. Maybe that's the reason for the weird poster silhouette. Aliens. He'd almost prefer a slasher film. He crosses his arms, blowing his overgrown bangs out of his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure Jackson with his goalie mask is just as realistic."

The room goes silent, and Neil isn't too prideful when it comes to pop culture. It's clear he fucked that up. Nicky blinks at him, and even Aaron is confused enough to turn around and lean over the side of the couch.

Neil blinks back, combing his brain for the revision. Nothing.

Andrew sighs below him, long and suffering, and this time he really does put his chin on Neil's knee. He glares a hole into Neil's abdomen, but Neil suspects it's mostly self directed.

"I think he means Jason," Andrew says, closing his eyes to ground himself. Neil's always been quite impressed with his self-control. "He's just trying to provoke me."

Oh, yeah. That prick.

A small chorus of realization goes through the room as Neil smirks down at his boyfriend.

Nicky squints. "Huh? Provoke you how?"

"Don't ask about their weird flirting," Aaron interrupts, making a slicing motion over his throat. Then, after a beat, he shoots a glare at his brother, who actually meets it for once. "Though for the record, you deserve to have a thing for morons."

Hey.

"That time, I really thought his name was Jackson," Neil defends, not caring that he just exposed how sometimes he will say the wrong shit on purpose just to get Andrew...in a mood. Aaron gags, and Neil is quite done with the conversation.

He squeezes Andrew's earlobe because, well...it's right there.

Nicky throws his hands up. "Oh my god, who cares! Neil, the point is that yes, a serial killer terrorizing a summer camp? Unlikely. But if someone were inclined, they could. And at minimum, slasher movies are scary because I could actually be stabbed on any given day."

"The chances of you running into a slasher are still pretty low," Neil tries, and Nicky gives him one of those looks like he's missed the point entirely.

"I'm talking about Andrew."

Ah.

"That's fair," Andrew says, eyes closing once more as Neil kneads his ear gently.

Done with the lot of them, Nicky shows Neil the button to rent the movie on his account, and rebelliously presses it. As if that somehow traps Neil in this apartment. Like he can't just leave.

The sad thing is that he won't.

Even without the upperclassman to join them tonight, this is his family—despite all their shitty taste.

"Your point?" Neil asks, though he's fully resigned at this point.

"So, alien movies are way cooler than anything else. Plus, the effects in this one are practical," Nicky says, and Neil tilts his head. Instead of bewildered, Nicky's excitement only grows. "You know, none of that cheap computer crap. You'll see, you'll love it."

Nicky squeals lightly as he goes to make snacks, dropping a few dishes in the process. It's a chorus of curses and clanging that Neil is all too used to, and Andrew barely flinches from it. It's hard to mind anything with Andrew's head in his lap and Neil's hands moving into his hair.

Neil stares over at the television, and sees his own annoyed expression staring back from the void.

Love it, will he?

Yeah, whatever you say.

They're about thirty minutes into the movie when Neil realizes there's a problem.

Nicky, for effect, has turned out all the lights, and the television illuminates the whole room despite its dark ambience. Neil's perfectly prepared to not pay attention, especially when the movie starts off slow and without any of the promised aliens. Nicky scolds him for his impatience, and things gradually start to get more suspicious between the characters on screen.

Neil's not bored out of his mind, but he's yet to see the full appeal. Because it's his spot, he curls up into Andrew’s side, sharing the bag of plain gummy worms between them since Neil hates the sour ones. Neil's more fixated on that at first; sometimes if they grab the same one on accident, they'll start the contest of pulling the poor worm and stretching the gelatin until it snaps. So far, Neil has won the longest piece two out of three times.

Then, in a shocking twist, the alien shows up.

Nicky was right about the practical effects. It's a grotesque creature, animatronic and padded with a fleshy substance that looks like bile. Its limbs are coated in it, sticky and disproportionate to its thin, skeletal body. Neil can see every disgusting ridge, and grimaces at the bubbles of flesh and pus that the effects team coated it with. After a while, he stops viewing it as a product of humans, as a robot. He starts seeing it as just the creature, in all its vileness. Random limbs and appendages shoot out from it, impaling some of the unlucky side characters, and the squelching sounds make Neil want to vomit.

Neil's throat begins to feel tight, and he's not sure why.

Throughout the next fifteen minutes, the creature starts its ruthless hunt after the team of scientists which make up the main cast. Only when it disappears does the audience realize the creature can shapeshift—that it's among them, somewhere on the base.

At first, Neil thinks he might have to go to the hospital. His pulse is fast, and he's sweating a little. It's weird, and he finds himself trying to calm down his own breathing. His muscles aren't usually this tense, and there's a nausea-inducing lump in his stomach, swimming around like the goop on screen. Maybe he's sick, maybe he ate some undercooked meat for dinner. That has to be it. He tries his best to stretch out, but his ankle hits Kevin's fancy metal flask, and Neil nearly jumps out of his skin from the cold when it coincides with a character being ripped in half on screen.

"Damn, that was pretty cool," Aaron concedes from his beanbag, watching the characters rush to safety from the gore they just witnessed. Even Kevin is invested, though he's still occasionally checking Exy stats on his phone. The creature is gone again all too soon, blending in, and the scientists begin to arm themselves against one another. Nicky looks over at Aaron gleefully, triumphant for his good choice.

At this point, Neil hates to admit he's fully invested. The characters in the movie have started to suspect one another, and the focus has shifted from the gore and the alien’s origin over to pure paranoia. It does a remarkably good job of capturing that feeling—one Neil knows all too well. Neil begins to suspect some of the characters too, even the main protagonist. The theories run through his head, but the film leaves everything as vague as can be.

There's a blanket of dread over him he's never felt before, because it's not real. There's no imminent danger to his person or his family, but he wonders what he'd be feeling if he were in this situation. The idea of imposters, walking around and having no way of telling them apart from your friends, from a human...

It takes Neil awhile, perhaps a little too long given his acquaintance with the emotion, to understand the tension in his body is fear.

He's afraid.

And isn't fear a strange thing?

He tries to remember fear, and it's not hard. It's always cold, piercing. It narrows down the world so that the fear is all that exists, along with the impending doom of the consequences that come with it. For him, fear has always eventually had a result. His fear was always well-founded. But this is nothing like that fear. Real, genuine, valid fear. This is not being threatened by his mom's scowl from across the room, or being on the basement floor, seconds from death. This is a queasy, unrealistic fear. One he can't get rid of, as much as he knows it shouldn't exist. There's nothing on the horizon, nothing coming to get them.

It's a lot of what-ifs and how-comes.

Neil hates it.

He can't look away as the characters all perish, eaten alive in part by the alien, but mostly by their own suspicion. In the end, the discord between them kills them all, and the ending hints heavily at the creature's survival and spread into the outside world.

Maybe here.

Neil scoffs at his own ridiculousness, rolling his eyes. That would never happen. He knows that, it's just—

"So?" Nicky says right in his face, and Neil jumps. Luckily, no one notices, and Andrew has already moved to switch the television off. Good. He surely would've felt the jump of Neil's body.

"So?" Neil parrots, unable to keep up. He keeps looking out the dorm windows, watching the darkness for any sign of life beyond it.

"Did you like it, Neil?" Kevin asks, turning around from his perch on the floor. He's also been weirdly committed to finding things for them to enjoy outside of Exy. Neil has a feeling that's mostly Thea's and therapy's doing, an attempt to get them some distance from the harsh Raven routines of old.

Kevin's attempt at getting them into trivia had been a disaster, and he'd abandoned it quickly.

Neil swallows the lump in his throat, eyes tracking Andrew to keep himself grounded. Aliens or no aliens, the sight of Andrew is a relaxant that's fifty times stronger.

Still, all he manages is a small: "It was okay."

It's a compliment coming from him, since his standard response is to shrug whenever any credits roll, and Nicky heads off to shower for bed with an extra lightness in his step.

Neil is not so fortunate.

An hour later, they're all turning in. Kevin has already passed out while Nicky takes his time in the bathroom with his twenty minute skincare routine. Neil had done everything in his power to not be alone once the lights began to go out. He's lucky his proximity to Andrew isn't unusual, but he keeps a few steps of distance just to throw off any suspicion the blond might have about why his boyfriend’s clinginess is off the charts.

The night sky is still pitch black through the windows, and any passing noise has Neil turning around and checking on his family critically. No, no—if Kevin were a creature, he wouldn't be snoring so loud.

Right?

He feels like a child, and does his best to go about his business without reading into everything so much. Even still, he hops onto the bed so he doesn't have to stand in front of the bottom of the bunk for too long. Something could grab his feet.

Andrew, per routine, wraps his arm around Neil's midsection to pull him closer, not yet aware of what's happening. Neil usually delights in this each time it happens, though he's certainly used to it by now. The path to sharing a bed had been a cautious one, and spooning even more so, but now he can't imagine sleeping without being cocooned like this.

Tonight, however, there's a problem.

Neil stiffens when Andrew moves to scoot him closer, a stark contrast to how he usually relaxes all his muscles. It's kinda fun when Andrew drags him. Andrew pauses, regarding Neil curiously, and Neil's dry throat seems to close up even more. The dread in his veins obviously isn't apparent, but it feels that way. Paling internally, Neil says, "I want a glass of water."

He really wants a glass of water. Fuck.

But is it worth it? Is he willing to die for a glass of water? He can make it until morning. If he were smart, he would've thought about this when everyone was still in the living room and he had access to knives to defend himself.

Andrew, calm as ever, concedes with a short nod. He removes his hand and waits for Neil to get up, and that's when Neil can't hide it anymore.

See, he doesn't move. Neil just lies there, staring up at the ceiling, and feels Andrew's eyes grow more and more critical with each passing second. Neil is torn. Does he get up despite his fear to preserve his dignity? Andrew of all people deserves to know when Neil has none to spare. Neil doesn't hide anything from Andrew, no matter how ridiculous.

The truth is, he'd love nothing more than to stay here on this bed with Andrew, where it's at least kind of safe. But, if he thinks more critically, he'll never get over this fear if he doesn't venture out into the dark common area to get his goddamn water.

Also, he's thirsty.

What to do, what to do.

At this point Neil begins to squirm, his gaze flicking over to the open bedroom door. It's black on the other side, inviting him and his imagination to wreak havoc.

Humans can survive a few days without water.

The whole time, Andrew doesn't stop staring at him, and Neil winces when he feels a gentle tap against his collarbone.

He's hesitated too long to keep the secret now. Better get it over with.

"Neil."

"Uh. Y-yes?"

"Look at me," Andrew says, and Neil can't disobey a request like that. Andrew's sleepy voice is gravely and soothing, like enticing smoke from a cigarette, and Neil follows it with all his senses. He turns over, then tenses up. Now his back is to the door. Can't have that.

He goes back to lying flat, and turns his head to send Andrew a desperate look.

It's stupid, it's pathetic. But...

"It's dark." That’s all he says.

Andrew's brows knit together, searching for the truth under that statement. "It's one in the morning."

Oh, but I'm the smart mouth.

Neil glares, and jumps when Nicky drops something in the bathroom. Neil waits for a sign of movement, and breathes a sigh of relief when Nicky's routine resumes.

Andrew sends him another look, no doubt already piecing it all together, and Neil huffs to himself.

"Asshole," he says, and picks at the thread of their blanket with his finger. He tries not to think of the aliens splitting open. Quietly, he admits: "The creature in the movie could see better in the dark."

It should be helpful to say it aloud, but it's not. It should convince Neil he's being truly unreasonable, that the odds of something otherworldly coming to target him are slim. He should be more worried about real killers coming for him on any given day.

But here he is, still afraid.

Andrew, in his own Andrew way, actually looks surprised. Something swims across his features that Neil has seen before, but can't pinpoint in the moment due to his own shame. He groans, turning away.

"Shut up, I know, forget it, I'm—"

A hand comes out to grab his chin, and Andrew turns Neil's face back towards him in one firm motion. Okay, now Neil definitely knows there's something in that look, and it renders him speechless for a moment.

"You're afraid." He swears he sees the corner of Andrew's mouth twitch, and he's so fixated on it that the truth comes easily.

"Yes."

"Of the...aliens. From the movie?"

Ah, but when put that way...

Neil groans again, pouting slightly. It's hard for Andrew to ruin anything for Neil, but it's difficult to stare fondly at one's boyfriend when he's trying to wring the embarrassing truth out of you. "Yes! I don't know why, okay?"

Andrew just nods, not judging. Not yet. Taking that into account, he taps Neil's chin a few times, maybe to the beat of invisible cogs moving in his head. Then he pauses, and gives Neil's earlobe a tug. Because...it's there. "Nicky said aliens are impractical. They aren't real. You know this, I assume."

Neil glares, but doesn't refute the statement. He's familiar with Andrew's process of retracing their steps, hypothetically. Trying to understand where the fear came from, how to best help Neil push it aside.

"Neil, confirm these things for me," Andrew says, and Neil nods, counting the freckles that dance over Andrew's nose. "You have dealt with members of a deadly mafia family."

Neil, because he's a shit, takes time to think about it. It's worth it when Andrew huffs.

Neil nods. "That is true."

"You are arguably more capable than me when it comes to killing someone," Andrew points out, and Neil does his best to ignore the spark of heat in Andrew's voice from that knowledge. "In fact, you've probably killed many people without remorse."

Hm. Okay.

"Mhm." Neil hums, and while he sees where this is going...

"You could potentially be Jackson, minus the hockey mask," Andrew finishes, and Neil is only somewhat insulted. What does he want with a summer camp?

Feigning stupidity this time, Neil squints. "Wasn't he immortal?"

"Neil."

Neil's laughter dissolves into a desperate whine, and he throws his hands behind him, hitting the headboard. Dammit. "Just—I know it makes no sense," he huffs. He scrambles up to a sitting position, an explanation on the tip of his tongue, and Andrew follows him calmly. "I know they're not real but...I think that's the problem. It's an unknown. I'm familiar with killers, with knives on my skin."

Neil almost feels guilty when he mentions it; Andrew accepts all his scars and experiences, but it doesn't mean he likes that they happened. They can't change the past, but the idea of either of them being hurt never fails to put a little pit of anger in their guts. He sees it bloom in Andrew's right then, and Neil smiles gently to quell it. It's not about that right now.

"But this is so removed from any of that," Neil explains, laughing at himself. It's sort of amusing if he thinks about it—that he’s made it to the point where he has the luxury of being afraid of such things, but he still doesn't feel relief. "I know it should be stupid and ridiculous. But that's probably why it bothers me. I mean, okay, what do we really know about aliens anyways? Nothing! No road map, no weapons. We're completely unprepared."

And...his explanation goes off the rails just like that.

Neil thinks he has a good point though. Like...who is really to say aliens don't exist? And if they do, they're all pretty much fucked. Who wouldn't be afraid?

Andrew only stares at him.

At the expression of disbelief, Neil whines and does his best to backtrack, but Andrew is having no more of it. Andrew just lays back down, hands covering his face.

It's a novel reaction, considering this is Andrew. He looks so beside himself, unable to process whatever is going on in his head, but not in the bad, overwhelmed way he might be used to. Neil leans over him, and artfully pokes Andrew between the eyebrows.

"Andrew?"

His boyfriend sighs. "I don't ever know what to do with you," he concedes, removing his hands so Neil can see his pissy expression. "Alien movies. It's goddamn alien movies."

Neil's not sure what to make of that, but even in the dimness of their room he can see the reluctant fondness in Andrew's face, poorly concealed behind a facade of neutral indifference. That, and the tips of his ears look a little red.

Neil's confused as hell before he realizes what it must be. He perks up, fear momentarily put on pause. "Oh...oh, you like this," he observes, not smug, just factual. Andrew glares. "You think it's—uh..."

Not hot, at least Neil doesn't think so. But—

"The word you're probably looking for is cute." Andrew grimaces when he says it, like it's a crime for the word to come out of his mouth. If Neil's being honest, he's surprised too. Not that Andrew thinks it, but that he actually said it. Hm. That's new. Neil likes it. He always insisted to Andrew that he didn't have to try harder at verbal affection just for Neil's sake, not if he didn't want to.

Clearly, part of him does.

Andrew glares at Neil's small smile, pushing his face away. "And you're wrong, so don't read into it."

Neil ignores that advice completely. "Oh, okay. So you think it's cute," he repeats, and mulls that over in his head.

"I just said—"

"Wait, why?" Neil asks, suddenly offended. Here he is trying to tell Andrew his alien attack plan, and the blond thinks the severity of the situation is cute. "Does my terror mean nothing to you?"

"Not in this case," Andrew admits, and this time there's clearly a small smile threatening to break the mask. Neil tries (pettily and unsuccessfully) to not let it affect him. "Now quit it, and go get your water."

Shit.

The fucking water.

The source of his woes comes back as a painful reminder in the form of his parched throat, scratchier now from all the discussion.

Noticing Neil's stricken face, Andrew wordlessly gets up with him, pulling him along to the edge of the bedroom so Neil can't talk himself out of it. Flicking on the light for the living area, Andrew pushes Neil out in front of him, a silent nudge to hurry up.

The room definitely looks a lot less sinister like this, but Neil's brain is reluctant to let him relax. He walks quickly and stiffly into the kitchen, turning back halfway to make sure that yes, Andrew is watching him.

"I'm here," the blond says, despite the roll of his eyes.

Neil practically runs to get his water, moving back to Andrew faster than the speed of light. As absurd as Andrew finds it, he dutifully waits for Neil to step fully back into the light of the bedroom before turning off the living room light again, and offers to take Neil's glass back when he finishes. Unwilling to lose Andrew by making him go alone, Neil takes his turn watching from the door.

Andrew looks back—not out of fear, but just to see the way Neil tracks his every move, wary of the surroundings. Something soft escapes Andrew's mouth, a vulnerable sound Neil swallows when he gets back into their bed.

He still can't fall asleep, but at least Andrew holds him a little tighter that night, a silent reminder that Neil's not alone in the darkness.

Neil's entire being burns with embarrassment, and he can't wait for a few days to pass so his brain will forget the movie entirely.

At least then the fear in his veins will be but a lingering memory, teasing fuel for Andrew at most.

Except, per routine, Andrew is a giant bastard.

"We're watching this tonight," he says a week later, throwing a library DVD into Nicky's lap.

Neil doesn't think much of it as he finishes the last of his math problems at his desk, kicking his legs happily since this means he'll be done with homework and his kissing ban will be lifted.

Nicky's voice has all his expectations shriveling up and exploding like alien guts. "Aliens again?"

Neil's head snaps up to meet Andrew's gaze across the room, betrayal lining his face. The DVD cover Nicky is looking at is old school again, another classic Neil assumes. It's less detailed than the first one, with nothing but a green, glowing egg on the front.

Hell no, Neil thinks, and glances back at Andrew with a desperate look in his eyes. Maybe it's a joke.

But Andrew's sense of humor is cruel.

"It wasn't awful," Andrew answers Nicky while looking right at Neil. There's nothing amused or challenging in his features, but Neil still senses it. Andrew has weighed Neil's fear, has no doubt picked it apart and tried to decide whether or not that fear should be quelled, or if it's fair game to prod.

The conclusion is clear.

"Awesome!" Nicky shouts, unaware of the turmoil between the two of them. "Finally, we found something you don't tune out completely."

"I'll make the snacks," Aaron says, and Kevin actually seems okay with the selection. He shoots them both a weird look—which, given the intensity of Neil's stare, is appropriate. However, living with them has given Kevin enough insight to know when and when not to intervene. He walks past them, as he should.

When they're actually getting settled in to watch the damn film, Neil has switched tactics. He's refusing to meet Andrew's gaze, foot tapping impatiently against their stained carpet. As peeved as he is, the fear is starting to outweigh it. What if this movie is worse? Is he ready for another night wondering if aliens are going to come absorb him into some hybrid monster?

What the fuck does the egg mean? Aliens lay eggs?!

Neil refuses to sit by Andrew at first, and Andrew's legs are spread in such a way that his lap is wide open and inviting.

It's difficult to resist.

Eventually, Andrew sighs, and slouches into the couch a little more, leaving a perfect Neil-sized spot next to him.

"You're going to sit over there by yourself?" Andrew asks. With the rest of the group out of earshot, he adds lowly: "Aliens pick off the stragglers first."

Neil's glare would melt flesh from bone if it wasn’t directed at Andrew. The blond is unaffected by Neil's threats, though there's definitely power behind them. Just...never towards him.

An unfortunate fact, but one Neil would never betray.

Sulking, he climbs up onto the couch and fits himself snuggly into Andrew's side, head on his chest. Completing the dance, Andrew manhandles Neil to rest more comfortably against him, and Neil ignores the smugness radiating off the blond.

When Aaron walks in, he regards them suspiciously. Neil hates him for smiling that knowing, shit eating little grin once the realization hits him.

Fuck Aaron. Neil knows he's afraid of possession movies. He better be ready.

"This one is especially gross," Aaron says, offhand, but aimed at Neil entirely. "I've seen it."

Neil stares into the television again, done with all of them, and hopes his brain is over it. He hopes this movie is as boring as it can be. "Let's get this shit over with."

And they do. But no, the movie is not boring.

This film is arguably worse than the one they watched last weekend. The aliens are somehow grosser, with tar-like skin and oozing orifices. Even worse, they're more parasitic than the other aliens, and extremely hard for these idiot characters to kill. Neil sees one of the alien babies jump down someone's throat and has to look away.

He supposes it's too late to ask how he got here, to wonder why he can't get over it and understand none of it is real.

But then again, what does he know about the universe?

Neil's glad everyone else is too into the film to notice him burying himself further into Andrew's chest, eyes glued to the screen reluctantly. That's the problem with fear—it takes hold of him. He's not one of those people who can look away or close their eyes, so he just wrings Andrew's shirt between his hands into a wrinkly mess.

At a certain point, the alien from earlier bursts through the character's chest and makes Neil jump away from Andrew's, but the blond grabs Neil's head gently in anticipation of this (which means he's seen this shit already, the asshole) and guides it to rest over his heart. It should make it worse, the rhythmic beating, pumping in time with the chest burster's onslaught. Instead, it's grounding, as it always is, and he sighs.

He wonders if this was Andrew's plan all along, but would that make sense? Having to comfort a scared Neil can't be anything but annoying.

Later, when he's having a mug of hot chocolate with Andrew and Aaron before bed, and steadily getting grumpier with the thought of the sleepless night to come, he says as much.

Aaron just looks at him, as if he can't believe Neil exists. "You really are a moron."

And with that, he goes back to his own dorm.

Neil tries to get clarification, but Andrew only takes the mug from his hands. He avoids Neil's questioning gaze and laces their fingers together, pulling Neil into the room before the lights go out.

It's hard to look serious when he's lying on top of Andrew's chest, glare peaking out, but he tries.

It's weekend three of Andrew's onslaught of alien movie sequels, and luckily he's promised to back off from now on.

Still. Neil's gonna pout all he wants.

A sound from outside makes him jump, but it's just an extra hard downpour knocking against the windows. If Neil closes his eyes, he almost sees the alien claws tapping on the glass, trying to get in.

"Poor, frightened little bunny," Andrew states without any inflection or tone, but Neil can sense the teasing underneath.

"Fuck you," he says, but it's dampened by the way he leans over to close the window blinds.

It helps. A little.

"And risk the alien contamination?" Andrew adds, tugging on Neil's bangs for his attention. Like he has to; he somehow always has it, even when Neil is less than pleased. "Tell me, just what do you think is going to happen? Nothing's going to burst out of you just from watching that movie."

Neil feels his stomach flip flop from the thought of it, his heart taking the tower of terror through his body. He makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, and Andrew pulls him up by the scruff of his neck to get a better look at him.

"I still feel queasy," Neil says, a poor attempt at revenge. Andrew doesn't move away, isn't even remotely grossed out.

The blond just sighs, and rolls Neil over to the other side of the bed in a display of vulnerability. Instead of being pressed to the wall, Andrew's back is open to their room, to the world. Neil balks for a moment before he gets himself under control. They've done this a few times, so he closes his jaw. He knows he should be happy for these moments, not surprised by them. Because he knows they're not small. It's Andrew telling him something, it's Andrew giving. And that's nothing new.

Still, Andrew never has his back to the door, and it probably won't last long. Eventually they'll go back to their normal positions, but for now Andrew shields Neil from the world.

It's a silent emphasis, a promise.

Despite the dimness and the new tension in his shoulders, Andrew's gaze is like a spark to the gasoline pooling in Neil's body. "Neil, you're safe."

Yes. Deep down, that's the biggest truth of them all.

Neil sighs, and gently rolls them back over. It's his own affirmative, his own way of protecting Andrew—whether it be from real threats, or fictional ones. He slides over Andrew until he's on the edge of the bed, and is happy when the bits of tension bleed back out of Andrew. Much better.

"I know that." Neil curls up, and though his back is to the door, he doesn't turn away. It's another silent response. He's afraid, but he knows if an alien were to suddenly bust through the door...

Well, Andrew would let him know. "But I'm still...mph," he grunts, glaring at the blinds above Andrew, and this time, the edges of the blond's lips lift easily. Just for Neil to see.

"Scared?"

Neil rolls his eyes for the billionth time, mostly at himself. "Yes, Andrew, the stupid alien movies scare me. I'm glad you're enjoying it so much."

He won't lie; he expects a silent response, maybe the old 'I don't enjoy anything' just to make him laugh, because they both know it's not true.

Instead, Andrew grabs his wrist, tracing the veins there with his thumb.

"You're right," he admits, slow, as if he's considering taking it back. Neil waits with bated breath, and Andrew must ultimately decide that it's impossible to. "I am."

The blatant admission catches him off guard, and well...Andrew can be pretty cute too, when he avoids Neil's gaze like this. The blond fixates on where they're connected, tracing the scars farther up Neil's arm.

Neil hums. "Because you're a cruel otherworldly imposter, or because you know I secretly have a thing for when I amuse you?"

The master plan, all along.

At Neil's cheeky grin, Andrew rolls onto his back, questioning his existence. He slides Neil's hand over his chest, draping it across him. "You're a nuisance," he mutters, and Neil's grin softens at the edges. He still doesn't understand it all, but when Andrew's being so open like this he can't help but dive in. He slides his hand lower, resting it over Andrew's heart.

"Your heart's beating fast," he says quietly, nearly a whisper. "Could be a chest burster."

"Mourn me," Andrew responds, and Neil smothers his laugh in his pillow. It's got that fresh lavender scent, and reminds him that there's no way he's going to do laundry by himself this week. That room is dark.

For whatever reason, that makes him laugh more. He hears Andrew move closer, hears the stuttering breath of words kept back, and peeks an eye out. Andrew tends to look kind of constipated when he's trying to say something especially revealing, and Neil has long since stopped telling him he doesn't have to.

Because...Andrew told him it wasn't necessary.

'If I want to say something, I'll say it.'

Neil smiles; he remembers thinking it was such an Andrew answer. So now he waits patiently, letting his giggles fade into staggered huffs.

Moments pass, and then, quietly: "I like it," Andrew says, voice barely above a whisper. It hasn't lost its firmness, its inability to be argued with. "I like that you're scared of something that actually can't ever hurt you."

Neil's smile falls, but he's not upset, not in the slightest.

Andrew's statement from weeks ago feels wrong now. It's Neil that doesn't know what to do with him sometimes.

There's plenty of things Neil is scared of—things that have actually hurt him, ruined and scarred him. Those fears are more deeply ingrained and clawing, impossible to erase completely with a few nights of sleep. He doesn't have to wonder if they're real, how they'd hurt him or how painful it would be.

He knows. He can feel the ghost of a blade often, the searing scent of burning flesh whenever he's near a bonfire or when he touches his scars. He sometimes still wakes up from nightmares of being held down, except this time he's not able to get back up. He's never able to run again.

And as much as Andrew would like to, he can't go and reach into the past to stop those things from happening. The realities are so much more frightening, and that terror has no remedy. Andrew knows that better than anyone.

So maybe it's nice, maybe it's just a little rewarding, to see Neil so scared of fictional aliens and monsters instead. Those are the things that can't hurt him, that can't reach him. Perhaps it's better that they occupy his mind instead so that the other demons do not.

And that's the consideration that has Neil so at a loss; he can't do much more than echo Andrew's name in his head over and over, and scoot closer to him until he's all he can make sense of.

It's quiet, aside from the rain, but now it actually sounds like itself, calm and cleansing.

"Well, yeah," Neil whispers into Andrew's chest, then sits up. He wants to say it more firmly, with no room for doubt. This way even if Andrew doesn't believe him...he knows how Neil feels. "You protected me from all that other stuff, so those fears...they're easier now."

He's never put it into words before, but it's the truth. He'll always have nightmares about knives and guns, about fires and cold, blue eyes. But he knows any new threats that come crawling back from the mafia underworld won't have just him to deal with. He'll have Andrew by his side, fighting.

So he's not as afraid of that.

Andrew's grip around him tightens, a promise that never has to be renewed. Neil knows it's forever in place.

On the other hand...

Neil nudges Andrew sheepishly, tapping his finger right between Andrew's pecs. "I just don't know if you stand a chance against an alien hivemind," Neil admits. Though to be fair, no one does. They're all fucked.

Andrew, after a beat of silence, concedes. "For once, I think you're right."

Neil nearly feels better from that, light and warm, but then Nicky comes back into the room and turns off the lights abruptly, plunging them into darkness.

And suddenly, nothing is okay.

He scoots as far away from the edge as possible, practically pinning Andrew to the wall, but the blond takes everything with a sigh.

He deserves it anyways.

Neil still jumps from any little sound the next few nights, and yes, Andrew has to walk him to the laundry room, but that's alright. The teasing he eventually gets from the rest of the Foxes is more than worth it if he gets to make Andrew hold him extra tight.

The fear eventually fades, diluted, but if he pretends to cling to it a bit longer…no one has to know.

If Andrew catches onto Neil's dramatic, fake flinches and continued unwillingness to go anywhere by himself, well...

He certainly doesn't point it out.

#aftg #all for the game #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten

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prose-for-hire · 4 years ago

Text

[I know what you did last] Halloween: The Final Chapter

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

Pairing: Scooby gang x reader (platonic)

This is the last part of a platonic story with the reader as part of the Scooby gang. Set season 3. This is a multi-parted serial killer/slasher fic for Halloween.

Thank you so much to those who have followed along - I have really enjoyed writing this! 🖤🦇

Warning: It is a serial killer fic, main characters are still going to die (I’m sorry, it’s Halloween). There is reference to past alleged suicide and other deaths. Violence. Blood mention.

Halloween Hoax?

Sunnydale Express, October 1999. Official Death count: 6.

A detailed confession, hot off the presses that had been thought of as a Halloween prank by teenaged trouble-makers that was sent to our press room turned out to be the real deal.

A young woman, named as Miss Rosenberg, killed her boyfriend in cold blood before ending her own life in the early morning of last night.

A Sunnydale exclusive: The real note and in-depth profiles on the youths that killed Mr Bates on page 7.

Reports that Willow committed suicide circled widely, but her death had been overshadowed. By someone else’s death. People chose to mourn Oz’s death and not hers. Nobody heard about how her father had to cut her from the tree in the back garden. Nobody heard about the defensive wounds on her arms, as if there had been a struggle.

All they heard about was the note.

It read:

I, Willow Rosenberg, can no longer live with what myself and my peers did on Halloween in 1998. I killed Oz after he found out that me, y/n, Buffy, Cordelia, Xander and Faith committed a crime. A crime I can no longer live with.

Signed, Willow D. Rosenberg

So they all knew. The whole town published that you were a murderer. That all of your friends were. This is how you and Buffy ended up running from your homes, going into hiding. Buffy had always been a good friend to you and you were so relieved she wanted to hide rather than turn yourselves in.

She was strong and good in a crisis. The plan was to hide. You were pleased she wanted to hide rather than turn yourselves in. Her reasoning was that she wanted to put a stop to the murders before anything worse happened. Then you would decide what to do from there.

You went around to Wesley’s house. But it was vacated. Now you come to think of it, you had heard him muttering at one of the funerals about becoming something more. A demon hunter or something. He had left, meaning his house was now abandoned.

You and Buffy were holed up in his small apartment. You were silent. You had never wanted to run. Maybe you shouldn’t have. Maybe you should have handed yourselves in. But there was this lingering sense of injustice. This idea that there was more of a battle left to fight. Both of you were battling with your own conscience. A lengthy battle with no end in sight.

Neither of you had seen much of Faith since you had read the contents of Willow’s note. You and Buffy were not convinced Willow had written it, of course but you knew nobody would let you speak long enough to explain.

It had been a few days of hiding out. You were running out of food. And patience. You and Buffy had discussed at great length what you needed to do. You had been patrolling together at night, looking for the masked figure but with no luck. Instead of patrolling, tonight you decided to go and try and make contact with Faith. At least then, despite your feelings towards her, there may be more safety in numbers.

You were about to knock on the motel door when Buffy took your arm and shook her head. She could hear something. She was packing up. Maybe she was running too. You were about to just go ahead and knock but Buffy got a strange feeling. Maybe a slayer sense or just a bad vibe. You wait around the corner and watch Faith leave. You follow her, sticking to the shadows so that she didn’t see you and so that hopefully nobody else would either.

You ended up following her to her real condo. One you had never known about. It was pretty high-end you were almost impressed. You and Buffy shared a look. Something weird was going on. She slammed the door closed and an older, male voice chastised her for it. It sounded like a father and a daughter. Extra weird.

You waited for what felt like hours, almost holding your breath so nobody in this more well-off area turned you in.

You waited, catching parts of conversation until eventually the man left. He stepped out of the door and you and Buffy looked a picture of shock. It was Mayor Wilkins. Why would she be having a secret meeting with him and... a lawyer? As the Mayor and another man left, you Buffy counted to ten before barging in to confront her.

“Faith” Buffy announced your presence.

“What the hell was that!?” You shouted, “The mayor said you were doing a ‘good job’? What the hell kind of job have you got into now?!” accusing her with something you overheard as her guests had left. Faith rolled her eyes. Busted. Buffy turned and continued to question her.

You looked around the room as Buffy took over the interrogation. This quickly turned into a fight after what you discovered. You were looking through the paperwork discarded on the table.

It was an invoice. A large amount of money paid into Faith’s account. Almost six figures. You frowned. All it read was ‘the events of October 12th’. The day Giles died.

“You killed him?” You whispered.

“Huh?”

“You killed Giles, not the scythe stabber or whatever his stupid name is!” You turned, tears in your eyes as you scrunched up the paper.

“Faith, say this isn’t true. Say you didn’t” Buffy said slowly, her eyes welling with tears. It was all becoming too much.

“I had to do it!” She claimed, as Buffy stepped towards her, “It was a message”

“No. You had a choice” Buffy replied firmly. Her anger starting to bubble under the surface.

“And you picked the wrong one!” You continued, “How could you- you killed him!”

“No, y/n/n, you’re the reason he’s dead” Faith snapped, “You pissed the Mayor off, you pissed the killer off and y’know what? Now you’re pissing me off”

Faith ran at you, but Buffy pulled her to face her. They traded fierce blows. Shouting and wrecking furniture.

She was working for the mayor. Getting Buffy to feel so guilty she wasn’t noticing what was going on in the mayors office. The ascension. Now the authorities are involved the mayor had to step back.

Faith didn’t back down, in fact she went on to claim that nothing would stop the ascension. Nothing would stop her from supporting the Mayor. She had enough of you all. So she wasn’t spooked when you had started to get picked off one by one. So long as she was protected. By the law. By her precious Mayor.

They left the apartment and you tried to keep up (and be back up for Buffy) but you didn’t have the same slayer stamina as them. They were running across buildings and through the streets of Sunnydale. You had lost them several streets away and had to run for cover as you saw flashing blue lights coming towards you.

The slayers stopped on one rooftop. Fighting. Faith pulled an ornate knife, one she had been gifted, she had a glint in her eye as she started to use it in the fight. Buffy managed to block it, kicking and pushing. Faith almost gained the upper hand, taunting Buffy with every blow she matched.

Until Buffy managed to disarm her. The smile started to fade. She didn’t think Buffy would ever do it. Not the ‘chosen one’. Surely not.

But she did. She turned the blade towards Faith and stabbed her in the abdomen. Faith fell backwards onto a truck, her wound bleeding slowly as Buffy tried to breathe again.

Scythe survivor!

The Sunnydale Express, October 1999.

One survivor, named only as an alleged murderess who is in hand-cuffs in hospital has an alleged affiliation with the mayor’s office. Our sources tell us that she worked with the Mayor himself and has allegedly colluded with him to commit unnamed crimes.

These teens have been allowed to run riot, given passes by the authorities and parents for too long.

It makes us wonder, is the Sunnydale Slasher truly doing us a favor?

It was the next morning. Neither you or Buffy had said much since she admitted what had happened with Faith. Wesley hadn’t stopped his newspaper delivery before he left so you were receiving a copy of the Sunnydale Express each morning. After the events of the night before you could barely look at the front page. But you finally had, finding out that Faith was alive. The worrisome part was that you weren’t sure if you were relieved or not to find this out.

“Buffy, look” You set the newspaper down on top of the book she had been staring at for almost an hour now, “She’s okay. In a coma, but you didn’-” You started to talk fast, trying to make her feel at least a little better. She didn’t reply, just moved the newspaper to set on the floor beside her and continued to stare at the book.

“Buff… you put her in hospital. Do you wanna talk about it?” You offered. You knew there was a lot more that could be talked about. You were on the run. Hated by the entire town, demons and humans alike. She had been just

“We can’t think about that now – we have to carry on. Did you see this?” Buffy asked, still looking down into the book. You frowned, walking behind her to look. A note, hidden inside the book. The book that you had through your entire time hiding out. A place you had thought you were safe.

‘They all know what you did last Halloween. Meet me on Saturday. At the memorial. Or else.’

You shared a look and started to pack up immediately. Neither of you had much so you were ready to go. You weren’t safe here.

You waited until the sun started to fall, ironically feeling more comfortable with supernatural threats over the human one currently. Vampires, you could handle. Bumping into a police officer, not so much.

You left, sticking to the shadows. Trying not to despair about how alien your town looked to you now you were shunned to the peripheries.

But there was no escaping your guilt. Your anxieties.

You and Buffy were now holed up in a crypt. It was cold and it was damp and your souls felt corrupted in some way. You had a horrible feeling that the protagonists of the story had now become the villains. You were so scared. Questioning every move you made. Every thought.

You were on a heavy diet of despair, with hopelessness sprinkled in every so often. Like seasoning.

Kickbacks and corruption: sources tell all

The Sunnydale Express, October 1999.

After the horrifying revelation that one murderess may have been involved in more than one fatality, we have been Sources have revealed that the mayor has in fact been keeping the most degenerate in our community on the pay-roll.

An anonymous source states: “One of the worst cases of corruption ever”

“He speaks of ascension, his corruption taking him straight to the Whitehouse or who knows where” A further source tells us.

The Mayor’s office declined to comment.

You had spent the entire day preparing yourselves. Trying to survive through the day. Trying to figure out if you should even fight this. You backtracked through the day, both of you did. Worried you should just hand yourselves in. Maybe the killer may leave if you handed yourselves in. Maybe you deserved this ending. No, you were going to stick to the plan.

It was mischief night. The night before Halloween where kids would vandalise and play pranks. But you and Buffy had taken the night more seriously. You were breaking into several places around town. Researching and looking around like in the old Scooby days. But with more crime being committed.

First, you broke into a library. Reading every newspaper report, every mention of a killer in a mask. After you got through reports of masked killers that would put Michael Myers to shame, you finally found the spate of murders you were looking for. Everything written about the Sunnydale slasher. You avoided reading much of the Sunnydale Express, it didn’t appear to care if it printed lies or opinion-pieces over fact.

When you printed out and re-read everything you could from the library, you moved on to another opportunity for crime. Sadly, tonight wasn’t the most you had broken the law in your lives.

Next, you broke into a hunting shop. Looking for weapons. You followed Buffy’s lead, trying to find anything that could be concealed in the clothing you were wearing (which was the next step). Buffy looked around choosing some of the weapons she may want to use.

This was a human though as you still suspected. So you weren’t sure exactly what was going to go down the next day. It was Halloween after all, anything could happen.

You took out a chainsaw, arching an eyebrow to ask the expert what she thought. But Buffy shook her head, “I don’t think Sunnydale’s ready for a chainsaw massacre” She quipped. it was almost like you were back a year ago. Before all of this happened. Making funny comments or pop culture references at a Scooby meeting. Squabbling over who would get what weapon. You felt a sudden pang of loneliness as you spoke.

“You’re right, we should stick with old faithful” You replied, trying not to think about a joke Xander may make or a look Willow would have given you. Cordelia may have made some derogatory comment about Xander and Willow not being faithful. It made you too sad. You missed it all. You missed all of them.

Finally, you found yourself in the mall. It sounded superficial but you really did need an outfit for the memorial. You only really had what you had left the house in when you were hiding from the officers that had turned up at Giles’ house. You needed something that would help you both blend in. Black for a memorial and a Halloween mask. You also managed to find some food to keep you going until tomorrow as well.

You decided as you were finally able to sleep that you were determined. You wouldn’t give up. You would fight. You would have to.

Flutie in Memoria

Sunnydale Express, 31st October 1999.

The time of year for candy and monsters only comes but once here in Sunnydale. It was a time that the beloved late Principal Flutie loved. The community coming together, the comradery for the fellow man. This principal embodied the spirit of Halloween and by extension the spirit of Sunnydale. He did charity work on the weekend and always had time for his students: giving back to those with troubled backgrounds. Allowing young people to show their true potential.

It highlights to us here at the Sunnydale Express that Flutie was the true meaning of being a member of the tightly knit Sunnydale community. Today, before festivities commence, we remember him.

The memorial was being held outside. Everyone was wearing a mask, but the authorities were checking every other person just in case.

It was mid-afternoon and the sun shone high in the sky. You were stood in the shadows. There were rows and rows of chairs set out and a small platform at the front with curtains behind. It was in the centre of Sunnydale beside a large grassy area.

You and Buffy arrived as everyone else did. You wore black, just as the others. But you both felt as if you stuck out like a sore thumb. You were incredibly paranoid. The authorities were already looking for you, you knew they would be here. But you had to come. This had to end, one way or another.

Buffy had run through the plan with you again as you stood on the peripheries of the crowd, trying to avoid being recognised. But someone had seen you. Someone had been waiting. Someone walked up behind you, the hair on the back of your neck was standing on end.

“Happy Halloween, Buffy. And you, Y/n.” The masked figure spoke. He took both of your upper arms and steered you toward the front. You were now standing, hidden behind the platform that had been set up for the memorial speech.

A man in a mask. No, a man in the mask escorted you there. Nobody so much as blinked an eye. Raised any suspicion at three people wanted for murder. Sunnydale residents really were used to turning a blind eye.

He wanted you to announce what you did. To get up on stage. He explained what you needed to do. That you needed to reveal Buffy’s identity and explain exactly what you did last Halloween.

“They need to know. Everything. In your own words”

“It was an accident!” Buffy insisted. It was tearing her apart at night. The guilt.

“Faith landed the final blow” You muttered, knowing full well this didn’t absolve anything you had done.

“Death follows you around, once is an accident. But it’s been more than that” he muttered, finding your responses laughable,

“Why are you here?”

“Why do you think?”

“No, why you? Why are you the one that has to teach us this lesson in psychopathy 101”

“You think I need a motive? I live on a Hellmouth, it was only a matter of time until I cracked…” he added matter-of-factly swipes at you with a scythe.

“Oh, I kinda thought the reason we were all here was so you could monologue us to death, but I guess we’re in luck”

Buffy punched him hard in the gut, doubling him over as he started to speak as you had expected. He wheezed but started to stand again. You quickly reached and unmasked him, expecting to recognise the man behind the mask.

Except, you didn’t. You and Buffy shared a confused look which she punctuated with another punch across his face.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this to us?” You asked. His reach had been insidious. He knew everything about you. He knew

“I’m Jason”

“Vorhees?”

“Flutie” He snapped. Clearly he had envisioned this big reveal somewhat differently.

“Who?”

“My uncle was your principal?” He said coldly before rolling his eyes, “The reason for the memorial today?!”

“Oh” You both nodded at the same time, realising what this was.

“I found out the truth! The cover-ups, I saw through it all!” He swung at you, barely missing your face with the blade. “You let him die! You killed him!”

“We so didn’t”

“Yeah it-it was hyena people! Totally out of our hands”

“So now you understand why Xander had to pay. Why the other four had to die” He explained, blaming everyone that had been turned into a hyena. He swung again and Buffy hadn’t been able to block this one. He had swung with such force both you and Buffy had deep slice marks that were weeping blood faster than you could comprehend what had happened. Your brain was working over time as you tried your best to ignore the wound.

“The swim team? Those girls that were found...?” The pieces were coming together. They had been part of the hyena pack. They had been targeted because of Flutie’s death. You were being targeted for ‘letting’ it happen.

There was a motive. It was revenge. Pure and simple.

“You save people. It’s your job, I mean, hello?” He shouted, wildly slicing the scythe towards you both as he spoke, “You saved demons, vampires and you couldn’t save someone that had done nothing to anyone?”

You stared at him, mouths open. How could be blame you for this? He never even cared about the human that died last Halloween. His motives were selfish. And didn’t make much sense. You and Buffy always felt guilty over those you couldn’t save. Your responsibilities, hers as a slayer and yours as just a human being, were great. You tried to protect people but mistakes happened. Almost every week was the going rate.

“Was he not special enough for you, huh y/n? Not hot enough, Buffy?” He jeered, lunging for you both as Buffy expertly kicked the scythe out of his hands. This didn’t stop him, he doubled back, evading Buffy who overbalanced in her haste and going straight for you. He put his hands around your neck, squeezing tight.

“We don’t get to choose!” You wheezed. He slammed your head back against the platform. Blood started to trickle from the back of your head. You didn’t want his hollow eyes to be the last thing you saw. You kicked out, trying to hit him. Release his grip. Your vision started to blur as Buffy righted herself, pulling his attention from you. You were released.

“He was a good person. We didn’t let-” Buffy tried to offer slowly. But he turned, cutting her off. Literally. He sliced along her collarbone and she hissed in pain, bringing her fighting stance back into play. He then jabbed at her, splitting the skin on her brow bone.

Buffy looked over to you, you had collapsed in a heap on the floor clutching at your throat. He turned too, chuckling at your pain before turning back to Buffy. Jason and Buffy traded blows. A ferocious fight broke out. He was no longer paying any attention to you as you looked close to collapse. He would come back and finish you off once he got rid of the Slayer, he decided.

But what he didn’t realise was you had been over-acting. Sitting for longer than you needed. The adrenaline was coursing through you. Telling you to fight. To defend your friend. You got to your feet, the scythe in your hand as you swung with all of the strength you had left in your body. The figure that had been the stuff of Sunnydale nightmares, rivalling that of Freddy Kreuger’s, was now sinking to the floor.

The wound was deep. Your hands shook, they were covered in blood. A killer’s blood. Buffy took the scythe from your hands and stabbed into him once more, ensuring his breathing slowed. Her breathing was shaky, but it had to be done. You reminded each other over and over.

So, you and Buffy had managed to kill him. Shouldn’t you feel more pleased? You couldn’t help the sinking feeling that the citizens of Sunnydale may have rejoiced no matter the outcome of the fight you just had. You both stared over the body as the touching tributes continued over the speakers, his body now laying unmoving. Red liquid bleeding into the grass.

You waited. Both of you well aware that the killer usually came back for one last scare. But he never did. You checked his pulse and nodded at Buffy. He was mortal after all.

You both stared despondently at each other, now standing over the bloodied corpse. You had made it out. You were free to live your lives. Maybe you should celebrate or congratulate the other. But neither of you wanted to do that. Neither of you could possibly open your mouths to speak of what you had been through the past month. You just felt hollow.

You wiped your brow, noticing there was a thick crust of blood there that you tried to rub off. Buffy took her jacket off and placed it over the body, it was stained with blood now anyway so she wouldn’t need it.

She took your hand and you walked over the grassy field, the sun was setting and a strange orange hue surrounded you. Your world still in flames despite the threat being gone. But you knew it would never be truly over. This feeling inside. You walked across the grass as people continued to speak fondly of Principal Flutie, his nephew lying dead behind the scenes. You stuck out instantly and people looked over to see you both just silently clasping hands, gripping each other as tight as possible. They watched you walk into the distance, the sun setting as you eventually walked out of sight.

You had survived.

Meanwhile, in Sunnydale General, someone’s eyes snapped open. A woman. A slayer. Her dark hair splayed on the pillow behind her, white skin making her look like a corpse. She stared at the ceiling, ripping the IV from her hand.

Her eyes wild. Her heart pounding. Her head thinking of only one thing…

Revenge.

#a very buffy halloween #I know what you did last Halloween #Buffy Summers #Faith Lehane #Mayor wilkins #Principal Flutie #btvs #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #btvs x you #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #scooby gang #scooby gang x reader #scoobies #or whats left of them anyway #Halloween #Halloween fic #Introducing: Jason Flutie

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magpiemorality · 5 years ago

Text

Bring It On, Moceit/Moremus, 5/5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 AO3

We’re here; the final part. The happy ending, hopefully…

Huge thanks to @littlestr for the original prompts! And thank you all for following along with this fun weekend jaunt, I have come to adore these boys and they’ve outgrown the little prompt oneshot they were supposed to exist in, constantly yelling at me for more attention until now we’re here. There’s even art HERE by @sometimeswritingsometimesdying go look at it!!!!

Without further ado; please enjoy.

Warnings: dismissal of polyamory (character doesn’t believe it’s real/feasible), swearing

Patton Sanders was the prettiest boy in the whole college...

***

Patton Sanders was the prettiest boy in the whole college. He wasn’t being vain or anything; there had once been an online poll on the college gossip blog and he’d won hands down. It was just fact at this point.

He was also currently (in his own internal poll) the saddest. Everything had been going so great (shut up Remy it had) and then it had taken a turn towards the endgame and then-

Well, what had happened with Remus? Patton still wasn’t sure, and Remus was ignoring his texts so he had no clues to go on apart from the fact that one minute the boy was giving him some very upmarket salmon filets and pulling off a classing hair-behind-the-ear move that would have possibly even led to a kiss- and then nothing. Remus had suddenly… changed his mind? He’d freaked out for some reason anyway, and had just run off.

Since then nothing, nada, total radio silence (yeah so it had only been two days so what Remy shh) and Patton was falling into despair. There had to have been a vital signal he’d missed somewhere that would have turned the whole thing around.

Maybe the fish was a clue?

He and Remy had spent a full evening poring over the fish. Was it a secret message? Symbolic in some way? Was there something written on it? Patton had drawn the line at trying to open it up and check the inside because he still very much wanted to save it to cook for Remus some day, so it had been rehomed in the freezer after a careful perusal of storage methods on Google.

And there was a whole other problem now too- Dex was avoiding him. Over text, on campus, in the cafe; everywhere Patton could think of to try and run into his second paramour turned out to be a bust, and the only way (again, two days was ages Remy don’t be a bitch) he could have avoided even accidentally bumping into Dex for that long was if the other boy was actively staying away.

Those texts went unanswered too.

(Remy was starting to lose patience.)

“But I just don’t-”

“Oh my god gurl please don’t finish that sentence!” Patton’s very best friend and emotional support gay snapped, slamming his Starbucks cup down on the table (situated outside the cafe, so they could be seen by as many people as possible, of course). “I literally can not with you.”

Patton’s nose wrinkled. “My tutor Logan says we shouldn’t say literally when it’s not grammatically accurate.”

“Your tutor Logan can literally suck my dick. No seriously; he’s hot, get me his number and I will consider literally forgiving you.”

“But-”

“Baby, sugarplum, Patty-cake- for the love of all things caffeine; just take a chill pill okay? Boys will come and go in your life and if they’re worth anything at all then they’ll be back. Besides, they’re probably just duking it out over you somewhere. Maybe shirtless. Maybe there’s baby oil…” Remy trailed off with unfocused eyes, sipping his drink absently and Patton sighed, because even that nice (very nice, saved for later) image not enough to dispel his melancholy.

He checked his phone again for the millionth time that day. Spring break was coming up and the cheer squad Whatsapp was going wild with anticipation, but Patton wasn’t in the mood. He’d foolishly hoped that one of his handsome men was going to sweep him off his feet and away to somewhere spectacular for the holiday, but that hope had tanked dramatically in light of recent developments. Normally that would’ve just made him shift his hopes towards prom, but it wasn’t enough of a big deal as it had always been in high school, and it was really more of a friends’ night out situation. Not the sort of time to be expecting big dramatic declarations of love, you know or whatever.

No, the universe seemed to be spelling out ‘Patton Sanders is going to die alone’ pretty hard, even if Remy wasn’t in agreement.

“Who are you texting, anyway?” Patton asked, picking at his nail polish with a pout. “Let me at least live vicariously through you until I waste away, a tragic damsel whose beauty was lost to time…"

Remy looked up, talking around the straw in his mouth. “Jesus you’ve got it bad. And it’s none of your business, P, I’ll tell you when you aren’t moping.” The way Patton visibly and genuinely sagged seemed to revive Remy’s best friend sympathy instincts, because he quickly finished his drink, took Patton by the hands and pulled him up. “Come on cupcake, it’s the weekend and we’re going shopping. Because no matter what happens with your boys- it’s nearly Spring Break and we are gonna look hot to trot!”

And who was Patton to disagree with such flawless logic?

***

Maybe there was something to be said for the mystical powers of retail therapy, because when Patton flopped down on his bed that evening there was a text notification from a blocked number on his phone that made his heart beat wildly.

It contained an invitation, to meet the following weekend at a destination that would be sent in a future text, and it was signed ‘from your not-so-secret admirer’.

The week went by horribly slowly. Even practice seemed to drag, and yet…

Suddenly Dex was meeting him every day with his tea again, no word of explanation but a soft smirk always hovering around his lips, lighting up his usually serious face.

Suddenly Remus was watching and winking at him from across the gym- not approaching this time round but offering little shy waves and offering help when he could, putting away the gym equipment or offering a protein bar on the way out just as Patton’s stomach started to rumble.

Something was up, and Patton’s head was in a spin, but it was oddly perfect.

Even Remy couldn’t believe the change.

“You’re totally one hundred percent sure they’re not on drugs?” Patton shot him a look. “Okay just double checking. Joined a cult? Kidnapped by aliens and replaced by pod people? Serial killers planning on luring you in an-”

“God, Remy, no!” He hit his friend with his pillow, laughing at the offended noises Remy made before he joined Patton in giggling on the bed. “No I think they just… sorted something out. It’s weird though, right? Like there’s something weird happening? Not bad weird, but…”

Remy mirrored his shrug. “You’ll have to wait and see what happens with your ‘not so secret admirer’,” he said, singing the name. “Do you have any clue which one of them it is?”

“Well no. But surely it’s Dex? I mean, he’s Dexter, he can sort out a blocked number. It’s… Remus is a total carebear but he’s not exactly James Bond, you know? It’s got to be Dex. But he’d just out and say it, I know he would, so I don’t- I can’t be sure. Remus is the dramatic one…” Round and round in circles they went but never came any closer to solving the puzzle.

Friday came and went and at long last it was time to head out for the grand reveal. Remy had helped him get dressed (cute but weather appropriate and with good running shoes, just in case) and they were waiting in the living room for the address to come through.

His phone buzzed.

Once they’d stopped shrieking in excitement they googled and found the address was of the same cafe he’d spent so much time in with Dexter over Winter break, which- it was probably not a good thing that his heart had sunk over ruling out the possibility this was Remus all along, right? It had simultaneously skipped a beat at the confirmation that it was Dex, so… You win some, you lose some he supposed.

Crunch time.

He hurried along the streets- glad for the tiny size of their college town and for the lack of rain on the crisp February morning- and slipped into the cafe. Only to see not Dexter O’Reilly sat inside waiting for him, but-

“Remus?!”

***

Let it be known that Remus Duke was not the prettiest boy in the whole college, far from it. Nor was he the most intelligent, nor the richest nor the most popular. However what Remus Duke had in spades was earnest charm. It was lethal in a one on one situation, and he made sparing use of it so as not to abuse his power.

Let it also be known that Dexter O’Reilly was far from immune to said charm, especially when it was turned on him from a few feet across a brightly coloured, messy, but shockingly cosy room in a frat house on Greek Row. If Dexter was the Slytherin here then Remus was almost certainly the Hufflepuff who would drive said Slytherin to world domination.

In this case, of course, world domination was replaced by Patton Sanders, and the prospect of getting to date him. The concept was the same though, and the intense level of detail required to get the plan exactly right was too.

In fact, Dex had stayed way later that night than either of them had expected, as they’d plotted and planned and discussed various ways of making their dreams reality. What Remus lacked in book smarts, he made up for with an innate talent for asking exactly the right questions to fix any inefficiencies or problems before they ever arose, and you bet Dex had made a mental note of that for future reference.

What neither of them had really considered, was the exact reaction Patton would have when he walked in the cafe door on Saturday morning to find not just Remus, but-

***

“And Dex!” Patton’s eyes were big and round as they switched back and forth and back and forth between the two young men. He clutched his phone in his hand like a lifeline, wondering if this was going to turn out to be the worst day of his life so far, rather than the tentative best he’d pencilled it in as…

“Hey,” Remus smiled hopefully at him, standing up and awkwardly trying to gesture Patton to his seat like a magician’s glamorous assistant or something. Patton took pity on him and did in fact sit, still mostly set to ????? and !!!!!! and only just managing to process what was happening.

Opposite him, Dexter crossed one long leg over the other, and Remus perched on the edge of the third chair like he was physically restraining himself from getting up to go be closer to Patton. Which wasn’t entirely untrue, as it happened.

“Guys, what’s going on?” Patton asked weakly, looking to Dex for guidance, but it was Remus who replied.

“Well,” he started, twisting his hands around nervously. “We ended up having a bit of a chat, last week. I um, I- oh fuck what was I supposed to say?!” Dexter snorted softly and Remus pouted at him. “You’re no help, we said we’d do this together!”

You could’ve knocked Patton over with a feather. His mouth actually fell open at the display of camraderie. Suddenly the serial killer theory had merit.

“Patton. Through a convoluted set of circumstances we ended up discussing our possible futures… with you. It’s fairly clear you’re struggling to choose between the two of us, right?” He waited until Patton nodded slowly. “So we thought… why choose?”

“My brother Roman told me about this class he took last semester see, about like, changing identities or something. People, basically, and he heard about all these different things they never taught us in school! And one of them was-”

“Wait,” Patton interjected, holding a hand out because he was ninety percent sure he knew where this was going, but- “That’s real? Having… sharing partners is real? It actually works?”

“Hey how’d you know what I was going to s-”

“Yes, darling, yes to all of that. If the people involved are honest and open and willing to work on it,” Dexter interrupted, smiling at Patton. Remus was also looking at him, nearly bouncing in his seat with excitement, overflowing with energy like always. Gosh Patton loved his energy, his enthusiasm for life, his potential, ahem, stamina…

He turned back to Dex, only to be filled with warmth at the look he was getting, because he loved the way Dex gave him special smiles he gave no one else. He loved his soft, clever words, and his gentleness.

Oh.

“Oh.” There was quiet for a moment before the two hopefuls shared a concerned glance.

“Patton?” Dexter prompted. “Is that… a good ‘oh’ or a bad one? We uh, we know it’s kinda not what you were expecting, probably?”

“And you can take your time to think about it!”

“Thank you Remus, yes. You can take your time, darling. But we would like to try this with you. However you like. And if we want to change things down the road… we can talk about that too.”

Patton was the prettiest boy in the whole college. Seemed like today he was the luckiest, too. “Yes!” He shouted, leaping out of his seat to grab them both in a hug, dragging them together forcefully. “Oh gosh, goodness, yes, that sounds perfect!” He gave them each a kiss on the nearest cheek and sat back down, cheeks red but smile bright, holding his hands out for them to take one each.

“This is going to be so cool!” Remus crowed, and Dex chuckled softly at his exuberance, squeezing Patton’s fingers, his eyes betraying his own quiet excitement.

Yeah, Patton thought. It really was.

Bonus 1 | Bonus 2 | Bonus 3 | Bonus 4

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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Lance Henriksen on His Career: ‘Every Job I’ve Ever Gotten Was a Gift’

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Lance Henriksen has been one of the screen’s most distinctive character actors and overall badasses for going on 50 years. A genuine working actor who always seems to be showing up in a film or TV show, the New York-born Henriksen’s early film career featured small roles in some of the most iconic films of the 1970s, including Dog Day Afternoon, Network and Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Even though his long and varied run on the big and small screen was just getting underway, he managed to work with directors like Sidney Lumet and Steven Spielberg.

He also didn’t have a clue at the time that those films would endure decades later as classics of their era.

“I had no idea,” he says while speaking to us on the phone about his latest film, Falling. “I was just grateful to have a job and do my best and try. It was a gift. Every job I’ve ever gotten, I feel it was a gift. I don’t make any bones about that. It’s just a lot of luck.”

Now at the age of 80, Henriksen is a statesman of cinema in Falling, Viggo Mortensen’s directorial debut. However, the older actor wasn’t always sure luck was going to come his come his way. His father was a merchant sailor who was away at sea most of the time. His mother, who worked as a dance instructor, a model, and a waitress, divorced Henriksen’s father when her son was just two and struggled to raise both Lance and his brother on her own. Stints in foster care and abuse at the hands of other family members followed, with Henriksen out of school after first grade and out of his home for good at 12. He didn’t learn to read until he was nearly 30 years old.

It was around that time that he began working in theater, first in set design and then eventually on the sets themselves as an actor. His first film appearance came in 1972, in the long-forgotten It Ain’t Easy for director (and future Star Trek: The Next Generation producer/writer) Maurice Hurley. Three years later, he was an FBI agent in Lumet’s Dog Day Afternoon, which got him a call from Spielberg, the red-hot young director of Jaws who was then prepping his alien contact epic, Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

In that film, Henriksen played one of the many scientists and technicians on hand for the arrival of the alien mothership and its crew.

“[Spielberg] was getting ready to shoot the mothership leaving, with all the little creatures and all the astronauts going up onto the machine,” the actor recalls now. “And I ran over and said, ‘Hey, listen, Steven, I’ve got an idea. What if I take my coat, throw it over one of these little creatures, and run into the Porta-Potties with it, so we’ve got proof, because this thing’s going to take off and disappear.’ And he looked at me and goes, ‘Lance, listen to me, that’s a different movie.’”

Following that mid-1970s run, which also included the 1978 horror sequel, Damien: Omen II, and the truly bonkers sci-fi cult film The Visitor, with John Huston and Glenn Ford, Henriksen wouldn’t see his next big break until 1982. That’s when a first-time director named James Cameron cast him in Piranha 2: The Spawning, which Cameron was shooting for exploitation producer Ovidio G. Assonitis.

“I like Jim,” says Henriksen of the man who would later go on to make game-changing, record-breaking blockbusters like Titanic and Avatar. “I met him on Piranha 2. Neither one of us liked that movie, but we did it. We had to do that movie. We weren’t supported very much by the producers…And then when the movie was done, we all went home and I remember they fired Jim the last day of shooting so that they could edit and control the movie.”

According to Henriksen, the producers of Piranha 2 took the film out of Cameron’s hands and presented their own edit to distributor Columbia Pictures, which rejected it.

Says Henriksen, “Jim took the same footage that they showed Columbia. He re-edited it and brought it back to [the studio]. And that’s the cut that released. It’s a great story. I hope it’s true.”

Cameron cast Henriksen in his next two movies, both of which turned into sci-fi/action classics: 1984’s The Terminator and 1986’s Aliens. It was in the latter film that Henriksen created the first of several iconic performances by playing the enigmatic and ultimately heroic android Bishop. Other 1980s standouts for Henriksen included Prince of the City, The Right Stuff, and Jagged Edge, while the latter half of that decade yielded lead roles in two horror cult classics, Pumpkinhead and Near Dark.

Millennium After the Millennium Documentary Revisits the Cult TV Series

By Kirsten Howard

Movies

Aliens and Terminator 2: How James Cameron Crafts Perfect Sequels

By Ryan Lambie

Although Henriksen continued to work steadily in movies throughout the 1990s, 2000s and 2010s, it was a TV show that yielded perhaps his most famous character after Bishop: ex-FBI profiler and serial killer hunter Frank Black in creator Chris Carter’s nightmarish thriller series Millennium. The series was Carter’s follow-up to The X-Files and it ran for three seasons and 67 episodes on Fox from 1996 to 1999.

“I think the thing that I admired the most was when I was offered the role, I didn’t right away know it was television,” says Henriksen, who also admits that the show’s oppressive nature and the tormented psyche of his character wore on him during its three-year run. “I got to a restaurant with Chris Carter and the director. I said, ‘Let me ask you something. This is so dark. A lot of serial killers. A lot of bad people. Where’s the light going to come from?’ And all Chris Carter said to me was, ‘The yellow house.’ And then I got it right away. It was about [Black’s] family and I agreed to do it.”

Henriksen adds, “Occasionally it sucked me in,” referring to Millennium’s relentlessly grim atmosphere. “But it was a tough show. It wasn’t an easy one. It was also kind of a groundbreaker at the time, I think.” Henriksen has been quoted as saying that it took him “a year” to get out of the head of Frank Black after the show was cancelled, and has often noted that he finds it difficult to detach himself from a character after the project has finished shooting.

When it came to Falling, Henriksen says he was actually leery at first of playing Willis Peterson, the conservative and homophobic father of a middle-aged gay man named John (Mortensen, who also wrote and scored the movie). Nearing the end of his life, perpetually angry and having pushed two wives and his children away from him, Willis is perhaps the most complex role of Henriksen’s career but one which he says was exhausting to play.

“I have to tell you the minute we were wrapped and we finished the movie, I said, ‘Viggo, I’m going to disappear for a while. I got to get myself back,’” Henriksen explains. “I was a little afraid to do it. I got so deep into some of it that I got a little afraid that I’m going to get a form of Alzheimer’s of some kind–I won’t be able to shake it. But I was able to shake it. But anyway, it was intense. It really was, the stakes were very high. And we had a short time to do it. We shot it in five weeks.”

Henriksen’s relationship with Mortensen–best known to genre fans as Aragorn in The Lord of the Rings–stretches back to the 2008 Western Appaloosa, in which both men starred alongside Ed Harris. “We both love Westerns and we all enjoyed it,” says Henriksen of his first collaboration with Mortensen. “All three of us: Ed loves Westerns. He knows how to ride, he knows how to do it. It was nice to meet Viggo. He’s as good a guy as I’ve ever met. I liked him right away, really good guy.”

Nevertheless, Henriksen–a graduate of the Actors Studio and a practitioner of method acting–still wasn’t sure he wanted to play Willis when Mortensen sent him the Falling script. “It scared me,” he admits. “He said, ‘Would you do it?’ I said, ‘Sure, I’m scared, but I’ll do it.’ And then we lost the original backing and it took two years to finally get new backing, and he said, ‘You still want to do it?’ And I went, ‘Yeah.’ And he goes, ‘That didn’t sound very enthusiastic, Lance.’ I said to him, ‘The truth is, I’m going to have to visit some real dark places from my youth, my childhood, all of that, and I’m nervous.’”

In Falling, John brings Willis home to Los Angeles with him to stay with his family, including husband Eric (Terry Chen) and their adopted daughter Monica (Gabby Velis) while they look for a new home for Willis closer to John and his sister Sarah (Laura Linney). But Willis is resolutely against leaving his rural farm in heartland America, determined to stick to his sheltered lifestyle even as the onset of dementia begins to blur the past and the present in his mind.

Despite his anxiety about delving into Willis’ tortured, embittered psyche, Henriksen now imparts that participating in the film became an instant highlight of his career. “It was the best experience I’ve ever had as an actor,” he says. “The support to do it and [Mortensen’s] appreciation level and all of those things were everything that I hoped for… I have nothing but gratitude. This is maybe the best role I’ve gotten in my lifetime. I really think that.”

Those are strong words coming from an actor who has appeared in many of the definitive films of the last five decades, but Falling may well feature some of the most emotionally raw work he’s done during his lifetime in the business. “I’m grateful to be an actor,” Lance Henriksen says with sincerity. “I’m an apprentice to every new subject. It’s been my education. I’m a lucky guy, I really am.”

Falling is out in theaters, on digital, and on demand now.

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some-mad-lunge · 5 years ago

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When Alex Manes Loves You

This is a Isobel x Alex friendship fic with a whole bunch of Malex for good measure. For @bisexualalienblast who always deserves a smile and who dragged me into this fandom.

************************************

He takes care of you.

Alex leaned over the building plans spread out on the table. They were almost certain this was another facility, one that might just have some of the answers they were desperate for.

Well most of them were, Michael still wasn’t sure what Alex’s motivation was. At least not anymore. How many sins of your father were you supposed to atone for before you were square?

Max was sitting in a chair, he still had trouble standing for too long. Coming back from death was a bitch. Still he seemed to be taking in everything Alex was saying. At least someone was.

Michael couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Isobel and he wasn’t paying attention to anything else.

She’d walked in 10 minutes earlier, flounced in really, and tossed her bag in the corner like she’d done it a million times. Michael had only been to Alex’s bunker once before. He could swear there were ghosts in the walls, it made him feel watched. Isobel, however, seemed comfortable as could be.

It irked him.

She was in yoga clothes, an old habit she’d picked back up since she found out her husband was a serial killer. He didn’t think she believed in all that zen bullshit but he wasn’t about to say anything about her new exercise kick. With Isobel you picked your battles.

She’d barely been there two minutes when Alex reached into his own duffel bag and tossed something in Isobel’s direction without even looking at her. She caught it with ease, wrinkled her nose. It looked like homemade trail mix, how very military.

“I can't deal with your hanger today. Yes, there’s M&M’s in there somewhere. Anyway, as I was saying…” Alex kept talking but Michael doesn’t hear it.

It’s a simple thing, so tiny and insignificant but all Michael can do is stare at the bag in Isobel’s hands. She flicked her fingers around inside, digging until she finds what she’s looking for. She held the chocolate between her thumb and forefinger, smirked at Alex before she popped it in her mouth.

The smile Alex gives her in response can only be described as fond, lips Michael once knew intimately pursed in amusement.

He doesn’t want to name the feeling that rolled around in his stomach, refused to acknowledge it. When Isobel held the bag out and Alex took a handful without looking up from the table Michael felt his whole body clench.

He humours you.

He was getting used to being in Alex’s space, not just his bunker, their unofficial place to discuss all things alien conspiracy, but near him. Close enough to feel the heat of his dark skin, breathe the same air. It doesn’t hurt anymore, at least not as much.

Maybe they would be friends after all.

That is until he walks in, sees Kyle laughing, Alex with a bemused expression on his face and Isobel hanging something on the wall.

When Michael read what it said he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

“There. Now it’s more homey.” Isobel stood with her hands on her hips, glanced over at Michael with a small smile on her lips. It’s the first genuine one he’s seen in months.

Later when Alex and Michael are sitting at the screens, he leaned over, kept his voice low.

“Are you really going to leave that up?”

He shrugged, but Michael doesn’t miss the way the skin on Alex’s arm beside his prickled in goosebumps. It gave him a rush of warmth, a feeling of satisfaction he missed too much to admit.

“It makes her happy.”

And that seemed good enough for Alex.

When Michael walked out later he reads the words. He knows it’s a joke, but he can’t seem to laugh.

Bunker Sweet Bunker

He makes you smile.

Max was keeping a very close eye on his sister and Michael was along for the ride. Today was her wedding anniversary. No one mentions it, no one dared to, but they knew it would be a hard day for her. She wouldn’t admit it, because weakness was not a word in Isobel’s vocabulary. So instead Max was brooding, pouring Isobel wine in the middle of the day like this was some joyful alien family gathering and not them trying to make sure she doesn’t crack.

Michael knew that Isobel probably would have preferred to have Alex here. They were so chummy now it made his skin crawl. Another thing he hated to admit, he was jealous of her. It was something he was used to in a way. At least before all her walls came down, and he learned life for her wasn’t as easy as he liked to imagine.

Alex had been the one to ask Max, and therefore by association Michael, to look after Isobel today. The soldier and Kyle (who he would never admit to being envious of, even if you put a syringe of the cure in his arm) were gone on some secret fact finding mission. Michael didn’t know the details. Which was fine.

Let Isobel and Alex have their wine nights. Let Kyle be Alex’s right hand man. It didn’t bother Michael in the slightest.

You’re a miserable liar.

But Max was still hovering, and Isobel just kept sighing and rolling her eyes like she was the one doing them a favour.

The doorbell rang and Michael watched her jump to her feet, no doubt happy for a brief reprieve from their lame attempts at comfort. There had been a time when it was always just the three of them, even when they hated it. God, even when they resented it, at least they had each other. But as more people were let in, as more people were trusted, it blurred what they were to each other.

Michael hated the feeling.

Isobel came back into her living room practically skipping, a package in her hands. Max was instantly on edge, like it would contain a bomb or something. She liked to shop, Michael could only imagine what she’d purchased herself this time.

It wasn’t until he saw her chuckle as she read a card that he realized it was a gift. She placed it on the coffee table and hummed to herself as she used her thumbnail to break through the taped up box. He swiped the card and felt his stomach clench as he read the words inside, the handwriting a little too familiar.

If you’re going to be a widow, best do it right.

Sentiments, et cetera, don’t drink all the wine without me.

Alex hadn’t even signed his full name, just the first letter. Because she would know who it was. Of course she would. It made Michael seethe.

He heard Isobel’s gasp of delight and watched as she unwrapped a black hat, satiny and classic, a small black veil in the front. To anyone else it would be in poor taste, but as she put it on her head and drew the wisp of a veil over her eyes she was positively beaming.

She looked like a vamp in a noir movie, the widow in fake mourning. It suited her, Michael could admit that. The radiant smile on her face filled him up, made him forget his earlier anger. Alex had given Isobel something, made the day easier. He couldn’t be anything but thankful, even it it was begrudgingly.

She ran to look in the mirror, preened at herself and then started rambling about something or other. Max gave Michael a confused look, he just shrugged in response.

He tried to not remember the times when Alex gave Michael exactly what he had needed, exactly when he had needed it.

He leans on you.

As soon as he read the text from Maria he’d gotten into his truck without thinking. When he’d seen her name he’d frozen for a second. They’d ended things a few weeks prior. No drama, no tears. They just weren’t it for each other. He loved her. He always would. Just not the way he was supposed to.

Then her words had him in motion, he had to get to Alex. He couldn’t be alone, not right now, even though Michael was sure he’d demand it and then tear himself up in the process.

It was still light out when he pulled his truck up Alex’s drive. He was stunned for a moment to see not just Kyle’s car but Isobel’s as well. He debated turning around, pretend he’d never come until he saw the front door open and Isobel stepped out onto the porch.

No going back now, so he climbed out, boots kicking up dust. Isobel offered him a small smile.

“Is he…” Michael didn’t know what to ask. Of course he wasn’t okay. Jesse Manes was dead and even if he was the devil incarnate he was still Alex’s dad.

“No, but he will be. Kyle and him are on the back deck grilling steaks.” She was still blocking his path, and Michael knew how to read a room. “We’re going to get him wasted and put him to bed.”

He nodded at her, he’d never felt like he didn’t belong before, not with Isobel. Never with Alex. It felt like being a ship adrift on the water, nowhere to go.

“I just thought he could use a friend.”

“He can, that’s why we’re here.” She wrapped her arms around herself, the way she always did when she’s about to hurt him. Especially when she doesn’t mean to. “I don’t think it’s a good idea…”

He doesn’t let her finish the sentence, it’s already too much. “Yeah, I get it.”

Instead he turned away, felt ridiculous for coming there in the first place.

“Michael.” It’s soft but he hears it. So he stopped, took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder. “You’re more than that to him. So much more and he shouldn’t have to deal with that too. Not right now.”

He gave her a quick nod, because she has appointed herself Alex’s protector and he wants to thank her. Even if it meant keeping him away, Michael knows Alex is kept safe and loved. Even if it can’t be by him.

And whose decision was that?

The thought pounded in his head on repeat for the next three days.

He never stops.

It’s in the bunker, because of course it is. Just the two of them, Isobel’s stupid sign on the wall and a lab coat that no doubt belongs to Kyle thrown over a chair. They had been looking at something on the computer again, Michael leaned in too close as he tried to memorize everything he could.

He never gets to touch, not anymore, so his eyes are always hungry. It’s not sexual, at least not always, tonight he’s fascinated by the way Alex’s hair is in disarray. Frustrated hands running through it with every other click of the keyboard. Michael wants to replace them with his own, soothe the dark cloud Alex is giving off. Put fingers to tense shoulders and dig in.

He fights it, because that’s all he does around Alex anymore. Torture himself by looking and beat down the part of him that wants to do something about it.

Finally they gave up, Michael tried to make some stupid joke that failed miserably at being funny. Alex just lifts a corner of his mouth, like he appreciated Michael for even trying.

They both reach to grab Michael’s jacket at the same time, hands brushing for a moment, eyes locking in surprise.

With them, that’s all it takes. Match to gasoline and everything burns around them. Alex biting into his mouth, pushing him against the table, stealing his breath and his heart. He whimpered, because it’s them and he never thought he’d get this again. Wouldn’t let himself ask for it.

But the sound snapped Alex back to reality, made him lean away and fingers slipped from their grip in Michael’s hair. The sudden cold that slipped over him made his bones hurt.

“Michael, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“I love you.”

Alex stilled, hands squeezing hard where they rested on Michael’s arms. Alex doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t have to. His face is awe struck, his eyes bright. They both know, they’ve always known, they’ve just never said it.

Why had they never just said it?

But this time maybe it isn’t enough, maybe it’s too late and they didn’t figure it out in time. Maybe he’d let Alex push him far enough away that Michael hadn’t found his way back in time. Maybe they’d…

Then Alex is on him again, just as intense, just as needy but gentle, almost reverent. He’s unbuttoning Michael’s shirt, brushing their noses together..

“I love you.” Michael can taste it on his tongue.

“I love you.” It hums through his blood.

“I love you.” It’s whispered into his mouth.

“We’re going to talk, okay. After.” Michael can only nod in agreement as his shirt is pushed off his shoulders, as teeth drag at his lip and he’s welcomed home.

#alex manes #michael guerin #alex x michael #malex #isobel evans #isobel x alex #mavan #shauna’s roswell fic #rowell new mexico #fan fiction #what i did on Friday night #roswell nm

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