#we will just slowly replace the cat from the original with tails

[ironbonds]

Anonymously my ass >:I I love how you have Tails natural curiosity down to a T and how it gets all excited over new things like when he saw all the tech on the sand streamer in our thread. 10/10 Tails

Anonymously send me your favorite detail about how I play my character. || @needlenxggin || accepting

" A bad word! KIT, STOP TEACHING PEOPLE THIS!"

But nah seriously, I adore your Vash. As someone who's watched both series and holds it near and dear to my heart, that you have picked up on things you haven't even seen yet is wonderful. Vash is such a wonderful character and you have not only the bubbly excitement but the momentary lapses in his composure down so well. I'm so happy to be writing with you, but if you aren't careful Tails will take apart his arm before he realizes what is happening ...I mean what?

Tails literally wouldn't be able to stop himself at all and for all that Nai / Knives is really dangerous for anyone to be around, he'd be so fascinated and amazed that he has such control over those blades, nevermind how he can either summon them or transmute them to a cloth like substance. Literally, if he had a lab he would be analyzing everything and no one would see him for a week.

[lemon-whiskey]

‘The Tarnished Knight, Part Two.’ — Ironwood’s Redemption Concept (Vol 9 spoilers)

My theoretical of if James Ironwood was the extra person to fall with team RWBY, instead of Jaune, into the ever after and how I think that would work. Biggggg post beyond the cut. My posts tag for this idea: [ #The Tarnished Knight RWBY au ]

You can reblog if you want to!

We left off with The Blacksmith.

James accepts The Blacksmith’s offer to be given the start to be who he wanted to be. She re-carves him for his second chance.

He wakes up on the beach again, covered in multicolored maple leaves. James takes a deep breath as he slowly sits up, blinking widely. He felt as different as he felt the same, one notable change is that he didn’t feel the pain. He still had an ache but he felt,,, better. More alive. His pants- once dark blue- now a charcoal grey. A dark blue tunic almost like a gambeson replaced his greatcoat and uniform. Worn Silver Paldrons and rerbraces that stopped at his elbows, tassets at his hips and thighs, his arms now matching and in a gently used silver, no gloves in sight.

He’s ticking softly, only noticeable because he can feel it. He holds a hand up to his right breast and unbuttons his tunic to look down and see the face of a small clock flanked by filigree in the metal side of his chest, ticking along with the rhythm of his heart. Yes he still has that for human reasons because he is indeed still human.

His gun is no longer a gun, it’s an axe that matches the silver and black of his old gun(s) with the filigree along the handle as well. A small blue stone set in the bottom of the pommel. He’d see himself in the weapon’s reflection, years younger. A smooth face he didn’t remember he ever had, alone in what he believed to be purgatory. He gets a helmet too, dramatic reveals and all that.

From here, he would now take the place of the rusted knight in Lewis’s story. He would realize he’s not in purgatory, but a different universe entirely.

James would not have ended up with the paper people though, this I will stray further off the script for as I’m echoing the tin man from The Wizard of Oz a little more here. He’s a forest dweller who makes a home and protects the flora and fauna while frequenting markets. We’re keeping juniper here because I love her so much except in his case she is either Ace or something else. Maybe the rabbit in the beginning fell in with him instead of running off idk. She gets silver antlers as a treat if you wanna play on the lucky rabbit vibes add a horseshoe symbol to her chest.

We’ve now approached the point where he’d be back at his original vol 8 age, beard and maybe a pony tail for vibes. And now he’s gonna re-meet team RWBY and oh boy! It’ll be ugly but also hilarious. Get ready for ‘Just James.’

Yeah Weiss still gets her mature comment except it’s replaced with a shocked but appreciative, ‘Striking.’

James is trying to get RWBY to trust him, the cat plays on the fact that they don’t.

Things go a similar way as the original story but with a lootttt more tension and we get James backstory possibilities!

In the mirror domain we get him seeing some options: maybe himself but in his old atlas uniform, or possibly Qrow in the mirror, maybe Clover. Hell both maybe, I’m just a gremlin here.

I might draw this in the future, I’m pretty content with the idea!

Part One: [HERE]

[maleyanderecafe]

I saw the ask you received about media where a male yandere going mad after losing his beloved, and wanted to suggest a hidden object game called Cursery: The Crooked Man and the Crooked Cat, which has this as the villain’s main motivation. While the MC isn’t the target of him, their sister is and the goal of the game is to rescue her from him.

Cursery: The Crooked Man and the Crooked Cat is actually really fun to play, despite the fact that I am extremely bad at puzzle games. Despite being an older game, the artwork is beautiful and it's really fun picking things up and figuring out puzzles (though I think my kleptomania has increased a lot since I just wanted to horde everything). The story is based on the Crooked Man and a lot of the themes are focused on fairy tales, though told in a more darker tone.

The story itself starts with the Crooked Man kidnapping your sister and you going on a puzzle frensy to go and save her. The Crooked Man has been known to kidnap women of similar age to your sister, Renee trapping them in his house. As the story goes on, we learn that the Crooked Man has been doing this to find the reincarnation of his beloved Cheryl, by putting a ring on these women. If they aren't her, then they turn into dolls (and he has an entire room filled with these dolls), however, as it turns out Renee is the reincarnation of Cheryl, regaining her memories. Through various notes and papers we slowly learn the story of the Crooked Man.

Cheryl originally was a poor lady working for a mean landlady as a means of living, at least until she meets the Crooked Man, Blaise. The two fall in love quickly, with Cheryl initially mistaking him as the butler for his mansion, rather than the owner of it. Eventually, Blaise is able to "buy" off Cheryl by paying the landlady, sweeping her away and marrying her. However, as Blaise becomes more possessive and controlling, she becomes scared of him, eventually leading to him falling off of a cliff to her death. Heartbroken, Blaise does everything in his power to try to get her back to no avail- at least until he meets Mother Goose. Mother Goose gives him several powers, his cane which keeps him alive but slowly corrupts him, a bell to turn Cheryl and Blaise's adopted black cat, Parn, into a human to serve him and a ring for Blaise to find Cheryl again. We also learn that Mother Goose tends to corrupts individuals that she gives items to, thus revealing how dangerous she is.

Throughout the game, we see Cheryl's spirit wandering around, and she seems to blame Blaise for her death. She also sees what Blaise has done to those poor women who he captured and tells him he's been corrupted, though Blaise, finally being with his loved one, tries to hold a wedding, promising to destroy the world to make it her cage. You are able to prevent this from happening, but in doing so accidentally risk Renee's life. Blaise sacrifices himself to protect Renee, and ultimately falls down to his demise off of the cliff, much like how Cheryl did initially.

There's also a dlc game to this, where the player becomes a woman that the main character of the first game saved from the Crooked Man. In this one, she loses her son and goes out to look for her. We find out that a gluttonous man took the mansion that the Crooked Man lived in, who would demand food that could appease him. He was given a special fruit by Mother Goose that made his face crack and his appetite even stronger. As we continue puzzling, we find out that the man ate our son, and we seek revenge. Ultimately, the man is pushed out the window by a black cat (presumably Parm) thus ending his reign of terror and creating a new fairy tail of Humpty Dumpty. Doesn't have a yandere in this one, but the story is cool, even if they have the worst puzzles for this one.

I actually initially thought that Blaise would be a replacement yandere considering that he started kidnapping women around Cheryl's age, but I was surprised to find that he was indeed finding the reincarnation of her, which was something I thought was nice. It definitely gives a more heartbreaking story when he does essentially become a redeemed yandere by sacrificing himself for Cheryl's safety. It was really sweet seeing the love between Cheryl and Blaise unfold as they cared for each other, only for the story to become twisted with Blaise became more obsessive, refusing to let her see her friends and family before the wedding (or contacting anyone at all) and trapping her in the mansion before she ended up dying. While Mother Goose ended up corrupting him even more, we do see his undying devotion to her, as he tries for about a century to find her reincarnation again, kidnapping women and giving them rings only for them to turn to dolls. He has tons of statues, charms, trinkets and other things of Cheryl along with various notes as his insanity from trying to find her goes deeper and deeper. It's a very good story played in a dark fairy tale, which if you enjoy, then you'll probably like this game. I think the curse bit also adds to the impact it makes as well.

While the game itself is pretty old, it does have a charm of artwork and story. The antique like artwork and puzzles really give this game a unique character and although the voice acting and animations aren't the best, I think it actually adds to the enjoyment of the game. Still does make me wonder if the ladies that Blaise turned to dolls stayed as dolls and if Renee ever returns to normal. Hopefully since after we turned Parm into a cat doll ,he does (presumably) get turned back into his black cat self. I did feel bad for turning him into that, but that's what he gets for trying to anime cat boy me when I'm trying to puzzle. It has a dark story based on fairy tails with a relatively bittersweet ending and the puzzles themselves aren't too difficult to find out, but challenging enough to stay engaged. The worst puzzles are the burning heart puzzles, Cherry can attest to that.

Overall, a very fun game with a twist on fairy tales. I actually really enjoyed it, so thank you so much for recommending it! I haven't played a point and click based puzzle game since Deponia (which is also very fun), so I would be happy to play more of those games if you have them, haha.

[genevawrenn]

Welcome to the conspiracy 🎗

✨️My name is Geneva Wrenn 🇨🇦

✨️I am twenty-something bisexual 🩷💜💙 genderqueer 💜🤍💚 [fae/they/she]

✨️I enjoy writing fics and original stories, listening to music from all genres, and am a huge nature lover. I have two cats named Tobias and Soren! 😼😺

~~~

👑 CC'S I Follow 🐷

Technoblade, Philza, Tubbo, Foolish, Niki, Seapeekay, RanbooLive, Sneegsnag, Aimsey

Death Family & BOLAS

Missa, Chayanne, Lullah, Sunny, FitMC, Ramon, PacTW, Richas, Cellbit, Roier, Baghera, Etoiles, Pomme, Jaiden, Bobby, Foolish, Leo, Charlie Slimecicle, Mariana, Juana Flippa, Luzu, Quackity

Hermitcraft & Life Series

Etho, BdoubleO100, Mumbo Jumbo, Grian, GoodTimesWithScar, Zombie Cleo, Pearlescent Moon, Geminitay, Tango, ImpulseSV, Skizzleman, Rendog, Iskall85, VintageBeef, Martyn InTheLittleWood

Other fandoms I enjoy

Mass Effect, Fire Emblem Three Houses, Stardew Valley, Harvest Moon & Story of Seasons, Divinity Original Sin 2, Subnautica, iZombie, White Collar, Supernatural, Fairy Tail, Fullmetal Alchemist, Eragon, Daughter of Smoke and Bone, Mortal Instruments, Warrior Cats, Guardians of Ga'Hoole, Markiplier, Jacksepticeye, Dan & Phil, NateWantsToBattle

~~~

Below I will include a list of my stories. I will do my best to keep it up to date and edit this post as I write new works!

~~~

My AO3!

My Twitter!

All My Links!

Twitch!

“I think Skyblock at its core is the ultimate challenge in resource management. You spawn on a tiny island in an empty universe. All you have is a tree, some supplies and some dirt to stand on. You have to treasure EVERY dirt block, because if one falls into the void, there's no way to replace it and as you carefully navigate your absurd circumstance, you gain a new appreciation for the few things you have as you meticulously use them to their fullest effect. With nothing but some ice, lava and saplings you slowly transform this empty expanse into a world of your very own. Skyblock teaches us that no matter how ridiculous the odds may seem, within us resides the power to overcome these challenges and achieve something beautiful. That one day, we'll look back at where we started and be amazed by how far we've come.”

― Technoblade

Stories for DSMP Universe

[As a heads up, some of the stories below include Wilbur. I have a full post here about it, I prefer to preserve history and can't bring myself to delete these pieces. Always believe victims!]

01. My Champion [First one shot I ever posted]

02. Youth [Second one shot I ever posted]

03. A White Orchid Broken in the Rain [Rain Duo apology]

04. Nightmare [Benchtrio POV lore retell]

05. Down to Where Forever Lies, Without a Doubt I'm on Your Side [Emerald Duo house arrest rescue then Doomday, non canon]

06. Blinded by Imperfect Form {Eternal Duo wither cult story & apology post-Red Banquet]

07. Oh, Let's Go Back to the Start [Bee Duo, Tubbo mourning his husband and Clingy Duo comfort]

08. I'll Be Right Beside You [SBI alternate ending]

09. And How Can the World Want Me to Change? [Bedrock Bros comfort post-exile]

10. Fate May Fall Down Upon You [Clingy Duo apology post-Doomsday]

11. I Hope I Exist One Day Less [Bee Duo story about their relationship]

12. You're All That I Recognise [Royal Duo, Eret hires Techno to perform a hit on royalty]

13. More Than the Dust That We Can Return to the Ground Again [Butterfly Duo, Tommy & Eret apology]

14. We're on Earth to Break Each Other's Hearts [Crimeboys apology]

15. Shadows of the Mess You Made [Traitor Duo apology while getting drunk on wine at the bottom of L'Manhole]

16. It Was Your Heart on the Line [Prank Duo, Eret offers Fundy the forever home he needed]

17. I'm Only the Monster You Made Me [Non canon ending to DSMP, on hiatus]

18. We're Never Gonna Be the Same as We Have Been Before [Sand Duo story about a sword given to a father to slay his son]

19. We Weren't Just Born to Fade, Our Stories Are Past the Horizon [Eret finishing the Royal Archives, meeting significant people the exhibits are about]

20. Don't Be So Quick to Judge, Rain Havoc From Above [Fireworks Duo, Techno seeks out Tubbo after the firework execution]

21. A Heart That's Full of Nightfall Hanging on Dear Life for First Signs of Daylight [Niki is injured in Doomsday, Eret & Techno help]

22. The Unimaginable Light You Hold Inside [Angel Duo, Tommy flees to Phil's protection after a certain green-themed man escapes from prison]

23. Please, This is Just Too Good to Be Gone [Peer Pressure Duo, alternate ending to Ranboo's story because his teacher was simply too stubborn]

24. I Found Peace in Your Violence [Techno gets injured after Ranboo's final death at the prison, Phil worries for his best friend's life]

25. Another Cog in the Murder Machine [Sand Duo, Phil's son writes a journal addressed to him before his death]

26. Can It Be I'm Not Meant to Play This Part? [Eret & Tubbo apology]

27. Between the Lines of Fear and Blame [Traitor Duo apology]

28. You Were There, Impossibly Alone [Fireworks Duo apology]

29. Can I Handle the Seasons of My Life? [Eret addressing their past self before the Final Control Room]

30. If a Moment is All We Are [Tommy's older brother regrets the blonde's fate]

31. Who is in Control? [Eternal Duo, Red Banquet with a twist of revenge]

32. I'll Be Here Throughout Your Days [Alternate ending of Techno getting the retirement arc he deserves]

33. Lookin' Like a True Survivor, Feelin' Like a Little Kid [Bedrock Bros, Techno rescues Tommy post-exile]

34. I'll Tend to the Flame (You Can Worship the Ashes) [Techno rescuing Phil from house arrest]

35. Before My Wild Eyes (When Will We Finally Breathe?) [Eternal Duo, how Foolish escaped the end of the DSMP, a cycle always repeating]

36. These Little Wonders, These Twists and Turns of Fate [Syndicate Baking AU and fluff]

37. In the End I'm Realizing I Was Never Meant to Fight on My Own [c!Techno returns to the DSMP post-nuke to rescue three young souls who were saved by a selfless Monarch]

Stories for QSMP Universe

01. Breathing Just to Survive, It's Time to Bring Us Back to Life [Phil adopting Chay]

02. And the Walls Kept Tumbling Down in the City That We Love [Phil confronting his son about his past]

03. Our Past Lives Return Onto a Way [Lullah's first adoption before her true home]

04. I Am the Beast That Survived [Phil's reaction to Lullah's first death]

05. Chant the Tales and Legends Told, Strengthened by the Hymns of Old [Phil telling his children about their uncle Techno]

06. If the World Wants You Gone, We Will Fight the World [Lore retell about Phil during the Electoral dinner fight]

07. Fly Along With Me, I Can't Quite Make It Alone [Phil & Quackity comfort]

08. A Drop of Water in an Endless Sea [Lore retell of Charlie Slimecicle's birthday and his confrontation with 'JuanaFlippa']

09. Promise Me This, That You'll Stand by Me Forever [Niki meeting a friend from her past on this new world she just awoke too]

10. The Wise Crow Has Been Fooled (A Cage for a Cage) [Phil learning of his children's disappearance & birdhouse plot]

11. I'll Be Home for Christmas [Death Family & BOLAS celebrate Christmas together]

12. Stay Awhile and Maybe Then You'll See (Different Side of Me) [Hide Duo story about their relationship and the events it endured through]

13. What Impossible Means, a Leap of Faith [Undying Duo, Phil attempts to fly and fails, Lullah fetching her Tio Foolish to help fish the crow from the river]

14. We May Have Lost Our Sanity (We Have Not Lost Our Humanity) [Purgatory team BOLAS lore retell from Phil's POV]

15. One Thing You Leave Behind is How Did You Love [Hide Duo post-Happy Pills and Fit plays guitar]

16. There is Nowhere for You to Hide (The Hunter's Moon is Shinin') [Archivists, Cellbit & Phil discuss Purgatory 1 & 2]

17. The Whispers of a Reckoning Have Kept the Spirits Beckoning [Chayanne receives encouragement from his Tio Techno in his fight with the Ender King possessed Philza]

18. Artificial Stars on Eclipsed Skies [Hide Duo where Pac rescues Fit from Vaccus after being comforted by Phil]

19. You Are a Constant ; Always in the Edges, in the Sky, and That Makes Everything [Death Duo, one year celebration of the adoption of the original eggs]

20. This is Your Chance to Transform (The Moment You Confront the Storm) [Hide Duo fluff post-Vaccus rescue]

21. If There's Ever a Day Where I'm Not There (I'll Always Be With You Anywhere) [Alternate ending for the QSMP children & characters]

22. I Live in His Heart and He Lives in Mine [Alternate Hideduo ending]

23. Never Fade in the Dark (Remember You Will Always Burn as Bright) [Technoblade & Pomme]

24. Wedding Bells and...Explosives? (When You Finally Collide With Emotions You Can't Resist) [Alternate ending Hideduo Wedding]

25. A Phoenix's Ash in Dark Divine [BOLAS Rescue mission mixed with Phil's hardcore lore]

26. The Spaces Between My Fingers Are Right Where Yours Fit Perfectly [Hideduo fluff, a series of dates post-Vaccus rescue]

27. To Evolutionize One Must Crumble at the Seams [Foolish finds out Bad has been repeatedly killing Jaiden during Purgatory and gives into his rage]

28. The Spaces Between My Fingers Are Right Where Yours Fit Perfectly [Post-Vaccus Hideduo go on a series of dates and discuss their forevers]

29. I'm a Star That's Just a Black Hole Now [q!Morning Crew reconciliation & good ending for their characters]

30. In Your Eyes I Am Complete [One year ago from this publishing Pac gifted roses to Fit with Richas's heavy encouragement, so I wrote a fluffy date in honour of it]

Misc. Stories, Universes and AUs

01. Awaking in the Light of All the Stars Aligned [Ghosts & Mediums AU]

02. Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night [Origins SMP]

03. Shine a Light in the Dark, Let Me See Where You Are [SMP Earth]

04. The Future That We've Left to Die [Twinsduo TLOU AU]

05. She shot me in the night. It’s what I would’ve wanted. [Sunship Duo Apocalypse AU]

06. You Make Sure I Always See the Daylight [SBI Cafe AU]

07. Sail With Us, and We'll Show You What It Means to Be Alive [Royal Duo Pirate AU]

08. You Don't Need to Turn Me Away [Traitor Duo Childhood Friends AU]

09. Gentleness in the Absence of Violence (Despite the Abundance of It) [Generation Loss AU]

10. You Took My Broken Melody (Now I Hear a Symphony) [SBI Grocery Store Trip AU]

11. One Bullet in the Chamber [Fireworks Duo Vigilante AU]

12. Everything You Thought You Knew Will Fall Apart (But You'll Be All Right) [SBI Witch AU]

13. You Won't Be Forgotten (Not Again) [Royal Duo Pirates & Sirens AU]

14. Stay With Me, Let's Just Breathe [Crimeboys Apocalypse AU]

15. Star Rosa Isle [Aimsey Stardew Valley AU]

16. No One Will Ever Know the Violence It Took to Become This Gentle [Hideduo Vampire/Hunter AU]

17. When the Waves Turn the Minutes to Hours [Hideduo Navy AU]

18. Breathe in the Air, Don't Be Afraid to Care [Emerald Duo SMP Earth]

19. I Had Been Lost to You, Sunlight (And Flew Like a Moth to You) [Death Duo raising their dragon shifter son, Techno AU]

20. Kick at the Darkness 'Til It Bleeds Daylight [Hideduo Demon & Angel AU with a splash of forbidden love]

21. I Believe It All is Comin' to an End (I Guess We're Gonna Pretend) [Life series!Etho fic, set in secret life about him being protective]

A very personal piece written the day after the news about Technoblade was released and his impact on those he left behind (heavy warning for grief and loss): Dear Technoblade

QSMP Fan ID

When you began watching: Day 1 [Philza POV]

Favourite arc / lore: Birdhouse, Happy Pills [q!Pac], Purgatory, Slimecicle Revenge then Jury, Hardcore Deities, Madagio, Regret

Favourite cubitos: Phil, Fit, Pac, Mike, Tubbo, Foolish, Cellbit, Etoiles, Charlie Slimecicle, Niki, Baghera, Jaiden, Missa, Bagi

Favourite eggs: Chayanne, Tallulah, Ramon, Richas, Empanada, Sunny, Leo, Pepito, Pomme, Juana Flippa, Bobby [I like the rest too <3]

Favourite duos & groups: Phil & Technoblade [Emerald], Phil & Cellbit [Archivists], Phil & Etoiles [Codebreakers], Phil & Fit [Veterans], Phil & Missa [Death], Phil & Foolish [Undying], Fit & Pac [Hideduo], BOLAS, Chayanne & Tallulah [Yin and Yang], Phil & Tubbo [Hardcore], Death Family, Fit & Pac & Mike [Hide and Seek], Pac & Mic [Tazercraft], Tubbo & Phil & Etoiles [Leaders], Tubbo & Pac & Fit [Morning Crew], The Order, The Resistance / Rebellion, Cellbit & Roier [Guapo], Cellbit & Foolish [Foolbit], Cellbit & Baghera [Chainsaw Killers], Tubbo & Etoiles [Crit], Charlie & Quackity [Dap], Foolish & Jaiden [Chaos Twins], Slimecicle & Baghera [Karoke], Badboyhalo & Foolish [Land], Badboyhalo & Phil [Coworker], Slimecicle & Mariana [Misclick], Cellbit & Bagi [Mystery Twins], Pac & Etoiles [Pacman], Jaiden & Roier [Parrot], Foolish & Tina [Star], Tina & Bagi [Teaduo]

[barnesbabee]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ - ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ

WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

⇜ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ - ᴛᴇɴ-  ɴᴇxᴛ ⟿

CHARACTER LIST:

White Rabbit - Choi Jongho Absolem (Blue Catterpilar) - Kang Yeosang Cheshire Cat - Kim Hongjoong Mad Hatter - Choi San Haigha (March Hare) - Jung Wooyoung Tweedle Dee - Song Mingi Tweedle Dum - Jeong Yunho Bloody Red King - Park Seonghwa

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @myunvillage @mirror-juliet @jess-1404 @earth-to-leiki @miraculoustaytiny [Send me a DM, an ask or comment to be added to the tag list]

The King wasted no time. After getting you back, he immediately scheduled the coronation, as he couldn't wait to call you his Queen. The Castle was in a frenzy, the sound little frog feet slapping against the marble floors echoed in every division. Seonghwa refused to have the coronation in the same room where he got married, he didn't want to re-live the awful moment when his wife got stolen from him... So the maids and butlers found new decorations, moved the paintings and transformed another one of the King's dark and cold rooms into a place worthy of a welcoming party.

"Let's do it in the throne room. Place her throne by my right." He had said.

The tradition was for the throne to be moved in front of everyone present, so they could witness the changes and their new reality first hand, but Seonghwa was a little tired of following tradition.

You and him stood in the middle of the throne room, with every single maid and butler running around frantically, trying to get everything done on time. You looked on proudly, enjoying the way it was all coming along.

The excess of red and black was gone, it was now balanced with white and gold, and with the new paintings and lights giving the room a new life it looked like a completely new place. The blinds behind the throne were finally opened, revealing the most beautiful stained glass images. There were four people, who you assumed were Seonghwa's family.

You reminisced the first time you had come to that room, panting and confused, standing in the dark, cold room being judged by the merciless man Seonghwa once was. The contrast was almost unbelievable, but you were glad you had gotten this far.

You felt a pair of arms wrap around your figure and a chin on your shoulder.

"I'll have it replaced. First, just the two of us, and then, once we have our little prince, or princess," he paused, caressing your stomach, where you'd carry your future child "I'll have it replaced once more, with a full picture of our family."

He kissed your cheek and you smiled.

"But Seonghwa, are you sure you wanna take down the picture of your family?" You questioned, feeling honoured yet a little wrong, replacing the original King and Queen.

He stood straight, and his cheerful expression was immediately replaced by one of pain and confusion, remembering all of the memories alongside those people.

"Why not? They have given me nothing but a lifetime of suffering, you have given me nothing but happiness and a chance of redemption. You deserve to be up there, immortalized, as a part of the new Royal family."

"Thank you..."

That was all you could say, as there were no words that could possibly describe how you felt.

One of the maids stole you away from your husband for a second, so you could change from the dirty, ripped-up wedding dress for the new ceremony. She helped you switch to a princess-style dress, all in red silk. The revealing heart-shaped neckline was covered with black lace, that extended all the way to your hands and wrapped around your index finger.

"You look lovely, Miss." The maid said as she fixed your hair.

You thanked her with a small smile and headed towards the throne room. Usually, it would be packed with people, but due to the previous altercation, the only people attending the coronation would be the castle staff, aside from the knights who were assigned to protect the castle during the event.

You carefully sat on the throne, feeling Seonghwa's eyes (or... eye) inspecting you. He leaned over, so he could whisper in your ear.

"You look marvelous in red."

He sat back straight in his throne and smiled at your shy expression. A tall man soon entered the room holding two boxes. He opened one of the boxes and slowly (and carefully) placed the crown on the King's head. It was exaggerated, yet classy and sophisticated like Seonghwa. You could tell it had been specially done for him.

"We shall now begin the coronation of Miss Y/N." The man announced.

He opened the box in front of you, revealing the most beautiful, victorian crown. It was made up of white gold and adorned with the most beautiful red and white stones.

"I hereby declare, by the powers given to me by His majesty Park Seonghwa, the new Queen of Wonderland, Queen Y/N."

The man slowly placed the crown on your head, and it was a perfect fit. He stepped away so the painter could see your smiling faces, as he immortalized the moment on a canvas.

The castle staff smiled and cheered for you, their new Queen.

"Bring her!" The King shouted, and the whole room froze.

The thought on everyone's mind was 'Who's her'.

The heavy doors to the room opened, and a chained woman, dressed in a black cape with her white, disheveled hair showing stepped in, with the help of two guards.

"Unchain her."

The guards obeyed the King, and unchained the woman, who rotated her wrists with a sigh of contentment.

"Finally, what do I owe the honour, Sir?"

The crowd in front of you looked on, petrified. Who the fuck was she?

"Undo the room." Seonghwa commanded.

"Hm there have been some changes, I see." The woman said, her voice cracking mid-sentence.

She looked at you, with her bright purple eyes, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Yes, there have. Now please do as I asked."

"Very well Sir."

The woman removed her black cape, revealing a small, crooked young-looking woman. She lifted her hands in the air, creating a small green fog in her hands, that she aimed at all beings in the room. The people, who were previously humanoid frogs, were turned back into their original form. Tears of happiness formed in everyone's eyes and cries of thankfulness echoed in the room. One maid approached you and knelt by your feet.

"Thank you... Thank you so much!"

You recognized the voice, it was the maid that had thanked you the other day for staying with Seonghwa, and the one that usually helped you dress. You smiled and held her hands.

"No need to kneel around me Miss, thank you for your hard work."

She bowed to you as she walked back to cheer with her peers.

Seonghwa stood up and held out his hand for you to take, and so you followed.

"Iracebeth, follow us. You two," the King said, looking at the two guards who had brought the witch "make sure everyone is gathered at the town center by the time we arrive."

The guards nodded and immediately headed out. Seonghwa took your arm and started walking with you, headed to the town center, you guessed.

You looked behind you to look at the witch, that stared at you with a sinister expression.

"Are you sure it's safe to bring her along, won't she like... curse you? You know, for keeping her locked up?" You whispered.

"Oh, no that won't be an issue."

You tilted your head to the side.

"How come?"

Seonghwa blushed, embarrassed to recall what he had done.

"Well, I tricked her into falling in love with me so I could get her to cast a spell on herself that would only allow her to cast the spells I request her to. I then locked her in the dungeon because I didn't want to deal with her constant crying and blabbering about how I tricked her, that's probably why she's looking at you like..." He glanced over at the witch "... like that."

You hit his arm.

"Park Seonghwa!"

"Ow! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I regret doing it but if I undo it now it could have severe consequences, not only for me but for you too. And we can't have that."

You sighed and nodded. It's true that it was cruel, but you didn't want any consequences headed your way, you'd had enough.

You stopped in front of a black and gold carriage, the one that would take you into town. Seonghwa helped you get on and then sat beside you. The witch rode in front of you, her creepy smile and envious eyes staring into your soul the whole ride. Seonghwa held your hand tightly, also feeling uneasy by her presence.

"We're here, Sir."

Seonghwa took a deep breath. You could tell he was nervous, as all of the people from the Kingdom looked at the carriage, expectantly. You kissed his cheek and held his hand tighter.

"It will be okay." You assured him.

Seonghwa smiled softly and exited the carriage, alongside you and the witch. The expressions of the people once they saw the witch were the same as back in the castle, and they braced for the worst.

The King said nothing, he only turned to the witch and said 'do it'.

Once more, she cast the spell, that supposedly returned them to what they once were, but it didn't go as planned. Some people returned to their original state, but the ones who had turned from animals to humans, not so much... Some had the luck of being completely turned back to who they were, others were left hybrids, mixes of animals and humans. You found Cheshire, still as a human, happily playing with his ears and tail, and Haiga, the Hare, jumping about with his hare feet about the return of his long ears. It didn't take much for those two to be happy. There was a mix of emotions among the crowd, however, some people that had married into families who were previously human, were happy they got some of their old life back and they would still be able to maintain their relationship, others were sad (and mad) that they would never be able to return to whom they once were.

"What happened!?" Seonghwa whisper-yelled to the witch.

"The curse has been cast for far too long, I wasn't able to undo it completely." She explained, ashamed of her own skills.

"People, I apologize," as soon as he spoke those words the commotion calmed down, and everyone seemed shocked. The King? Apologizing? "it seems the curse has gone on for too long and is irreversible in some cases. I ask that whoever has been affected attends the castle tomorrow so I can offer a proper compensation for all of the damages caused, that would be all."

[innuendostudios]

Thoughts on: Criterion's Neo-Noir Collection

I have written up all 26 films* in the Criterion Channel's Neo-Noir Collection.

Legend: rw - rewatch; a movie I had seen before going through the collection dnrw - did not rewatch; if a movie met two criteria (a. I had seen it within the last 18 months, b. I actively dislike it) I wrote it up from memory.

* in September, Brick leaves the Criterion Channel and is replaced in the collection with Michael Mann's Thief. May add it to the list when that happens.

Note: These are very "what was on my mind after watching." No effort has been made to avoid spoilers, nor to make the plot clear for anyone who hasn't seen the movies in question. Decide for yourself if that's interesting to you.

Cotton Comes to Harlem I feel utterly unequipped to asses this movie. This and Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song the following year are regularly cited as the progenitors of the blaxploitation genre. (This is arguably unfair, since both were made by Black men and dealt much more substantively with race than the white-directed films that followed them.) Its heroes are a couple of Black cops who are treated with suspicion both by their white colleagues and by the Black community they're meant to police. I'm not 100% clear on whether they're the good guys? I mean, I think they are. But the community's suspicion of them seems, I dunno... well-founded? They are working for The Man. And there's interesting discussion to the had there - is the the problem that the law is carried out by racists, or is the law itself racist? Can Black cops make anything better? But it feels like the film stacks the deck in Gravedigger and Coffin Ed's favor; the local Black church is run by a conman, the Back-to-Africa movement is, itself, a con, and the local Black Power movement is treated as an obstacle. Black cops really are the only force for justice here. Movie portrays Harlem itself as a warm, thriving, cultured community, but the people that make up that community are disloyal and easily fooled. Felt, to me, like the message was "just because they're cops doesn't mean they don't have Black soul," which, nowadays, we would call copaganda. But, then, do I know what I'm talking about? Do I know how much this played into or off of or against stereotypes from 1970? Was this a radical departure I don't have the context to appreciate? Is there substance I'm too white and too many decades removed to pick up on? Am I wildly overthinking this? I dunno. Seems like everyone involved was having a lot of fun, at least. That bit is contagious.

Across 110th Street And here's the other side of the "race film" equation. Another movie set in Harlem with a Black cop pulled between the police, the criminals, and the public, but this time the film is made by white people. I like it both more and less. Pro: this time the difficult position of Black cop who's treated with suspicion by both white cops and Black Harlemites is interrogated. Con: the Black cop has basically no personality other than "honest cop." Pro: the racism of the police force is explicit and systemic, as opposed to comically ineffectual. Con: the movie is shaped around a racist white cop who beats the shit out of Black people but slowly forms a bond with his Black partner. Pro: the Black criminal at the heart of the movie talks openly about how the white world has stacked the deck against him, and he's soulful and relateable. Con: so of course he dies in the end, because the only way privileged people know to sympathetize with minorities is to make them tragic (see also: The Boys in the Band, Philadelphia, and Brokeback Mountain for gay men). Additional con: this time Harlem is portrayed as a hellhole. Barely any of the community is even seen. At least the shot at the end, where the criminal realizes he's going to die and throws the bag of money off a roof and into a playground so the Black kids can pick it up before the cops reclaim it was powerful. But overall... yech. Cotton Comes to Harlem felt like it wasn't for me; this feels like it was 100% for me and I respect it less for that.

The Long Goodbye (rw) The shaggiest dog. Like much Altman, more compelling than good, but very compelling. Raymond Chandler's story is now set in the 1970's, but Philip Marlowe is the same Philip Marlowe of the 1930's. I get the sense there was always something inherently sad about Marlowe. Classic noir always portrayed its detectives as strong-willed men living on the border between the straightlaced world and its seedy underbelly, crossing back and forth freely but belonging to neither. But Chandler stresses the loneliness of it - or, at least, the people who've adapted Chandler do. Marlowe is a decent man in an indecent world, sorting things out, refusing to profit from misery, but unable to set anything truly right. Being a man out of step is here literalized by putting him forty years from the era where he belongs. His hardboiled internal monologue is now the incessant mutterings of the weird guy across the street who never stops smoking. Like I said: compelling! Kael's observation was spot on: everyone in the movie knows more about the mystery than he does, but he's the only one who cares. The mystery is pretty threadbare - Marlowe doesn't detect so much as end up in places and have people explain things to him. But I've seen it two or three times now, and it does linger.

Chinatown (rw) I confess I've always been impressed by Chinatown more than I've liked it. Its story structure is impeccable, its atmosphere is gorgeous, its noirish fatalism is raw and real, its deconstruction of the noir hero is well-observed, and it's full of clever detective tricks (the pocket watches, the tail light, the ruler). I've just never connected with it. Maybe it's a little too perfectly crafted. (I feel similar about Miller's Crossing.) And I've always been ambivalent about the ending. In Towne's original ending, Evelyn shoots Noah Cross dead and get arrested, and neither she nor Jake can tell the truth of why she did it, so she goes to jail for murder and her daughter is in the wind. Polansky proposed the ending that exists now, where Evelyn just dies, Cross wins, and Jake walks away devastated. It communicates the same thing: Jake's attempt to get smart and play all the sides off each other instead of just helping Evelyn escape blows up in his face at the expense of the woman he cares about and any sense of real justice. And it does this more dramatically and efficiently than Towne's original ending. But it also treats Evelyn as narratively disposable, and hands the daughter over to the man who raped Evelyn and murdered her husband. It makes the women suffer more to punch up the ending. But can I honestly say that Towne's ending is the better one? It is thematically equal, dramatically inferior, but would distract me less. Not sure what the calculus comes out to there. Maybe there should be a third option. Anyway! A perfect little contraption. Belongs under a glass dome.

Night Moves (rw) Ah yeah, the good shit. This is my quintessential 70's noir. This is three movies in a row about detectives. Thing is, the classic era wasn't as chockablock with hardboiled detectives as we think; most of those movies starred criminals, cops, and boring dudes seduced to the darkness by a pair of legs. Gumshoes just left the strongest impressions. (The genre is said to begin with Maltese Falcon and end with Touch of Evil, after all.) So when the post-Code 70's decided to pick the genre back up while picking it apart, it makes sense that they went for the 'tecs first. The Long Goodbye dragged the 30's detective into the 70's, and Chinatown went back to the 30's with a 70's sensibility. But Night Moves was about detecting in the Watergate era, and how that changed the archetype. Harry Moseby is the detective so obsessed with finding the truth that he might just ruin his life looking for it, like the straight story will somehow fix everything that's broken, like it'll bring back a murdered teenager and repair his marriage and give him a reason to forgive the woman who fucked him just to distract him from some smuggling. When he's got time to kill, he takes out a little, magnetic chess set and recreates a famous old game, where three knight moves (get it?) would have led to a beautiful checkmate had the player just seen it. He keeps going, self-destructing, because he can't stand the idea that the perfect move is there if he can just find it. And, no matter how much we see it destroy him, we, the audience, want him to keep going; we expect a satisfying resolution to the mystery. That's what we need from a detective picture; one character flat-out compares Harry to Sam Spade. But what if the truth is just... Watergate? Just some prick ruining things for selfish reasons? Nothing grand, nothing satisfying. Nothing could be more noir, or more neo-, than that.

Farewell, My Lovely Sometimes the only thing that makes a noir neo- is that it's in color and all the blood, tits, and racism from the books they're based on get put back in. This second stab at Chandler is competant but not much more than that. Mitchum works as Philip Marlowe, but Chandler's dialogue feels off here, like lines that worked on the page don't work aloud, even though they did when Bogie said them. I'll chalk it up to workmanlike but uninspired direction. (Dang this looks bland so soon after Chinatown.) Moose Malloy is a great character, and perfectly cast. (Wasn't sure at first, but it's true.) Some other interesting cats show up and vanish - the tough brothel madam based on Brenda Allen comes to mind, though she's treated with oddly more disdain than most of the other hoods and is dispatched quicker. In general, the more overt racism and misogyny doesn't seem to do anything except make the movie "edgier" than earlier attempts at the same material, and it reads kinda try-hard. But it mostly holds together. *shrug*

The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (dnrw) Didn't care for this at all. Can't tell if the script was treated as a jumping-off point or if the dialogue is 100% improvised, but it just drags on forever and is never that interesting. Keeps treating us to scenes from the strip club like they're the opera scenes in Amadeus, and, whatever, I don't expect burlesque to be Mozart, but Cosmo keeps saying they're an artful, classy joint, and I keep waiting for the show to be more than cheap, lazy camp. How do you make gratuitious nudity boring? Mind you, none of this is bad as a rule - I love digressions and can enjoy good sleaze, and it's clear the filmmakers care about what they're making. They just did not sell it in a way I wanted to buy. Can't remember what edit I watched; I hope it was the 135 minute one, because I cannot imagine there being a longer edit out there.

The American Friend (dnrw) It's weird that this is Patricia Highsmith, right? That Dennis Hopper is playing Tom Ripley? In a cowboy hat? I gather that Minghella's version wasn't true to the source, but I do love that movie, and this is a long, long way from that. This Mr. Ripley isn't even particularly talented! Anyway, this has one really great sequence, where a regular guy has been coerced by crooks into murdering someone on a train platform, and, when the moment comes to shoot, he doesn't. And what follows is a prolonged sequence of an amateur trying to surreptitiously tail a guy across a train station and onto another train, and all the while you're not sure... is he going to do it? is he going to chicken out? is he going to do it so badly he gets caught? It's hard not to put yourself in the protagonist's shoes, wondering how you would handle the situation, whether you could do it, whether you could act on impulse before your conscience could catch up with you. It drags on a long while and this time it's a good thing. Didn't much like the rest of the movie, it's shapeless and often kind of corny, and the central plot hook is contrived. (It's also very weird that this is the only Wim Wenders I've seen.) But, hey, I got one excellent sequence, not gonna complain.

The Big Sleep Unlike the 1946 film, I can follow the plot of this Big Sleep. But, also unlike the 1946 version, this one isn't any damn fun. Mitchum is back as Marlowe (this is three Marlowes in five years, btw), and this time it's set in the 70's and in England, for some reason. I don't find this offensive, but neither do I see what it accomplishes? Most of the cast is still American. (Hi Jimmy!) Still holds together, but even less well than Farewell, My Lovely. But I do find it interesting that the neo-noir era keeps returning to Chandler while it's pretty much left Hammet behind (inasmuch as someone whose genes are spread wide through the whole genre can be left behind). Spade and the Continental Op, straightshooting tough guys who come out on top in the end, seem antiquated in the (post-)modern era. But Marlowe's goodness being out of sync with the world around him only seems more poignant the further you take him from his own time. Nowadays you can really only do Hammett as pastiche, but I sense that you could still play Chandler straight.

Eyes of Laura Mars The most De Palma movie I've seen not made by De Palma, complete with POV shots, paranormal hoodoo, and fixation with sex, death, and whether images of such are art or exploitation (or both). Laura Mars takes photographs of naked women in violent tableux, and has gotten quite famous doing so, but is it damaging to women? The movie has more than a superficial engagement with this topic, but only slightly more than superficial. Kept imagining a movie that is about 30% less serial killer story and 30% more art conversations. (But, then, I have an art degree and have never murdered anyone, so.) Like, museums are full of Biblical paintings full of nude women and slaughter, sometimes both at once, and they're called masterpieces. Most all of them were painted by men on commission from other men. Now Laura Mars makes similar images in modern trappings, and has models made of flesh and blood rather than paint, and it's scandalous? Why is it only controversial once women are getting paid for it? On the other hand, is this just the master's tools? Is she subverting or challenging the male gaze, or just profiting off of it? Or is a woman profiting off of it, itself, a subversion? Is it subversive enough to account for how it commodifies female bodies? These questions are pretty clearly relevant to the movie itself, and the movies in general, especially after the fall of the Hays Code when people were really unrestrained with the blood and boobies. And, heck, the lead is played by the star of Bonnie and Clyde! All this is to say: I wish the movie were as interested in these questions as I am. What's there is a mildly diverting B-picture. There's one great bit where Laura's seeing through the killer's eyes (that's the hook, she gets visions from the murderer's POV; no, this is never explained) and he's RIGHT BEHIND HER, so there's a chase where she charges across an empty room only able to see her own fleeing self from ten feet behind. That was pretty great! And her first kiss with the detective (because you could see a mile away that the detective and the woman he's supposed to protect are gonna fall in love) is immediately followed by the two freaking out about how nonsensical it is for them to fall in love with each other, because she's literally mourning multiple deaths and he's being wildly unprofessional, and then they go back to making out. That bit was great, too. The rest... enh.

The Onion Field What starts off as a seemingly not-that-noirish cops-vs-crooks procedural turns into an agonizingly protracted look at the legal system, with the ultimate argument that the very idea of the law ever resulting in justice is a lie. Hoo! I have to say, I'm impressed. There's a scene where a lawyer - whom I'm not sure is even named, he's like the seventh of thirteen we've met - literally quits the law over how long this court case about two guys shooting a cop has taken. He says the cop who was murdered has been forgotten, his partner has never gotten to move on because the case has lasted eight years, nothing has been accomplished, and they should let the two criminals walk and jail all the judges and lawyers instead. It's awesome! The script is loaded with digressions and unnecessary details, just the way I like it. Can't say I'm impressed with the execution. Nothing is wrong, exactly, but the performances all seem a tad melodramatic or a tad uninspired. Camerawork is, again, purely functional. It's no masterpiece. But that second half worked for me. (And it's Ted Danson's first movie! He did great.)

Body Heat (rw) Let's say up front that this is a handsomely-made movie. Probably the best looking thing on the list since Night Moves. Nothing I've seen better captures the swelter of an East Coast heatwave, or the lusty feeling of being too hot to bang and going at it regardless. Kathleen Turner sells the hell out of a femme fatale. There are a lot of good lines and good performances (Ted Danson is back and having the time of his life). I want to get all that out of the way, because this is a movie heavily modeled after Double Indemnity, and I wanted to discuss its merits before I get into why inviting that comparison doesn't help the movie out. In a lot of ways, it's the same rules as the Robert Mitchum Marlowe movies - do Double Indemnity but amp up the sex and violence. And, to a degree it works. (At least, the sex does, dunno that Double Indemnity was crying out for explosions.) But the plot is amped as well, and gets downright silly. Yeah, Mrs. Dietrichson seduces Walter Neff so he'll off her husband, but Neff clocks that pretty early and goes along with it anyway. Everything beyond that is two people keeping too big a secret and slowly turning on each other. But here? For the twists to work Matty has to be, from frame one, playing four-dimensional chess on the order of Senator Palpatine, and its about as plausible. (Exactly how did she know, after she rebuffed Ned, he would figure out her local bar and go looking for her at the exact hour she was there?) It's already kind of weird to be using the spider woman trope in 1981, but to make her MORE sexually conniving and mercenary than she was in the 40's is... not great. As lurid trash, it's pretty fun for a while, but some noir stuff can't just be updated, it needs to be subverted or it doesn't justify its existence.

Blow Out Brian De Palma has two categories of movie: he's got his mainstream, director-for-hire fare, where his voice is either reigned in or indulged in isolated sequences that don't always jive with the rest fo the film, and then there's his Brian De Palma movies. My mistake, it seems, is having seen several for-hires from throughout his career - The Untouchables (fine enough), Carlito's Way (ditto, but less), Mission: Impossible (enh) - but had only seen De Palma-ass movies from his late period (Femme Fatale and The Black Dahlia, both of which I think are garbage). All this to say: Blow Out was my first classic-era De Palma, and holy fucking shit dudes. This was (with caveats) my absolute and entire jam. I said I could enjoy good sleaze, and this is good friggin' sleaze. (Though far short of De Palma at his sleaziest, mercifully.) The splitscreens, the diopter shots, the canted angles, how does he make so many shlocky things work?! John Travolta's sound tech goes out to get fresh wind fx for the movie he's working on, and we get this wonderful sequence of visuals following sounds as he turns his attention and his microphone to various noises - a couple on a walk, a frog, an owl, a buzzing street lamp. Later, as he listens back to the footage, the same sequence plays again, but this time from his POV; we're seeing his memory as guided by the same sequence of sounds, now recreated with different shots, as he moves his pencil in the air mimicking the microphone. When he mixes and edits sounds, we hear the literal soundtrack of the movie we are watching get mixed and edited by the person on screen. And as he tries to unravel a murder mystery, he uses what's at hand: magnetic tape, flatbed editors, an animation camera to turn still photos from the crime scene into a film and sync it with the audio he recorded; it's forensics using only the tools of the editing room. As someone who's spent some time in college editing rooms, this is a hoot and a half. Loses a bit of steam as it goes on and the film nerd stuff gives way to a more traditional thriller, but rallies for a sound-tech-centered final setpiece, which steadily builds to such madcap heights you can feel the air thinning, before oddly cutting its own tension and then trying to build it back up again. It doesn't work as well the second time. But then, that shot right after the climax? Damn. Conflicted on how the movie treats the female lead. I get why feminist film theorists are so divided on De Palma. His stuff is full of things feminists (rightly) criticize, full of women getting naked when they're not getting stabbed, but he also clearly finds women fascinating and has them do empowered and unexpected things, and there are many feminist reads of his movies. Call it a mixed bag. But even when he's doing tropey shit, he explores the tropes in unexpected ways. Definitely the best movie so far that I hadn't already seen.

Cutter's Way (rw) Alex Cutter is pitched to us as an obnoxious-but-sympathetic son of a bitch, and, you know, two out of three ain't bad. Watched this during my 2020 neo-noir kick and considered skipping it this time because I really didn't enjoy it. Found it a little more compelling this go around, while being reminded of why my feelings were room temp before. Thematically, I'm onboard: it's about a guy, Cutter, getting it in his head that he's found a murderer and needs to bring him to justice, and his friend, Bone, who intermittently helps him because he feels bad that Cutter lost his arm, leg, and eye in Nam and he also feels guilty for being in love with Cutter's wife. The question of whether the guy they're trying to bring down actually did it is intentionally undefined, and arguably unimportant; they've got personal reasons to see this through. Postmodern and noirish, fixated with the inability to ever fully know the truth of anything, but starring people so broken by society that they're desperate for certainty. (Pretty obvious parallels to Vietnam.) Cutter's a drunk and kind of an asshole, but understandably so. Bone's shiftlessness is the other response to a lack of meaning in the world, to the point where making a decision, any decision, feels like character growth, even if it's maybe killing a guy whose guilt is entirely theoretical. So, yeah, I'm down with all of this! A- in outline form. It's just that Cutter is so uninterestingly unpleasant and no one else on screen is compelling enough to make up for it. His drunken windups are tedious and his sanctimonious speeches about what the war was like are, well, true and accurate but also obviously manipulative. It's two hours with two miserable people, and I think Cutter's constant chatter is supposed to be the comic relief but it's a little too accurate to drunken rambling, which isn't funny if you're not also drunk. He's just tedious, irritating, and periodically racist. Pass.

Blood Simple (rw) I'm pretty cool on the Coens - there are things I've liked, even loved, in every Coen film I've seen, but I always come away dissatisfied. For a while, I kept going to their movies because I was sure eventually I'd love one without qualification. No Country for Old Men came close, the first two acts being master classes in sustained tension. But then the third act is all about denying closure: the protagonist is murdered offscreen, the villain's motives are never explained, and it ends with an existentialist speech about the unfathomable cruelty of the world. And it just doesn't land for me. The archness of the Coen's dialogue, the fussiness of their set design, the kinda-intimate, kinda-awkward, kinda-funny closeness of the camera's singles, it cannot sell me on a devastating meditation about meaninglessness. It's only ever sold me on the Coens' own cleverness. And that archness, that distancing, has typified every one of their movies I've come close to loving. Which is a long-ass preamble to saying, holy heck, I was not prepared for their very first movie to be the one I'd been looking for! I watched it last year and it remains true on rewatch: Blood Simple works like gangbusters. It's kind of Double Indemnity (again) but played as a comedy of errors, minus the comedy: two people romantically involved feeling their trust unravel after a murder. And I think the first thing that works for me is that utter lack of comedy. It's loaded with the Coens' trademark ironies - mostly dramatic in this case - but it's all played straight. Unlike the usual lead/femme fatale relationship, where distrust brews as the movie goes on, the audience knows the two main characters can trust each other. There are no secret duplicitous motives waiting to be revealed. The audience also know why they don't trust each other. (And it's all communicated wordlessly, btw: a character enters a scene and we know, based on the information that character has, how it looks to them and what suspicions it would arouse, even as we know the truth of it). The second thing that works is, weirdly, that the characters aren't very interesting?! Ray and Abby have almost no characterization. Outside of a general likability, they are blank slates. This is a weakness in most films, but, given the agonizingly long, wordless sequences where they dispose of bodies or hide from gunfire, you're left thinking not "what will Ray/Abby do in this scenario," because Ray and Abby are relatively elemental and undefined, but "what would I do in this scenario?" Which creates an exquisite tension but also, weirdly, creates more empathy than I feel for the Coens' usual cast of personalities. It's supposed to work the other way around! Truly enjoyable throughout but absolutely wonderful in the suspenseful-as-hell climax. Good shit right here.

Body Double The thing about erotic thrillers is everything that matters is in the name. Is it thrilling? Is it erotic? Good; all else is secondary. De Palma set out to make the most lurid, voyeuristic, horny, violent, shocking, steamy movie he could come up with, and its success was not strictly dependent on the lead's acting ability or the verisimilitude of the plot. But what are we, the modern audience, to make of it once 37 years have passed and, by today's standards, the eroticism is quite tame and the twists are no longer shocking? Then we're left with a nonsensical riff on Vertigo, a specularization of women that is very hard to justify, and lead actor made of pulped wood. De Palma's obsessions don't cohere into anything more this time; the bits stolen from Hitchcock aren't repurposed to new ends, it really is just Hitch with more tits and less brains. (I mean, I still haven't seen Vertigo, but I feel 100% confident in that statement.) The diopter shots and rear-projections this time look cheap (literally so, apparently; this had 1/3 the budget of Blow Out). There are some mildly interesting setpieces, but nothing compared to Travolta's auditory reconstructions or car chase where he tries to tail a subway train from street level even if it means driving through a frickin parade like an inverted French Connection, goddamn Blow Out was a good movie! Anyway. Melanie Griffith seems to be having fun, at least. I guess I had a little as well, but it was, at best, diverting, and a real letdown.

The Hit Surprised by how much I enjoyed this one. Terrance Stamp flips on the mob and spends ten years living a life of ease in Spain, waiting for the day they find and kill him. Movie kicks off when they do find him, and what follows is a ramshackle road movie as John Hurt and a young Tim Roth attempt to drive him to Paris so they can shoot him in front of his old boss. Stamp is magnetic. He's spent a decade reading philosophy and seems utterly prepared for death, so he spends the trip humming, philosophizing, and being friendly with his captors when he's not winding them up. It remains unclear to the end whether the discord he sews between Roth and Hurt is part of some larger plan of escape or just for shits and giggles. There's also a decent amount of plot for a movie that's not terribly plot-driven - just about every part of the kidnapping has tiny hitches the kidnappers aren't prepared for, and each has film-long repercussions, drawing the cops closer and somehow sticking Laura del Sol in their backseat. The ongoing questions are when Stamp will die, whether del Sol will die, and whether Roth will be able to pull the trigger. In the end, it's actually a meditation on ethics and mortality, but in a quiet and often funny way. It's not going to go down as one of my new favs, but it was a nice way to spend a couple hours.

Trouble in Mind (dnrw) I fucking hated this movie. It's been many months since I watched it, do I remember what I hated most? Was it the bit where a couple of country bumpkins who've come to the city walk into a diner and Mr. Bumpkin clocks that the one Black guy in the back as obviously a criminal despite never having seen him before? Was it the part where Kris Kristofferson won't stop hounding Mrs. Bumpkin no matter how many times she demands to be left alone, and it's played as romantic because obviously he knows what she needs better than she does? Or is it the part where Mr. Bumpkin reluctantly takes a job from the Obvious Criminal (who is, in fact, a criminal, and the only named Black character in the movie if I remember correctly, draw your own conclusions) and, within a week, has become a full-blown hood, which is exemplified by a lot, like, a lot of queer-coding? The answer to all three questions is yes. It's also fucking boring. Even out-of-drag Divine's performance as the villain can't save it.

Manhunter 'sfine? I've still never seen Silence of the Lambs, nor any of the Hopkins Lecter movies, nor, indeed, any full episode of the show. So the unheimlich others get seeing Brian Cox play Hannibal didn't come into play. Cox does a good job with him, but he's barely there. Shame, cuz he's the most interesting part of the movie. Honestly, there's a lot of interesting stuff that's barely there. Will Graham being a guy who gets into the heads of serial killers is explored well enough, and Mann knows how to direct a police procedural such that it's both contemplative and propulsive. But all the other themes it points at? Will's fear that he understands murderers a little too well? Hannibal trying to nudge him towards becoming one? Whatever dance Hannibal and Tooth Fairy are doing? What Tooth Fairy's deal is, anyway? (Why does he wear fake teeth and bite things? Why is he fixated on the red dragon? Does the bit where he says "Francis is gone forever" mean he has DID?) None of it goes anywhere or amounts to anything. I mean, it's certainly more interesting with this stuff than without, but it has that feel of a book that's been pared of its interesting bits to fit the runtime (or, alternately, pulp that's been sloppily elevated). I still haven't made my mind up on Mann's cold, precise camera work, but at least it gives me something to look at. It's fine! This is fine.

Mona Lisa (rw) Gave this one another shot. Bob Hoskins is wonderful as a hood out of his depth in classy places, quick to anger but just as quick to let anger go (the opening sequence where he's screaming on his ex-wife's doorstep, hurling trash cans at her house, and one minute later thrilled to see his old car, is pretty nice). And Cathy Tyson's working girl is a subtler kind of fascinating, exuding a mixture of coldness and kindness. It's just... this is ultimately a story about how heartbreaking it is when the girl you like is gay, right? It's Weezer's Pink Triangle: The Movie. It's not homophobic, exactly - Simone isn't demonized for being a lesbian - but it's still, like, "man, this straight white guy's pain is so much more interesting than the Black queer sex worker's." And when he's yelling "you woulda done it!" at the end, I can't tell if we're supposed to agree with him. Seems pretty clear that she wouldn'ta done it, at least not without there being some reveal about her character that doesn't happen, but I don't think the ending works if we don't agree with him, so... I'm like 70% sure the movie does Simone dirty there. For the first half, their growing relationship feels genuine and natural, and, honestly, the story being about a real bond that unfortunately means different things to each party could work if it didn't end with a gun and a sock in the jaw. Shape feels jagged as well; what feels like the end of the second act or so turns out to be the climax. And some of the symbolism is... well, ok, Simone gives George money to buy more appropriate clothes for hanging out in high end hotels, and he gets a tan leather jacket and a Hawaiian shirt, and their first proper bonding moment is when she takes him out for actual clothes. For the rest of the movie he is rocking double-breasted suits (not sure I agree with the striped tie, but it was the eighties, whaddya gonna do?). Then, in the second half, she sends him off looking for her old streetwalker friend, and now he looks completely out of place in the strip clubs and bordellos. So far so good. But then they have this run-in where her old pimp pulls a knife and cuts George's arm, so, with his nice shirt torn and it not safe going home (I guess?) he starts wearing the Hawaiian shirt again. So around the time he's starting to realize he doesn't really belong in Simone's world or the lowlife world he came from anymore, he's running around with the classy double-breasted suit jacket over the garish Hawaiian shirt, and, yeah, bit on the nose guys. Anyway, it has good bits, I just feel like a movie that asks me to feel for the guy punching a gay, Black woman in the face needs to work harder to earn it. Bit of wasted talent.

The Bedroom Window Starts well. Man starts an affair with his boss' wife, their first night together she witnesses an attempted murder from his window, she worries going to the police will reveal the affair to her husband, so the man reports her testimony to the cops claiming he's the one who saw it. Young Isabelle Huppert is the perfect woman for a guy to risk his career on a crush over, and Young Steve Guttenberg is the perfect balance of affability and amorality. And it flows great - picks just the right media to res. So then he's talking to the cops, telling them what she told him, and they ask questions he forgot to ask her - was the perp's jacket a blazer or a windbreaker? - and he has to guess. Then he gets called into the police lineup, and one guy matches her description really well, but is it just because he's wearing his red hair the way she described it? He can't be sure, doesn't finger any of them. He finds out the cops were pretty certain about one of the guys, so he follows the one he thinks it was around, looking for more evidence, and another girl is attacked right outside a bar he knows the redhead was at. Now he's certain! But he shows the boss' wife the guy and she's not certain, and she reminds him they don't even know if the guy he followed is the same guy the police suspected! And as he feeds more evidence to the cops, he has to lie more, because he can't exactly say he was tailing the guy around the city. So, I'm all in now. Maybe it's because I'd so recently rewatched Night Moves and Cutter's Way, but this seems like another story about uncertainty. He's really certain about the guy because it fits narratively, and we, the audience, feel the same. But he's not actually a witness, he doesn't have actual evidence, he's fitting bits and pieces together like a conspiracy theorist. He's fixating on what he wants to be true. Sign me up! But then it turns out he's 100% correct about who the killer is but his lies are found out and now the cops think he's the killer and I realize, oh, no, this movie isn't nearly as smart as I thought it was. Egg on my face! What transpires for the remaining half of the runtime is goofy as hell, and someone with shlockier sensibilities could have made a meal of it, but Hanson, despite being a Corman protege, takes this silliness seriously in the all wrong ways. Next!

Homicide (rw? I think I saw most of this on TV one time) Homicide centers around the conflicted loyalties of a Jewish cop. It opens with the Jewish cop and his white gentile partner taking over a case with a Black perp from some Black FBI agents. The media is making a big thing about the racial implications of the mostly white cops chasing down a Black man in a Black neighborhood. And inside of 15 minutes the FBI agent is calling the lead a k*ke and the gentile cop is calling the FBI agent a f****t and there's all kinds of invective for Black people. The film is announcing its intentions out the gate: this movie is about race. But the issue here is David Mamet doesn't care about race as anything other than a dramatic device. He's the Ubisoft of filmmakers, having no coherent perspective on social issues but expecting accolades for even bringing them up. Mamet is Jewish (though lead actor Joe Mantegna definitely is not) but what is his position on the Jewish diaspora? The whole deal is Mantegna gets stuck with a petty homicide case instead of the big one they just pinched from the Feds, where a Jewish candy shop owner gets shot in what looks like a stickup. Her family tries to appeal to his Jewishness to get him to take the case seriously, and, after giving them the brush-off for a long time, finally starts following through out of guilt, finding bits and pieces of what may or may not be a conspiracy, with Zionist gun runners and underground neo-Nazis. But, again: all of these are just dramatic devices. Mantegna's Jewishness (those words will never not sound ridiculous together) has always been a liability for him as a cop (we are told, not shown), and taking the case seriously is a reclamation of identity. The Jews he finds community with sold tommyguns to revolutionaries during the founding of Israel. These Jews end up blackmailing him to get a document from the evidence room. So: what is the film's position on placing stock in one's Jewish identity? What is its position on Israel? What is its opinion on Palestine? Because all three come up! And the answer is: Mamet doesn't care. You can read it a lot of different ways. Someone with more context and more patience than me could probably deduce what the de facto message is, the way Chris Franklin deduced the de facto message of Far Cry V despite the game's efforts not to have one, but I'm not going to. Mantegna's attempt to reconnect with his Jewishness gets his partner killed, gets the guy he was supposed to bring in alive shot dead, gets him possibly permanent injuries, gets him on camera blowing up a store that's a front for white nationalists, and all for nothing because the "clues" he found (pretty much exclusively by coincidence) were unconnected nothings. The problem is either his Jewishness, or his lifelong failure to connect with his Jewishness until late in life. Mamet doesn't give a shit. (Like, Mamet canonically doesn't give a shit: he is on record saying social context is meaningless, characters only exist to serve the plot, and there are no deeper meanings in fiction.) Mamet's ping-pong dialogue is fun, as always, and there are some neat ideas and characters, but it's all in service of a big nothing that needed to be a something to work.

Swoon So much I could talk about, let's keep it to the most interesting bits. Hommes Fatales: a thing about classic noir that it was fascinated by the marginal but had to keep it in the margins. Liberated women, queer-coded killers, Black jazz players, broke thieves; they were the main event, they were what audiences wanted to see, they were what made the movies fun. But the ending always had to reassert straightlaced straight, white, middle-class male society as unshakeable. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy demanded, both ideologically and via the Hays Code, that anyone outside these norms be punished, reformed, or dead by the movie's end. The only way to make them the heroes was to play their deaths for tragedy. It is unsurprising that neo-noir would take the queer-coded villains and make them the protagonists. Implicature: This is the story of Leopold and Loeb, murderers famous for being queer, and what's interesting is how the queerness in the first half exists entirely outside of language. Like, it's kind of amazing for a movie from 1992 to be this gay - we watch Nathan and Dickie kiss, undress, masturbate, fuck; hell, they wear wedding rings when they're alone together. But it's never verbalized. Sex is referred to as "your reward" or "what you wanted" or "best time." Dickie says he's going to have "the girls over," and it turns out "the girls" are a bunch of drag queens, but this is never acknowledged. Nathan at one point lists off a bunch of famous men - Oscar Wild, E.M. Forster, Frederick the Great - but, though the commonality between them is obvious (they were all gay), it's left the the audience to recognize it. When their queerness is finally verbalized in the second half, it's first in the language of pathology - a psychiatrist describing their "perversions" and "misuse" of their "organs" before the court, which has to be cleared of women because it's so inappropriate - and then with slurs from the man who murders Dickie in jail (a murder which is written off with no investigation because the victim is a gay prisoner instead of a L&L's victim, a child of a wealthy family). I don't know if I'd have noticed this if I hadn't read Chip Delany describing his experience as a gay man in the 50's existing almost entirely outside of language, the only language at the time being that of heteronormativity. Murder as Love Story: L&L exchange sex as payment for the other commiting crimes; it's foreplay. Their statements to the police where they disagree over who's to blame is a lover's quarrel. Their sentencing is a marriage. Nathan performs his own funeral rites over Dickie's body after he dies on the operating table. They are, in their way, together til death did they part. This is the relationship they can have. That it does all this without romanticizing the murder itself or valorizing L&L as humans is frankly incredible.

Suture (rw) The pitch: at the funeral for his father, wealthy Vincent Towers meets his long lost half brother Clay Arlington. It is implied Clay is a child from out of wedlock, possibly an affair; no one knows Vincent has a half-brother but him and Clay. Vincent invites Clay out to his fancy-ass home in Arizona. Thing is, Vincent is suspected (correctly) by the police of having murdered his father, and, due to a striking family resemblence, he's brought Clay to his home to fake his own death. He finagles Clay into wearing his clothes and driving his car, and then blows the car up and flees the state, leaving the cops to think him dead. Thing is, Clay survives, but with amnesia. The doctors tell him he's Vincent, and he has no reason to disagree. Any discrepancy in the way he looks is dismissed as the result of reconstructive surgery after the explosion. So Clay Arlington resumes Vincent Towers' life, without knowing Clay Arlington even exists. The twist: Clay and Vincent are both white, but Vincent is played by Michael Harris, a white actor, and Clay is played by Dennis Haysbert, a Black actor. "Ian, if there's just the two of them, how do you know it's not Harris playing a Black character?" Glad you asked! It is most explicitly obvious during a scene where Vincent/Clay's surgeon-cum-girlfriend essentially bringing up phrenology to explain how Vincent/Clay couldn't possibly have murdered his father, describing straight hair, thin lips, and a Greco-Roman nose Haysbert very clearly doesn't have. But, let's be honest: we knew well beforehand that the rich-as-fuck asshole living in a huge, modern house and living it up in Arizona high society was white. Though Clay is, canonically, white, he lives an poor and underprivileged life common to Black men in America. Though the film's title officially refers to the many stitches holding Vincent/Clay's face together after the accident, "suture" is a film theory term, referring to the way a film audience gets wrapped up - sutured - in the world of the movie, choosing to forget the outside world and pretend the story is real. The usage is ironic, because the audience cannot be sutured in; we cannot, and are not expected to, suspend our disbelief that Clay is white. We are deliberately distanced. Consequently this is a movie to be thought about, not to to be felt. It has the shape of a Hitchcockian thriller but it can't evoke the emotions of one. You can see the scaffolding - "ah, yes, this is the part of a thriller where one man hides while another stalks him with a gun, clever." I feel ill-suited to comment on what the filmmakers are saying about race. I could venture a guess about the ending, where the psychiatrist, the only one who knows the truth about Clay, says he can never truly be happy living the lie of being Vincent Towers, while we see photographs of Clay/Vincent seemingly living an extremely happy life: society says white men simply belong at the top more than Black men do, but, if the roles could be reversed, the latter would slot in seamlessly. Maybe??? Of all the movies in this collection, this is the one I'd most want to read an essay on (followed by Swoon).

The Last Seduction (dnrw) No, no, no, I am not rewataching this piece of shit movie.

Brick (rw) Here's my weird contention: Brick is in color and in widescreen, but, besides that? There's nothing neo- about this noir. There's no swearing except "hell." (I always thought Tug said "goddamn" at one point but, no, he's calling The Pin "gothed-up.") There's a lot of discussion of sex, but always through implication, and the only deleted scene is the one that removed ambiguity about what Brendan and Laura get up to after kissing. There's nothing postmodern or subversive - yes, the hook is it's set in high school, but the big twist is that it takes this very seriously. It mines it for jokes, yes, but the drama is authentic. In fact, making the gumshoe a high school student, his jadedness an obvious front, still too young to be as hard as he tries to be, just makes the drama hit harder. Sam Spade if Sam Spade were allowed to cry. I've always found it an interesting counterpoint to The Good German, a movie that fastidiously mimics the aesthetics of classic noir - down to even using period-appropriate sound recording - but is wholly neo- in construction. Brick could get approved by the Hays Code. Its vibe, its plot about a detective playing a bunch of criminals against each other, even its slang ("bulls," "yegg," "flopped") are all taken directly from Hammett. It's not even stealing from noir, it's stealing from what noir stole from! It's a perfect curtain call for the collection: the final film is both the most contemporary and the most classic. It's also - but for the strong case you could make for Night Moves - the best movie on the list. It's even more appropriate for me, personally: this was where it all started for me and noir. I saw this in theaters when it came out and loved it. It was probably my favorite movie for some time. It gave me a taste for pulpy crime movies which I only, years later, realized were neo-noir. This is why I looked into Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and In Bruges. I've seen it more times than any film on this list, by a factor of at least 3. It's why I will always adore Rian Johnson and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. It's the best-looking half-million-dollar movie I've ever seen. (Indie filmmakers, take fucking notes.) I even did a script analysis of this, and, yes, it follows the formula, but so tightly and with so much style. Did you notice that he says several of the sequence tensions out loud? ("I just want to find her." "Show of hands.") I notice new things each time I see it - this time it was how "brushing Brendan's hair out of his face" is Em's move, making him look more like he does in the flashback, and how Laura does the same to him as she's seducing him, in the moment when he misses Em the hardest. It isn't perfect. It's recreated noir so faithfully that the Innocent Girl dies, the Femme Fatale uses intimacy as a weapon, and none of the women ever appear in a scene together. 1940's gender politics maybe don't need to be revisited. They say be critical of the media you love, and it applies here most of all: it is a real criticism of something I love immensely.

[bitchloveskcbaseball]

Tripping Over Myself

Pairing: Logan x OC (Charlotte Wheeler)

Summary: Charlotte’s not the best at communicating and it gets her in a bit of trouble. (takes place shortly after Drawn to a Flame)

Warnings: Language. Lots and lots of language. Seriously...so many f-words. lol Also, mentions of her previous car accident (it’s not super detailed, but it is brought up a few times) and her resulting injuries.

Word Count: 5525. I swear ... I was certain this was going to be nothing more than maybe 2k words. And then this happened and the thing that I wanted to happen in this fic didn’t even happen so that’s fun lol

Logan belongs to Pixelberry, but the other two lovelies are all mine.

A/N #1: This was written for @rodappreciationweek​ MC day. And sticking with the theme from the first two pieces in this series, I have pulled the title from the lyrics of Shawn Mendes’s Stitches.

Also... a huge huge thank you to @burnsoslow for reading a piece of this that had me chasing my tail for what seemed like forever and fixing it for me. You are the best!!

“Hey hey hey! The hell you think you’re doin?”

Freezing mid step to turn back around to where Paul was glaring at her from his now-seated position where he'd rolled out from under her car on his creeper, Charlotte scrunched her nose up in confusion. “You were bitchin’ that you didn’t have your 3/8 down there. Figured I’d grab it so you’d stop muttering to yourself.”

“I had one rule for letting you stay after you showed up here today. And I made it explicitly clear.”

“But – “

“No. No buts.”

“C’mon Paul! You can’t seriously expect me to sit on that damn stool the entire time we’re here. I am fully capable of walking to the toolbox and grabbing a goddamn socket!”

“Lottie, sweetheart. You are still healing. You need to take it easy.” Instead of the calming effect she was sure he was shooting for, the soft gentleness of Paul’s voice just reminded her of an adult trying to calm a child who was in the middle of throwing a massive tantrum. And that ratcheted her mild frustration up until she was actually throwing a damn fit.

“For fuck’s sake! I know I’m fucking hurt. But I’m not a complete invalid. I don’t think me taking three fucking steps across this damn storage unit and picking up a tool that weighs a few ounces is going to do me in when a fucking slab of concrete didn’t!” Her hands flew up to steeple across her nose and mouth. “Shit. Paul – “

Gaze firmly locked on his white-knuckled grip on his wrench, Paul cut her off with a slight shake of his head. “Nah. It’s … it’s fine, sweetheart.”

In two shaky steps, Charlotte was across the unit and gingerly kneeling in front of him. Slowly, as if she were approaching a spooked cat, she eased the wrench out of his hold so she could wrap his hand in her own. “No. It’s not ‘fine.’ I … I shouldn’t have said that. I promised I’d stop acting so nonchalant about the accident.” Before he could interject, she nudged his knee with her own. “Shush, lover. I really am so incredibly sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. You’re only trying to look out for me. And I appreciate that more than I could ever say.”

Finally lifting his head from staring at the floor between them, Paul’s teary eyes met hers, twisting her heart even harder. In barely a whisper, he asked, “The hell did you have to go there for?”

Letting out a harsh sigh, Charlotte stood up and whirled around. It was a motion she instantly regretted when every thing went a little off kilter and her vision started to swim. Ugh! Not this shit again. She fought against the urge to lean against the work bench to her right, not wanting Paul to decide that she needed to be taken home: that was the last place she wanted to be at that particular moment.

“Lottie?”

Finally giving up any thoughts she'd had of blowing off his question with the pretense of being fine, she practically exploded, “Ugh. I’m just … I’m so fucking tired of all the hovering!” Her fist closed around one of the lug-nut caps that were lined up on the bench, waiting patiently for the new wheels and tires that had yet to be ordered to be installed. The urge to hurl it at the closed roll-up door was only eclipsed by the desire to not mar its mirror-like finish: finding replacements that matched the original set from L.A. was hard enough the first time and she certainly didn’t want to have to do it again because she'd briefly lost her damn mind. So she forced herself to replace it into its previous spot and let out another, albeit quieter, sigh. “Look … I love Logan, ok? Like all that head over heels, all my heart bullshit? I feel all of it for him. With him. But fuck it all. He has barely given me six inches to breathe since he showed up in my damn living room. I know it's only been a few weeks, but it has felt like years and not in a good way. I mean, I had to sneak out of my own fucking home just to come down here today!”

“Sweetheart – “

“I know. And I get it. I scared the shit out of him. Hell, I scared the shit outta both of you guys. But … “ Finally turning back around – slowly and carefully this time -- to face Paul again, she let her shoulders sag. “I can’t live with someone micromanaging every second of my day. Every move I make. I … I cannot go back to that kinda life.”

Stepping up to stand in front of her, Paul gently rubbed his hands up and down her upper arms. “Have you talked to him? Told him all this?”

She laughed bitterly. “I have tried. So many times over the past few weeks. But every time I try to bring this or anything remotely related to the accident up, he just completely shuts down on me.” Voice breaking with the tears she was fighting to hold back, she muttered, “I can’t lose him again. But I can’t keep doing this either.”

“C’mere.” Careful of her still-casted arm and still-tender ribs, he wrapped his arms around her. Instinctively she tucked her face against his neck, letting his presence soothe her. After several silent moments, he pressed a kiss to her temple and asked, “You want me to talk to him ‘bout it?”

“As much as I would love for you to do that … you can’t. I have to be the one to get through to him if this is really going to work between us.”

Tightening his hug ever-so-slightly, Paul kissed her temple again. “I’m so proud of you, Lottie.”

“For what?”

“The girl I met a lil over a year ago would never.”

Pushing back from him enough to see his face, she narrowed her eyes at him as she tried to decipher his meaning. When she came up empty, she questioned him, point blank, “The hell nonsense are you talkin’ about?”

“When you first started pestering me at the sideshows, trying to bully me into giving you a spot in one of the races. You had everything so locked down, I’m not sure a stick of dynamite would have gotten you to open up. Even after I succumbed to my still-ongoing case of Stockholm Syndrome oof – “ using her cast to knock him in the stomach may not have been her smartest idea, but it was still an effective form of retaliation – “and we started hanging out more, you kept most of your feelings tucked away in that vault. I mean, sure, you eventually let me in, little by little … but, my point is, I’m proud of you for admitting how you are feeling.”

Despite the way her eyes rolled exaggeratedly, she couldn’t keep her lips from twitching with the smile threatening to break out across her face. “Would you shut up already?”

“Only after we circle back to that bit about you sneaking out to come down here. Thought you said Logan drove you?”

“Um … how ‘bout we go back to you singing my praises?” All she got in response was a stare down from Paul, so she relented with a sigh. “Fine. I noticed Logan had dozed off, so I slipped out and called a cab to bring me down.” When his eyes went wide, she held up her free hand and quickly added, “I left him a note. I’m not the one that just vanishes without a trace.” The venom in her words caught even her by surprise.

“Maybe without a trace. But never without a conversation.”

“Ugh.” Charlotte’s head fell forward so that her forehead was resting against his chest, grumbling, “Thought you were ‘posed to be my friend and stick up for me?” He shot her a knowing look, but she continued on before he could launch into the spiel she'd already heard dozens of times before. “Fine. Ok. You win. Save the damn lecture and put the time to better use. Say … running me home?”

Laughing, Paul retorted, “Bout freakin’ time, sweetheart.”

A short time later, Paul was pulling up to the curb in front of her apartment building. Mind already running through the things that she needed to say to Logan as she reached for the door handle, she jumped when Paul’s hand came to rest lightly on her shoulder. “Don’t I even get a ‘goodbye’ or ‘thank you’ first?”

“Shit! I’m sorry! Thank you so much. For letting me hang. For forcing me to talk this shit out. For bringing my ass home.”

Chuckling indulgently, he told her, “You’re welcome. For everything.” She once again started to climb from the car, but stopped when he continued, “But, I need you to promise me that you won’t sneak out like this again.”

Chuckling indulgently, she shrugged her shoulders and opened her door before tossing back, “I would, but I don’t make promises I’m not sure I can keep.”

The glare she got in response was stern, but the effect was all but negated by the warmth in his voice as he threatened, “Fine. Lemme put it to ya this way, sweetheart. If you do it again, I’m dumping your ass. For real.”

She waited until she’d stepped out and up onto the sidewalk before she turned around to say, “It’s so adorable when you act like you could live without me, lover,” before turning to walk through the front door, blowing him a kiss from over her shoulder.

As she crossed the lobby towards the elevator bank, her eyes caught on the Out of Service sign and she let out a groan. Despite her annoyance, Charlotte didn’t blink an eye before heading for the staircase, figuring it was only a minor inconvenience. Especially since, at her last appointment, the first thing she’d asked once her doctor had mentioned that she was good to start easing back into very light physical activity was if she was okay to take the stairs to her apartment, because the ancient elevators were constantly having issues and she knew that having the freedom to move around more meant nothing if she couldn’t get in and out of her damn apartment. While he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect, he assured her that she’d be fine so long as she took it slowly and carefully. Still, she knew even with the green light from her doctor, it was going to feel like a trek after having spent so long doing little more than traversing the path between her bed and her couch.

True to her expectations, by the time she’d gotten to the second floor, she was definitely more winded than she’d usually be and her entire body was beginning to take on that achy feel of being suddenly being forced to work. But neither of those things is what had her slumping against the wall with a white-knuckled grip on the handrail. No, that was brought on by the way the world had seemingly begun to spin around her, setting her completely off balance.

What could have been five minutes or five hours later, she chanced peeking an eye open, but the vibrant mosaic tile pattern of the stairs was still swirling and swimming about in front of her, causing her to slam it back closed and drop her head back – gently – against the wall. Frustrated that the only change in how she felt was the deep churning and roiling in her gut, she finally acknowledged that she wasn’t going to be making it up the rest of the way on her own and pulled her phone from her pocket to call Logan.

Without opening her eyes, she placed her finger over the fingerprint reader, waiting for the digital clicking sound that signaled it had been unlocked, but it never came. Steeling herself for the unsettling sensations that were about to wash over her, she once again peeled an eye open and pressed the power button to wake up the screen. A loud groan escaped her when the screen remained dark, reminding her that she had forgotten to charge it the night before.

Faced with the unsettling choice of either continuing on in spite of the vertigo – which seemed risky, even by her standards – or staying in her spot for who knows how long until the episode passed, Charlotte couldn’t hold back the sobs building in the back of her throat or the tears welling in the corners of her eyes as she slid down the wall to sit on the step. All she wanted, with a desperation she hadn’t felt since those first few weeks after he'd walked away the last time in L.A., was for Logan to wrap her in his arms. To whisper all of his sweet reassurances in her ear. To be the calm and steady force that centered her through the storm.

Almost as if her longing thoughts had conjured him, he was suddenly there, hands running gently over her arms and then brushing away her tears as he rattled off question after question, not leaving her space to actually answer one before moving on to the next. It was just as well, however, considering her addled mind couldn’t seem to make any sort of sense out of the words, choosing instead to latch onto the strained breathlessness with which they were uttered.

Wanting, or rather needing, to reassure him that, while she felt awful, she was wasn’t in mortal danger, she blindly reached out until her fingers brushed against the familiar, well-worn softness of his favorite denim shirt. As she ran her fingers across what she recognized as his chest, his free hand came up to tangle gently in her hair and she sank into the touch. A beat later, his forehead was resting against hers and she couldn’t have missed the shudder that ran through his body or the shaky exhale that passed his lips if she’d tried.

Charlotte’s fingers curled around the button-lined edge of shirt and she whispered, “It’s okay baby. I’m okay,” so softly she was surprised when she felt his answering scoff fan across her face, confirming that he had actually heard her.

Instead of a snarky retort or censuring lecture she was expecting to hear, the next words out of Logan’s mouth were simply, “You good if I pick you up?”

Her eyes shot open at the almost frigid indifference in his voice and the sight in front of her knocked the wind out of her like a punch to the gut. His brows were deeply furrowed and his lips were pursed together so tightly that they were barely visible. It was one thing to know that he was worried and upset – she’d felt it in his every tentative touch -- but it was something else entirely to see it.

Wanting nothing more than to ease some of his tension, she trailed her fingers up from his chest along the side of his neck and face, across his forehead until she could smooth them along the deep-set lines running between his eyebrows. It was a left-over habit from when she’d briefly moved into his loft in L.A., one that had never failed to relax him. This time, unfortunately, it didn’t have the same effect and her heart sunk just a little bit deeper into her stomach. Feeling defeated, she let her hand, along with her gaze, drop back down to her lap as she answered his question, “Yeah. I think the dizziness is mostly gone now. So long as we take it slow, I should be fine.”

Without hesitation, Logan pulled back enough to push himself up out of his crouch and it took everything she had not to whine at the loss. Within seconds, he was leaning back down to wrap one arm around her back while the other slid underneath her knees. Instinctively, Charlotte wrapped her free arm around his neck and as soon as she did, he was standing back up and tucking her against his chest, making sure to be mindful of both the strap of the sling across her back and the bulkiness of her cast. He spared her one glance with a raised eyebrow, but immediately averted his eyes when she assured him, “I’m good.”

Despite the way that he was cradling her so carefully in his arms as he carried her up the next two flights of stairs, with what seemed like no effort at all, it felt to her as if there was an entire canyon between them. Not once did he look down at her. Not once did he even twitch as if he was thinking of dropping a kiss to the top of her head. Not once did he open his mouth as if to say something to her. Even when she had to drop her head against his shoulder as a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her, the heavy silence remained.

As soon as they were back inside the apartment, Logan settled her gently onto the couch then turned to grab his pillow and a blanket from the pile of bedding he made each morning when he folded the pull-out away. Wordlessly, he tucked the blanket tightly around her – just the way she needs to be able to sleep alone. As he was reaching up to place the pillow beneath her head, she caught his wrist in her hand, whispering his name beneath her breath. Rather than make eye contact with her, he simply shook his head once and slipped away from her grip.

Stung by his rejection, Charlotte didn’t try to stop him again as he left the room. Instead, she curled up into as tight of a ball as she could on her good side, letting the scent of him on the pillow and blanket take over her senses until she was slowly drifting off into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

By the time that she woke up, the living room was cast in complete darkness, save for the bright green LED light letting her know her phone was finished charging. Lotta good that does me now. She blinked a few times in an effort to get her eyes to adjust to the lack of lighting, but still could barely make out the outlines of the rest of the furniture surrounding her. Even still, she knew Logan wasn’t in the room with her: she could always feel his presence when they were in the same space and that feeling was noticeably absent as she slowly pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the couch.

After giving herself a couple of minutes to make sure she wasn’t going to be dizzy again, she got up and headed towards the kitchen, figuring that would be his most likely location. Sure enough, she found him there, perched on one of the oversized chairs that in no way matched the tiny, shitty-ass excuse for a dining table that he currently had his forearms resting on. He was staring at the wall in front of him so intently that he didn’t even seem to hear her enter the room. Or, at least, that's what she was choosing to believe.

With just a couple more steps, she was able to close the distance between them, allowing her the ability to wrap arms around him from behind. She never made it that far, however, because as soon as her palms made contact with his shoulders, he startled and tensed beneath her touch. She opened her mouth to apologize for scaring him, but he cut her off before she had the chance, seething quietly, “Don’t you dare pull that fucking shit again.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t just sneak out without a word and then not answer your damned phone for five hours and expect me to be okay with it!”

“Okay, one? I left you a note telling you where I went. Two? As you clearly have already figured out, my fucking phone was dead. I didn’t even realize it until I was on my way back up here!”

Standing up from the chair so fast that he nearly knocked it – and her – over, Logan whipped around to face her, eyes wild with fury. “So one irresponsibility is just supposed to excuse another?”

Charlotte gave up all pretense of trying to stay calm, throwing her hands up in the air as she shouted, “For fuck’s sake, Logan! You knew where I was! If you were that damned desperate to get ahold of me, why didn’t you just call Paul?”

“I did. He wasn’t answering his goddamn phone either! By the time he finally did pick up, it was over half an hour after he’d dropped you off.” While he’d started off yelling at her in a volume that rivaled her own, Logan had trailed of into little more than a whisper by the time he was done. And that cut her deeper than the loudest insults ever could.

Unsure of how to respond, Charlotte reached up to fiddle with his spark plug necklace. It was something that had become a somewhat-nervous habit for her when he’d given it to her back in L.A. and she’d picked it up again once she’d begun wearing it almost constantly after their reunion. That simple, unthinking motion ended up being the answer to her loss of words, however, when the cool weight of it in her hand, combined with all the emotions running rampant through the room, sparked the memory of how she’d come to possess it in the first place.

“Logan, baby.” She paused, waiting until he looked up from the floor to meet her gaze before continuing gently, “You remember what you told me when you gave this to me?”

He raised an eyebrow at her as if asking her where she was going with this abrupt subject change. When she didn’t give him an answer, he let out a harsh sigh before replying, “Not entirely. I remember it was before the Grapevine job. Something about it keeping you safe like it did for me?”

“Yeah, that was part of it. You also told me how you came to wear it, too. How you'd survived a crash that you probably shouldn’t have.”

Rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in the air, Logan sniped, “Okay … so? What's the point of this random-ass trip down memory lane?”

“You told me that you’d almost died. In a car accident. Right before we were about to go steal four very expensive sport cars. And we were going to steal them off a car hauler on the freeway, no less.” As if he had suddenly figured out where she was going with this, his eyes widened before narrowing on her. He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand to stop him. “I’m not gonna lie. As much as I was so touched that you were giving me something that meant so much to you? The story behind it fucking terrified me. Because if you – who had been driving so long and had so much skill at it – could wreck like that, what chance did I have at holding up my end of the bargain? Not to mention, just the idea of you getting hurt almost sent me into a tailspin. And I’m not so sure that that wasn’t your plan all along.”

“I – “

Walking over to wrap her arm around his neck, she kissed first his cheek and then his lips briefly and tenderly. When he didn’t tense up or pull away from her, she chanced nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. “I know, baby. You were just doing whatever you could think of to keep me safe. I understand that. And I understand that the result of me being a complete dumbass during that race scared the shit out of you. But I’m still here. I’m still alive. And today’s episode notwithstanding, I’ve been feeling really good. So this whole, hovering-over-me thing? The it’s-too-dangerous-out-there-thing you’ve been doing? It’s smothering me and I … I just can’t do it. It took me far too long to escape it with Wheeler. Far too long to find the strength to realize that it was okay – more than okay – to be who I wanted to be regardless of whether the people in my life accepted it. So … as much as I hate worrying you, I cannot go back to that old, boring version of myself, the one that never really felt like me, just because it's safer.”

Logan inhaled sharply and hands tightened ever so slightly where they had been resting on her hips since she'd tucked herself into him. A couple long beats passed before he finally muttered, “You know, you seemed to have skipped over the most important part of that story, though.”

Face scrunched up, she asked, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. That wasn’t just me giving you a good luck token. That was me trying to tell you not only to make sure you’re always in control, but also to make sure you learn from life's lessons.”

“I know.”

“Do you, though?”

Taken aback by Logan’s abrasiveness, Charlotte stumbled back a step, only to be met by narrowed eyes boring into her. “I ... I … I do.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it from where I’m standing.”

“Logan – “

“Do you even realize how fucking stupid that stunt you pulled today was? What if that episode had hit when you were out there on the streets somewhere? All alone?”

Even though she knew his point was valid, Charlotte couldn’t bite back her derisive scoff. “First of all, I was literally by myself when it happened, so yeah, I have a decent idea.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Continuing on as if she hadn’t heard his outburst, she added heatedly, “Second, the only time I was by myself today was on the elevator ride down to the lobby, the walk from my cab to Paul’s storage unit and back here in the stairwell. It’s not like I was fucking gallivanting around the whole goddamn city.”

“For fuck’s sake! It’s not – you know what? Just forget it.” Throwing his hands up, Logan turned to storm out of the room.

“Sure. Just ru … run away. It’s – “ Tears that she refused to let fall clogged her throat and she pressed her lips together in an attempt to gather her composure. She realized, however, that the damage had been done, her stuttering robbing her words of their intended venom, so she pressed on with a watery whisper, “It’s what you do best.”

Practically freezing mid-step, he pivoted back around to face her, hands scrubbing at his face. “Damn it, Char. I’m not running away.” Shoulders falling when she rolled her eyes at him, he quickly closed the distance between them to lace their fingers together and insisted, “I’m not.”

“Then why – “

Without warning, Logan crushed his lips to hers in a kiss that left her short of breath when he finally pulled back just far enough to murmur, “’Cause you refuse to acknowledge how fucking reckless you’ve been and it is frustrating the ever livin’ shit outta me. And it just felt like it was better to walk away than say something I’d regret. Something just to hurt you. I don’t want … I can’t hurt you like that.”

Charlotte pulled back a little bit further to meet him square in the eye. “Future reference? Words are no big deal. You walking away? That’s the shit I can’t handle.”

Tangling his free hand in the hair at the base of her head, he gently pulled her face back so he could feather another kiss across her lips before replying, “Noted.” Another barely-there kiss. “Thing I can’t handle?” A slight tug of her bottom lip between his teeth that pulled a sharp gasp from her. “You not takin’ this shit seriously.”

This time, instead of leaning in again, Logan pulled pack just a bit further. She tried chasing after him, but he maintained their separation until she dropped her head back with a groan.

“You even listenin’ to me?”

“Um … yes?”

“Charlotte.”

“Hey!” She tried to glare at him, but instead ended up giggling, “You were the one distracting me!” When he leaned back in for another kiss, Charlotte dipped back as far as she could. “See! You’re doin’ it again!”

“Answer the question and I’ll stop.”

“What if I don’t want you to stop?”

Shaking his head at her with a familiar and fond smile tugging the corners of his mouth upward, he chuckled, “Okay … Answer the question or I’ll stop.” As if to emphasize his point, he pulled his hand out of hers and untangled his other from her hair to place them both on her hips to keep her planted to her spot when he took a step backwards.

Making sure to soften her words with a smile, Charlotte grumbled, “Ugh. Fine. If you’re gonna be so cruel about it … “ A light pinch pulled another giggle from her. “Okay. Okay. Yes, I heard you.”

“And?”

“And … I get it.” The incredulous look he gave her almost had her flinching. “Look, I get that I haven’t been the most … appreciative for the way that you’ve been taking care of me. And I get that I can’t go back to ‘normal’ just because I want to.”

“Char – “

“Hold up! I’m not finished!” Stopping to heave a frustrated sigh, she continued, “I’m going to do better from here on out. I’m gonna take it easy until the doctors clear me. I’ll do a better job of listening to my body when it starts telling me to take a break. And I’ll stop fighting you so much about it.”

“Not stop all the way, huh?”

“I think we both know me better than that.”

Pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose, he snickered, “Okay, that’s fair. That mean we’re done with this sneaking-out shit, then?”

Raising an eyebrow defiantly, she fired back, “Depends.”

“On?”

“Are you done with all your helicopter shit? Because if you are? Then yes. I’m done sneaking out.”

Logan studied her face with an inscrutable expression on his own for what felt like hours before nodding his head once. “Fine. I’ll chill out so long as you behave.”

Wrapping her arm around his neck with a smile, she told him, “I’m so glad we got that settled. I hate fighting with you.”

“God, me too. Are you as exhausted as I am?”

Charlotte snorted as she dropped her head against his chest. “Oh, my god. You have no idea.”

“Why don’t we call it a night, then?”

The hopefulness in Logan’s voice almost made her snicker, but she managed to smother it by placing a kiss to a spot right above his heart. “That sounds like a great idea, so long as we go together tonight.

The words were barely out of her mouth before he was nodding eagerly and answering, “Done.”

A/N #2: Just in case any one is wondering (since I haven’t written about Paul and Charlotte’s friendship nearly as much as I have wanted to) and also because I just really want to share this tidbit behind Charlotte’s nickname for Paul. When the two of them first started to become friends, the way Paul was always calling her “sweetheart” drove her absolutely crazy for reasons I may actually write about at some point? lol so she decided to retaliate by calling him “lover.” Unfortunately for her, however he didn’t mind, so it obviously didn’t have the desired effect. Eventually, it became a habit of affection and each of their nicknames stuck. Thank you for indulging me in this moment of ridiculousness

Perma Tags: @burnsoslow​ @mvalentine​ @anotherbeingsworld​ @adiehardfan​

Logan Tags: @brightpinkpeppercorn

[duck-era-lexi]

wait there’s two of these in tpb

“Did you hear that?” he demanded, glaring down at the white kit. “Kittypet?”

“So?” Cloudkit muttered mutinously. “What’s a kittypet?”

Fireheart gulped as he realized that Cloudkit had not yet learned what his origins meant to the Clan. “Well, a kittypet is a cat who lives with Twolegs,” he began carefully. “Some Clan cats don’t believe that a cat who’s born a kittypet will ever make a good warrior. And that includes me, because like you, I was born in Twolegplace.”

As Fireheart spoke, Cloudkit’s eyes grew wider and wider. “What do you mean?” he meowed. “I was born here!”

Fireheart stared at him. “No, you weren’t,” he meowed. “Your mother is my sister, Princess. She lives in a Twoleg nest. She gave you to the Clan when you were very young, so you could be a warrior.”

For a few moments Cloudkit stood rigid, as if he were a kit made of snow and ice. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry,” Fireheart meowed. “I . . . I thought you knew. I thought Brindleface would have told you.”

Cloudkit backed away a couple of tail-lengths. The shock in his blue eyes was slowly replaced with cold understanding. “So that’s why the other cats hate me,” he spat. “They think I’ll never be any good because I wasn’t born in this dump of a forest. It’s stupid!”

Fireheart struggled to find the right words to reassure him. He couldn’t help remembering how excited Princess had been when she gave her son to the Clan, and how he had promised her that Cloudkit would have a wonderful life ahead of him. Now he was forcing Cloudkit to think about his past, and the difficulties he would have before being accepted by the Clan. What if the kit began to think that Fireheart and Princess had made the wrong decision? 

Fireheart sighed. “It may be stupid, but that’s the way it is. I should know. Listen,” he explained patiently. “Warriors like Darkstripe think being a kittypet is something bad. It just means we have to work twice as hard to make them see that kittypet blood is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Cloudkit straightened up. “I don’t care!” he mewed. “I’m going to be the best warrior in the Clan. I’ll fight any cat who says I’m not. I’ll be brave enough to kill outlaws like old Brokentail.”

- Forest of Secrets, Chapter 3

______

The two apprentices looked at each other. “So our father was a traitor?” mewed Bramblepaw softly. 

“Well, yes,” Fireheart replied. “But I know it’s hard to think about that. Just remember that both of you can be proud to belong to ThunderClan. And the Clan are proud of you, just as I said. You’re not responsible for what your father did. You can be great warriors, completely loyal to your Clan and the warrior code.” 

“But our father wasn’t loyal,” Tawnypaw mewed. “Does that mean he’s our enemy now?” 

Fireheart met her scared gaze. “All cats from other Clans have to have their own interests at heart,” he told her gently. “That’s what Clan loyalty means. Your father is loyal to ShadowClan now, just as it is your duty to be loyal to ThunderClan.” 

There was silence for a few heartbeats, and then Tawnypaw drew herself up and gave her chest fur a few quick licks. “Thank you for telling us, Fireheart. Is it…is it really true that the rest of the Clan are proud of us?” 

“It really is,” Fireheart assured her. “Don’t forget, the Clan discovered all this when you two were only newborns. And they’ve never wanted to punish you, have they?” 

Tawnypaw blinked gratefully at him. Glancing at Bramblepaw, Fireheart saw that he was gazing up at the sky between the arching fronds of fern. There was no reading the emotion in his amber eyes. 

“Bramblepaw?” Fireheart meowed uneasily. The young cat did not respond. Wanting to reassure him, Fireheart went on, “Work hard and be loyal to your Clan, and no cat will blame you for what your father did.” 

Bramblepaw’s head whipped around; his eyes glared at his mentor with all the hostility that Fireheart had once seen in Tigerstar. He had never looked more like his father. “But that’s not true, is it?” he hissed. “You blame us. I don’t care what you’re saying now. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You think I’ll be a traitor just like he was. You’ll never trust me, whatever I do!” 

Fireheart stared at him, unable to deny the young cat’s accusations. For a few heartbeats he had no idea what to say. While he hesitated, Bramblepaw sprang to his paws and blundered through the ferns to the top of the hollow, where Brackenfur was waiting. Tawnypaw cast one scared look at Fireheart and scurried after her brother.

 - A Dangerous Path, Chapter 21

i really like this trope, it puts an interesting view on prejudices... like they’re just kids. they don’t even know why everyone hates them, and that shows how unjust other characters’ thinking is. 

[neakco]

Wait For It

AO3 Fanfiction.net

Inspired heavily by the song "Wait For It" by Leslie Odam Jr from Hamilton an American Musical.

Red Robin calls a meeting for the Justice League. Everyone is there except Red Robin. Instead one of the monitors flickers to life.

Brief mention of some past character deaths. Very mild violence.

The Justice League had gathered when Superman looked to Batman, “Red Robin called this meeting, since he isn’t here what's this about Batman?”

Before he could answer a screen flickered to life. The angle was strange and it took a few moments for them to realized that the camera was attached to a person.

The person wearing the camera appeared to be setting up a larger camera. A women's voice could be heard from off screen speaking in accented English.

“Are you sure this is a good plan Birdy?”

“I am just worried. What if Batman shows up to take you away?”

“Positive LB.” The voice of Red Robin answered.

There were a couple confused or shocked faces around but no one looked away.

“I have been gone over a month and no one has called or tried looking for me, I promise no one from the Justice League are going to interfere.”

Batman frowned, he was sure he had seen Just the other day. Had it really been a month.

Tim turned and they could see a women in red and spotted black spandex with a wide smile. “If he was too busy keeping Gotham in line to notice than he can keep Gotham, you're all mine Birdy.”

She came forward and the screen filled with red for a moment as she was too close to Tim for it to pick up images properly.

When she was fully in frame again had a look that she was heading to her death.

“This is the last fight LB, everything is set, we just need to wait for it.”

The women, LB, smiled nervously and spoke softly, “Si quelque chose m'arrive, sache que je t'aime.”

“Pareil ici LB. But nothing is going to happen, we planned this months ago. Now get in position, I will let you know when we are world wide.”

Batman was frowning harder at the screen. Tim had been in contact with this LB for months apparently. Did Alfred know?

He replaced the camera on his suit and started pressing keys rapidly, there wasn’t much for the league to see but when anyone tried to speak Wonder Women glared them down.

Red Robin appeared to sit down in a TV station’s control booth, but from what they could see an entire wall was missing. The camera moved suddenly and Red Robin's face came into view, his mask appeared slightly different than normal but it was clearly him.

“If any of the league interferes and ruins this plan then I will use any and all blackmail I have to ruin all of you. You are watching as witnesses only, don’t you dare forget it.”

Another monitor flickered to life. This one showed Paris, or what was left of Paris. Buildings were crumbling, the Eiffel Tower was on its side, dust filled the air and not a speck of movement could be seen. Then the camera changed to show the women in Red standing tall on a pile of rubble near the tower.

Batman was thankful, it meant he had time to think of the answers to questions he was sure they had.

“Okay LB, we are live in 3…2…1”

Someone let out a gasp, the women who had appeared okay before was now badly injured. One arm hung limp at her side, there was a long gash freely flowing from her shoulder, she was limping and a bruise was forming on one of her cheeks.

Yet she stood tall and proud as she addressed the camera in her accented English.

There was a gasp, though Batman couldn’t place it, he was too focused on the screen. How did no one notice this was happening? He had more questions then answers at this point.

“My name is Ladybug, I am one of Paris' heroes. Many that know of me will be able to tell you that I have been protecting Paris for ten years now with my partner Chat Noir. What many of you don’t know is that we were 13 when we were chosen. You don’t know that my father was a baker, my mother an amazing women that commanded respect with her very presence. They are both gone now, all I have is left is their legacy.” She gestures at the rubble with her good arm, “Thankfully they died in a fire so they never had to see me fail all of you so badly. There is some good news, the original villain, Hawkmoth, also died before this. The fire was devastating, it didn’t discriminate between the sinners and the innocent.”

Her look grew murderous, “But I live, like bread I rise. I refuse to break, even when all of my loved ones have died.”

The women, Ladybug, shifted painfully before smirking, “Despite all you have done and thrown at me I am still here. Try as you might you can not be me, I am I am inimitable, Paris's original hero.” She threw her good arm into the air, “Here I am Lila! My arm is broken, I can barely walk, so now is your chance coward! You have taken everything from me but my life and my pride. So here I stand, just as you asked.” She chuckled darkly, “I'm not even late. I am standing still, lying in wait. You take too long and blood loss will get to me long before you do Rossi.”

The camera changed to the wider view they saw at the beginning. Though now you could see the red that was Ladybug. You could also see a bright spot of purple making its way towards her through the rubble.

The camera switched to a third that was still zoomed out but now you could see that the person in purple moved like they knew they had won.

The villain began yelling in French. Thankfully Red Robin was typing out subtitles for the world with very little delay.

The members of the league were all tense, they didn’t like what they were seeing. Only a few were more relaxed, Red Robin had said there was a plan, surely he wouldn’t be idly sitting by if it was falling apart.

Ladybug laughed insanely drawing all attention back to the screen as she addressed the figure in purple.

“Is this what you wanted Lila? Countless dead, everything destroyed? All this, just to kill me because I asked you not to lie about me in front of a boy. So relentless.” The last part was barely audible.

“I worked hard to get this win. Paris is everything I deserve, it is my reward. All I need to do is take your earrings and then I can fix everything.”

“They won’t love you. Hawkmoth was bad, yes, but you raised the stakes. You chose to thrive off all this death and chaos.” Ladybug stood straighter with a wince and glared, “You, Lila Rossi, will never be a hero.”

The purple villain, Lila, finally stood before the weaponless and defeated Ladybug. The camera changed again so that everyone could now see what was happening with clarity.

“Now hand over your earrings and I may let you live.”

Red Robin was moving fast now, they could hear the grapple. Was this part of the plan or was everything falling apart enough that he was panicking and moving to save the women that loves him?

Ladybug laughed, “Is what you have left me with really living?”

“Fine, give me the earrings and I will kill you painlessly.”

When Ladybug didn’t move Lila backhanded her and sent her sprawling on the ground.

Batman was frowning at the monitor Something was odd.

“The earrings now!” Lila pulled a sword from what they thought was a cane, “Don’t make me take your ears too.”

“Cataclysm.” The pike of rubble they were standing on collapsed into dust at the exact moment a yoyo came and wrapped around Ladybug to prevent her from hitting the ground far below.

“Go ahead and try bitch.” Ladybug spat.

Batman’s eyes widened when he saw it, Ladybug wasn’t wearing any earrings.

Lila hit the ground hard and was pinned by some of the rocks that hadn’t dissolved. Two figures landed gracefully in front of her.

Ladybug no longer looked broken and bruised. Her black outfit was pristine and shone like scales in the sun as the light illuminated her. She had small cat ears and a more reptilian tail. Red Robin's outfit was similar to normal except it was subtlety spotted and he seemed to have gained a fox tail.

Through the main camera it looked like Lila was cowed but through Tim's camera they could see the raw hatred on the women's face.

“Congrats Lila.” Ladybug smiled, “They world now knows your name, just as you wanted.”

Red Robin approached and plucked a broach from her. A bright purple light engulfed her as she transformed into a regular women. “Enjoy your infamy in prison.”

“You think I am going to prison then you are delusional. I will be free in an hour.” The women spit as she slowly reached for something.

Ladybug kicked the downed women’s arm hard enough to break it. Tears in her eyes as she glared. “That was for unknowingly killing Chat Noir in one of your senseless fires. I should let the kwami curse you.”

Red Robin placed a hand on her shoulder and offered her the yoyo.

She shook her head and walked behind Lila as she started to take something out of a baton.

While they were focused on watching Ladybug they didn’t see what Red Robin had done but suddenly a white butterfly was taking off out if the yoyo. He threw it in the air, “Miraculous Ladybug.”

There was a light and magic swirled out from him. The Justice League watched in awe as buildings repaired themselves and people appeared uninjured in the streets.

Lila glared in shock as Ladybug zipped her arms together.

Red Robin laughed, “Did you really not notice us defeat your akuma?” he opened up the yoyo to briefly reveal a computer screen where he appeared to send something. “Police now have all the video evidence they need to keep you locked up for a long time Rossi.”

Ladybug used her baton while Red Robin used the yoyo as a grapple to land in front of the camera.

Batman tried to study the weapon. It had some sort of dimensional storage, a computer, and worked as a grapple. He refused to be jealous of his son.

Red Robin put his arm over Ladybug's shoulders as they smiled for the camera.

They spoke together, “We are proud to announce to the world that Paris is finally free of emotional terrorism. We thank you for bearing witness to this historical event.”

The livestream ended but Red Robin's camera was still going for the Justice League. He removed it and turned it so they were both in the shot.

Ladybug smiled, “Hello Justice League, I assume you are familiar with my partner.”

He laughed as he looked to her, “You assume they are intelligent, the costume change may throw them off too much.”

“On topic Renard Tacheté.”

“Right, sorry Arassas.” He turned back to the camera, the soft look evaporating to a harsher one. “Don’t know if you dense lot noticed, but Paris is under our protection. So no one from the league is allowed to operate here without our permission.”

Ladybug smiled not unkindly, “If you do find yourselves needing any help though all you have to do is ask.”

The video feed ended eruptly and left the Justice League staring at empty screens. After a moment of silence everyone started to yell questions or try to find answers on there own. Batman felt a headache coming on as he tried to answer questions he didn’t know the answer to.

During the chaos Diana smiled to herself and waved to Batman as she walked out. She didn’t need answers. After all, she was the one that had given Ladybug Tim's number.

Supossed translations according to google:

Pareil ici LB - Same here LB

Si quelque chose m'arrive, sache que je t'aime. -

If something happens to me know that I love you

Renard Tacheté - Spotted Fox

Arassas - mythical reptilian cat

[sephirothisaslut]

Time Travel WIP

Cloud woke up in a tank. Surrounded by an all too familiar green. He doesn’t try to fight. He gave up long ago. He’s been here for years now. And the only comfort he has are the three child Remnants he was occasionally allowed to interact with.

When Cloud traveled back in time, the very first thing he did was kill Hojo. Because even if Jenova still existed, it was Hojo who triggered Sephiroth’s decline to madness. (it also helped that he first awoke in Aerith’s church. Much closer to Hojo than Jenova). 

He spared Sephiroth. When he first saw him, Cloud froze. He looked so young. Too young to be leading an army. Too young to be a SOLDIER. His mind flashed to Denzel and Marlene. Gaia, they’re nearly his age. So he resolved to save him. Save him from being the murderer he used to will never be.

However, things aren’t as easy as it seems.

The planet wont heal from a single lost life.

Hojo was in a very high position of power. A very coveted position of power. Originally, it was Hollander that was slated to replace him. However, many of Hojo’s assistants have also fought for their right. This started a scientific war between different factions. All vying for the right to be crowned Department Head.

Undeniably, Hollander had the upper hand. But it was one of Hojo’s assistants that rediscovered the secret SOLDIER formula. Allowing them to gain better footing to one day snatch the position on the Board of Directors.

This all happened unbeknownst to Cloud.

The height of the Wutai war was at it’s peak. This caused the urgency for a Department Head to be selected even more large.

Cloud, on the other hand, traveled to Nibelheim to finally destroy the Calamity. (He discovered that the Cloud in this time didn’t exist. After all, how can a single soul exist at the same time. Apparently, the younger Cloud had died falling of the bridge) And he did. Throwing it into a vat of mako in the reactor. But to his surprise, the underground lab had still been occupied. So when he broke in, he had no choice but to fight his way through. Unfortunately, he never made it out.

He found three babies fitted into tanks. Mako being fed into their bodies by a tube. Seeing the Remnants this way broke Cloud. He had previously thought of them as mere manifestations. Born from memories. Created as adults. He had never once thought of them as human. That they had once been children. Like him. Like Sephiroth.

And so, Cloud was captured. Sedated with the drugs they used on Sephiroth. Stuffed unto a steel table. Cut open. Dissected. Used in the same he remembered.

Somehow, the scientists thought that he was one of Hojo’s escaped experiments. In a sense, this was true. However, how else are you going to explain the abundance of mutated S and J cells in him?

So once more, he was called a specimen. This time, though, he was called Specimen J2 instead of C.

At first, this confused Cloud. But as time went by. As the frequency of tests grew. As he spent more time in this horrid nightmare. He finally understood.

He was J2. Jenova 2.0.

Without Jenova, SOLDIER enhancements cant be achieved. And without the Calamity’s cells, new SOLDIERS cant be made. And as the war waged on, they needed SOLDIERS more than ever.

Cloud hadn’t known his J cells had mutated. However it seemed like they did. Producing “better quality cells” as the lab coats said.

And so this is how one of Hojo’s former assistants hopped to win.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Cloud woke up in a groggy state. He didn’t know how long he’s been here. He knew it’s been years. But he didn’t know exactly how many. His hair had grown long, nearly reaching his lower back. An indication of the time he’s spent in this hell.

He had once tried to reach Vincent, but it proved too difficult.

It seemed like the staff had dumped him into the observation room once more. Probably to test the Reunion Theory in whatever convoluted way.

The door hissed open, and three children were thrown into the room. Kadaj his the floor with a grunt, while Loz and Yazoo seemed to have passed out.

“You have an hour” one of the guards spat.

Cloud nearly tripped as he ran to them. “Kadaj, what happened”

Kadaj only whimpered as Cloud arranged Loz and Yazoo in a more comfortable position.

“It’s combat day” Kadaj quietly answered.

“That’s today?” Cloud cursed. He must have been in the tanks for a week then. Combat day is a weekly test that involves fighting mutated specimens. All four of them tested to the point of destruction. All of them slowly being toughened to one day be presented to the President as ‘Sephiroths’. All so they can win that stupid position Hojo left.

And the last time Cloud had been awake, it was combat day. 

“Hnn, Cloud?” Yazoo stirred from his unconscious state. 

“Shh, I’ve got you” Cloud gently said. He had grown to like the triplets. At first, it freaked him out when they had called him Mother. But he soon talked them into calling him Cloud. However, from time to time, often when they’re in pain or distress, they’d call for their Mother.

Of course, the reason they’d called him Mother was because he was basically their Jenova (sans the mind control power). When he had asked about calling him Father instead, they merely shook their heads and said  “But Sephiroth is our Father. The doctors said so.”

Loz’s coughing spurred Cloud back to the present.

“*cough* Mother? It...It h-hurts” Loz crumpled into a ball.

“Shit, didn’t they heal you” Cloud cursed again. He cradled Loz, and moved him unto one of the raised platforms in the room. He gestured for Kadaj to coax Yazoo closer.

“H-he...He blocked me from the Zolom.” Yazoo wheezed, clinging tightly to Cloud’s lab gown. “and they...T-they hit me because of it”

Cloud clicked his tongue. Trust the Doctors to classify protection as weakness.

“Cloud?” Kadaj asked from Cloud’s other side. “Will he be alright?”

Cloud gazed down at the children. He wanted to tell it’ll be ok, He wanted to utter those words so much, it broke his heart. But he can’t. He can’t promise something so unattainable. 

“I...I don’t know” Cloud whispered instead.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Genesis had called Sephiroth earlier about a possible lab in the Nibel region.

After the Wutai war, Genesis had been degrading. And with Hollander kept occupied by the ensuing bid for Directorship, he was simply “too busy to deal with Genesis’ childish wiles”

Ans so, it was up to the elite four (including Zack) to help scour for a cure. Thankfully, Sephiroth had no love for Hojo’s men, so he frequently targeted their labs under the excuse of inspection.

So when Genesis had informed him of a lab under a ShinRa mansion in Nibelheim, he immediately took a detour from his route home. He instructed his men to continue toward Midgar, and that Zack and he has been assigned another  mission.

When they arrived, the townsfolk had been hospitable but confused. After all, the local monster population was controlled. And they haven’t sent an S.O.S to ShinRa. Too ease their curiosity, Zack just told them it was an inspection on the ShinRa mansion, and that they needn't pay a thing.

Their trek to the mansion was chaotic. Mutated monsters everywhere. Large Nibel Dragons intercepted them as they went higher up the mountains. Black, oozing monsters often attacked from atop the trees. And vaguely looking humanoids screeched at them, alerting nearby mosters.

“Whew! It’s a good thing we got here Seph. These things could’ve killed the townsfolk!” Zack whipped his brow.

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes. “These must be coming from the lab. Although, I don’t think they’re supposed to release their Specimens into the wild.”

“A break out?”

“Possibly”

They continued, and finally reached the mansion. The townsfolk had told them it was abandoned. However, it looked like people lived here. Or used too.

The monsters seem to have come from here. The gaping hole in the floor basically told them everything.

Zack and Sephiroth drew their swords as they descended into the depths of thr lab. Ready to fight and defend at a moment’s notice. It was silent. Only their breathing and footsteps audible. That was until they heard the sound of a fight. However, the grunts they heard are most definitely human.

“Shit! Could it be one of Hojo’s men?” Zack sprinted to the source of the sound, Sephiroth beside him.

Sephiroth was inclined to agree. That was before he heard the sounds of children screaming.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Kadaj! Stay where you are!” Cloud yelled as he took a piece of metal to brandish as a weapon.

It has been luck. A slip of fate. One of the cages where more violent Specimens are kept broke. It allowed them escape. It gave then the chance they needed to finally break free from their rooms. It was pure chance that it happened while Cloud was out of the tanks. 

A chance Cloud was unwilling not to take. 

But he wanted all of them out. He wanted them all to be free. And he won’t be leaving without all of them.

Loz was still passed out from earlier testing. And Yazoo was trying his best to protect him from stray attacks. Kadaj, on the other hand, was corned between a wall and one of the creatures. Cloud was in no better position. He was injured, quickly losing blood to a gash on the side of his abdomen and right arm.

“Damn!” Cloud bit back a wince as he blocked a strike from the massive cat like thing. Black tar oozing from it’s skin like Geostigma. It’s tail is it’s main weapon, slashing and whipping everywhere.

“Kadaj, I’m coming!” Cloud shouted. But to his horror, Kadaj had been hit.

Kadaj’s scream momentarily distracted the creature, allowing Cloud to impale it’s shoulder.

“Kadaj!” Cloud reached out to the child. He thows his body over him, shielding him from the strike.

...But it doesn’t reach them.

Instead, he looks up and sees his once enemy standing above him. Masamune raised. But not toward him. Protecting him.

“Sephiroth?” Was all Cloud could utter as he lost consciousness. 

[luzarya]

Homunculus

Twst ocs & Yuu

Summary: Yuu finds themselves dragged to a ritual as soon as they were left by Crowley in the beginning. What they find out surprised them, but they take the information with stride.

warnings and tags: slight need mention, blood mention, mention (temporary) character death, happy ending tho

ao3 link: here

word count: 1,313

--

Yuu was frazzled, confused, and most of all, scared.

They had only been here in this new world of Twisted Wonderland, for what, an hour? And already, they’ve gotten into too much trouble for their own good.

As of now, they were huddled in the abandoned attic of the Ramshackle dorm. The monster that had harassed them earlier was asleep, snoring away as Yuu was going through this horrid ritual. They were not alone either, oh no, for a fox familiar was there with them. Well, at least, they were told it was a fox familiar, and sure enough, the fox was a fox… earlier. Not now.

Instead of a fox, a person with fox ears and tails, horns as well, replaced the familiar. Yet, they were one and the same.

“Don’t worry Yuu, you’ll remember, soon enough,” the fox, called Mikhail, told them with a pleasant voice. It didn’t ease Yuu’s worries however. Too many things in such a small window of time surely couldn’t be good for a person.

As for what Mikhail was doing… Yuu couldn’t guess, but from what they could see, a life-size doll with no features laid on the wooden floor, underneath it a circle with sigils and the like. There were candles as well, just bright enough to make out what was in the attic itself. They were placed out of the way where the rainwater, so that they wouldn’t go out, although a few of the candles did go out anyways.

Overall: A Very Not Good Experience.

“Hey, Yuu,” Mikhail called over softly, his glowing amber eyes making him appear eerie. Didn’t help that his pupils had slits either.

“Yes?” Yuu squeaked, clutching onto the ceremonial clothing they still adorned. Right after Crowley had left, Mikhail had shifted to his human form and pulled Yuu to the attic. The flaming cat, Grim, gave zero fucks and went to bed.

“May I have some of you blood? I just need you to prick your finger, just a little. Over the doll, please?”

Yuu didn’t reply, but they did scoot over, now closer to the fox shifter. Mikhail handed Yuu a rather large needle. Gulping, Yuu took it, and they hovered over the life size doll. How Mikhail managed to get a clay doll into the attic was beyond them, but they didn’t question it.

Yuu pricked their finger, a small drop of blood splattering onto the face of the doll. A few more drops, then there was a small, tiny pool of blood.

“That’s enough. Now, hold my hand, please?”

Yuu complied, letting Mikhail hold onto their non-pricked hand. Mikhail urged them to close their eyes, so they did. Now that their vision was gone, their sense of hearing was heightened, as Yuu made out some words spilling out from Mikhail, feeling a rather warm sensation overtake them.

Then pain.

Yuu fell into Mikhail’s grasp, as he continued on with his cantation, feeling pain with every inch of their body. They faintly heard themselves howling in pain, as something was making its way out from their stomach and through their throat, and lastly their mouth. It wasn’t vomit, Yuu could tell, but it wasn’t pleasant either. Whatever that had escaped from Yuu had fully emerged out, leaving Yuu to heave loudly against Mikhail.

Just what was that?

Their body was sore, but thankfully no longer in pain. Yuu didn’t even know if they could move a muscle. They remained in Mikhail’s embrace, the cantation still going on. It became louder, as Mikhail was now audibly heard. Yuu could feel the floor tremble beneath them, wondering if it would continue to hold.

At the last few moments, Yuu felt a rather excruciating headache, clutching onto their head as Mikhail’s arms strengthened their hold around them.

Memories came flooding in- all seven overblots, the things that the dorm leaders went through in their childhood, how events had unfolded, and the like. Yet, happy memories came along as well, recalling how Ace and Deuce aided them and hung out with them, such as the small sleepovers they occasionally had and goofing off in class.

Yet…

These events had not happened.

So why-

“Ehhhhh,” a feminine voice groaned loudly besides Yuu. It was all too familiar, but Yuu couldn’t-

No. They remembered. It was Rosamund… And Mikhail was their partner.

Rosamund and Mikhail were their fox familiars.

“You can open your eyes now, Yuu,” Mikhail gently told them. Yuu did as told, the room too dark, the candles having gone out. Yuu glanced over to where the life-size doll was, but instead, they were met with a lookalike. Same black hair and red eyes, yet the figure before them was more feminine than them… and naked.

“So, how’s my original body, Yuu?” The doll, Rosamund, asked.

Right.

They weren’t in their own body.

“It’s fine, but-”

“You died, kid,” Rosamund interrupted, quick to answer the question that Yuu was about to ask.

“I… What now?”

“She’s right,” Mikhail replied, letting go of Yuu. Yuu looked at the two of them, but their memories weren’t returning past a certain point.

“All I remember is Malleus’ overblot,” Yuu said, “we were just finishing it, and from there, it was all black.”

“Yea,” Rosamund stood up, stretching, Yuu looking away, “You died. Well, you fell asleep first, but then you died in your sleep. So,” Rosamund sat back down, giving a toothy grin, “We’re starting all over again. Fun, isn’t it?”

“What happened to my body…?”

“Ah,” Rosamund quieted. They looked away, not wanting to deliver the news.

Mikhail sighed, “It… decayed. We had to quickly save your soul, so we implemented it into Rosamund’s body.”

“Slowly,” Rosamund quietly began, “My original body will adapt to become yours. Slowly, you’ll look like you originally did. Although…” Rosamund summoned fire at her fingertips, relighting one of the nearby candles, “You’ll have magic this time. The mirror didn’t detect it, but you have magic. Granted, it’s locked away.”

“...locked away?”

“Yes,” Mikhail stood up, offering Yuu a hand, “It’s technically Rosamund’s magic, but it will eventually become your own. As for Rosamund, for now, they’ll just adapt to their new body.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier for me to be in the doll?” Yuu inquired, taking Mikhail’s hand. They were right- it was hard to move, much less walk.

“Your soul can only persist for so long once it leaves your body. Our souls, however, will linger for years on end. Well, yours could, although, only with strong negative emotions or attachments.”

“...oh.”

Mikhail offered a small smile, as he helped Yuu walk to the exit, leaving the mess of the ritual behind. Looking back, he yelled over to Rosamund to clean up the mess.

“Aight, just get Yuu to bed. They’ll need all the energy that they can get,” was Rosamund’s reply.

Mikhail aided Yuu in getting down from the attic, now on the second floor of the building. He was kind enough to show Yuu to the dorm head’s room, coincidentally where Grim was asleep.

With the help of magic, Mikhail managed to tidy up the room, drastically changing the items to be repaired and be of use. This included the pitiful bed, Grim only grunting upon the movement.

“There isn’t any other suitable bed around, so please, push Grim a little and make room for yourself.”

Yuu nodded, and complied to the fox shifter’s commands.

Just as they were going to say good night, Yuu no longer saw Mikhail, instead, saw two foxes in front of them, one red, the other black.

Yuu smiled, and said;

“Good night, Mikhail, Rosamund. Let’s be sure to not die…. this… time…zzz.”

The events of the day caught up with Yuu, the foxes watching as Yuu fell asleep. The foxes moved around, and got themselves comfortable.

For a long adventure laid ahead of them.

[syeko]

Taking Care of You Ch. 2

Find it on AO3 or down below the cut!

@marichatmay

The black leather clad superhero stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of pinks and whites of Marinette’s room. From the walls and the bedding and the furniture down to the sweats and fluffy socks she was wearing, a swirl of pinks and whites that was just so very Marinette, and if he wasn’t feeling as cagey as he was, he would have commented something. Instead of a pun however, he busied himself by fidgeting with his tail, the leather a comfortable weight in his palms as he watched Marinette. The horrible itch from earlier had subsided somewhat, but it was still very much there, preventing him from standing still as he watched Marinette make her way around her room, hands grasping at various items. A closer look confirmed that the pile materials his classmate was in the middle of picking up seemed like assorted fabrics and discarded sheets with notes and designs scribbled onto them.

“Sorry about the mess, Chat,” Marinette broke the silence, a soft upturn of her lips accentuating the smattering of red across her cheeks. She fiddled with her fingers, the action so familiar to Chat from their shared time in the classroom. He’d always found it endearing, the movements bringing a small smile onto his own face.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Princess,” he cocked his head to the side, green eyes sweeping over the fabrics and papers, and a small puddle of shame pooled in his stomach, “Were you in the middle of working on something?”

Marinette waved a hand, “Not really, nothing was coming together anyways,” she shrugged, “you just so happened to drop by at the perfect time, I could use a break.”

He blushed, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but the light huff of her laughter cut him off before he could say anything.

“Before you ask, no Ki-Chat, you aren’t bothering me, and no I’m not lying,” she crossed her arms loosely, “I really could use a break from designing, and what better way to do that than with the best cat in Paris?”

“Aww, Purrincess, do you really think I’m the best cat in Paris?” He grinned, the compliment, as silly as it was, making his heart swell, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering. Just as quickly had the feeling come however, it was dampened by a reminder of the mess he’d made outside and the time he was taking away from his friend. No doubt she had much better ways of spending her time than with a stray cat, but the promise of help with his…problem kept his curiosity peaked, and he would be lying to say that he wasn’t eager to feel normal again.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Marinette grinned before moving to her chaise, legs curling up on the cushions before she patted the spot next to her, “Come.”

Chat couldn’t help but raise a masked eyebrow at the request, but he obliged after a moment’s hesitation and an encouraging smile from the girl clad in pink. The confidence and authority she radiated, even in worn sweats and a t-shirt was new, at least towards him. Well, Adrien him. He was well aware of Marinette’s leadership and quick thinking capabilities spurred on by her undying resolve for justice, but he was hardly on the receiving end of such confidence. In fact, in most cases, it seemed like the midnight haired girl wanted nothing more than to scurry away from him at every given opportunity.

Shaking his head minutely to dispel the sidetracked thoughts, he focused on making his way over to the (once again, pink) chaise, sinking slowly into the soft cushions below. The sunlight from her window spilled into the room, warming up the seat just so, the temperature soothing his nerves and his muscles as he wiggled on the spot. The itch was back, simmering and swirling underneath his skin, but this time, it was accompanied by the almost instant drooping of his eyelids.

Everything was so deliciously warm, and cozy. The cushion was just the right amount of bounce and firmness, and had he been alone, he wouldn’t hesitate to sprawl himself all over the chaise, relishing in the space and the comfort. But, as much as he wished to, he forced himself to stay upright, blinking the haze away harshly in order to focus on his friend so she could fix whatever was wrong with him.

“So, what’s the plan?” He turned to face Marinette, surprised to see her giggling softly. He frowned, not following the reason for her laughter. Not that he minded hearing it, and the realization made him blink with a start. Before he had time to dwell on the revelation however, she reached out to place a warm palm against his shoulder.

“You’re such a cat,” she snorted softly before her expression settled into something more serious, “I think that’s the problem actually.”

He felt his nose scrunch up, trying and failing to keep his mind off the tingling sensation from where her skin was making contact with his suit.

“I’m sorry, Princess, but I’m not sure I quite follow?”

Her lips pursed, the thumb and pointer finger of her free hand curling around her chin. The action sparked a vague feeling of familiarity, and he was reminded fondly of a similar pose his Lady would don as she was coming up with a plan or thinking over new information.

“Well, and I’m only speculating here again, of course, because you know Alya, my friend, I’m sure you and Ladybug have seen her around a lot, she runs the Ladyblog you know so we talk a lot about this stuff so it’s not weird or anything-“

Chat blinked as her palm slipped away from his shoulder, her rambling and the gestures so characteristic, borderline comical, that he couldn’t help but splutter out a chuckle.

“You’re rambling, Marinette,” he patted her knee, offering a quick smile to placate the blush that stole her cheeks, “I know you’re only trying to help, so don’t worry okay?”

After a second of staring at him, wide-eyed like a deer caught in the headlights, she nodded slowly, the pink receding from her face and once again replaced with firm determination.

With a steady breath, she continued.

“I think that there are some spillover effects from the Miraculous. We know that the Miraculous are in some way representative of certain animals, Ladybug being well…a ladybug and yours being the black cat. Your powers are reflective of certain qualities related to those animals- kind of like instincts or behaviours? So what’s to say that the effects of the Black Cat Miraculous don't just pertain to agility or night vision?” Marinette paused to shrug, “It could be very possible that you’re experiencing the less uh…pronounced behaviours that have just been building up over time?”

Chat was taken aback, feline eyes wide as he processed what his friend was saying. The fact that Marinette was able to figure out something so quickly, much quicker than he himself could, from so little information was both astounding and terrifying. Marinette was smart and resourceful, he knew that, but if she had managed to figure out this much, it made him wonder what other information was out there waiting to be analyzed and figured out.

Hawkmoth had to have internet access after all.

The thought made him twitch, tail settling between his clawed fingers once more as he worried his bottom lip. The original reason for his presence in Marinette’s room was forgotten for a moment, he couldn’t but worry about the implications of this revelation.

“Chat...?”

Marinette’s voice was quiet as she looked at him with worried eyes, and he mentally smacked himself for letting a civilian worry. He boxed away his worries, making a note to bring it up to Ladybug at some point; maybe the two heroes would have to have a talk with Alya and other news reporters on the dangers of speculation and posting information online where villains could no doubt use to their advantage.

“Ah, my a-paw-logies Purriness, I was just blown away by your deductions. Tell me, have you ever considered forensics or law, Mademoiselle Sherlock?”

He grinned when she rolled her eyes, reaching out to flick his bell. The sound sent a wonderful shiver down his spine.

“That depends. Are you willing to be my Dr. Watson?”

“Well if you’re paw-sitive you can handle the galaxies inside this brain,” he winked.

Marinette pressed a flattened palm to her chest with a drawn out gasp, “However will we all cope? Imagine the headlines!”

Chat swiped a hand through the air, “I can see it now, ‘Local Cat Discovered to Have Infinite Braincells’.”

Marinette copied the gesture, barely suppressing her smirk, “‘Scientists Discover that None of Them Are Actually Functional After Testing’.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing,” she laughed, reaching up to scratch a spot behind his ears in apology. The change was almost instantaneous, surprising Marinette with just how fast his body froze for a moment before his eyes fluttered close. He leaned into her hand, and from this close, the young designer could see the ripple of his muscles relaxing underneath his suit, slumping against her.

Not that she minded too much.

Her earlier deductions, while not explicitly sourced from the internet, seemed to be right as a familiar low rumble filled the room, causing her lips to twitch fondly. Chat Noir had begun to purr again, the vibrations echoing in her own chest. She thanked Lady Luck that her Kitty’s eyes were still closed, because at the moment she was absolutely certain her poor cheeks were burning.

But this wasn’t about her, she sighed internally, carding her fingers through silken gold. The sunlight reflected against his hair, highlighting the gold of his eyelashes against the deep black of the domino mask. She traced patterns through the stray strands atop his head, discovering with suppressed delight that the spots behind both Chat’s human and cat ears had the same effect, and the longer the scratching and rhythmic movements went on, the louder the rumbling got.

Her eyes softened at the innocence of it all, recalling how he had purred earlier when he was caught red-handed on her balcony, no doubt in an effort to self-soothe. The initial sound had been quiet, hesitant and tinged with low notes, giving away the boy’s embarrassment at what occurred and Marinette marveled at the reminder of how sensitive Chat Noir could be. Now however, the vibrations were loud and light, and with a uncontrollable flutter of her heart, she couldn’t help but be proud that she was the cause of such a blatant display of relief and trust from her partner (despite him not knowing that she was his beloved Lady, but she’ll count it nonetheless).

Gently guiding Chat’s head to her lap, she realized with another powerful thud of her heart that the poor kitty had fallen asleep, she relaxed back against the pillows on her chaise. She’d doubted for a moment if leading Chat to her room and exposing so much was a good idea, knowing that with every encounter with the black cat, she ran the risk of compromising their identities. The familiar twinge of anxiety made her frown, and she knew that she would no doubt be hearing from Tikki later on about the unexpected development between her civilian identity and Chat Noir, and Marinette couldn’t help but dread the coming conversation. However, with a glance down at the serene expression on her partner’s porcelain complexion, she pushed her worries aside, saving them to card over later. For now, her kitty needed her, and she wouldn’t let him down.

In or out of the mask.

[skylar102]

I’m a bit obsessed with dragons right now (Mira from your fic is just adorbs btw 🥰) but I wondered for the Malec prompt: everyone thought Magnus’ true eyes were cat like Because dragons haven’t been seen in millennia, until now that magnus has assumed his true birthright as king of Edom . (+\- magnus developing golden scales & potentially ability to shift during a battle where Alec is threatened but they’re only noticed later. )

ohohoho dragons and Malec are my weakness I might have tweaked your prompt a bit but I hope you like it!! <333 Thank you for the prompt :D

Read in on Ao3 ~~~~~

“Remind me again why we agreed to meet here?” Alec shouts, voice out of breath as he and Magnus run through the dense forest.

“Because we wanted to show that we trust them,” Magnus yells back, ducking his head as a flare of magic flies past them. Alec curses under his breath and pushes Magnus in another direction, avoiding the barrage of magic thrown their way.

It was supposed to be a simple exchange between some local Faes and the High Warlock and Institute Head. They had a magical item that they needed for a demon summoning to help with the influx of demons that Manhattan seemed to be having. Little did they know the Faes were the ones causing the tiny rifts and set up the meeting to ambush them. 

“For once, I want an exchange to not end with us running for our lives,” Alec complains.

“You and me both!” Magnus laughs as he jumps over a vine that pops out of the ground.

The Fae are persistent, Alec has to give them that. Magnus hasn’t been able to summon a portal at all with the amount of magic thrown their way. No matter what direction they turn to try and escape, the Fae are right on their tails, laughing and giggling at their attempts to lose them. Alec really wants to turn and fire off a few arrows in their direction, but the moment he stops running, he knows he’s a goner.

Alec and Magnus push through the thick brush and find themselves in an open field. Both out of breath, they look desperately around for any way to escape the Fae. He hears Magnus curse as either end of the field is too far away to head back into the woods. There’s no way they’re turning back around towards the threat. 

“Come on,” Magnus says, running ahead not looking behind him. “If we make it to the other side in time, I could get us a portal open.”

“Magnus wait!” Alec shouts, following behind Magnus. There’s a good gap between them now as they race to get to the other side of the field. 

Alec can feel his activated runes starting to fade out, slowing his pace. He curses and tries to keep up but realizes he’s running out of steam. Before he has time to warn Magnus, he feels a root wrap around his legs, halting his movement and slamming him into the ground. 

“Alec!” He hears Magnus shout, but all of his attention is on getting the root to let go of his ankles. He takes out one of his arrows to try and stab the root, hoping it would give. Instead, the root starts to drag him in the opposite direction of Magnus and back towards the rogue Fae, fast. Alec curses and tries to get the binding off of him, the ground too rough for him to get a good hit on it.

“Leaving so soon, Nephilim?” The Fae giggle. The root begins to travel up Alec’s legs and around his body. “We were just about to have so much fun.”

Before Alec can protest, a roar echoes through the open field. Alec watches as the group of Fae looks up, the teasing grins disappear from their faces and is replaced with fear. Alec sees as a large shadow cast over him and looks up as well, a high pitched noise leaving his lips.

A giant dragon, the size of a school bus looms over him, smoke leaking from its nostrils. Its golden scales shimmer in the sunlight and Alec has to squint his eyes not to be blinded by it. The root wrapped around his body slowly starts to untangle allowing him to sit up. He takes his eyes off the dragon to the Fae and sees them slowly backing up.

“I’m sorry your majesty,” the leader stutters out. “I was not aware that he was claimed.”

Majesty? Claimed?

Alec’s eyes dart between the dragon and the Fae in confusion, not understanding what the hell is going on. The dragon lowers its head right next to Alec and he has to stop himself from making any sudden movements as the dragon lets out a low rumble. 

“Of course, your majesty.” The Fae scrambles for its pocket and takes out the item that he and Magnus originally came for. The leader doesn’t take his eyes off the dragon as they slowly approach Alec to give him the pouch. Once the pouch lands in his lap, the Fae jumps back and creates as much distance between them and the dragon. “Sorry for the trouble, we won’t open any more rifts.”

Alec stares, gobsmacked as the Faes turn around and hightail it for the forest. The dragon next to him lets out a pleased rumble, gently nuzzling Alecs’s side. With one threat gone, Alec turns his attention to the dragon to get a look at it. The dragon pulls his head back far enough for Alec to see all of its features. The sharp teeth, the snout, the smoke coming out of the snout, the cat-like eyes, the-

Cat-like eyes.

Alec would be able to recognize those eyes anywhere.

“Magnus?” He squeaks out and the dragon lets out another pleased rumble. Like Magnus is happy that he figured it out. “You, you’re a, a dragon?”

The dragon- Magnus nods its head and he can’t hold back the hysterical laugh that escapes his lips. “The whole time I thought your eyes were similar to cats and they’re actually dragon eyes.” Magnus nods his head again, concern starting to line his features as Alec can’t stop laughing. “And you never corrected me!”

Alec pokes his snout, making the dragon reel back and stare at him in shock. “This whole time we’ve been dating I’ve talked about how much I love your cat eyes and not once you thought to tell me the truth!” Magnus has the decency to look a bit ashamed, a small whine leaving its mouth as he lowers his head on Alec’s lap. A low rumble vibrates against his legs and chest, what Alec assumes is a pout appears on Magnus’ face and of course Alec can’t stay mad at his boyfriend.

“You are forgiven,” he sighs, stroking a hand down the top of Magnus’ head and the dragon preens. A loud thumping can be heard behind him and he spots Magnus’ tail wagging back and forth against the ground. He chuckles at the sight. “Though a warning next time would be helpful. I thought you were going to eat me.”

Magnus rolls his eyes and removes his head from Alec’s lap. Alec stands up, pocketing the magical item in his Magnus stretches his body out, wings spreading out, cover the field in shading. Alec can’t help looking with awe at Magnus, his golden scales are stunning in the sunlight. 

“You’re beautiful,” he blurts out. Magnus pauses in his stretching to look at him with a smug look, one that even in dragon form can tell is very Magnus. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

The dragon lets out a happy rumble and makes his way towards him. As he approaches a blue mist surrounds Magnus and human Magnus steps out from the cloud.

“Too late for that, darling,” Magnus says, wrapping his arms around Alec’s neck. “Dragons are very prideful of their looks, especially when it’s their boyfriend complimenting them.”

Alec scoffs, hooking his fingers in Magnus’ belt loops, pulling the man flush to his chest. “I think that’s more of a you trait than a dragon trait.” 

Magnus hums and pecks his lips. “Guess you’ll have to find out. Good thing that dragons are not too fond of sharing so you’re stuck with me now.” 

“Now that I will never say no to,” Alec says, laughing into the kiss getting a pleased rumble out of his boyfriend. 

[the-original-b]

Burned by Olympian Fire: the Horrifying True Story of the Demon Core

In 1942, a collection of the world’s greatest minds pooled their intelligence and creativity to bring the world into a new era. They called this undertaking the Manhattan Project. The end result: three spheres of metal small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, light enough to carry, and disturbingly warm to the touch.

These scientists stole the secret of fire from the gods, and looked to use it as a weapon with which to smite their foes. But they didn’t truly understand what it was they were doing—they merely knew how it worked and what it did.

This is the true story of two scientists, human error, and a fourteen pound ball of weapons-grade Plutonium.

The First Sphere—made of Uranium and fitted into the device code named Little Boy—claimed the lives of 20,000 soldiers and over three-to-six times as many civilians when it detonated above the city of Hiroshima on the morning of August 6th, 1945.

The Second Sphere—made of Plutonium and rigged to a device they called Fat Man—took the lives of 75,000 people when it detonated over Nagasaki just after noon on August 9th that same year.

The Third and final Core—the one this story is about—was supposed to enter a third device meant to be intended for another Japanese city but never did since Emperor Hirohito announced his surrender on August 15th. The core remained at the then-secret Los Alamos Laboratory where, unlike its siblings, it would educate rather than destroy.

But like its siblings, the Third Core would claim the lives of innocents.

Allow me to backtrack a little to shed some light on how these nuclear devices worked:

The massive explosions for which Fat Man and Little Boy are infamous only occur when a nuclear core goes critical. This was achieved in these devices by using explosives to compress the core into a smaller volume and artificially simulate critical mass. This allows the fission reaction responsible for the release of vast sums of atomic energy to sustain itself and compound, ultimately resulting in archetypal mushroom cloud explosion for which the devices are known.

Since the Third Core was never installed in a nuclear device and detonated over Japan, physicists working at Los Alamos decided to see just what it took for such a device to go critical. They deduced that a sufficiently dense reflector can be positioned in such a way that the neutrons flung off by radioactive materials during natural nuclear decay would be sent back into the material to careen into more of the atoms and split them, sharply reducing the amount of fissionable material required to achieve a critical state and foregoing the need for explosives.

Even though detonation of the radioactive material itself might not occur in all cases, a radiation pulse probably would (which we can all agree isn’t great).

Physicists at Los Alamos engaged in a series of near-criticality experiments that used neutron-reflective materials placed around the weapons-grade ball of Plutonium left over from the Manhattan Project to see just how close they could get it to critical without killing themselves or everyone in the building. Again, I’m confident in saying that probably isn’t the best thing to do, and I’m not alone in saying so. It’s been reported that Physicist Richard Feynman compared the experiments to “tickling the tail of a sleeping dragon.” But the experiments continued despite the very real danger of being cooked alive by a blast of Godzilla breath.

And that’s exactly what happened to scientists Harry Daghlian Jr. and Louis Slotin.

Daghlian’s Dance with the Demon

On August 21st 1945, Haroutune “Harry” Krikor Daghlian Jr. was running a criticality experiment with the Third Core. He was placing Tungsten Carbide bricks around the Core to see how many of them and in what orientation it would take to reflect enough neutrons back into the Core to achieve criticality. With the help of a device similar to a Geiger counter, he got close enough to criticality with his stack of bricks that he decided to stop his experiments.

This should have been the end of it. He probably should have left it well enough alone and had a beer with his homies after a hard day of flirting with nuclear disaster. But Daghlian was curious.

And we all know what curiosity does to cats.

He returned to his assembly alone that night for another test. Just as before he arranged his bricks in such a way that his device told him brought the Third Core to near-criticality. As he was placing one last brick in his assembly, his device told him the Core would go critical if he continued. He listened to his device, and cautiously began removing the final brick.

But then he dropped it.

The Demon Core woke the instant the brick hit the assembly. It went super-critical and flooded the room with blue light and a wave of heat. Daghlian reacted quickly, knocking the brick to the floor with his free hand. But the damage was already done. You’re probably one google image search away from scarring your retinas with what that hand looked like, but I’ll advise against that.

Imagine wrapping your hand in a fresh cast, then placing a chunk of raw hamburger in your palm. That was his right hand.

Daghlian had absorbed—in that split second—a fatal dose of radiation. Twenty-five days after the incident, Harry Daghlian fell into a coma and died at the age of twenty-four, resulting from severe radiation poisoning. But Daghlian wasn’t the only one in the building that night. A security guard, Private Robert J. Hemmerly, was seated at his desk reading the newspaper. He died 33 years later of what was determined to be radiation-induced leukemia. At the time of exposure, Hemmerly was 29 and the father of two.

Why radiation poisoning is the most f#@ked up way to die

Ionizing radiation like that emitted from the Demon Core that day destroys cellular structures. At extreme levels: bone marrow dies, the immune system fails, organs and soft tissue begin to decompose. And then the subject dies in a matter of days to weeks.

At more moderate levels, the cellular damage might not make itself known for years or even decades, but may show itself in the form of cancers or other maladies.

Either way, it’s safe to say it’s not a good time.

During the 25 days following Daghlian’s costly mistake, his colleague Louis Slotin reportedly spent several hours a day at his bedside, comforting Daghlian as acute radiation poisoning slowly and painfully killed him. If only he knew he would be there not even a year later, in the exact same hospital, suffering the exact same fate.

Slotin’s Screwdriver Slipup

By 1946, Physicist Louis Slottin had taken over the criticality experiment group. Although the experiment was moved to another site, the nature and danger of the experiments remained unchanged. Despite the still-present threat of being microwaved by a ball of radioactive metal, and warnings from more seasoned colleagues, Slotin continued along Daghlian’s path.

On May 24th that year, Slotin was conducting another near-criticality experiment with the now-infamous Demon Core, replacing the tungsten carbide bricks with a pair of beryllium hemispheres and lowering those halves until there was only a sliver of space separating them. If the hemispheres connected, the neutron reflection would be total, and a self-sustaining reaction would rouse the Demon again.

Slotin was reportedly brash in his experimentation, performing this experiment without any fail-safes designed to prevent the beryllium hemispheres from connecting. Instead, the local expert-among-experts would simply hold onto the top hemisphere bare-handed and lower it onto the core with the blade of a flathead screwdriver to get that much closer to criticality. Slotin had reportedly done it this way dozens of times before without incident.

On the afternoon of the accident (spoiler alert), Slotin was running the Screwdriver experiment just as he had so many times before as seven other colleagues observed.

The screwdriver slipped.

The instant the hemispheres connected the Demon Core went super-critical, flooding the room with its deathly blue glow and other-worldly wave of heat before Slotin could remove the top hemisphere from the assembly and silence the Core again.

According to physicist Raemer Edgar Schreiber who was in the room that afternoon, Slotin’s first words after the incident were, quote:

“Well…

that does it.”  

Louis Slotin reportedly absorbed an absolute lethal dose of ionizing radiation. He died nine days later of acute radiation syndrome at the age of 35, at the same hospital as Harry Daghlian, of the same cause, from the same Plutonium ball.

The demonstration that killed Slotin was supposed to be the Demon Core’s last, and it was. Instead of being destroyed in a test detonation over Bikini Atoll as originally intended, the Demon Core was melted down and redistributed among the rest of the United States nuclear stockpile, where its ultimate fate likely involves one of two outcomes:

It may be safely decommissioned in accordance with such initiatives as the Strategic Arms Limitation Treaties (START I and START II), or

It may be loosed on some other unsuspecting city and, like its siblings in 1945, carve its mark into history forever.

Further reading:

Youtube The Demon Core The Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombing Levels of Radiation

[decorous-biohazart]

Recount The Days

Breakdown of my creative process to this piece on my Patreon! 

Going back to Phoenix Nest to shake off the rust. 

Dingo and Megan have a heart to heart during their worst month of the year. 

Character Descriptions

Dingo Background Log  Megan Phoenix Background Log

There was an unusual amount of sound echoing through the halls of the medical center. The normally serene whitewashed walls echoed a clambering commotion to catch the attention of Dingo as he backpedaled. Now no longer bound for the exit he stared curiously down the corridor to a near trembling office door. 

His brow furrowed in suspicion, turning on his heel to make his way towards the door holding back the waves of sound. His eyes moved to the plate hung beside the door to find the label sporting an unexpected name: Megan Phoenix. Dingo grew a curious smirk, raising his knuckle to rap on the door a couple times before stepping in. 

“Ms. Phoenix, your Now O’clock appointment is-” He started in a jesting tone only to be interrupted by a stray binder soaring over his head and skidding across the hallway. Several other unfortunate office supplies were strewn about, left in the wake of Megan’s white lab coat darting across the room. 

The virologist came to a stop with a book pressed against her chest as she gasped in surprise, “Dingo!” She exclaimed with a bit too much energy, trying to catch her breath, “Hi! Do you... Need something?” Megan asked, growing a sheepish smile. 

“Yeah. I need to know when you got an office.” The marksman answered, matching her zealous tone for the scientist to hear the level she spoke at before lowering his tone again, “You alright? Ya look like a cat just misplaced its tail.” 

Megan puffed her cheeks with a light huff as she lowered the book clutched in her hands, turning to set it down with a show of being gentle, “Yes, I got an office. At least I did get an office, what I’m getting now is out.” She hoisted a box up onto the desk, pawing through it as she continued to speak, “I had a bunch of my stuff moved in here because I was running some tests in my lab when a burner went and blew one of the gas lines.” She reset the folders in the box back to their original position before setting it on the floor again, “Now that it’s fixed, I can move back in.” 

Dingo leaned himself against the doorframe with a cross of his arms, cricking his jaw slightly as he listened, “Well, that’s good. Right? Seem like you feel more at home at the desk in your lab.” He cast a glance to the side back out the door, “They got you a nameplate real quick, too.” 

“Yes, I’m glad,” Megan affirmed as she popped up from behind her desk crouched to a knee before submerging behind it again, “At least I would be if I didn’t lose my picture in this near pointless move.”

“Your picture?” Dingo asked with a tilt of his head, “Oh. Oh, no you mean the picture?” 

“Yes. Dingo,” Megan answered from her dug in position with a sharp tone, “The picture.” A quiet gasp from the blonde ceased the sound of rummaging as she jetted up to her feet again with a photo frame extended upward in her hands, “I found it-!” She exclaimed with an immediate drop off to her words as her joyous smile morphed into a look of horror.  The sink of her heart was almost audible enough for Dingo to hear as he crossed around behind her. Leaning in next to the stunned scientist he found the cause of her shock: a long crack across the glass panel. 

The striking picture of the frame’s owner in her graduation gown stood next to a marginally shorter brunette was marred by a jagged, diagonal crack connecting to opposing corners. 

Dingo gently rested a hand on Megan’s shoulder, cupping his hand under the frame, attempting to hold it as if it would turn to dust with the slightest jostle, “Okay, easy now. Let’s just get it on the desk and I can get it outta there.” 

As soon as the trinket left her hands Megan took a couple quick steps to the side, turning her back to the room as her hands cupped over her face. 

After the picture safely met the table face down he started on the folding hooks that held the back in place, glancing up with a brief double take to his distraught companion. 

“Hey,” He prompted with a soft tone, “Photo’s just fine, Meg. I can get this in a new frame real easy.” 

She sniffled with a quick raise of her head in a haphazard attempt to collect herself before turning around, “It’s not about the photo,” Megan assured quickly before taking a deep breath, “I need that picture now more than any day and it’s the worst one to misplace it on. I just... Thought I lost it, I got a bit overwhelmed and it’s catching up to me. I’ll be fine, I promise,” She assured as she flashed a smile, “I can handle the picture. Please, I’m sure you’re busy.” 

Dingo slowly raised his hands from the frame, turning himself to face the scientist before folding his arms as he leaned against the desk, “C’mon, Megan. Cell’s swung at me before tryin’ t’ get me to leave when I know she needs an ear.” He shrugged with a smirk, dipping his chin with an expecting stare, “You’re gonna have to do better than that.” 

Megan’s widen unconvincing smile twitched as it started to waver before she melted into a slouch with a small frown. She shuffled forward, leaning her forehead in a defeated slump against his shoulder, “You’re too good of a friend, Dingo.” 

“So I’m told,” He chuckled as he raised a hand to gently pat her back, “Had I known you lost Cass in December I’d’ve stopped by already.” 

“I know,” Megan whined, muffled into his vest before standing upright again as she adjusted her glasses, “It’s just... Hard, I guess. I carry a lot of the hope of this camp on my shoulders, you know?” She shrugged, tucking her hands in her coat pockets, “If you guys see me sad, well... I feel like it’d hurt morale, that’s all.” She turned with a spiteful gesturing around the room, “Then the gas line breaks and I’m stuck in a suffocatingly small office.” 

Dingo held the silence with an incredulous smile, turning around to lift the back of the frame away before working his fingertip beneath the photo. 

“Don’t smudge it-!” Megan interjected with a quick turn, holding out her hands before catching herself as she cautiously resumed her previous distance. Dingo cast a small glance over his shoulder before gingerly lifting the photo free and holding it aloft. 

“Ta-da,” He presented the still pristine picture gently pinched between his fingertips, “Good as new. You got another frame around here?” 

She took a few rapid glances around, diving into a box before removing a chestnut colored wooden frame and passing it off to the operative. 

Setting down the fresh frame Dingo got to work removing the back as he spoke again, “You know, ‘s never good t’ tackle grief by yourself. It’s got a way of makin’ an empty room feel emptier.” 

Megan twisted her foot on the toe of her bright pink soles with a quiet shuffling against the carpet. Dingo gave a warm chuckle as he stood upright again, holding out the replaced photo in its new frame, “It’s for times like these I prefer to keep it ‘round my neck.” He ran a thumb under a thin gold chain on his neck, a small gold heart locket appearing from his collar and resting against his chest, “Always know where it is.” 

The scientist eagerly stepped forward, tucking her hands around the sides of the frame before pulling it closer to herself to check for damage. Midway through her brief checkup she glanced up, locking eyes with Dingo in a look of staggering epiphany. 

“You said ‘like these’,” She recalled before letting out a gasp followed by a dragging pause, “... Did you lose Hope in December, Dingo?” 

He tilted his head with a small upturn of the sides of his mouth, the question seeming to answer itself as Megan’s eyes drifted back down to the frame. The silence returned before her head floated up again, her tone almost a whisper, “I’m sorry.” What she was apologizing for, she wasn’t entirely certain. 

“You lost your best friend, Meg,” Dingo replied in a consoling tone, “But you never stopped bein’ one yourself.” He plucked a stray shard of glass from the desk, tossing it into a waste bin, “Can’t be a best friend to an empty room, now can ya?” 

Megan blinked, her eyes refocusing onto a small drop of moisture now resting upon the surface of the glass on the frame in her hands. She quickly rubbed her lab coat sleeve over her eyes before just as hurriedly polishing the frame. When her fervor teetered off she took a heavy breath, “No... No, we can’t.” She agreed with a staunch nod. The tenseness in her cheeks gave way to a softly glowing smile, tilting her head with a sympathetic crease of her brow, “You wanna help me take all this stuff back to my lab?” 

Dingo’s tucked his chin as he snorted a laugh, shaking his head before Megan jumped a bit and held out a hand. 

“I didn’t mean like I’m trying to get free labor or anything!” She assured quickly, waving a hand before returning it to a protectively secure grip on the frame, “I just thought that-” 

Dingo raised a palm, “S’alright, I know whatcha mean. Just so happens my office is rather empty, too.” 

Megan froze as she picked up another file box, looking to the man with an unconvinced expression, “You have an office?” 

Dingo didn’t answer, keeping his bastion of a smile as he turned for the door to retrieve the cast off binder from the hallway. 

[wyofabdoms]

Don’t Say Anything

Characters: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Original Female Character

Summary: OC Natalie has been broken up with Frankie for going on three months. A fateful night out with the girls ends in an interesting encounter.

Rating: Smut, 18+ ONLY 

Warnings: Sex in a car, rough sex, angry sex, choking, implied/referenced drug use (if you look carefully), dry sex, angry kissing, post-breakup sex, angst

Word Count: 3988

Notes: This is part of what I hope will become a much longer story centered around Frankie and an original character, but this scene just would not leave my brain so I had to write it. I think it works as a standalone right now.This is my first time writing Frankie. He's so sweet but fierce in the movie, I tried to convey that. I love him so much, I just want to hug him around the tummy! Anyways...hope you enjoy and maybe I'll get my tail in gear and start fleshing this larger story out sometime.

Nat smiled wistfully as she watched Meredith twirl herself around the two good natured older bar patrons that had been wrested onto the makeshift dance floor by her tipsy friend.  Next to Natalie at the bar, a few other of her close friends from work and her social circle were chattering away, tittering over Meredith’s shenanigans, talking shop, or gossiping about someone named Kelly’s botched boob job.  Despite the cheerful energy and upbeat vibe coming from her friends, she felt like everything around her was moving slowly, like she was trying to run through water. 

She might have considered that she had been slipped something in her drink, but she had been feeling this way since she had started getting ready earlier this evening, before even a drop of alcohol had touched her lips. Though she didn’t want to think about it too much, she knew what the cause of the fogginess was:

She missed Frankie.  She missed him so much sometimes she couldn’t breathe.  

Meredith had called her earlier that day and insisted that she join her and the others to celebrate her belated birthday.  When Natalie had tried to protest, Meredith had called her on her self-imposed hermitage over the last three months, had told Natalie that she was worried about her.  That if things weren’t going to change between her and Frankie, then she at least needed to step back into the land of the living, even if just for a drink or two.  

“You need to socialize with someone other than your cats,” Meredith had squawked through the phone.  Nat had made a face at the implied “crazy cat lady” reference but, she had thought, perhaps Meredith was right.  During the week, she had summer school (which she had in previous years avoided like the plague but for which now she was grateful.)  She could beg off outings on school nights, claiming the pressure from working with the high-risk students left her exhausted each evening.  She had been skulking around the house most weekends; doing her level best to eradicate any and all memory of Frankie Morales. 

Having not been able to sleep in her own bed for several weeks after he had left, she had repainted and rearranged her bedroom.  Still, sometimes she would wake up crying, swearing that she could feel his weight in the bed next to her, hear his soft (or loud) snores in the darkness, smell their sweat and sex in the sheets.  Everything in her home seemed to possess an echo of him. She had eventually sold her couch for a new one after remembering the very first night he had visited her home, when their lovemaking commenced with a steamy make out session on the leather sofa.  Along with the new couch, she had also moved the rest of the furniture around.  Out of nowhere one evening making dinner, she remembered the way he had sat her up on the counter one particular Sunday morning, pulled a chair from the table and spent almost an hour with his head between her legs.  That particular memory had resulted in purchasing and installing new backsplash along with replacing the countertops and repainting the cupboard doors.  She had turned into a veritable DIY guru with the cosmetic changes to her home, but that chosen method of trying to forget Frankie was proving to be exhausting...and expensive.  Maybe, she had thought, it would do her some good to get out of the house for a night.  

She had reluctantly agreed to join Meredith and the girls, but had almost immediately regretted it.  The slogging through water feeling had begun as she had tried to make herself not look wretched and sleep deprived, then continued when she had left to pick up Meredith.  She had done her best to not be a downer, engaging in small talk with the other girls and even surprising herself by laughing a few times.  But now, as the night wore on and the alcohol loosened the women up more and more, Natalie just wanted to go home and crawl into bed.

That’s a lie. She thought as she sipped the watered down cocktail she had been nursing for a good thirty  minutes.  What I really want is to lay on the couch with Frankie and watch something stupid on Netflix and fall asleep with his arms around.  She felt tears start to sting her face and she shook herself.

This all felt a farce, trying to pretend like going out with girlfriends was even close to what it used to be back before Frankie; before she had let herself fall so deeply for that man.  She only noted with half an ear when one of the women in her group leaned across her and whispered, “Damn, incoming!!  Grey jacket, coming towards the bar...hellooooo handsome!”  Would she ever again be able (or even ever want) to look at another man with desire like that again?  Her girlfriends assured her she would; that it would just take time, but right now, she wasn’t so sure.

“Hey man, can we get another round for the back?”  The booming voice of who she could only assume was the grey-clad target in question was a familiar one and caused her to start.  She glanced over her shoulder.

“Benny?”  The eyes of the younger Miller brother lit up when he saw her and before she knew what was happening he had slid down the bar and wrapped her in a bear hug, pulling her from her seat.  

“Hooooly shit, Nat!  It’s good to see you.  How the hell are you?”  She chuckled at his enthusiasm; Benny’s attitude was infectious, she had always liked that about him.

“I’m…” She shrugged, not quite sure what to say.  She was sure that Ben and the others knew about her and Frankie.  What should she say?  Lie and say she was doing great?  Tell the truth and say she missed his friend?  Whatever she said, it would surely get back to Frankie; life with five brothers of her own had taught her that men talk almost as much as women.  “I’m…ok.  I guess.”  She gave him a small smile and another shrug, and avoided his eyes to keep herself from asking him how Frankie was doing?  She looked instead at the pitcher of beer and four clean glasses that the bartender had just placed on the bar in front of Benny.  Her eyes froze on the four drink receptacles and Benny followed her gaze.

“Uh….shit...yeah…” Benny looked almost embarrassed and jerked his head towards the back of the bar.  “We...uh...we’re all in the back...playing pool.”  She didn’t need to ask; the look on his face told her that Frankie was part of that “we”.  She nodded and took a deep breath.  Of course they were.  She remembered now that night when she had first “the guys”, after dinner they had come here and commandeered one of the back rooms for several raucous games of pool.  She remembered how much she had laughed that night, how it had made her heart sing to see Frankie so at ease with his friends, giving each other shit and swapping inside jokes.  

The memory made her eyes prick with tears and she stood up quickly. How could she have been so stupid? Why hadn’t she realized where Meredith had brought them?  She should have checked the parking lot for his truck.  Dammit!

“Hey, Nat, listen…” Benny made to stop her from moving away and she paused and looked at him, waiting.  He opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to think otherwise and just shrugged.  “...Nothing. Never mind.  It just...it really sucks...what happened with you and ‘Fish’.  I know he…” again, he seemed to stop himself from saying too much.  “Well….it just sucks,” he finished lamely. She could feel the tears welling now, threatening to spill over.  She felt something like panic starting to rise in her chest at the realization that she was so close to Frankie after not seeing him for three months.  The last time she had seen his face it had been marred with pain...pain that she had put there.  His eyes had glittered with unshed tears and she remembered how his lower lip had trembled.  She couldn’t see him now...there was no way she could face him!  

She suddenly felt like the water she had been slogging through all night had suddenly risen above her head and she couldn’t breathe.  She yanked her jacket and purse off the back of her chair, scrambling to pay for her drink.  

“Yeah.  Thanks, Ben.  Me too...I mean, yeah.  It does suck.”  Her voice cracked.  “It was good to see you…” she let her voice trail off, hoping that maybe he could read her mind; that maybe he would know to tell Frankie how empty she felt without him, how much she regretting asking him to pack his things and leave, how she wished she could do a thousand things differently.  Instead, she just choked out “Take care, Benny.” And she whirled away before she lost the last shred of control of her emotions she still had.  She didn’t want to be THAT girl sobbing into a drink at the bar.

She quickly let Meredith know what was going on.

“Nooooo!” Meredith crowed, slinging an arm around Nat’s shoulder.  “He’s HERE?”  She squeaked, craning her neck to look around the room and nearly toppling both of them over.  Nat quickly untangled herself from her friend and made sure she was left in the capable care of one of the other sober women in the group.  Then she shoved her arms through the sleeves of her jacket and headed out the door.

The heavy, humid Florida air seemed to suffocate her, but he evening had brought a blessedly soft breeze along with the darkness and she was grateful for the air that cut the mugginess, though she could still see clouds of humidity suspended within the shining lights of the parking lot lights.  She shivered as she walked past the first row of vehicles and then the second, out of the relative comfort of the lights and further away from the music and ambient noise seeping out from the bar.  She had parked in the furthest row earlier because of all the cars that had filled the lot when she and Meredith had arrived, but since they had been there, the second and third rows had diminished and her car now sat in solitude, the next closest at least five parking spots away.

Approaching her vehicle, she was putting her finger on the unlock button when she heard something that stopped her dead.

“Natalie.”  

Her heart felt like it was being pulled up through her throat and she suddenly felt lightheaded.  That deep, gruff voice like warm honey.  She hadn’t imagined she would ever hear her name spoken by that voice ever again except, perhaps, to curse her.

She turned and there he was, charging towards her across the parking lot.  She wasn’t sure what she had expected to see as far as emotion from Frankie, but the anger on his face was the last thing she imagined on his usually kind face.  His brows were furrowed low over his eyes, his jaw clenched tightly, fists balled at his sides.  His eyes seemed impossibly hollow and overflowing with hostility all at the same time as his heavy stride kicked up gravel and crunched loudly as he strode towards her. 

“Frankie,” she said, her voice wavering a bit at the darkness in his face as he passed beneath the last parking lot light and continued his beeline towards her and her car.  “It’s ok, I’m leaving.  I didn’t know you were here...I should have figured.  I remembered too late you guys come here sometimes and I-”  

Before she could finish, the rest of the words along with her breath was ripped from her chest as he slammed her body back against the side of her car with his, his mouth on hers, pinning every single part of her between every single part of him and her car.  His lips were desperate, hungry; it was sloppy...she could taste beer on his tongue as he shoved it into her mouth without hesitation,seeking and prodding, attacking her own.  It was all so abrupt and so unlike her sweet, gentle Frankie that she did nothing for a moment.  Then she felt a moan slip from somewhere deep within her and climb her throat, seeping into his mouth as her arms flung themselves around his neck.  

He suddenly rutted his pelvis into hers, hard, eliciting another moan from her when she felt him stiff and solid beneath his jeans and now pressed against where she so desperately wanted him to be.  

“Open the door.”  He grunted against her mouth, never taking his lips away from hers, his tongue leaving its assault on her only as long as it took to form the words.  Her brain couldn’t focus on anything other than his kiss and it took her several long moments to even realize that he had spoken.  “Open the fucking door.”  Once again mouthed against her lips, this time it was a command, guttural and growled, like nothing she had ever heard from him or anyone else before.  Breathless, he ripped his tongue and lips away from her, but kept his hands gripped tightly on her hips, pressing his forehead to hers and closing his eyes as she fumbled with the key fob in her hand.  The car’s headlights blipped, giving a soft ca-chug as the locks disengaged and in the next instant, he had ripped her away from the car, yanked the backseat door open behind her, and shoved her backwards inside.

Her bottom landed awkwardly on the seat and she bumped her head on something as she moved to right herself.  She didn’t have time, though because Frankie was right behind her, looming over her and manhandling her further across the seat, hauling her legs into the car with one hand and slamming the door shut behind him with the other.  

It was dark in the backseat without the parking lot lights in this row, but she could make out his face, grim and determined as he yanked one of her legs up forcefully around his hip and knocked the other wide and into the footwell, widening her legs so that he could crouch between them.  She heard the distinct metallic clink of his belt buckle being undone, then almost immediately the pop of his button and soft shush of his zipper.  She could feel the heat radiating off of him and she saw again that dark gleam in his eyes as he shoved her shoulders down, made her lie back with her neck and head propped uncomfortably against the opposite passenger door.  

She wondered for a moment how much he had had to drink.  Was that why he was being so aggressive?  No, that couldn’t be it.  She had been with him before when he’d had too much to drink.  He got still and smiley and loved to put his face in her hair and sniff , or tangle their fingers together and make them dance on his stomach and chest while he sang a love song off key. 

This wasn’t her Frankie.

This wasn’t the Frankie that had called her his angel and begged her not to send him away the last time she had seen him.

This wasn’t the Frankie that was always so caring and gentle and thoughtful and slow.

This wasn’t the Frankie that always whispered to her that she was beautiful when he was inside of her, that told her how he was so lucky she had chosen him, that made sure she was always comfortable.

This Frankie?  This Frankie was something else entirely:

Dark.

Dangerous.

Angry.

And holy shit did she want him to fuck her.

His hands ripped at her skirt, pulling it high around her waist.  He didn’t stop to remove her panties, merely shoved them to the side as he pulled himself from his jeans.  He paused for just a moment, leaning over her, one hand next to her head on the seat holding himself up, the other hand gently tugging on his swollen cock.  She gazed up into his face trying to see his eyes, but he kept his head angled downward, seemingly mesmerized by the pump of his hand hovering over her heat.  She brought her hands up and twined them in his hair, uncovered now when his ball cap had been knocked from his head at some point.  She reveled for a split second in the feel of the silky brown locks between her fingers and thought briefly of those lazy Saturdays when they had laid in bed reading or napping or talking, his head resting on her stomach and her fingers carding through this same soft hair.  She felt him draw in a sharp breath at the touch and felt his body shudder.  But he still refused to look at her.  

She gathered more of his hair in her hands until she had two fist-fulls.  She slowly tightened her grip, then gave a firm but insistent tug with both hands.  His head finally lifted and she saw his eyes.  

The hurt that she remembered from the last time was still there, raw and real as ever.  Simmering below it was the darkness she had seen only a moment ago.  Covering all of it was a thin sheen of desire that colored everything else.  His eyes spoke to her clearly.  

He wanted her.  He knew that he shouldn’t want her.  But he was going to have her.

And it was not going to be gentle. Or sweet.  Or soft.

She nodded.  Yes.  Please.

Without warning, his eyes still locked with hers, he shoved himself inside of her with one hard push, fully seating himself.  It was abrasive and she hissed as his dry cock entered her core without any type of preparation.  She had only a split second to feel it though, before he yanked himself out, then back again, repeating the motion again and again.  Thankfully, as he thrust in and out of her, her own wetness spread, easing some of the pain from his initial entry.

There were no sweet, breathless pants of pet names, no cries of affirmation.  No calls to deities or lusty moans of pleasure.  There was simply the ragged sound of both of them breathing heavily in the small space, an occasional quiet gasp lighting the air.  The muffled sounds of his denim clad hips smacking into her naked thighs and ass drowned out most everything else.  His pace was manic and he rammed his hips into hers over and over so hard she imagined she would for sure have bruises on her hips tomorrow.  She squeezed her eyes shut more than once against the sharpness of his thrusts, trying not to cry out in pain.  It hurt a little, but the fact that it was Frankie made her want to sob with pleasure.  He pressed his forehead into the door behind her head, his breath puffing into her ear with each hard thrust and she snaked her arms up his back and shoulders the way she had always done, digging her nails forcefully into her skin along the way, making him hiss.  She whispered his name into his ear.

“Frankie…”

He yanked his head up, his eyes flashing with anger again and moved one hand from her hips to her throat.  He squeezed...hard, and she panicked for a moment.  This had never happened before.  She had never been afraid of him before but for an instant she was as she felt her windpipe close beneath his hand. She knew...she had never asked for details, but she knew...Frankie had killed people before, that he was capable...she had no doubt he could snap her neck right here in her own car if he wanted to.  But just as the thought entered her brain he released his grip, but kept his hand firmly wrapped around her throat.  He buried his face back next to her ear, growling and spitting out words between each powerful thrust of his hips.

“Shut up.  Don’t say my fucking name.  Don’t say anything.  Just shut up. Shut the fuck up.”

His voice was dark, but she heard the desperation lacing the edges.  

This was only for this moment.  This was nothing past the inside of this car.  

Frankie needed to feel her, needed to get off.  This frantic, off-limits, out of control act of violently fucking his ex in the backseat of her car was not something he wanted to be doing.  But the alternative-what he had chosen in the past, before Natalie-would ruin any slim chance there might be of ever getting this woman back if again.

He could have found someone else; a warm body.  It wouldn’t have been that hard...some willing woman in a bar on any given night.  But he couldn’t make that choice, either.  He couldn’t  find peace in someone that wasn’t her...because no one else could make him feel at peace and whole the way she could.  His angel.

So, rather than hold her close and tell her he loved her and worship her body and bring her to ecstasy over and over and over again, here he was treating her like a cheap fuck, pretending that she wasn’t the woman he loved; the woman that had broken his heart.  And he couldn’t pretend when she was breathing his name into his ear.

Without any words, without him having to explain any of that, Natalie understood.

He thrust into her once more...twice...three more times, each seemingly harder than the last and then he let out a cry filled with desperation and sadness as he spilled himself inside of her.  Tears welled in his eyes as he felt himself twitching inside of her, the familiar feeling of her walls cradling him nearly sending those tears pouring down his face.  He felt his stomach turn to water and his neck began to burn with shame.  He hated that he hadn’t taken time to get her off, that she had read his need and had willingly let him take her, allowed him to be selfish.

He hated himself.  

He pulled himself out of her slick heat, practically kicking the car door open and tucking himself back into his jeans as he stepped out of the vehicle.  He couldn’t look her in the eye.  Without a word, he turned and walked away from her car, crossing the parking lot as fast as he could, climbing into his beat up old pickup and peeling away.  Natalie still lay breathless in the backseat as she heard the roar of his truck engine, the door of her car still wide open, her legs splayed and her skirt hiked up to her waist, his cum dripping from inside of her and pooling onto the seat beneath her.

****

Later, when she pulled into her driveway, she realized she had no idea where her purse was.  She remembered she had had it in her hand when Frankie had kissed her.  Without looking, she reached behind the front passenger seat and grasped blindly into the footwells until her hand knocked against something solid. She grabbed it and realized immediately it wasn’t her purse, but she couldn’t identify it.  When she brought her hand forward to examine the item, she stopped breathing.

It was Frankie’s baseball cap.

Clutching it to her chest, she felt herself shatter into a million pieces. She caught a whiff of Frankie: his shampoo, his cologne, the sweat from his brow.

She buried her face into the cap and sobbed.

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