The cricket you can't find that won't shut up

If anyone has been in any doubt about what Anathema was thinking the line that would have made it utterly clear would have been..

...the "two consenting cycle repairmen".

In the UK the 1957 Wolfenden Report recommended that 'homosexual behaviour between consenting adults in private should be no longer a criminal offence'. And the phrase "consenting adults" became a euphemism for gay men once the recommendations of the report were put into action and male homosexual acts were decriminalized. (It took a decade and happened in 1967.)

Later in the movie, when Barbie is crying about how she isn’t pretty anymore, the narrator cuts in to say as a note to the movie creators that Margot Robbie was probably not the best casting choice to make that point. Allan, able to hear and understand the creators voice must have heard this and therefore must know that he is in a movie.

Because crazy people are often The Spiral's preferred victims, rather than its preferred Avatars. One of the main themes of The Spiral is how the mentally ill are societally and culturally victimized, demonized, and just flat out ignored. From Season 1 Jon dismissing the very real supernatural threats reported to him as schizophrenia, to that one episode where the guy is refusing to believe his grandfather is actually being stalked by the Distortion because he's schizophrenic, even going as far as to dismiss his own childhood experiences with the creature for that end.

Also, Doctor David. He's just, the physical embodiment of every unhelpful and abusive psychologist in existence.

terry pratchett writing crowley: this dork thinks he’s so cool, wearing sunglasses indoors and walking into things. nerd. look at yourself. 

and lastly.

saying “speedrun strats” every time you fuck up

Actions taken in specific, negative conditions don’t exemplify the nature of all beings.

Civilian doesn’t like trouble, but they also don’t like dead bodies, and the body they just found is very close to being dead.

Part 1

CW: medical care, waking up somewhere unfamiliar, flashbacks, discomfort with body, loss of people, vague suicidal idea, I’m not sure what else so please let me know.

~

Villain woke to an overload of sensations. Hot and cold, numb and agonised. His mouth was dry and his stomach panged both hungry and sick, and worst of all he felt scattered, his mind here and there, unable to settle itself inside his body and connect the dots together.

Opening his eyes was impossible, so he took a moment to calm down, to breath, to remember where he was and-

Where was he? More importantly how was he even alive to wonder that?

As Villain became more present in his body he could feel the firmness of bandages around his limbs, cradling the pain just a little, something soft and slightly too warm draped over him. He can’t be home, that was no longer a place that existed, but then where?

Slowly, painfully so, Villain forced his eyes open. The world blurred and spun at first and it took everything in him not to retreat back into unconsciousness. He blinked until he could see the off white ceiling above him, the top of the couch that he was laid on. His brows knitted together and he lowered his gaze as much as he could down to his body. His movements were fumbling and it was an effort to grab the blanket on top of him and pull it off. It didn’t up being more of a drag, his arm simple collapsing back down with the cloth in its grasp.

Looking at his own body was uncomfortable, each bruise, each cut bringing back a flashing memory with it. Villain took in a breath, looked back up at the ceiling.

It was then a faint sound came into his awareness. He didn’t know what it was at first, some time of inconsistent tapping. The frown creased his features again and he turned his head, an exhausting motion, and looked to the rest of the lounge room.

A couple of metres away a person sat in an armchair, their feet propped up onto the coffee table and a laptop balanced in their lap.

Villain’s body reacted on an instinct that was cut short with agony. He tried to shoot up, and was choked by his ribs screaming, the stitches on his torso pulling. Villain gasped, coughed, regretted everything. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Civilian said, not looking up from their computer.

Villain did not listen, why would he? He kept trying, pushing through the pain and not getting very far. Civilian sighed, closed their laptop and placed it on the coffee table when they stood, before striding over to him.

“You need to lay down,” they said, reaching out to push on his shoulder.

Villain snatched up their wrist.

“Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?” He snapped, trying once again but they reach out with their other hand and placed it firmly on his shoulder. If he were in any other state, he had a mind to break it.

“I’m the person who saved your life,” they said, effortlessly pulling their wrist free and used both hands to ease him back down. “And if you undo all my hard work I am going to be very upset.”

Villain fumed. He had no strength to fight against them as they forced him back down and the sheer audacity made his jaw tighten.

“And who exactly would you be,” he ground out.

Villain didn’t try and get back up, but not because Civilian told him to.

“My name is Civilian,” they said. “You’re in my apartment, I found you outside in the alleyway.”

No matter how hard he tried Villain couldn’t remember how he got there. Everything was mostly a blur of panic and pain and so much blood. He had honestly prepared himself to die that day, had thought he had.

Villain focussed his attention on to Civilian, eyed them over, the lack of fear, the concern.

“Do you know who I am?” Villain asked.

“Yes,” Civilian said.

Villain’s brows rose, then knitted emotions shifting and twisting.  

“And you helped me? What kind of madman would do that?”

Civilian shrugged. “You were hurt, you needed help, not much more to it then that.”

“You expect anyone to believe that?”

They crossed their arms.

“It’s not a lie,” they said.

“So you just help war criminals?” Villain said, “is that what good Samaritans are these days?”

“Technically helping a person regardless of who they are is in fact what makes a good Samaritan, however that’s not what you are saying.”

Civilian stepped back until they sat on the coffee table.

“I wouldn’t exactly call you a war criminal either, that would mean we are at war.”

“Aren’t we?” Villain asked.

Civilian eyed them, shrugged.

Despite Villain’s distrust they could see no lie in them, no mask to find a crack in. This person, however unlikely, helped them purely because they could and that boggled Villain a little.

“Then I assume the heroes are on their way here to collect me?” He said, poking and prodding.

Civilian scoffed at that, a bitter distaste in their expression that surprised Villain.

“I wouldn’t call those oafs for a lost puppy. They’d probably kill it trying to find it.”

Villain subdued a laugh, both for his ribs and reputation.

“So what then, you just plan on nursing me back to health and sending me on my merry way?”

Civilian narrowed their eyes.

“You’re sounding like you don’t appreciate the fact that I saved your life. Would you have rather I left you to die?”

Villain did not answer. No, maybe, no of course not but where did that leave him? Alone and incapacitated in a city not his own, his organisation in tattered scrambles if not all but destroyed by now. How pitiful is that? Alone and taken in by a random stranger, stuck and helpless.

Civilian sighed, “look, obviously something horrible happened to you and you’re stressed and scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Villain said sharper then intended.  

Civilian looked at him with an expression soft and serious. One that looked knowing, like it could see through the layers of masks and glamour he had over himself, right into the terrified little core. His smile faded, jaw tightened.

“I’m not scared,” Villain repeated a little less convincing. “I can come back from this.”

“I’m sure you can,” Civilian said. “But before you can you need to rest and heal. How about we take a break from this interrogation and get you some water and food?”

The sensations of hunger and thirst and bodily exhaustion re-emerged with a vengeance and Villain felt dizzy.

“If you let me, I will help you sit up.”

Villain repelled at the thought.

“I don’t need your help.”

“It’s that or I help you through a straw.”

Villain liked that less.

“Fine,” Villain said.

Civilian got up off the coffee table and step forward, ever so gently grabbing Villain and helping him into a seated position. It took time and effort and many sharp breaths from Villain, but they eventually got there and Villain felt dizzy, as if sitting on top of a sky scraper rather then a couch. And it only got worse when Civilian’s hand left his side, like the very ground itself was opening up and swallowing him. Villain took a breath, closed his eyes.

“You ok?”

Villain opened his eyes to Civilian standing in front of him again, a glass of water in their hands. He opened his mouth to speak but the words tumbled together as his entire attention span zeroed in on the glass. Civilian helped bring it to his mouth while Villian mostly just held onto it pretneding he was strong enough to hold it up.

The water stung against his lips, but the cool sensation against his raw throat made up for it. He downed the glass, some of the dizziness easing, a small amount of relief spreading through his body. Civilian went and refilled the glass and Villain drank that one almost as fast.

“That’s all I’m giving you for now, don’t want to overdo it.”

Villain wanted to disagree but what power did he have in that moment to change anything? Civilian could do whatever and he would have no choice.

“Is there anyone I can contact for you?” Civilian asked as they returned to the lounge room.

Many names and numbers came to mind, but as each appeared Villain crossed them off. Dead, gone, betrayed, dead, dead, dead. Villain reached the end of the list, not a single name left.

“No,” Villain said. It came out quieter then he wanted, but in that moment he couldn’t care less.   

Civilian watched him, and Villain wanted to think his face was a blank slate, neutral or stoic anything other then what he knew it was. Pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” Civilian said.

Rage flared. “I don’t want your pity,” Villain snapped.

“You don’t have it,” Civilian snapped back. “You have my sympathy, or empathy or whatever, I can’t remember which is which. Losing people hurts, its simple fact.”

Villain’s instinct was to cross his arms, put up a shield and ignore the statement but he couldn’t and that left him feeling exposed.

“Who are you really? Is this some sort of ploy by the Heroes?” Villain said. He looked around, “put me in some dingy apartment to lower my guard or whatever.”

Civilian raised a brow. “Would that work?”

Villain glared.

“I am not in the mood for games.”

“And I am not playing a game,” Civilian said. “Look this isn’t the most convenient thing for me. I didn’t plan to have a homicidal asshole in my apartment but here we are, you can either accept my help or drag yourself out the door because I am not picking you up again.”

They stood and, before Villain could snap something back, went into the kitchen. Villain heard the fridge door open, the crack of a container before being shoved into a microwave.

They were right, he needed help and he couldn’t even leave by himself if he wanted to, which he did. He had no one to turn to, heroes hunting him and nothing but a random civilian who had the heart to not let him die. Perhaps, just for a little while, he will put up with this pathetic situation.

Civilian walked back in once again, still looking a little sour but none the less they plucked a cushion off the arm chair and shoved it into Villain’s lap before placing a plate of food on top. The smell of food made his mouth water instantly and it took everything within him not to shovel the steaming pile into his mouth. Instead, he looked up at them.

“What is this?”

“Reheated chicken and vegetable bake, you need to eat.”

“It smells awful,” Villain said even though it absolutely didn’t. It smelled like the best thing he had ever smelt.

When Villain looked up Civilian was trying to cover a smile, failed, and instead turned and disappeared behind the couch again.

Villain poked at the food with the fork, shifting it around watching more steam roll out. He stabbed a piece of chicken, raised it up to blow on it. The motion hurt but not nearly enough to deter him from the food. Even a bite of chicken made everything feel a little easier, like he was a little more alive.

The rest of the night went awkwardly. Eventually Villain had to lay back down, the act of sitting too much of a strain, and he had regrettably denied help, jarring his ribs on the way down. It took a good few minute for that spike of pain to subside, for his breath to come back fully.

Civilian checked his wounds later, their hands gentle and skilled. A random stranger who had taken first aid classes, how convenient.

 ~

Part 3

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