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@pietistics
“ i would bury myself if i could. ” a selective writing blog for eliot "eli" cardale from the villains series. low activity. because of the highly triggering subject material on this blog, i don't follow first. written by taylor, she/they. ( temp rules: @ compunctions. )
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a look of incredulous displeasure changed his face then, and for the second he held his silence, he wondered if he was imagining things; what sort of shitty compliment did he think he was handing out? a scoff came out, then a disbelieving shake of his head. and just as casually, the other eo went about his business as if nothing prior had just happened, or almost happened, or what he wanted in truth had been inches from him; rifling through folders after what kenneth assumed he believed was a good enough lay down of sweet words and polite manners to get away with it all. it hadn't worked. before eli could whip out more excuses, he held up his hand and pinched his near his own lips.
❛❛ shut up, ❜❜ he snapped out the words with growing impatience, the intrusion of the phone long forgotten. instead, his anger had been redirected at another target. ❛❛ this means, shut up. if that's your trashy excuse for compliments, keep them. ❜❜
the momentary lapse in judgement ended. the colour washed back from his face, leaving only stony ire and irritation. then, as eli began to elaborate, he was capable of doing his own work, but enjoyed wasting kenneth's time with input. ❛❛ my input. ❜❜ his jaw ticked. the word stuck out like a red nose. his desire to work earnestly with eli fell through a pothole and didn't see the light of day again on the other side. ❛❛ here's some output for you then, get fucked. i'm going back to sleep. ❜❜
sincerely befuddled, eli stood a moment staring at ken with a vague frown on his mouth, irritated too, then pursed his lips. just the night before, things were tender between them. only they could swing between tempos like this — the eo's eyes drifted briefly to the ceiling in a gesture he may have borrowed from kenneth, or a random passerby on the street — the chance for either stood very high. please, god. then, he edged closer, his dark brown eyes narrowing. ❛ why are you acting like i insulted you? ❜ eli asked, brows knitted so taut they seemed almost to come together.
❛ you called me lazy and told me to do the work myself — so i reminded you that i while i can, i prefer to have your thoughts now. you see things differently than i do. i like it. ❜ it hadn't always been this way; it seemed only a short time ago that eli struggled to share control at all. his rituals were precious. desire left him swiftly. ❛ alright. ❜ half growling, eli scowled, then, leaving his phone behind. he led the way back into their home and, without a word, went to the kitchen where he began to prepare a late-night snack of sliced apples and strawberries for ken. while he didn't expect the matter to be dropped so easily, at least he could show he still cared. still wanted him fed. swiping a bottle of water, too, he gathered food and drink and headed toward their bedroom. as he walked, he prepared his pride for the assuagement to come. ❛ ken? let's make up, ❜ came his defeated voice. he crossed the barrier, sighing already.
sighs. going to revamp this freak before i go back to work / classes start again.
Carnival of Souls (1962) dir. Herk Harvey
his exasperation seeps through the room, manifesting the way the lights above and around them faintly glimmer. when he closes his arms across his chest and looks away, petty frustration and denial, he hears out eli long enough to satisfy his own impatience. in reality, what he looked for was any indication the moment prior had been worth something, or reflected a resemblance to what he had been anticipating. — at first, there's nothing there, and his teeth grit. what misunderstandings? he braced for what he suspected would come but it never did. rather than brush away and rewrite the impulse they had nearly shared, eli prodded him to continue.
❛❛ oh, misunderstandings, ❜❜ he murmured quietly, but in refusing to wear his uncertainty, canted his chin high instead. walking back towards the scatter of documents and content they'd left on the table, he said, ❛❛ i suppose that's what this is. ❜❜
but in the time between then and now, when the hold on him had been let go, eli did the unexpected; bowing over him, taller and irritatingly imposing, with a brush of his mouth to his cheek. go on, he was saying, as if he hadn't robbed his tongue too. a lengthy pause ensued, where he struggled to find the right words or to even remember his train of thought. ❛❛ i— well. ❜❜ he brushed a hand lightly over his own cheek, the spot that had been kissed. it ran hot as a fever now, voice chirping with sudden complaint. ❛❛ —of course it is. am i going to do all the work for you? you're a lousy cow. do it yourself. ❜❜
eli cocked a careful brow and followed ken back to the table spread with documents. ❛ yes. what's wrong? don't like that word? ❜ a dry sort of tease, then the eo pressed close, one hand alighting the blond's waist, fingers squeezing for several dragging seconds before his hands fell still by his sides. it was as if his mind and body were in constant battle, one determined not to touch, the other stubbornly reaching out, anyway. want was never logical. want was never scientific. eli stared at the papers below, eyes sweeping distractedly over the bold letters, the names, the dates, the addresses he'd need to comb over for efficiency. if he forced himself to focus on the mission and the inevitable thrill that came with its completion, he'd make it out of this with his pride intact. (or would he?)
kenneth was blushing; eli caught sight of the heat on his face, watched as he touched his palm to his kissed cheek, and smiled. at least they were both distracted. at least he didn't have to suffer alone. still grinning, eli reached for one of the folders and began to thumb through its contents like they were his priority. they weren't. not anymore. ken had come in and changed everything. the names the other man called him hardly stuck — cow? so what? eli snorted and shook his head from side to side, looking at the sheets as he spoke. ❛ enough. i was complimenting you. ❜ here, their eyes met in a slow, deliberate flicker. eli's grin, before so smug, fell gradually into a concentrated frown. ❛ i'm more than capable of doing the work in my own way, i did it for years. i just like your input. it's valuable to me. you open my eyes. ❜
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"I am what you designed me to be. You cannot complain if you also feel the hurt." — Charles Dickens, Great Expectations.
1. "Another Like Him", Frankenstein: A New Musical 2. Frankenstein (1931), directed by James Whale 3. Frankenstein, by R.N Sandberg 4. Frankenstein (1973), directed by Glenn Jordan 5. Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens 6. Terror of Frankenstein (1977), directed by Calvin Floyd 7. Elektra, by Sophocles 8. Frankenstein (2004), directed by Kevin Connor 9. Adventure Time (2010-2018), Season 4, Episode 20 10. Frankenstein (1992), directed by David Wickes 11. "What Could Have Been", Sting
despite the plea at his back, he kept his pace and refused to heed it — and eli wouldn't expect him to, wouldn't be foolish enough to hope that his word would be heeded so easily. not when there had been a slight, however imagined, because the interruption was less about a nuisance and more about what it had been exposed [that careful want he had bound up in wraps, unveiled with terribly clarity and vulnerability when it seemed the feeling would be returned, only to find it hanging naked in mid-air]. ❛❛ got shit to do. ❜❜ a hand snatched out and caught a hold of his wrist. it stopped him meters away from the door, forcing his head to turn, and drawing out an exhale once their eyes met.
just a spam call. he hesitated by the door, throat hot. when he tried to tug back his wrist, eli only took those vacant steps forward. when he looked up, the eyes staring back at him looked like pockets of coal. with a shake of his head, and the touch around his wrist burning goose-bumps up his limb, he tried to take his hand back anyway. ❛❛ fine. but if you're not even listening to me . . . ❜❜
the hunter knew kenneth had things to do; he just didn't care. he selfishly wanted his attention, needed it. craved it with a carnal sort of intensity. his fingers curled around ken's sleeve first, then his wrist, his firm yet not harsh grip letting it be known that he was serious. that he was there, begging for... what, exactly? certainly not just a kiss. certainly not something so cut and dry. his need for the other went far beyond physical pleasure. it was embedded in his essence, this love, this want. it was greedy. he didn't care about ken's preoccupations, he wanted him to stay.
❛ can't it wait? ❜ a knitting of his brows here, dark eyes sweeping kenneth over. ❛ i don't want there to be any misunderstandings between us. ❜ a rich thing for him to say. historically, eli was the source of nearly every misunderstanding they had, every miscommunication. he watched as ken's resolve slowly softened despite this and let out a breath he hadn't meant to hold. ❛ thank you. ❜ words rarely uttered. the blond pulled taut at his wrist then, trying to free himself, and eli reluctantly let it go, but not before bowing his head as if in prayer and brushing his lips over skin. ❛ go on, i'm listening. you were saying that i should attack from behind, right? ❜ a twinkle in his eye here, a tell-tale sign of excitement he'd never admit to; he'd heard everything, distracted or no. ❛ that's clean and efficient. i like it. ❜
[ almost ] sender and receiver are centimeters apart, about to kiss, but something interrupts them
he felt it happen because the light aroound the room had changed, reorienting itself; his eyes, fixed one minute on the laptop screen, glanced up at eli's moving shadow creeping close towards him. even as they spoke by the tool shop in the garage, mid-discussion on the pedantic details and arguments around the next hit, there had been with a well maintained distance. an uncertain one as much as a necessary one, though he hadn't thought anything of it at the start, and most certainly hadn't predicted that eli would move to change the mechanics of this game they had been playing on egg shells. that it happened at all meant his words trailed off uselessly.
❛❛ it's better if you go around the bastard, ❜❜ he was saying, arms folded and eyes shot to sharpness beneath his glare. his hands had moved around confidential documents acquired from places that combined eli's developed talent for stalking and kenneth's content in dingier places than prison. ❛❛ if he controls sound-waves, his back will be vul— ❜❜
there it went, eli's shadow. one minute as far away from him as he could be, and the next he was beside him. a hand settled down above the makeshift table, close to his own, and his head canted down like he wanted to whisper a secret. a flaxen tuft of his own hair brushed the eo's brow, close enough that his breath stilled moments before their lips would touch. a quick, startling cry got there first; he moved back instinctively, his body taut and his eyes swerving to the blaring phone in eli's pocket. he opened his mouth to speak before clipping it shut, irritated. ❛❛ i'll be inside. ❜❜
* for @pietistics, eli ever.
eli hadn't meant to tune out kenneth's words. he was listening, nodding along even, to the blond's sound logic, his plans (he trusted his reasoning openly now; time healed some things.) but then he caught sight of his lips, the curve of them, the bob of his throat as he talked, and leaned forward, longing threatening to spill like blood. the files hardly mattered in that moment. ken's hand was on the table, so he slid his own near it, their fingers touching just so. their mouths moved too, angling just right, breath on breath... eli could almost taste him. wanted to, feverishly, but the anticipated kiss never came. the eo's phone rang, cutting the moment in half.
he looked down, irate, hissing where ken tensed, feeling the urge to grab his phone and toss it violently across the garage. ❛ wait, ❜ he grumbled, like it'd matter. like he could command kenneth vareck of all people to do anything. eli stared at the screen, scowling: SPAM RISK in bold letters danced on it, mocking him. mocking the missed moment. they'd been interrupted by complete nonsense. somehow, this angered him more. eli set his cell on the tool desk with a huff and a thump and trailed the other, grabbing for his sleeve. ❛ stay. it was no one. just a spam call. ❜
raven had not slept the night before, as the sun rose, the possibility of making the morning dew her bedtime routine. but she’s opted for a direct affront to nidra devi. she’s chosen to not sleep at all. in her hand, the assam latte keeping her awake. no god, no divine creature can ever punish her anymore, she was born in the depths of condemnation and further penance will not drive her into more blood - righteous darkness. curious eyes, unquenchable thirst, adorned with melting blue shadows and the evidence of sleep deprivation: can he feel the weight of the bitter loneliness on his back ? or is he unaware of the spirits woven into his defensive tone ? eli is a creature of outstanding mystery to raven, and when challenges take form in people, she’s unable to give up. even less so when she's tempted into the theologies of fate.
‘ so you believe in god ? ’ those beyond the clutches of humanity often bypass the beliefs of divine control, so it troubles her to have her belief countered so easily. she won’t push, she’s simply desperate to understand. and so they remain two unmoved pillars in the brightness of day, yet touched by the darkness of death. ‘ i have also prayed to a god that did not want me to change, ’ she shrugs, apologetically vulnerable. it’s no weakening confession, she otalks freely about the misery and strength religion has evoked in her worshiping soul, as long as her need of worship is not brought into question. he doesn't know her for what she truly is, and she's content in the shadows. ‘ maybe i prayed to the wrong god, or they chose the wrong image to decide for me. either way i am happier without one. does your god make you happy ? ’
❛ i do. do you? ❜ he asked slowly, testily, jaw working a bit — and after he gave his answer, he looked @azarathian over, a sidelong, searching glance. slow and tracking. unhurried. she was a difficult one to read. eli had grown up mapping others out, bringing to the surface their wishes and likes, their dislikes, their fears, all so he could appeal to them. fit himself briefly into a box they'd accept. slip under their skin. he didn't seek raven's approval, yet he used these tactics, anyway, or tried to, to analyze her; she may as well have been shrouded in smoke. he frowned at his failure and looked ahead at passing cars to hide it. sipped his coffee like it didn't matter. the liquid warmed his throat and sweetened his tongue, a contrast to the topic at hand. she spoke some more, her words uncomfortable and far too pointed; he wanted to squirm, but didn't.
a liar by both habit and necessity, eli ever was not sure how honest she was being, but found himself intrigued, anyway. talk of god always cut down to his marrow, woke him up, roused his limbs. he couldn't play at indifference, it was futile. reverence and haunt glittered in his dark eyes. ❛ ah. faithless, then, ❜ the eo observed without judgment, tone deliberately even — he'd been intimate with too many atheists to take offense to differences now. ❛ i'm afraid you have idealistic views. as lesser beings, we have no choice but to follow god's will and trust that he has something in store for us. something greater. life isn't always pleasant, and god doesn't guarantee happiness, only fulfillment once it's all over, a purpose. a reason for being. that's what he has granted me. it's enough. does pointless suffering truly satisfy you? ❜
fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am an observer, but not by choice.’
[text id: my fist has always been clenched around the handle of an invisible suitcase. / i am always ready to leave. / there is not a single room in this world where i belong.]
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victorious news that i don't entirely hate means a spark of muse for me, perhaps.
Robert Redford as Mr. Death in The Twilight Zone 3.16 Nothing in the Dark
eli ever was arrogant and snide, and he'd find it easier to dismiss and chalk up to false bravado if he looked uglier doing it. but try as he might, his own moods were closer to a gun with the safety off, ready to ping-pong bullets everywhere he knew the sun didn't shine on his say so. ❛❛ you were busy not listening to me, so i took the initiative and— ❜❜ digging into his pocket, he pulled out his middle finger. ❛❛ teamwork, my ass. ❜❜ turning around, he regarded the heap behind the stacks that eli had finally caught sight of. a hypothetical police report, he imagined, wouldn't quite know what to make of what of this.
when eli spoke again, kenneth turned on him with a bland look of exasperation. ❛❛ that's the point, genius. no wound, no suspect, no crime. ❜❜ he made a gesture whirling a finger at his ear, his smile equally arrogant and snide. ❛❛ you get slower on your way down here, ever? ❜❜ unlike the hunter, kenneth had little interest in drawing city-wide attention, charges of felony, or the risk of seducing the entire might of merit police on his ass.
as for the victims, they were soot. faces unrecognisable, teeth shattered from heat, and their fingerprints gone. as far as anyone knew anymore, they had never existed. from his other pocket, he pulled out a cigarette and lit the end with his thumb, glancing over his shoulder at the eo he had defied with a longer smile than the last cat's. ❛❛ the fuck're you waiting for? get rid of them. ❜❜
eli scowled at ken's insolence, but beneath the sour expression was something else, a desire to snort, to smile fondly; he was under eli's skin now, burrowed deep, a permanent fixture. the hunter scoffed, his low sigh sounding much like the word 'brat', and sunk to a morbid crouch near the ruined bodies. it was a loose way to describe them — ruined — and he felt the urge to prod at their corpses with a stick. to study them. he looked around for one, a left and right turn of his head, but found nothing. straightened, defeated, his mouth a grim line as he turned to regard ken. ❛ can't i be curious about your methods? after all, you know what i do. be fair. ❜ they were so different from his; eli used bullets, knives if he had to, brute force. carefully timed shoves, cars. luck. he had no light to wield. beneath his frustrations, though, was something reverent and alive; he was fascinated by everything ken did, ken who stirred awake the part of him that had been drawn to eos in the first place. it was a dangerous thing, to be reached that way, but it was addictive, too; he couldn't leave it alone. couldn't leave this alone. neither could ken.
they stared at one another for a long beat before eli strode over and stopped an arms' length distance, head angled. serious. ❛ what makes you think you can boss me around like that? ❜ flat, low. but he'd listen. he'd rid them both, and the world, of those bodies, those former men, as if he'd killed them himself. it was a futile thing to pretend he could resist. he worked his jaw, dug through his coat pockets for a ziplock bag. inside were gloves, the expensive sort; eli slipped them on, wiggled his fingers for fitting, mouth rattling all the while. ❛ we could've done this together. ❜ a grim bonding experience indeed. ken lit up a cigarette and puffed his worries away, like he was unbothered by eli's chides. a breeze pushed through the air; he wished suddenly that it'd snuff the other's flame. once his hands were sufficiently covered, the immortal rooted for a second thing; a box of cigars, snatched a few days prior from their victim. he fished one out, raised it in the air. ❛ light this for me. i have a plan. ❜ it was simple, really: eli would tuck the thing in the grip of the dead and set it ablaze with a bit of gasoline. the farmhouse had many bottles — he had checked it on arrival.
he’d known something was amiss for a while now. something felt off inside of him, imbalanced, like scales tipping too much to one side. carrying too much weight one would say — he feels out of proportion to his own existence. but it wasn’t he who was tottering his scales, it was someone connected to him, someone he has connected to beyond a shadow of a doubt. someone he can feel. a man who’s unrivaled agony tore through matías in ways many have never, but there was something else now when thoughts drifted to eli, when he let himself see through his eyes. slaughter, blood — so much blood — and within said killings there was a callosity that near brought the angel to his very knees. he could feel the collective pain of not merely humans, but particularly those who vibrated at different frequencies, immortals, like matías himself… but not quite. they weren’t lost angels.
he’d tracked his way to eli. watching image after image flicker through his minds eye like a horror film on loop. assisted murders? eli was killing them. “ you know how i found you, no te hagas, ” voice uncharacteristically even, devoid of any pleasant lilts he uses when speaking to appease or when in good humor. eyes snap down eli’s frame as if he could x-ray beneath the coat, as if he could glare beneath his very flesh ever so promptly but in an equally thorough once over. “ eli, ” he continues, voice now carrying the weight of concern he so desperately desires to suppress in this moment but appears wholly unable to. “ what are you doing? what have you done? ” coal eyes gaze past the horrors he’s come to witness on his voyage there and settle on someone he once knew. someone he hopes can be saved. “ por dios, what’s happened to you? ”
matías's tone, or lack thereof, made him feel chagrined; resentful, he found himself glaring, dark gaze slanted just briefly at a slab of pavement behind the other, before seconds dragged and eye contact called. had he seen what he'd done? had he felt it? his temporary death in the tub, every removal and kill since. of course. all those months without direct contact and eli assumed the thread had been severed, snapped. their connection was always too one-sided, anyway; eli, an ever-growing void, chasing divine violence and approval, feeling nothing but the swell of his own regenerative heart. it was a lonely existence made lonelier still by slaughter. god's will was not always pretty — neither was eli's... he had no dear connections, but how could he? he snuffed out the life of anyone who could relate. the eo's fingers brushed again over the cool surface of his gun, a self-soothing gesture, nothing more; lead would only inconvenience them.
mat's eyes tracked eli slowly, like he could see right down to his marrow. he wanted to squirm, to curse him, to strike him and walk away, hide, but remained still instead. couldn't let that temper show, couldn't let anyone else get beneath his calm. perhaps god had sent matías his way again for a reason. ❛ don't do what? ❜ brows furrowed, slipping his hands from his pockets at last to show the other his bare palms. no weapons, no threat; every lethal thing remained tucked away. eli's arms fell to his sides then, still and taut, face full of discomfort. he longed for someone to understand what he was doing, to see that he had no choice, but wouldn't hold his breath. after all, victor had never understood. and who knew him better? no one. he exhaled, jaw working, and spoke freely. it was a relief to let it all pour, like the flood; there was no point in concealing his actions, not when matías was an unwilling participant. ❛ isn't it obvious? don't you feel it? i sinned. i let my hubris get the best of me, and now i'm making things right. ❜ bold words from a man whose hubris still jerked him around like a self-righteous puppet. ❛ don't think you can stop me. only he can — ❜ a right-handed gesture to the looming grey sky above. it had never felt so vast. ❛ and believe me, i've given him ample opportunity to let me bleed to death. ❜
dexter starters ( showtime’s dexter s2ep2.)
“ i finally get a chance to kill and i can’t do it.”
“ and now all my secrets are floating to the surface.”
“ how did i lose it? how do i find it again?”
“ how can i solve a crime when i can’t even solve what’s wrong with me?”
“ has a nice ring to it, no?”
“ last thing ___ needs is another serial killer.”
“ why don’t you take a picture? it’ll last longer.”
“ what would i do without you?”
“ grandma really talks like that?”
“ you get the point. right, bitch?”
“ fucking people don’t want our help.”
“ this stuff never gets to you?”
“ i’m more of a cry on the inside kinda guy.”
“ what? i’m so over that.”
“ just… prove it to me.”
“ it’s like you’re just fucking with me.”
“ couldn’t pick a worse time, right?”
“ hey, how about you take off? let me handle this.”
“ i couldn’t let you do that.”
“ i owe you.”
“ i can’t even go there.”
“ this one’s on us, man.”
“ i have to focus. tune everything out.”
“ timing could be better.”
“ … oh. it’s you.”
“ who else you got following you?”
“ go ahead. try it. i’ve been waitin’.”
“ this neighborhood? it’s full of crazies. i’d lock my doors.”
“ bathroom’s all yours.”
“ we ran outta glasses?”
“ come on, give it a chance.”
“ sweetie, what’s the matter?”
“ what kind of weird?”
“ no. no, calm was what i was 35 minutes ago. pissed is what i am now.”
“ hey! who want’s eggos? i got blueberry, or chocolate. or both.”
“ assholes! they did everything but help.”
“ which assholes were you talking to?”
“ i didn’t ask for your help, or your advice.”
“ i’ll never understand how people deal with death. why they can’t just… put it in it’s place.”
“ not exactly ideal in the element of surprise department.”
“ i have to find a new way to dispose of the body.”
“ you totally douched me in there.”
“ you clocked a guy in a bar who touched your arm…“
“ well, thank you for the fucking vote of confidence.”
“ hey. just visualize that door of opportunity opening up wide for you, bro, and just walk right through it.”
“ you keep up with this woo-woo shit, imma walk right through you.”
“ that come with a story?”
“ well, you should be more careful, amigo.”
“ they had to bring in outside talent. which would be moi.”
“ bet this guy never expected his work to see in the light of day.”
“ i bet you’re right.”
“ still, it can’t be easy to hide a body nowadays.”
“ you shittin’ me?”
“ hypothetical: how do you make sure disposed body stay disposed?”
“ don’t all those run the risk of contact with the outside world?”
“ you got a better idea?”
“ there is no such thing as the perfect crime. not in my experience, anyway.”
“ well, we have something in common.”
“ miss me?”
“ i need to clear the decks… and my head.”
“ they, uh… ate my puppy.”
“ you may have to get closer than you like.”
“ i’m doin’ enough damage on my own.”
“ that was a yes. sounded like a no, but… yeah.”
“ you scared the shit outta me.”
“ how you doin’?”
“ don’t! you fuckin’ asked… so, how am i doing? i’m just fine.”
“ come on, don’t get the shakes now. this is no time for performance anxiety.”
“ i’ve been waitin’ for you.”
“ come out, come out, wherever you are!”
“ what the hell is wrong with me?”
“ it’s okay, i got you.”
“ don’t leave me! please, don’t leave me!”
“ want me to knock out some doors? or maybe some heads?”
“ what fucking asshole left this here?”
“ it’s ‘special agent’ fucking asshole.”
“ frankly, you’re more of a leader than a team-player.”
“ i’m not convinced you play well with others.”
“ i feel like a jigsaw-puzzle missing a piece.”
“ i’ve been calling you for hours.”
“ i kinda pulled an all nighter.”
“ it’s, uh… it’s taking me to places i never thought i’d go.”
“ he was such a destructive force. why can’t you just put him behind you?”
“ i’m just gonna make you late.”
“ dammit, ___! i need you there too.”
“ you have no idea what this feels like.”
“ can’t wait to get another door slammed in my face.”
“ that’s it. put that out into the universe, alright?”
“ look on the bright side. comically, we’re batting a thousand.”
“ please, don’t shoot me, miss/mister.”
“ if i believed in god. if i believed in sin… this is the place where i’d be sucked straight to hell… if i believed in hell.”
“ i’m so sorry for your loss.”
“ i’m not sorry.”
“ you’re still here.”
“ i killed you.”
“ no. you just took my life.”
“ so how do i make you go away?”
“ i’m not like them.”
“ now, if it helps, i can tell you it’s not your fault, what you did to me.”
“ i’m not human.”
“ no. you’re just fucked up.”
“ you think it’s as simple as that?”
“ excuse me, i opened this by mistake.”
“ today it is all about the win. i think we really should enjoy this.”
“ i really appreciate your support.”
“ it was simple, really.”
“ all i had to do was put myself into the mind of a killer. hardly a stretch.”
“ trust me, you’re not going anywhere this time.”
“ who the fuck are you?”
“ that kind of talk is just gonna bring you closer to your victims.”
“ no, maybe you didn’t do the deed, but the blood is on your hands.”
“ a lot of blood is on your hands.”
“ why do you care about these people?”
“ why are you doing this to me?”
“ i’m not so much doing this to you as i’m doing it for me.”
“ you leave pain wherever you go.”
“ you kill me, what do you leave behind?”
“ look at that, steady as a surgeon.”
“ this kill was just the first of the loose ends i needed to tie off.”
“ i need to see you.”
“ i’m just dropping somebody off, can it wait?”
“ a shoe? you wanted to see me about a shoe?”
“ i didn’t have a lot to hope for until i met you.”
“ you gave me something to believe in when i didn’t even believe in myself.”
“ it’s not your fault.”
“ it was totally an act of impulse.”
“ what are you trying to say, that you planned on acting on impulse?”
“ that’s where you disappeared to at all hours of the night like clark fucking kent.”
“ if the eyes are the window to the soul, then grief is the door. as long as it’s closed, it’s the barrier between knowing and not knowing. walk away from it and it stays closed forever. but open it, and walk through it, and pain becomes truth.”
“ i’ve been preparing for this my entire life.”
“ it’s annoying, isn’t it?”
“ i’m not taking the bait.”
“ you’re up late.”
“ you don’t need to do this. you don’t need to do this now.”
“ temporary insanity.”
“ you’re right. i smell like a fucking sewer.”
“ i had to say goodbye in order to reconnect with what’s really important. with who i was.”
“ rest in peace… i am.”
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eli's bewilderment took up space in his ribs. a haughty, angry voice hissed out at him, while the body spoke its betrayal: eager want clawed through every inch of eli's skin side by side with his all too reliable denial of having lost any control at all. he had sauntered his way back into this part of life without a look back, tracking the mud of his past into the yard and straight to the angel who, much like his god, wouldn't give him an appointment. what the fuck is wrong with you? the look he put down on the other eo was scathing; chin held high, eyes glaring daggers and a malicious eclipse, and his frown, no longer subtle or irritated, had grown a full-breadth's worth of rage.
❛❛ a lot more than this, ❜❜ he spat out, knelt on one knee with his hands ready as threats; meanwhile, eli had pushed up on his elbows which made him look especially startled. the blood smeared across his face was blurred between eli's doing and his own, but a chunk of the meat was gone, and they both knew where. his face had forgone remorse, as if eli himself had peeled the paint of angels off him at last. ❛❛ you come into my house, and act like you have a say — not your part of town anymore, eli. ❜❜
but rather than answer to eli's incredulous surprise or rise to his obvious bait, he pulled back the knife an inch and used his other hand to slap him clear across the face. ❛❛ don't you dare. ❜❜ shifting, he dug his knee into the hunter's chest, stifling his breath, the inside of his thigh against the other's hip. from his back, light pierced out like talons and curled forward in vines, before their arrow-heads canted towards eli with intent. ❛❛ of course it's obvious. ❜❜ there was a twitch by his mouth, an almost smile, ready for the fight; angling the knife under eli's chin, his free hand sought the pulse on the side of his neck, that spelled out every dream of heat still left in him. ❛❛ but i'm not the one terrified of saying it. go on, let's see what your word's worth. ❜❜
❛ oh, i bet, ❜ eli ever barked back, the retort both weak and silly — after all, who was he to sneer at anyone? to curl his lip? he'd let himself be torn, shot at, and bled, just to look at ken a little while longer. just to have one more wretched moment with him. god had a part in it all, of course, always would. but eli's compulsion to dig his heels in the soil and take went further than the divine. went further than his self-righteousness. he looked at kenneth and burned. his desires were vicious; he hated them, he loved them. if they slipped away overnight, he'd wake up as a weapon, a cold, hollow shell, shivering. no, he wanted to feel. you come into my house, kenneth spat, and eli, eyes dark and restless with lust and anger, chanced a look at the church. it sat several feet away, silent. watching, maybe. a taunt made of brick and rubble and glass. what an ugly thing it was, revisions and all. man made buildings like that, not god — man was responsible for every corner, every pew, every statue and cross a rotten father might tie his broken son to.
the past receded as the pair locked gazes. eli laughed inexplicably, the sound bitter and unstable, broad shoulders trembling. and he chased the blade, too, sitting up, pressing forward. but it never broke skin like he wanted; slapped into sense, eli halted. his nasty smile dropping bit by bit from his mouth. he gaped, silent, allowing his body to be pressed and kneaded like dough to the ground. it was fine if he permitted it, right? control was still within his grasp, and this had a holy stamp.
❛ hm. not so sadistic, then. i thought you wanted to watch me bleed. ❜ i thought He did. eli lifted his chin, dark hair a mess, body taut from the waist down; when ken shifted some more, pressing his warm thigh to eli's hip, he swallowed audibly, as if struck. flushed. eyes flickered to follow the curve, the bend, from knee up and down again. he steadied his breath, felt his tongue go heavy. all the while, incandescent light coiled and pointed in his direction, the arrows obvious threats. when eli finally looked up and noticed, his lips parted soundlessly; reluctant wonder. heart stuttering, stars in his eyes. yes, kenneth vareck was an angel, there was no doubt about it. vitriol and reverence fought for dominance in eli's mind. what would win? he stared at the other's sides, at the glow that fanned out.
there was a hand on his neck, too; he let it find what it wished, hitched a breath, his own reaching out to grip the blond's thigh. the urge to bite ken back and leave marks on his legs was overwhelming. what had gotten into him? ❛ i want you. it drives me crazy and rots my thoughts, but i'm not scared of it. ❜ i'm not scared of anything, he thought, which was false; he'd been afraid to put it to words. hot fingers pressed against the back of ken's knee. sneering: ❛ you are, though. it's why you can't put your weapons down. ❜
when he lowered his gun, it was to inspect. the damage dealt and how far he'd succeeded. when eli stood up and brushed it off like it was nothing, he knew he had, and set the loaded gun down like a spear against the ground. ❛❛ my knives deserve better targets. ❜❜ he gestured frankly at the gun still in his use. ❛❛ besides, i thought the weapon of cowards was fitting if i was also shooting a goddamn coward. ❜❜ leaning against the porch pillars, his scowl grew into a teething, hateful little smile; scoffing at eli's insinuation, he shrugged. ❛❛ feel? what, like somebody who needs the validation? ❜❜ he gestured at eli, all of eli, then laughed. the gun slid off the ground and right back into his hands, taking aim. ❛❛ you're a fucking amateur. ❜❜
but as he pulled the trigger, eli was off his feet and rushing towards him quick and steady. he shot the cap off his shoulder and nearly got his cheek before the eo tackled him down. the gun skittered off to the side, and his hands swung down, refusing to make it easy — a kick cracked over eli's knee, throwing the eo off long enough for him to turn and reach for the gun. quickly, eli snapped him back by the waist, turned him back around and straddled him down until it was hard to move. he tugged once, struggling against him, before setting his head back down and breathing hard.
❛❛ good grief. ❜❜ a beat, their eyes met; he knew from the beating pulse in eli's throat where the heat was. he knew it because it was his domain after all. as the blood was smeared over his lips, his eyes went wide, dilated, and when his mouth parted, he let the blood melt over his tongue, tasteful, hip to intentional hip. he hoped, most sincerely, that the laugh in his throat made eli feel as naked as he looked just then too. ❛❛ my tokens, ❜❜ he said, as eli looked down at him, and he pushed up onto his elbows to sneer. ❛❛ are lodged in your guts. ❜❜
this close, he snapped upwards; caught the back of the eo's head and lunged his mouth over his neck, teeth sinking in fast and hot from a surge of light. he tasted blood, flesh, veins and heat, a palpable lust, before the shock of it tossed eli backwards. he didn't hesitate, and tackled him down for a fight. the knife slipped out from his blood, before he angled it to the hunter's chin. ❛❛ i snap my fingers, every bullet explodes. still not gonna fight me? might as well admit what you really want. ❜❜
for every shot, both figurative and literal, eli remained stoic. he let ken's insults drop to the ground with his blood, knowing he wanted the attention, the dialogue. ground his teeth against the searing pain in his body and forced his mouth into a sneer any time he felt the need to grimace. this too was a game, one they'd been playing in one form or another for months, two creatures orbiting the elephant in the room. you're a fucking amateur, ken told him. and at that, eli scowled, spitting back a petulant, ❛ i'm a professional— ❜ before the shock of the barrel stole his breath and made him move. it hadn't been easy to subdue kenneth. he suffered a few kicks and shoves before finally resting his weight on the blond's legs. a temporary solution to a never-ending problem. kenneth vareck was a thorn beneath his skin; he wanted to keep him there forever. when his old friend tasted his blood, he saw his eyes go dark, and knew they were the same.
lust made a home of his stomach. he felt it sweep and dip and fill with warmth. something had to give. ken called the lead in his body his tokens, and eli shook his head sharply, upper lip curling in disdain. ❛ no, they're mine. my guts, my bullets. you lost ownership the moment you shot them into me. ❜ here, he let go of kenneth and touched his fingertips to his chest, his expression almost fond. inside, inches deep, lived a bullet. why should it be anyone else's? he'd earned this the hard way. eli wondered at it all. and then his companion tipped forward and bit into the flesh of his distracted neck, and everything blurred. eli's eyes widened in shock. he sucked in a sharp breath and made to squirm away, but ken followed him, knocking him to the ground with further fight.
❛ what the fuck is wrong with you? ❜ the immortal hissed after a long beat, and though he pushed himself up on his elbows, he made no attempt to escape. in this way, at least, he could surrender. his pupils were blown, and fresh blood dripped down his skin, gathering in the hollow of his throat. but whatever was wrong with kenneth was wrong with him, too. a cleverly drawn knife held his chin in place. eli glared both at it and ken's words, the threat of explosion, his skin hot and messy. admit what you really want. he made it sound so easy. it wasn't. vulnerability was dangerous, but it was also addictive; with the man above him, there were no gaps. he felt everything he should, and everything he shouldn't. the hunter stared at the other's mouth with furious, open want, suspicion fading. felt his body stir tellingly. then he sat up a little, pressing closer, the blade splitting skin. breathy, tense: ❛ are you stupid? isn't it obvious? do you think i'd take this from anyone else? ❜ not quite a confession, but close.
