A log.

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2009-09-04T01:44:01Z

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2009-09-04T00:43:20Z

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2009-09-04T00:42:50Z

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2009-09-04T00:41:51Z

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2009-09-04T00:33:56Z

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2009-09-04T00:28:50Z

Just went to the midnight showing of Watchmen.

2009-03-06T20:03:38Z

Well...

Hurm.

I liked it. I did. It was an enjoyable cinematic experience, and I recognize that I have trouble objectively reviewing it as a fan of the comic. But it never wowed me. Maybe this was a little much to ask, but it was never as awe-inspiring or as emotionally real as the graphic novel. There were certain scenes that did make me very happy: The opening credits, Dr. Manhattan's monologue on time, the sex scenes, Rorschach defending himself against his fellow prisoners. But all in all? It never quite captured what made Watchmen so powerful: that the entire time, it felt like the writer was telling you the truth. Zach Snydyer did not make a truthful movie; he made one that was fun to watch. It never means as much.

I was also not too pleased with the cuts that happened to Ozymandias. I know he's never been exactly a fan favorite, but he really deserved more. His "Alexander the Great" monologue was cut so much that it was almost unrecognizable, and he never got his "I did it!" moment after his plan worked out. Maybe I'm off-base, but I think that keeping in those scenes would have been a benefit to the character.

And I can't help but contrast the endings of the novel and the film. The ending in the novel nearly made me weep: Rorschach dying without anyone there to mourn him, Dan and Laurie having their last love scene by the pool, and Dr. Manhattan giving one last ominous warning to Ozymandias. In the film, we get Rorschach's death, but the Dan-Laurie scene (probably one of the best in the book) is cut entirely, and Dr. Manhattan just... leaves.

Maybe I'm being too demanding. But it seems to me like it could have been so much more.

But one more thing:

BEST. SEX SCENE. EVER.

Selection from Ch. 3, "Three Is Company." Part three.

2008-12-04T06:41:11Z

Nearer at hand a few lights twinkled in the village of Woodhall.
The Elves sat on the grass and spoke together in soft voices; they seemed to take no further notice of the hobbits. Frodo and his companions wrapped themselves in cloaks and blankets, and drowsiness stole over them. The night grew on, and the lights in the valley went out. Pippin fel asleep, pillowed on a green hillock.

Selection from Ch. 3, "Three Is Company." Part two.

2008-12-04T06:39:42Z

They now marched on again in silence, and passed like shadows and faint lights: for Elves (even more than hobbits) could walk when they wished without sound or footfall. Pippin soon began to feel sleepy, and staggered once or twice; but each time a tall Elf at his side put out his arm and saved him from a fall. Sam walked along at Frodo's side, as if in a dream, with an expression on his face half of fear and half of astonished joy.
The woods on either side became denser; the trees were now younger and thicker; and as the lane went lower, running down into a fold of the hills, there were many deep brakes of hazel on the rising slopes at either hand. At last the Elves turned aside from the path. A green ride lay almost unseen through the thickets on the right; and this they followed as it wound away back up the wooded slopes on to the top of a shoulder of the hills that stood out into the lower land of the river-valley. Suddenly they came out of the shadow of the trees, and before them lay a wide space of grass, grey under the night. On three sides the woods pressed upon it; but eastward the ground fell steeply and the tops of the dark trees, growing at the bottom of the slope, were below their feet. Beyond, the low lands lay dim and flat under the stars.

Selection from Ch. 3, "Three Is Company." Part one.

2008-12-04T06:37:32Z

'O Fair Folk! This is good fortune beyond my hope,' said Pippin. Sam was speechless. 'I thank you indeed, Gildor Inglorien,' said Frodo bowing. 'Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo, a star shines on the hour of our meeting,' he added in the high-elven speech.
'Be careful, friends!' cried Gildor laughing. 'Speak no secrets! Here is a scholar in the High Ancient Tongue. Bilbo was a good master. Hail, Elf-friend!' he said, bowing to Frodo. 'Come now with your friends and join our company! You had best walk in the middle so that you may not stray. You may be weary before we halt.'
'Why? Where are you going?' asked Frodo.
'For tonight we go to the woods on the hills above Woodhall. It is some miles, but you shall have rest at the end of it, and it will shorten your journey tomorrow.'

Thoughts on Heroes: "Dying of the Light." heroes_meta.

2008-10-21T05:14:28Z

PineHearst? More like PWNhearst. This season's taking a turn for the better.
I think the writers are drawing straws for which characters get thrown down the toilet next. Adam drew short. Shall we have a moment of silence? .... Okay. That's good.
Claire is such a drama queen. Remind me why she's angry with H.R.G. again?
Hey... does anyone know what happened to Caitlin?
Quite impressed with Tracy and her quick work of Mohinder. She's shaping up to be an asset to our side. Even if she is another gratuitous chance at getting Adrian and Ali to make out on screen again. Speaking of which, Mohinder isn't doin' so bad either. He makes a pretty snappy villain, even if I'm not really sure why he's cobwebbing people again. Is he... Tarantular?
Character consistency, people. Could Sylar not be one of those pity-me-I've-been-victimized-by-my-abilities characters? Because honestly, he was so much more interesting before he got "good". That's why everyone loves H.R.G.- he's ambiguous. People love the complicated ones. They're trying to simplify Sylie-boy, and it plum ain't working out. Also, lol!chest hair.
Since Adam's dead and Sylar's lame, can Doyle be my new favorite character? Brr. He's cool, in a Syndrome (you know, from The Incredibles) kind of way.
I would have shot Meredith. Come on. She's kind of a pretty face (who mysteriously lost her accent from first season?), and Sandra is the new Mrs. Weasley.
"My son Lyle... he's... six..." Poor Lyle. He don't get no respect.
It's a little ridiculous how glad I am that Hiro didn't actually kill Ando.
First it was Kaito/Mr. Muggles/world. Now it's Parkman/Daphne/Turtle. You read it here first, folks.
Thank you, Peter, for gracing the screen with your loud angry voice and rippling pectorals. Unfortunately, you were now administered the Hug of Doom. FAILBOAT.

Review of Heroes 3x05: "Angels and Monsters." For heroes_meta.

2008-10-14T06:28:31Z

First order of business: PHWOOAR. IT'S HEROES TIME.

All right, now that I've gotten that out of the way, I can coherently organize this. I'm going to go character by character. And I'm going to go back to previous Season Three episodes, just for funsies.

PETER: I hereby retract everything negative I ever said about his character during the duration of Season Two. He's back on track, character development-wise. The line between good and evil always had flashes of being blurred in this one, and now it's gotten even fuzzier. I'm thrilled to see which one of his beloved family members he's going to try to kill next, aren't you?

NATHAN: Adrian Pasdar is, without a doubt, one of the best actors on the show. His blow-up at Angela in the library legitimately moved me. How delightful. Not sure what to think about his God kick, though. It seems weirdly... un-Nathan. At first I thought it was just a political ploy of some sort, but now that it's looking like he Really Means It... Must just be the brainwashing.

ANGELA and ARTHUR: Finally. Not only do we find out her power, but we're going to meet Him. Yesss.

SYLAR: All right, it's rant time.
Am I the only one who liked Sylar better when the reasoning behind his being a serial killer was mental illness and not some "hunger" brought about as a side effect of his power?
Maybe it's just me. But he meant more when he wasn't being victimized by something he can't control. A character who knowingly kills others with only slight remorse is far more interesting and dimensional than one who just does it because his brain tells him to.
Also, his focus on "rehabilitation": Every cell in my body is screaming, "Out of character! Out of character!" When did he become legitimately interested in becoming a good guy? If it's not an act, I'll be sorely surprised. There was no turning point. It's as if he randomly decided to switch gears.

MOHINDER: Since when did he become the creepy one?
All right, Kringy boy, it's time for some damn explanations.
Why are Mohinder's morals so freaking elastic? How can he condemn one man for murdering his father and in the next minute go all Shelob on our asses and cocoon people to his wall? Did the formula addle his mind, or are you just pissing in the wind and letting consistent characterization go to hell?
Also, ew. It's like Satan's bacne.

MAYA: Actually not bothering me this season. She seems to actually have a brain. (Though she does seem strangely lacking of post-Sylar traumatic fallout. Whatever.)

DAPHNE: I like her already.

LINDERMAN: Was I the only one who was totally disappointed to find out that he's a Maury-induced hallucination and not actually alive? Ah, well. At least he's sort of "back".

HIRO and ANDO: I really don't know what to say about this one other than WHAT THE LIVING LIZARDS JUST HAPPENED.
We had a hint at the end of Season Two that all was not well with everyone's favorite hero. The moment when he told Ando about burying Adam alive- "he will never hurt anyone again"- was sinister, but it was believably so. He had an in-character motivation: Adam killed his father. But stabbing Ando? Not only is it heartbreaking (I couldn't talk for about two minute afterward), it's bizarrely inconsistent with his character. Hiro would never, despite anything he might have seen future!Ando do to him, kill his best friend to prove his world-saving capabilities. It's dishonorable. He wouldn't even kill Sylar when Sylar didn't know he was there.
Unless our good Mr. Kring explains himself- and fast- something is seriously wrong with the writing here.

ADAM: Iiiii could not be happier. Thank goodness he's back. "Japanese Nazi," ha.

MEREDITH: It might just be me, but she seems like a totally different character. She lost the accent, the character quirks, and everything that made her interesting. Now she's just... Claire's trainer. Lame.
That puppeteer guy seems cool, though.

CLAIRE and H.R.G.: Mr. Bennet's still awesome. I was worried for a few moments that with all this other character weirdness he might try to buddy up to Sylar, but no. He's completely antagonistic. How Noah of him.
Claire needs to stop fucking around, though. And I liked that new guy, even though he was only on for an episode. How sad.

Selection from Ch. 2: "The Shadow of the Past." Part four.

2008-09-25T03:03:21Z

My apologies for the few lines between parts three and four that seem to have disappeared into thin air. I was dropped as a child and can no longer work telephones. Or... something. Sorry, Mr. Tolkien, sir.

'...than most of the Wise would believe. I don't think you need worry about Bilbo.
'Of course, he possessed the ring for many years, and used it, so it might take a long while for the influence to wear off - before it was safe for him to see it again, for instance. Otherwise, he might live on for years, quite happily: just stop as he was when he parted with it. For he gave it up in the end of his own accord: an important point. No, I was not troubled about dear Bilbo any more, once he had let the thing go. It is for you that I feel responsible.
'Ever since Bilbo left I have been deeply concerned about you, and about all these charming, absurd, helpless hobbits. It would be a grievous blow to the world, if the Dark Power overcame the Shire; if all your kind, jolly, stupid Bolgers, Hornblowers, Boffins, Bracegirdles, and the rest, not to mention the ridiculously Bagginses, became enslaved.'
Frodo shuddered. 'But why should we be?' he asked. 'And why should he want such slaves?'

Selection from Ch. 2: "The Shadow of the Past." Part three.

2008-09-25T03:01:35Z

'But I said to myself: "After all he comes of a long-lived family on his mother's side. There is time yet. Wait!"
'And I waited. Until that night when he left this house. He said and did things then that filled me with a fear that no words of Saruman could allay. I knew at last that something dark and deadly was at work. And I have spent most of the years since then in finding out the truth of it.'
'There wasn't any permanent harm done, was there?' asked Frodo anxiously. 'He would get all right in time, wouldn't he? Be able to rest in peace, I mean?'
'He felt better at once,' said Gandalf. 'But there is only one Power in this world that knows all about the Rings and their effects; and as far as I know there is no Power in the world that knows all about hobbits. Among the Wise I am the only one that goes in for hobbit-lore: an obscure branch of knowledge, but full of surprises. Soft as butter they can be, and yet sometimes as tough as old tree-roots. I think it likely that some would resist the Rings far longer...'

Selection from Ch. 2: "The Shadow of the Past." Part two.

2008-09-25T02:59:45Z

'...and I had no right to do so anyway. I could only watch and wait. I might perhaps have consulted Saruman the White, but something always held me back.'
'Who is he?' asked Frodo. 'I have never heard of him before.'
'Maybe not,' answered Gandalf. 'Hobbits are, or were, no concern of his. Yet he is great among the Wise. He is the chief of my order and the head of the Council. His knowledge is deep, but his pride has grown with it, and he takes ill any meddling. The lore of the Elven-rings, great and small, is his province. He has long studied it, seeking the lost secrets of their making; but when the Rings were debated in the Council, all that he would reveal to us of his ring-lore told against my fears. So my doubt slept - but uneasily. Still I watched and I waited.
'And all seemed well with Bilbo. And the years passed. Yes, they passed, and they seemed not to touch him. He showed no signs of age. The shadow fell on me again.'

Selection from Ch. 2: "The Shadow of the Past." Part one.

2008-09-25T02:52:28Z

'When did I first begin to guess?' he mused, searching back in memory. 'Let me see - it was in the year that the White Council drove the dark power from Mirkwood, just before the Battle of Five Armies, that Bilbo found his ring. A shadow fell on my heart then, though I did not know yet what I feared. I wondered often how Gollum came by a Great Ring, as plainly it was - that at least was clear from the first. Then I heard Bilbo's strange story of how he had "won" it, and I could not believe it. When I at last got the truth out of him, I saw at once that he had been trying to put his claim to the ring beyond doubt. Much like Gollum with his "birthday present". The lies were too much alike for my comfort. Clearly the ring had an unwholesome power that set to work on its keeper at once. That was the first real warning I had that all was not well. I told Bilbo often that such rings were better left unused; but he resented it, and soon got angry. There was little else that I could do. I could not take it from him without doing greater harm...'

WE WILL NEVER STOP REMEMBERING.

2008-09-12T01:09:12Z

September 11th of 2001 held probably the weirdest thing that has happened to my home country since I've lived in it. Most of the people I know only have fuzzy memories of it, but I remember the day quite clearly.

I was about eight, in the third grade, and my mother woke me a few minutes earlier than she usually did for school. She took my sister and I, still in our pajamas, downstairs, where my dad- this was about a year before they divorced- was sitting in front of the television. It seemed weird to me, because the TV was never on in the mornings, and the screen was showing a series of explosions, over and over again. The little experience I had of explosions was in cartoons I watched; this seemed unreal. It was a removed event. It didn't touch me.

My dad drove me to school. Everyone in my class of first, second, and third graders was in a state of supreme confusion. A couple kids thought it was an accident, one thought it was a movie, another thought it was a joke. We were all definitely out of it. Our teacher, Ms. Wetherell, had no idea what to do- whether she should have all of us discuss it, or whether our parents should be the ones to tell us. At any rate, I was only at school for a couple of hours before Dad came back to pick my sister and I up early. He drove us to a restaurant downtown for lunch- I was in love with restaurants of all kinds when I was younger, so this made me inordinately happy- and explained to us that two planes had been intentionally crashed into the World Trade Center, decimating the two towers and killing a great number of people. It was an oh moment, a spark in the dark. I finally got it.

Except that I didn't, not really. I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that someone would steal a plane with so many people on it and fly it into a building with so many people on it with no hope of escape for themselves. The purpose didn't compute. I was shocked, but not saddened. Until later that evening when one of my parents, I don't recall who, made a cursory statement about families on one of the planes going to Disneyland.

Disneyland. It was that exact moment when everything became real. I started to cry, quietly, to myself, not like I'd ever cried before. They were going to Disneyland, and now they were dead. They were going to ride the tea cups and see Mickey Mouse and scream on the roller coasters, and someone killed them.

And I don't think I ever saw people- as a species, as a common kind, capable of causing pain beyond imagining- the same way again.

Eä, Arda, Ainulindalë.

2008-08-28T14:13:32Z

Okay, I'm off to the Wilderlands. Defend the castle while I'm gone.

oh, my love, it was a funny little thing to be the ones to've seen.

2008-07-11T03:01:16Z

I just read this quote from Willow Wode's essay Deny The Lie (on plagiarism and especially its relationship to fanfiction):

"Inspiration happens when something has touched you, something huge enough to make you change your patterns of contemplation, or deep enough to delve things from you that perhaps you hadn't realised were there. Inspiration is faery dust—and I'm not talking about the wimpy, sparkly type so pervasive in all the hopelessly-sterilised Disney versions, where deus ex machina is offered for no more effort than a whine and a wish. No, I mean the real faery dust, the primal, undeniable compulsion formed from stars and earth and the blood beating in your veins, the brilliant darkness that works its way into your brain and your soul, rocking your world, shifting your paradigms in every sense of their being."

...my god. I think I just had a revelation: I am wasting myself. I am wasting my life and my talents on things that in the Grand Scheme of Things utterly cease to matter. I could be writing things that are important, things that will reach people, touch them, make them feel- and I'm writing horrible, haphazard, useless pieces of fanfiction. There is so much more I could be doing. And I'm going to. I have yet to live, and I'm standing just on the edge of doing so.

I'm toeing the verge. It's terrifying and thrilling at the same time. Fuck, I'm going to be someone. Be someone who matters. I'm dreadfully excited.

For the 2008 Wicked Fanfic Exchange.

2008-07-01T04:54:03Z

Please direct all questions, concerns, requests for a switch of request, and general gripes to this post. All comments are screened, so have at it.

top_hatted_girl @ 2008-04-30T21:50:00

2008-05-01T05:57:41Z

Hey guys. For all of you who have friended me because of my fiction and/or would like to keep up to date with my fiction, it's now being posted at
top_hatted_fic
rather than here, simply because the load of fiction I'm going to be writing soon is going to be pretty massive. So don't hesitate to join.

top_hatted_girl @ 2008-04-26T09:12:00

2008-04-26T17:36:51Z

Title: Variations on a Theme.
Author: top_hatted_girl .
Beta: The glorious artemis_rain .
Rating: R.
Characters/Pairings: Claire/Elle.
Summary: An exploration of what they might have been and what they, in the end, became.
Prompts: heroes_fest ("how could anyone be sad, she wondered, surrounded by this weird and wonderful world?") and psych_30 (Instinct).
Warnings: Mild violence and f/f sex.
Spoilers: For all of Season Two, including the finale.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the situations themselves.
Author's Note: The first half of this story is AU; the other takes place after the (premature) finale of Season Two.

The two girls meet at a party for a mutual friend. The younger one is obviously an innocent; her eyes still reflect the wide blue sky her father showed her as a child. She dances just boldly enough to be noticed.

The older girl is different. She is licking a sucker when they meet. The lollipop is bright, brilliant, luminescent pink, the same color as the lips that surround the curve of the candy. Her teeth, white fangs, press against it, and occasionally her tongue darts out to lick the side.

She is forbidden, she is dangerous, she is sex on legs.

Claire has never seen anything like her.

They go to a hotel afterwards. Claire lets Elle take her dress off. Elle runs her hand over Claire’s collarbone, feeling the terrified thump of the heart underneath. You don’t have to be afraid, she says laughingly.

I’ve never done anything like this before. Their eyes meet, and Claire looks away. The straps of her dress are down around her shoulders like wings, and her hair is mussed around her head. She looks ridiculous. She is ridiculous.

How, Elle wonders, as she presses Claire into the bed and runs her tongue along the hollow of Claire’s throat, could anyone be sad, or afraid, or lonely, when surrounded by this weird and wonderful world? She doesn’t understand suffering; she’s never known it.

She pulls back, straddling Claire, and looks at her. She is a broken doll, her ivory limbs sprawled out across the bed, chest heaving, Elle’s hands lying possessively on her thighs.

It’s moments like these when Elle feels like a ghost, like a wisp of the wind, like something that doesn’t exist. She feels like she should be something else. Someone else.

Their blue eyes meet, Elle’s pale, Claire’s dark, as if they were painted that way to balance each other out. Claire’s head falls to the side slightly, questioning.

Elle feels something like electricity- so horribly familiar, like something she should remember but doesn’t, like an instinct- crackling under her skin. She dives down into Claire, fingers pressing urgently, lips begging of the flesh and receiving.

She knows it’s foolish to be sad.

Afterwards, they lie together without words, listening to the rain outside the window.

-*-

She lies on the ground, spread-eagled and bleeding, a figment.

Or so Elle thinks as she stands over the other girl, panting, raising one sparking hand at her side. Claire is a figment of her imagination, one she can summon at will and that she can just as easily brush into nothingness.

The gash on her forehead glues itself back together slowly. Elle smiles. That’s cute.

Claire doesn’t answer. Her head tilts to one side, lips touching the hard asphalt of the warehouse floor. Her eyes, swollen and purple and healing gradually, close.

Oh no, sweetheart, you don’t get to go to sleep. Not without my say-so. She crouches down and grips Claire’s knee. The electricity that jolts into Claire’s body makes her convulse, gasping, against the floor she is bound to.

Elle spreads herself out next to Claire, touching her cheek and pulling their faces nearer. She bites her tongue and giggles. I’m so glad Daddy assigned me you. She wrinkles her nose. I don’t think doing good is really my thing.

What do you think this is? Claire croaks angrily. A play date?

Her lips pout, eyes still crackling with blue fury. You’re making fun of me, Claire. Didn’t your father ever teach you any manners? Her hand rests on Claire’s cheek coolly, rises into the air, and comes down with a harsh, lightning-flavored slap. Claire bites a hole in her lip and lets the blood run down her chin in a quiet rivulet. Elle laughs.

She pushes herself up, brushes the dirt off her knees. I just hope I don’t have to kill you. Then who would I have to talk to? She watches her fists glow blue. Wanna cut the small talk, though? I’m gonna ask you the question a second time. I hope you’ll answer. I’d hate to have to break your legs again. She swivels and holds out the brightening hands. Where is Peter Petrelli?

The beaten girl stares back from the floor. Elle’s voice catches in her throat for a minute because of those eyes, those damn eyes- so much like hers, but unsullied, darker, without the paleness, the loss of control. They’re beautiful in their defiance.

She asks again. Claire smiles.

Don’t taunt me. A quiet threat. She moves nearer. Where did Peter go after his brother died?

I don’t know, Claire whispers.

You’re the only person he would have told, Claire. We’ve questioned his mother; she wouldn’t give us anything. Where did he go? The light of her hands falls across Claire’s face, illuminating the lines.

You dare jeopardize this and I’ll kill you, Elle thinks. My father trusts me to get this job done. Obey me.

Unfortunately, Claire knows a challenge when she sees one.

Peter flew away somewhere, she singsongs, mustering the widest smile she can even though it cracks the skin. Way away into the sky, where you can never ever find him.

Adorable, Elle snarls, really cute. She falls down on her haunches and plays with one of her fingernails, trying to stop the tears of frustration from falling down her cheeks. You know we have your father, sweetheart, she adds quietly. He works for us now, and we can do whatever we want to him. Relocate him to Madagascar. Dump him into the ocean. Make him kill Mommy and little Lyle… Claire twitches; Elle smiles tremulously at the glimmer of hope. See? See how easy it would be just to tell me? She runs a long finger along Claire’s jaw line, then spreads her hand out across her cheek again. I’m your friend, Claire, you can trust me. I can keep your family safe. I can let you go free. I just need to know where Peter is.

Claire whimpers, a frightening, animal sound that echoes in the dark warehouse. Elle’s heard the sound before, but it’s never affected her like this, never shot this far into her heart where she can feel it reverberating, where she can see herself at age six- two big blue eyes and skinny knees- brought to the company for the first time, hooked up to machines for the first time, screaming. She has known suffering, known it intimately. It is her constant companion.

And here is this girl, this insignificant, foolish, helpless girl, lying on the ground and wanting nothing more than escape, and she is lying to her. Elle feels suddenly sick.

Claire looks up at her, chin shaking, eyes glowing with fury. I wish you would go away, she hisses. As if Elle were a ghost, a wind, something that could be blown away just by Claire wishing it.

Elle leans back and rests her head against Claire’s for a moment. There is something here between them, struggling to come to the surface, Elle can feel it- but what is it? What is it?

She can’t remember a time when she was more unhappy than now.

They lie in silence for what seems like hours, listening to the drip of water somewhere far off.

My LJ is being wonky, so excuse me if you... already saw this post or whatever.

2008-04-06T16:36:08Z

From the journal of sophia_helix :

Three things _____ did after the world ended by _____.

e.g. Three things Toby Flenderson did after the world ended by nuclear attack.
e.g. Three things Luna Lovegood did after the world ended by clowns.

Fandoms I'll do:
Heroes
The Office
Harry Potter
There Will Be Blood
Pirates of the Caribbean
...and whatever else you can think of.

Go crazy, guys. I have- well, that's a lie, I have a lot that I'm supposed to be writing, but that doesn't mean I'm going to. I'm hungry for prompts.

Heroes- The Triumph.

2008-03-02T05:16:24Z

Title: The Triumph.
Author: top_hatted_girl
Rating: PG-13.
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Nathan.
Summary: Life, for Peter, was a series of demons they had to defeat. Written for the slashyheroes15 prompt Triumph.
Warnings: Incest.
Spoilers: Major spoilers for the finale episodes of both seasons.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the situations themselves.
Author's Note: Consider this a kick in the teeth to my writer's block. This story was heavily inspired by the song 'Heysátan' by Sigur Rós, and the story's mood is largely similar to the one in the song. Even though it's in Icelandic. My muse comes from strange places.

Two brothers, and both had to defeat the demons. The devils, the shadows, the things that bit at their ankles as they ran. Two brothers.

There were always two in the stories, as if neither was a person without the other, or as if every person was really two in the end. The duality of mankind.

Maybe that was what Peter and Nathan were. One person split into two.

They were closer in childhood. In Peter’s childhood. Nathan had always been older. He was nearly twenty when Peter was just becoming a teenager. But they were closer then, closer to the womb, closer to one another.

Peter’s earliest memory was running in the backyard, wet grass teasing the bottoms of his feet. Nathan speeding beside him in the dim light of the early morning. Lifting Peter up when he stumbled with strong, warm hands under Peter’s arms. Starting off again, two blurs in a painting of unknowing bliss.

The two brothers grew older and became separate entities. Well, Nathan became one.

Peter was still half of a whole.

That was why he started it, mostly; it was that feeling of incompleteness. Why he started trying to bandage the bond between them.

It began with little things- reaching to hug Nathan, whose face felt perfect and right against his shoulder. His own arms being the strong ones for once, around Nathan’s back. Their hands touching.

Their lips.

The two brothers had to defeat the demons, outside and inside them.

Their bond would become a demon as well, rearing up on legs to devour everything they held sacred.

Late-night arguments outside Peter’s apartment that ended in Nathan pushing Peter onto the bed and slamming himself rudely into Peter’s thin body. Needy, clinging kisses. A silent acknowledgement between their two eyes that this was above and beyond anything like normalcy and so utterly right.

Their mother’s recognition of this. Her horrible recognition and shock in that moment when she saw a look pass between them, and the moment when Peter knew it was not a thing that could be understood.

The demons had to be defeated, the killers, the Satans, who pressed in on them from every side.

Peter’s hands glowing with light. Nathan’s alarmed eyes. Peter lying dead on a table, and Nathan sobbing in time to his heartbeat. Peter arisen, Lazarus, his beautiful, beautiful brother.

The demons licked their fangs and closed in for the kill.

They defeated them, together, together together, in the sky, the dark sky and the burning of their skin pressed tightly together. A final embrace.

And another triumph, meeting again, memories returned, another embrace.

The demons grew closer.

A gunshot was fired, and there were so many sounds Peter could not understand. Nathan fell in a slow, long arc to the ground, Peter catching him.

Peter thought it was a defeat, looking into Nathan’s dying eyes- but it was not. It was just another obstacle to pass.

Their hands touched, fingers clasping together to make a cage, to keep the triumph in.

Death was the final demon.

He could see Nathan drifting away, a blur in the painting once again, one of the brothers soaring away in the darkness to face Satan- alone.

Peter was alone. Truly alone, for the first time in his life.

But this was just another demon.

He had another memory of the inside of his apartment, of he and Nathan tumbling on the bed, Nathan over him. Their rising and falling chests touched, the air between like heaven. They had been victorious then, and they would be now.

Peter, raising his gaze to the sky, said hello to the devil, who had come for his brother.

And they would triumph.

Together.

Heroes- Corrosion

2008-02-14T02:14:22Z

Title: Corrosion.
Author: top_hatted_girl .
Rating: R.
Characters/Pairings: Nathan/Sylar, implied Peter/Nathan.
Summary: He knows he should stop, but still he keeps allowing him to come. Is it redemption he wants, or something else entirely? Set in the 'Five Years Gone' universe. For the slashyheroes15 prompt 'Fear.'
Warnings: Dub-con and violence.
Spoilers: Up to season one, the '5YG' episode.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the situations themselves.

Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
      In a strange city lying alone
      Far down within the dim West,
      Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
      Have gone to their eternal rest.
                                 -'The City in the Sea' by Edgar Allen Poe

They met in dark places where they could touch without having to meet one another’s eyes. Nathan was never sure exactly which one of them was hiding, exactly who was being found in the darkness.

For that matter, he hardly knew who this person was- a man with a low voice and a shadowed face and long, reaching fingers. His mouth tasted like burnt candles. (Nathan had his suspicions, but what did they come to? How could he refuse these meetings, moments almost like an escape, like absolution?) Nathan shut his eyes tighter, trying to squeeze out the thoughts. It felt better when he didn’t think.

---

It started with letters, scribbled on paper in thick black lead, sneaked in among the personal mail. At the time, Nathan hadn’t seen Peter in a few months since his election. (Peter with his freshly scarred face and newly torn eyes; Peter with a newborn bitterness in his heart; Peter, whose kisses were no longer kindnesses but something born of hatred and pain.) He thought the notes were from someone who knew where Peter had gone. So he kept reading them.

“Be careful, Nathan. Someone is watching you. Your security people aren’t as clever as they’d like to think.”

“Saw you yesterday. You looked pale. I hope you’re not feeling poorly.”

“How’s Heidi? I’ve never met her, but she looks lovely in the pictures. I’ve met your daughter, though. Claire. She’s a nice girl. Though stubborn when she doesn’t get her way.”

Then there was a figure he would see among the photographers as he was getting into a limousine. It was a tall silhouette staring at him; it would raise its hand slowly and wave it teasingly, and then disappear.

Peter believed in guardian angels. But then, Peter believed in a lot of things. And the reason Peter didn’t see Nathan anymore, the reason the rift between them had formed, was because Peter needed to realize that no one was watching over him.

Then the man came to see Nathan. And they started meeting wherever they could- motels, abandoned houses, alleyways. And now he knew that someone was always watching.

---

Nathan sat at his desk without the lamp on, staring out the window at the black city skyline. No burst of light on the horizon.

Movement flickered in the corner of his eye.

“I thought I told you not to come see me here,” he said with tight lips.

“I don’t listen to instructions,” a voice replied. “They so often lead to untimely ends.” A finger clicked against his chin from behind and forced him to his feet. A hand touched his hip, gripping and possessive.

Nathan clutched the sides of the desk, closed his eyes, and prayed that it would end soon.

But another part of him was praying that it would last forever.

He was at war all over again.

---

The first time they spoke was in the bedroom only feet away from where Heidi and Nathan slept every night. Nathan was standing upright and terrified, feet pinned to the floor by something inexplicable.

“Stop doing that. Let me up. How are you-”

“Well, you’re a powerful person, and so am I. It’s just- distributed differently.”

He heard a sound behind him, something moving on the dresser. “Don’t touch those things. Those are mine,” he snarled.

“Pictures- ah, fair Heidi. You didn’t even tell your own wife about the letters, about me. Dangerous decision. Though you’ve made a lot of us those, haven’t you? Choices for your own benefit, choices that could hurt people?”

“No less dangerous than the situation I’m in now. Just tell me what you want and go.”

A low, hoarse laugh. “You’re so used to being in control. Why would I leave now?” The man’s body rubbed against his from the back, he voice deepening to a growl. “When I’m so close to getting what I came for?”

“You won’t get out of the building. They’ll find you.”

“They can’t find me if you don’t tell them. And you won’t. Will you?”

“What makes you so sure?”

The muzzle of a handgun was suddenly pressed under his chin. He could see the man’s hand in the corner of his eye. His fingers were long and thin, almost insect-like. His thumb cocked the gun gently; it gave off a soft clicking noise, like a warning. “Because I have a proposition for you, Mr. Petrelli. I can give you what you want most.”

“You know where my brother is.”

“I can find Peter. I can bring him back to you, Nathan. I can even give you salvation, absolve you of your sins.”

“Sins? What-”

“The bomb. The people you allowed to die for your sake. The lives you destroyed. The city you blew up.”

“I didn’t blow it up, I didn’t even know it was going to happen.”

“And yet you left New York at such an opportune moment. How did you know? Why were you spared?”

“It was a lucky-”

“I know what you are, Nathan. A murderer.”

“And what can you do? How can anything you do possibly save me?” Another laugh, this time his own. “You can’t save me.”

“Remember, I’m powerful. And I can fix you.”

---

Heidi lay in the bed, reading a book by the lamplight. He stood in the doorway, undoing his tie for the second time that night.

“Hello,” she said, not looking up, voice icy. “Where were you?”

Everywhere.

---

Now, in the darkness of his office, a mouth rubbed against his ear. “Take off your clothes.”

He swallowed. “No. Not here. Some- somewhere else. There are cameras.”

Something invisible jammed into his windpipe, cutting off the air. Another hand stroked the sweat away from the back of Nathan’s neck. “There aren’t cameras if I don’t want there to be.” His teeth clicked dangerously next to Nathan’s ear. “Take off your shirt.”

His hands freed, Nathan brought his fingers to his neck and tore away the tie, letting it fall to the ground. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt. The man behind him pulled it away from his shoulders and started to undo his belt.

He moved away from Nathan for a moment, but a letter-opener from the desk rose and stayed floating the air, poised at his neck. He stared sideways at it, horrified.

The mouth moved against Nathan’s neck, tongue outlining the course of his spine. The letter-opener clattered to the floor as he pressed closer, moving sinuously. One of his hands lazily traced the curve of Nathan’s ass and moved around his thigh in circles. Nathan swore, writhing as the man’s hand moved up and down, slowly and brutally. He laughed into Nathan’s back, the muffled sound reverberating through his body.

He nipped at Nathan’s ear. “Trust me, Nathan. Let yourself want me. By the time I leave, I want you to beg for me until there’s nothing left of Nathan Petrelli but a bloody pulp,” he purred. “Think of your wife. Think of your brother. Think of all those people I could be tormenting instead of you. This is your chance to redeem yourself.”

“That’s disgusting,” Nathan choked.

“Life’s disgusting. You learn to embrace it.”

---

“Hi,” Peter said when they finally saw one another again. The scar across his face looked like a hole in the sky. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” he said shortly. “Where were you?”

“Lots- lots of places. I traveled around. There are a lot of people out there, Nathan.” There was a familiar ache in his eyes. “And so many of them are in pain.”

“Yes. They are.”

“You have the ability, Nate. To help them.”

The memory of white, stinging teeth on his flesh, and a cold voice whispering of redemption. “What do you want me to do, Pete? I can’t tape all the bleeding hearts back together just because you feel sorry for them.”

Peter’s lips puckered angrily. Another day, Nathan would have smiled, brought his head closer, and kissed him until he stopped frowning. But now. Perhaps never again. “You’ve changed.”

“It happens.”

“So does war. But that doesn’t mean we let it.”

I’m sorry, Peter. I’m sorry for everything I ever did to you, for everything I ever did to anybody. I hurt a lot of people, and I’m sorry. But I can never tell you any of this, because I don’t own myself anymore.

“I’ll see you later,” Nathan said, voice like a knife, turning away.

When he turned back, Peter was already gone.

---

Part of the charm of the whole situation was the horror-movie aspect, Nathan acknowledged. A dark stranger in the night-blackened alley. A weapon jammed up against his skin. Hands he couldn’t see but he could feel, running over and against and inside him. It was a thrill he couldn’t feel anywhere else.

He wanted Nathan to have faith. That grinning, biting mouth that coaxed from him words like “now” and “please” and “god yes” wanted Nathan to trust him completely.

And he couldn’t help but be reminded of Peter throwing himself from a building, believing wholeheartedly in invisible arms that would catch him before he reached the ground.

“All right,” Nathan mumbled into the sheets.

“What was that?” Heidi asked sleepily beside him.

Nothing. Everything. Nothing.