slash: most important meal of the day

original?

2008-12-03T03:32:11Z

i posted a draft of the teaser part of the script of the first episode of the show i hope to make called Murder, WI at gumball_prose in case any one is interested. it has a large cast of characters, but only a few start out the town. give me feedback on how to make it more compelling with the dialog, because i'm mainly seeing it visually right now.

here it is

~love from WI
JLB

old gregg macros?

2008-10-12T01:33:14Z

here's something you may want to see. it's...

OLD GREGG!!!

~love from WI

JLB

alright, so... this is wierd. absences and a thingy.

2008-09-28T01:51:06Z

It's a bit like sleeping with someone you don't intend to ever see again, telling them the morning after that you're just not ready for commitment and then seeing him or her a couple nights later with your hand down somebody's pants waiting in line at the movieplex.

What I'm talking about of course is my many month absence from LJ. And when I say absence, I mean it. I did not read, update, or even glance at anyone's anything for the past whateverthestuff. So for that I apologize and ask you to welcome me back with open arms and legs, my lovelies.

Virtually nothing has been up with me, except I no longer live in a basement, but a smelly half-of-a-house with a bookcase built into the stairs!

!!!

And I've noticed, though I haven't been on any message boards or posted any new fic or thoughts of any kind, I've managed to get more friends. So to the new kids who like my fic, thank you and I hope to know you more and please you with more Heroes fic for this season. And to my old friends whom I've cruelly abandoned and not read their fic, I hope to catch up on bits and please you as well with newly splendiforous ficgasms!

And as a goodwill offering, a tribute to the Heroes 3 premiere, just because I feel like everything I've ever written for Heroes has been jossed:

There was no way to describe it.

His mind raced in more than one language. There were no words he could think of. No expressions. Nothing. He thought of something red-orange, but it wasn't something communicable.

There was a quality about him he could no longer calculate. Years of developing his mind for analysis had left Mohinder completely unable to deal with a lack of expression in this magnitude. There weren't even numbers, equations to express how brilliantly, boldly, bloody alive he felt.

Everything that had changed him was quantifiable, except for how he felt. Stronger, faster, better in every conceivable way. Excited, rather than terrified. Aggressive, rather than passive. Ravenous, rather than curious. He finally felt like he was a part of his science, a part of something, rather than an observer to something.

He wondered if this was how discoverers of old must have felt. It reminded him of white men cutting through the underbrush of some unknown, exotic land. The obstacles were staggering and new. A strong possibility of death, but a stronger one of realizing the thing that every man has ever chased after: adventure.

As soon as she walked in, his senses were alight. By god, he could smell her. That notion in and of itself was amazing. And when he saw her... his whole body coursed in a way that he'd never felt before. His muscles were tense, aching. His fingertips itched to touch her delicate, dark skin. To smell her. To taste her skin.

Mohinder saw her pouting lips and deer-in-the-headlights eyes gaze back at him in fear and he new immediately want he wanted. He wanted to throw her on the bed, up against the wall, down on the floor. He wanted sex because it was there, because he could smell it.

It was animal. His urge was demanding and she was the prey.

As Mohinder felt her pounding jugular beat against his teeth, he finally calculated the change that the injection of Maya's DNA had brought him.

He was finally straight.

ba-dum-bum-cha!

Please love me again. :D

I guess I'll go read me some fic right now. If any of you have any suggestions, that'd be greatly appreciated, cause I'd like to have a stepping stone. But if you want to say, "No, J! You walked away from LJ for months and months without finishing the creepy Mylar series. Fuck you! You can find your own fic, bitch!" that's fine too.

I'll just try and relearn basic html now.

~love from WI
JLB

saturday morning wisconsin love

2008-04-12T17:40:28Z

most of you know how much i love Wisconsin, but here's some more WI-centric love to solidify that idea in your mind.

the following is from The Bratwurst Pages

12) Don't ridicule our manners. We only speak when spoken to. We hold doors open for others. We offer our seats to old folks because such things are expected of civilized people. Behave yourselves around our sweet, little gray-haired grandmothers or they will kick some manners into your ass just like they did ours. (Note to foreigners: This is totally true. We learn these good habits early on. I know I was slapped a few times by Grandma Baehman for not following these rules. More than once, in church.)

brandy: A word used more in Wisconsin than anywhere in the world. Brandy is distilled wine. 90% of brandy consumed in the U.S. is consumed in Wisconsin. Brandy Old-Fashioned, Brandy Manhattan, and so on. Yes, if you ask for an Old-Fashioned or Manhattan in Wisconsin, you will get a Brandy Old-Fashioned or Brandy Manhattan. (Brandy is also the most consumed alcoholic beverage in WI. We are also the #1 drinking and driving state. Cause no one here really has a designated driver, we just have the least-drunk driver.)

Apparently, Pop vs. Soda is not solely a WI issue. What do you call it? If you call all caffeinated, carbonated beverages Coke regardless of brand or flavor, we have a problem. I'm looking at you carma_baby. I know you're from... the South.

wit': with
yah: yes
yah yah: I heard you the first time (said to nagging spouse)

13) So you think we're quaint or losers because most of us live on the farm or in the woods? That's because we have enough sense to not live in filthy, smelly, crime-infested cesspools like New York or LA. Make fun of our fresh air and we'll kick your ass. (Note from the girl who spends a lot of time in a conservational science museum: Also, don't mock WI in general because we have another thing that you unfortunate bastards will use up in the first couple years of global warming. That's drinking water, bitches! It's the next war-starting item of the modern world. First it was minerals, like diamonds and pearls, then it was rubber, then oil dominated the 20th Century, but in the 21st, its still going to be oil, but much more importantly, water. And we've got aquifers and access the Great Lakes. Now only if we can stop contaminating our aquifers, we'll be peachy.)

10) Don't talk about how much better things are at home because we know better. Many of us have visited big-city hell-holes like Detroit, New York and Chicago, and we have the scars to prove it. If you don't like it here, interstate 90, 94 and 43 are ready when you are. Move your ass on home before it gets kicked. (Kyle and I got our car stolen in Chicago.)

And, of course, RECIPES!!!

And the larger list of this is at the aforementioned Bratwurst Pages, but also at the Facebook group, You know you're from Wisconsin, if..., of which, freerangedorito and I are members. Here are some items that qualify me for the list personally.

You can make sense out the words upnort and Trivers. (Our old Cabin was upnort by Trivers and Conover.)

The local paper covers national and international headlines on one page, but requires six pages for sports.

Down South to you means Chicago.

You know several people who have hit a deer.

Your school classes were cancelled because of cold.

You can gauge the depth of your relationship by the number of fingers your friends use to wave to you as you pass by on the road. (freerangedorito and I were just talking about this the other day. One finger off the steering wheel is just polite. You do that to passers-by as you're driving somewhere, though women aren't expected to do this, men are. Two fingers is for a neighbor or someone else you see frequently but don't really like. Your whole hand shot outwards, much like a Nazi salute, is for family members and old friends. And an active wave back and forth, is for really good friends and people you love.)

You measure distance in minutes. (7 minutes to freerangedorito's and cataterpillar's house. 45 minutes to kris_anne_'s. 20 minutes to Appleton. 30 minutes to my sister's.)

You end your sentences with an unnecessary preposition. Example: Where's my coat at?" or "If you go to town, I wanna go with."

All the festivals across the state are named after a fruit, vegetable, grain, or animal.

You install security lights on your house and garage and then leave both doors unlocked.

A brat is something you eat.

You can actually pronounce Oconomowoc.

You can recognize someone from Illinois or Iowa by their driving.

You can visit Luxemburg, Holland, Belgium, Denmark, Berlin, New London, Poland all in one afternoon. (I actually live really close to this area. It's only 5 minutes to New London for me. Not that I'd want to go. Its a shit-hole.)

At least twice a year, your kitchen doubles as a meat processing plant. (Also, a cannery.)

You have to drive thirty minutes to the nearest movie theater. (It's 25 minutes, really, but still.)

You know it's traditional for the bride and groom to go bar hopping between the ceremony and the reception. (We did at my sister's wedding.)

You can hear the words "Uff da!" without bursting into laughter.

You have ever been to State Street in Madison during a protest of something.

You drive 65 miles per hour through snow without flinching. (With a broken windshield.)

And just because:

Also, before I go. Just want to let you all know. It's April 12, 2008. And it's snowing.

~love from WI
JLB

I just love this so much.

2008-04-12T02:53:43Z

I never tire of this part of Anchorman. Never. I get unholy glee from Tim Robbins, with his pipe, rolling up with the Pulblic Television News Team to join the fray.

This clip = worth getting up at 5:30 every day this week.

Oh, and Kris, this is to honor tomorrow night, when we'll hopefully be six ways fucked from sunday and watching britcoms!!! Whooo! Weekend debauch and pass-out on your couch! WHOOO!

JLB

updates of an updatish nature

2008-04-08T02:33:11Z

i haven't been around for a couple days really, i'm just posting to tell y'all that i won't be for another week abouts. that's just to let all you lj friends know that the reason i'm not commenting on your fic isn't because i hate it, but because i'm very, very busy. here's a short list as to why:

-so my sister and brother-in-law are getting a divorce. at least, he's moving out soon. but they had a fight on sunday and he decided to be a complete dickhole and just left for the week. meaning he's not going to watch the kids, nor is he attempting to find anyone to watch them. so mis sobrinos, the ones I like, were sitter-less this week while my sister is at work. Save for me. So I'm watching them. Starting at 6:30 in the morning. :P

-and on saturday, is the annual crazy-day-at-the-museum-run-around-appleton-all-day-cause-there's-scouts-and-the-ReStore-earth-day-thing-at-the-same-time thing. and after that, i'm apparently watching cataterpillar dance in a cage for a couple hours and possibly setting up things (?) with freerangedorito.

-my brother is useless and has my car.

-i'm plagued with inner turmoil for not attending to my original fiction. So I've declared a policy of 2000 words a day on the 3-part/Wi/magic realism/America/novel-ish thing until it's done (sadly putting the political romp through history/magic realism one and McMurder on back burners). And really if I get between 1000-2000 words a day, I'll be really happy with myself.

-taxes

-in a whimsical four-hour drive around the valley with my mother, as she was trying to take pictures for her photo essay for Intro to Soc, we swiped a broken down chaise lounge from someone's garbage and took it hope. we are now going to reupholster it.

This is the how it looked before stripping it. The fabric is torn up and it smelled like dogs. Which made sense as the former owner told us as we failed to secret the thing away, that it had been a bed for dogs. but the frame is in real good shape.

And about 7 million staples later...

the back

the sweet curved arm part

Next we're removing the rest of the padding and staples, then reinforcing the springs. I'm so excited!

And in other news, I found out what was leaking in my basement. Something in the fish tank that I failed to empty in an appropriate time. You know why? IT'S NOT MY FUCKING FISH TANK!!!! I HATE FISH UNLESS THEY'RE BAKED AND HAVE A LITTLE BOWL OF LEMON BUTTER ON THE SIDE!!! AND NOW MY GOOD THESAURUS AND A PRIMARY SOUCE BOOK ABOUT EARLY AMERICAN LETTERS ARE FUCKING WET!!!!!! I HATE MY USELESS BROTHER'S STUPID FUCKING FISH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

::ahem::

So, it will be at least a week before I get to the fics I'm missing, post part 5 of the sylinder series, and/or make any macros.

Laters!

~love from WI
JLB

gratuitous celeb crush pics

2008-04-02T02:05:32Z

ahhh... eamonn walker. helping me avoid real life by being pretty.

the two sides of minister kareem said: introspective and...

... even more introspective?

again... ahhh... eamonn walker

eamonn walker and tim mcinnerny for 'othello'. does that make them minister othello and iago darling? :D

JLB

Deleted Scene: Avalanche. Mohinder's POV-Sylinder Series outtake.

2008-03-29T21:33:03Z

Title: Avalanche
Author: JLB
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and talking
Summary: Deleted Scene from my unnamed Sylinder Series. In Mohinder's POV, cause I've been thinking it's necessary. Mohinder goes through a lot of emotions in a short amount of time, and comes to a conclusion of sorts.
Other Notes: I was strongly influenced by "Avalanche" by Leonard Cohen, hence the name. Unbeta'd, so I apologize for grammar mistakes. Also, I'd like to direct your attention to the wonderful stick person drawing cataterpillar made for me, based on Mistakes for Roses.

Previous Parts: Skin and Hair and Hate, Rules and Bones to Break, Underwater, Mistakes for Roses

Mohinder’s POV

The door behind me echoed throughout my lab. My body wanted to give out completely, but I couldn’t. I felt it was wrong of me to just stop suddenly. I had to keep moving. I’d lasted the morning, the flight home, a brief stop at home, the wordless tension between Matt and myself. I had a compulsion to resist my desire.

I tossed my briefcase on one of the counters and swallowed dryly.

The forty minutes I had spent at the apartment were terrible. Molly didn’t seem to be cognizant of what she had found out the other day. Matt used his ability to tell her to forget what she saw and not to look for me. Neither Matthew nor I were happy with that, but I was in no position to say anything. Matt saved Molly from having to think about what I was doing, but who knew if it would last. There weren’t exactly definitive rules when it came to these abilities.

When he confronted me about what Molly had told him, I wanted to die. He was angry, at first, demanding an explanation. Once I told him the situation was basically extortion for Molly’s life, and reminded him that Sylar was a powerful, obsessive serial killer, he began to understand my situation a little more. He was still upset, but that was nothing compared to how upset I was. Once he had an accurate grasp of my rage, he was content to leave the matter for the time being.

Of course, I refrained from telling him that I had always been attracted to Zane. Nor did I mention, that when Sylar confronted me, the idea of a one-time indulgence was undoubtedly an alluring idea. A tryst that I could put off on Sylar as his doing. A tryst that would make me feel guilt, in my collaboration, but something I could ignore. A time I could look upon later, well after I had succumbed to my desire, to regret, but be wholly absolved of.

I should’ve known better.

I knew he had a penchant for interfering with me, for toying with my life. I hadn’t known he was obsessed. I hadn’t known he would stalk me, or come to my apartment to fuck me, or—

I should’ve known better.

He was a predator, like a giant cat. And instead of fighting him off, or doing my best to get out of his way, I let him eat a raw steak out of my hand.

Now his bloodlust was barely under his control, let alone mine.

After spending a harrowing day constantly fearing my life, my well being, being beaten and humiliated, and then positively confounded by his possessive, domestic caretaking, I went home.

Molly, blissfully unaware, was her usual self, doing homework. She confronted me with warmth and it was almost more than I could bear. I didn’t deserve it. It was all I could do to avoid crying in front of her. I had to stay away from her so she didn’t notice my pain. Not just my physical pain; she was too perceptive for me to hide my emotional stress from. Even though I had taken to expressing my thoughts in my native tongue, I couldn’t keep Matt from noticing either.

He was distant and disapproving. When he happened to walk past me, however, he got a good look of my face. Fortunately, most of the damage could be concealed by clothes. And my skin tone naturally obscured light bruises. But my cheek was slightly swollen and displayed a purple sheen to it. Matt saw it.

He cornered me into the kitchen, throwing a surreptitious look behind him, and whispered, “What the hell happened?”

The concern was evident in his eyes and I had to look away. The last thing I wanted was his pity. “I’m fine,” I said quietly.

He snorted angrily, “Yeah, and when you were ‘mugged’ a couple a weeks ago, was that him too?” When I didn’t answer he let out an exasperated sigh. “Mohinder, you can’t just do this. There’s got to be a way for you to get out of this.”

I clenched my fist and waited for a moment to keep from losing my temper. “This isn’t just a random abusive relationship, Matt. I can’t call the cops. I doubt any conventional manner of law enforcement could hold him. And fortunately, or unfortunately, he is so concentrated on me that he’s not even trying to gain more abilities. So I’ll take the swollen jaw for a while. At least people aren’t dying.”

“That we know of,” he snapped. “I’m not attached to the FBI case anymore and I don’t trust the Company. There’s no way to know he’s not still killing people, while he—while he’s concentrating on you.”

“He’s not,” I said firmly. Though what inspired the firmness, I didn’t know. Perhaps some need to believe that, somehow, I was doing the right thing.

Matt’s eyes went wide and his jaw set for a moment. “Do not tell me you’re trusting him.”

“Of course not,” I snapped. “He just… He doesn’t lie to me. He’s violent and degrading and crude and he—He doesn’t lie to me.”

Matt crossed his arms and looked at me with a mixture of pity and anger. It wasn’t something I could tolerate anymore without experiencing some kind of outburst. I had to leave.

I said, trying to walk past him, “I’m going to the lab now to finish some work.”

But he caught my wrist and I hissed in pain. After having it twisted weeks ago, and again last night, then being tied to a bed for a couple of hours, it wasn’t in the best shape. And I had no delusions of being stronger than Matt, so I didn’t even bother struggling when he pulled my arm up for his inspection. He pulled my sleeve down a little and saw the bruising all the way around my wrist. It was even blistered in some places.

“Jesus Christ, Mohinder,” he said, quietly, in disbelief. “Ligature marks? What the hell did he do to you? Do you need medical attention?”

With his grip now lax, I pulled my arm away. “No. I’m fine. I’m going to the lab.”

I thought that work might distract me, but it wasn’t. The thoughts of Sylar still remained. Of what he’d done and what I felt. My mind felt heavy and hot with shame. It felt like my chest was full of emotion that I could no longer hold back. It was rising in my throat and came out unexpectedly and forcefully.

I laughed. A short, barking laugh at first. The sound was sickening, as was the turning of my stomach.

The situation was ridiculous. The fact that I’d even considered having sex with him in the first place was ridiculous. Part of me, the part that was angry and vengeful, was convinced of the idea that Sylar’s uncontrollable possessiveness was my fault for opening the door in the first place. Part of me thought I deserved what I got for being attracted to my father’s murderer. But I knew those to be the deluded thoughts of abused wives the world over.

Maybe that was why I was laughing.

The laughing didn’t last long. It was a nervous reaction to heightened emotions and stress. But the pitiful state of my life didn’t miraculously change, so I couldn’t stop myself from the physical expulsion of my anxiety and stress. I sunk to the floor, letting my back collide painfully with the wall of the cabinet. I was crying, hardly able to comprehend my life anymore. My hands were shaking.

I was my father’s most painful inferences about me: weak, emotional, and unstable.

My heaving breaths were making my bruised sides hurt. I couldn’t stand the thought of my face being exposed to the empty room. I pulled my knees close to my chest and put my elbows atop my knees, letting my arms cover the back of my head. It was a position I’d been finding comfortable of late, but not really very comforting. I could feel almost as if someone else was touching me, which was a semi-hollow thought and a semi-reassuring action.

I tangled restless fingers into my hair and tried to stop my shoulders from moving. I tried to stop crying, but I couldn’t. It was like emotional vomit: forceful and unpleasant, but physically necessary.

I was stuck on the mock humor, the ridiculous horror of my last few weeks. He was a serial killer, but he was also childlike. Strangely inquisitive, often in awe over simple machinations of the body, possessive, petulant, selfish. And what I was to him was no more than a PhD rag doll with curly hair. Pulling the string on my back emitted such phrases as, “The thrombolytics failed in sample A” and “Please, no, I’ll do anything you want”.

My throat felt dry on top of my general sickness. But I knew that my sickness couldn’t be healed by medicine, or sitting down and feeling bad for myself. The reason why I was sick was no more than Sylar’s lingering breath on my neck.

And while I was trying to figure out which disgusted me more, his evident desire to break me down into pieces and humiliate me, or his infuriating caretaking of me after he did what wanted, Elle walked in the door.

“What’s up, Doc?” She shouted, cheerfully, letting the door clang behind her. I clamored to clear my face and stand up straight. “I brought you some—“

I wiped my eyes to see her standing, a little perplexed, with a large grease-smudged paper bag under her arm. “Were you crying?” she asked.

I took a deep breath and simply averted my eyes. There was a chance that if I spoke, I wouldn’t be able to keep my thoughts from falling out of my mouth. I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand in a futile attempt to distract her from my eyes.

She set the bag on the counter and spoke cautiously. Well, cautiously for Elle. “I brought Chinese, cause you never eat up here.”

I rubbed the back of my neck in frustration. I didn’t want Elle to be there. I didn’t want anything more than being left alone. I couldn’t wallow in my painful, overwhelming humiliation with someone else present. I wasn’t comfortable with my own level of awareness in regards to my position, let alone Elle grasping for any understanding.

“Um, are you okay?” she asked, with a strange look on her face.

Clearly, though, my lack of response wasn’t doing any good. I shook my head in dismissal, “I’m fine.” Even to me, my voice sounded wet and groggy. I wanted to sink into the floor and ignore the rest of the world.

“You don’t look fine. You look like crap,” she started walking towards me.

I began to panic over a story to tell her. I hadn’t prepared any lie. I hadn’t needed to lie for Matt anymore. Nor did I need to tell anything to Bob. The perks, I guessed, of a dangerous job. No one questions errant bruises or a limp in your step. But Elle would most assuredly ask. She didn’t really need to be told anything, I thought. But that’s if I were going to be an ass about it. I’d learned since my first frightening meeting, Elle wasn’t purposefully annoying, but honestly curious and nosy. And she’d grown attached to me; less concerned with inappropriate touching now, but still clingy and needy. I was something of an experiment in friendship for her.

I could feel the state of haze and confusion I’d been in all day wearing off. I knew I would have to lie to her, and, frankly, I felt bad for it.

I guessed she was a sort of friend experiment for me as well.

“Thank you for stopping, Elle,” I said, not looking her in the eyes. “But I’d rather be alone right now if you don’t mind.”

Her mouth curled up in a dissatisfied sneer and she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I mind. You have a terrible poker face. Something is obviously up. You have to tell me.” Then with a note of haughtiness she whined, “And I brought you food!”

In that moment all the physical pain I was feeling, and all the mental distress, was made instantaneously worse by a swift attack of paranoia. She’d already been around me too long. I was certain she could see all the terrible things I’d consented to, all the terrible things done to me, written plain in my eyes. Like I was projecting the last day and a half straight into her mind. I was worried she’d find out, because, certainly, the worst possible option was for someone else to find out.

The worry was shaking my hands of their own accord. I tried to bring them into my body, in my pockets, maybe, but that made me feel all the more awkward. I was suddenly a spectacle. Less than a person; just something being observed for its inevitable breakdown.

“Elle, I—Thank you… I…” I sputtered. There were no words to follow. There was nothing reasonable I could think of saying. I couldn’t successfully deflect her. I couldn’t lie. I couldn’t tell her the truth.

“What’s up with your face?” She said, stepping even closer, pointing and squinting at the left side of my face. “It looks puffy.”

I closed my eyes, hoping to regroup, but the thoughts never came. I could only feel her moving closer and my body tightening with awful anticipation. Again, lacking real action, I turned spastically away from her. I wasn’t going to let her words stop me. I was going to walk to the other door, or the bathroom, collect my head, and then tell her something that could excuse not only the bruises, but my attitude, as well.

Of course, then she said, “Dude, you’re bleeding.” I turned back around sharply. “You’re back. You’ve got blood on your shirt.”

I ran hastily to the bathroom. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t in any pain that hadn’t already been bothering me. But I was nervous and paranoid and tired and crazed. I stood in front of the bathroom mirrors, pulling off my shirt rapidly, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling as it pulled over my back. I turned and twisted my head back, so I might see it in the mirror.

Two overlapping marks low in the middle of my back were slowly weeping blood. They looked particularly bad, much worse than the other three nearer to my shoulders. The blood was dark, as was the mottled skin around it. I reached a shaky around to my back and touched the skin delicately. It stung.

“Wowzers,” Elle said, drawing my attention away from the mirror. She walked in the doorframe, just staring at me, her electric blue eyes wide in disbelief.

My body tensed in shock. I felt like I was going to vomit.

She moved to touch my back with an outstretched hand, but I flinched away from her. I felt the small walls of the bathroom closing in on me. I was shaking with cold or fear or dread. I didn’t know which. I was loosing the capacity to breathe and think at the same time. Words were even farther gone from me.

She spoke cautiously, “Mohinder… come here.” So I know I must have looked a fright, but I was past considering the moment. My body was responding solely with nervous reaction. Like I had the previous night… when Sylar…

I was hyperventilating.

I braced my hands against the basin, trying to stop myself from falling forward. My chest was heaving, trying to find the air. It was painful and I could feel it in my ribs.

Without thinking or looking, or really even feeling it, Elle led me out of the bathroom by my arm. I still couldn’t breathe. I could feel Sylar’s hands on me. The memory of his belt. The ridiculous, nonsensical terror of it all. I could feel it tearing my brain apart.

She brought me out to the fire escape. It was cold, but the air hit lungs with their intended effect. I wasn’t feeling anymore sane, but I’d stopped gasping. The air was slowly going through my chest again. She sat me down on the floor, where I could grasp my knees to me and feel a little more stable.

And though my knees were shaking and my back felt like it was still being torn apart, the world was slowly knitting back together.

Eight minutes later found me in a new shirt, sitting on the floor, and eating Snow Peas with Tofu with Elle.

I hadn’t known what I had been expecting her reaction to be. Certainly not a competent, silent series of ministrations that kept me from hyperventilating and passing out on the floor. I still felt an expectant dread of what might come. Seeing me break down wasn’t the revelation of my secret. The worst was yet to come, but I no longer felt a certainty that it would, indeed, come.

Considering, I was feeling much better. The food was doing wonders for me, I think. I hadn’t eaten for quite some time at that point. And Elle had been surprisingly adept about the whole thing. Not at all demanding or inquisitive, which led me to believe she knew what tact was after all. It wasn’t until we were half way through with our cartons of food that she actually spoke.

“So, I’m guessing Joe Friday didn’t do that,” she said, failing to pick up a carrot with her chopsticks.

“I don’t know who that is,” I said quietly, taking another bite of my food.

“The stalwart Detective… Then again, they’re usually the type. But if he’s up for bondage fun on his down time, I’ve seriously got to reconsider the way I read men.” The carrot she was trying to retrieve again fell out of her chopsticks, so she changed her hold and speared the vegetable instead.

Lost in the myriad of things I felt I needed to express, the one that came out first was, “Bondage fun?” I finally looked her in the eye. She doubtfully looked away, taking a snappish bite from the carrot.

“Well… Not so much fun for you, I guess. What with the freaking out and the scar tissue.”

I took a deep breath, grounding myself to the floor. This wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d thought it might be. I felt diminished, but not as fearful. I was tired of my fluctuating emotions. And I had no idea of what to be fearful of anymore.

“Not Matthew, no,” I said. “We’re not having any manner of sex, let alone hardcore S&M. That is from…”

“Please, Doc,” she sighed. “I know what it’s from. I’m a big girl. You don’t need to lie to me. I just think that you should probably—“

“Elle,” I said abruptly. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

She snorted in derision. “Yeah, I took a wild leap. I just don’t care much. You’re obviously in some serious shit. If you were fine, you wouldn’t be crying or having breathing problems or sitting here all stupid an’ calm an’ sad. I just… Seeing you hurt and sad makes me sad. And unexpectedly angry. And I want to know if there’s a bitch I need to shank.”

A laugh forced itself out of my throat. Adding my five-foot tall bodyguard to the equation would not make it more absurd. No, not at all. But I felt a wild surge of protection when I thought of Sylar preying on her and her, no doubt, appealing ability. There was absolutely no question of my taking more abuse and degradation in order to keep her safe. Our apparent feelings of comradery were sort of touching. In a very socially retarded, poorly expressed way, but still. Touching.

“No. I can’t let you get involved. I will… I’ll think of something. It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ve just… I’ve let things get out of control. It won’t happen again.”

The lies sounded like lies in my voice. They felt unconvincing on my lips. I couldn’t even conceal that I had no faith in myself anymore. When I thought about my responses to Sylar’s high, cloying sentimentality and his violent demands of ownership, and how I bent to his every whim, I felt overwhelmingly lost. I couldn’t promise to anyone, least of myself, a safe return from where I was. I felt trapped. I was trapped.

She looked at me pityingly and went back to her food. She knew I was lying.

After a few moments, I said, “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For helping me. Being concerned.”

A slight tinge of red came to her cheeks. Genuine gratitude was, I think, the only thing she found embarrassing. And also satisfying. She lent me a small smile.

“No probs… I mean, I just wanted you to stop.”

I nodded and smiled, feeling a sickly feeling creep back into my stomach. As I went on eating, I wondered about the nature of adaptation.

Sylar had beaten me and raped me for no apparent reason. And though it made no sense, and it confounded me for multiple reasons, the world went on. My life went on. I could continue to muster myself into talking with people, into looking into people’s eyes without melting from the shame. All I had to do was bite down my feelings and lie. I could continue to work and suffer through what my own personal madman wanted, without receiving any benefit or understanding it at all.

I wasn’t particularly happy with that, but I couldn’t rage or scream or cry about it.

There was nothing I could do at all.

Hope you enjoy!

~love from WI
JLB

moar rome macros

2008-03-29T19:06:35Z

~love from WI
JLB

rome macros

2008-03-28T05:59:02Z

i made some rome macros for my rome buddies, but not exclusively for them. other people can look at them too.

... OR...

titus pullo/l. vorens goodness

and finally, a moti

Kisses!

~love from WI
JLB

lmao

2008-03-27T23:04:19Z

EVERYONE, LOOK AT THIS!!!! A little comment on the latest installment of my Sylinder Series from cataterpillar, whom I'm now in love with.

JLB

mylar series (4/6)

2008-03-24T21:08:16Z

Title: Mistakes for Roses
Author: JLB
Rating: NC-17 for violence, sex, drug use, and more sex. I’m pretty sure this section has some non-con in it. Yeah…
Disclaimer: Know nothing, own nothing, I don’t mean anything by this, etc., etc.
Summary/Warnings: Exploration into a consensual Sylinder (Mylar) fic. This is part four of a six-part series. All slash, all NC-17, all the time. Ranges from consensual to dub-con. Set after 2x11 and imagines into possible future stuffs. This part is much, much longer than all the others, so be prepared.

Part One: Skin and Hair and Hate
Part Two: Rules and Bones to Break
Part Three: Underwater

Chandra told me what my real ability was. Well, his book did.

Intuitive aptitude. The ability to inherently understand how things work. Tactile things. Problems with solutions.

Now, looking back, I can recognize instances of this even in my childhood.

So I was wondering why every attempt I’d made to control or fix or change Mohinder had failed so fucking spectacularly!

Why and how could I make him work? It kept eluding me. With anything else, answers leaped to my fingertips. I could visualize endings and answers and missing pieces and then make it real, because I wanted it and I had the power.

Except with Mohinder. Who curled me around his wicked fingers with a lascivious or pouting look.

I yearned to end his suffering and be the cause of it. I longed to caress his skin then tear it off in shreds. Every approach I took was dissipated with his response. I wanted him to crawl to me, but I felt like I was resting in his jaws.

And what was I doing with Mohinder if it wasn’t successful?

If I wasn’t achieving a feeling or sensation or outcome I desired, how was the endeavor worthwhile? Mohinder was guilting himself into a coma and I was drowning. I’d expected his desire and fear. I’d wanted him to be mine completely. I’d expected to feel joy at every cringe and every accepting nod.

But I wasn’t in control of the situation. I was losing to my own lust.

Something needed to change. Drastically.
 
Following him to L.A. seemed like a good plan. A different setting. A different attitude. Maybe I could take a differing route or do something I couldn’t do in New York.

I was feeling desperation. I didn’t want that anymore.

I wasn’t expecting the reaction he gave me as he opened the door to my face. I was expecting his usual shock, resigned acceptance, exasperation maybe. Not rage.

But as soon as he opened the door, he pulled me inside and pushed me against the wall. His eyes were fiery dark, in a way I hadn’t seen for a while. Aggression, no seduction, no coyness. No hint that he was playing along. His teeth were bared and I felt like I was trapped in his perfect white jaws again.

“Molly looked for me the other day!” He shouted. “When I was with you! She saw us together. She had to go to Matt about what she saw. Matt had to convince her she had seen something else. And we don’t know if the illusion is going to stick.”

He renewed his push against my shoulders. “I had to explain to Matt what I’m doing. I had to explain to Matt that I’m prostituting myself to you, in order to keep Molly safe, you murdering fuck! You killed her parents and she saw me with you! Whatever twisted fucking fascination I had with you is fucking over! This is not going to happen any longer!”

My stomach felt like a pit of bile. Dual stabs of rage and fear were hissing through my chest. He hit the other side of the room, about fifteen feet away.

“You know, I’m about sick of your mood swings, Mohinder. Especially, when we both know that they’re leading ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOWHERE,” I screamed, feeling blood rush to my face. “You are not about to give up on me and I’m sure as hell not about to end this.”

“No! It’s over,” he spat, pulling himself up against the wall. “I can’t do this anymore!”

I bit my lip, throwing a ceramic lamp against the wall, just to relieve some of the tension before I bit through my lip. “I can’t understand you! You hate it, you like it. One day I have to rape you, the next day you’re a fucking bitch in heat, fucking me until my eyes bleed and I’m drowning in my own goddamn sweat.” I pushed him back down on the ground from where I stood. “You’re not going to do anything to jeopardize precious Molly. And if you do something like this again, I’ll fucking kill her anyway.”

Nervous fear caught his jaw. He wavered for a second. Then he shook his head. “You’re not some impossible bogeyman. You’re strong, but you’re not invincible. There are people that can defeat you.”

I walked over to him and crouched in front of him. I looked at him for a second to see if I could glean what he was thinking. My eyes felt hot and itchy.

I said, quietly, but forcefully, “You are not one of those people, Mohinder.”

His jaw ticked for a moment. “I know that. But I know people who can.” He looked down and spoke quietly. “And I know that you won’t kill Molly. Because you can’t kill me. You can’t disappoint me.”

I wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted to tear him apart. Almost without thinking, my hands were around his throat. I could feel his Adam’s apple bobbing against my palm. Heat rising. Choking sounds building in the back of his throat. His air was going. Panic was flickering in his eyes. He was almost accepting of it at first. Then his hands grabbed at my wrists. His teeth were gritted against fear. His heart was pounding. I could taste vomit in my mouth.

And I tore my hands away from him.

I couldn’t follow through. And I turned away from him. I felt tears coming down my face. I felt urgency in my feet and slammed the door behind me.

I was angry. Apparently, angrier than I thought. I’d left in a daze, walking the unfamiliar place, looking at the ground. I was looking for absent answers.

And when I looked up for once I was holding a hooker by the throat. Her nails were beginning to claw at my hand. And I could feel her neck straining against my palm. I lifted her higher. Her eyes looked at me almost calmly, considering she was suspended in the air by my grip. She was atypical. Perhaps I had gone to her on purpose.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Her heels kicked at the wall of the building she was leaning against. I let her fall to the ground.

“Where am I?” I looked around to see the alley I was standing in. I had no real recollection of walking to that point. Even though I was in an alcove behind a few buildings, I could tell the sun was setting.

“The fuck are you doing, asshole?” The hooker coughed from the ground.

“Charming.” I raised my hand higher and her body followed, standing against the wall again. Her eyes were green and strangely cognizant. She didn’t seem incredibly shocked by what I was doing. “Tell me what I should do.”

Her eyes were open wide though. She was cautious. “Do about what? What should I tell you?”

I was less impressed. “The truth.”

“The truth about what?” Panic finally entering her voice.

I felt a stab of anguish. She wasn’t atypical; she was useless. Was I getting everything and everyone wrong suddenly?! Could nothing enter my grasp? I felt like I was loosing my footing on the cement beneath me. I felt like things were melting inside of me. Nothing was solid anymore. I squeezed my fist to start closing her airway. Her hands flew to her throat and the panic went back into her eyes. She managed to choke out a few unintelligible sounds.

“Is there a reason not to kill you?”

She made muffled, choked sounds and waved her hands out in front of me. She stepped forward, losing balance over her lime green heels. She fell to her knees. I let go of my hold on her air. She gasped for breath, crawling closer to me.

“So, is there one?” I asked. I felt a teetering uneasiness in the back of my brain. Would she know the answer? Would anyone? Did everyone but me know the answer?

She leaned on me, when she reached me, grabbing a hold of my belt.

“Anything you want,” she said imploringly. “I’ll do anything you want.”

I touched her face, surprisingly heartened. I said, “Thanks, but no. I don’t need trade goods. I have someone for that. And he’s prettier than you.”

“Then why you on the prowl, baby? Your pretty boy…” She moved her hand over my stomach. Her bright red nails glowed against my black shirt. “He not treatin’ you right? Not pleasin’ you right?”

I guessed I had been right. She was reading me with her hands. One of which was holding the back of my thigh, the other was fingering the outline of my dick over my jeans. Her green eyes, a bold green, looked up at me in a hypnotizing way, as her chin angled toward my crotch. I hooked my hand around the back of her neck, feeling her dry, over-bleached hair on her smooth neck.

“As a matter of fact, he’s not.” I pulled her up to stand again keeping my thumb and middle finger tight against the base of his neck. “Tell me how to fix him.”

Her heart rate finally quieted and slowed down. “You’re in a rut,” she said.

“Of sorts. Things aren’t going my way.”

“I know a place. Bring your pretty boy. Whatever kinda fuck you want you can have there.” She rubbed the corner of my collar between her thumb and forefinger and smirked. “We can have a time.”

“Take me there.”

The club was all shades of purple and black with dark red couches and cages. There were people dancing on most available surfaces. Most of the people were wearing plastic and leather and bright colors. And the music was beginning to make my brain feel like a crushed can.

I could only have looked more out of place if my mother had dressed me.

The hooker grabbed me by the wrist, and quickly ran over to the bar. She pulled a wad of cash out of her bra and slipped it to the bartender, who handed her a small plastic bag. She turned to me and slipped it in my palm. There was one small pill in it. Her eyes looked purple in the light. I could now feel the music in my teeth and I already had a headache. Her mouth moved, but the sounds never made it to ears over the goddamn noise.

She pulled me away from the bar into a less populated hallway. There were more purple and red things, and a large man in a suit, who gave the hooker a nod when we walked past him.

She pulled me into a room and let me fall against the wall. She picked the plastic bag out of my hand. She put the pill on her finger and placed her finger on my lips.

“This will make you big and strong,” she said with a grin.

It was strange that I felt no apprehension, taking a nameless drug. I’d never taken any drugs before. But I was hoping, as I swallowed, that it would be kind of mania I needed. A fearsome drug in which I could find the power to eliminate Mohinder and remember nothing.

I felt her cloying mouth on mine, but I pushed her back. The noise of the club was farther away now, and I could think. I could hear at close range again.

She tried to slip a hand down my pants, but I grabbed her wrist and twisted it. Her other hand flew toward my shoulder, but I caught it.

“Boy,” she said with a smirk. “You sure are a son of a bitch. I—“

But I had cut her off. Her head turned violently to the right. I could almost hear the snap. Her broken neck bent backwards from the weight of her head. Once I let go of her wrists, the rest of her body fell to the floor like a bag of sand.

Looking at the arched form her corpse collapsed in, I wondered at why I had chosen to kill her. It was fairly purposeless. I supposed I hadn’t wanted her around me anymore. But it also made me feel a little… euphoric.

By the time I got back to Mohinder’s hotel room, I was overheating. My clothes were too much and my body was pulsing. It felt like my heart was beating in my hands.

I stopped at the door, my head addled and unsure. I felt unusually light, as if I were suddenly in a less dense body. I was almost positive I could feel my blood coursing through me. Up and down my legs, though my chest and circling my head.

I leaned forward and knocked on the door heavily. I heard Mohinder’s pace quicken and then subside as I put my ear to the door. I could hear my breath as well, panting at the ready. But the door didn’t open. I knocked again. I faintly heard his heart rate quicken. My hands trailed the seam of the door. I found the doorknob and turned, but the door was stopped by the security chain.

“Mohinder,” I called out. I had the sudden and unstoppable urge to see him, to hold him against me. To subdue his squirming body. The desire was so strong it was palpable, tightening my stomach into knots.

He didn’t say anything, but his breath was louder.

And it took me a few moments to realize that I could open the door anyway. I pushed with my mind and the chain broke off the latch.

I took a deep breath as I walked inside. Mohinder’s earlier burst of rage had apparently gone out of him. He’d, no doubt, remembered he was a practical creature, not an outspoken idealist. He was now more fearful, walking himself back against the wall. And I wanted to say something about his behavior earlier, but I found myself distracted. I opened my mouth to speak and I caught sight of his lithe, shivering body instead.

He’d never been more attractive, or more perfectly shaped, which was odd. I was certain he hadn’t changed since earlier that day. His angular shoulders dipping down to his narrow, round waist. Long legs, jutting hips. Long, evenly muscled arms. And his perfectly structured face resting on his delicately narrow neck. His eyes widened in fear and perpetual disbelief. To the unfathomably perfect curls on top of his head. The overwhelming sight of him was beyond me. It was almost incapacitating. I almost thought of why I hadn’t thought this way before. But I was again distracted by the compulsion to smell his neck.

His back hit the wall. “I, uh… I…”

I wrapped my arms around his back and pushed myself against him as far as I could go. He’d just taken a shower. The clean scent on his skin was intoxicating. I kissed his neck, unable to peel myself away from the taste and the feel. I could feel my hips already grinding against his.

It was bliss, heady and uplifting. I closed my eyes to bright colors behind my eyelids. His skin was warm and alive. Even his stubble felt amazing against my skin. I could only grip my fingers into his back. I could barely move. I thought my stomach would jump up my throat if I went too quickly.

I kissed his jaw, the side of his face.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

I could feel his chest moving slowly against mine, pushing off the wall. His heart beating by mine, like he was doing it on purpose. I pulled my arms around him tighter. He felt, for a moment, like a doll. I had a youthful yearning to hold him and pet him. To own him. The desire for ownership was spreading quickly from innocent and breathtaking to aggressive. I wanted pieces of him. And I could barely contain my emotions in my skin.

“I had to touch you. I had to feel your skin,” I said.

Panic blazed up my spine. He was wearing too many clothes, but I couldn’t move my arms to take them off him. If he was to disappear or disintegrate and my hands weren’t around him I didn’t know what I’d do. I couldn’t keep him then.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered into his ears.

Mohinder squirmed against me and managed to push my shoulder back a little distance. Nothing terrible happened after a few seconds, so I figured I was mistaken.

“You were choking me two hours ago,” he said flatly, while his eyes searched me nervously.

One hand left his shoulder and snaked up the side of his neck. Against my pale hand, his skin was glowing. And I could feel the blood rushing though his jugular vein against my hand. His mouth dropped open a little. He tried to move backward, but there was no space to move. There was nothing between me and the wall but Mohinder.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said lazily, pushing my fingers into the back of his hair. It was still a little damp, but soft and cool to the touch. “I’m glad you didn’t use hairspray.”

He pushed me away again. “You’re—What are you…” he trailed off looking into my eyes. “Your pupils are dilated.”

“Your eyes are beautiful,” I said, catching his upward tilted face in a kiss. He didn’t kiss me back, but grabbed my face with his hands and pushed back. I leaned into his palm, feeling it against my cheek. I could feel it vibrating against my skin.

“What did you do?” The back of his hand flipped up to my forehead. It was cool and it made my eyes close.

I felt confused and slightly nauseous. Seeing Mohinder with new eyes was confusing. Not being a part of his skin was confusing. Needed to touch him, pet him, love him.

“The hooker gave me drugs.”

Mohinder’s mouth formed an ‘O’ of surprise. “The hooker?”

I slid my hands on both sides of his face and stretched my thumb to the bridge of his nose. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t touch her when I have you.” I leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose.

He looked horrified. “Don’t kiss my nose, you bloody freak. The hooker gave you drugs and turned you into a bunny rabbit? Get the fuck away from me!”

He pushed me suddenly and I fell backwards. There was no tension in my body, but I felt a distinct gnawing feeling building inside me. His rejection hurt. Hurt like a physical pain. It made me realize how light-hearted I had felt moments ago. Also, I had an erection. And I was sweating. I didn’t understand what was happening.

“Why is my heart—Mohinder, why did you push me away? I’m being nice to you. I want to be nice to you. I need you.”

He looked at me as though I were incomprehensible. I was starting to feel his absence. A few feet away were actually miles. And the air was actually a wall between us. I needed to have sex with him. I needed to be inside of him with a burning compulsion. Yet the idea was so perfect, so euphoric I felt afraid to approach him. But of course the burning in my skin and hands won out.

I got to my knees and crawled over to him. I put my arms around his hips and nestled my face into his groin. My stomach, my dick, my balls tensed at the idea of getting into him.

“I need you,” I said again.

“What drugs did you take?”

I unbuckled his belt. The sound it made pulling past each belt loop sent a particularly sharp waves of sensation to my dick.

“I don’t know,” I said quietly, unbuttoning his pants. His pants fell a little below his hips and I un-tucked his shirt all the way. It was dangling in the way of his boxers so I ripped it open, scattering buttons across the floor. I slid my hand up his stomach, finally getting to touch his exposed skin. The sparse curls of hair on his stomach rolled through my fingers. It felt so good I started to salivate.

I grabbed his side and pulled him to me so I could taste his skin. I slid my tongue over his hip, kissed his waist, and nibbled at him, grabbing his skin between my teeth.

“I love your skin,” I pronounced. “I love your taste. I love you.”

I looked up to see Mohinder frowning at me, as he gently tugged at some short hairs at the nape of my neck. “Good Christ, you’re on E! But… No. Ecstasy would diminish your sex drive. You’ve had a hard on since you got—Sextacy. Goddamn it, Sylar.”

“What?”

“It’s Ecstasy and Viagra. You got from a hooker. So, who knows what else is in it.” He sighed and stepped back from me. “You should probably lie down. You could have a heart attack. With my luck, it won’t kill you and you’ll blame me for it. I’ll go—“

I leapt to my feet and grabbed his shoulder to prevent him from walking away. “I love you!” I shouted emphatically, shaking him back a little. He wasn’t even listening to me. “Mohinder, I love you! You were right. I can’t kill you. I love you and you’re mine. You’re the only one fit for me. You’re the only one I love, the only one I deserve to have.”

Mohinder’s eyes widened and his heart rate sped up.

I wrapped my arms around him again. “Don’t be afraid, Mohinder. All you have to do is listen. You can show your appreciation for me by listening to what I say. Then you’ll be safe and we’ll both be happy.”

I smiled, but he only nodded cautiously. I walked backwards to a chair, collapsing into it, bringing Mohinder down with me on my lap. He wriggled a little when I ran my fingers up his side.

“You’re important to me,” I added, circling his nipple with my thumb. “If I just needed to fuck someone, I’d have fucked the hooker. But what we have his more than that. I love you. We understand each other… You’re special to me. You need to know that.”

He looked away at the words, his lashes obscuring his eyes.

“Do you understand that?”

He nodded slowly and leaned into my hand. “Yes.”

After many long minutes of slowly pumping in and out of Mohinder, I was beginning to notice a problem. He was bent over the arm of the chair and had come quite some time before. I was mesmerized, watching his back strain and flatten every time my cock thrust in and out of his body. His body was seized with every plunge inside him; and he let out little sighing breaths.

But after a while, the world was becoming less and less about the air moving through Mohinder’s lungs. It felt like my brain was wrapped in cotton. My eyes were tired. I felt like I was choking on heat.

And I still hadn’t come.

“Sylar,” he said pleadingly.

I pulled out of him. The air hit me like a hammer. I pulled Mohinder up and dragged him to the table. I threw him on his back, anxious to get back inside him. The euphoria and bliss I had been feeling from just looking at him, from touching him was starting to turn. There was panic crawling up my spine, wrapped around my stomach. I was hot, feeling sick.

I needed to come.

“Sylar,” he said again, grunting. He squeezed my waist tightly between his thighs, as he tried to straighten out on the table. “This is… This has been going on for a… a long time.” He craned his neck back to take a glimpse at the clock.

I grabbed his hips and pulled him closer to me. The clock was slow, so there was no telling how long a time it really was. It felt like days. I stopped for a minute and fell over him, resting my head on his chest. It was cool, at least, cooler than my forehead.

“What’s going on, Mohinder? Why isn’t this working?”

“That’s the problem,” he said. Feeling his voice vibrate in his chest made my dick twitch. “The Viagra is working. But that is something you definitely don’t need. You’re too young and healthy for something like that.”

I put my hand low on his abdomen and pushed down. “God, you’re perfect. I can’t stop touching you.”

“Well, you’ve had an erection for an hour, so… You’re burning up.” He pressed his palm to my forehead again. I felt nauseous again, but still blindly driven to touch him.

“I need to keep fucking you,” I said shakily. I squeezed his sides. My fingertips itched at his skin, not moving, waiting to dig in. It felt like my brain was trying to crawl out of my head. I let my head fall on his chest again. His heartbeat sounded against my skull, calming my mind.

I closed my eyes against a dull ache. I couldn’t understand what was happening to me.

Mohinder sighed. “Sylar…”

I flattened his hips back on the table and pressed the tip of my cock at his ass. I wrapped my hand on the inside of his thigh and pushed back inside him, feeling the air leave my body.

Five positions, three pieces of furniture, and two different types of lube later, I was still rock hard. It had become more like working in a forge and less like fucking.

I clearly wasn’t made for that awful drug. Any good feelings wore down into queasy doubt. I had made an ass of myself. Opening up to him, telling him I loved him, all because the fucking drugs made me feel like it was a good decision. Then, except for the unmovable fucking erection, it was all wearing off, leaving me exposed and aware.

I wasn’t returning to normal; I was deteriorating. I could feel the tethers of what little control I had over Mohinder snapping. I was sick and sweating. My heart was pounding in my chest like train engine, burning and painful. My balls also felt twisted and tight and needful. It made me feel young and small. And time was a fog. Fast and slow. Everything in my peripheral vision was a hot blur. I had a mind-bending, terrible headache behind my eyes.

The nonsensical joy I had felt by being in his presence was gone. It had been a lie. Now I was vulnerable, unable to concentrate.

And the throbbing pain in my dick felt like it was running from my testicles all the through my intestines and wrapped around my heart.

Mohinder and I were beyond talking. He’d tried to dissuade me. He wanted to stop. He was sweating and drained. He was halfway responding to me, mewling sighs and strained movements. But he was lethargic and pissy. I noticed, but I didn’t want to care. Nor did I want to show any consideration.

I’d told him I loved him. And far from killing him, I’d gushed over him.

After another long, interminable amount of time I had to stop. Nothing was happening. Nothing but me pointlessly fucking Mohinder, unable to get off or progress or make an impact on him in anyway.

I pushed off of him from the other chair. I ripped the end table apart with twitch of my wrist. Splinters flew around the disassembled furniture and another lamp fell to the ground.

It wasn’t satisfying.

Mohinder lazily collapsed into the chair. He pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his head on his knees. He looked like a fucking child. His skinny legs and his tousled, tangled hair. His pose was defensive, the position of scared boy, but his face was flat. Almost uncaring. Like the last few hours were just an inconvenience.

I couldn’t help but wonder. Was that what he was thinking, really? Was the sex nothing to him? No… It had troubled him. Before. He was crying in the apartment a few weeks ago. Yelling at me, earlier that day, demanding an end.

Was he taking this moment to himself, trying to defend against his own mind? Building himself up for more debauchery with a man he loathed?

I wanted to know. I needed to know what he thought about me. But the ache in my stomach from the drugs was sickening. I was still sweating, my skin covered in it. The entire room reeked of sex, but still nothing was resolved. I took hold of my own cock; it was still aching for touch. My skin was hot and sensitive.

I wanted to sleep in a tub of ice.

I ran into the bathroom quickly. I turned on a cold tap over a washcloth, and then covered my dick with it. I kneaded my balls for a minute, with the cold rag, groaning from the sensation. I stoked the length of my overwrought penis, cleaning the tip with some care. The insanity of this agonizing fucking boner was more than starting to exhaust me. It felt like I was fucking dying.

The mirror caught my eye.

My reflection stared angrily back at me from the mirror. I was sallow and sweaty. My hair mussed and dirty. There was darkness all around my eyes. I looked more than a little frightening and unusually unkempt. I moved the rag to see my cock looking purple and stretched, and balls a dark purple blue. I looked manic and unappealing.

I threw the rag in the basin of the sink and walked back out to the living room, very glad I wound up killing that hooker.

I rubbed my eyes aggressively. “Why is this happening?” I yelled.

“It’s been three hours,” he said quietly. “Priapism. It’s a sometimes side effect of Viagra. As is the increased heart rate. It’s possible to result in impotence and heart attack.”

I turned to look at him. He sounded like a commercial. I couldn’t guess from where he had accumulated this knowledge, but it didn’t seem surprising that he had it. He was more than competent with medical knowledge. But his tone was disinterested. Maybe he was trying to distance his mind from me. He was always quiet and sullen after we had sex. Then the realization hit my already dizzied body like a ton of bricks.

That’s what I needed to break about him.

Having sex with him wasn’t enough. His own shame wasn’t enough. Bribery and extortion and threatening the little girl weren’t enough.

I couldn’t allow him this time. I couldn’t allow him to build his mental shelter, to think neat, scientific thoughts and forget about me.

His every thought, his every worry and fear, needed to be about me.

I couldn’t give him an ultimatum. If I dangled an option over his head, he would respond sensibly. He was a scientist. But also, he was self-sacrificing. He would opt for his own suffering if said it was to be him or someone else. And if I told him to do something, or I’d hit him, or rape him, he’d do what I told him.

I couldn’t be logical. For him to be truly cooperative, to depend on me, to search me out, I’d have to take away his free will first. Which wasn’t logical. But it was so simple.

I couldn’t give him any more choices.

I walked towards him again from the side of the chair and raked my fingers through a mess of curls.

He sighed and rubbed his eye against his knee, “It won’t work, Sylar. I’m tired. I know you like to make a point of what you can do to me, but that’s enough for tonight. I mean, there’s no telling what kind of damage a seriously prolonged erection can—“

“Shut up,” I snapped. I pulled his hair back toward me. “You’re right about me. But I’m not done making my point.”

He pulled away from my hand and looked confused. He unfolded his legs and stood up, turning to me. “This isn’t an opportunity you should take advantage of. You could be exacerbating the problem.” He reached a hand out and brushed a thumb over my eyebrow. “Your pupils aren’t dilated, so I know you’re lucid now. But you are in bad shape. You’re body isn’t handling the drug well. And I know you don’t want to listen to me, but you should.”

There was a strange new pulse of nausea in my stomach. I doubled over slightly, but grabbed his hand away from my shoulder. I twisted his wrist upward and pulled him next to me. I dug my fingernails into his wrist with one hand, and stroked the nape of his neck with the other. My cock throbbed against his bare stomach.

“So you’re concerned about me, Mohinder?” I said, my voice grating against my teeth. “You want to play doctor now? Don’t act like you’re looking out for me, you fucking liar.”

His lip curled back a little in anger. “Fuck you! I’m trying to help you. This is a very dangerous condition. And no, I’m not concerned only about you. You don’t inspire me to be charitable, let alone altruistic. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re a homicidal maniac and you’re having a bad reaction to this drug. And I don’t want you to—“

“What? Rape you? Kill you? We both know I can’t kill you, so it must be the other one. You don’t want to go back to that time in my workshop? Or maybe you do want that. You want to take away your responsibility. You want me to threaten you, threaten little Molly so you feel better about liking it when I fuck you. You want that so you can look at yourself in the mirror without seeing the mewling little whore you are!”

I stopped for a minute. It felt like my heart was going to burst through my chest. I took a deep breath and forced Mohinder to his knees. Anger and fear were fighting to display prominence on his face. Fear was winning. Even in his state of exasperation and fear and use, he was beautiful. If not more so than usual, because of the use. He was getting to know himself, what he really was.

Mine.

I stroked the underside of his jaw, feeling my legs shake. “So we’re going to try this again. And if you bite me again…” I trailed off. I didn’t want to give him an option. He should’ve just known what I would do.

He looked up at me through his heavy lashes, slightly petulant, upset. I stopped him from using his hand to adjust the angle of my erection for his convenience. I wanted him to stretch his jaws for it. First, he let the soft curve of his tongue touch the underside of my anxious cock. It sent a shock all the way up to my teeth. He made a less delicate, more rolling sweep of the side of my shaft, causing me to moan. He quickly tasted the tip, wetting it with saliva, and then withdrawing just as quickly.

“Suck me,” I hissed. “Don’t tease.”

I rubbed my hands against his stubble, pulling him closer, letting him envelope most of my dick. The force of suction in his mouth made my legs weak. My hands slipped in his hair for a semblance of balance. My body wasn’t in great shape, tense for too long, absent of release. My muscles felt overexerted, but adrenaline and testosterone were forcing them alive. And after just a short time of Mohinder’s tongue slurping down my cock into his wet, smooth mouth, I couldn’t keep my head up.

With knees threatening to give out as well, I pulled Mohinder off me by his hair. His mouth came off my cock with an audible pop.

“You take instruction well, Professor,” I said, settling into a chair.

He was starting to get up, but I pushed him back down.

“Crawl,” I said coldly. He looked at me angrily. I could see his jaw clench and unclench while he though about it for a moment. Then he settled his palms on the floor and crawled the few paces over to me.

Once he leaned into the seat, my hands hooked around the back of his head. And for a while the up and down of his lips, the swell of his tongue, and tiny scrapes of his teeth was enough to keep me calm. It was almost peaceful. I got small pleasure out of Mohinder stopping a few times to stretch his jaw or crack his neck. But with his hand massaging my balls and the soft suction of his mouth, the tension wound in me again. My head felt tight. The pleasure was painful in its insistence. And my heart rate was getting faster and faster, pulling my chest in narrower and narrower. My eyes were straining.

And for one glorious second, I thought I was going to come. I could swear the pique was coming to a head. I could feel the anticipation with every cell in my body. My mouth was open, gasping for breath, from the ache and fire of it all. I could feel gratification imminent with the ducking of Mohinder’s wonderful mouth.

Then nothing.

I was still rigid and in even more pain. My heart was beating even faster. I felt weak and tired and dehydrated. A shooting pain went through my shoulder and chest. My legs were jerky and tense. My hands were shaking around Mohinder’s neck. I slipped my thumb down, covering the height of his neck with my hands.

My hands were quivering around his small, breathing, moving, sucking throat.

There was heat and pain and itch behind my eyes in force. When I blinked, I could feel hot tears fill my eyelashes.

I squeezed my hands around Mohinder’s neck and pushed him back against the rubble of the end table I had destroyed earlier. I covered my eyes and pushed to try force the pressure behind my eyes. I threw myself forward out of the chair onto the floor. The burn of carpet on my knees and arms was strange, a minor irritation I tried to focus on. It didn’t work. I could feel nothing but the building turmoil in my chest and the terrible stabbing pain in my balls.

I heard and felt my own scream. It was raw against my vocal chords. And I wasn’t even sure if it was from of the pain or the frustration. I could feel my throat shaking, making it difficult to breathe.

My heart was echoing in my ears. It was beating through my back and pulsing and growing. It was stinging pain in my arm and shoulder.

I beat on the floor with my fists.

“Oh my God,” I moaned. “Oh God… What the hell is happening?”

I took a deep, ragged breath, unable to quell my chest or settle my hands. I sat up and looked at Mohinder. He was sitting where I threw him, with a horrified, amazed look frozen on his face.

“Why doesn’t anything work?” Looking at him, I wasn’t sure if I was talking about him or my dick or the pain. At that moment, it was all the same problem.

I stood up, feeling even more pressure in my chest and behind my eyes. I felt unstable, but swallowed it and went over to Mohinder anyway. I pulled him up by the arm and pushed him against the wall. I looked at him desperately. I could feel my own hands slipping from the sweat on my palms. There was nothing to do but try again. Except that was killing me.

“Why can’t you do this for me?” I shouted.

Worry made his heart race, but I could barely hear it over mine. Couldn’t he hear it, too?

“I’m doing everything you ask,” he said hurriedly.

“I know. I’m not asking anything really difficult.” My hands slid down his forearms from the sweat. “Maybe that’s the problem… You’re attracted to me. I show affection to you. What’s the goddamn problem, Mohinder?”

“You’re suffering some serious side effects from—“

I backhanded him. I let go of him to do it again. The second time I mustered all the force in my overworked body. The shock to my hand followed all the way up to my elbow.

Mohinder was in a heap on the floor, his hand covering the side of his face. It was odd. I hadn’t expected to do that. And his reaction was strangely plain. I remembered, as soon I had hit him, that I’d seen my dad hit my mother that way once. She fell to the floor, too, but went into hysterics immediately.

Mohinder stayed quiet and emotionless on the floor.

That wasn’t the reaction my palpitating heart wanted. In a rush, I grabbed his hair and started to drag him over by the bed. He was heavier that way and tried to stop me. He grabbed my hands and tried an awkward crawl to keep up with my pace. Once I dropped him by the bed, I kicked him in the stomach and side a few times.

I didn’t know precisely why. I just knew there couldn’t be inaction at this point. Mohinder couldn’t gain any ground. He had to be mine. And I was certain there was a point where that would be clear to him. I needed to reach that point. Faster than my heart was racing. More urgently than the blood rushing through my veins.

And my body needed to stop.

The two points were going to intersect. I was sure.

I looked around. In the piles of clothes and broken lamps, something caught my eye.

My belt.

It flew into my hands and I wasted no time. The crack of the belt on Mohinder’s doubled form echoed throughout the hotel room. I could already see red developing on his side and leg. He curled inward, covering his head with his arms.

“What are you doing?” He yelled in a pained tone.

The throbbing in my chest hadn’t ceased. I took a second to breathe. I reached down to grab his face, to force him to look upward. I hooked my free hand around his arm and brought him on the bed.

“I’m doing what I want,” I gasped. “Because I can.”

I doubled up the belt and hit him twice over his ribcage. He yelped loudly this time. His body twisted in and down violently, like he was trying to get away from his spine. Also indecisive. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to move towards me or on the bed.

“What do you want? Jesus fucking Christ,” he shouted into the bed.

I pushed his shoulder down, so he was lying on his stomach. I could feel the sides of the belt cutting into my shaking hand. The belt came down twice in the hollow of his back. He let out another yell into the mattress and his shoulders and ass shook from the blows.

My entire body was shaking. My heart was in my throat, dry and hammering against my bones.

The belt made another loud slap on his back. This time the outline of the belt sprouted tiny beads of blood. Another muffled yell into the bed.

“Stop!” I heard him say.

I hit him again. This time the charge to my heart made my arm give out. I fell on top of him. I pushed myself up again, my thumb pressing into one of the welt marks. He yelled and it followed my spine in a shiver. I’d wanted to do this, if not this exactly, for ages. I wanted him to feel pain and know it was from me.

I wanted a violent change in him.

My hands were too shaky and sweaty to do it myself, so I used telekinesis to rip shreds of the pillowcases. I pushed him to the middle of the bed. He tried to claw to the edge and called out my name. I snapped the belt over the curve of his ass. Then the strips of fabric made themselves into ties to keep Mohinder’s hands and feet bound to the bed frame.

My heart beat and the pain in my chest was just more intense. Something I had to work around. Something large and sore throbbing in my chest. My eyesight was getting blurrier. My head was light and flooded at the same time. I knew I was going to pass out soon.

I slapped the belt over the back of his thighs one more time before tossing it aside. For a few seconds, as I crawled on top of Mohinder, as he muttered things into the blanket and struggled against the ties, I felt like all the world had been sucked into the sounding pain in my chest.

That was, until I pushed apart Mohinder’s ass cheeks to thrust inside him. It took a force my straining body wasn’t prepared to deal with. My entire body was on fire. My mind went red. I had to close my eyes against the driving pressure. And I could hear him squirming and grunting and groaning behind a distant red blindness.

My chest was going to explode.

I pulled out of him and I could see, blurry, for just a second. I saw blood and tears in the skin from the welts on his back. My hand slid off his back. I fell on top of him and closed my eyes.

When I woke up, I felt like a pile of ash. My mouth was hot and dry and cottony. Most of the pain was gone. I looked down. My erection was gone. The pressure behind my eyes was gone. My body was shaky. I was cold and nervous, in a completely exhausted way.

I pushed myself up to see Mohinder’s back. The welts were puffy and almost pink, lined with dried dots of blood on most of them. When I moved off him, I saw the one stripe across his ass was particularly bad. That one was actually still sticky and there were thin traces of the sticky blood on my hips and in my pubic hair. Some on my chest too.

He was awake, or had been wakened by my movement. The hotel room lights were still on, so I could see the clock. It was four in the morning. I didn’t know how many hours we’d spent doing that before I passed out.

I moved up to look him in the face.

He tried looking away, but I caught his chin with my thumb and forefinger. His eyes were bloodshot and red and heavy. His jaw was shaking as I touched it. I swiped my fingers under the side of his face to feel damp spots on the pillow. He closed his eyes tightly.

“Please, untie me,” he pleaded, his voice desperate and almost craggy.

I felt a dull ache in my forehead. “Why?”

He looked crushed by the word. Beyond tired, beyond exasperated. His heart even skipped a beat. He closed his eyes tightly. “P-please… I’m cold and tired and hurt. I can’t be tied up any longer.”

“Yes, you can. You can be tied up for hours and you’ll be fine. Besides,” I yawned. “I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.”

He let out a half suppressed snort, but kept his eyes closed tightly. He tried to angle his head into the pillow, but I jerked him back to me.

“Do you have something to say?”

“You just…” His voice was choked and wet. “Never mind. Just, please, let me go. I need to get back to New York… in the morning.”

Despite my body humming with nerves, I felt definitive and secure. “Open your eyes,” I said. When he didn’t, I said it a little more firmly.

He slowly responded, looking up at me with sad, glassy eyes. His eyelids were dark and shiny. And he tried to avoid looking me directly in the eye. I moved my face in closer, forcing his gaze.

“What I did last night was necessary. That doesn’t mean I won’t take care of you.”

His lip wobbled slightly. He swallowed nervously. “I did what you said. I don’t know… Did I do something wrong? I was just trying to—“

I put my finger over his lips. “I told you already. I did it because I wanted to. Listening to me wasn’t the point anymore. It was exactly the opposite. It was just something that needed to be done. Everything will work out better now because of it.”

“But—“

I grabbed his jaw harshly. “Don’t you learn anything?” I yelled.

Tears started to come out of his eyes. “I don’t know what you want from me!” He cried. “What do you want? I’ll do anything you want. Just tell me what I did wrong and I won’t do it again.”

I sighed and sat up. I untied him from the bed. His hands went to his wrists immediately, but I seized the back of his neck and pulled him with me into the bathroom. I was a little more shaky and unstable getting up. My stomach felt empty. But Mohinder was stumbling. I pushed him into the bathroom and pointed at the toilet.

“Sit,” I yelled. He paused for a second, looking confused. I slapped him, but not too hard. He’d had a difficult night and was clearly not catching on. “Sit down. And stay there.”

I walked out of the bathroom to get my pants. I wanted to take a shower, but that would have to wait. I dug around in his suitcase for underwear. For a moment, I was distracted by a black container and a manila envelope. My fingers itched to look inside, but I couldn’t be waylaid. I grabbed his boxers and went back into the bathroom.

He was sitting, still and hunched up, holding his legs close to his chest. I threw the boxers at him and looked for what I needed.

I picked up his shaving kit from the counter and pulled out his razor. I thought it was a little quaint, my affection for him so strong that I knew what kind of razor he shaved with. I was also a little disappointed in myself for that level of devotion. I looked at him, watching me with distressed anticipation.

Did he notice my keen attention to his details?

I looked away, ignoring my haggard reflection in the mirror.

His razor was the old-fashioned kind. The kind with the metal handle that you tighten razor blades into yourself. I wished for a moment that I had brought some things with me. Mainly, my cutthroat. I’d been using a straight razor for years, but he didn’t know that. Did he? He’d been in the shop bathroom quite a few times.

It didn’t matter.

I unscrewed the blade from the shaver.

I kneeled in front of him. He cringed from the sight of it in my hand. I grabbed his wrist and turned it over, exposing the smooth inside to me. He pulled back so I had to yank him forward again. I gave him a quieting look and he stopped struggling, but his heart rate didn’t slow down any. I pressed the flat side of the blade against his wrist. I pushed down with my thumb, making an impression with blade, but not moving it to cut him.

It was very tempting to open him up. It would be so easy… To see the blood appear suddenly and flow… easily.

But I couldn’t.

“Do you trust me?” I asked.

His chest was rising and falling with quick breaths. His eyes were darting between my face and the razor skittishly. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Tears wet his eyelashes again.

“Yes,” he said uneasily.

I held my thumb still for a second, but was unable to repress my smile.

“Good,” I added. I pulled the razor away and set it on the sink. I wiped his eyes with my thumbs. “Good boy.”

I pulled his shaving cream out of the little travel bag. He was still staring at the impression left by the blade on his arm, as I touched the foam to his face and neck. He watched me, sort of mesmerized and confused, as I went on to shave his face. But he followed the turns of my hands obediently.

When I was done, I soaked a washcloth from the cabinet in warm water to wipe of his face. My pants falling low so I noticed the dried blood in the mirror. After trying to get some out of my pubic hair, I rinsed it out and crouched against the bathroom wall.

“Come here,” I said.

I pulled his hand, gently, like a child, and led him to the floor. I lowered his chest across my knees, so I could clean up his back a little. When he tried to look back at what I was doing, I pushed down on one of the bumps on his back. He didn’t try to look again.

I rubbed each welt slowly with the washcloth. Even softly he hissed from the sting. I needed to swab at the edges of the bad ones to keep the skin from breaking again. The ones on his lower back and ass were worse than the others. His shoulders shook as I tugged his boxers down over the sores.

Part of me wanted to push him further, make him cringe and bleed. It certainly would be unexpected. But maybe not. He did think the worst of me. But I was ready to forgive him. So I just pulled his boxers back up and let him stand.

I got a little twinge of excitement when he followed me out of the bathroom.

I hopped on the bed and stretched out on my back. When I looked over at Mohinder, he was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, waiting for me to do or say something.

“What are you waiting for?” I said with a smile. “Turn out the lights and come to bed.”

His shoulders twitched slightly. “I… I should… I want to go back home. I’ll get my things and… go back now.”

I pushed myself up on my elbows and cocked my head to the side. His stomach trembled. I could see a dark bruise coming up from where I had kicked him.

“Really?” I asked. “You want to catch an early flight, wait at the airport at this hour, and then explain to everyone, when you get back to New York, why you’ve arrived so early?”

He opened his jaw silently and looked down, a little shameful at his lack of preparedness.

“Don’t be stupid, Mohinder. Look at you, you’re exhausted. And so am I, frankly. Don’t make a fuss. Just come here and lie down.”

He looked like he was going to say something to argue, but he stopped. He closed his eyes tightly one more time and stood still for a minute. Then he flipped the light switch and climbed into bed. I lifted up the covers for him. He got in and laid on his back, clearly uncomfortable and stiff. And as far from me as he could get.

“Mohinder,” I said. He looked over nervously. I patted my still sore chest. “Put your head right here.”

His body shook as he nestled into my shoulder. His arm tentatively went over my stomach. Then after a few seconds he became a little more certain in his movements. His arm tightened around my side. His legs slid over mine. His head on my arm turned in more. And I could feel his heart speed up.

In the darkness I brought my hand up to finger through his hair.

“You know,” I said quietly. “I’d like it if you didn’t wait for my permission to kiss me.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously against my side. He slid over me and reached up to kiss me. It was soft and shy. The only innocent kiss he’d ever given me. I smiled as he returned to his previous condition, and kissed the top of his head, pulling him tighter.

It was a strange, almost domestic, scenario. Slightly amusing.

I was beginning to like it.

Next Part: Restraint

I'm also going to pull a trick I did with Mis, Misn't and do a Deleted Scene, set very soon after this one, from Mohinder's POV.

~love from WI
JLB

religion meme

2008-03-23T21:22:39Z

stolen from tiptoe39: What are the five best uses of religion/religious beliefs in canon?

1- Rome, the entire series. I loved the way they used Roman religious practices to show you that, yes, Rome really was a different, foreign society. Not just a precursor to the modern western world. They really showed how pervasive and deep-rooted belief was in Rome, particularly with Servilia. How she at first appeared to me really sane, which is definitely a distinction you want to make from everyone else in the show, and reasonable and sympathetic; then once she was burned by Ceasar, she was totally, "I curse you until your balls fall off and you die eight times of cholera and elephant stampede, bitch! RAWR!" That's not a quote from the show, btw.

2- What I've seen of Big Love so far. Bigamy in Mormonism. It's creepy, it's wrong, it's culty. But still... when I watch that show, I'm not confused or phased by the concept at all.

3- several of the religious threads that ran throughout the many years of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Yeah, this one's gonna need, like, sub-points or something.

a) Sometimes the critique of authority norms, or Christianity in this case, in Buffy was not at all sekrit. One time I really enjoyed that was in season four in an episode called, Where the Wild Things Are. It's the ep where Riley's frat house is possessed by poltergeists of sexually repressed children who were tortured during life by a batshit, puritanical Christian. In essence, they wanted to show that consenting sex between adults is just peachy and punishing children for natural feelings is cruel and insane. So props for that.

b) The ridiculousness of extremism: The Sisterhood of Jhe, two separate occasions where greedy, rich boys try to sacrifice women to a demon to gain infinite wealth and prosperity (once in season two, the other in season seven), Caleb: dirty bastard misogynistic Southern preacher guy, Glory's minions, Acathla, the episode called Gingerbread that tried to set witches on fire, the Knights of Byzanthium, and various end of the world cults and occasions where religion is used as a front for ulterior motives, as it is in real life.

c) Certain aspects of religion are Buffy-approved and I've really come to enjoy those moments. 1)- when Willow displays her passive Judaism at Tara's grave. 2)- The, what I like to call, 'we're cool with Jesus' thread that started at the end of season six. That's of course the many comparisons of Xander to Jesus. The 'I'm just a carpenter' lines, the self-sacrifice for the sake of others, offering love, instead of power, to save the world. 3)- The general feel you get at the end of seven years that no religion is right or better, but it's distinctly up to the people who practice said religion. The main theme of Chosen, the series finale, is clearly feminism and woman power, but when Willow "activates" all the potentials around the world, you get this sense that any religious message being communicated is that doing good is a moral absolute. (That scene totally makes me happy-cry.)

(I just want you all to look at that Buffy section and know I knew all that info off the top of my head. How fucking nerdy is that? I should win something for that ;D)

4- religion in Firefly. Shepherd Book is probably one of my all time favorite TV characters, and it may not seem like it from this list, but I am a huge fan of the 'positive-example-of-the-clergy' character. He's everything I look for in a fictional cleric: knowledgeable, modest, devout, accepting, willing to learn, sane, and imperfect. I guess Joss decided, that after Buffy and Angel he needed one good, reputable religious authority in one of his shows. And Inara's belief in Buddhism is almost as strong and comforting as Book's faith in Christianity. And on top of the good examples, Joss still shows the bad side of Firefly religion, namely those hicks thinking River was a witch and Mal's "wife"'s lie about being sold by the preacher. *lols at the "good bible" and "good myth" jokes*

5- the comic series Promethea. I love the idea that myth can fortify itself into manifestation through shear strength of belief. Mix that in with the feminist ideology and the whole 'origins of literary thought' thing and I'm positively in love with this comic.

I know most of you people have really strong thoughts on religion, mostly coinciding with mine, which is why we're probably friends, so tell me what you think. Am I wrong about a show? Or are my ideas about mainstream religion wrong? Did I miss a show or book that you know I like? Talk to me about god(s), people. :D

~love from WI
JLB

slash recs for all

2008-03-21T20:42:58Z

a few of my rl friends like to read slash, but don't venture too far beyond my journal, so i promised them a list of recs... i have nothing entertaining to add. this is just a perfunctory post. enjoy! :D

Just a warning. Almost all of these are slash and NC-17, cause that's the way I roll.

One of my all time favorites is saathi1013's I Sing the Body. It's an Elle-centric fic response to my 'sex history' challenge. It's marvelous. And I reread it occasionally and I'm still struck by the characterization and the dirty hotness. Honestly, this was the major inciting event that turned me on to Kristin Bell. Not slash, but definitely NC-17.

A new, ongoing series that I really enjoy is visiblemarket's Heroes Bride series. It's a parody of The Princess Bride, but not as crack or weird as one might be lead to believe by the idea. The parody style is quite literary and subtle. And though it's funny, it's credibly dramatic. It's slash, mostly Peter/Claude so far. And most people know how much I hate Peter, so that right there is a testament to it's goodness. It's got 5 parts and some deleted scenes so far (and I can only hope that the deleted scenes were inspired by Mis, Misn't ;D). PG-13 as of right now.

Now this is crack! entangled_now's wildly hilarious slashy crack Heroes/Futurama crossover called Do Not Adjust Your Set. Yeah, it's Nathan/Fry if the Heroes/Futurama x-over's not fucking insane enough for you. But the really insane part is that not only is characterization done well, but the dialogue and writing style screams Futurama. It's one of the funniest fics I've ever read. PG-13.

My all time favorite smut fic of tiptoe39's is In the Stacks. MattMo library!pr0n. It's my personal fave because of my own lascivious desires; libraries are on the top three of naughty public places i'd totally do it in. But also, it's just hot. Another tippy smut that should get a mention is The Game of the Name. Both of these fics are the way I usually like my sex/smut: uncomplicated, raw, fun, and dirty (by dirty I mean, like, physically dirty, not psychologically). Kind of innocent, in a way, I guess. Obvs, both are MattMo and NC-17. But in order to read these you have to friend tiptoesmut. I think those two alone are probably worth it.

Still on the MattMo vein, but switching to a depressing one I have an 5YG fic.kleenexcow's ultra-depressing timeplay with potential/former MattMo set in 5YG, called Rise and Fall. It's R and angst ahoy. I haven't read this in a while, actually, so I think I'm gonna right after this post. :D

And one more MattMo. Pretty Handsome Awkward by soda_and_capes is the kind of story that, when you're feeling pretty good about your fic, makes you feel bad because it's, like, 10X better than what you write. I wish I could write Mohinder this well. And the fic... is in Matt's POV! Now that's good.

And now for some Sylinder. This is not the pairing you automatically associate with funny, but I've got two funny ones. Something Like Seduction by toestastegood reminds us all something that we forget sometimes. Sylar is a geek. This fic has a premise like, 'What if Sylar approaches romance like a normal person, not a serial killer, but still being a creepy serial killer?' Or something like that. Just read it. It's lollerskates. PG-13.

The other is The Big Book of Zombies by ryou49. It's insane. Mohinder's a zombie. That's all you need to know, really. Also, it's from the school of crack thought that has something incredibly cracky in it, like Mohinder being a zombie, and fails to explain the origin of said crackiness. And I like that when it's done well, as it is in this case. It's the attitude: this is crack; just accept it. It's hilarious stuff. PG-13, I guess.

I Will Follow You Into the Dark by cerebel is definitely not cracky or funny mylar. It's kind of strange. The realization of what's really going on in this fic doesn't hit until the end. In the middle abouts, you may be all "The fuck? This wouldn't happen!" Just read til the end. The evilness is kind of chilling.

Then, of course, there's Barrel of a Gun by ghagiel. This is really disturbingly hot, as is almost all good Mylar. This is gun kink, which I never thought I'd like, but here it is, undeniably a fic I'm recommending. NC-17. Great Sylar POV. (You may still be blown away by the success of this, ghagiel, but so am I. Hot damn, girlie... :D (To Everyone Else: ghagiel, for this, and me, for Volition, were "competing" in, like, five categories of the slash awards together. And neither of us won. So we're friends now ;D))

This one is a nice little theory of a serial killer fic about Sylar by airspaniel. Shades of Gray is a PG-13 history of Sylar from childhood onward. It's not as epic as it sounds, but actually pretty short.

And let's throw a random crack fic in here for good measure. House Arrest by seaouryou really cracked me up with this. It's a vague Adam/Peter pairing, set in the near future. The comedy in here is really top of the line.

That's all the rec I can do for the moment. Most of it's been M3 and Sylinder, so later in the week I want to throw in some different pairings; more Primatech, rare slash, et cetera. Something a little grayer in the moral spectrum. :D So I hope you all enjoy these and perhaps more to come.

So now, you know what would be really cool? If you all gave me some recs, cause I like to read slash. ;D

Also, a cry for help. I'm looking for a fic I read once by comixologist. It was set in 5YG, super depressing, very long. And it might have been posted at the mytwoheroes comm. Ringing bells, anyone?

~love from WI
JLB

Writer's Block: Good Catch

2008-03-21T18:24:50Z

Do you have a "catch phrase" for which you are known?

View 500 Answers

No. Though I am rather infamous for my tendencies towards shouting in small spaces without warning. But even more than that, I'm known far and wide for my messy, yet charming, lackadaisical hairstyles. :D

JLB

upcoming

2008-03-14T08:14:25Z

now that Mis, Misn't is done, i'm gonna tell y'all perusers what's next on my fic agenda. so tell me what you think. what's worth while, or sounds terrifying. and i think there's one here that sounds pretty damn terrifying.

and a warning, i'm gonna lay off the fluff for a while. probably not long, but for a while.

-still unnamed Sylinder Series has three parts left.

-Business Affairs is a series I have planned about lust in the Company. Multiple pairings of people involved in the Primatech world. The stories aren't connected. Like the first installment is an Angela/Kaito set in 1973. Then I might do a Mohinder/Bennet set in 2008. It jumps around like that. Here are a few pairings I have planned so far, aside from those two: Angela/Adam, Elle/Sylar, Hana/Haitian, Arthur Petrelli/Linderman, Eden/Candice, Thompson/Candice, Bennet/Claude, Adam/Mohinder. And I'm totally open to ideas and suggestions. And I just realized that's a lot of het!

-I'm still working on the Mohinder sex history. I know saathi1013 still worries about that, so I thought I'd put it on the list. Also, anyone who wants to do a character sex history is welcome to, as long as its not Elle, Mohinder, or Claire. In fact, I encourage you to do one!! PM me if you're interested. :D

-I Left My Heart in Texas. Oh boy. I want to keep most of this close to the vest, as I think this fic will have the potential to melt brains. It's crack, like uber crack. It's Mylar. It's set in a country western bar. There are giant belt buckles. And I think that's all I can divulge at this time. Please send hate mail for this to kris_anne_ ;D

- And I've got a Mylar AU that I had left alone for a while at +6000 words. I was just gonna leave it, but it's already so long, and it's not half bad, so I've decided to finish it. It's sort of like Mylar, if it were set in an L&O type setting, but it's definitely not a crossover. Just an AU about a bad, addictive, self destructive relationship. So, typical Mylar. Just w/o powers.

That's all for now. I should probably go to bed now.

~love from WI
JLB

Series: 12/12 Matt is, Mohinder isn't. M3.

2008-03-14T04:34:09Z

Title: The Obligatory Parents’ Night Debacle
Series Title(s): The ‘Matt is, Mohinder isn’t’ Series; Section Four: Relationship?
Author: JLB
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder
Rating: A mild R, not even, a PG-15, for vague talk of smex. Also swearing and exorbitantly high fluff content.
Disclaimer: Nothing is all that is mine. Please don’t sue me, NBC.
Notes: I hate to have two unsavory, made up characters in a row, but I did it anyway. Also I made up things about NYC, that New Yorkers might recognize as vicious lies/inaccuracies. But on a meta sort of note, IT’S THE END OF THE FREAKIN’ SERIES!!! I’m indebted to everyone who’s given enthusiastic comments along the way, various bits of advice, and got me slash awards for this series. Special thanks go to kris_anne_, cataterpillar, saathi1013, carma_baby, and tiptoe39 for your help and inspiration and badgering. Thanks, lovies! I really appreciate it and I give you all internet kisses. Big, sloppy, tongue ones. Cause that’s the way I roll.

The rest of the series: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

And Deleted Scenes: 7a, 7c, 10B, and 11 & 1/2

Matt’s POV

I sighed heavily. My stomach was shaking. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“We’ve talked about this, Matt.”

“I know… I just. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

For a second, Mohinder’s eyes were soft and understanding. Then his nose scrunched up and his lip curled at the corner. He looked like I was suddenly incomprehensible.

“Neither have I. It’s a parent-teacher conference, for god’s sake.”

“But you were a professor,” I said, buttoning my shirt.

“And if I were talking to someone about a term paper that might mean something. Still… I don’t really understand what you’re so nervous about. I can’t imagine that Molly’s in any sort of trouble.”

“No, it’s not that. You wouldn’t understand. I’m going back into a school, Mohinder. That’s one chapter of my life that has some spectacular failures… I have to talk to teachers. Teachers, Mohinder.”

“Did you not just get done saying that I’m a teacher?”

“And if I were sleeping with all of Molly’s teachers tonight, instead of trying not to sound like an idiot, I might be a little more relaxed.”

Mohinder wandered over to me with a smirk and flattened my collar. “Well, that’s not going to happen.”

“I wouldn’t want to anyway. You’ve ruined me for everyone else. If you die and I meet someone else, I’m just gonna be thinking, ‘Eh. Not Mohinder enough.’”

“Well… that’s a nice plan. I’m sure I’ll be a happy corpse. But considering you’re older than me, you’re American, you’re a cop, and your health, you’ll most likely die before me.”

I’m sure I looked a little shocked. “My health?”

“Compared to mine, I mean. No need to be offended. I mean statistically you’ll probably die before me. But we have to go to school now, so we can talk about your likely demise later.”

I slid my hand behind his neck and pulled him closer. “You are definitely way too sassy tonight. I think you’re just excited about talking to teachers again.”

He put his arms around my waist and looked up at me through his lashes. He snorted derisively, “I’m not sure a grade school science teacher would be able to converse fluently about coursework in theoretical genetics, but thanks for thinking of me as a science nerd.”

“See? Nothing but sass from you today.” I slipped my fingers into his hair and leaned down to kiss him. His mouth tasted freshly brushed, sharp and minty.

Then, of course, I heard Molly clearing her voice. “Gu-uys! Knock if off! You’re always doing that. You have to go to my school and talk to Ms. Tam.”

I leaned away from Mohinder and let my arm slide around his waist. I hooked my thumb in his belt loop, pulling him away from me a little. If he was too close to me there was always the possibility that I’d never leave him alone. Don’t get me wrong, spending the rest of the evening ravishing him sounded like the best time ever, but we had to be parents.

And talk to teachers.

We dropped Molly off at Mrs. Bakunin’s apartment. Then headed over to the school, where we had to put on nametags and listen to announcements changes to the cafeteria and what teachers were leaving next year. Then we talked to the teachers. Which wasn’t thrilling. Well, just for me. Cause every three seconds I was reminded of exasperated teachers who couldn’t make me read. I just had to keep reminding myself that no, no I wasn’t eight anymore.

The news about Molly was not surprising. All the teachers said the same thing. She was bright and clever and did well on all her homework. She was generally active and good-natured. It’s just that when she wasn’t those things, she could be unnecessarily snarky in class and argumentative with some of the other students. Some teachers worried a little about her ability to acclimate socially. Whether that was due to the death of her biological parents, a recent move across country, having a new, alternative family, or being chased by psychopaths, no one really knew. I was just happy that snark and the occasional scary drawing was all she did.

I didn’t know how most parent teacher things were set up, but this was kind of weird. Like a gauntlet of annoying. One of the classrooms was arranged with adult-sized chairs and tables of cookies, coffee, and fruit trays. From there the parents, which was odd to refer to myself as amongst people who’d been doing that for years, conversed with each other, and the teachers showed us around the rest of the school to talk about the children.

It was a pretty small grade school for New York, but it still took over an hour to talk to all of Molly’s teachers in all the separate rooms. And not all of it was annoying or boring. We got to see Molly’s art room and some of her art. She had a drawing of her, Mohinder and me. She also had a painting of her and Kavita Suresh in their saris. And a sculpture of a dog.

And, like I predicted, when we got to the science teacher, Mohinder geeked out and started asking really involved questions about the curriculum. I pretty much sat back and nodded while he freaked out the science teacher, Mr. Katz. Who had a constant stream of ‘Are you kidding me with this? This is fourth grade.’ or a similar variation going through his head. While Mohinder’s thoughts were focused on ‘They should’ve learned that already.’

Of course, another thing I was reluctant to experience about the parent-teacher night, is that Mohinder and I are undeniably a couple. In public. And aside from public at large having lascivious, unacceptable thoughts about Mohinder, there were also the ‘ew, gay people’ thoughts. Once you hear something like that, it’s a little difficult to shut down the rest of it. Frankly, it’s not that common, but it sticks out.

This time it was Mrs. Dawson, the social studies teacher. Which I thought was kind of ironic. I’d always assumed people in that field of work were always liberal or open-minded. But you know what happens when you assume… a social studies teacher thinks you’re a faggot.

People are really rude inside their heads. I swear, I’m not this rude. What the hell is that?

But anyway, we talked to all the teachers. I resisted the urge to call Mrs. Dawson a narrow-minded, conservative bitchhole with voice of an albatross. Everything went vaguely copasetic. Then we went back the classroom with the adult chairs and our coats to either mingle with the other parents or get the hell out.

“You wanna go?” I asked Mohinder.

“God yes,” he said under his breath. “I’ll go get our coats.”

The moment he walked away, I heard, “Matt!” from behind.

“Amy!” I yelled, and hugged her.

Amy Tomahoshi. She was the ADA at my precinct. I’d worked with her on quiet a few of my cases. I talked to her a fairly daily basis and she was the closest thing to a friend I had at work. We even went out to lunch a few times together. We got along insanely well.

I picked her up off her feet when I hugged her. It wasn’t that hard. Even in heels she wasn’t much over five feet and light as a feather. I couldn’t believe she was here. I knew she had a son about Molly’s age, but I didn’t know they went to the same school.

“God, you’re a monster, Matt. Put me down,” she laughed as I set her down. “I had no idea Molly went here.”

“I didn’t know Thomas went here,” I said.

“Yeah, almost a year now.”

A black woman of medium height, with very kempt dreadlocks, walked over slowly. She had a non-descript, navy blue pantsuit on and a wide gait. She was looking at me warily and began to shoulder around Amy protectively.

Suddenly, Amy looked at her and freaked out a little in her head, Oh shit, oh shit… What’s he gonna say? What’s he gonna do at the precinct?

“Oh, this is my, uh… partner, Sharice. Sharice Sullivan.” Amy swallowed nervously. “She’s a Detective at the one-nine. Sharice, this is Detective Matthew Parkman. I work with him at the station.”

Sharice didn’t smile, but nodded. She was thinking the same thing, basically. Another straight, narrow-minded cop… if he screws this up for Amy or me, I’m gonna…

I stuck my hand and smiled my friendliest smile, “Nice to meet you, Sharice.”

As much as I hated hearing people insult me inside their heads, I hated it more when people thought I was like that. Luckily, Mohinder came back with our coats.

So I got to put my arm around him for a minute and say, “This is Mohinder Suresh. He’s Molly’s other dad.”

After the girls’ let the confused shock go through their heads, I introduced Mohinder to them.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Amy asked.

“No,” I said, as Mohinder started to nod, then look at me questioningly. “We can mingle for a while, huh?” I said, with a grin worthy of breaking his resolve.

“Sure,” he said warily.

“So what do you do, Mr. Suresh?” Sharice asked, secure that she wouldn’t be subjected to some good ol’ fashioned NYPD homophobia, smiling at us. “We’ve got two detectives and an attorney. Don’t tell me you work for the city too?”

Mohinder pulled out his oh-my-god-brighter-than-the-sun smile, which he did occasionally in public, but only occasionally. It was like a comet.

“No. I’m a genetics professor normally. I’m currently doing independent research at a lab downtown.”

“What kind of research?” Amy asked.

Mohinder and I looked at each a little awkwardly. I wondered if he had an explanation for the Company work. It wasn’t as if he was a people person, so I’d never heard him speak publicly about what he did.

“It’s a little complicated… And I’m not trying to sound pompous, but most of what I do doesn’t really have a title. I try to catalog and pinpoint the origins of fatal viruses.”

Amy smiled perceptively, “That’s interesting.”

Mohinder smiled again, which was wonderful, but he thought she was genuinely interested in the subject matter, not just making small talk. I wasn’t entirely sure if he knew what small talk was.

“It is,” he said vehemently. “It’s a little complicated, but—“

“Hey, hey,” I said with a laugh. “That’s good, probably.” I looked to Amy and Sharice. “You do not want to know what he thinks complicated is.”

Sharice laughed and smiled the laugh and smile of someone who knew what I was talking about. She glanced at Amy over her shoulder. We shared a look. Mohinder rolled his eyes and Amy giggled. I had an insane desire to make them friends. They needed to be around each other all the time. Two small, gorgeous, incredibly smart people.

Not only did Mohinder need a friend, but it was hot, too.

A blonde woman with her husband attached to her came near us. Apparently, we were all standing in front of a big bakery box of chocolate chip cookies and coffee. The way in which we split up was Sharice and I on one side, with Mohinder and Amy on the other. Which, I’ll admit, looked more like the likely pairings. Mohinder and Amy were delicate and exotic, and not just from an Indian/Japanese combo, but because they had the strange and foreign look of truly beautiful people. And even in plain clothes, Sharice and I both looked like cops.

The couple got their little Styrofoam cups of coffee and paper plates of cookies and turned to look at us.

“Hi,” the blonde woman said cheerfully. “I’m Dixie Warner. This is my husband John.”

We all let out a chorus of awkward greetings. I hadn’t realized before, but the four of us were the only gay couples in the building. I’m sure there was a single parent or two wandering around with a teacher, and who knew what these people did at home, but we were the only ones socializing as couples. Everyone was sort of recognizing that now we looked like two different heterosexual couples.

It was a visual lie. And no one seemed very comfortable about it.

“Just thought I’d come over and say ‘hi’ to the newbies.” She laughed a little. “I’m head of PTA here at P.S. 129. I thought I’d invite you all to the next meeting, if I haven’t already. I just don’t know. I’m so rattle-brained and I just don’t remember seeing you folks before.”

Her husband nodded with a bland, congenial smile and took a bite of his cookie.

I almost laughed when Sharice thought, I bet she’s a housewife.

“So,” she continued with a bright, fake smile. “How are you liking the school so far?”

Amy, Sharice, and I all nodded noncommittally. But I heard scientific techno jargon rattling through Mohinder’s head and I knew he was going say something.

“I was thinking…” he started. “I think most of the subjects are appropriate for the age group. As far as I’ve seen. I mean, Molly’s only ten. But I think the math department is rather advanced in particular, which is exceptional for American schooling, but I feel like the science being taught has neglected certain principles.”

The woman tried to keep the disappointment from forming on her face, but a bitter, restrained smile just appeared instead. “Oh?”

“I-it’s not just from talking with the teacher. I’ve been thinking about it for a few months now. They haven’t touched the basics of evolution, which is necessary for any level of biology.”

Her lips pursed a little, “Well, I guess I wouldn’t know much about that. Science has never been my thing.” She laughed as a way to ease off the topic. She looked to her husband, but he was looking a little green, like he didn’t want to interfere.

“That’s a big problem with education in America,” Mohinder said earnestly. “It’s sort of why I bring it up. America lags in the field of science. And grade school is the perfect opportunity to change that.”

She smiled tersely, again, while thinking, Uppity foreigners… Come here from God knows where and then criticize us… I was never more glad that Mohinder was unable to read minds. Cause if he could there was no doubt in my mind he’d bust out his ‘Not Everyone Wants to Live in America’ speech. Which I’d heard more than once.

Sharice and Amy were smiling, but they had no idea how bad this could get. Mohinder in public was like a gasoline fire. He attracted lewd thoughts, secret agents, ex-lovers, neo-Nazis, serial killers, and crazy and/or annoying people with genetic abnormalities.

The conversation could’ve very well ended with alienating most of the people there as the most positive event of the evening.

“Well, frankly, Mr.,” she paused to look at his nametag, “Suresh. I think that things like evolution or the Big Bang shouldn’t be taught to children until later. Until they’re old enough to chose if they believe in it or not. I mean, it’s only fair. They don’t teach any other creation theories.”

She calmly took a sip of her coffee as Mohinder looked like his brain was going to start leaking out of his ears. His jaw was dropped and his eyes were about to jump out of his head. And after several seconds of uncomfortable silence, he finally thought, I just… don’t even know where to start.

“Well, hey, we should probably talk about something else,” I suggested, looking between Sharice and Amy.

Amy shook her head with a smirk, “No, I, uh, think we’re good here.” Sharice nodded vehemently.

“You’re not being helpful,” I said quietly. I looked to Mohinder to try and catch his attention, but he was beyond the rest of us now. Every thought running through his head was trying to order a response. There wasn’t anything I could do to stop him now that wouldn’t get me a one-way ticket to single-and-homeless-town anyway.

“Okay,” Mohinder said. “Firstly, there are no other creation theories. Secondly, you can’t believe in science. You can’t express disbelief in it either. It isn’t a belief system. That’s akin to saying you don’t believe in the Pythagorean theorem or Romeo and Juliet. It exists, and is factual, despite what you feel about it. And thirdly,” Mohinder said, stopping to closes his eyes from the insanity for a moment, “there are no other creation theories!”

“What about creationism?”

Mohinder’s eyebrow was cocked in disbelief, which made him look a little haughty. “That’s not a theory. A theory is a statement induced from careful study and analysis of evidence. Creationism is a belief. There is no evidence to support a belief; therefore, a belief could be anything, without necessarily being true. If one wishes to believe that a supreme being manufactured the universe and all living things in a week, be my guest. But that notion is in no way pertinent to a science class.”

Mrs. Warner looked like she was going to bite out Mohinder’s jugular with her teeth. And the thoughts in her head were barely repeatable. Mr. Warner was thinking, I wonder if the game is still on…

But he finally said, putting his hand on her shoulder, “Honey, maybe we should get going.”

She ignored him. “As you well know, there is a lot of diversity in public schools, Mr. Suresh. That does still include traditional beliefs.”

“Yes, I know. I still maintain that religious beliefs have nothing to do with science and should have little to do with public schooling. As I was led to believe this is a secular country. And it’s Doctor.”

“I’m sorry?” she snapped.

“My name is Dr. Suresh,” Mohinder said slowly, inflating his Indian accent on purpose.

She looked away from everyone else, flushed, and then glared at Mohinder one more time. She nodded in his direction. Then turned to me and Sharice. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. and Mrs.…”

“Oh, we’re not married,” Sharice said.

“I’m with the doc,” I said, unable to suppress a grin.

Mr. and Mrs. Warner paused in a moment of shock, then walked away silently. Sharice and Amy were both fighting to keep down noticeable laughter. Mohinder was looking off in her direction, with a devious little smirk on his face.

I shook my head. “Really, I’m just… ashamed, Mohinder. I really am.”

Sharice let out a giddy sigh, “Well, now you can never show your face at a PTA meeting ever again.”

We’d talked with the girls for a little while longer. Long enough for Mohinder to have a general feel of approval of them in his head. Which was cool. I felt like part of being a couple was knowing other couples, and other families. It was also cool because, apparently, Sharice and I were both big Bowie fans.

And we made plans to hang out again, under the guise of developing our kids’ social skills, but really to have dinner with each other. And Mohinder and I left P.S. 129 with scathing looks from Dixie Warner and an excuse to leave the house on Thursday nights.

“You made a friend,” I said to Mohinder, with mock excitement, in the cab ride home.

He rolled his eyes at me, but I could tell he was proud of himself. And I was really happy. The more people he knew about from his work, the better. The feeling stuck around all the way into the building, which inspired Mohinder to stop me from pressing the button for Mrs. Bakunin’s floor.

“It’s early,” he said, with a smirk. “We should run upstairs for a quickie.”

I laughed, certainly in no mindset to argue with him. Not that I had a desire to. I hooked my arm around his back.

“You are out of control tonight, Skinny.”

He snorted. “The fact that my misbehavior has been nothing more than “sass” and being insufferable to an annoying woman leads me to believe that I’m rather in control. Or that you’re terribly dull.”

He broke out into a smile and brushed a piece of lint off my shoulder.

“Well… You’re face is dull,” I said, lamely.

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Nah… It’s a vicious rumor, started be people who are jealous of how not dull your face is. As a matter of fact, it’s the least dull face I’ve ever seen. And I’m a police officer.”

The high-pitched chime of the elevator added an extra level of hokey, sitcom quality to my banter. I thought it was appropriate. Especially when Mohinder responded with characteristically critical observation-face.

“Meaning a police officer is the highest authority on all things face-related?”

I laid a little tap on his ass as he unlocked the door. “Yep. And bottoms.”

He chuckled and let the door swing open, “My understanding of police work has altered significantly since I met you.”

I put my arms around his middle and nestled my face into the crook of his neck. I yelled a muffled yell, “God, I love it when you say five syllable words. It’s such a turn-on.”

Feeling his shoulders shake with laugher, and feeling the vibration from his vocal chords, was just about the best thing I’d ever felt without being naked. But Mohinder was working on fixing that by whipping off my belt and throwing it on the coffee table. And we each let our coats and shoes tumble in the middle of the living room.

A hurried screw against the bedroom wall isn’t my favorite way to do things, but it’s not anything to complain about either. And it didn’t really matter how or where or why, as long as it was with Mohinder. Feeling Mohinder tight around me, I was reminded of hearing about philosophy once. Or maybe it was religion… Regardless, a thought. The thought being that the best type of love, or the most important, was void of sexual feelings.

I think that guy was an idiot.

Cause, even a year ago, I’d have never thought of having some guy fuck me. But I liked it when Mohinder did it. And I’d never thought that a guy would ever give me a blowjob. But every now and then, Mohinder could suck the life right out of me.

Ba-dum-bum. (That’s the comedy drum sound in case you didn’t know.)

And the idea that sex makes love perverse or worse off really doesn’t sit well with me. Cause I couldn’t love him more if he were a saintly cherubim, offended by the thought of cock.

Never hearing him moan and sigh as he came would definitely suck.

I took a moment to pull up my boxers, but I couldn’t wait another half-second before kissing him again. His hands ruffled my hair lightly.

Finally taking a breath, I said, “We should go get Molls now.”

He kissed the side of my jaw, moving up to my ear. “It’s still early. And it’s a Friday night. We should watch a movie together.” He pulled away suddenly to add, “And not let her pick.”

I laughed. Mohinder’s mother’s visit had renewed Molly’s somewhat waning interest in High School Musical. The only way we could watch good movies, that may or may not have been girly, was if they had something usually embarrassing in the title.

“A Little Princess?” I suggested.

Mohinder nodded. It was our secret trick. Molly loved it. She’d think of how she was similar to the main character, who was orphaned, re-parented, and had a strong affiliation with India. And dresses and mean little girls. While Mohinder and I could talk about Alfonso Cuarón’s direction and the war parts. It was win-win.

Pushing himself off me, Mohinder sighed and said, “So much for the afterglow.”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“What?” He said, buttoning his pants.

“Having to stop with the sex parts and get right back into the life parts. Does it bother you?”

He shrugged and smiled. “No. Why would it? We’re just parents, I guess.”

I nodded and smiled. “Good. Let’s go get Molly.”

Yeah. I guessed we were just parents.

The End.

P.S.- This series, including the deleted scenes, had over 50,000 words in it. Eat it, NaNoWriMo!

Thanks again for reading!

~kisses from WI
JLB

fictional sex meme

2008-03-12T20:04:20Z

stolen from ghagiel

List ten fictional characters you would have sex with (in no particular order) and tag five people to do the same.

1- Eric Wiess (Alias)- the real sex appeal on alias. sorry jennifer.
2- Fox Mulder (The X-Files)- conspiracy theories and smex
3- Sylar (Heroes)- I feel only a small amount of shame for saying that. He's a serial killer, after all.
4- Wash (Firefly)- I love the funny.
5- Rube (Dead Like Me)- Yeah, I would. I like older guys.
6- Zaphod Beeblebrox- (Hitchhiker's)- I love the funny/incalculably odd.
7- Veronica Mars (Veronica Mars)- Oh, K-bell... be still my heart.
8- Kareem Said (Oz)- mmmm... smexy religious leader. damn.
9- Detective Goren (Law and Order: CI)- big, wierd, and smart. my faves.
10- Titus Pullo (Rome)- Honestly, who wouldn't? The big, dumb puppy dog... or you know, killing machine.

Is it a bad thing to want to make a longer list of fictional characters I'd fuck? I think it is. And I only allowed myself one per fandom, because if I didn't they'd all be Heroes characters. Also, I'm noticing kind of a theme. 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 9, and 10 are all over six feet tall. And most of those are probably well over 200 lbs. What can I say? I like my men big.

okay, i wouldn't mind if everyone did this, but I'll pick five to tag. kris_anne_, kleenexcow, cataterpillar, carma_baby, and mr_liam_to_you

~love from WI
JLB

ridiculous things i found on my search for jesus icons...

2008-03-12T19:08:50Z

okay. just ignore that part about looking for jesus icons right now. unless you have any. then send me the link with haste!

but i was trolling around google image for things i might make into icons. jesus-related things.

this first one is a few years old, but from some insane, neo-con, republican blog complaining about how atheists hate god... aside from all the inane blather, they clearly have missed the point about atheism. also, there's a fairly blatant joke made by an atheist, which the neo-con misconstrues as fact. which is always fun.

this one... wow. just wow. i almost want to see this movie.

there really aren't many ways you can get tackier than this. though i have seen many a fine paintings of gas station patriotism, with scenes of soaring eagles juxtaposed over Dale Earnheart Jr.

i really wish this were real. i'd totes buy one.

huh.

this is in no way tacky or shameful. you should all buy one.

and just to wrap it up:

~love from WI
JLB

steven spielberg ihu!

2008-03-11T05:16:59Z

i'm taking a break from watching Schindler's List. it's approximately my tenth viewing. it's one of my favorite movies. and despite the fact that it causes me nothing but misery, i continually watch it. and i just got through the first liquidation of the ghetto. and i just have to say...

i fucking hate you, steven spielberg!

oh my god. okay. what kind of dick thinks, "why don't we get the cutest little girl in the history of everything, put her in an adorable red coat, which should be the only color in the movie, btw, play the saddest music about childhood in the background, and run her through every scene of deplorable murder ever, then make her hide under the bed, only to reveal an hour and a fucking half later that she's in a pile of corpses?"

the first time i start crying, i think, is when they're marching the jews out to the ghetto, and that little german girl is screaming "good-bye jews!"

so, yeah, spielberg, thanks for making me feel bad about being german! (and thanks a lot hitler! for making being german a creepy, homicidal, hateful thing rather than a creepy, eccentric thing.)

the little polish children's choir thing keeps me bawling every fucking time. also, almost everything after this point makes me cry. even fucking crazy amon geoth.

which, by the fucking way, ralph fiennes is fucking amazing in this movie. i don't know what kind of praise this movie got when it came out, as I was about six, but jesus fucking christ is he a-m-a-z-i-n-g! obvs, ben kingsley and liam neeson get the lion's share, but he probably had the hardest role. i mean, geoth was a depraved looney sack of a serial killer (as opposed to sylar, who's a fun, smexy, queer-tastic, fictional serial killer), but since genocide happened to sanctioned by the government, and let's face it, it always is, he fit right in. but instead of playing geoth as a flat, 1-D villian like you'd want, he plays him with a surprising amount of depth.

but speaking of jesus...

oh liam neeson. you are a god! mr_liam_to_you and i were just talking about this the other day. but it can be said over and over again. liam neeson is a wonderful god. who has a beautiful nose. i'd have to add him to the list of actors who i would fellate with unquestioning enthusiasm and vigor.

so, i'm going to get back to the movie so i can cry for a few hours and feel like my soul is leaking out through my ears.

but before i do, let me ask you all, what your favorite/most horrifying part if Schindler's List? Where do you cry the most? How many times have you brought yourself to watch this terrible nightmare of a wonderful movie?

~love from WI
JLB

ANNOUNCING THE WILL AND KIT SHOW!!!

2008-03-08T22:48:22Z

mr_liam_to_you and I will be doing a weekly/whenever we feel like it drabble thing between the two of us, chronicling our sitcom idea. The premise for the sitcom is that Christopher Marlowe and William Shakespeare rent an apartment together in New York...

Yes. You read that correctly.

I guess there are spoilers for history as some of this crackified nonsense might mention actual historical events. There are cameos from other famous literary giants. Mostly gay writers as we decided that the entire building will be filled with homosexual writers or writers with a homosexual bent. (Haha bent.)

Scene: A typically nice New York style loft, that you see in most sitcoms. However, this one may be a little more stylish and gayer than some others. You know, black and white photography of body parts on the walls. Abstract sculpture that looks suspiciously like naked men. Lots of bookshelves. Lots of books. Two large desks off to the side of the living that face each other. There is a harpsichord between the sofa and the door.

What is normally a pretty clean living space is trashed. There are empty cans and bottles littered across the kitchen counters. Cans and paper lying on the floor. More than one condom wrapper. Pizza crusts and bags of chips on the coffee table. There is a large blanketed lump on the couch, with feet sticking off the side.

Enter William Shakespeare, loose undershirt and askew breeches, from his bedroom, stage right.

Will: Kit.

Will walks over to his desk where he finds a pizza slice smeared on his desk.

Will: Goddamn it, Kit! Wake up!

The lump refuses to move. Will walks over to the sofa and pulls hard on the blanket. Christopher Marlowe, unwashed and unshaved, and wearing a kilt, falls to the floor still clutching a flask.

Kit: Whoreson dog! *coughs* Vile swine, have at thee! *reaches for his sword, but grabs kilt instead* Good god, what have you done to me?

Will: Someone left pizza on my desk! *walks back to desk and picks up orange-smeared paper* It smells of red sauce and lewd sausages.

Kit: Why, in the name of all the whores of hell, am I dressed like a half-nude Scot?

Will: Half this soliloquy is destroyed from tomato.

Kit: *coughs* Rewrite it. It was shite anyway. *looks around room perplexed* Why am I on the floor?

Will: You don’t even know what soliloquy it is.

Kit: All your soliloquies are shite… What godawful things were done to me? I feel as if I spent the night in Satan’s own syphilitic arsehole!

Will: You are a diseased drunkard who deserves nothing more than to drown in the filth left from your scabby, roisterous whores. I imagine your head is from spending a lifetime, from mother’s tit to your eventual grave, proselytizing the benefits of varlets, buggering boys, drink and all debauched forms of venery. I fail to see how you can possibly be surprised by your condition.

Kit: Good Christ, you have the emotional fortitude of a suckling babe on opening weekend. *pulls himself off the floor and walks into the kitchen to make a Bloody Mary* You’re only jealous. I’ve half the town in an uproar with laughter and weeping with the opening of my play last night… Your last play sent the punters out the door faster than the plague. *laughs at his own joke*

Will: Untrue! *looks offended, then frowns* Bitch… Well, I’m ringing Shanghai Buffet. Do you want General Tso’s Chicken?

Kit: *pulls the celery out of his glass and motions with it* Go, do!

That's a good a place as any for a commercial break.

Okay, mr_liam_to_you, it's your turn now. You can do anything you want really, but I'll give you fifty cool points for mentioning Gertrude Stein schooling Ernest Hemingway in a drinking match. Another twenty if you use the phrase "manning it up". But that's up to you.

~love from WI
JLB

Deleted Scenes 10b and 11 &1/2. M3. PG-13

2008-03-08T05:25:40Z

Yay! Two Deleted Scenes for the price of one... That price being free as well.

I'm so glad to be almost done with the series. Now that I've got these out of the way, all that's left will be Part Twelve: The Obligatory Parents' Night Debacle.

If you need to do some catching up, there are parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

And Deleted Scenes: 7a and 7c

Now I'm going to get back to watching The Adventures of Young Indiana Jones: The War Years. Is it wrong of me to want to slash Young Indy/T.E. Lawrence?

Wherein I take the opportunity of the deleted scene to abuse Peter even more.

Mohinder’s POV

“Mohinder,” Peter called out. He quickly caught up to me and grabbed me by the shoulder. I shook away from him.

“Mohinder,” he moved in front of me. “I know it looked like he told me something, but he didn’t. I just sort of read his mind.”

I rolled my eyes and looked around the sidewalk. As usual, there was no shortage of people wandering the New York streets. The skies were an unwelcoming smoggy gray. Like my mood, bleak and quietly angry. Peter’s honest face, full of contrition, was just pissing me off more.

“You know, I’m so bloody sick of that excuse. ‘Oh, I just read your mind by accident. I’m sorry. I can’t help it’. Get some bloody self-control, for fuck’s sake. I’m absolutely done with mind readers!” I shouted before storming away.

Peter caught up with me again and said in hushed tones, “Dude! You can’t just go around shouting stuff like that.”

“Fuck you. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of the secrecy and the special abilities and the accidental mind reading and accidental thought control and ridiculously difficult viruses and fucking everything! I’m leaving!”

“Where are you going?”

“Canada,” I spat. “I’m going for a fucking walk, Peter. Leave me alone.”

“Well, I just thought you should know that Matt didn’t tell me anything. I mean, that should make a difference, right?”

I stopped abruptly and he turned in front of me. “What do you care? Why are you talking to me?”

“Well… I didn’t want you to be angry at Matt because of me.” He said earnestly, like he was the champion of all things good and pure, on top of being an equal opportunity relationship counselor. I was so not in the mood for that.

“Believe me, I’m not. Matt’s done a good job of pissing me off all by himself,” I said, brushing past him.

I felt a slight halt from the back of my shoulders. Peter walked in front of me. It took a few seconds to realize what he’d done. He’d used telekinesis to stop me from walking away.

“Listen,” he started. “I just want to help fix things—“

But before he could finish, I punched him. He startled backwards, catching himself in a kneeling position.

“What the hell?” He shouted. Some people were slowing down to look, but, just as quickly, walking away. I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up, but he jerked away from me.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?!” He spat. “I already got punched by your freaking boyfriend. Isn’t that enough? Christ!”

I was about to apologize, but decided against it. “You can’t just go around stopping people from moving around as they please and reading their minds,” I whispered angrily, as he gingerly touched his now twice-swollen nose. “And interfering in relationships when people are perfectly capable of having a fight on their own.”

His eyes went wide with outrage, “I was trying to help you! God… I haven’t been punched twice in one day since Claude was… Never mind. You know what? I’ll just go before I get hit again.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, somewhat exasperatedly.

He raised an eyebrow. “You sound really sincere right now.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” I snapped. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m just mad at Matthew, not you.”

“I am never coming near you two when you have a fight ever again.”

I sighed and looked up to the gray, sky less sky. There were some moments I really wished to be back in India more than any other desire, despite everything I disliked about my homeland. That was very much one of those moments. Then at the very least, the weather would be palatable.

“Listen,” he added, “The only reason I came out here is so that I didn’t inadvertently make things worse. And he wants to apologize to you, but he didn’t think you’d listen to him. So I’m sorry if—“

“Oh my god! Don’t apologize to me. I punched you in the face. I can’t believe I did that!” Because now I was actually starting to feel sorry for him. He was so good-natured… It was a bit annoying, actually, but that didn’t warrant this kind of abuse.

“I’ve been told I’m kind of punchable,” he said, shrugging, with a sort of smirk on his face.

After a few seconds, I started walking again and he followed with me.
“I’m just so bloody angry,” I started, but stopped abruptly. I really needed to meet someone that wasn’t a ten-year-old girl or some manner of psychopath, so I could have conversations about my feelings with someone other than Matt.

“They’re called friends, I think,” he offered. “I’m sorry, but you’ve got to understand, this ability is pretty hard to control. People never stop thinking.”

“I know, but he can’t just take some private thought, out of context, and use it against me. He doesn’t have the right! It’s why thoughts stay in people’s heads instead of being spoken out loud. I can’t fear my own thoughts.”

“You should tell him that. He’s a good guy. He’ll listen.”

I looked at him curiously then looked away. There was something very strange about a person who stuck around after being physically assaulted to give relationship advice. It simultaneously gave me hope about humanity and creeped me out.

“Thank you, Peter,” I said. “I appreciate it. And I’m really sorry about all the… all the punching. I promise it will never happen again.”

He gave me an off-kilter smile and said, “You’re welcome. But… that’s not the only reason why I followed you out here.”

“Yes,” I said wearily.

“Well, I kind of wanted to talk to you about the Company.”

Flashes of Bennet went off in my head and I knew this day wasn’t going to get a whole lot better.

and

Matt’s POV

When I first moved in with Mohinder, I thought it was a little weird that he was always touching Molly. Like, picking her up, straightening her hair and clothes, holding her hand, touching her face. After a while, it just didn’t register with me anymore. But after a few days of having Kavita Suresh in the house, I finally realized why.

She was the exact same way. Not only was she always fussing with Molly; she still did that to Mohinder. She was always adjusting his shirt collar or brushing invisible flecks of dust of his clothes or wiping away schmutz on his face or taking his arm. I don’t even think he realized how much she did it.

But after seeing that I realized why she totally hated me. If I were in her place, I’d probably hate me too.

Come on, some big foreign guy she didn’t know anything about was screwing her precious little boy. I was surprised she hadn’t stabbed me. I’d responded to domestics that had less provocation than that.

So I was determined to be on my best behavior. If I wanted to overcome her natural aversion to me, I’d have to be the model boyfriend to Mohinder and doting father to Molly. And then, even if she never liked me, she wouldn’t be able to complain about me. Well, if I knew anything about mothers, she’d still complain, but wouldn’t have any real reason to.

Hopefully.

And I thought I was doing a pretty good job. I mean, she wasn’t on the verge of calling me “Son” or anything. Not even smiling at me, even. But she’d look at me occasionally, instead of ignoring me out right. And her looks were less and less disdainful and more and more neutral. So, I was counting that in the win column.

Kavita was an oddly intimidating woman, really. She was small, like tiny. Mohinder obviously got his frame from here, but lucked out on the height. And she had a very calm demeanor. I’d seen smile at people in public, and at Molly and Mohinder, mostly Molly, but I knew she could do it. But with me… completely frosty.

Which is why I was more than nervous when Molly needed to go to the library for an assignment, Mrs. Suresh nominated Mohinder for the task.

“Okay,” he said. He looked at me as a person who’s throwing a lifesaver does, “We’ll go take Molly to the library.”

“No, no, no,” she said, waving her hands at Mohinder. “He doesn’t need to go. He can stay here.” That was not the first time she talked to Mohinder about me, in English, as if I weren’t in the room. At least she didn’t say ‘that man’.

And I looked at Mohinder like a person not only missed the lifesaver, but had seen it eaten by a shark.

“Uhh,” Mohinder started. I could see the wheels in his head turning, but lying on the spot was not one of his strong points. Neither was he talented making up excuses. Which leads me to believe he was the lamest teenager ever.

“I will teach him how to make eggplant curry,” she said, with a certain smile that I recognized from Angela Petrelli’s face after she was released from custody. It’s the smile of Matt Parkman’s doom.

“B-but,” Mohinder muttered, looking quite pathetically lost and confused for a man who spoke English as a third language and read books in bed with titles like “Theoretical Concepts in Molecular Biology”.

Molly had her backpack all prepared and her coat on. She was also pretty oblivious to her new Grandma’s disapproval over me. She was still pretty excited over all the stories new Grandma could tell her about Mohinder as a baby and presents from India. So she was a little less perceptive than usual and didn’t see that one of her dads needed a bail.

“Let’s go,” she said, grabbing Mohinder’s hand, pulling him out of the apartment.

Mohinder gave me a sympathetic look before he left, but I was now on my own. With my boyfriend’s mother. Who, apparently, saw our relationship as me sodomizing her only child. I don’t know. Mohinder tried to explain how homosexuality is seen in India and how it’s only semi-acceptable as long as you get married and have kids and never talk to anyone about it. But it was still pretty confusing to me. I barely understood gender roles in America.

I also started to block out what he was saying when he used the word “transsexual”. I have nothing against transsexuals or trannies, but none of that pertains to me and, frankly, it frightens me a little. I consider my sexual appetite to be pretty damn milquetoast. What I do have is plenty satisfying for me, so I don’t complain, but I am a committed relationship type of guy. I’m not attracted to men; I’m attracted to Mohinder. So talk of gender roles and transsexuals and men in dresses, well, that just isn’t for me.

If I were offered the option of getting shot over discussing any of that with Mohinder’s mom, there’s a good chance I’d take the bullet. And something told me she really didn’t want to teach me how to make eggplant curry.

After the door closed, she leveled a look at me. It wasn’t angry, but it certainly wasn’t kind. The fact that I couldn’t understand her thoughts didn’t make it any less unnerving.

“So, curry,” I said with a nervous laugh, walking over to the kitchen. “I’m usually a Spaghetti-O’s and beer type of guy.”

She either didn’t understand or didn’t find it amusing, because she didn’t respond. She poured a cup of tea and walked into the living room without saying anything. After a few seconds of me being confused in the kitchen, she shouted, “Well, come here.”

Which may have been the first thing she said directly to me.

I hurried back into the living room, where she motioned to sit down from her on the sofa. She took a sip of her tea and cleared her throat. I tensed up the way you do when your driving and realize about three seconds before you hit something that you’re going to hit something.

“Mr. Parkman,” she said.

“Call me Matt,” I interrupted.

She gave me a dry look that clearly stated she wasn’t going to call me Matt. “Mr. Parkman, I am going to be honest with you. I do not like this situation at all.”

My mouth felt dry. I didn’t know how to respond to that. I mean, I wanted her to like me, or approve, or something that didn’t make Mohinder angry and uncomfortable. But I wasn’t going to leave Mohinder to make her happy. So I couldn’t say anything.

“I believe that my son should not be wasting time pretending to be married with you, when he should be finding a respectable woman to marry in a decent household for Molly. I believe that your type of arrangement is dangerous. I believe that Mohinder should have stayed in India with his professorship and built up his academic reputation.”

Kavita sighed heavily and looked resigned. She took another sip of her tea. I sat back tensely, still with nothing to say. I was a little shocked. I hadn’t really expected her to come forth with all her misgivings. At least when she was passive-aggressively ignoring me and calling me ‘that man’ I didn’t have to look at her disapproval.

“However, Mr. Parkman, I realize that none of these things are your fault. My son has always been headstrong and stubborn, like his father. At this moment, his beliefs are not those of mine. I have to accept that. This does not mean I like this situation any more. But I love my son dearly. And he is an intelligent man, if strange. If he believes he is following the right path, I must help him.”

“That’s… That’s considerate of you, ma’am,” I said quietly. I guessed it was a sort of roundabout approval. Which, I guessed, was pretty good for someone who wasn’t talking to me twenty minutes ago.

She frowned slightly, “This is why I am talking with you. Mohinder is clever and opinionated, but he is an academic. If he insists on remaining with you, you must take care of him.”

My eyes jumped up a little. “Take care of him?”

“I did not like the idea of him coming to America. It is not a kind place for Indian professors.” She interjected strongly, “Mohinder is a very absent-minded boy! He would forget his hair were it not on his head. He is too trusting of strangers, also.”

“You don’t need to tell me, lady,” I said, before I could even stop it from coming out of my mouth. Thankfully, she only gave me a silent reprimand for being flip.

“You are American and working for the government. Mohinder looks up you, as does Molly. You are responsible for keeping them safe.”

I felt a little overwhelmed at that statement. I had already accepted that as my responsibility, but she didn’t realize how dangerous our lives got sometimes. And being told that by someone else is a little different experience than just thinking its something you should do.

“Um, yeah, I mean, I do my best.”

“It is your job!” She shouted. “You are a police man. I was impressed with what you did with that wild man the other day, but you should have arrested him.”

“Well, I was off duty, and, technically, I assaulted him. No one reported him, cause I kicked him out. So he wasn’t actually breaking the law.”

She gave me a retiring look. And I couldn’t understand her thoughts, but I was fairly certain they were along the lines of, That would never happen in my country.

She shook her head, dismissing the comment with her hand, “I need you to take care of my Mohinder. I want you to know, even though I do not want Mohinder to be doing this, I like you, Mr. Parkman.”

“You could have fooled me,” I said under my breath, but she heard. I went a little red, but I couldn’t hold it back.

She narrowed her eyes, “You are not funny, Mr. Parkman.”

I nodded. “Yes, I’ve been told that.”

“I trust you to do this.”

I felt a little weird. I mean, it felt a little like she was giving me her son. Which was strange for a couple reasons. But I also felt a little honored. Apparently, she didn’t hate me. And she trusted me. So maybe things might turn out all right. Maybe we’d even be able to laugh and tell funny, embarrassing stories about Mohinder. I can’t say I didn’t want a good relationship with a parent for once. Maybe it would just have to be Mohinder’s parent.

“Well, thank you, Kavita,” I said with a smile.

She nodded and smiled politely. “Call me, Mrs. Suresh,” she corrected.

Okay, well, maybe that would take a while.

Part Twelve: The Obligatory Parents' Night Debacle

~love from WI
JLB

just a quick update before i go to green bay...

2008-03-04T19:57:07Z

i'll be away at GB for the next few days for my buddy kris_anne_. before I go I just wanted to show you all what I a wonderful hair day I'm having today. my curls are positively outrageous today! i love it!

Best. Hair. Ever.

JLB

this is WI

2008-03-04T00:35:34Z

JLB

Series: 11/12 Matt is, Mohinder isn't. PG-13.

2008-03-03T19:38:15Z

Title: Yes, Mom, My Boyfriend is Jewish, or Confusing Indian Gender Roles
Series Title(s): The ‘Matt is, Mohinder isn’t’ Series; Section Four: Relationship?
Author: JLB
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder
Rating: PG-13 for some very bad words, indeed and serious, serious fluff.
Disclaimer: Oh man, what am I gonna do with all this money that I’m making from slash? Wait. What? Oh-I don’t make money from this? Huh. No wonder I have so much debt.
Notes: I feel really bad for two reasons: 1) this has taken a lifetime to finish and at over 6000 words it’s by far the longest installment. And 2) kleenexcow gave me gads and gads of really helpful background information on India and gender roles in India, but I used barely any of it in this chapter. So there will be a deleted scene from this chapter, where I’ll hopefully utilize more of that info. Thanks again, kleenexcow, you’re a doll!

There are parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

And Deleted Scenes: 7a and 7c

Mohinder’s POV

I ran into the bedroom for the third time. There was so much to do I didn’t even know where to start. So all I could do was run back and forth and gape at all things that were definitely not up to a presentable standard. There were clothes all over the place. The dishes weren’t done. The cupboards weren’t cleared off. And for the first time since the flat got trashed, I felt the need for a vacuum. And a dusting, but I wasn’t even sure if we owned a duster. I knew I’d never dusted the place.

I kicked a pile of clothes into a higher pile of clothes with a slightly smaller circumference, put one shirt on a hanger and hurried back out into the living room. Molly was pouting on her beanbag chair. I’d yelled at her about doing things without our knowledge, specifically inviting people to the apartment. Granted, it was my mother, but… I didn’t really want my mother coming to visit.

I hadn’t spent more than an hour a day with my mother since puberty. I spent nearly a decade in England, only coming back for two months for summers. I vaguely remember a time when I was very close with my mother. She was as close to me as my father was distant. But after I went to school abroad, she resumed her work in health clinics. While I was away, I got incredibly westernized. I became a defiant, western teenager who grew into a reserved, distant adult, awkwardly avoiding a regular relationship with my mother.

I was caught staring down a pile of science journals lying on the floor. Matt pulled a sock off my DNA model, and touched my shoulder, “We have to go pick up your mother.”

Crap.

There was that as well.

I hadn’t exactly told my mother I was living with a man. She knew I had Molly, of course. And that I had a flat mate. But the fact that Matt and I were now sleeping in the same bed, raising Molly together, and having fights about past relationships had certainly escaped my description.

And to be perfectly truthful, I had never told my mother that I’d ever had a relationship with a man. I mean, how could I? I hadn’t even told her when I dated white girls in England.

“Um…” I muttered. “Yes, yes… The place is a mess. I just…” Our recent fight fresh on my mind, I feared for another one so shortly after it. Especially one where I was totally at fault. “I’ve never told her about you.”

His eyebrows jumped up. He took a few seconds to think about it and I felt a pang of guilt in my stomach. I didn’t want Matt to think I was ashamed of him. It was more complicated than that.

He let out a low whistle, “You’ve got some ‘splaining to do, Lucy.”

I was confused. Lucy? There was no way that was some sort of pop culture nickname he’d cultivated for me, was it? I didn’t like it.

“Oh, don’t bloody start. If Francine Parkman knows about me, I’ll eat—“ I stopped myself, glancing at Molly. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow, slightly disappointed. She was wary of us starting to fight again. So was I.

“Yeah, but my mom isn’t coming over in a half an hour! Never mind. I mean, she knows about Molly. She might have guessed. Everyone else seems to just assume, so… What’s that look on your face?”

I sighed, “She doesn’t know that I… that I like men.” His eyes went even wider. “Don’t you bloody start with me, Matthew!”

“I didn’t say anything,” he said, holding his hands in surrender.

“Please, don’t… I have to come out to my mother in an airport by showing her my large, white, American boyfriend. And—oh my god—I haven’t realized it until just now, but you look so bleeding American.”

“Uhh… I don’t think I can do anything about that.”

“No, no, I mean… It’s just… nothing. Nothing. I don’t know what I’m saying.” I grabbed my hair in frustration. Matt stepped closer and slid a hand across my shoulders.

“Okay, calm down. We have to go to the airport.”

Molly got up and pulled on my shirt. “I’m sorry, Mohinder. I just never had a Grandma before. And when we were talking on the phone she said she wanted to see me.”

I looked down at her large, sad eyes and felt an ass for yelling at her. Of course, she would have wanted an extended family. Her biological parents had no family we could find. With them gone, and now being cared for by two men, of course she’d desire some normalcy. I should have realized it sooner.

I caved and picked her up, “It’s alright, dearest. You just should’ve told me sooner.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“That’s nice, dear, but there are certain things you can’t surprise us with. Anything like this, namely.”

Matt set a hand on my shoulder and looked at Molly, “Which is why you’re always telling us when you date someone when you’re older.”

Molly frowned with distaste, either at the telling or the dating, I didn’t know.

“And we have to go, like, ten minutes ago,” he added.

Molly and Matt talked on the taxi ride to the airport, while I worried about the various things in my life my mother would be displeased over. Molly had recovered from being yelled at and was now just excited to meet my mother. Matt looked a little nervous. My stomach was tying itself in knots. Even though she, and my grandmother even more so, had written me off as ostensibly western, I’d kept a great deal of my Anglicization from her. My preferences towards western culture had been hidden from her when I lived in India. And now she was suddenly being dropped right into a very American lifestyle I was living.

There was no question of her disapproving of my relationship with Matthew. But I was more than a little nervous in regards to the vehemence of her opposition. I could handle her mild nagging for marriage when I was single, but I didn’t want her interfering with my relationship with Matt.

I was suddenly wondering how long she intended to stay with us.

The flight was delayed an hour. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But Matt offered to go back home and clean up a little. Which would also give me some time to talk to my mother. So rather than getting off her flight and directly meeting her son’s burly, American boyfriend, she’d have twenty minutes or so to adjust to the idea.

I was struggling to remember a time I’d been more nervous. It probably had something to do with someone’s imminent death.

I saw her come through the gate. Her sari, dark red and purple, was attention drawing, even under her jacket. She was looked a little nervous herself. Then I realized she’d never been to America. She’d never even gone to England. It occurred to me that she had spent some time in South Africa before my parents were married, but never this far from Chennai.

I felt suddenly ill. It was hard to believe that

“Mohinder, my darling!”

I smiled. I realized that it had been a long time since someone pronounced my name correctly or spoke to me in my native tongue.

“Maa,” I called back.

She grabbed me in a fierce hug. “Oh, my baby. You are so skinny! Where is this little girl?”

“She’s at the apartment with… my flat mate.”

“Well, why isn’t she here? I want to meet her.”

“We’ll get to the apartment soon. There’s something I have to tell you first.”

Somewhere between the terminal and the door of the cab, I told my mother that my flat mate was less like a flat mate and more like a boyfriend. Which wasn’t exactly a term she was familiar with. So then I tried to explain that Matthew was also a caretaker to Molly. Which didn’t elicit a response either. So, I had to be a little more blunt. And despite a fairly liberal upbringing and my mother’s job as a healthcare provider, I still stumbled over the word ‘sexual’.

The taxi ride back to the apartment was painfully awkward. My mother wasn’t speaking, so I couldn’t speak, only wait for her to finally respond.

When we arrived, she touched the top of my hand and said, “We will talk about this later. Now introduce me to your little girl.”

I carried my mother’s things up to the apartment, while she gazed distastefully at the, admittedly, not incredibly presentable walls. I didn’t know what she’d find more upsetting: me living here or her husband having lived here. I wasn’t sure if she knew already. But, then again, she still could’ve been thinking about the time I told her I was living with a man.

Which was less than five minutes ago.

When I set her luggage down to unlock the door, she said, “Why do you keep the doors locked when people are already inside?”

I hesitated to respond. And ‘Well, there are the super-powered serial killers who have an odd sense of familiarity and entitlement when it comes to this apartment, a Company full of people who have no respect for personal privacy, random people with genetic abnormalities looking for your husband, and just regular New York criminals, thieves and rapists’ didn’t seem like an appropriate response.

The door flew open with Molly grinning like a maniac on the other side.

“Mrs. Suresh!” She shouted. Mum’s hands flew to her face. She looked shocked, like she’d never seen such a thing as a happy, young girl before. I wondered exactly how much secret communicating they’d done.

She got on her knees and threw her arms around Molly.

“It is wonderful to meet you, my dear,” Mum said, her voice a little teary.

Between the loss of Shanti and the desire for grandchildren, this must have felt like heaven for her. It’s strange to think I’d never thought of this before. But I didn’t want to put my mother through the drama that has unfolded from my father’s work. I thought keeping her away from America was probably a good thing.

I looked up for a moment. Matt was lingering by the table nervously. He looked a little pale straightening his shirt, waiting to be noticed. When he caught my eye, I heard his voice in my head, Did you tell her?

I nodded and he looked a little relieved.

Mum stood back up slowly, turning to retrieve a suitcase. “… and I have things I brought for you,” my Mother said, looking up and noticing Matt and I look at each other. I felt like I was in school, and looked away hastily. Then, of course, I felt ridiculous for looking away. My Mother wasn’t a Headmaster and I was thirty-three.

Matt smiled a bit sheepishly at Mum. He held out his hand in front of her and said, “Hi. I’m Matt.”

Seeing her stare him down was a little ridiculous. An exceptionally large NYPD detective shying away from my skinny little Mum, a full foot shorter than him, in her red and purple sari. Her eyes were hard and judgmental and she didn’t say anything. Matt awkwardly put his hand back down by his side and smiled sickly again. She looked away, as if he weren’t there, but decidedly perturbed, and gave me her coat.

Molly, who was in some sort of insular, little girl daze, didn’t notice. She grabbed my Mother’s hand and said brightly, “You can stay in my room.” Molly led my Mother to her room, telling her dedicatedly about the past week at school.

Matt sighed and ran his hand through his hair, “Wow. She’s pissed.”

I shook my head. I didn’t really want to know what she was thinking. I almost asked if Matt knew. Of course it was more than unlikely that he could, but I still felt bad for wanting him to do so. We’d just had our first big fight and I’d expressly asked him to stop reading my mind. What a hypocrite, I thought. Aside from upsetting me, it just reminded me of how unready I was to add a visit from my mother at this time.

“She’ll… be less angry later. I imagine she’s angrier at me for not telling her anything until now.”

“Yeah, well, she wasn’t giving you the stink eye. That was the look of someone that wants to shoot you. Believe me, I know.”

“Well, she doesn’t want to think of me as...” I thought for a second on how to explain the difference between kothis and panthis and hijras and all the rules about how one is supposed to behave in India and decided against it. “As the woman to your man.”

Matt’s eyes went wide, completely frightened. “Uhh… Why—No. I’m not gonna say anything about that… Well, wait… Why would your mom think that?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to discuss this with Matthew anymore than I did with my Mum. “In India, whether you’re heterosexual or not… pursuing… never mind. Just, suffice it to say, homosexual relationships are viewed quite differently than in the west. But aside from that, she probably just sees you as an obstacle to me getting married.”

Matt regained a bit of his humor, as usual, and arched an eyebrow, with a smirk on his face. “Married? You got some skirt back in Madras you haven’t told me about, Professor?”

I rolled my eyes. Hadn’t we just been fighting? Like, a few hours ago. Not even that long a time. It was good to know what once Matthew reconciled, he was quick to regroup. Even if I still felt jarred from the argument. Though, at this point I couldn’t tell if it was from the argument or from coming out to my mother with little mental preparation.

Though it was more likely from the latter.

“My mother’s been trying to get me married for years. She cried when I broke up with Mira.”

“Well, I mean, are you going to talk to her about—“

Matt ceased speaking when Molly and my Mother walked back into the living room. Molly was still speaking excitedly, while my mother gave careful, attentive nods at the appropriate points for pause. She looked at me with veiled annoyance, then sat with Molly on the couch as Molly suggested things they could do tomorrow.

Matt and I made supper, while they talked. My mother would occasionally wonder in to look disapprovingly at the food and ignore Matt. Aside from the tension of the unspoken between me and my mother, and the tension of my mother trying to ignore Matt, who was, in turn, trying not to acknowledge that he was being ignored, the entire night was oddly familiar. Molly clung to her as if she’d always known her. And Mum insisted on Molly calling her ‘Daa-dee-maa’.

At dinner, a decidedly neutral spaghetti with cheesy cauliflower affair, she took time to speak to me in Hindi.

“This food is very bland,” she said flatly.

I shrugged, as Matt desperately tried to look anywhere but my Mother. “Americans eat their food this way. This is a typical meal.”

“You should have used more cilantro.” Without looking, she added, “About what you said earlier…”

With my stomach in my throat, I managed to say, “This probably isn’t a good time.”

She frowned and looked me in the eyes for the first time that night. I remembered the look on her face. It was akin to the time I tried to runaway when I was seven. A little bit fearful, but mostly disappointed. “I know that! We will talk about it tomorrow when Molly is at school and that man is at work.”

Apparently, I looked a little too nervous because she suddenly looked horrified. “He does have a job, yes?”

“Of course, yes! He’s a detective. And his name is Matthew.”

Matt perked up fearfully upon hearing his name. His eyes looked like they were screaming.

“A detective?”

“For the Police Department in New York.”

She didn’t respond and went back to eating her cauliflower. She still looked reserved and angry, but I could tell that her idea of Matt was a little better. Not enough that tomorrow wouldn’t be full of ‘you’re-being-ridiculous’ and ‘this-is-why-you-aren’t-married-yet?’ arguments, but it was a start.

We had a late dinner, so between the jet lag and the sure-to-be awkward conversation topics, Mum didn’t stay up very long after we ate. We set up a cot and a sleeping bag for Molly. She’d already freely given up her bed for my Mum. I insisted that Molly not go to bed right away so she didn’t keep her up all night with questions, but Molly didn’t stay up very late after that either.

After a few minutes of quiet, Matt turned to me slowly and said, “So… We should have my mom come over next week, right?”

The next morning I was in a much better mood. In a moment of rare romanticism, I wanted to think it was from having Matt back in my bed. But, really, I knew it was because Matt had given me a massage and I had whiskey in my tea before bed. So I got a good night’s sleep. Matt had to leave early for work and I decided to call in for a couple days so my Mother wouldn’t be alone in New York while we were all at work and school.

Together, my mother and I took Molly to school. Coming back to the apartment was quiet. She was virtually silent, but in a very foreboding manner. And sure enough, as soon as we got back to the apartment, she started.

“Mohinder, I want this little game to cease.”

“What game?”

“You cannot be serious about living here with this man. You are a grown up now, who has a little girl to take care of. You should better start acting like one.”

I frowned. “Matthew and I both take care of Molly. We love her very much. And we love each other, so I don’t understand what kind of game you’re talking about. It’s all very serious to me.”

She swatted around her head, as if she were swatting away a fly. “That is ridiculous! You have not known each other for that long and you cannot get married. I understand that young men have very close relationships, but you are not so young. You’re old enough to start being practical and start looking for a wife.”

“Mother, I am with Matthew. Hopefully, for a very long time. The rest of my life would be nice. I’m not going to look for a wife and I sincerely doubt that I’m ever going to get married, even if things don’t work between Matthew and I. And this isn’t India! I don’t have to hide my feelings for whom I really love and get married anyway. I don’t want to do that!”

“People get married for a reason. Do you think you are so above this, because you are so modern and you live in America now? How do you know if you love someone? You know them for years, Mohinder. You can’t have that with this man.”

“Yes, I can,” I shouted, then took a moment to calm down. I felt like my head was going to explode. “Yes, I can. Just because we can’t get married doesn’t mean the relationship has any less value. I mean, I have no reason to marry. And if we could get married, who knows? Perhaps I would because it’s economically sensible, but other than that… I haven’t been religious for ages and you know that. I don’t see why you’re so pressed upon the notion that I should marry.”

“How can you have a family without getting married?” She said loudly, sadly.

“I already have a family!” I shot back.

She set her jaw against me and walked away for a moment. She went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

Perhaps that statement would have been better handled without the shouting, but I couldn’t fix that now. I felt overwhelmed. We’d only been talking for a couple of minutes and it was already that intense. Then again, both my Mother and I were fairly direct people, just as my Father had been. An entire family of direct, logic bound people.

No wonder we talked to each other so rarely.

After a few moments, she stormed back out, slamming the bathroom door again. This time she sat down on the couch with a very firm look on her face.

“Make some tea,” she commanded.

“What?” I felt like I had missed something very important.

“Make us some tea. Then you will sit here and tell me about your man. You are a clever boy. You always were. And you sound resolute. If you have reasons for this… conclusion, of yours, I’m sure they are valid ones.” She sighed heavily, as if she’d accomplished some great feet of strength. Which was probably true. “You will tell me your reasons over tea. There is no need to stand shouting at each other like barbarians.”

So, I did. Harboring anger after her saying such a thing would’ve been petulant. And I was pleased with her for having so much faith in me. And I was beginning to feel more hopeful about her visit ending on a good note.

During tea, I told her all I could about Matt. Of course, I left out the ex-wife and the mind reading. I told her more about Matt’s career and how pleasant he was. How much he meant to me, but particularly to Molly. How neither of us could live without him. And through the entire conversation, she didn’t react much. Except when I told her Matt was Jewish. Then she just looked shocked and confused.

After a while I was at a loss for what to say. She wasn’t responding or, even, emoting really. And, of course, it was an awkward thing to talk to my Mother about. Not just love, but being in love with a man. I thought I could explain all I could about how I felt. I wasn’t used to revealing so much of that type of information.

Going again into admirable attributes, she stopped me.

“That’s enough,” she sounded tired. “Let’s prepare food for lunch.”

The rest of the day, before Molly got home was quietly unbearable. She was still reserved and tight-lipped. She said nothing about Matt or our relationship for the rest of the day.

After we picked up Molly things got a little better. She had Molly try on a sari she had brought with her. Molly adored it, of course, to the point of vowing to never take it off again. It was blue and yellow and incredibly expensive looking; she looked absolutely wonderful in it, naturally. She modeled it for us as if she were on a runway. She did a repeat performance for Matt when he came home.

Mum was still barely acknowledging Matt’s presence. She looked at him without scowling, but I think that was only because Molly, still high from her new gift, leapt into his arms after he came home.

After a trip, that excluded Matt (he made the situation a million times easier by declining to come), to just some of the places Molly needed to show my Mum, we came back late and exhausted. But the uncomfortable tension still lingered.

The following day was completely different, however.

Because rather than being quietly unbearable, it was loudly unbearable.

My mother availed herself of every opportunity to criticize me. It started with food. I knew it could only end with Matt, but that had yet to come. She went through the cupboards after we took Molly to school again. She made a point of telling me how bland and lacking American food was. She was categorically opposed to all foods coming in brightly colored boxes. Which I felt was particularly unfair, because I felt the same way, but had been coerced by Matt and Molly into getting more foods they found familiar. And she was positively scandalized by the dearth of ‘real’ food I had in the house.

She made a shopping list for me, which we retrieved from the Indian market I normally went to. Because I didn’t have ghee, or saffron, or coconut milk, or naan, or eggplant, or fenugreek. And, apparently, my garam masala was unacceptable. While we were there she made a note of telling the shop woman, whose college-age daughter was nearby, that I was single.

After we got back home, she advanced to the topics of: shrines in the household, my failures in honoring Ganesha, teaching Molly about India, in general, and religion, in specific, teaching Molly Hindi, letting her wear more saris, the state of the apartment, renewing my Professorship, the school Molly attended, and smaller issues, which I mostly tuned out.

I occasionally argued her points, but it was doing any good. She was clearly choosing not to listen to me at all. It made me wonder if she’d been listening the day before when she’d asked me to talk to her about Matt. And if she had, if she just decided that my reasons weren’t valid after all.

Matt called to say he was getting home early and that he’d go pick up Molly for me.

I went out in the hallway, shutting the door behind me. “Great,” I complained. “More time in the kitchen with Mum.”

“Not having a great day?”

“No. Not unless being told exactly what’s wrong with you and how you should do it better is great. Do you want to hear the list?”

Matt chuckled, “So Mom behavior is universal. I was wondering, cause that sounds like a typical day with my Mother.”

“Matt,” I said harshly. “I had the wrong kind of rice.”

“Um… okay.”

“It’s bloody fucking rice, Matt. How is it ever wrong? It’s rice! But I didn’t have any ghee, so apparently I’m coming back as a snail in my next life.”

“If I understood the significance of any of that, I’m sure I’d be more concerned. But as it stands, I’m just a little amused that I’m not the only one feeling the icy cold wrath of your Mother.”

“When are coming home?”

“3:30—wait. Wait.”

I was suddenly worried. An extra two hours with my Mother was a daunting thought. “What?”

“You just asked me when I was coming home.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never done that! It was adorable.” I rolled my eyes. I could hear the smile in his voice. “You love me and you want me home. That’s just adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“I love you, too.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye,” he said with a laugh, before hanging up.

I took a deep breath and steeled myself to going back inside.

After Molly got done telling Mum about her day, she decided to acknowledge my presence again. Noticing some jars of spices on the counter, she realized we had gone grocery shopping without her. And that idea never sat well with her because it meant a missed opportunity for sugar based cereals and candy.

“Did you get any ice cream at the grocery store?”

“No,” I shook my head. “We didn’t go to a place with ice cream.”

She looked a little startled by the notion that there were places that didn’t sell ice cream, but she recovered quickly. “Can we go get some? That one aisle has green tea flavored soy stuff. That’s healthy, right?”

I snorted and felt oddly disposed towards indulging her. Preferably with something my Mother would find obscenely American, like Rocky Road. Then get extra chocolate, just for good measure.

But Matt interjected, “The co-op is kinda far, sweetie. And the traffic is really bad right now.”

“Well there’s that chain just around the corner,” I offered, making Molly’s eyes light up again.

Matt looked at me dubiously, “You said they have nothing but junk food there.”

I smiled, “Then it should be great for ice cream!”

“Yay!” Molly shouted. “I’ll go get my coat.”

Matt shrugged, “I can take her.”

“No, I can.”

My Mother said calmly, “Why don’t we all go together?”

We rounded the store at least twice when it happened. We got two different types of ice cream, caramel topping, sprinkles, gummy bears, and whipped cream from a can just so Molly could have a proper sundae. My mother looked about as horrified as I had when I saw my first supermarket candy aisle.

Molly wanted to get some orange juice, so we went back to the front of the store, near the checkout area. Molly was pushing the cart maniacally, while my mother followed closely, attempting to keep her from hitting things or throwing things in the shopping cart. Trying to maneuver around a large display of bright green soda boxes, I lost my footing and Matt stopped me by resting a hand on my side.

Instead of walking forward to follow Molly, who was getting a candy contact high, he stepped in front of me. He settled his hands on my hips and pulled me a little closer.

“Are you sure you want to be antagonizing your mom like this? You’ve been snapping at her all night.”

My eyebrows jumped a little. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t play dumb, Curls. It doesn’t work with me.”

“Well, she was antagonizing me,” I said lamely. He cocked an eyebrow. “I know, I know,” I continued, succumbing to his silent reasoning. “I’m being childish. I’ll be more civil.”

He pulled me in with an arm and kissed the side of my head, “Good.” He was still wearing his trenchcoat from work, so when I slid my arm around his back, I nearly fit inside his coat as well. I was considering that my mother should really be a lot nicer to Matthew, when I heard it.

It being the worst moment possible for some neo-nazi punk to notice me.

“Faggots,” I heard, quite clearly in a carrying voice from behind. I was facing my mother and Molly, who’d obviously heard it. They both looked a bit confused. I moved away from Matt and we both looked at him at the same time.

An angry-looking twenty-something in a leather jacket and a bald head. He had tattoos on his hands. And people around the checkout aisles were already looking our way. I just closed my eyes, hoping for it to go away. Not in front of Molly and my mother, I thought.

But he spoke again. “Fuckin’ faggots should die,” he spat, getting closer to us. It felt like something was crushing my chest. I pulled on Matt’s arm, hoping to get him to walk away, but Matt was bristling.

“Matt,” I said. I thought, Molly’s right over there. Don’t do anything. Just walk away.

I looked back to see Mum squeezing Molly, who was straining to see around us, tight under arm. I called out, “Stay back there,” in Hindi. When I looked back the whole front of the store was staring at us. And the skinhead took a step closer.

“Fuckin’ A-rab, black ass motherfuckin’ sand nigger and a fuckin’ race traitor. Fuckin’ faggots should die!” He took a step closer, but then was suddenly stopped.

By Matt. Who shouted, “You know what?” and grabbed skinhead by his forearm, wrenched it behind his back, and pushed him against the stacks of soda. The skinhead was lifted off his feet by the force of Matt’s grab. I could only take a step back and stare in shock.

Matt continued, “I think that sister-schtupping, redneck scum should probably all contract painful, incurable, fatal venereal diseases and die, crippled and homeless on the street, but I don’t say it out loud, so mind your manners!”

“Matthew,” I finally shouted.

Matt took a look at me and his eyes softened. He twisted the guy’s arm again and walked him to the front of the store. As Matt threw him out the automatic door, he yelled out after him, “And I’m Jewish, you asshole!”

That, of course, elicited applause from the crowd of people watching. Cause it was New York, and for every redneck or skinhead, there were about fifteen people who liked seeing rednecks and skinheads getting their asses handed to them. A cashier with pink and blue hair and many piercings, even jumped up on her counter and whistled and cat-called at Matt.

I could only think of what Matt really told him to do and hoped it wasn’t contracting a painful, fatal venereal disease to die on the street.

Matt went red when he noticed the people laughing and clapping and walked back over to me. Molly, who was still being clutched my mother, who looked terrified, managed to squirm away from her and run toward us.

“Who was that guy? What was he saying? Why was he yelling at you and Matt? Why did you perp-slam him against the Mountain Dew?” She asked between the two of us. I was paralyzed. I couldn’t even stutter.

Matt bent down and picked her up, “Well, first of all, no more Law and Order for you, girlie. Did you hear what he said?”

“Some of it,” she nodded.

Matt started to walk away with her, back to the cart, “You know what you should do if someone starts yelling stuff like that at someone you know and you feel like someone’s gonna get hurt?”

“Get an adult and call the police,” she answered brightly. Matt gave her a high five.

I almost felt like crying. Matt was perfect when it came to making really terrible truths seem better. Instead of feeling terrorized, Molly was already smiling. I felt better, even.

Mum walked to me and linked her arm in mine. “This is a dangerous city,” she said.

I nodded. I wanted to add that most people aren’t like that and that any large city is dangerous. But she pulled my arm tighter and said, “I like him.”

I looked at her in shock. She smiled, let go of my arm and walked away. I stared stupidly at the other end of the aisle. Molly was on the floor again and she took her hand and they began to push the cart together. But before they walked away, she looked at Matt with stern consideration and said, “Thank you, Matthew.”

Matt raised his eyebrows.

I walked toward him and said, “You impressed her.”

He grinned broadly, “Hells yeah!”

“You impressed me too.”

His grinned softened as he tried to look a little more nonchalant, “Well, you know… He was saying stupid, terrible things about us. People shouldn’t have to hear that stuff. And, I just really hate Nazis.”

“Now with him. That was terrifying. I meant with Molly. You said the right thing.”

He gave me a small smile. “Oh, that was nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t.” After a few seconds of walking, I added, “What did you tell him, by the way?” I hoped it wasn’t anything too violent or something we couldn’t tell Molly. I was squiffy about the entire concept sometimes, but he obviously had to tell the man something.

“I told him to walk away and stop hating people.”

I stopped mid-step, with my jaw hanging open.

“What?” He said with a laugh. “Do I have no credibility with you whatsoever? ‘Sides, I watched American History X the other night.”

After a few seconds of awe, I managed to smile again. I’d never felt prouder to be a part of my family, really. Molly was wonderful, as always. My mother was, well, not happy with my relationship with Matt, but less likely to hate him now. And somewhere in New York, a skinhead was regretting his swastika tattoo.

Up next is Deleted Scene 10B: Mohinder and Peter and Deleted Scene 11 & 1/2: Mama Suresh and Matt

and

Deleted Scene: 11 and 1/2
Next (and final) Part: The Obligitory Parents' Night Debacle

~love from WI
JLB