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damonalbarn · 3 years

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Hey I was wondering if you knew the article that Justine spoke about suzi in?!

It was in The Guardian in 2000. Here you go:

Sweet revenge

In the mid 90s, Justine Frischmann and Damon Albarn were the First Couple of Britpop. Then he used a Blur album to rake over their break-up, while she languished in obscurity amid rumours of heroin addiction. Now she's back with a new album, and it's her turn to exorcise her demons.

Caroline Sullivan

Friday March 24, 2000

As Alison Moyet once said, it's hard to write a decent song when you're happy. Rock bands thrive on romantic turmoil in their private lives, without which they would be reduced to padding out lyrics with football scores and the weather.

Thus it was for Blur's Damon Albarn in mid-1998 when he sat down to write what would become the 13 album. His eight-year relationship with Justine Frischmann of the chart-topping Elastica, whom he once described as **"the only person who's ever been completely necessary to me" **had just ended, at her instigation. Pained and humiliated, he decided to exact revenge by exposing their most intimate details to public scrutiny.

The outcome? Embarrassment for Frischmann, a number one album for Blur and a bit of a result for Albarn.

Break-up albums are by definition both embittered and yearning - in the case of Marvin Gaye's vindictive Here, My Dear, they're just plain nasty - but 13 got more up-close and personal than could be considered gentlemanly. Albarn portrayed his former partner as neurotic, even slipping apparent drug references into the single Tender: "Tender is the ghost, the ghost I love the most/Hiding from the sun, waiting for the night to come". Frischmann was the ghost, supposedly, who was on the verge of being consumed by what one music paper euphemistically called "the darkness at the heart of Elastica".

Frischmann's response can be found on a song called The Way I Like It, which appears on Elastica's first album in five years, The Menace (out next month): "Well, I'm living all right and I'm doing okay/Had a lover who was made of sand, and the wind blew him away".

This is unlikely to be her last word on the subject. As she ambivalently begins her first round of interviews since 1996, she's finding that everyone has the same three questions. Why did Elastica nearly sabotage a promising career by taking so long to follow up their million-selling debut? Had Frischmann taken leave of her senses when she walked out on Mr Britpop? And what about the drug rumours?

"One journalist said to me, 'Dahling, I heard you were on heroin - Mahvelous!' " she says with some amusement. "Drugs are around, but I'm not that interested and never have been, although there have been elements of party animal in my band. The rumours are a lot to do with rock'n'roll mythology, where people want to believe you're having a more exciting time than you are."

The only drugs on her person today, as she perches on the edge of an armchair in her publicist's north London living room, are Marlboro Lights. Her other indulgences are two cups of herbal tea and a Cadbury's Flake cupcake, which she nibbles with well-bred pleasure. Her dark eyes are clear, and her long, tanned body is a testament to the virtues of a daily swim in a pool near her Notting Hill home. Only Elastica know whether they really succumbed to heroin and hedonism after their self-titled debut made them more famous than they'd ever expected to be, but if they did, Frischmann, 30, seems little the worse for it.

Given the current predominance of damnable boy bands, the Britpop mid-90s are beginning to seem like a halcyon period for English music. It was a time when the underground went overground, and a self-described "little punk band" like Elastica could sell 80,000 albums in a week.

More than a few loser guitar groups saw Britpop as a licence to print money, but Elastica, led with cool elan by the androgynous Frischmann, were one of its gems. The Blur connection was a marketing godsend (Frischmann and Albarn met on the London indie circuit, she as guitarist in an early line-up of Suede and girlfriend of frontman Brett Anderson, he as a cherubic baggy hopeful), yet the spiky-haired Elastica LP embodied that euphoric time like nothing else.

Frischmann, guitarist Donna Matthews, drummer Justin Welch and bassist Annie Holland were unprepared for the album soaring to number one in its first week. When they signed their record deal, Frischmann, whose great-grandfather was a conductor of the Tsar's orchestra at the Summer Palace in Byelorussia, was five years into an architecture degree at London University. A liberal north London Jewish upbringing - her engineer father built the Oxford Street landmark Centrepoint - had instilled expectations of success, but the reality of being photographed in the supermarket and having her rubbish stolen was a shock. Fiercely independent, she also resented her unsought role as half of Britpop's First Couple.

There was more. Two of Frischmann's musical heroes, The Stranglers and Wire, decided that two Elastica songs were suspiciously similar to two of their own tracks, and won royalties. Meanwhile, there were malicious rumours that Albarn had done much of the work on the record. He hadn't, but he did find Justine's success in America, where she was substantially out-selling Blur, hard to endure.

"It was very hard for him to deal with and he's very confrontational," she says, with the flattering openness of someone who prefers interviews to be more like conversations. She admits she often says too much, but in an era of image control and spin, her honesty makes her a one-off. Not that she's likely to land herself in it too badly - she possesses the intellectual ammunition to look after herself, which must have been instrumental in attracting two of rock's more articulate stars, Albarn and Anderson.

She's been accused of being a professional rock girlfriend, though it was probably they who were lucky to get her. She spent the cab ride over reading the Sylvia Plath letters in Monday's Guardian, and muses on the irony of the poet's subjugating herself to Ted Hughes when she was the more gifted. (Her new boyfriend, by the way, is an unknown photographer, "though that'll probably change, because men seem to get famous when I go out with them".)

"I reacted the way a lot of women do, by being passive," she continues. "He put a lot of pressure on me to give up Elastica. He said, 'You don't want to be in a band, you want to settle down and have kids.' " In so many words? "In so many words. He kept putting on pressure till I started to believe him." She adds bemusedly: "I've met his new girlfriend, and one of the first things she said was that he wanted her to give up travelling with her work to stay home with the baby [Missy, born last autumn]. I'm surprised he's got away with being thought of as a nice person for so long."

After 18 months, during which they did seven American and three Japanese tours, Elastica came off the road to record company demands for an immediate second album. Annie Holland's response was to quit the group, while Donna Matthews became renowned for hard partying on the nocturnal west London scene. They lethargically recorded some demos, but their heart wasn't in it. By 1997, when a second album should have been ready to go, Frischmann and Matthews were barely speaking, and there was nothing useable down on tape.

Holland's replacement, Sheila Chipperfield (of the circus Chipperfields), was deemed not good enough and left by mutual consent. By 1998, their continued lack of productivity was being likened to the Stone Roses' lengthy and ultimately self-destructive holiday between their first and second LPs.

"I didn't think Elastica were going to continue at that point, and we did kinda split up," she says, absently stroking her publicist's cat. Frischmann is a cat person; she's owned a tabby called Benjamin since she was 10. "Unconditional love," she coos. The pet's place in her life is so assured that prospective boyfriends are subjected to his feline scrutiny before she'll go out with them.

On top of everything else, in early 1998 her relationship with Albarn was in trouble. Frischmann retains enough of the indie ethic to detest the phenomenon of celebrity couples, and was dismayed when they became one. "I really hated the tabloid interest, and I went out of my way not to be photographed with him. Only about three pictures of us together exist, I think. In many ways, I think the media interest broke us up, because it made me feel the relationship was quite ugly, and I had to get away from it. There were other factors, too, obviously, because we were together for eight years, and I finally felt it was better the devil you didn't know, really."

Albarn's ego seems to have been severely undermined by having a girlfriend who was nearly as successful as he was, and something of a sex symbol to boot. Despite adopting a resolutely boyish T-shirt-and-jeans uniform, she's thoroughly feminine, a mix that got her voted fifth most fanciable woman in a lesbian magazine.

"I'm completely heterosexual, so I didn't know how to take that. It scares the shit out of me, the idea of being with a girl. I'm glad I've narrowed it down to half the people in the world."

She seems to view Albarn with indulgent exasperation these days, simultaneously praising his intelligence ("The Gallaghers just couldn't compete") and ticking off his flaws. "Damon adores being in the press, and sees all press as good press. He orchestrated that rivalry thing with Oasis. He really wanted kids, and I didn't feel our relationship was stable enough. He was a naughty boy, and he wasn't the right person to have kids with. I had this cathartic moment..."

At which point they split up. Albarn wrote 13 and then met Suzi Winstanley, an artist. "She was pregnant within three months," Justine observes wickedly.

Of the acclaimed 13, she's tactful, describing several songs as "really lovely". She studies her cigarette for a while before adding, "but I'm cynical about selling a record on the back of our relationship". But you're doing the same now. "It's true, but at the time I had no right of reply."

Elastica finally pulled themselves together last year, just as the music industry was about to write them off (their American label had already "very kindly let us go", as she puts it). Holland rejoined, Matthews went to Wales to sort out her life and the band banged out an EP and played the Reading Festival. Things came together quickly after that. They spent the last £10,000 of the recording budget on re-recording a dozen tracks, finishing the album, after years of procrastinating, in six weeks. They've called it The Menace "because that's what it was like to make".

It's dark and resolutely uncommercial - all wrong for 2000's pop-oriented climate. It's unlikely to match the success of the first one, which is fine with them. Call it (though Justine doesn't) their White Album. Its 70s punk aesthetic brings to mind angry girls such as the Slits and the Au Pairs, although the defining mood isn't anger so much as catharsis. None of the songs is specifically about Albarn, she claims. "The dark feeling is due to the sense of isolation, tasting success and getting frightened by it. I was questioning whether I wanted to be in a band any more, and there was no one I could ask for advice. Getting success and everything you ever dreamed about is hard to handle, and makes you question everything."

She's better prepared for success, if it comes again, this time. Already the privacy-preserving barriers are in place. The next interview of the day is with Time Out magazine, which wants a list of her favourite restaurants. "I'm not telling them where I eat," she says reflexively. "I'm gonna lie."

#questions #damon albarn #justine frischmann #blur #elastica

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wetookanoath · 5 years

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a scenerio that popped into my head: They are living in the same apartment building and this orange cat keeps getting on Ryan's nerves always snooping around his balcony and causing trouble, breaking pots etc. He knows the cat is his neighbor's he saw it being let in from their balcony so after this has happened a handful of times he's ready to go and have a few strong words with whoever lives there but oh shit the guy is so tall and hot, fuck

This is not exactly what you asked for and def you didn’t ask for a fanfic, but here, I wrote a fic! The first in WEEKS! So yaay!

[AO3]

The orange menace would appear on the balcony at 4 PM every day without fail. Always looking at Ryan, trying to mess with his head.

If he didn’t know better, Ryan would think the cat could read his mind and appear when he least needed him to. The cat had even learned how to open the sliding door of his balcony, so sometimes he would find it nesting in the kitchen sink which was very inconvenient when Ryan had people over or wasn’t ready for allergic reactions.

Regardless, the animal kept coming back and Ryan kept wondering why, why him?

This time the cat was asleep on his goddamn bed, and Ryan was tired, so tired and so drunk.

“Fuck it.”

“Mrrrp”, the cat replied, before blinking at him and curling up into a ball.

All he could do was get himself on the other side of the bed to fall asleep with the orange cat purring at his back.

Someone was knocking in his head.

Three soft knocks and a pause,followed by another three knocks. Ryan frowned, that was not possible – someone knocking at his head? What…? Right. The door.

“No… go away…”

He tried his best to ignore the noise, turning on his side facing the window, when he felt something both sharp and fuzzy pawing at his forehead. Still refusing to open his eyes, he brought up a hand to feel around and noticed something fluffy and very much alive resting gently over his head.

Ryan was about to scream demon when a loud purr distracted him enough to suddenly remember last night, he opened his eyes slowly.

The cat was sleeping on his head.

Sighing, Ryan moved to rest on his back, when the knocking on his door started up again. This time louder and fuck– a quick glance to his alarm clock on the night stand told him it was three fuck-off in the morning. The knocking didn’t seem to bother the cat, who was still purring as it pawed gently on top of his head, like it was trying to style his hair.

Ryan frowned, not sure of what was weirder: the orange cat on his head or the person banging on his door at 3 AM.

Maybe he’d get killed, but with all the effort a hungover guy could muster, Ryan got out of bed and went to open the door.

Tall Hot And Unbothered was at his door, looking like death.

His red nose and watery eyes made Ryan swallow and look back into his apartment to see if there were any cameras or a unicorn around, because this couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream or some sort of prank.

Ryan was confused, but the frantic look in his neighbor’s face made Ryan try to smile and the man looked at him with something akin to hope and his heart started to beat faster.

“Hey…”

“Hi, hello.” He said, voice deep yet tiny, like if he had been crying for far too long. “I’m sorry, I know It’s super late–”

“Dude, are you okay?” Ryan frowned.

The tall– way too tall, extremely tall– man quickly dried his face with hands covered by his dark sweater. It didn’t really help his case, it only made him look incredibly vulnerable and Ryan wondered if he was still in his bed, dreaming some sort of strange romantic scenario that would end in the most ridiculous porno his brain could have made up.

He had been very drunk when he came home after all, and it wouldn’t be the first time. Especially when it came to this guy in particular, Tall Hot And Unbothered from 17E upstairs.

Ryan blinked, watching as the guy swallowed and looked down before returning his eyes to his face.

“Allergies.” He excused, Ryan lifted an eyebrow knowing that wasn’t the case.

Allergies was in his room, making himself comfortable in his bed as Ryan tried his best not to show just how infatuated with this man he was.

“I’m just… I’m looking for my cat. He is an orange tabby, has a black collar with a green bell in the shape of an alien head, have you seen him?”

Bless that little fucker.

The first time Ryan saw Tall Hot And Unbothered, the guy had been on the phone and had just passed Ryan in the lobby of their building, giving him no mind. Not a glance, nothing. But it had left him starstruck since the beginning.

Nolan, the guy at the desk, had given him A Look after he had asked for a name and more information on the tall man, but he had been a new tenant and Nolan hadn’t had a chance to talk to him just yet.

It wasn’t until the third time he asked in as many days that Ryan realized desk guy Nolan thought him a creep, and so he desisted.

Still, he couldn’t help himself and the smile on his lips every time they saw each other in the elevator. Tall Hot And Unbothered was polite as hell but still didn’t mind him. Their little dance of good morning and good night wasn’t enough, but damn if Ryan wasn’t the worst at talking to people unless someone else introduced him to them, let alone at flirting.

And so, four months had passed and now, Tall Hot and Unbothered was at his door, asking for the orange menace sleeping in his bed.

Maybe Ryan should had noticed that the damn cat started to appear in his balcony, fucking up pots and meowing at ridiculous hours of the early morning, at the same time Tall Hot And Unbothered moved to the building.

Looking at him now, he was more like Tall Hot And Cute, which was the worst possible combination because then his brain would malfunction forever in the presence of this man.

“Obi!” He said, taking the cat from Ryan’s arms and cuddling him to his chest. The cat meowed, looking at Ryan with what he tried not to identify as betrayal. “You’re such a fucking asshole, how dare you?”

Jesus. Ryan chuckled, seeing the man standing in his living room holding his cat. The damn thing didn’t seem bothered at all, it kept glancing over at Ryan with shining eyes and if he woke up dead by clawing, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

At least his ghost knew where to find the irresponsible owner of such a furry little bitch.

Tall Hot And Cute looked at him, and Ryan felt a knot in his throat, unable to talk or move. Maybe he had swallowed his tongue.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, and I was so worried–” He said way too fast.

Ryan frowned as his head started to pound, suddenly aware of how drunk he had been and how late at night, or early in the morning it was.

“He hasn’t come in days, he must have been such a bother–”

“What? Days? No, he was just…” His eyes opened wide. “Oh.” Ryan swallowed. “Well, I mean… I didn’t realize he had been staying. I think.”

The man frowned, carrying the cat like if he was a baby. Ryan licked his lips, looking down at himself to remember that hey, he was in his pink boxers with strawberry patterns. Excellent.

“Thank you for having him over.”

“Uh,” Ryan looked up, smiling alike when he noticed Tall Hot And Cute happily smiling at him. He no longer looked dead inside, which was good. He really was good looking. “It’s alright, at least now I know who to call when he keeps eating my plants and knocking them off the balcony”.

His expression changed, eyes wide open as he looked towards the balcony, then to the cat.

“Dude!” He said, the cat meowed angry at his owner and all Ryan could do was laugh at the image. “What the hell? Oh, my God. I’m so sorry!” Tall Hot And Cute looked at him. “Shit, how much do I owe you?”

“I don’t know…” He swallowed. “I haven’t replaced shit, so… It’s okay, really.”

“Fuck…” The man frowned, looking down at his cat who was looking very Not Okay in this situation. “Well, when you do, hit me up with the bill. I’m in the 17E.” He said and Ryan had to bite his tongue not to answer, I know.

Maybe desk guy Nolan was right.

“Sure, man. It’s fine.” He shrugged. “Uhm, I’m– I’m Ryan.”

“Oh.” He seemed to notice they hadn’t introduced each other, and smiled at him. “Shane.” He said, sighing while moving the cat to show it to him. “And Obi.”

“Great,” Ryan chuckled. “Now at least I have a name for him, the orange menace is too long.”

“The orrrrghhh–” He laughed, it echoed in the room as it did in Ryan’s head and he couldn’t help but smile, seeing Shane’s eyes turn into half moons and his cheeks turning red. He could get used to this. “Uhm,” Shane smiled at him, Ryan tilted his head to one side. “Well, I… should let you sleep. I’m very sorry again, I know this was… uncalled for.”

“A little bizarre.” He admitted, gesturing with his hand. “But it’s okay. Uhm…”

“Good night, Ryan. Thanks again.”

He nodded, following Shane’s steps towards his door and watching as the man walked out of his apartment. They smiled at each other, and when the taller guy looked at him one last time and Ryan sighed, debating between watching him get on the elevator or just closing his door and screaming into his pillow.

But a sudden strike of bravery made him ask, “Hey, Shane?”

“Uh?” The man looked back, walking backwards towards the elevator.

Ryan smiled at the sight. “You want to come over later? We can have a beer, watch a movie…”

The man stopped, blinking before answering with a neutral expression. “Sure.”

“Great!” He swallowed, hands sweating as he tried to look chill. “Around four is okay?”

“Yeah, that would be fine.” He smiled, giving Ryan his back again. The cat meowed. “Good night!”

“Good night, guys!”

Ryan watched as they got into the elevator, Obi meowing again as Shane smiled at Ryan, the door closing before he could see him smile back.

Maybe the cat wasn’t so bad after all.

#shyan #skeptic believer #shyan fic #shyanlibrary #nini got mail #mine #my fanfics #otp: we took an oath #fanfictions #obi #Anonymous

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gffa · 5 years

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Second question. I love love love Anakin to the moon and back. But, idk if it's this new tumblr's culture of "no problematic shit allowed", I have to admit a lot of people either bash him or Darth Vader in particular. Do you think how Anakin was characterizated in the prequels is a good portrayal of his feelings and actions? Is he an irredimable, pure, wondeful villain or we're allowed to be sympathetic towards him despite what he did? Do you think his eventual redemption arc is satysfing?

In my experience, the “no problematic shit allowed” has swung in the other direction for Anakin, in that his actions and choices are justified because he was sad about some stuff and clearly no one ever tried to help him ever, definitely no one ever repeatedly tried to talk to him about stuff and he definitely never consistently rebuffed them. –I say with a genuine teasing tone!I think the canon (and word of god commentary) was pretty clear about how we’re meant to sympathize with Anakin to a degree, starting out with The Phantom Menace, where George Lucas says a lot of people were mad because they wanted Baby Vader to be this little demon kid and he wasn’t, he was a good boy who had too much power and didn’t want to learn the difference between compassionate love and possessive love.If we weren’t meant to be sympathetic to Anakin, we wouldn’t have scenes like him crying over his mother’s death, crying at Padme about what he’d done and collapsing into a heap, desperately hurting because he lost control of himself. If we weren’t meant to be sympathetic to Anakin, we wouldn’t see him crying while trying to decide if he should stay back in the Temple or go help Palpatine because he wants to save Padme’s life, no matter the cost. If we weren’t meant to be sympathetic to Anakin, we wouldn’t get so many scenes of him being charismatic, being adorable (the ENTIRE FIRST HALF HOUR OF ROTS is Anakin and Obi-Wan’s delightful banter, there’s SO MUCH of AOTC where Anakin may be a brat, but he’s a sweet brat). If we weren’t meant to be sympathetic to Anakin, Obi-Wan would never have tried to save him throughout that entire fight on Mustafar. Of course we’re meant to be sympathetic to Anakin, his anxieties and fears, rather than just having him be Baby Vader from the beginning.For contrast, one of the things that I found interesting about Krell is that Dave Filoni talks about why they wrote him the way they did, that he was very obviously a villain from the beginning, because he didn’t want kids to get invested in this hero, only to be devastated when he was actually bad, that we already get this with Anakin. If Star Wars wanted us to hate Anakin, they would not have been subtle about it.But at the same time, we’re not meant to excuse Anakin’s actions because he’s sympathetic, either. He makes monstrous choices and he absolutely had the wisdom to know better. He has people who offer to talk to him–Obi-Wan does so repeatedly, Ahsoka also mentions how he doesn’t talk to her about his past ever–but he turns away from their help. His fears aren’t the problem, they’ve never been the problem, but instead from the very moment he came to the Jedi, his choice to not face them, to not admit to them being there, to not be willing to work on them and let them go, has been the problem. This is why I loved Dark Lord of the Sith so much, because it’s a 25 issue comic that illustrates all these other choices Anakin had (he could have left the Jedi, he could have returned to the light, he could have taken Palpatine out, he could have asked Obi-Wan for help, he could have done so many different things, and instead his answer to literally having these shoved into his brain is, “No. This is all there is.”) and this is why I love the short story Master and Apprentice from From a Certain Point of View.“Anakin became a Jedi Knight,” Obi-Wan interjects, a thread of steel in his voice. “He served valiantly in the Clone Wars. His fall to darkness was more his choice than anyone else’s failure. Yes, I bear some responsibility—and perhaps you do, too—but Anakin had the training and the wisdom to choose a better path. He did not.” (–Master and Apprentice, From a Certain Point of View, Claudia Gray)This is specifically why his return to Anakin Skywalker as a Force Ghost is so meaningful, in that he finally let go of all that rage, that hate, that fear. It wouldn’t mean anything if he hadn’t spent his entire life holding onto those fears and anger and hate, just like the climactic fight on Mustafar wouldn’t mean anything if we weren’t heartbroken by it, which we wouldn’t be if we weren’t meant to love Anakin, just as much as we hate him for murdering children and stabbing the family that took him in in the backs.Anakin’s story is satisfying because it’s an illustration of how someone so bright can go so wrong, how the hurts we all deal with can eat away at us if we don’t actively face them and work through them. How we can lose our way if we get too far into our own justifications because we’re afraid of things we don’t want to deal with and don’t want to face. He doesn’t want to face that death is a part of life, that sometimes we have to let go of the feelings inside us because they’re eating away at our hearts, no matter how special those feelings make us feel.It’s important that he was a good person at one point in time, how he returned to that person by doing what he should have done a long time ago, how it’s not too late for him to find inner peace and redemption. How being selfless is narratively rewarded. How the truth of Darth Vader is, as George Lucas says, “He’s done a lot of horrible things in his life that he isn’t particularly proud of. Ultimately, he’s just a pathetic guy who’s had a very sad life.“Anakin Skywalker lived a sad life, because he made terrible choices and couldn’t let go of what was eating him, never really wanted to do the hard internal work for it. There are few people who can’t relate to that on at least some level, being afraid to look at the worst things inside ourselves. I mean, that’s why the Force is what it is, that George laid it out as the light is the good things within us, that the dark is the selfish and greedy things within us, that we have to face both, that discipline is the only way to turn back to the light, that we all have a choice, but the world works better if you’re on the side of good.Anakin’s story has impact and meaning because his story is the central story of Star Wars, the themes of Star Wars are the themes of Anakin Skywalker. The prequels fill in this context brilliantly, to show us that he was both an incredible hero and an incredible villain. That his good choices do not negate his villainy and his monstrous choices do not negate the good in him, they’re both an important part of the equation, just like the light and the dark are both important parts of the Force and it’s up to you to choose how to navigate them. Whether to be good or to be evil, the potential for both is in all of us, and ultimately Star Wars is about choice. And about breaking our hearts–which you can’t do, if you’re not meant to find even the second worst villain of the entire Saga to be sympathetic in many ways!

#adharaskywalker #anakin skywalker #meta

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thedeadishscribe · 5 years

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Sidestep/Ortega

My Fallen Hero fic is, more or less, finally done! It features my Sidestep, Rysen Adri, and his thoughts on post game Fallen Hero: Rebirth. I seem to be doing a lot of post games.

I’m probably gonna post this to ao3 later because formatting is a bitch.

Please, enjoy!

Love, the dead dude

Julia had asked a fair question—what did that kiss mean?

I’m not sure myself, all I knew is that hearing the name Rysen was sweeter than I cared to admit. Was that even my name anymore? Again, not sure. What the hell, exactly, was going on in my life? Ortega, John, Mortum, The Rangers. Ouroboros. The new name I had chosen. The thought came to me at the party, the classic description of a serpent devouring its own tail, often used to signify the cycles of the universe and the process of rebirth—and it felt right at the time—but it felt positively wonderful in the afterglow of the gala. Fitting as can be really. Reborn, baptized in flame, smoke, and blood. Definitely several bruises and broken bones. Hopefully no corpses.

An odd sentiment for a demon of Los Diablos.

First I had considered ‘Mindflayer’, but it wasn’t exactly me, as menacing a choice as it would have been. ‘Demon’ would have been too cheesy, too on the nose. Can’t really remember what made me think of it, but it simply fit. Even now I savor it on my tongue. Ouroboros. That one news station somehow fucked it up into ‘aurabeesknees’, but they’re in the minority so I guess I can let them off the hook. May have to pay a visit at a later date, however.

Her and I text, call, all the things kids do nowadays. I hate that I can’t get enough. Of her laugh, her smile, the damn way she seductively wiggles her eyebrows to make me blush. Fuck, I hate admitting I blush too. I’m supposed to be a damn villain, not an anime protagonist. Speaking of which, I haven’t checked up on that lately. Like at all. Been too busy with villainy things. Anime can be villainous, right? We all know the ones. Not gonna name names though, that wouldn’t be fair.

Just skirting around my problems now though, as per usual. I keep meaning to bring up how I’ve changed (minus the specific details, of course), to say something, and yet every time I choke and bring out my classic comedic deflection bullshit instead. I’m almost entirely positive Ortega can see through that, she’s just gotten… more subtle and less brash. Well, ‘less brash’ isn’t a good way to put it. ‘More selective in her bullrushing’ is more apt. Selective dumbassery is still dumbassery. I should know, I started my own little dumbass enterprise, may as well make a sign to post around the city. I can see it now, ‘Dumbass Incorporated seeking henchs now, will provide free lunch, health, and dental’. That’ll really draw them in. You don’t see many villains offering dental anymore. Could be a real selling point for when I want to expand.

Truth be told, I’m a fan of the whole angels and demons trope we’re playing out. Sure, being a hero is nice and all, but being bad simply feels so good. Clichés? As many as you want. Monologues? Not recommended, but certainly entertaining. The utter sense of power? Fantastic. Maniacal cackling? My favorite part. No really, there’s nothing like a good laugh over the beaten forms of your enemies.

Beaten.

That’s right, I had beaten Julia… no, Charge, to a pulp. Herald first though, and then Lady Argent not quite as much. There’s a sense of guilt around the first two mentioned. Argent not so much. It felt good in the moment to finally feel an equal to that massive shadow that loomed over me, coddled me, treated me as glass. It felt so good to beat down that perfect picture of a hero with his own vanity in front of his adoring fans, the new guy that got everything I didn’t. Yet, I mangled the woman that I, well, I dare not use the word. Then after learning that Herald wasn’t just a fan of Sidestep, but that Sidestep was his idol? His hero (pardon the pun)? I didn’t think it would hit me this hard but Jesus-fucking-Christ. Just another person I let down. No. No, not me. Sidestep. Sidestep let him down. Ouroboros simply fought him. That’s all. No more, no less.

Of course, that feels like a lie, though at the same time, it doesn’t? It was difficult enough trying to distinguish Rysen from John sometimes—if Rysen even truly existed anymore—but now I have to differentiate three personas. Four if you included Sidestep, but they are firmly dead and gone. The exhibit, or rather lack thereof, is proof enough of that. I wonder how Ortega feels about it. Angry that someone defiled the memory of the former hero? Motivated for pay back? Does she not care? That would almost feel the worst, and I don’t know why, and I hate it.

God, I can hear her words now, ‘Don’t say you hate things so much, it’ll make you ugly on the inside’. Well guess-fucking-what, Julia. I’m ugly on the inside now. Or have I always been? Everything’s kind of a blur since Heartbreak, which is a long time. Seven years now, more like seven and a half. Yet it all felt like nothing. A bittersweet blob of memory, oddly enough. Incredibly bittersweet.

Should I ask her out on a date? She had promised one. Would that be going too far, however? Too close? Too prone to liability? I’m already in the position, what’s the threat of a little more tragedy in the already turbulent storm? Villains thrive on tragedy, right? Why am I asking so many questions? Too many already.

Fuck it, I’m gonna ask her. Not over the phone, that seems a tad disingenuous. When she asked me to the gala she asked me to meet in person, I should do the same. I’m sure as hell not going to the Rangers HQ. Don’t want to give myself away, let alone the fact that I’d feel like I was asking Steel if Ortega was home and if I could talk to her as if he were her dad. ‘Excuse me, Mr.Chen, is Julia home?’. As team leader was he the dad of the troop? Herald’s the baby and Argent the angsty teen, so definitely. Dear gods, Steel’s a father. Devils help us all. He certainly has the glare down.

I still miss him oddly enough. Not enough to give up my life of crime and don Sidestep’s mask once more. Hell no. I’m not even sure if it’s still in one piece. I’m not sure I want to know.

Would I do it for Ortega though? As much as I’d love to help, I can’t, I just can’t. Y’know, aside from being a villain now and all, I just… couldn’t. The thought of feeling that thin nanomesh over my form alone made me want to chuck my skin like a meatbag alias. I guess in my position it really is a meatbag alias that I can toss aside whenever I so wish. Rysen and John. I often wonder what would happen if I just decided to live in John full time. What would happen if Rysen were to die while I were inhabiting John’s body. Would I—my consciousness that is—die? Would I just be stuck in a head blind body for the rest of said body’s life? Become him in every sense of the word. I don’t see why not, not that I’m seriously considering it or anything. Though the thought of resigning to a life of underworld business alongside Doctor Mortum isn’t half bad. Not one bit.

Sometimes dating Mortum as John and trying to respark the old flame with Ortega as Rysen at the same time feels wrong, feels weird, but then I remember that Ortega was flirting with both John and Rysen at the same time, so I guess that totally excuses bad behavior. Definitely. I mean, she’s the master of flings, or at least was. It’s an interesting debate if nothing else. When I’m playing John, I’m still me and yet not. I’m john. John’s even developed his own mannerisms and behaviors, things Rysen would never do or wouldn’t even think of. I suppose this is like how superheroes have their hero and civilian identities. Both are just as real, right? And functionally they’re different people. This is way too much like way too many science-fiction pieces on the self and personal identity. I take ghost in the shell to an entirely other, meaty level

But boy oh boy, Los Dioblos, hold onto your pants; you’ve heard of the double identity, I now present the triple identity! Groundbreaking, truly. Worn down, tired and retired telepath. Villain representative who just wants to keep his boss happy, hoping to get his cake and eat it too. Then finally the villain himself, Ouroboros, mastermind behind the impossibly elaborate plans. Ok, no one knows Ouroboros is a he, but that’s a good thing. The longer they’re all guessing, the better. I thought balancing Rysen and John was difficult, but Rysen, John, and Ouroboros? Son of a bitch, I didn’t know one person could get this tired. Thank the universe for coffee. Lots of cream lots of sugar preferred, but I’m not too terribly picky in a pinch, I already buy the cheap shit as is. Cheap ol’ Rysen. Yep. That’s me.

I keep talking about all these different identities, and yet I keep coming back to Rysen. Rysen. Rysen. Fuckin’ Rysen. I’m beginning to grow tired of the name. After… everything, I fully expected to shove off that particular shell of a man when I made my debut. I was apparently wrong. He keeps coming after me like a damn ghost. Ortega coming back into the mix certainly didn’t help, any chance of falling off the map died with her recognizing me in the diner. Oh well, I suppose, no plan survives first contact. I should really be surprised it didn’t all snag sooner. A lot sooner. Oh, but what a snag. That jawline, those lips, and gods above, those biceps.

She gives excellent hugs. Yep. That’s definitely what I like about them. The only thing.

It was only recently that I realized a good memory I often draw upon—one of my few good memories—was that of Ortega kissing me after a particularly hard fight. She almost always initiated, and one time she even used her sparkles to shock my own lips ever so gently. I miss that sensation, funny enough, even if it was only the once. And, despite the fact that she always looked at me like I was fragile, she gave me this look like I was wanted. Like I belonged. Another thing I hate to admit, but I belong in her arms.

Fuck, what am I thinking? I shouldn’t allow myself to think like that, and yet such was the tendency of any good snag.

One other thing I hate to admit to myself—I love her. Son of a bitch, I always loved her, and I regret never telling her.

I don’t think I could work up the courage to tell her though. Not then, not now, not ever. Aside from not being able to afford it, I don’t have the guts. Attacking a gala with some of Los Diablos’ richest and finest? No problem, just give me some time to plan. Facing a woman significantly larger than me on a date, looking at me with a sweetness in her eye? Nah nah nah nah nah. No way. Can’t do it. I’m weak, absolutely weak. Positively weak.

I hate myself.

Julia doesn’t want me talking like that, she already made me promise to see a shrink, but she’s not here, inside my head walking down the street to get a cup of sweet, sweet addiction. She can’t dictate my self-talk. Except myself no one can. I doubt it will change any time soon, therapy or no. I hope the couch is comfy enough though. They always look comfy in the movies and on tv. Teary eyed tortured souls letting out their deepest secrets to some stranger taking notes on their entire life. Ew. Probably won’t tell them about the whole villain thing. I wouldn’t go at all and lie about it if I knew Julia would keep tabs on me and make sure I went. She’d probably drag me there herself. She always did care like that.

Oh well, she won’t leave me alone; but that’s a good thing, right? Because damn, what a kiss.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero #fallen hero oc #fallen hero mc #fallen hero sidestep #sidestep #rysen #rysen adri #ortega #julia ortega #fan fic #fallen hero fan fic

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deadpoet117 · 5 years

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Ohoho

It’s finally “done”! My Fallen Hero Sidestep fic! This take place between Rebirth and Retribution I haven’t played the alpha/beta pls don’t spoil or be angry. I might post it on my ao3 in the relative future because formatting is a bitch and I don’t feel like it.

Enjoy!

Julia had asked a fair question—what did that kiss mean?

An odd sentiment for a demon of Los Diablos.

Beaten.

I still miss him oddly enough. Not enough to give up my life of crime and don Sidestep’s mask once more. Hell no. I’m not even sure if it’s still in one piece. I’m not sure I want to know.

She gives excellent hugs. Yep. That’s definitely what I like about them. The only thing.

Fuck, what am I thinking? I shouldn’t allow myself to think like that, and yet such was the tendency of any good snag.

One other thing I hate to admit to myself—I love her. Son of a bitch, I always loved her, and I regret never telling her.

I hate myself.

Oh well, she won’t leave me alone; but that’s a good thing, right? Because damn, what a kiss.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero #fallen hero series #fallen hero mc #fallen hero sidestep #fallen hero fic #rysen #rysen adri #julia ortega #ortega #fuck do we love ortega #the villain ouroboros #aurabeesknees

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goldenbaylaurel · 7 years

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Making a Deal with the Devil

This belongs to my ColdFlash-fanfiction Cold-Blooded on AO3. It was part of the original outline, but doesn’t fit in anymore now. (This still happened, though.) So, here it is anyway, because I felt this has to be posted somewhere.

Summary: After Nero Fitzgerald robbed the First National Bank, Len gets a visitor. And he is not happy about what this visitor has to say to him.

Words: 3014

Even before Barry had come by that day, heck, even before Leonard had turned on the TV to see it happen on the news, he’d had a bad feeling that something had happened. And he had been right, of course. All the news regarding Central City, even national news reported that Captain Cold had attacked again. He had supposedly robbed a bank, turning everything and everyone to ice that was in is way, even a tree. But he had failed as nothing was stolen from the bank, although the doors of the high-security vaults had been compromised.

What the news didn’t tell, probably because they hadn’t known nor cared, was that it hadn’t been Captain Cold, a.k.a. Leonard, robbing that bank. It had been Nero with Len’s gun, the gun he had stolen from him so many months ago, the gun with which he had nearly killed Len’s baby sister.

The news only reported that Captain Cold had managed to vanish from the crime scene, and the Flash had disappeared a full minute or so after him.

But as soon as Leonard had heard that, he knew that he was coming for him. He’d show up, tell him about his big evil plan, and what probably had happened to the Flash. Because the Flash disappearing so much time after one of his enemies was never a good sign. Especially not for the fastest man alive.

Len immediately went to the small bookshelf on the wall next to the TV. With nearly no effort, he pulled it away and freed the vision to a small safe embedded into the wall. That was the place where he hid all his plans, blueprints, some prey from some jewelry heists he had never managed to bring to a secure location, mainly because the things he stored in here weren’t as valuable as some others. And last but not least, he kept his weapons in here, maybe except for the gun in his nightstand and the dagger under the mattress.

Now, he took out two of his guns that were safely stored away, loaded them with bullets, and hid one of them in the waistband of his jeans. As a precaution, he took the second gun in his hand, just in case he had to act quickly. Len was sure Nero wouldn’t pull anything stupid on him; he was way too smart for that. But he had been crossed and double-crossed enough times in his life to never trust an enemy or even a new partner of his.

He went to the kitchen and brewed a fresh coffee. While the water was slowly heating up, and the beans rushed through his coffee grinder, he glanced at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. Exactly five minutes and twenty-three seconds have passed since the escape of “Captain Cold” from the bank had been reported. Giving that the CCPN had needed around two minutes to report all this, nearly eight minutes had passed since.

If Nero would walk over to his apartment, he’d need more than forty minutes, which was way too long. Something had happened there in the bank, Leonard was sure. No, Nero would take another way, a quicker way to get here. A cab, if called immediately, needed exactly fifteen minutes and three seconds to get here, considering that all the traffic lights were set on green and that the driver stuck to the tempo limit.

Nine minutes and forty-five seconds. Around six minutes left if Nero was fast.

Len cast the hot water over the beans, pressed down the punch and poured himself a cup. Slowly, he sat down on his couch, laying back lazily. He popped one leg over the other and started to fix his apartment door with such a piercing glare as if he wanted to freeze it with his clear, blue eyes instead of his cold gun. His body went rigid and he sat still, like an animal right before its striking, killing jump.

Two minutes and sixteen seconds until Nero’s approximate arrival.

But what if Barry stopped by here first, a small, nagging voice in his mind questioned. Len tilted his head a little, less than an inch, the only movement he made except raising his cup of coffee to his lips from time to time. No, Barry wouldn’t come here. He had left the crime scene too late. Len knew the kid, knew his reactions, the way he thought, the way he acted out there on the battlefield. He could predict his movements and actions when they two were going at each other, teasing each other. Leonard knew where Barry would flash to when he was aiming at him and shooting blasts of cold after him. He knew where he had to aim if he really wanted to hurt him, and where to when he wanted to make sure that Barry would escape them just by an inch, but still so close that it was fun for Len to annoy the Flash like that.

No, if Barry had been okay after whatever had happened inside that bank, he’d had left immediately, chasing after Nero and trying to catch him. But the time between their leavings weren’t seconds, it had been a full whole minute. And that meant that something had gone terribly wrong inside that bank.

Remained to be seen how much damage was done, Leonard thought sarcastically. But if he was right and not mistaken in his evaluation of Nero’s shitty character – and Len was never mistaken when it came to reading people �� then this ghost of Len’s past would stop by. Stop by to boast about his success, about how he had beaten the Flash, something Leonard could never accomplish himself.

And, if he admitted it, something he never wanted to accomplish. Sure, sometimes the kid was a pain in the ass when he ruined a particular juicy heist, but in the end, it wasn’t actually about the bid score. It was about the game itself, and Barry certainly did his job to entertain Len. Besides, this city needed a hero. They needed the Flash out there, protecting. And if Len was honest with himself, he needed the Flash too. He needed his hero, his little Scarlet Speedster, out there and on evenings like that when demons of his past caught up with him and he wasn’t really himself. He needed Barry to remind him who he was, who he wanted to be. Although he tried very hard not to think about it, the past evenings had been nice – even more than just nice. Leonard had grown used to Barry’s presence, his blushing, his rambling and his everlasting appetite. He had started to get used to having him around, and as he thought about it now, he wouldn’t want to miss those evenings by any chance.

But now, something happened, Len could feel it, like a sixth sense alerting him.

Twenty-five seconds left.

Len exhaled loudly and closed his eyes for the remaining time. In his head, he counted down to when Nero would arrive. As soon as he had reached the zero, he opened his eyes again and took the last sip from his coffee.

Ten seconds later, there was a single knock on his door, and without any hesitation or signs of waiting, the door was kicked open violently. Nero stepped in, his presence dominating. He radiated confidence as if he had accomplished something impossible, he held his head high up like a king that now had the displeasure of talking to the common folk.

Leonard cleared his throat audibly and remained seated on the couch, just staring at Nero.

“Don’t you think it’s rude to crash into someone’s home without being invited to?” he said in a long drawl, mocking the words Nero had said to him when Barry and Len had first broken into the Italian’s apartment.

“Why, Leo, I didn’t know you actually and definitely settled down. With your tawny little boyfriend even?” Nero walked into Leonard’s apartment, not bothering to close the door. With long, graceful strides he walked towards the kitchen. “Where do you store your cups?” he asked nonchalantly as if they were friends and not ex-lovers and now mortal enemies.

“Cupboard on the wall next to the exhaust duct, right-hand side,” Leonard said equally casual, drawling the words longer than necessary in his typical cold fashion. Slowly, he stood up and closed the door but never left the other man out of his sight.

“Thanks.” Nero pulled out a cup and purred himself a cup of the still hot coffee.

After a few sips, he finally raised his eyes and locked his gaze with Leonard’s. Chalk had appeared in them, mixed with amusement. They were so dark Len felt like he was looking at the night sky. Or like a bottomless pit, he thought, especially when they gleamed with menace like they did now.

“So, Leo,” Nero started again, putting an emphasize on the nickname, the nickname he hated so much but which he still had used when they had been together, “you didn’t tell me your little boyfriend from the last time when you robbed me is actually the Flash!”

There was a sudden silence in the room, so absolutely quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“What?” Len asked back, trying to make his voice sound as icy as possible.

“You know, that skinny boy with the fluffy brown hair and those doe eyes,” Nero explained slowly as if he was talking to a small child. “I expected the Flash to fall for my little … charade at the bank and to come speeding along. But I never expected to see what’s under that cowl!” He laughed a cruel, cold laugh.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to keep his voice cool, to keep the little tremble out.

“Oh, come on, don’t play dumb with me.” Nero pouted which made him look almost comical. But only almost. With agonizing slow movements, he put the cup of coffee to his lips again and took a sip. Then, he put the cup down next to him on the counter before he faced Leonard again with a serious, business-like expression on his face.

Len tried to keep his distance from more than two meters. He had the urge to clench his fists, but resisted. That would only be a sign of weakness, and he couldn’t be weak, especially not around Nero.

“I’m here to offer you a deal.”

“Why should I make a deal with you?” Len sneered.

“Because,” Nero said matter-of-factly, “if you don’t, I’ll tell everyone who the man under that cute red leather costume is. I’ll make sure every single person on this goddamned planted knows his name. And I’ll make sure that everyone in the criminal underground knows that you, Captain Cold, are dating the Flash.” A slight gleam of madness has mixed with the evil expression in his eyes. “And as soon as I found out his name – and believe me, I will – I’ll hunt him down, kill all his friends and family, and then break every single bone in his body. And I’ll make sure you have to watch every last bit of it.”

Len’s stomach felt like somebody just dropped a bomb inside. He was going to explode, he was sure. Nero could never be serious about this, that Italian, silly boy hadn’t it in him. But as Leonard met the staring gaze, he knew Nero was more than serious. There was pure honesty in his eyes, and a sincerity and will to put his plan into action.

“Unless, of course,” he spoke up again with a satisfied smile on his face, “you’ll cooperate.”

Len clenched his teeth. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means, my dear old beau, that I want you to help me take him down. You keep playing your little charade, please him all you want, court him, whatever. Then, the next time you two try to, ah, ‘take me down’, you suddenly switch to my side. I’ll even give you your precious gun back.” He patted the side of his left leg where the cold gun was strapped to.

Len snorted. “Why should I care about the Flash? He’s not my boyfriend, we have nothing going on. And he means absolutely nothing to me, nor does the boy.”

Nero tsked and looked at him in pity. “Len, you should seriously learn to lie better. I mean, you used to be so good at it!” He let out a single laugh. “Truth is, we both know how much you truly care about him. You might put on that cold mask for everyone else and convince the public that you two are enemies, but not me. You cannot fool me, Leonard. I see it in your eyes. You love that kid, more than you ever loved me. He means everything to you, am I right?”

“No.”

“Tut, tut, still lying. The way you clench your fists, the way you hold your body, it’s giving you away.”

“What has he to do with all of this?” Len asked furiously.

“Everything. He is the key to my new plan. See, as soon as I realized the Flash is your boyfriend, I knew what to do. You love him, I know that. You looked at him the same way you once looked at me. So, let me just repeat my offer. You’ll help me, and I won’t harm him. Otherwise … I’ve already told you. Whatever you choose, I’ll take it from you. Because he is everything to you, right? I will destroy you, Leonard Snart. You can just decide if you can live with the fact that your mistakes also killed him.”

Leonard gulped, considering every option he had. He could just shoot Nero, right here on the spot. But he knew how disappointed Barry would be, and that Barry would send him straight to prison, especially because asking him to prevent Len from killing Nero was the initial reason why the speedster helped him anyway.

Len only needed to close his eyes to conjure his face, those disappointed, angry, and sad doe eyes. Those soft hazel eyes as soon as Barry would find out what Leonard did.

No, killing Nero was not an option. He couldn’t explain it to himself, but somehow he cared about what Barry thought of him. And what he felt towards him. He never wanted to see the soft expression in his eyes turned to hatred.

And having Barry dead wasn’t even an option. Len indeed had lied before. Barry meant a lot to him, more than he’d like to. Maybe it wasn’t just friendship or their companionship he enjoyed. Maybe it was more, a lot more, Nero’s poisonous words made him realize this. No, Barry had to live.

But he was off better without Leonard in his life. The boy didn’t need an old, broken man on his side, having scars not only on his skin from his childhood, from the abuse. He needed, he deserved someone better than Len. And he had to give Barry this possibility, the possibility to live a life without someone as bad and toxic as Len in it.

“Fine,” he answered after forever. “What do you want me to do?”

Nero’s grin widened. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”

“What do you want me to do?” he repeated, his words hard and cold this time.

“You and your boyfriend will go the museum on the 24th of January, visiting the exhibition of the ‘Gems of the World.’”

“You want the Rose.”

“Of course I want the Rose. And you will give it to me. I’ll be there, and the two of you will try to stop me. But then, you come to my side, and we will put the Flash on ice. Just temporarily,” he added quickly as he saw Leonard’s face. “I won’t hurt him as long as you play along.”

“And what next?”

“I’ll take the Rose, you may take back your cold gun, and I’ll leave town. Because then, I’ll have everything I want.”

“So that’s your big plan? Doesn’t sound so big to me.”

“Trust me, it’s a lot more than just that. This, my dear beau, will just be the cherry on top of the cream. Believe me, I’ll do a lot more to make you pay in the meantime. But this – this is my final strike. That one strike you’ll never recover from. The strike that’ll take everything from you, and to the same to you as you did to me when you killed my family in front of my eyes.”

Nero emptied his cup and closed his open jacket as if he was on the leave.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure making business with you.” He smiled his evil grin on last time at Len as he made his way towards the door. Len fixed him with his eyes, his expression so cold it could have made his gun concurrence. When Nero passed him, Len’s body stiffened, trying to keep enough distance. He didn’t want to accidently brush him as he walked past, didn’t want any kind of body contact.

“I’ll be in touch,” Nero said on his way out. Then, he closed the door and he was gone.

Len stood there in the middle of the room, motionless, for two hundred and seventeen more seconds, his mind racing. Only after then, he managed to put his mask of coolness back on. He had the feeling visiting time wasn’t over yet. Barry would stop by, probably, and he couldn’t tell him about that. Or could he? Maybe the young man would help Len, and together, they could double-cross Nero.

What if something goes wrong, the nagging voice in his mind asked. Then Barry would die, he would die and Leonard had lost everything. Maybe he could live with the boy hating him when he’d cross him, but Len certainly couldn’t live with the fact that maybe he was responsible for Barry’s death. No, he couldn’t do it. That might be a little selfish, admittedly yes, but Len had sacrificed enough in his life.

No, he couldn’t lose Barry, too. If Barry died because of him … he would never be able to deal with that. No, Len had to protect him, to make sure he would be okay, out of harm’s way, out of Len’s life, where he would get hurt eventually anyway. Len had to, even if that meant that he had to deceive his Scarlet.

#ColdFlash #fanfiction #ao3 #just something that belongs to the verse of my fic #len makes a deal #because he loves barry even though he doesn't realize that yet #protective!len #oh and he's an idiot #that's why he got into the mess in the first place

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