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zenosanalytic · 4 years

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People What Aint From Round Here Is The Problem...

So I just watched Once Upon a Time... In Hollywood and I have THOUGHTS:

Ive read a few reviews&ruminations on this film at this point and I can’t believe that none of them got(or at least, mentioned explicitly) the primary thesis of this movie, spcl given that Tarentino flatly states it out the mouth of his primary protagonist within, like, the first 15-20mins of the film: “...most important thing in this town is when you’re making money you buy a house in town. You don’t rent... Hollywood real estate means you live here. You’re not just visiting, not just passing through. You fuckin live here.” i.e., the most important thing in Hollywood, to Hollywood, is the people FROM Hollywood; Everyone else is just a filthy, trouble-making tourist or profiteer who is “Passing Through” and “Doesnt Get It” and “Is Fucking It Up”(It being the film industry), and probably “Secretly Hates Movies”. There are places and aspects of this movie that are basically a Nativist Angeleno rant, written by a life-long Angeleno film-nerd-turned-film-maker, against Hollywood’s critics(and his critics which he just totally conflates with the former), and probably non-Angelenos(and non-Californians?) in general.

There are two ways to read this thesis: Straight and Subverted/Satirized.

The evidence for reading it straight is pretty plentiful. Lots of reviews have puzzled at where the line connecting the constant hippie-bashing, the weird focus on knocking Polanski’s Polishness & preference for shooting in London, and the inexplicable pot-shot at Bruce Lee is, and I think this is it. “The Hippies” are repeatedly presented as a corrupting force: digging through trash, living in squalourous filth at the Spahn Ranch dragging members of “Old Hollywood” like its owner into it with them, selling drugs, and using sex to “control” men. And attached to this is presenting “The Hippies” as foreign; not only from another place, but refusing to assimilate with the LA way of life and hostile to it. The Manson family are the only explicitly identified “Hippies” in the film(other than, possibly, the one who sells Cliff an acid cig). The only “positive” portrayals of Bruce Lee in the film are silent ones of him teaching anglos kung fu, which has some fairly obvs and well-understood Implications.

But there’s also good evidence for reading it as subverted and satirized. Both Tate and Dalton are NOT from California, let alone LA, and Booth’s origins are left unclear. Dalton’s the only one of them explicitly id’d as being from elsewhere(Missouri), but Tate’s easy to google and she was a military kid who grew up all over the place. When Dalton returns from Italy, that sequence and his look in it are VERY reminiscent of the scenes introducing Polanski at the beginning of the film. The side-characters around Tate, perennially shown in a positive light, are also non-Angelenos. Doing Spaghetti Westerns revitalizes Dalton’s career, despite his disdain for Italian cinema. Tate and her crew, while not explicitly ID’d as “Hippies” and often shown in Mod and other fashion styles, are also presented in “Hippie” fashion, shown listening to “Hippie” music, smoking the “Hippie” Reefer(Im sorry, but Comedy Demanded this phrasing and I am Devout u_u), and implied to be living a polyamorous “Hippie” life.

It really is difficult for me to say which predominates. On the one entirely metaphorical hand, the ways in which Dalton’s Angeleno chauvinism are subverted and mocked are fairly obvs, but on the other emh, the film is FILLED with LITERALLY GLOWING nostalgia for this pre-Hippy, pre-Lefty, pre-70s, Conservative and Republican California&Los Angeles. Dalton’s focus on property-ownership&the film industry in the opening thesis could easily be seen as resolving these subversive contradictions to allow for a straight read(ie: Tate, Booth, and Dalton are “Hollywood People” who’ve both bought real-estate in LA, and who’ve grown up in film or film-adjacent fields and choose to center their adult lives in the film industry). So much, in fact, that I kinda started to wonder abt QT’s politics while watching it. And, if it WAS satirical, then what’s the point of the knock to Bruce Lee and focusing criticisms of Polanski on his Polishness and shooting in London? Is that just meant to characterize Dalton and Booth as nativists and racists?

It really cannot be said enough that there are REALLY MORE APPROPRIATE CRITICISMS to make of Polanski than 1)begin Polish, 2)possessing boyish effeminacy, and 3)preferring to shoot movies in London instead of LA. Which are this movie’s only problems with him(though it also takes the time to show him bitchily smoking a cigarette in an evening gown while being rude to a dog). Obvsl I dont object to villainizing an ACTUAL REAL LIFE VILLAIN like this shitstain, but I DO object to being asked(albeit gently) to participate in this film’s understated nationalist bigotry.

It’s possible that Cliff’s turning Pussycat down during the drive to the ranch was intended to be this but I highly doubt it. And if it was it’d be misrepresenting Polanski’s misdeeds enormously, considering that Pussycat, the too-young girl, is the sexual instigator in this film. Polanski liked to manipulate, drug, and rape underaged girls(he pulled the same shit with models in Europe before getting busted for it in LA, btw, then continued doing it after fleeing back to Europe); really not the same situation.

There’s another irony in that, while the film goes out of its way to call Polanski “boyish” and imply that makes him feminine and that this is Bad, there’s also a subtle under-current that... Tarentino sees himself in his youth the same way? He’s certainly never been short like Polanski and Jay Sebring are/were, QT’s 6 1, but the actors he cast to play them and the description made of the pair in-film are more than a bit reminiscent of how Tarentino looked&was discussed in the press back in the 90s when he was starting out. AAAaaand the film explicitly calls that Tate’s “Type”; leaving me with the question: would Tarentino be able to stop himself from implying a dead starlet would have been attracted to him? I leave the answer to your imaginations, Dear Readers u_u

Having said all that it IS a really good film, which I liked, I dont think it’d be very hard to set aside this political stuff while watching, the driving sequences are especially emotive&exhilarating, and there’s some seriously great acting in it. IDK if I’d say I liked it more than the recent Emma movie, tho.

I feel like each of the trio, Tate, Dalton, and Booth, were meant to symbolically Embody LA/Hollywood/California? Like Pitt especially seemed to be channeling movie characters and CJ from GTA: San Andreas throughout his performance, while I couldnt help but think of Ronald Reagan watching DiCaprio(spcl given the character’s likely politics). So there’s this sense in which the film is a fantasy of “Old Hollywood”, embodied by these three, Vanquishing its “Enemies”, represented by The Hippies(moralizing, pretentious, gross leftist) and potentially Polanski&Lee(foreign film ppl who refuse to integrate into the LA scene). Again, given the political history of Cali after this era, this embodiment raises some questions for me abt the film and QT’s politics(particularly in re: misogyny and feminism).

Also DiCaprio is totally going to get pitched a Reagan biopic off of this role and I sincerely hope he has the good sense to turn that shit the fuck down.

Circling back to the ranting at his critics, this movie was definitely and consciously a response to them. Like: up until the last 5-15 minutes of the film, and aside from a handful of too-lingering too fetishistic too on-the-nose creep shots of the female cast that Tarentino simply could not stop himself from making, OUATiH is precisely the sort of “Serious” film Tarentino’s critics have been saying he should make for decades now(of course he did Jackie Brown, which was that and which he blew Completely out of the park). And then there’s that bloody, gross-out, exploitation-movie ending. I dont actually think it was as bad as many critics were saying it was? For some reason I was thinking there was gonna be a massacre of the ENTIRE Manson family, which would have been totally out of left-field. But it WAS clearly a stinger of a major tone-shift thrown in as a Fuck You to the ppl who’ve called out his violent and exploitative preferences throughout the years. As for me I generally like his movies and think he’s a great filmmaker but he absolutely does go too far sometimes.

Rick Dalton, in an evening-gown, with a mixer full of iced-margarita in one hand, getting all up in the face of the driver of a loud exhaust-spewing jalope in his PRIVATE STREET was TOTALLY Tarentino himself :| By which I mean NOT ONLY that That’s ABSOLUTELY the sort of cameo he would have given himself 30 years ago and if it made any sort of sense at all in the film(which here it wouldnt have, obvsl), BUT ALSO that I feel 94% confident that Tarentino has actually done that at least once in his lifetime :| :|

I think the monologue&interactions T gives Bruce Lee leading up to the fight were probably more insulting to him than the fight itself. Contrary to popular discussion, it isn’t Pitt’s character totally trashing Lee, he gets in one good throw after Lee repeats a successful attack at his request(which I doubt Lee would have ever done from what little I know about him; not being predictable in a fight was his whole Deal), but rather an even duel between them(most of the fight is just the two blocking each others’ attacks). I dont think the film was trying to say “Lee was full of hot-air”, if it wanted to say that it’d have shown him getting trounced instead of showing him knock Booth down then trade him blow for blow, but more “Lee was pretty arrogant and a bit pretentious”.

OK, that’s abt all that I can think of right now: thanks for reading ^v^

#Once Upon a Time... In Hollywood #Quentin Tarentino #Long Post #Cinema #zA Reviews #Movie Reviews #zA Commentary #zA Opinions #analytic posts

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drawingsanddrabbles · 5 years

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Two Bros, Sitting in the Candlelight

Happy timkon week! So today was free day and I can’t make desicions to save my life, so I had @timdrakeothy help me pick prompts. So today’s prompts were picked from the extra prompts on @timkonweek2019‘s page: Wingfic and Romantic Dinner

ao3

betaed by @breadmould/Tanya on discord (sorry if you have a tumblr and I didn’t link it it wasn’t in your discord description)

~~~

To say Tim was uncomfortable would be an understatement. However, it was really unfortunate that he was, because Jordan was a really nice girl. She was pretty and sweet and funny.

But Tim was moulting, and he couldn't stand the itch anymore.

"'Scuse me, Jordan. I'll be right back, just need to powder my nose." He said and hurried to the bathroom.

Tim made it to the bathroom but unfortunately wasn't able to lock the door. People, there were people everywhere. People who were rich and therefore, knew who he was and God that itching on his back hurt, he wanted to just rub his back up and down on one of the fancily textured walls until his old feathers came out. But he couldn't. He had Tim Drake's reputation to consider.

He'd planned this date with Jordan before he'd been in a battle with Klarion where the asshole had cursed him to grow wings. He'd already cancelled on Jordan more than once due to hero things, so he hadn't cancelled this date. He'd figured that the wings wouldn't be seen and it was a first date anyway, no way Tim's shirt would be coming off. Also, if he'd cancelled Jordan might have thought that Tim wasn't interested, and that wasn't even remotely true.

It was hard enough to find someone to date who actually seemed to like him, much less someone who could distract the media. And ever since Tam and Steph had started dating Tim hadn't had anyone for the rumor mill to latch onto. Jordan didn't mind any of that.

Pretty, funny, smart, and she wasn't scared of the media. Really, what else could a guy want? Well, besides a superhero, but frankly those were hard to find.

So Jordan didn't know about his latest magic mishap, which was all good and well and wouldn't have been a problem had Tim not fought Klarion during moulting season.

At least it wasn't mating season. That would have been a nightmare.

Tim dashed into a stall and unbuttoned his shirt as quickly as he could, trying to reach down to his wings, which flexed when his back muscles did.

No, no, no… come on…. He couldn't reach.

He couldn't rub his back against the stall, there were people here. He couldn't find anything to help him reach, and last time he had scratched his back with a batarang it had… ended badly.

He pulled out his phone. Dick was in Bludhaven and wouldn't be able to get to Metropolis in time, Cass, Bruce, and Damian weren’t even in the country. Duke couldn't get here from Gotham either.

Steph and Tam, however, were both in Metropolis with Tim on the W/E business he was, but might have been busy doing…. what they do together.

Steph, help

Im moulting

Steph

Steph this isnt funny

Steph answer please

Steph clearly still hadn't seen his text. He waited a full minute.

Time for the cavalry. Bart had taken a trip to the future with Wally, which meant: Conner. Tim just hoped that Conner wasn't busy.

Conner help

The response was almost instant. What's up dude?

Im moulting

You're… what?

Dude i just need ur help

Tim's phone started ringing and Tim cut the call.

Im on a date and i need a way out, one that doesnt make me look like a jerk. Eduardos, Peach and Devon

Now please

The itching was becoming unbearable. He'd make it up to Jordan, he would.

He heard a boom and someone outside his stall said: "Must be Superman, I hope everything's alright."

Where are you?

Bathroom.

Come out, ive got an excuse

Eduardo's was a high class establishment. Mainly for business deals, rich people, and romantic dinners. Candles lit the tables, flowers decorated as centerpieces. It was one of those restaurants where any talking was done in hushed voices simply because no one wanted to break the illusion.

Jordan looked beautiful. Tim felt even more guilty as he sat back down. "So," Tim said when he returned, "you were saying about your major?"

"Right!" Jordan hummed. She opened her mouth to continue her story about how she chose Metropolis University for her biotech degree when Ivy was a more prestigious school when there was a commotion outside the restaurant.

"What on earth…?" Jordan asked as Tim turned his head to the entrance as he saw Kon push his way through the waiters and ushers shouting Tim's name.

"Mr Drake-Wayne! Mr. Drake-Wayne, Simmons will be so glad I found you! I know you said you didn't want to be disturbed-" Conner ran up to him, fake-panting. He'd decided to dress up for the occasion it seemed, a loose tie over a button down shirt and slacks that he no doubt stole from Clark's closet. His large glasses were askew on his face. Tim raised a hand to stop the security that was called to escort Kon out. "There's been an issue, you know, with the-" He shot a suspicious look at Jordan and lowered his voice, "-project. I know you want to finish your date but this is… you know."

Tim held in a laugh at how Kon's eyes were sparkling. He was clearly enjoying this too much. "Of course, I'll come right away. Jordan, I sincerely apologize but-"

"No, it's alright Tim. We'll reschedule, I understand."

Tim patting himself for a pen and Kon produced one from somewhere along with a sticky note. "Order whatever you want, I'll pay-"

"Um, Mr. Wayne sir, we don't take… IOUs…" the Matre ‘D said but Tim shoved it into his hand. "My phone number is on there too, I'll pay for whatever her bill is. Excuse me-"

"Sir-!" The Matre ‘D tried to say but Tim was already rushing out of the restaurant with Kon, apologizing to Jordan as he did.

As soon as they made it out of Eduardo's, Kon was giggling. They turned the corner into an alley and Tim slipped off his jacket. "Thank you." He laid his back against the brick and began scratching it against there, not caring what dirt that got on his stupid expensive shirt, sighing as he felt the old feathers begin to losen. He shot an accusing glance at Kon who was grinning stupidly. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Kon was clearly amused. "Moulting, huh?"

"Apparently." Tim grit out as he tried to rub his back a little harder, trying to knock loose some of the feathers. One was sticking him painfully just on the underside of his wings.

"Here," Kon immediately pulled Tim into his arms and took off. Tim didn't hear the boom when they reached high enough in the air but he was sure there was one.

Tim yelped as Kon's TTK pressed against his wings uncomfortably, but within less than a minute they were in Lois and Clark's apartment.

Tim wanted to ask Kon how living with them and Jon was going but he was more distracted by his wings. As soon as Tim touched ground, he ripped off his shirt, buttons flying. Tim looked around for some type of back scratcher or something when he felt Kon's TTK begin ruffling through his feathers, scratching like nails on his skin but soft through the pinfeathers.

Jon's mouth dropped open. "Tim has wings!" He shouted, jumping up from the couch as Tim sagged slightly under the TTK. That felt good.

"Mm, a little to the right-yeah right there." He hummed, going a little weak at the knees because of the relief.

Tim stretched his wings, shaking them slightly and old feathers fell to the floor. Jon gasped as he bent down to pick them up.

"Wow! What happened?" He asked.

"Thanks for now, Kon." Tim said, pushing himself out of Conner's grasp.

"Tim's cursed for-" he turned to Tim, "how long?"

"A month." Tim grumbled.

"To have wings. But why are you… shedding?"

"Moulting. Birds do it to grow in new feathers and get rid of old ones." Tim corrected. "And according to the ornithologist I went to-"

"Bird scientist." Kon whispered to Jon who nodded sagely.

"-this month is moulting time for North American robins."

"Don't robins have red feathers though?" Jon asked, twirling one of Tim's between his fingers.

"Adults and only during mating season. Most of the rest of the year they're spotted." Tim said. "God, I'm starving, you guys have anything to eat?"

"We were just about to order pizza when you texted." Kon said, closing the window behind him. Tim folded his shirt in his hands and bent down to pick up the rest of his feathers from the floor. "Lois and Clark are in Hub this weekend."

"Can you fly?" Jon asked, skipping behind Tim as he went to go sit on the couch. "Do you have any other bird characteristics? If I pull out one of your feathers does it hurt like when you pull out a nose hair or when you break a bone? Not that I would know because I've never broken a bone but Damian says it hurts so-"

"Hey Squirt! What do you want on your pizza? Tim's treat!"

Tim raised an eyebrow at Kon, who sat in the kitchen, leaning against a countertop. The phone against his ear. "Pepperoni and barbeque chicken!" Jon chirped beside Tim.

"My treat?"

"Well, I did just save you in a rather spectacular display of acting, if I do say so myself. I say I deserve payment for my performance. Be lucky I only demand pizza."

"And ice cream!" Jon added.

"And ice cream."

Tim rolled his eyes and dug out his wallet. "Fine. But we get Hawaiian."

Kon glared at him and was probably about to say something about it when the pizza place picked up. "-Yes hello, I'd like to order two large pizzas…One double cheese with mushrooms and the other pepperoni and barbeque chicken." Tim walked over to give Kon his credit card. "Yes, I'm sure I don't want anything else-" Tim punched his arm and Kon laughed, floating out of his reach. "Yes, I've got the credit card right here- Ow! Fine. Three large pizzas, make the third Hawaiian, you freak." The last bit was directed at Tim who made a rude gesture at him and Kon laughed again.

~~~

Jon fell asleep around ten, ice cream sundae half eaten. He snored, face lying on Kon's thigh. Kon's fingers scratched through Tim's feathers as they watched Wendy. Kon had been slowly introducing it to Jon, well the more PG13 aspects, and Jon was just as obsessed as his older brother.

"Right there." Tim said, and Kon's TTK dug into his wings, pulling out the old feather. Kon put it in the small pile accumulating on the table. "Jeez, how much can you shed?"

"Moult." Tim corrected. "And apparently moulting season is about five weeks for robins. I'll have a little bit every day or so."

"I guess that means no more dates with… what's her name?"

"Jordan." Tim mumbled relaxing as the TTK spread out over his shoulders, massaging them some. "Yeah, I guess not. It's really unfortunate. I really liked this one."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, and Eduardo's is like, a three week wait. Even for Waynes." Tim said as he ripped off the crust of his pizza. Kon took it from him and munched on it as Tim ate the rest of it.

"Aw, are you sad because you didn't get a candlelit dinner?" Kon teased.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Yeah well, it's not like I get to relax like that often."

"Ew!" Kon jumped and glanced down at Jon who was drooling onto his pants. Kon poked him hard. "Okay, Jonno. Time for bed."

"No…" Jon whined as his eyes blinked open. "I'm awake! I'm awake!."

"Nope. Come on, I already let you stay up an hour later than Lois does. Brush your teeth and get under the covers. I'm gonna come check in a moment."

Jon whined about it but he sulked off to the bathroom anyway. Kon paused the TV and began cleaning up.

"Hey you want to stay the night? Lois and Clark won't mind." Kon asked as he shoved the empty pizza boxes in the garbage.

"Yeah, I think so," Tim said, toying with his phone.

"What were you even going to do with Jody-?"

"Jordan."

"-Like, you've got wings, dude."

"I wasn't planning on taking off my shirt, dude." Tim said, placing lids back on their containers of half melted ice cream. "It was the first date."

Kon snorted. "Sure you weren't."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Is a nice dinner and a goodnight kiss not enough for you?"

"Sure, but only if I get a walk in the park with it."

Tim stood and walked into the kitchen, tubs of ice cream in each hand. He put them in the freezer. "You're such an ass."

"And you're such a romantic."

"So?" Tim asked. He leaned against the fridge as he watched Kon wrap the stray pieces of pizza in tin foil and put them away for leftovers. "What's wrong with that? I never get anything nice and fairy-tale-like in my real life."

"Being cursed with magic wings isn't fairy-tale-like enough for you?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "You know what I meant. Sometimes it’s just nice to be pampered, you know?"

Kon made a face that Tim couldn't read and shook his head. "I'm going to check on Jon. You can borrow my pajamas. You know where they are. Feel free to shower and stuff if you want."

Tim decided to take a shower. The day had been long, and his feathers felt a little grimy. After a thorough shower and a dry towel (a clump of pin-feathers stuck to the towel as he dried his back, but that seemed to be all of the moulting he had left for the day), he borrowed a pair of Kon’s pajama pants, deciding not to wear a shirt because of the wings and headed back out into the living room.

Kon had a stupid smile on his face. Tim frowned. “What...?” He asked suspiciously.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. Kon held out a hand. Tim laughed at him but took it, and Kon flew back out the window and up to the roof. And yeah, the cheesiness made Tim laugh but nothing could have possibly prepared him for what he saw on the roof.

Small electric tea-lights speckled the roof, surrounding a blanket on which soder-floats in wine glasses had been settled.

“What…?” Tim was giggling uncontrollably now. “What is this?”

“Well, you said that you missed having candlelit dinners and relaxing and stuff. I figured, well we already ate dinner but there’s always room for ice cream. And we didn’t have any candles but Clark and Lois had-”

“Oh, Conner you’re such a dork.” Tim laughed, clutching his belly.

Kon grinned at him. “So you like it?”

Tim fell onto the blanket. He looked up at the sky and then rolled over, careful not to upset his drink. “Conner, this is the nicest but dorkiest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Kon sat next to him, petting his pinfeathers gently. Tim raised an eyebrow at him. “They’re so soft.” Kon said defensively.

Tim snorted. “I think I’m done shedding-”

“Moulting.” Kon corrected with an easy smile.

“-yes, for today. Thank you for everything you did for me tonight.”

“Of course.” Kon said softly. “It’s what bros do. Plus it was fun.”

“Yeah, I guess it was, in a way.” Tim shrugged, sitting up. He and Kon were so close. The electric candlelight flickered shadows across Kon’s face. And maybe it was how late it was, or that Tim was missing out on his date with Jordan, but he bent over and pressed his lips to Kon’s.

And Kon didn’t kiss back. Tim pulled away, startled and flushed. He’d thought-Had he read Kon wrong? Had-?

“Candlelit dinner and a goodnight kiss, huh?” Conner breathed.

Tim blinked.

“Your version of a first date sucks.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I'd much rather another kiss than a walk in the park,” Kon pulled Tim closer, “but your shirt’s already off, so really, who's version does that make this?” Kon waggled his eyebrows.

Tim rolled his eyes and pushed Kon away, pelting an electric candle at him. He held in a laugh as he said back: “You’re such an ass,” and in return, Kon kissed him again.

#diana writes #diana writes timkon #timkonweek #timkon #timkon week #timkon week 2019 #timkon week: day 4 #two bros sitting in the candlelight

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bookmawkish · 5 years

Note

"Remember Me" our OTP =P

Leave a “Remember Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character trying to get another to remember them [be it from an accident, meeting them after years apart, feel free to specify]

————————————-

“First of all,” Tony says, as they walk very briskly down the corridor (they’re not running, no, because running would suggest life-or-death urgency, and this wasn’t that, not at all) “don’t freak out. Okay? He’s fine. He’s absolutely fine. He’s awake, he’s hungry, he’s watching TV. He’s fine.”

“Apart from the small issue that he doesn’t have the first idea who any of us are.”

“Aside from that. Hey, I’m sure there’s hundreds of people in the world who don’t know who I am, and they’re all doing great. There’s that one tribe on an island that - ”

Loki’s expression could have cracked mesozoic granite. Tony’s face fell.

“You’re freaking out, aren’t you. I specifically said not to do that. And look, we’re here, you don’t wanna scare him by being all wrath-of-god, right? Chill. Okay? Chill. Happy faces. Here we go.”

He pushes open the door. Heckyl is sitting in the expansive comfort of the medbay’s surgical couch, covered in blankets and with the bedhead propped up at a comfortable angle to allow him to watch the big screen on the opposite wall. As Tony had confirmed, he’s halfway down a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey and seems as alert and cheerful as a kitten. The only glaring sign that anything is wrong is the strapping that binds his left shoulder and the neatly taped square of surgical gauze that’s covering his left temple. He looks up as they enter, and Loki’s stomach clenches.

His gaze isn’t…empty. Not at all. There’s all the usual intelligence and shrewdness in that look, but now it only seems to highlight what isn’t there: because there’s a way that Heckyl should look when he looks at Loki and he’s not doing it now. He looks only enquiring, interested….and confused.

“He knows who he is,” Tony had reassured, earlier. “He knows his name, favourite colour, shoe size, that kind of thing. He knows he’s on Earth, and that Snide is gone, and that he’s safe with people who aren’t going to hurt him, he’s just…a little fuzzy on the details.”

“Am I a detail?”

“Ok that came out wrong. He’s having trouble remembering people. And some past events.”

Like me, Loki thinks, looking at Heckyl and trying not to let his own anger and anxiety show through in his expression. Like us.

“Hi, Tony,” Heckyl says, and seems gratified when Tony finger-guns him, indicating that he’s got the right name for the right face. “Ugh. Not more tests? It’s only been an hour.”

“No no. Your veins and involuntary motor functions are safe from me. I brought you another visitor though, stave the boredom off.”

Loki steps forward, brushing past Tony and not caring if it’s rude. Tony sighs, and withdraws, the door swinging behind him.

“Hi,” says Heckyl, and he smiles, but he looks guarded and cautious.

“Hello,” says Loki, and sits down on the edge of the bed. “My name is Loki.” Is there a hope within him that the name alone will be enough, that Heckyl will smile at him properly and say he remembers? Of course there is. But of course Heckyl does not. Indeed he flinches slightly, as if he’s uncertain about strangers getting that close. Loki tries not to let it bother him, although he aches to reach out in that familiar fashion he’s become accustomed to, pet Heckyl’s hair, let him know that he’s wanted.

“Loki,” Heckyl repeats, as if trying the word out, and something must have slipped in Loki’s expression because then he frowns. “Oh. I know you, don’t I. And you’re upset that I don’t remember you. The doctor - “ and he blinks once, an effort - “Bruce said this would happen.”

“I’m not upset,” Loki lies. “I just want you to be well. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve got a headache,” Heckyl pouts. “My arm is sore. And I’m not allowed out of bed. I’m bored.”

The whining, demanding edge to his tone is so familiar and normal that Loki almost laughs.

“Well then,” he says. “I shall have to entertain you.”

And he does. He spends the next hour speaking of nothing important. Stories, but not of their past adventures - children’s stories from Asgard, some of which Heckyl says he remembers, but when gently pressed, cannot say when or where he first heard them. And Loki does a couple of small, pointless magics. Creating a swarm of glowing butterflies to fill the clinically sterile room with bobbing green lights (Heckyl is delighted) and then his old favourite, duplicates of himself all about the room doing all kinds of things from fighting moves to juggling (Heckyl is seriously impressed).

It’s during the duplicate invasion that the real Loki, moving unmarked amongst ten ephemeral dopplegangers, sneaks up and brushes the very tip of his forefinger to the centre of Heckyl’s forehead. He does not follow it up with magic. It’s just contact, simple and gentle, driven by a pure need to touch his mate, feel the reassuring living warmth of his skin. To know that even if forgetful (and Heckyl’s memory has never been the best, not since the dark energem) he is here. Loki is here and will not leave him. Because he knows how much the ancient orphan hates to be alone.

Heckyl draws in a sharp hitch of breath, and the sound is enough for Loki to be distracted. The illusions all vanish, and there’s just one Loki sat there on the edge of the bed, hand hanging where he has lifted it away from Heckyl’s brow.

“Oh,” Heckyl says, and he suddenly looks terribly tired. “Oh. Oh, no. Not again.”

Loki, suspecting what’s happened and knowing what he must be thinking, moves in on instinct and pulls him into a hug. He knows he’s right when Heckyl immediately relaxes into it, clings to him, hugs back. The relief is immense on both sides.

“It’s only been a few hours,” he says. “You were knocked out. Nothing more sinister.”

Heckyl is silent, his head buried into Loki’s neck, under the long black hair. He is quiet for a long time: and when he speaks his voice sounds slightly choked.

“You bastard. You never got me that pizza you promised me. And don’t you dare tell me that you did and I forgot. I may forget people, but I never forget food.”

Loki laughs.

“Liar,” he chides, happily.

#drabble #writing prompt #fanfiction prompt #loki fanfiction #heckyl/loki #loki x heckyl #Heckyl #Power Rangers #MCU #Avengers #CrossOver #amnesia

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