hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2002-09-18 02:19 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2002-09-18 02:19 pm
I want to shag adrien brody. Badly.
Enid: I think only stupid people have good relationships.
Seymour: That's the spirit.
-Ghost World
+++
The Prodigal
I have promised![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ethrosdemon non-fluff, non-H/D for HP. I think I can deliver that.
Hate is a drive; hate is all encompassing.
Tom believes that hate is a beautiful thing, far superior to love and other debilitating emotions. Look at how far hate has gotten him – dark wizard on the rise with more wands under his belt and corpses out back than anyone since Merlin.
Tom needs to hate. It’s what wakes him up in the morning and sends him through his day. Hate for his father, hate for others, hatred for a wizarding world that accepts less than perfection. Muggles should be extinguished; and it’s not Tom’s fault that he’s a Mudblood, but it’s the very reason that he wants to wipe them all out.
If his mother had stuck with her own kind there never would have been a Thomas Riddle, but then there never would have been a Thomas Riddle Senior, either. One trade off for another.
Tom makes no trades now.
Tom gives up nothing; he will have it all. He will have power fuelled by his hate, and respect is just a piddling stepping stone when Tom has power.
Tom doesn’t need respect -- he has fear.
Thomas Senior demanded respect, first and foremost because that’s what was prized in his community. Foolish Muggle. Tom’s father commanded respect through his fists and his temperament, and Tom’s mum just stayed with him regardless. She was a witch.
Tom never understood her impotence.
When he was accepted to Hogwarts, Tom fled. He loved his mother; he could never protect her when he was barely seven stone soaking wet and spent more time exploding dishes than washing them.
He did it all for her, even though she married a Muggle. He still does it all for her, for her memory. Emily Parnell was a good woman, she was a brilliant witch. She had no business marrying a Muggle. It should have been illegal.
Tom will make intermarriages illegal. There will be no more mixedbloods, Mudbloods, or even half-bloods.
There will only be purity, there will only be understanding. Really, everything Tom is doing is for the betterment of wizarding-kind.
Wizards deserve more than respect. They deserve the blessing of fear.
When Tom killed his father, his satisfaction was buoyed by something else. It wasn’t respect; it was fear. No, his father didn’t respect Tom’s power, but he respected the fear that Tom created.
That experience taught Tom a lot. Fear is not respect, but Tom will take what he can get. In the face of all the hatred the world has shown him, it’s the least he deserves.
Random Walks of Life II
inspired by these photos, courtesy oflatxcvi with shameless stealing from guy ritchie
Left-handed people are more prone to addiction. It’s a scientific fact that Lex remembers overhearing late one night in the lab when he was obsessing over his project du jour. He wasn’t addicted to the experiment in question, he just really wanted to know if being high affected his ability to mix-up a batch of crystal meth or not.
However, Lex has never denied that he has obsessive tendencies. Lex knows all about addiction.
Left leg, right leg, his body will follow. It’s called walking for a reason, and Lex has been doing a lot of it recently. He’s noticed that.
Not that this is a bad thing, but Lex has cars and there are elevators and chauffeurs, and Lex doesn’t have to walk anywhere if he doesn’t want to. But he is – walking that is, everywhere, as much as possible.
It could have something to do with his father and the doctors’ whispers that he’ll never walk again. Or Lex’s restlessness could be down to his incessant need to move, even when he’s still, even when he’s asleep. Lex knows he kicks in his sleep. He dreams about running and walking and never stopping like Forrest Gump - except that Lex hates that film; he prefers Kevin Spacey and Samuel L. Jackson.
Lex likes American Beauty and Pulp Fiction. He likes Ezekiel 25:17 even though his path is beset on all sides by stones and plaster. He knows that the only person he’s shepherding in the darkness is himself as his insomnia has proven. Actually, Lex knows a lot of the Bible -– one of the greatest works, perhaps of fiction, ever written -- and he finds himself muttering Psalms and Ecclesiastes as he walks along.
At every corner Lex turns ninety degrees sharply and keeps walking. The floor plan is a square, and Lex has been stalking the same hardwood floors for well over an hour now. If it was carpeting he would be able to see where he has walked before. For once, Lex has no footprints to follow, and his father is dying.
He finds it easier to walk in jeans with bare feet, and the cream pullover is just a concession to the strange Kansas weather. Sometimes cold sometimes hot, always unpredictable... just like his father. Just like Clark.
Clark who never seems to walk anywhere. Clark who just appears.
Clark reminds Lex of himself sometimes and that’s not a good thing. Who wants to be like Lex when they can be like Clark? Lex would give up the walking and the shoes and a lot of things to be like Clark, to have Clark; and for all that’s unholy in the world, Lex cannot. stop. walking.
He knows there are worse habits in life. There are worse obsessions to have – especially since Lex has most of them, and at least this one hasn’t landed him in jail or a gutter or upside down in a warehouse.
Lex’s latest obsession could have to do with how restricted he finds himself to be these days: castle, car, plant, car, hospital, car, Talon, car, castle. Or it could simply be that Lex wants to walk, that he’s trying to get somewhere.
The question naturally being: where is Lex trying to go?
“I always knew you’d get lost in this place one day.” There are some that would say that Lex was lost long before he ever moved to Smallville. Lex would tell them to go fuck themselves, actually, he already has. Several times over if he’s not mistaken.
“Who said I was lost, Clark?”
“Well, this is the second time you’ve passed me by with that determined look on your face - without saying 'hi' - and I haven’t heard any doors open or close, so i assume you’ve forgotten where you’re going.”
Clark was standing at the top of the stairs the last time Lex passed by? He doesn’t remember that. Lex remembers everything. He would have remembered tousled hair and Clark in cream. Clark in cream? The shirt, the shirt, not the…Fuck.
He can’t even blame it on the drugs this time.
“I don’t have a determined look, Clark, and don’t assume.”
“I’m not assuming, and yes, you do. It’s in between the ‘blank’ look and the death glare, both of which I’ve seen on your face in the last twenty minutes.”
Death glare? Lex doesn’t do death glares. He just glares, and what twenty minutes? Clark has been there twenty minutes watching Lex walk around the third floor? Lex isn’t sure whether this is interesting or the sign of an on-coming affliction.
“I don’t have a death glare look.”
“Well, not now that you’re exchanging it for the bratty Lex look.”
Pardon?
“I am a lot of things, Clark. Bratty is not one of them.” Lex hasn’t been bratty since he had hair. Spoiled? Certainly. Insufferable? All the time. Bratty – as if. "However, if you've only come here to insult me, I can certainly become bratty."
"No, I - I just wanted to say thanks, you know, for the doctors for my father."
"Don't mention it." Really. "I understand he's coming along quite well."
"Yeah, the doctors say he can go home in a few days. How's - I mean your dad's doing better too, right?"
"He's being moved to Metropolis General."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Lex."
"Why? He has the best medicine money can buy at his disposal. Why would you offer sympathy for that?" Clark must be the only person on earth who can pity Lionel Luthor. Clark must be the only person on earth who would even consider pitying Lionel Luthor.
“I don’t mean about all the expensive medicine, I mean because he’s sick.”
“He’s not sick, Clark. My father is a lot of things, sick isn’t one of them.” A maniacal, methodical egomaniac, certainly. Sick, no.
“So, if he’s not sick then why are you pacing around like you’re worried.”
“I’m not worried, and I’m not pacing. I’m walking. I’m allowed to do things like that in my house.” The obvious implication being that Clark isn’t allowed to do things like that in his house, but Lex would wager that that’s why Clark has a loft instead.
“You know, you could always walk outside.”
“Yes, but I like being inside. Are you just here to be contrary? I have staff for that you know.”
“I know you have staff for that, but I enjoy it so much that I do it for free.” Lex is not getting sentimental over that idea. Really, he’s not.
“Do you want some company while you walk?”
“I doubt the hallway is wide enough for that, Clark. Perhaps going outside isn’t a bad idea.” At least it will give Lex someplace new to walk.
He suspects he’s covered all the ground he can inside.
Seymour: That's the spirit.
-Ghost World
+++
The Prodigal
I have promised
ethrosdemon non-fluff, non-H/D for HP. I think I can deliver that. Hate is a drive; hate is all encompassing.
Tom believes that hate is a beautiful thing, far superior to love and other debilitating emotions. Look at how far hate has gotten him – dark wizard on the rise with more wands under his belt and corpses out back than anyone since Merlin.
Tom needs to hate. It’s what wakes him up in the morning and sends him through his day. Hate for his father, hate for others, hatred for a wizarding world that accepts less than perfection. Muggles should be extinguished; and it’s not Tom’s fault that he’s a Mudblood, but it’s the very reason that he wants to wipe them all out.
If his mother had stuck with her own kind there never would have been a Thomas Riddle, but then there never would have been a Thomas Riddle Senior, either. One trade off for another.
Tom makes no trades now.
Tom gives up nothing; he will have it all. He will have power fuelled by his hate, and respect is just a piddling stepping stone when Tom has power.
Tom doesn’t need respect -- he has fear.
Thomas Senior demanded respect, first and foremost because that’s what was prized in his community. Foolish Muggle. Tom’s father commanded respect through his fists and his temperament, and Tom’s mum just stayed with him regardless. She was a witch.
Tom never understood her impotence.
When he was accepted to Hogwarts, Tom fled. He loved his mother; he could never protect her when he was barely seven stone soaking wet and spent more time exploding dishes than washing them.
He did it all for her, even though she married a Muggle. He still does it all for her, for her memory. Emily Parnell was a good woman, she was a brilliant witch. She had no business marrying a Muggle. It should have been illegal.
Tom will make intermarriages illegal. There will be no more mixedbloods, Mudbloods, or even half-bloods.
There will only be purity, there will only be understanding. Really, everything Tom is doing is for the betterment of wizarding-kind.
Wizards deserve more than respect. They deserve the blessing of fear.
When Tom killed his father, his satisfaction was buoyed by something else. It wasn’t respect; it was fear. No, his father didn’t respect Tom’s power, but he respected the fear that Tom created.
That experience taught Tom a lot. Fear is not respect, but Tom will take what he can get. In the face of all the hatred the world has shown him, it’s the least he deserves.
Random Walks of Life II
inspired by these photos, courtesy of
latxcvi with shameless stealing from guy ritchieLeft-handed people are more prone to addiction. It’s a scientific fact that Lex remembers overhearing late one night in the lab when he was obsessing over his project du jour. He wasn’t addicted to the experiment in question, he just really wanted to know if being high affected his ability to mix-up a batch of crystal meth or not.
However, Lex has never denied that he has obsessive tendencies. Lex knows all about addiction.
Left leg, right leg, his body will follow. It’s called walking for a reason, and Lex has been doing a lot of it recently. He’s noticed that.
Not that this is a bad thing, but Lex has cars and there are elevators and chauffeurs, and Lex doesn’t have to walk anywhere if he doesn’t want to. But he is – walking that is, everywhere, as much as possible.
It could have something to do with his father and the doctors’ whispers that he’ll never walk again. Or Lex’s restlessness could be down to his incessant need to move, even when he’s still, even when he’s asleep. Lex knows he kicks in his sleep. He dreams about running and walking and never stopping like Forrest Gump - except that Lex hates that film; he prefers Kevin Spacey and Samuel L. Jackson.
Lex likes American Beauty and Pulp Fiction. He likes Ezekiel 25:17 even though his path is beset on all sides by stones and plaster. He knows that the only person he’s shepherding in the darkness is himself as his insomnia has proven. Actually, Lex knows a lot of the Bible -– one of the greatest works, perhaps of fiction, ever written -- and he finds himself muttering Psalms and Ecclesiastes as he walks along.
At every corner Lex turns ninety degrees sharply and keeps walking. The floor plan is a square, and Lex has been stalking the same hardwood floors for well over an hour now. If it was carpeting he would be able to see where he has walked before. For once, Lex has no footprints to follow, and his father is dying.
He finds it easier to walk in jeans with bare feet, and the cream pullover is just a concession to the strange Kansas weather. Sometimes cold sometimes hot, always unpredictable... just like his father. Just like Clark.
Clark who never seems to walk anywhere. Clark who just appears.
Clark reminds Lex of himself sometimes and that’s not a good thing. Who wants to be like Lex when they can be like Clark? Lex would give up the walking and the shoes and a lot of things to be like Clark, to have Clark; and for all that’s unholy in the world, Lex cannot. stop. walking.
He knows there are worse habits in life. There are worse obsessions to have – especially since Lex has most of them, and at least this one hasn’t landed him in jail or a gutter or upside down in a warehouse.
Lex’s latest obsession could have to do with how restricted he finds himself to be these days: castle, car, plant, car, hospital, car, Talon, car, castle. Or it could simply be that Lex wants to walk, that he’s trying to get somewhere.
The question naturally being: where is Lex trying to go?
“I always knew you’d get lost in this place one day.” There are some that would say that Lex was lost long before he ever moved to Smallville. Lex would tell them to go fuck themselves, actually, he already has. Several times over if he’s not mistaken.
“Who said I was lost, Clark?”
“Well, this is the second time you’ve passed me by with that determined look on your face - without saying 'hi' - and I haven’t heard any doors open or close, so i assume you’ve forgotten where you’re going.”
Clark was standing at the top of the stairs the last time Lex passed by? He doesn’t remember that. Lex remembers everything. He would have remembered tousled hair and Clark in cream. Clark in cream? The shirt, the shirt, not the…Fuck.
He can’t even blame it on the drugs this time.
“I don’t have a determined look, Clark, and don’t assume.”
“I’m not assuming, and yes, you do. It’s in between the ‘blank’ look and the death glare, both of which I’ve seen on your face in the last twenty minutes.”
Death glare? Lex doesn’t do death glares. He just glares, and what twenty minutes? Clark has been there twenty minutes watching Lex walk around the third floor? Lex isn’t sure whether this is interesting or the sign of an on-coming affliction.
“I don’t have a death glare look.”
“Well, not now that you’re exchanging it for the bratty Lex look.”
Pardon?
“I am a lot of things, Clark. Bratty is not one of them.” Lex hasn’t been bratty since he had hair. Spoiled? Certainly. Insufferable? All the time. Bratty – as if. "However, if you've only come here to insult me, I can certainly become bratty."
"No, I - I just wanted to say thanks, you know, for the doctors for my father."
"Don't mention it." Really. "I understand he's coming along quite well."
"Yeah, the doctors say he can go home in a few days. How's - I mean your dad's doing better too, right?"
"He's being moved to Metropolis General."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Lex."
"Why? He has the best medicine money can buy at his disposal. Why would you offer sympathy for that?" Clark must be the only person on earth who can pity Lionel Luthor. Clark must be the only person on earth who would even consider pitying Lionel Luthor.
“I don’t mean about all the expensive medicine, I mean because he’s sick.”
“He’s not sick, Clark. My father is a lot of things, sick isn’t one of them.” A maniacal, methodical egomaniac, certainly. Sick, no.
“So, if he’s not sick then why are you pacing around like you’re worried.”
“I’m not worried, and I’m not pacing. I’m walking. I’m allowed to do things like that in my house.” The obvious implication being that Clark isn’t allowed to do things like that in his house, but Lex would wager that that’s why Clark has a loft instead.
“You know, you could always walk outside.”
“Yes, but I like being inside. Are you just here to be contrary? I have staff for that you know.”
“I know you have staff for that, but I enjoy it so much that I do it for free.” Lex is not getting sentimental over that idea. Really, he’s not.
“Do you want some company while you walk?”
“I doubt the hallway is wide enough for that, Clark. Perhaps going outside isn’t a bad idea.” At least it will give Lex someplace new to walk.
He suspects he’s covered all the ground he can inside.
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yum, yummy.
i am bouncing around with glee- you post snippets and always they please.
*more bouncing and silly thoughts of poetry*
----
scy
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Re:
---
scy
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Don't let the other plebes know but the stupid people are also...gasp...breeding!
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you've been listening to harvey danger, haven't you?
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I did exclaim to a pal on Sunday, as we were trying to get to my apartment alive despite almost getting hit three times, "Ooh, lookee, the moron breeding project was successful!"
Mmm.
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Poor, pacing Lex.
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May I have some more?
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LOL. That's not really up to me today, dear, as I think Lex is getting sore feet, but I'll check and find out.
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Only beat you with a loaf of bread.
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yes, but you would use stale bread.
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I love your Lex.
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And this image -
He finds it easier to walk in jeans with bare feet, and the cream pullover is just a concession to the strange Kansas weather.
Gah! Very much with the sexy.
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oh, lex is definitely that. lex would make a mumu and houseslippers sexy.
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Tom doesn’t need respect -- he has fear.
*shiver* Yes.
And the second? Yes, very much with the good here.
Left-handed people are more prone to addiction.
That would explain a lot.
“Well, not now that you’re exchanging it for the bratty Lex look.”
Pardon?
HA. You rule.
“I know you have staff for that, but I enjoy it so much that I do it for free.” Lex is not getting sentimental over that idea. Really, he’s not.
Hmm. I'm definitely getting sentimental over that. Because of the whole thing where awwwwwww.
insert sulking
now, as for Lex and his left-handedness, is this your way of saying you're a southpaw as well? we must unite and overthrow the world!
Again, I am reduced to nnngghh...
There's just something about a man in cream...
I mean the color, of course *eg*
“I am a lot of things, Clark. Bratty is not one of them.” Lex hasn’t been bratty since he had hair. Spoiled? Certainly. Insufferable? All the time. Bratty – as if.
*happy sigh*
You make such good crack, babe *smooches*
Re: Again, I am reduced to nnngghh...
i'm glad you're happy, babe.
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It's lines like this that make me fall desperately in love with Lex Luther.
that and the tendancy towards homoerotica.