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[briannabakerarchive]

AMERICAN HORROR STORIES S01EP03, Drive In

[ginnyren]

- for @enzocarrasco​

- on the 25th of Feb 2021

- at Ginny’s apartment

Ginny stood with her back to her front door and squinted at her apartment. She had no idea what to do with herself. Enzo was going to arrive any minute so they could crack open the technical insides of Death’s enemies and prepare their team for the fun task of blowing them up. 

Ginny was excited. She was nervous. She felt as she always did when she thought of Death- the urge to flee the country so she could be free again. Ginny sighed. Freedom was no longer on the table. No matter how far she ran, Death would find her there. Her only choice was to hold still while Death slides pins into her wings and play nice. 

She focused on the excitement of flexing her mind around the surely potent security systems the three buildings would have in place, the annoyance of having to work with someone else. She focused too on her curiosity of watching Enzo work. Glitch. Her new partner in cybercrime. She knew of his work, his style. She was aware of him the way normal people were aware of celebrities, she thought. His work was beautiful, brutal and angry. Ginny admired his skill; she even begrudgingly respected his crusade but she’d never seen the point herself. She was content to ignore the ills of the world to indulge in luxury. We couldn’t save them all so why even try? 

A knock sounded on her door and Ginny turned around to pull it open. She stared at him for an awful awkward moment. 

“Come in,” she said finally, “and please don’t touch anything.” 

[enzocarrasco]

Working in a space that's not his own wouldn't be Enzo's first choice. He likes his setup, the hum of computers that populate the spare room in his parents' house. Where he knows where everything is, and he can basically hack into businesses in his pyjamas while eating ramen. Other people's places...he's out of his element, can't wear his pyjamas, can't eat his ramen... actually has to interact with the real world. Gross.

But then, it's Ginny. And she makes it easier, their to and fro easing his discomfort being around others. Her talent and his complementing each other's, her ideas catching things he missed, or sometimes like they can read each other’s minds. It's nice, maybe, having someone in Death who gets it. Almost like a friend.

Enzo obsesses over what to bring , backpack stuff with too much as he knocks on the door of her apartment. Once again, they should have done this at his place. 

She stares and him, and he stares back, the silence making him squirm... this was a bad idea. Fuuuuuck fuck fuck. Too fucking awkward. He's just about to step back when she speaks, and relief washes over him. "Hey, uh, thanks for having me,” He walks in, eyes taking in the huge apartment, the detail... his hands pick up a funky looking ornament from a shelf to inspect, immediately forgetting her one request. "Oh crap, sorry," he places it back on the shelf, face red.

Enzo shifts his bag to the front, unzips his backpack, and pulls out his laptop. Afraid to touch anything else, he blinks over at Ginny, laptop in his hands as he looks around. "What can I touch? Uh, I kinda need to put this down somewhere"

[enzocarrasco]

darkromeo​:

────

The secretary had warned Fazal Khan over the reception phone, announcing the arrival of a certain Dean Smith. The supposed journalist appeared legit, as confirmed online. When the doors opened to his office, Fazal stood in front of his desk — or, well, leaned back against it with his head tilted slightly to the side and hands curled around the wooden edges. He wore the aristocratic cutting lines of a great tailor, a dark-blue suit and a matching tie, for once. A silver-tongued god. A serpent. A machiavellian. 

“Yours truly,” he replied with a light nod. “You’ve come this far, so to answer your question bluntly — yes.” With that, he crossed the room to shake Enzo’s hand firmly. His eyes lingered on the man’s, almost as if he could read the lies on Enzo’s face or would be able to if given another moment. No smile shone through his cold features quite yet.

“Take a seat.” His body made a half-turn for his hand to point towards the vacant sofas in the middle of his office, both placed across from each other with a glass coffee table in the center. An invitation, as he himself moved to a relatively large bookcase on the side where the alcohol and other beverages resided. “Would you like some water?” he offered over his shoulder when he pulled out two glasses, his back turned on the interviewer. “To be honest with you,” words rolled from his tongue a little too smoothly, like he wasn’t the man guilty or capable of killing, only of linguistic manipulation. “I’m quite intrigued to know what about me exactly has caught your eye.”

Enzo has seen too many horror movies. He braces for the flames to burst throughout the office, for the locks to suddenly click, or Fazal to leap forward and attack. While he prepares his jump scare, from the devil who haunts his dreams… none of it happens. Instead, it’s just a calm businessman walking towards him, hand outstretched. Enzo tries not to flinch as he lets himself shake the devil’s hand, lips pressed into a polite smile, as he greets the man who killed his father.

He hates him, but he tries not to think about that. Instead, Enzo does as he’s told and takes a seat on one of the sofas. An incredible effort is taken to keep the nerves at bay, no jiggling legs, no shaking hands, Enzo determined to stay still. “Uh, no… No thanks, don’t get thirsty,” he shakes his head, afraid of what would happen if he drank Fazel’s water – poison?  Possibly.  Nothing good, that’s for sure.

But then Fazal continues speaking, smooth and charming,  this silver-tongued viper nothing like Enzo expected . It lulls him in, has him falling for the trick of his words, almost makes him forget why he’s here. “Oh um, I guess I’m interested to know about your work here, how you got into working for such a...” his face pales, no matter how hard Enzo tries to control it, “cutting edge, company.” He scratches the back of his neck, switching gears, “there’s- theres also that fluke accident from a few years ago... I imagine you were there for that?”

[zachariaswinchester]

@enzocarrasco​ / february 20th / the muse gaming lounge, chelsea

One element of his job that had bled into his real life was being early, before being Juno’s assistant, the Winchester had toed the line between on time and late with a precision that could have been mistaken for deliberate. Now, it is very much in-character to arrive at least ten minutes before an agreed upon time. It helped that his new home (though he was still in the process of moving in) was close enough that he’d chosen to walk to the gaming lounge Enzo agreed to meet him at. Thankful that it was not too late in the evening - the place relatively empty - once seated, he sends a quick message to let the other know he’s inside. 

It’s mere moments later that he spots the face he’s expecting, forcing himself to stop picking at the skin at the edge of his thumb as he stands. “Enzo,” he greets, “good to see you.” As far as Zach was concerned, they’d already met, just not face to face - pushing down nerves that came with shifting from online to real life interaction, smiling in spite of them. “Guessing you found the place alright?” Stupid question, he thinks, (an attempt made to assure him that it was just something that people asked) standing for a second longer before settling back into his seat. 

“Thought I’d let you pick first,” the offer is made, gesturing to the games options available as printed out on the menu in front of them with one hand. A beat, and then, “As much as I’ve said I’d kick your arse in Mario Kart we should probably warm up to me embarrassing myself by maybe not following through on that.” An attempt at a joke - intermingled with an implied request not to judge him on his skills (or lack thereof) for a little while at least - an instinctual, slight, lift of one shoulder to punctuate the half-truth.

[enzocarrasco]

Very rarely does his online world blur into the other. There are moments with Death when this happens, his hacking used for a job, but outside of work – not at all. It starts simple, video games and IMs with random usernames, to talking more and more, to building a friendship, to sharing social media and discovering the truth: the person you’re talking to is the enemy. Yikes. But Enzo knows Zach, knows his high scores and weird secrets. The guy suggested a gaming lounge for Christ’s sake; how evil can he be?

Enzo fidgets the whole tube ride there, nervous to see his friend off-screen. Whatever nerves buzz through him though can’t stop the wide grin that crosses his face when he spots Zacharias in the lounge. Do they hug? Do they shake hands? He settles with an awkward wave, and immediately regrets it, hand shaking in the air showing just how freaked he is. “Yep, yep, yep, it was easy. Did you? Wait, sorry, obviously-“ he shook his head, curls flying at the enthusiasm, finishing with an awkward, “never mind.”

He glances across the room, the rows of games, the large comfortable chairs for the games, it’s a nerd’s dream. “This- this place is freakin’ amazing,” comes his breathed-out exclamation, enthusiasm taking over nerves “come on, you talked so much shit about it! And now you’re tellin’ me you fibbed?” Enzo looks across at Zach, shaking his head with an amused smile on his face, like he hasn’t lied about half his truths to Zach. But this bit is easy. Talking. Like it’s not the first time they’re meeting, even if they’ve never stood this close before. 

He picks up the menu beside them, eyes raking down the list, pretending his hands aren’t making the laminated paper shake, “what about a classic then? Space Invaders? I promise I’ll go easy on you... or, wait, there’s even jenga if you wanted to go simple.”

[enzocarrasco]

vincentkilatan​:

-

His way of life often felt lonely. Sure, there was the company he kept in pursuit of mayhem; punks looking to stir trouble, crooks looking for an easy buck, and intrigued individuals who shared in his warmth. But when it came down to it, his goals left him isolated. Most thought of him as too unhinged and reckless. An extremist who couldn’t just take the morsels of cash, and use it to feed himself and his mother. And while there were some friends he kept, like Wren, even they didn’t share his lofty convictions.

So when Death came calling, it felt like a pipe dream at first. Everyone said they were committed to change, but few had cause to deliver. And yet, it took only an hour within the gangs ranks for Vincent to shed cynicism for fervor. Finally, after all this time, he wasn’t alone. In the midst of his and Jack’s impromptu party, surrounded by those who shared in the glory, Vincent feels like he belongs.

It’s a cause for celebration, and at that point in the evening, Sacha’s vodka and Laura’s tequila have him operating on a high. He’s fresh from karaoke with Gigi, rushing down the staircase in search for something to eat. Maybe those spring rolls Jack had him order, or one of those mini quiches. He’s halfway through stuffing his face, when he catches the profile of Death’s most prolific hacker. Vincent raises a brow, an intoxicated laugh as he watches Enzo stuff Jack’s condoms into his pocket.

“Love what you’ve done with the fucking condom bowl!” Vincent yells out loud, the pitch of his voice higher and more pronounced. Either someone turned up the volume, or Vincent was hitting the tipping point of the night. He picks it up from the corner, gesturing to the nearly empty bowl. “How many of those you think you’re gonna go through?” It’s a genuine question, but he asks it with mischief in his eyes. He always did like to be in-the-know, where gossip amongst the ranks were concerned. He’s convinced it makes him a better leader - whatever the fuck that means.

“Shit man,” Vincent reaches behind Enzo, drawing out an old tennis racket. Another one of the short-lived activities the roommate’s had gotten into, during Jack’s isolation. “Let’s fucking go. I guess you got dibs on Pest?” It’s a dumb question, but he asks it anyways. Partially, because causing a rise out of people was what Vincent excelled at. “You deserve it. They’re almost as poor as us now. All thanks to you and your little keyboard wizardry.” Not entirely factual, but he’s blitzed and reeling off of the success.

...

Ah, so he did see. The blush on his cheeks is unmistakable, even under the technicolour lights when Vincent exuberantly calls him out on his way over. Though, really, even if Vince didn’t see anything, the near-empty bowl and his bulging pockets clearly give the boy away. Fucking obvious. . Vince’s confidence makes him even more aware of his awkwardness in the real world, but Enzo tries to cover it up with a crooked smile, a nervous run of his hand through his hair.

“Ah well, you know, you never know…” he mumbles, shooting Vince a sheepish look, knowing there’s nobody he really plans to use them with, especially not in a house party full of Deathies, “ figured they’re free, right? ... mostly just don’t want to have to go all the way to the shops to buy more…” Enzo answers truthfully. Why bother when they’re right here?

The sight of the tennis racket sets his face alight. A need for chaos and vengeance surges deep through Enzo, influencing all his thoughts and feelings. He tries not to give it away too much, knowing how much it clouds his judgement, but on a night where they’re celebrating their big win, he can relish a little bit of chaos with his friend. It’s by no means the technical explosive hackery they get up to in their free time, but it’ll do.

“Now you’re speaking my language,” Enzo snatches the tennis racket off Vincent, making a beeline for the piñatas, waving it haphazardly through the crowd, almost taking someone out,  “oops sorry,” he mutters to the victim, red faced, before turning to Vince, “lets go fuck these fuckers up a second time.” All eyes are on the Pest Pinata, as Enzo imagines the explosion in his mind. Siphoning all their data is almost as good, but nothing freaking beats a message that loud. 

Vince’s words coax him on, “no, no, it’s all you, my good man,” he reaches a hand out, shaking Vince’s shoulder a little with a spark in his eye as they stand beside the piñatas,  “you blew them up, you’re the fucking wizard.” the shakes to his friend shoulder drive the point home, the sheer admiration and warmth he has for the virtue pouring out of him. With that he squeezes his eyes shuts, letting out a loud war cry like he’s about to take down the big boss, and swings full force at the Pestilence piñata. 

[hetor]

on the fifth of january, hector goes to meet @enzocarrasco​ for the first time after spending four years in prison.

If you were to ask him, all those years ago, Hector Carrasco wouldn’t have been able to give a concrete answer in response to why he’d taken Enzo in. He’d been in his late thirties, Enzo not even twenty, and their interactions in spite of their father’s awkward attempts had been… difficult at best. Strained, some might even say. But Hector had arrived on Enzo’s step without a single thought to it, darkening his half-sibling’s doorway with the intention to do something good.

And, of course, in the way of all the other times Hector’s attempted to do something good, it fell through. Gutted, from the belly up. He’s turned that particular train of thinking over and over in the palm of his hand, desperate to figure out why the world could be so unkind to people like him and so generous to others who would see it burn if they had the chance. All that work, all that time, the blood, the sweat, the tears, for nothing.

Until Death. Until Uriel. Until May, with her wry grin and the knowledge that he might be a good fit. He feels like he’s in some kind of waking dream, where the things he touches and hold take half a second to fit inside his palm. He doesn’t know what to think, except to laugh at the quiet irony of it all: here he is again, darkening Enzo’s doorway, mouth dry. He has to work himself up to it to actually knock — had to work himself up to even showing up — but no one else is here, so Hector doesn’t beat himself up over it. Tries to take his time. A trembling hand raises, lowers, steadies itself, and then raises again. Three knocks to the door.

And then he’s left to wait, and pray that Enzo actually answers.

[enzocarrasco]

He’s grown used to being by himself again. in the way that people get used to life reverting to normal, the things he adjusted to – Hector’s chaos, their fighting, their shared meals – disappearing and replaced by the aloneness Enzo knew once before. Like he was never here, like he never had a brother. And honestly, sometimes he believes that himself.

Being alone means there’s nobody to tell him what to do, he can do what he wants, and there are no prying eyes looking over his shoulder at his screen or telling him to eat properly. It’s just him. All day, every day. Stuck inside his mind and on the screen, sometimes going days – weeks – without speaking to a real, in the flesh, person. He tells himself it’s fine, as he types away on his computer, he speaks to other people every day.

It’s as he’s just pouring his instant ramen into his bowl, settling in for the afternoon, that three knocks echo through his too-big house, inherited by from his late parents. Shit. A fork clangs on the tiled kitchen, dropped in Enzo’s surprise to have someone show up, in a way that reminds him eerily of a ghost long gone. Clad in his pyjamas, he scrambles to the window, peering out onto his parent’s front porch.

And there’s the ghost.

“Hector?” his voice shakes more than he wants it to when he clumsily unlocks the door, blinking at the apparition of his much older brother. It can’t be. But even with the impossibility, it is. Older, haughtier, but it’s him. “What- what are you doing here? Did you escape?” the very real possibility shoots fear through his already paranoid mind, and he hurriedly gestures for Hector to come inside, “shit. quick, get in, before the pigs see.”

[enzocarrasco]

who: fazal khan @darkromeo​​ where: pestilence labs when: 23rd of February 

He walks the halls of Pestilence Labs, back in the place Enzo swore he would never return to. Memories of being a kid, coming to visit his parents while they worked, completely oblivious to the goings on of their job flick on repeat in his brain. Now here he is, walking through the same halls he sees in his nightmares. His eyes take in everything around him, committing the scenes to memory. Just in case shit gets real and he has to make a quick escape.

When he arrives at the reception, claiming he has an interview, the secretary gives him a long look over. This curly haired boy, the lanyard proclaiming his fake journalism career with a local news paper around his neck, seemingly harmless. She nods and lets him follow.

Death don't know he's here, on this quest to gather information. They wouldn't want to know, for how much the man blinds him. His weakness, a thought that Enzo can't shake, burning him, infecting him. Enzo tells himself he’s doing the right thing, this is valuable work, in the end. They get to the door and he forces his hands not to shake. No time for nerves, no time to be Enzo Carrasco. He takes on a persona online, with a big ego and even bigger talent - can’t he do the same here? Channel that energy right now. 

“Fazal Khan?” the name tastes like poison on his tongue, he tries not to spit it out as he steps into the office, hand outstretched, “hi, uh, sorry… I was wondering if you have time to answer some questions about your time at Pestilence Labs?”

[enzocarrasco]

who: vincent kilatan @vincentkilatan​ where: vincent & jack’s party when: 27/02/2021

Enzo is buzzing. Excitement churns through him on the way to the party, barely able to contain himself after everything goes according to plan. It’s not just bombs, though he relishes decimating the fuck out of the other gangs; it’s hacking into their measly systems, breaking in and taking all the information he can. It’s his, all his. It was almost boring how easy it was. Sometimes, the young hacker wishes people tried harder to protect their shit. Make it more of a challenge for him.

Still, it’s justice, it’s revenge, it’s exactly why Enzo raced to join Death, and exactly what he loves to do. It even makes him affectionate for his gang, the knowledge that they’re doing something good, they’re making a change in the world. They’re Gods.

The buzz lasts through the night, mixed with whatever beer they hand over to him at the bar, and too many mini cheeses from the snack table. He feels kinda antsy, with everyone around, has to remind himself they’re family who just pulled off some badass shit. Nobody is out here trying to him. Have fun, relax in the real world for once.

It’s as Enzo is surreptitiously shoving a few condoms from the bowl into his pockets – you never know! -  that he spies his friend walking toward him.  “Vince!” Enzo grins, face flushed and arms out wide, a little tipsy from the beer, a little embarrassed to be caught stealing, “Love what you’ve done with the place, fantastic, brilliant, spectacular,” he rambles, gassing his friend up. 

As Enzo looks around, he nods to the piñatas, three to match the other gangs, waiting to be hit,  “looks just like ‘em…” tired eyes light up with enthusiasm, “dibs on first go.”

[enzocarrasco]

who: mitzi zhang @mitzi-zhang​ where:  some science and the future with technology event  when: 01/03/2021 Polite applause ripples throughout the function room as the keynote speaker finishes their speech. It’s on advancing women in STEM, or whatever poser bullshit they pretend to care about these days, before they go back to business as usual. It’s a chore, really, coming to these events, playing dress up.  The collar of his shirt buttoned up too tight around his neck, and a borrowed suit jacket on his shoulders, totally out of his element. The only part of Enzo that feels like Enzo is the busted-up sneakers on his feet. A reminder of who he is at heart.

But there’s free food, and businessmen dripping in opulence Enzo can network with – i.e. scope out, hack later – so he lurks in the back of the room, anxiously downing the free champagne and watching people schmooze until there’s enough liquid courage in his system to get him talking.

He’s on his third glass when he spots her, that scowl – unchanged –  haunting the other corner of the room. As much as he doesn’t want to think about it, his mind jolts back to a similar scene years and years ago before everything-

“uh, you hate these things too?” he shoots her a nervous smile, glancing around at all their fellow science geeks chatting around them, and back to the young girl standing alone. Shaky fingers point to the spare seat, “mind if I sit here? ”

He makes a beeline for Mitzi, nervous smile replaced with furious, downturned lips, as Enzo comes up beside her. “I thought you hated this shit,” he mutters, staring straight ahead rather than looking his former friend in the eye, can barely stand to look her way. Every time he does he feels sick.

[midsommars-deactivated20201109]

Stranger Things 3 (2019) Created by Matt and Ross Duffer

[cool-dad-deactivated20240526-de]

What’s your favorite position

1st place on rainbow road