#you have an excellent taste for bloody murder of hearts

[everythingbutresolved]

"Anyway Flanagan knew exactly what he did when he brought to screen the character of a pastor so devoted to his one and only love to break the laws of the physical realm and cross the bridges of times just to be with her in a paradise made in her own image. In this essay I will"

[cinnamoon-roll2]

The Famished Doctor and Their Devoted Ghost

Danny takes on a new murder case for the Roseville Gazette that people presume is his, but he's never taken the organs of his victims. His curiosity gnaws at him, he needs to know who is this new homicidal partner he shares the town with, and who is this new girl that's making him doubt about his future plans.

Chapter 1: Welcome to the doctor’s practice

Chapter summary: After escaping the disaster her last fake life in Texas left, Dr. Famine decides to take her life into the beautiful sun state of Florida, where she finds lots of new and interesting things that take her life upside down, thanks to a little mistake she made on a crime scene.

Chapter Trigger Warnings: explicit mention of cannibalism, explicit mention of murder, explicit mention of violence, reader and Danny have real fucked up minds and so are their thoughts.

Wc: 5,05K

AO3 Link Next

Ah, Florida, what a wonderful place, don't you think? The place where you need to put a bloody fence to keep crocodiles and snakes out of your yard. During the summer, the temperatures can be hellish, still there is a bit of wind for relief.

She sighed as she felt her thighs stick to her leather seat, it sucked, which is why she hated summer. She was thankful she had bought a house with air conditioning, otherwise she swore on her life she would have killed herself if she could not find a house with one.

She felt sure that everything was going to go better than it had in Texas, the only positive thing she was taking with her, were the fewer rations that would last her for at least three weeks. She always saved the best for last, which is why she had a liver, a lung, and a heart in her little ice chest.

Her eyes focused on the welcome sign of his new home, "Welcome to Roseville, population 17,500", so many people to meet and eat, she hoped she could hack into the clinic's system so she could meet them all. She was starting to salivate just imagining the variety of cuts she could get out of everyone she chose.

She should not act until she had been in the city for at least a month, it would be suspicious if the murders started with her arrival. Although she had heard that other murders had happened before in that city, they had stopped about a couple of weeks ago, when it was common for the killer to strike for his pause between victims.

She had not heard much about who this killer was, she only knew the nickname the press had given him, "Ghostface", for her taste it was perfect, something simple and catchy to be remembered easily. Still, it wasn't as good as hers, "Dr. Famine", she wasn't a doctor, she was a nurse, thanks to her family's sexism. A simple nurse would not have been able to rip out the heart of the bastard father who destroyed her dreams, right.

She changed her identity from city to city, from state to state, she never repeated the same name, sometimes she stole the surname of her victims, from where she got her false papers, she easily sold one of her rations to a friend and he got them for her, an excellent advantage of her cannibalism.

Now she would be the innocent nurse Luna Graham, a girl with a big heart who dedicates her life to saving whoever she can, inspired by the loss of her grandmother with cancer. Timid, quiet, who you would least suspect of being a ruthless killer.

An easy role to play in the eyes of others, she might miss being able to smoke her herbal ciggies, though it was not something that went with the character. 

She came out of her train of thought as she neared her new home, it was hard to find a house that met her expectations except this one was perfect. It had two floors, an attic and basement, a guest room, and the master bedroom, it had just ten windows throughout the structure, it gave her a perfect view of her surroundings. The garage was spacious enough for two cars. What she was looking forward to most was the time to decorate the basement, she had made sure herself that it would be possible to install her semi-industrial refrigerator for her provisions, some of her butchering tools and maybe a wall of her achievements.

She hoped her new neighbours wouldn't bother her. She smiled slightly at the sight of children playing in a nearby front yard, families in a neighbourhood were a good confidence builder when she sought to attract people to her dwelling. 

She parked her car in the driveway, took out the keys of the front door and started walking to it. This was a whole fresh start, a fresh start to the consults of Dr. Famine.

The doctor's practice has been opened; it is time to amaze the public.

It was the Thursday of her fourth week in Roseville. Those three weeks, that were behind this one, were the most tiring days that Fanny had ever lived to this day, the people on the clinic were the most terrible human beings that she'd ever seen, no I want this, no I want that, for the love of the blood unique hell, how indecisive and horrendous people can be. 

Her patience was strong for not snapping at them, the on event that could be saved from those weeks was to meet some co-workers of her. One of them is named Lori, she has brown hair with golden rays on it, she is of child-bearing age, she is attractive. Unfortunately, she has a small, tiny flaw, she never stopped talking about herself, she took advantage of Luna's false personality to use her as Igor, Luny do this for me, Luny please go attend this patient for me.

Definitely, she is going to eat as her meal or as a way of paying, she swears on Hannibal bloody Lecter she is going to do something unforgivable. That week she took the shift of the psychiatric ward. She loved working there, she had made many friends there, one of them being the famous Laurie Jackson, a 30-year-old woman who had Alzheimer, she is lovely. It was a shame her family just let her in the clinic and forget completely about her. 

She hated people like that, people who would forget about their own blood, who would abandon everybody if they became burdens to them, she told herself it would not be a surprise if someone of Laurie's family appeared dead. She swallowed all her violent thoughts; there was no time to have them. Now, because of her schedule, it was her turn to go round the rooms of all the patients they had now.

She kept her fake smile on as she walked through the corridors, greeting anyone she came across, she was beginning to think that keeping that role would be very tiring if she wanted to stay in that city for a long time. 

When she reached the doctors' offices, she found something very curious, a recurring patient David Winchester, was shouting to Dr. Marcher about how a ghost was haunting him, he feared for his life, someone or something was seriously going to hurt him. Dr. Marcher did not pay much attention to him, it was not the first time he came with such statements, and they ended up being just hallucinations of his borderline personality disorder, it was an uncommon symptom even though he had it.

"Excuse me doctor, do you need any help with this patient?" She asked with that tone so unnatural for her, sweet, soft, and innocent, all things she was not.

"No, no thank you Miss Graham, I think Mr. Winchester will be leaving before I had to call security, right?" Dr. Marcher mumbled as he pointed out the exit to David, she did not want to admit it, then again, she hated the way that doctor behaved sometimes.

The young man had no choice but to do as Marcher had ordered, he walked away crestfallen, Fanny felt sorry for him, he had a terrible doctor in charge of him. "Are you sure it was nothing serious that worried Mr. Winchester, he seemed very uneasy?" Her gaze was still on the door where the man had left a few seconds ago.

"Something routine, nothing to worry about Miss Graham." He said nonchalantly smiling as he looked at her face, which was nothing to like, that smile meant he was going to flirt something that disgusted her. "Now that I remember, dear Miss Graham, it has been days since I have seen you in this area of the clinic, to what do I owe this honour of seeing your beautiful face in these parts."

Inwardly she wanted to strangle him until she wiped off that smile and then eat that womanizer's heart. "Um... The head nurse, Miss Roberts, said this floor was understaffed today, and... and she assigned me here today." She replied awkwardly, now her urge to kill him increased, however, she had to keep Luna in character, so she just replied avoiding in every way to continue in that flirtation the Marcher was throwing at her.

"Then I should thank Casey for giving me such a good view today." He smiled taking Fanny's hand. The woman was wishing to bite him in the jugular and make him shut up, right now she wished Casey would suffer a huge disgrace that day for giving her this shift.

As soon as she opened her mouth, she was interrupted by the speakers announcing that her presence was needed in the emergency room, she did not believe there was a god, yet at that moment she was grateful. She excused herself to escape the awkward situation to see what was needed of her, when she arrived, she saw the head nurse, Casey Roberts.

She was smiling as she chatted with a man who was in his early thirties, he had neatly combed brown hair, brown eyes, she noticed that he must have a contact lens in his left eye, it was just speculation, he had reading glasses in his button-down shirt pocket. If she had to speculate his height, he was close to 193 cm (6'3 ft) tall, beating her by almost 20 cm (7'8 in).

She took a big breath before approaching the reception desk fully, she created a shy smile on her lips before approaching both people.

"It's a pleasure to welcome you here today Mr. Olsen, you hardly ever see journalists as dedicated as you in this city." She heard Casey say, she had a partner and yet she was flirting with the visiting journalist, still who was she to judge.

"It's no big deal I'm just doing the bare minimum of my job, speaking of work, you said you were bringing a co-worker of yours to guide me to Director Ramirez's office for his interview." Olsen replied with a big grin, first mistake on his part if he wanted Fanny to like him, he had a gigantic ego by the looks of it.

"Am... That should be me... This is what you need me for Miss Roberts" She finally spoke, she noticed how Olsen looked her up and down, she could swear she felt a predatory look in those eyes, one similar to the one she had.

"Yes, Luna dear, I need you to guide Mr. Jed Olsen, to the director, could you help me with that, sweetheart." Casey ordered her in a sweet tone with her gaze set on Olsen's handsome face, his name sounded horrible, who in their right mind would call a boy Jed, in her words he had more of a Daniel face.

She just nodded at the words, to turn her gaze back to Olsen, who was still wearing his flirtatious grin. "Uh.... Please follow me Mr. Olsen." She said softly as she looked down at the ground, that grin was making her uncomfortable.

Jed said yes and they both started to head towards the clinic director's office, on the way he kept feeling that brown gaze analyzing his every step, the silence between them was becoming extremely uncomfortable and tense.

"Seems I didn't hear your name very well missy." Jed said as he watched her play with the rings of her hand, with her gaze he looked like a lion watching his prey before devouring it.

She twirled the ring of her little finger one more time before speaking to him. "The name's Luna Graham, sorry for not introducing myself, I'm not very good at social interactions." She listened as he whispered her name, as if playing with it to memorize it the best.

"Well, are you new in town, because I've never heard of you, Miss Luna." His eyes hit right into hers; he was seeing if she lied to him or not, two could play at that game.

"You're right, Mr. Olsen, this is my first month in town, I was transferred from a charity hospital in Texas." She replied calmly as they continued their way, at the moment she disliked feeling the stares from everyone for accompanying Mr. Olsen, from what she had heard he was the acclaimed journalist who was dedicated to Ghostface homicide cases, so far there had been five within two and a half months.

"Oh, in that case may you be welcome in our cosy little town." He replied softly, widening that smile he had had for a while now. "Have you heard about the Ghostface cases?" He asked directing her full attention to whatever he was going to say about it.

She had heard truly little, just enough to know that she had to be careful who she chose for dinner she did not want to take a victim away from the other assassin. She thought her answer, she had to sound innocent and terrified so as not to show the growing admiration within her.

"I've only heard that he has more than 5 victims here in town, and I've heard that they recommend being very careful." She replied fiddling with her rings, she had to show discomfort in front of him. "I haven't read or heard anything else about him, really all that crime stuff scares me, I don't like it at all." She made her voice start to lower to a whisper, she hoped that with that he would understand her discomfort with that subject.

"If you really wanted to finally inform yourself of the truth of this Ghostface's actions, my articles are available to you, miss." That ego-filled face disgusted her, the way he finished talking to her to prove how good he was.

To her luck she had finally arrived at Ramirez's office, she mentally celebrated that she could finally get away from that man. "Looks like we've reached our destination, Mr. Olsen, it was a pleasure to have helped you. She felt Jed take his gaze from her person after a long time to direct it at the director's titled door.

"Likewise, dear Miss Graham, I hope to see you again another time." Jed added taking her hand to kiss the back of it, and people said chivalry is dead. "Next time we meet, call me Jed, please, Missy". With this he took his leave of her, it left a bad taste in her mouth to hear that he hoped to meet her again sometime, she was now interested in this so famous Jed Olsen.

Her sixth week in Roseville had finally arrived, and she was already sure who was going to be her first supply in town. She was a woman named Gloria Rojas, 26 years old, she lived in the suburbs, he had met her when she came in for her annual mammogram at the clinic, he had made sure she had an almost blank history of illicit substances, in her medical report she had reported that she only drank once in a while and went out with her friends on a monthly basis.

Since last Tuesday he had been following and stalking her, he had learned every detail of her routine and her flat. It was a simple studio, only had three windows, one in the bathroom, one in the kitchen and the one he planned to be her entrance, it was right on the fire escape, an easy in and out.

On Sunday, her day off from clinic shifts, she had followed her to work where she noticed Gloria stealing funds from the shop where she worked, something that upset Fanny very much, she took many notes on how Gloria frequented many men, she did not judge that a woman would want to work as a servant sex, the negative of this fact was that it made it more difficult for her to have a perfect time to perform. Gloria frequented a mediocre journalist from the Roseville Gazette, which reminded her that luckily, she had yet to meet Jed Olsen anywhere.

Although she had met him on paper, on Saturday of the previous week, two days after David Winchester had again gone to the hospital for help about his constant paranoia that he was being stalked, it turned out that it was not just hallucinations. In the end he was being stalked by Ghostface, she had heard from rumours in the corridors that the clinic was grateful that no one knew they were aware of this and did nothing, as usual the higher-ups and their hypocrisy. 

David had been the 6th victim of this killer, Olsen did a recap of each victim in his article, something that gave her a little idea of what kind of targets Ghostface targeted, young, loners, their homes had many weak points, unsecured windows, quick access places, by Olsen's speculation, he said the criminal had to follow his victims for a while, therefore the two weeks pause between murders.

Their modus operandi was similar, to stalk, work in silence and leave something behind to affirm that they were the ones who committed these acts. The masked man would leave polaroid of himself with his victims, she would occasionally leave a business card with a fake number that she gave to an answering machine that always said the same message.

Again, she was letting her mind wander instead of focusing on what she was going to do that Sunday night, her car was parked half a block from Gloria's flat, she was already wearing her new suit, a long black trench coat, she put a mini hoodie over it, cargo trousers, they had extra pockets that helped her store things for emergencies, his combat boots, which had an extra steel toe cap that gave very good punches. For her face she wore a balaclava to hide everything excluding her blue eyes, her hair was tucked under that cloth, in front of the balaclava she wore the mask that she loved with all her heart like the one they used during the times of the black plague, The Raven Mask. (She followed the tradition of placing aromatic herbs on the tip of her beak, in her words the metallic smell of blood made her sick from time to time).

That night she had planned to devote to committing the art of human butchery, she carried with her the jars in which to place the goods she would get that night together with the cooler where they would be put. She took his black latex gloves; it was time for her to start walking to Gloria's flat.

It took her ten minutes to get there and climb the fire stairs to the fourth floor where the woman lived, the window was unlocked, perfect, she could hear from outside the pop music that Gloria listened to while she was doing her skin care routine, more than once she had received complaints from her neighbours because of the volume of the music, something perfect to hide her presence. 

She crept open the window and entered the room, checked the cocktail of drugs she normally used on her victims, doxacurium chloride and atracurium, two drugs that disconnected the muscles of the brain, leaving her victims as easy dolls to manipulate to her liking, she took notes of the mess the woman had in the room, kept thinking how ironic it was that Gloria's routine would end up killing her that very night.

Keeping her way in stealth, until she reached the living room of the flat where she watched the woman dance around singing those pop songs she liked, she saw that she also had a glass of wine placed on the living room table, too bad it was going to be wasted. She continued to stand behind her, put her non-dominant hand on Gloria's mouth and her dominant hand was grabbing her jaw, giving her no time to react. She delivered a punch to the underside of her jaw by her ear, from experience it would cut off the circulation to her brain causing a knockout.

As she was about to give her a second punch or pull the syringe out at once, she noticed how the woman's body began to soften in her arms, she proceeded to lower her down onto the couch in the living room. After checking that the woman's heart rate was relaxed and low, she began to take out the instruments she would use for her task, her scalpel, her scissors, autopsy shears, with which she planned to break the woman's sternum, she planned to take several organs from her. Fearing that when she started the "surgery" she would wake up and put up a fight, he proceeded to inject both drugs into her bloodstream. 

She removed her shirt to see her skin. She began cutting from the sternum down, as you would normally do with a deer, cut through the soft tissues and what little fat she had stored, used the shears to break her entrance into the chest cavity, and extracted everything she needed to have few weeks of peace.

She transported the organs to the jars titled with the names, left them in the cooler, searched in her pockets for the hunting knife she used to finish her work, cut Gloria's throat, the little blood that had been stored in her veins came out, something she poured into a small glass, it was going to be useful. She took her needles and began to mend the body of the deceased, she closed the section of her torso, she closed her throat, she rearranged her clothes, she wanted to make it look as if she had fallen asleep after a night dedicated to herself. She began to tidy up the scene, turned off the woman's music, took her tool kit and began to pack them into it. She finally pulled out her business card, it read:

"Famine Mori, M.D +1 305 XXX-XXXX."

She hoped the police would be stupid enough to call and get the fake secretary she had designated on that answering machine; it said in that mocking British accent that the doctor was busy and that as soon as she did not have people to kill, she would be with them. She heard the floor of the flat being pounded on, fearfully grabbed her things without leaving her card and retreated through the same window, closing it as if she had never been in the room.

Monday, funking Monday, he hated the beginning of the week. Especially when the office sent him to a crime scene all at once, not letting him enjoy his morning coffee, and worsening everything they said it could be a case of Ghostface, that number one how would he have attacked someone if he was just starting the stalking of his new target, and number two who will be that damned son of the great whore who is impersonating him, in case he finds them he swears on all the dark roast coffee on the planet that he will kill them in the worst way. 

He was now in the suburban flat block that was 15 minutes from the gazette, the authorities were already there, from afar he saw Turner, a coroner who was giving him information in exchange for some drinks in the bar that was near the police station. He presented his credentials and they let him with an officer who would follow him to the scene, he hated these cheap flats that did not have elevators, he would have to go up four fucking floors just to see a corpse that was not even his. More than a thousand curses replayed in his head as he climbed each step. When he finally reached the flat, the new victim, he learned that she was a 26-year-old woman of Hispanic descent from information that had been leaked at early hours today.

He saw the yellow tape typical of crime scenes, and in the doorway were Detectives Martinez and Crawford, both of whom changed their countenances when they noticed Olsen was on the scene. He nodded to them and let the accompanying officer usher him into the scene. He noted that there was almost no blood or signs of a struggle, whoever worked here must have been experienced in their own M.O. He saw a couple of examiners taking pictures of where the body was, lying peacefully on the couch. Now he confirmed that it could not be a copycat of his, he liked to leave his victims posed, to reflect the evil intentions hidden inside them. He took two quick photos of the body and the general scene, he went out to talk to the detectives, he wanted to get more clues as to who this new artist was.

"Olsen, the raven from the Roseville Gazette, now that information you want to squeeze out of us" Martinez commented mockingly looking at his face, of the pair he detested Olsen the most, he felt he was only causing more trouble instead of helping the city.

"I'm offended that you think every time I come to talk to you it's for information, Martinez." Jed pretended to be offended by her words by dramatically placing his firsthand his chest. "I can't talk calmly to the detectives who are in charge of this city's decade-long case."

Martinez was about to reply aggressively if Crawford had not stopped him and whispered something in his ear, "Get to the point you need from us today." Crawford said, tired of the frequent clashes between the journalist and his colleague. Jed asked the questions he needed to ask, who they suspected, if it was a case of not just Ghostface, if not who might have committed this act, if it meant that the serial killer's violence had escalated. Questions about how they were following up on leads and the progress of the investigation.

On the way out he waved to Turner as he headed for his car, that day he had gotten an answer he did not even know he should be looking for, now he wanted to know who this new killer in town was. It was going to be on his list of priorities along with investigating the new nurse at the clinic, she was cute and looked so innocent that he could already imagine the headlines he would write, young and innocent woman perishes in the hands of the shady Ghostface. It was going to be one of his best stories.

Back in the office, he reported to his boss about what he had found at the new crime scene and presented his theories that it couldn't be Ghostface, otherwise a new killer, which were rejected by his boss, if they talked about a new killer it wouldn't appeal to people, people would think it was a minor event, although if it was a recurring one, they would be more morbid to read about the new evil he did against the people of this city.

He kept arguing with his boss about why if it did not match Ghostface's crimes at all he would attribute it to him. His stubbornness made his boss cede he simply ordered to add Ghostface to get the readers' attention. As he returned to his own office he smiled hugely, he had beaten his fat boss again, he started his desktop computer, and it was time to put his artist's heart and soul into the words of this new article.

Roseville diary entry 15.

Today I went to witness a curious event, it seems I am going to share this city with another killer, not a normal one, Turner gave me the tip that the victim was missing the organs that are normally eaten from animals, the stomach, heart, lungs, kidneys, liver, plus half a liter of blood that had been extracted from her neck. This maniac is making me overly excited; I would love to collaborate with him, the things we could both achieve.

In other news, after killing David Winchester, I am still looking for a new victim unfortunately I have been going through a murderous block, I have tried to take inspiration from the slasher movies I have in my collection, nevertheless none have managed to give me that spark, only that new girl at the clinic, I could do amazing things with her death, she was giving me some inspiration for my next victim.

Casey Roberts, she was engaged yet still trying to flirt with anyone who passed her by, her fiancé knew nothing about it, it would be amazing to kill her with one of her lovers, it would be like I had done justice for Casey's poor deluded man.

After Casey, I might go after Luna Graham, that nurse with the shy blue eyes, although something inside me tells me she was hiding something big because of the way she acted with me on Thursday when I went to interview the director. The darker what she is hiding from everyone, the better the plot twist her article would have.

From what I know so far, Luna is very loved by the patients and workers at the clinic, she is like an angel to them, many other nurses take advantage of her sweet heart to ask her for many favors, I managed to get it out of Casey that her best friend Lori, is the one who bothers the sweet honey blonde haired girl the most, she even told me that she has even made Luna work her shift without her knowing.

I could even frame Luna or Lori for the murder of the other. No, no that would be a lot more work, something I do not want to do now. At this moment I must focus on just following Casey and choosing which of his little toys I am going to leave her slit her throat next to him wherever they meet.

[theoswriting]

fault line [part. i]

summary: To y/n, freedom feels like wind in her hair, sounds like old school rock'n'roll and tastes like Elle's lips. From the fire in front of them comes warmth. With every passing second, bloodied clothes burn beyond the point of recognition.

pairing: elle greenaway x fem!reader

a/n: uhm okay, this totally got out of hand. from that request, my brain went crazy and I ended up having to cut it into two, so this is part 1. Hopefully I'll post part 2 in a couple of days. I feel weird about this story, but I hope you'll enjoy it at least a tiny bit, haha.

warnings: mentions of rape and sexual abuse (nothing graphic), murder but it's pretty lowkey, sociopathy?, bad profiling, 

ao3

Jennifer Jareau's steps are hurried when she walks from her office to Hotchner's. 

She can feel the eyes of Prentiss, Morgan and Reid following her as she crosses the bullpen. She ignores them, the files she's holding in her hands are far more important. She doesn't wait for an answer after she knocks, not caring that she's interrupting Hotchner in the middle of a phone call. 

Hotch doesn't startle at the irruption, and when he sees the urgency in the liaison's eyes, he doesn't hesitate before saying, "I'm afraid I'll have to call later," to whoever was on the other side of the line. 

"We have a bad one."

***

To y/n, freedom feels like wind in her hair, sounds like old school rock'n'roll and tastes like Elle's lips.

Elle's hand rests on y/n's thigh as she drives with the other, sunglasses covering her eyes as she stares at the road straight ahead. There's a strength in the way she holds the steering wheel, getting them to their next destination with nothing but confidence. As she looks her over, y/n feels a familiar spark wake inside her. It makes her lean towards the driver's side to drop a long kiss on the corner of Elle's mouth. 

Elle doesn't hesitate to turn her head and make it a real kiss, the kind that always leaves y/n breathless and wanting more. When Elle leans back to focus on the road again, the car has swerved to the other side of the road and Elle brings it back to the right lane. 

Not that it matters. It's been hours since they had passed another car, not  a lot of traffic in the middle of the Nevada desert. And if they were to drive off the road, what a way to go, y/n thinks. She'd happily die twice if it meant dying with Elle kissing her with all the love and passion in the world. That'd probably be the only way y/n would ever make it to heaven. 

For now, she leans her head on Elle's shoulder and sighs contentedly at the kiss her girlfriend drops on her temple. 

"I think we can stop soon," y/n says after seconds, "We're far out enough, and I really need to stretch my legs."

It's barely fifteen minutes later when y/n finally gets to use her legs after being in the car for so long. As she stretches, Elle stands beside her, drinking from a water bottle. She passes it to her and y/n thanks her. The heat of the desert is heavy around them, but y/n barely feels it. 

The warmth comes from the fire in front of them, small and controlled. 

With every passing second, bloodied clothes burn beyond the point of recognition. 

***

"LAPD called me this morning for a consultation on two cases they suspected might be connected."

Everyone looks at the files as JJ begins presenting the case. 

"First victim, Matthew McGregor, 36, was killed with a single gunshot wound to the head a year ago after he came home from a party," She explains, "Second victim, Eric Laurens, 28, two days ago, same M.O., single GSW to the head coming home from a party."

JJ sees Derek nod slowly as he reads over the information again, "Seems pretty clear to me that they're connected."

Emily hums in agreement, "And both had gotten arrested on rape charges, but weren't convicted, prior to their deaths."

"A vigilante?" Rossi theorises out loud. 

"There's more," JJ sighs as she clicks on the remote. Five more men appear on screen, a picture from their driver's license and one from a crime scene, "LAPD aren't the only ones who called about similar cases."

Spencer frowns at the screen, "Wyoming, Illinois, New York, these are from all over the country," he observes. 

"Yeah" JJ nods, "And the oldest murder goes back to 2007, the most recent being Eric Laurens two days ago."

"That's seven victims over the last 3 years," Derek observes and that's when Hotch gets up to stand next to JJ.

"Seven that we know of," He says, "We might have a transient serial killer in our hands. We'll be flying out to LA to see what we can learn from the most recent crime scene. I've already asked Garcia to look for unsolved murders with a similar M.O. all over the country, we'll debrief more on the jet. Wheels up in 20."

Without another word, all the agents leave the room to gather their belongings and get to the plane that'll take them to their case. 

***

After being together for almost four years, y/n and Elle had settled into a routine. It was inevitable, y/n guessed, that after so much time together. Some things were bound to become repetitive. 

Elle always takes the left side of the bed, while y/n prefers the right. Elle always cooks if they want their food to be edible, and y/n always cleans up. When it comes to coffee, though, y/n always makes it, Elle's always coming out too strong for both their tastes. When it comes to work, Elle excells at planning while y/n handles the social part.

Their routine is rooted in balance though, and y/n loves the way they compliment each other.

y/n lures the men, Elle shoots them. 

She worries sometimes. She worries that their lives are getting boring, that they have settled into this routine too comfortably and forgotten how to surprise each other. 

"Mmmh," y/n feels Elle stretch next to her, "G'morning."

Her worries never last very long. How could they, when all y/n has to do is look at Elle to realize that there is no way she's ever falling out of love with the woman. 

"Good morning," She replies, getting closer to her girlfriend to drop a kiss on her lips. Elle hums contentedly into the kiss and y/n can't help the grin that takes over her features. When Elle leans back, she keeps her eyes closed and settles back into her pillow and y/n bites her lip as she watches her. 

"We need to go soon," Elle mutters.

y/n quickly agrees, even though she's pretty sure no one is on their tails. They can never be too careful. Never stay in a place too long if you don't want to get trapped. They'd stopped in a random motel for the night, paid in cash, left most of their stuff in the car, ready to take off at any time. 

It was the way things always were the days that'd follow one of their… projects.

Some would consider this lifestyle tiresome. y/n, however, thinks she's the luckiest person in the world. In the last four years, she's travelled through the country and seen the most beautiful sights with the woman she loves by her side. Sure, they have a job to do, but it's never really felt like a job to y/n. She's always heard that people weren't supposed to enjoy their jobs, that's always what grownups had complained about when she was a kid. 

And y/n? Well, she enjoys her job very much. 

***

Reid stares at the board in front of him. He's just put up all the information they have so far and it's… a lot. 

Or rather, there's very little useful information, but many, many, victims. Garcia has managed to find an overwhelming number of unsolved cases with a similar modus operandi: men, killed by a single gunshot to the head on their way home from a party, all previously accused of rape or sexual misconduct. 

They are up to 32 possible victims on top of the 7 they started with, from all over the country. That number only keeps going up the longer Garcia keeps looking. 

By now, they are pretty sure all these cases are connected, even though no evidence connects them directly to each other. Even ballistics couldn't link the different shootings. 

They're missing something. Spencer only wishes he knew what that was. 

On the jet, they'd all agreed on a few things concerning the preliminary profile. Their unsub was most likely highly intelligent and had military or law enforcement training. It was most probably a man in his mid-thirties, carrying out his own justice after the system failed him or someone close to him. He was organized, evident by the lack of clues left behind. Whoever the unsub was, he might even have stalked his victims prior to the crimes. 

It sounds right on paper, but something is missing. Spencer knows it. 

Something is missing.

***

y/n's hand is wrapped around a cup of coffee as she sits on the patio of a little shop. Her sunglasses are small, barely protecting her from the rays coming from the sun above. It's almost noon.

The world is an ugly place. 

That statement had made its way into y/n's head years ago, laying roots, unmoving. With every stroke of her father's anger, with every touch of a man's hands, the roots dug deeper and deeper until they found their way to y/n's heart. The world held no justice for people like y/n. They didn't care about the bruises, the touching, the screaming for help, they never listened. 

She had learned a long time ago that if she wants something, she needs to do it herself. 

"How can you be married to someone like that?" Elle suddenly speaks up from next to her. 

When y/n looks at her, Elle's eyes are fixed onto the man they'd followed. He's at the restaurant on the other side of the street, right in front of the coffee shop. He's sitting with his wife, holding her hand and y/n tilts her head.

"Maybe she doesn't know."

Elle's eyes don't leave the couple, her face still contorted in disgust, "Then, we're doing her a favor."

It brings a smile to y/n's face. The way Elle's voice sounds resolute, confident. It's comforting. It reminds her that she's right to trust Elle, that Elle hates the world just as much as she does and that she'd gladly watch it burn with her. It makes her want to lean in and kiss her, but that would attract too much attention. Instead, she reaches out for her hand and brings it up to her lips. Elle shoots her a small smile, and y/n's heart warms.

It's impressive how a smile from Elle offers y/n a reassurance she hadn't even known she craved. It had always been her against the entire world, the only love she knew was the love she was willing to give to herself. That hadn't always been easy.

Then, she'd met Elle and she had shared a story so different from y/n's but the consequences of it felt familiar. It made sense that y/n had been drawn to her, the strength Elle exuded softened by the understanding y/n saw in her eyes each time she talked. 

The world was an ugly place, but Elle Greenaway makes it worth holding on for a little longer. 

***

"The body was found right where you're standing," Derek says as he looks back at Prentiss from a few feet ahead, "Which means our unsub must've been standing right here," He adds, pointing to the ground under his feet. 

He looks around him as Prentiss voices his exact thought, "There's no way he didn't see the unsub coming. There aren't any good hiding spots out here."

They're standing next to a fence, on the outside of a park, "The sidewalk is big, no trees, or parking allowed, so no cars to hide behind," Derek observes, "Which means our unsub is unsuspecting, someone the victims wouldn't consider a threat."

Emily nods and starts looking up, in search of camera surveillance. Two catch her eye, on the other side of the street and she points out to Derek with a raised eyebrow. Local PD hadn't found anything of use but they decide to call Garcia anyway. If anyone could find something, it was her. 

As Morgan talks to their tech analyst, Emily walks past him, then back, retracing the steps their unsub had most likely taken two nights ago. When she stops, she raises her hands, mimicking a gun and aiming at where the victim would've been standing. Whoever it is, they're a good shot which makes her think they were right in saying the unsub had some kind of firearm training. 

She sighs as she drops her hands down and puts them on her hips. As she looks around again, a thought crosses her mind, "Where did Mr. Laurens live?"

Derek who just hung up with Garcia wracks his brain to remember the address he'd read in the file, "He lived… three streets down, that way-" He points out to the direction their victim had supposedly been walking from and it dawns on him, "So why was he walking in the opposite direction to his home."

Emily nods, "And how did the unsub know they'd find him here."

"They followed him."

"Walked past him, turned around and shot him?" Emily asks as she walks back to stand where the body had been found.

"Or, he was lured out here," Derek speaks and Prentiss has to agree with him. 

"It's the perfect killing spot," She says pointing back at the cameras, "Even if Garcia gets anything from them, it'll be grainy at best, impossible to get a clear shot of our unsub."

Derek looks at the empty street, void of any passerbys, "Quiet street in the day, probably even quieter at night. Less risks to run into an unwanted witness."

"So if he was lured out," Emily says, "We need to figure out who he left that party with."

***

y/n stumbles slightly and giggles as a strong arm wraps around her waist and helps her stay upright. 

"Shoot, I'm such a klutz," She adds with a laugh and her companion replies in kind. 

His laughter grates on her nerves. It's too loud, resonating all around them and using up too much oxygen. She only has to walk with him a couple more minutes but even that feels too long. She feels his too big hand squeeze her hip and she feels anger spike inside her chest. She wants to hurt him. 

Deep breath. Clenched fist. One more minute. 

He's started talking again but y/n isn't listening. She's staring straight ahead to the street they're going to walk into where Elle will be waiting for them and the hand will finally fall from her hip. That's when you feel it, that spark you've come to call freedom. It's small but grows as you round the corner with him following you closely.

It starts burning under your skin when you spot Elle's silhouette further down the street.

The man next to you doesn't even take notice of her and isn't that ironic. He spent his life thinking of women as less than and y/n finds it befitting that what'll bring him to his end is the last woman he'll ignore. 

Elle raises her gun and with the sound of the gunshot ringing in her ears, y/n's whole body is set aflame. 

She watches as the hand lays limp next to his lifeless body and a gleeful laugh escapes her. The hole in his head oozes blood and she can't stop laughing. The hand is laying there unmoving and y/n feels the urge to step on it. 

Hurt him, hurt him, hurt him, hurt him like he hurt you. 

She's vaguely aware of Elle calling out her name but y/n doesn't snap out of it until a hand yanks her away from the body by the shoulders. She steps back, but slaps the hands touching her away. Only then does she realize that it's Elle looking at her, confusion in her eyes and something y/n doesn't want to ever see from her own girlfriend. 

Fear.

"We have to go," Elle announces slowly, like she's explaining it to a child, or a wounded animal. y/n doesn't know which comparison she likes best. She looks back at the body and regretfully nods.

They start walking away, hand in hand, but something inside of y/n doesn't feel quite right. The fire that had roared inside of her is long gone and she feels her body shiver at the cold. Elle notices and wraps an arm around her shoulders, dropping a kiss on her hair as they keep walking side by side.

She wants to smile but she can't manage it. 

He hurt her.

He was going to hurt Elle.

He hurt her.

***

"Laurens' friends say he left the party alone," Emily announces to the team as she sits down next to JJ in the conference room. At the same moment, Derek's phone starts ringing, attracting everyone's attention.

"Baby girl, tell me you have good news," Derek answers, putting his phone on speaker so everyone around the table can hear. 

"I wish, but no. The cameras on the street were of no use, it's a blind spot. I tried the cameras from neighbouring streets but got nothing. Whoever it is your looking for, they're like a ghost."

There's a collective disappointed sigh and shoulders sagging, and Garcia isn't done, "to make a bad day even worse, a body was just found in Twin Falls, same M.O."

Everyone visibly tenses at the news, Rossi speaking first, "Two kills in less than three days."

Hotch looks at JJ and before he can even say anything, she's out of her seat, "I'll call the local PD, tell them we're on our way."

Hotch nods his approval, turning his stoic gaze to the rest of his team, "Get your bags ready, we're flying out as soon as the jet is ready."

***

It is getting boring and y/n had been right to be worried. 

That's the first thing that crosses her mind as she wakes up next to Elle, hours later, in a nameless city in the middle of nowhere. 

Elle lays peacefully next to her, deep into slumber, and a smile stretches y/n's lips. She watches her girlfriend's chest rise and fall, her naked body barely covered by the sheets. It's a hot night, y/n can feel the sweat in her lower back making it uncomfortable for her to fall back asleep. As she gets up from the bed, Elle moves, getting closer to where y/n lay seconds ago, chasing the heat despite the already too high temperature. 

y/n lets herself watch her for a moment before walking to sit on the chair next to the window. There's nothing to look at, the motel they'd chosen is outside of the city and the lights are barely visible. It's dark, except for the slight light of the moon landing on the cars outside. 

She feels empty tonight. The thrill she'd felt hours ago hadn't lasted long and the only thing she could remember about it was the look Elle had thrown her way. 

Fear.

Elle had always looked at her with interest. From the moment they met, y/n had been drawn in by her hazel eyes. Something in her made her feel safe in a way she never had before and days after meeting her, she had told Elle about her unpleasant memories, how the world wasn't a nice place.

Elle had listened and, to y/n's surprise, agreed with the statement. Usually, whenever y/n told people about the ugliness of the world, they tried to make her see the parts that weren't so bad, try to make her see that some things, and some people were worth it. Elle hadn't done any of that, she had scoffed and agreed.

"Only person you can trust is yourself. The rest? Always leads to disappointment."

They had ended up in bed together soon after that, spent the night in each other's arms and imagining a world that'd be worth their time. 

Two days later, they had killed their first man together.

Their routine hasn't changed in nearly four years, and it used to be enough for y/n. She's the bait, easily transforming herself into whoever the men want to see in front of them. She pretends to be too drunk, unstable on her feet, asking for help to walk back to her place or her car, and the men never think twice before following her. 

Elle waits for them and then. She shoots. 

And it used to be enough for y/n to watch the proud look on Elle's face anytime she made a perfect shot. Smoking gun in hand and a confident smirk, y/n had never seen anything sexier in her entire life. 

What followed was always a passionate kiss and hurried hands, trying to touch every inch of skin. 

Earlier, y/n hadn't even kissed Elle, the only contact between them being the arm that Elle had thrown around her shoulder. 

y/n can feel that there's something not quite right. She feels it in her body, in the way her arms itch, in the way her chest feels a bit too empty for her too breath comfortably. 

y/n loves Elle, there's no way that has changed. She's sure of it. When she turns her head to watch Elle sleep, her heart flutters at the sight of her girlfriend curled up on the side of the bed that she had vacated. She couldn't see it, but she could picture her girlfriend's face, mouth slightly open if she were to believe the little snores she could hear. 

She is just bored of the routine. 

When she finally climbs back into bed with Elle, her girlfriend automatically drapes a hand over her waist. 

"Where did you go?" Elle asks sleepily, and y/n lays a kiss on her nose. It makes her scrunch up her face and that's the cutest sight she's ever seen. 

"Couldn't sleep."

Elle hums and goes back to sleep. y/n sighs and follows suit, not long after. 

***

"What's this, on the palm?" Morgan asks the M.E., pointing at the left hand of the victim where the skin seems slightly bruised.

The doctor on the other side of the autopsy table nods at Derek and Spencer, "His hand was broken post-mortem, although I'm having a hard time figuring out what broke it."

Reid leaned closer to the hand and frowned, "It looks like something was pushed from the palm to the other side."

Again, the doctor nods, but before she can say anything else, Reid suddenly stands up straight and looks over at Morgan, "I know what did this."

At that moment, Morgan's phone rings and upon seeing Hotch's name, he excuses himself to reply. When he comes back, his face looks somber.

"A man was killed not far from here, local PD just got the call. Hotch wants us to check it out, just in case."

[dawninlatin]

Happy Halloween

Part of the Manorian Teacher AU

Words: 1782

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Summary: Manon and Dorian celebrate Halloween together for the first time

Dorian Havilliard was finally beginning to understand that Manon had been serious when she’d uttered the words I don’t play Halloween. This was the first holiday they would spend together, and Dorian knew he’d be in for a rough month when his girlfriend had woken up on October 1st, a disturbing smile on her face, and declared the day to be the first of Halloween.

Manon was slightly terrifying on any given day, but Manon during the spookiest month of the year…Dorian suppressed a shudder at the thought of how she practically buzzed with giddy excitement.

And how his girlfriend, it seemed, went all out with everything.

Stepping into the kitchen, which had been transformed into the lab of a mad scientist, Dorian filled the giant bowl standing on the counter with candy for any trick-or-treaters that might dare knock on their door.

Normal people usually went with one theme when decorating their home, but theirs looked like a haunted mansion, a new theme in every room. Their garden was now a graveyard, the downstairs bathroom could have passed for an asylum, the living room was a murder scene, the hallway was filled with your average spider webs and skeletons, and in the kitchen, there were jars filled with very realistic eyes, creepy, rusty instruments hanging on the walls and vials with green smoke coming out of them. Manon had assured him whatever she was brewing was perfectly safe, «just don’t, under any circumstance, ingest it.»

Not playing, indeed.

One would think having Aelin Galathynius as a friend for most of his life would make him immune to anything spooky, since Halloween practically was a religion to her, but compared to Manon, it was all child’s play. No surprise those two had gotten along so quickly.

Throughout the month, they’d watched more horror movies together than Dorian had his whole life, and every day, Manon found new, creative ways to scare him shitless.

Dorian often wondered how he hadn’t had an actual heart attack yet, with all the ways she’d managed to make him scream in horror, whether that was by jumping out from behind doors or placing severed limbs in the fridge. Not even work was safe, since they were both teachers at the same high school.

He couldn’t help but look a little forward to tomorrow, when it would all be over, their lives back to normal. Of course, he would never tell Manon that. As much as he hated being scared, the look of complete and utter glee on her face whenever she managed to scare him made up for it.

It wasn’t that Dorian didn’t like Halloween, either, they just had completely different views on how to best spend it. His ideal Halloween meant watching a cozy movie like Halloweentown or A nightmare before Christmas while shamelessly eating a ridiculous amount of candy. Manon’s motto seemed to be the more macabre, the better.

But instead of complaining, Dorian looked forward to Christmas, when he would guilt her into partaking in every cheesy, fluffy tradition there was while feeling the joyous spirit of Christmas. He could already picture how hard Manon would roll her eyes at all the Hallmark movies he planned to show her.

After filling up the huge bowl of candy, Dorian stepped out into the hallway, placing it on the console table next to the door. Hopefully he would get to eat most of it by the end of the night, since he doubted anyone were brave enough to walk up to their dark, old house. He sure as shit wouldn’t have been.

As he passed the large, full-length mirror, Dorian couldn’t help the satisfied look on his face. He’d done an excellent job with his costume this year. A sheer blouse, a pair of high-waisted black pants, golden jewelry, golden dust highlighting his cheekbones, pointy ears, a tail, all pulled together by the goblet of wine he was holding. The one good thing about Halloween was that it allowed him to dress up as his favorite book characters.

He shifted his gaze downward for a moment, adjusting his clothes, and when he looked back up, he let out a yelp at the creature standing behind him in the mirror. Thunder crackled outside as Manon leaned her head back and laughed manically.

She was a truly horrifying sight to behold with her wholly white eyes and bloody grin. Her white hair was smeared with what could only be described as gore and her throat looked to be slit. She looked like a nightmare, and judging by the satisfied smirk on her face, she knew it too.

«You ready for some scary movies?» Manon asked him, giving his costume a nod of approval. Absolutely not, Dorian wanted to say, knowing she’d saved the worst movies for last.

Instead, he took a shuddering breath and said, «Can’t wait.» His voice was tight, shaking slightly. The look Manon gave him made him want to turn the lights on and hide under a blanket.

-

They were only fifteen minutes into A Nightmare on Elm Street, but Dorian was already clinging to Manon, his face buried in the crook of her neck. How could she be so calm right now? She seemed to be enjoying it, even.

Someone knocked on the door, and Dorian jumped, his heart racing. It’s just trick-or-treaters, he told himself. Definitely not a psychopath killer.

«Fucking finally!» Manon exclaimed as she paused the movie and got up, heading towards the door. Dorian was torn between wanting to run out and protect her from the killer that was surely waiting behind the closed door and begging her to not leave him alone.

Calm down you idiot, he told himself. What kind of killer knocks on the door?

Then it hit him, all blood draining from his face. It would be a genius move to just knock on the door if you wanted to kill someone.

As he was about to run into the hallway and hide behind his girlfriend as she dealt with the threat, he heard the door open, followed by the sound of giggling children. Manon’s words from earlier, when he’d asked why she loved Halloween so much, echoed in his mind: «I get to scare little children while looking awesome! What’s not to love?» The more he got to know this woman, the more she amazed him.

After a moment, Manon said something he couldn’t make out, but he could hear the kids scream as they ran away, then the door slamming shut once more. The sound of Manon’s evil laughter filled the eerie house as she stepped back into the living room. «I love Halloween!»

-

Dorian was sure he’d never been more relieved when the movie finally ended and Manon turned the lights back on. That relief was quickly replaced by dread though, when a loud thump sounded upstairs.

«What was that?» Manon asked, casting a worried glance at the ceiling.

Dorian eyed her suspiciously, knowing she was surely the one behind this.

«Why are you looking at me like that?» she hissed when she noticed his accusing stare. «This isn’t me, I swear!» His face paled at the truth he could hear in her voice.

«It’s probably nothing, right?» Dorian tried to hide the fear in his voice with a nonchalant chuckle. Their house was old, so it was normal for it to make a lot of scary noises. Although…

«That came from the attic, right?» Manon whispered from her spot next to him, her breath hitching as they heard another thump.

«I think so,» he said, swallowing audibly.

«Maybe we should check it out…»

Dorian shook his head. «Fuck no! The one thing I’ve learned from all those movies you’ve made me watch is to never check out weird noises.» No way was he stepping foot into the creepy attic. He’d avoided it as much as possible since moving into the house a month ago.

«Fine, then I’ll do it,» Manon declared, giving him a nasty glare. Yet he didn’t miss the way she rose a bit reluctantly, her voice shaking.

When she was halfway across the room, Dorian let out a defeated sigh, quickly trailing after her. He didn’t want to find the source of the noise, but he most definitely didn’t want to be left alone either.

He made sure to keep close behind her as they carefully treaded up the stairs, the howling wind making the entire house shake.

As they reached the top, Dorian put on a sweet face and gestured to the door. «After you, darling.»

Manon scoffed, rolling her eyes, but she didn’t move to open the door leading into the dark attic, either. Almost as if she was…hesitating.

«Don’t tell me you’re scared, Blackbeak?»

«No,» she claimed, but he could hear the fear in her voice. «ButifwedieIloveyou,» she blurted and opened the door.

Dorian knew the thought of something scaring Manon should have made him turn around and run for his dear life, but he was also eager to see what happened next.

Manon lifted a shaking hand to flick on the light, Dorian holding his breath. As her eyes fell upon the source of the noise, she let out a high-pitched shriek and ran into Dorian’s arms.

The shock of hearing Manon Blackbeak shriek erased all trace of fear lingering in him, and as he peered over her shoulder, into the attic, he leaned his head back and howled with laughter.

For there, in the middle of the floor, was Abraxos, trapped under a white sheet, a knocked-over box next to him. «Meow,» he said, as if in greeting.

Dorian pulled up his phone, snapping a picture of the little ghost. Then he turned around and took another, of Manon, who now stood at the middle of the landing, arms hanging limp at her sides, a mix of fear and confusion on her face. He should have felt guilty for laughing at her, but revenge tasted so sweet.

Her frightened look quickly turned into one of rage as she noticed what Dorian was doing, his laughter dying at the murderous glance she threw him. «Meow,» Abraxos said once more, unknowingly stopping Manon from killing Dorian with her eyes.

After freeing the poor kitten, Dorian turned towards a glaring Manon and said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice, «Is a harmless kitten all it takes to scare you?»

Her face broke into a terrifying grin. «I wouldn’t look so smug if I were you. There are still a few hours left…» Then she just turned on her heel and began walking down the stairs, glancing over her shoulder. «Happy Halloween, Dorian.»

A/N: Remember when I said I'd have lots of time to write? Yeah, me neither...

I am very sorry for not updating anything, but I barely have the energy to keep up with school these days, so things will take time:(

Feel free to leave feedback if you want to! It's a huge inspiration to keep writing<3

Taglist: @fireheartdreamerstarborn​ @bookishwitchling​ @ladywitchling​ @kit-12​ @onfma​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @sayosdreams​ 

I keep a separate taglist for each ship, so let me know if you want to be added to this or any other:)

[titularkilljoy]

nameless, faceless.

Summary: These days, he starts to think he might not be Tobias, but he’s not much of a Spencer either. Gen-fic following a newly exonerated Spencer Reid. 

Content Warnings: Drug use, angst, slight references to gun violence and physical abuse.

Thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins who listened to me rant about this messy fic for weeks on end, and for being the first to read it. 

Spencer Reid is an excellent shot. A perfect shot. He can take apart and put together his service weapon with his eyes closed. He’s tried, and succeeded. Thrice, because once might be a fluke, twice might be a freak coincidence, but the third success counts as scientific proof.

Years ago, Aaron Hotchner tried, unsuccessfully, to help him pass his firearms qualification. Adrenaline was his friend that day. He could have succumbed to the agony of the cobweb-covered boxes in his head creaking open, bit by bit, every time Hotch’s foot knocked the air out of his lungs; or, he could have used his brain and his training and finally done something that would prove people wrong about him. He chose the latter.

One shot, right through Philip Dowd’s skull. In the solemn aftermath of his first kill, Hotch was proud of him. He was proud of himself. That night he went home and allowed the pain in his ribs take control. It felt good. It felt like a victory.

Of course, he knew he didn’t really deserve to wield the weapon. Once was a fluke. Which is why he kept going back to the shooting range every chance he got, until he finally felt a little less like a child, however prodigious, playing dress-up in an FBI vest.

Hotch would be proud of him if he saw the perfect score. But he hasn’t spoken to Hotch in years. The number in his phone has long since gone inactive, and no matter how bad he is at reading social cues, he can hear Hotch’s unspoken request for a clean break loud and clear. He deletes the number.

~

JJ is careful around him, these days. She’s always been protective of him, but these days she knows he can take care of himself. It’s more like she’s circling him slowly, trying to put her finger on what exactly has made him so different, so maybe she can zoom in on that and fix it and then everything will be back to normal again. He’ll be her nerdy best friend Spencer who once had a desperate crush on her and is still half in love with her but never a real prospect. Spencer. Predictable, quirky Spencer.

He doesn’t quite know how to tell her she’s not going to get her wish, though, so he just ignores her heavy stares pricking his neck when he isn’t looking her way. He ignores the urge to tell her to stop looking so tormented when he’s the one who’s been to hell and back. He knows it isn’t fair, and no matter how off-kilter he feels, he knows he doesn’t want to hurt her.

At the moment he is ignoring her hushed conversation with Will in the kitchen while he sits cross-legged on the floor and helps Henry with his science project. It’s very clear she’s talking about him because he can hear her whisper his name every now and then, and her husband seems to be trying to comfort her. Will has been pleasant to be around since he got out; he will usually just engage him in mundane conversation that surprises him with how calming it is. At the very most, he will offer him a word of support that never feels condescending, and he’s immensely grateful in a way he suspects will always remain unspoken between them.

“Uncle Spencer, look!”

The little primitive robot is moving around successfully, and Henry looks jubilant. He also looks at Spencer with unbridled adoration, and absolutely no one but his godson has ever looked at him like that. It makes something swell inside him and he has to clear his throat.

“Whoa! You did it, Henry. You’re a genius!” he praises with a grin that stretches from ear to ear, picking him and resting him on his shoulders. JJ and Will are watching fondly, and as he meets their eyes, he is relieved that JJ, for once, doesn’t seem to be worried. Why would she be? Right now, he doesn’t feel broken. He just feels happy and loved, and he wishes he can make this moment last forever.

~

He’s in a cement box and the walls are slate grey and his mind is trapped. There is silence all around him and he feels like he can choke on it.  He’s on his back and trying to sleep but his eyes won’t close. His hairs stand permanently on end and there’s a rapid thumping that he decides must be his racing heart. The thumping grows louder and louder; there’s a clang and suddenly he isn’t alone in the grey box anymore. Suddenly there is a flash of too-bright light and several nondescript faces in there with him and the only thing he knows for sure is that they want to hurt him.

There are hands around his chest and hands around his legs and hands twisting his arms behind him and they’re all tightening like a vice and the air is running out but then his eyes adjust to the light and it’s Calvin Shaw in front of him and he looks powerful, and he knows he has to get away, or he’s going to die in here, he’s going to die a murderer, and he fights with all his might and his lungs are spilling out hoarse helpless screams, but then there’s cool metal in his hands and something splashes onto his face.

He cannot afford to stop for a second or he will be done for, so he keeps going, he swings wildly without knowing what he’s doing, over and over and over until the only noises in the box are his own. Shaw is on the ground and so is everyone else and he’s sweating but when he wipes it away and licks it lips it tastes like copper. He jolts, there’s another clang, and he looks down to see a bloody knife has seemingly fallen from his hand. No, no, no, he thinks, he was only fighting to be able to breathe, he didn’t mean to-

But you did, the walls seem to chant and then the walls aren’t walls at all, they’re glimpses of Emily’s deep brown eyes and JJ’s sunshine smile and Rossi’s paternal gaze and Morgan’s brotherly smack on his back, except now they’re all betrayed and afraid and their guns are trained on him, on him, on Spencer, and he keeps telling them he didn’t do it, he swears he didn’t but Nadie Ramos is on the ground and she’s so dead and cold and bloody and the guns are taking aim and-

And then he’s sitting ramrod straight in his bed, sweating profusely, panting and throwing the blankets to the floor. The clock on his nightstand innocuously tells him it is two forty-three a.m. He’s in his apartment. The walls are moss green, there are books everywhere; he tries to calm the pounding in his chest.

He waits for the relief to fill him and lull him back to a restless sleep. It never comes. Instead, all that fills him is shame.

Shame makes him feel small—young, younger than he is, and strips him of the precious shreds of confidence he’s managed to drape over a scared little boy tied to a flag post. There’s bile crawling up his throat and he needs to escape.

What happens next is an out-of-body experience. One moment, he’s sitting on the bed and feeling fourteen. The next, he’s watching himself walk over to the nightstand with purpose and open the locked drawer. Then, there’s a needle sticking out of his arm and he’s on the floor and there’s sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

The reality of what he’s just done hits him all at once. The shame follows immediately after. Then comes the one he can never quite seem to shake.

Self-loathing has been his dogged pursuer all these years, always carefully kept at the peripheries by Gideon’s watchful eye or Hotch’s uncharacteristic words of affection or Morgan’s warm arm slung over his shoulders; this time, he’s all alone. And right now, it is consuming him.

~

Garcia is more astute than people give her credit for. This much, he’s always known. But he isn’t particularly fond of having her turn that perceptive gaze onto him with laser focus.

Emily and Rossi have decided to give him space, and his further retreat into himself after the night where he slipped doesn’t seem to clue them in to anything he’d rather they never knew. Matt, as a rule, doesn’t pry and doesn’t meddle, and if Spencer is being honest, he really wishes the rest of his team would follow his example. Tara is quiet and observant and besides all that, she has seen him drug-addled and half-confessing to murder before—she might sense that he’s hiding something but he doubts she will go as far as confronting him, since they don’t really talk about things. Luke, on the other hand, is definitely the type to meddle, but he also seems to look up to Spencer a bit, seeming impressed not just with his intellect but also with his track record at the FBI; it’s a nice change.

What he doesn’t expect is for Garcia to keep her keen eye trained on him behind all the emotional speeches and hugs. He definitely doesn’t expect her to show up at his door the day after they’ve returned from a case in Colorado, looking like she means business. He can feel a headache coming on just at the sight of the defiant tilt of her chin.

“Garcia, what are you doing here?” He lets a bit of his annoyance seep into his tone. It’s eleven at night and they’ve been swamped with cases and he could really use this time alone. There’s a small voice in his head taunting for what, but he ruthlessly squashes it down.

“Oh, don’t start that with me, boy wonder,” she warns, ignoring his protests as she pushes past him into the apartment. Sighing internally, he shuts the door and rests his forehead against it for a second. Please let this be over quickly.

Garcia whirls on her heel to face him again, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“You have been hiding something, mister,” she begins dramatically, and his heart stops.

“You’re not sleeping, Reid! And you’ve avoided coming out with us every single time we’ve asked. You know how many times we’ve asked since you’ve been back, Reid? Twenty-three!”

She’s pacing now, seeming troubled, and yet he’s the one who feels like a cornered animal.

“You won’t talk to JJ, you won’t talk to Emily, and you won’t talk to me!” Now her eyes are wide and pleading and he startles himself with how little he cares about what she’s feeling right now. He just wants her to leave so he can be alone again.

“You’re not even seeing your therapist!”

“I saw my therapist and I got cleared for duty,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, duh. I know that. I meant the therapist JJ suggested for you after that? The one outside the bureau so you wouldn’t get all concerned about the FBI stealing your emotional secrets?” Her accompanying eyeroll says aren’t you supposed to be a genius? His hackles raise.

“How do you know I’m not seeing that therapist?” His tone is clipped, and of course he knows how she knows. He just wants to see if she’ll admit it.

She falters, but only for a second. “How do I know everything? Do you want me to explain the internet to you?”

“I’m asking why you know.”

“Because we’re all worried about you!”

“So you decided to pry into my personal life?”

“Well what else are we supposed to do if you won’t tell us anything?!”

He wants to lash out at her. He wants to yell about boundaries and that this is his business, not hers or JJ’s or Emily’s, and they should just mind their own. He wants to demand to know why he has to constantly keep proving himself, after all these years. But he sees how that will play out.

Garcia will try to protest for a while, but as his words pierce through her defences, her eyes will shine with hurt and betrayal, and he’ll be too proud to try to fix it. He won’t hear from her for a few days, and then he will hear from them all at once. They’ll confront him and they’ll be so painfully earnest about it, and Emily will likely “suggest” that he take some time off, and he’ll be forced to remember that she’s not just his friend, but also his boss, and her hands will be tied. He foresees spinning off the rails in the absence of something to occupy him. He imagines falling even further from grace; from the FBI’s golden boy to a barely exonerated murder accused, to an unreliable drug addict who’s more of a liability than an asset.

So he tames the impulse and forces himself to look contrite. His head is throbbing now, and he needs to get her out of here as soon as possible.

“You’re right. I’m just going through a lot. I’m not used to feeling so…adrift,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair and gazing at the floor to the left of where Garcia’s bright green shoes are planted. It works; he can feel her resolve crumble. The tension between them eases, and she approaches him like he’s a wounded animal.

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, pulling him into a tight hug, “we’re all here for you. We know how hard you must be struggling, and we want to help you, but you have to let us, okay?” She pulls back, looking him straight in the eyes. “No more trying to handle all of this crap on your own, mister.”

He nods like he knows he’s supposed to.

“Oh, and, and! You have to go to the therapist. No arguments,” she tells him, “You know I’ll know if you don’t end up going.”

He does know. Garcia stays a little while longer, fussing over the mess that is his apartment and his nearly empty refrigerator. She makes him promise to replenish his supplies, before finally leaving with one last hug.

He shuts the door behind her and leans against it. He supposes he should feel bad about so coldly manipulating one of his closest friends, but these days he’s so full of shame anyway that he thinks he’s maxed himself out. Fulfilled his self-hatred quota for a lifetime. Or maybe he just can’t really tell what it is he feels bad for anymore.

He used to wonder if he wasn’t really himself anymore. If Tobias had killed him and brought him back except now there was more Tobias in him than there was Spencer. Then the marks on his arms weren’t visible and he could walk without much of a limp again and the white-hot brand in his mind screaming ‘sinner’ dulled to an orange glow, and he realised he couldn’t possibly be Tobias. Tobias only cared about dilaudid and a twisted sense of morality and judgement and avenging. Spencer wasn’t like that.

These days, though, he starts to think maybe that’s changed. Sure, maybe he isn’t Tobias. But he doubts he’s much of a Spencer either.

~

He thinks he’s doing pretty well. Handling the drug addiction, he means. He isn’t just getting high every chance he can get and walking into work with telltale sunglasses and trembling hands. He plans it out. He rations out his supply. He also fully intends for it to be a temporary thing.

In retrospect, that was remarkably stupid of him.

It all comes to a head during a case in Denver. It involves, as it usually does, dead women, a frustratingly broad profile, and largely unhelpful local law enforcement.

Spencer is standing in front of a corkboard, peering at a map of the town and meticulously tying a strand of red yarn between the crime scenes and the locations frequented by each of the victims, indicated by slightly rusty dull-green thumbtacks. JJ and Rossi are off in one of the interrogation rooms, speaking to the latest victim’s boyfriend. Luke and Tara are in the field, interviewing a bereaved mother. Across the table, Emily is on the phone with Garcia, poring over a case file.

The door slams open and an officer walks in, carrying two Starbucks cups and wearing a wide, hopeful grin. Emily smiles kindly at him even though there’s a furrow between her eyebrows; this man hardly deserves to have their irritation directed at him.

He quickly realises Officer Cole is either flirting with Emily or flirting with the BAU, and Emily is patiently indulging him. Spencer ignores him for the most part, his mind drawn to a solitary green pin on the periphery that remains hitherto untethered to any other. He glares at it balefully, willing it to fit perfectly into the intricate pattern he’s identified. He pinches the bridge of his nose, mentally scanning the details of the crime scenes and case files. Still staring directly at the pin, he reaches blindly towards the table to grab the red yarn, and then promptly yelps in shock. His eyes jerk over to his dripping left forearm and then up at Officer Cole’s mouth hanging open in horror, trying to stutter out an apology but nothing comes out; he looks like he’s about to cry.

Spencer mumbles something along the lines of “it’s alright” while inspecting his arm. He unbuttons the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt, and after a cursory inspection, concludes that it’s nothing a little running water won’t fix. He gingerly pries the fabric away from his skin, confirming his theory that the skin is unblemished, if a little pink, and makes his way to the restroom. He’s distracted with reassuring Cole to think anything of the way Emily takes one look at his arm and then inspects his face with a strange intensity.

It isn’t until he’s in the room again, ten minutes later, with both his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that it hits him. The air is distinctly chillier now, or maybe it’s Emily’s stare that sends a shiver down his spine. She looks disappointed and furious all at once, and this time he doesn’t have to fake the urge to avoid her eyes. Of course she’d be the one to find out, he thinks. But he supposes, if he’s sloppy enough to slip up so badly, he deserves whatever is coming.

When she makes him book the first flight home and decides he needs to take another two weeks off, he scarcely puts up a fight. When she tells him about her conditions, he nods in resignation. If she listens to what she has to say, she will see how pathetic he really is, and maybe that will be worse. As of now, she only knows the bare bones of what happened to him over a decade ago: she knows of a kidnapping and a resurrection and PTSD, but she doesn’t know of the vials and the meetings and Gideon’s guilt; hopefully, she never will. As he walks out of her makeshift office, he feels the rift between them grow impossibly wider.

~

The woman smiling cheerfully up at him and offering her assistance from behind the reception desk is unfamiliar. He’s been called a robot so many times he’s stopped counting, but right now he feels exactly like a machine that has come screeching to a halt when confronted with data beyond its knowledge. He stares at her, unable to move, as his mind torments him with all the things that could possibly have gone wrong. He’s faced one too many formidable adversaries to be able to shut off his profiler’s eye, and he scans her head to toe, looking for the slightest hint of deception. She doesn’t seem to be hiding anything but he could be wrong, he’s been wrong, and it nearly cost him everything; what if she can’t be trusted and this time his luck has well and truly run out, what if-

“Doctor Reid?”

The greeting jolts him away from his spiralling thoughts. It still takes him a second to come back to himself, and when he does, he notices his hands are clenched into fists. He’s standing stock still in the lobby of Bennington Sanitarium. The receptionist is staring back at him with a look somewhere between fear and concern, her hand twitching towards the landline on the desk. He realises he must look somewhat threatening; he isn’t used to having that effect on people. But, he supposes, that is the least of the changes the last fifteen years have wrought on him.

“Doctor Reid, are you alright?”

He forces his body to relax, joint by joint, giving the woman as genuine of a smile as he can muster, hoping it will set her at ease. It doesn’t seem to; he can’t quite bring himself to care. The concerned voice is a familiar one, and he turns around to greet his mother’s new caretaker.

“Hi, Ruth. Sorry, I, uh—I had a rough flight,” he manages to say, running a hand through his hair, “how is she?”

Ruth always has a maternal air about her, and right now, she looks like she can see right through his flimsy excuse. She’s about to pry, he knows, and he suddenly feels claustrophobic. He needs to get away.

“Actually, I’m going to get some coffee, I’m a little tired. I’ll come back in a little while.”

Ruth frowns. “Doctor Reid, have you been sleeping?”

“Just fine, thanks. We just had a big case.” The longer this conversation stretches on, the less air there is in his lungs. His own voice sounds far away, like he’s shouting to be heard over the sounds of waves crashing against unmoving rocks.

“I see.”

“I’ll see you later,” he says, sidestepping her to get to the exit.

“Diana is having a bad day.”

The words make him stop short, if only for a moment.

“Ah.” A bad day means his mother doesn’t even know who he is. Trying to job her memory would only confuse and agitate her. He would know. He’s tried.

Ruth isn’t a woman who likes silence. “I’m sure she would still be happy to-“

He forces the muscles of his face to conjure up something resembling a smile in her direction. “No, that’s alright. I’ll just come back another time.”

With that, he pushes past her, taking long strides forward and not stopping until he’s hunched over and sucking in desperate lungsful of the warm night air. He can taste the saturation somewhere in the back of his throat and it almost feels like a home he’s long since left behind. It was stupid to have thought that seeing his mom would give him answers to questions he doesn’t even know how to voice. It’s stupid to think there’s any comfort to be had anywhere, in this new life.

Eventually, he catches his breath and straightens up, beginning to walk aimlessly. There are no stars to be seen above him, but this city could never be quite pitch dark. Vegas is all flashing lights and seductive mystery, and perhaps that’s why so many lost souls end up here. For him, it’s simply familiar; and so little of his life is recognisable these days that he clings to it like a drowning man. That’s probably why this is where he’s chosen to come the day before his mandatory leave is over.

He doesn’t put much thought into where his feet are taking him, until he hears the familiar sounds of whirring machinery and celebratory shouts and sultry jazz music being crooned into a microphone. The air reeks of artifice, but he couldn’t care less. In a few minutes he’ll be raking in victory after victory until someone grows suspicious and he ends up getting kicked out of the casino. He’ll never admit it, but even the inevitable outcome gives him a thrill. This, at least, is a sure gamble. Here, he may be nameless and faceless, but here, he’s also a winner.

~

Spencer hesitates at the door. He knows he has no choice but to enter, but the thought of being back there is overwhelming. It fills him with a shame he knows he ought not to feel. He reaches into his jacket pocket and his fingers grip the bronze token he almost never leaves at home. The cool metal grounds him somewhat.

Three times this fortnight, he has gotten as far as ten minutes into a meeting before being called away for work. Like the coward he is, he took the easy out and rushed to play Superman, when he’s really not even a half-decent Clark Kent. He is fraying at the edges. He knows himself well enough to be sure that wherever his current path is leading him, it isn’t anywhere good. So he takes a deep breath, and crosses the threshold.

As he takes a seat among the quietly welcoming group of fractured souls, he turns off his phone. Whatever horrors the world outside might need his help to rectify, he knows that leaving this safe haven for them is not an option; not when it would mean allowing the tendril of ice in his chest to spread and consume him and render him permanently useless.

A shadow falls over his hunched form, and he looks up to catch the eye of an old friend.

“John,” he remembers to say.

“Spencer,” the man greets back warmly. He takes the seat next to him. “It’s been a while.”

He hears the real questions: Why did you stop coming to meetings? What happened that led you back here now?

“I- I just figured I needed a reminder.”

The wan smile he directs at the older agent supplies the real answers: I was too proud to believe I needed to be here anymore. Now I’m here because I have no pride left.

That seems to be enough, and John offers a nod and an encouraging smile before he settles back into his seat, turning his attention to the front of the room. There’s a man talking about a messy relapse after a divorce. A woman follows with a pleased announcement that she is two years sober, to which the room responds with enthusiastic applause.  As more and more people offer up their stories, Spencer feels his nerves grow increasingly calmer, until he finally musters up the confidence to stand up and walk the short distance himself.

“Hi,” he begins with a small wave, “My name is Spencer, and I’m an addict.”

When he says the word, his entire being sighs in realisation. His mind stretches to accommodate this new piece of previously unacknowledged information, hugging the jagged edges of sharp defensiveness and tired denial that adorn it. There’s an odd sense of calm that comes along with it. He knows now, really knows, and if Spencer Reid knows something, half the battle has been won.

~

Last time, he never even really slipped. He just held on to the vials like some kind of a sick lifeline. When the nightmares became too intense, he would grip them so hard he actually feared they would break. That was back when he still had a lot of things left to live for, though; a mother, a team, a life that he loved. Now, his mother doesn’t remember him. His team is fractured and each of them is scarred in myriad ways. And his life is more a tragic comedy than the heroic sagas his mother adores. Still, he tries.  

Time passes and things are more or less normal.

Emily no longer looks at him with suspicion. He wouldn’t go as far as to say she trusts him again, but she doesn’t distrust him. That’s more than he expected to get, at least.

Garcia is still much nicer to him than he deserves; when she greets him in the morning with a batch of homemade cookies, he wonders, not for the first time, whether she truly doesn’t know what he’s been up to in his spare time. Garcia isn’t the best at keeping secrets, and he’s sure she would have let something slip by now. Rossi still invites him to extravagant dinner parties and he still goes to a few of them and the whole team is there, and it’s still fun and lighthearted and easy. It shouldn’t be this easy.  

The more he thinks about it, the more likely it seems that Emily has done him the enormous favour of keeping his secret. No one treats him differently—except JJ, the lengths of whose understanding and patience are tested a little more every time he says no to babysitting Henry; he can’t tell her he needs to be as far away from Henry as possible for the time being, so he makes up flimsy excuses that make the smile on her face look forced and painful. But otherwise, no one asks any pointed questions, and none of the higher-ups are watching him any more closely than usual.

The thought chokes him up. The worst part is that there isn’t much he can do to show his gratitude besides say the words. Which he does, in the quiet of her office after everyone has gone home for the weekend, and tentatively reaches for a hug. She lets him embrace her, and the familiar scent of her shampoo makes some chunk of a wall inside him crumble.

Apart from that, though, all he can do is just—live. There’s no way to make amends as soon as he wants to. The only way to thank Emily is to try not to be such a colossal disaster in the future. Some days, it seems like that’s a feat that is beyond him. Those days, he stays hunched over his desk in the bullpen into the wee hours of the morning, trying to hit that sweet-spot of mindless exhaustion that will have him dead asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

It’s on one such night, a little past midnight, that he’s startled by the sounds of approaching footsteps behind him. He swivels around in his chair and comes face to face with an impassive JJ. He didn’t know she was here. She’s carrying a pile of paperwork and her hair is just slightly disheveled, so he assumes she has been in the records section.

In the dim yellow light, she still looks angelic, and it feels like she holds the weight of his existence in her hands. He just stays perfectly still while she studies him. Neither of them says anything, until she finally seems to make a decision, pulling up a chair, sitting next to him, and silently getting to work.

He stares at her for a few more seconds before returning to the file, and soon the only sounds are the scratching of pens on paper. It’s peaceful, this silence, and he takes it to mean he’s been given a little more time to figure things out.

She still ends up leaving before he does. As she packs up her things, she shoots a few concerned glances his way. She spins on her heel and takes a step before pausing. Then there’s a small pressure on his shoulder as she whispers, “You’re allowed to be happy, Spencer. You know that, right?”

He keeps his eyes trained on the paperwork, but he raises his hand to squeeze hers.

“I’m getting there, I think.”

~

The cement box is closing in on him. There’s cement in his mouth and Calvin Show is smirking at him and his hand is bleeding, dripping red rivulets of blood onto Nadie’s prone body. Someone is laughing in the distance, and Shaw and his goons join in until the sounds are drowned out by a scream, a desperate, long, agonising scream.

He sits erect with the scream still in his mouth. The immediate sight of his lamplit room makes it fizzle out into shallow, shaky breaths.

Despite himself, his gaze is drawn to his nightstand. He knows he threw the vials away. He knows there’s no temporary solace to be found. But he stares at it anyway.

In a concerted effort to distract himself, he grabs his phone. There’s an overwhelming urge to talk to someone, and he tries to squash it down. The leaky faucet in his bathroom is especially loud.

Plop. Plop. The familiar tension in his temples starts building, and he releases a frustrated groan. The phone in his hand is taunting him.

Plop. Plop. Plop. He gives in and dials a number on reflex, pressing the phone up to his ear as he stands and paces wildly.

“Reid?” The voice is rough with sleep but it’s also alert and so achingly familiar that all he can give in response is a slightly incredulous laugh.

“You picked up,” he says.

“Of course I picked up.” Silence. “Are you alright?”

Another laugh, though this one borders on hysterical. “Yeah. Yeah, Morgan. I’m alright.”

He knows it won’t work, even as he’s saying the words. The man on the other end is still sharp, and still knows him too well.

“I might be wrong, kid, but I don’t call up my best friend at two a.m. when I’m alright,” Morgan tells him gently, with a teasing smile in his voice. It sets him at ease.

He chuckles. “I guess you’re right.”

The silence that follows is expectant, but patient. It makes him want to talk about everything and he knows this is why he has been avoiding Morgan so much; he knows how to get his guard down. Spencer hasn’t really talked to Morgan since he showed up at his front door his first night home after getting out of prison, with an overnight bag slung over his shoulder and a face that said no nonsense would be tolerated. Spencer isn’t ashamed to admit he broke down that night, but he is a bit reluctant to repeat the exercise. He knows it’s about to happen.

“I don’t think I’ve really been alright since—since prison,” he finally offers, with an audible swallow.

“That’s to be expected, Reid.”

“I know.” He picks up the three-month token from his nightstand, and squeezes as tightly as he can. “I know, but lately…lately I’ve just been letting everyone down. I’m not…useful anymore.”

“Now that’s just not true, kid,” Morgan chides, uncharacteristically serious, “Listen to me. You went to prison, kid. Let that sink in. That’s not something that just goes away. It takes time, and patience, and no one is going to fault you for that.”

“Morgan, it’s-”

“I’m not done yet, genius,” he retorts, “and you need to understand that your worth isn’t determined by how useful you are in any given situation.”

Spencer snorts. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what ‘worth’ means, Morgan.”

“No, it isn’t.” There isn’t an ounce of levity in the response, and it makes Spencer hold his breath in anticipation. “In this job, it’s easy to think that way. I get it. I’ve felt it too. More times than I can count. But you need to know and believe that you’re not just the job. You’re more than the job. You’re a person. And I think you forget that way too much, kid.”

The breath leaves him in one loud whoosh. He fumbles for words, but he doesn’t have any.

“You mean something, Reid. And a lot of people love you for more than what you have to offer in a case. Get it?”

“Okay,” he whispers, because he knows Morgan will not let him get away with a non-answer or an evasion. The words have thrown him slightly off-balance, in a good way, so he files them away in his mind to retrieve and study and turn over later. He fiddles with the token as he clears his throat.

“I’m sorry I called so late.”

“You know you can call at any time. I’ve been getting too much sleep these days now that Hank isn’t a baby anymore.” His voice is always warm when he talks about his son, and he feels a sudden pang. He misses his best friend.

“It’s hard not having you around.”

“You know you can come over any time. Hank and Savannah miss you too. And I need someone to annoy Savannah more than I do so she’ll cut me some slack.”

The banter is familiar and fond, and after so many years, he knows there’s never any malice in it. He’s always loved the straightforwardness and simplicity that Morgan wears like a badge of honour.

“Yeah. I’d like that,” he replies, smiling.

“Okay, good. Now go to sleep, Einstein.”

“Alright,” he laughs. “And hey, Morgan?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

The call ends with a beep, and this final silence is tranquil. Armed with the knowledge that he truly is not alone, that he might actually survive this and be okay, it’s easier to sleep now. He may never be the same again. He most probably won’t. He may be more Tobias than Spencer some days and some days he may be neither, but it’s still not the terrible fate it once seemed. Maybe, he thinks just before he loses his train of thought, maybe he doesn’t have to be the most useful person in the room. Just for a while, that should be okay.

[revchainsaw]

You're Next (2011)

Greetings Flock! Reverend Chainsaw here with another film review to feed your souls. Parishioners of the Cult of Cult should be familiar with todays offering, and that is good news for you shall find your hearts strangely warmed. Please join me as we dive into the Book of You're Next and renew our devotion to the Trinity that is The Tiger, the Lamb, and the Holy Wolf.

The Message

You're Next is definitely a tough film to review. For a movie as young as it is to have had such a strong and committed following speaks volumes and I believe you would be hard pressed to find a review by anyone who loves horror that is down on the film. While it can sometimes bring me great joy to review the awful films of the world, occasionally it is a pleasure to give honor to those films which deserve it.

You're Next is a film which fits neatly into both the Slasher and Home Invasion genres. The story centers around a vicious assault on a wealthy family by 3 masked men, all on the evening when our heroin, Erin, is meeting them for the first time. Avoiding the Slasher genre trope of generic murder lambs we are yet again faced with an excellent cast where not even the early victims are forgettable.

The movie opens with the grizzly murder of the Davison's nearest neighbors by our animal masked assassins, insuring that should anyone attempt to flee they will not be finding help any time soon. Then we get one hell of a title card before we find Paul and Aubrey Davison preparing to have their children and their respective partners over to their home to celebrate their anniversary. Aubrey is played by Re-Animators own Barbara Crampton. Foremost among the children visiting are their son Crispian, a college professor, and his Australian girlfriend Erin, who was once his T.A. This is a source of contention for Crispian when his siblings judge the professional nature of this relationship.

Two by Two the Children arrive. It is off handedly mentioned that the Davisons money comes from defense contracts, and that the family dynamic is particularly strained. An arrow from a cross bow pierces the window during a particularly tense dinner, and then the film enters full force into unyielding action. There are characters murdered by arrows, a gruesome slice to the jugular by some sinisterly placed piano wire (during what was ramping up to be a daring escape from the home), and of course axe murders.

Crispian manages to escape into the night abandoning Erin and his remaining family. At this point, Erin, who is revealed to have been raised on a survivalist compound begins to fight back. Erin goes full Home Alone on the invaders, and the hunters soon become the hunted. After Erin kills one of the villains It is revealed through the course of the night that the murder of the Davison family is an inside job. These men are paid assassins and they were hired by Felix and his gothy girlfriend Zee, whose macabre tastes include being sexually aroused by dead bodies. Once Erin discovers this fact she dispatches the rest of the animal masked crew as well as Felix and Zee with some very creative uses of kitchenware.

Just as we are about to declare Erin the final girl of this film Felix's phone rings, it's Crispian. When Erin answers Crispian reveals that he was the ringleader, but his weak constitution had caused him to flee the scene. Impatient when he doesn't here Felix on the other end Felix reenters the home to find a bloody Erin. He begs and makes excuses, promising Erin that she was intended to be a witness to the slaughter and was safe the whole time. Erin is having none of it, and ends the relationship once and for all with a stab to the neck.

The film ends with the arrival of the police who upon discovering Erin murdering Crispian set off one of her Home Alone traps and she is set up to be held responsible for the whole affair. Here's hoping we get the court room drama sequel that this movie deserves.

The Benediction

Best Kill: Erin, In the Kitchen, With the Vitamix It's not often in a horror flick that the best kill can be said not to have come from the hands of the monster, but from the heroin. Toward the climax of the film Erin has had enough and she expresses her self in glorious gory satisfaction with a blender to the skull of her lovers brother Felix.

Best Character : T.A. Taking Action Suprise! It's Erin. The best character is Erin. I really wanted to try and say that it was some more obscure character like snarky big bro Drake, but No. It's Erin, it was always Erin. She is the stand out feature of the film. The Lamb, the Tiger, and the Wolf masks were instantly iconic and sold in Hot Topic from the minute the movie made a wide release, but no one comes out of You're Next thinking about the mercenary assassins. We come out thinking about how the lass from the land down under turned the tide against the terribe trio. The audience wants more Erin.

Best Actor: We Came, We Got You, Barbara!

It's just so good to see Barbara Crampton whenever we can. It says something for a person to still be doing the Scream Queen thing for this long. She is not the most likeable character in You're Next but she is selling the fear, the tension and the goals of her character. I think it would be safe to say that the first act would not be nearly as effective without Barbara Cramptons performance.

Best Villain: Zee Nation

Zee was just something else. The Masked Trio of Home Invaders were sort of plug and play. The masks and tactical gear definitely sold the menace, but they were not really characters. They are given some slivers of back story and I don't think that it's really a problem that way. I've been happy with less before. It just sort of means that no one killer stands out in particular. Though the Lamb Mask is my personal favorite. For all the brutish merciless killing these three dole out to the Davison family it's really Zee who makes a splash in my memory. She's absolutely as gleeful as a deadite about all this bloodshed going on around her. She isn't just dark and edgy cuz it's a look, it seems like she really took that aesthetic to heart. The fact that you couldn't tell she'd happily tear your throat out by looking at her certainly makes her a bigger threat than she gets credit for.

Worst Character: Poor Little Rich Kid

All of the characters in You're Next work. Some move from grating to sympathetic, others from charming to pitiful, but at some point every character has a presence and a personality that the viewer can recognize. No Character in this film will receive worst character because they are poorly written, unneccessary, or just obnoxious. However, one character is consistently self-indulgent, cocky, sniveling, and has all the undeserved sense of superiority of a Kevin Smith protagonist, and that's Crispian. Fuck Crispian. He's a bad boyfriend, a bad brother, a bad son, and a bad teacher. He has so much that he doesn't deserve, and earnestly feels he's entitled to more.

Most WTF Moment: Crossing the Line

Was it Crispian's heel turn? Was it Felix stabbing drake? The realization that the family extermination was an inside job? Was it the twist that Erin was a bad ass? What single moment made everyone who's seen this movie go "WHOAH!!!" all at once? When Crispian was attempting to make his exit the first time he proposed he go and get help claiming he's the fastest, to which his overestimation of himself is comedically undercut by the fact that he is in fact out of shape and his sister Aimee used to run track. The family unanimously agrees they would put their lives in the hands of poor Aimee and her athletic past, but they also propose she back up and bolt out the front door the minute they open it up. The music swells, and Aimee makes a run for it. She is stopped short by a piano wire trap set by the mercenaries, as her momentum allows the wire to cut deep and clean into the meat of her neck. She is not decapitated but bleeds out on the floor of the house. It really catches the viewer off guard and is a very impressive effect. Not only is Aimee's kill the most WTF moment, but it is runner up for best kill.

Summary You're Next is hands down my favorite home invasion movie. It's wide appeal is undeniable. As of 2015, You're Next was predicted to be considered the best horror movie of the 2010s. Unfortunately for You're Next but how wonderful for us, the later half of the decade really ramped up the great horror films releases. I wouldn't call You're Next the best horror film of it's time, but it definitely deserves to be remembered. People's enthusiasm for the film does seem to be slowing and I think it would do our congregation a great service for us to continue singing it's praises.

Overall Grade: A

[echodrops]

The League of Villains Plays DnD AU

(Saw a post by @bunny-loverxiv last night that reminded me I’ve had this stupid thing in my drafts unfinished for over a year now. I’m not sure I’ll ever have time to come back and finish it, but in the spirit of what I posted earlier, here it is, in all its unfinished.. glory...)

Since I asked for a League of Villains plays DnD AU and no one delivered, alas, I guess I’ll just do all the work myself!

So, without further ado:

Shigaraki Tomura’s Character Sheet:

Race and Appearance: Fallen Aasimar, with hair pale as the flesh of wraiths and eyes like two burning pools of blood, reflecting out from the infernal pits of the abyss. His rippling muscles under his bone-white skin carry the scars of his uncountable victories, and when his corrupted celestial powers radiate forth, ghostly skeletal wings rise--

( “Do I have to keep reading? This is really long...”

“It’s important!”)

Alias: “Zephiroth”

(”Isn’t that the guy from Final Fantasy?”

“No! That was Sephiroth! My character’s name is totally different!”)

Class: Oath of Conquest Paladin/Hell Knight

Motto: Dim the Ray of Hope

A dread knight whose armor is black with the blood of his enemies; to stand against him on the field of battle is to know true fear, and none have called themselves his equal and lived to tell the tale. His menacing aura is a cloud of evil righteous murder that spreads across the land as he advances, and everywhere he travels is seeped into the deepest of despairs. Civilizations tremble before the darkness of his impossibly dark darkness.

(“Did you run out of adjectives?”

No, I meant exactly what I said.”)

Also, collects the severed hands of his conquests.

(”Tomura-kun, this isn’t a character, this is just you!”

“Collecting body trophies is standard lore for conquest paladin; you’d know if you read Xanathar’s Guide.”)

Alignment: Chaotic Good

(“Shigaraki Tomura, I am not sure this alignment fits with the character you’re describing--”

“I wrote the campaign, so good’s whatever I say it is.”

“Boss, doesn’t playing in your own campaign defeat the purpose? Knowing everything ahead of time’s a great idea!”

“Shut up, I don’t care about spoilers.”)

Backstory: Zephiroth the Bloody swore an oath to complete the conquest of his father, King Jenovo, who fell in battle to his eternal rival and estranged foolish younger brother, Nimbus Might ( “You know, I really think I’ve heard these names before...”). Jenovo’s quest was undoubtedly a noble one: to reunite the brothers’ separated kingdoms under a single legitimate banner--and its single legitimate ruler. The two brothers clashed in a battle of titans that shook the entire world, and though he was in the wrong, Nimbus Might reigned supreme in the end, and took Jenovo’s life and kingdom both. The death of his father crushed the last remnants of joy and love in young Prince Zephiroth’s black heart and now he will stop at nothing to put an end to Nimbus Might’s reign by turning every symbol of his false kingdom to dust.

Notable Stats and Weapon: +5 Intimidation, +5 Persuasion; greatsword and shield wielder.

Tomura is a quintessential min-maxer; he made everyone else take the standard array for stats but... “rolled” for his.

(”This old man’s been reviewing the character sheets, Shigaraki, and couldn’t help but notice some discrepancies in the party’s stats compared to yours--”

“You’re welcome to not play. Ever.”

“Must have been a trick of the light!”)

Carrying: The holy relic “Lavos”

(”Isn’t that just from Chrono Cross?”

“I think you mean, Khrono Kross, Spinny.”)

The relic is a glowing black and red container imbued with a hellish aura, containing magical bullets said to be formed from the blood of the time goddess, allowing Shigaraki to permanently unwind his opponents’ powers. Limited use, 5 times.

Dabi:

Race and Appearance: Tiefling.

(“Did you not even bother to write an appearance?!”

“My character has the same appearance as me.”

“That’s not even possible. Tieflings are supposed to have horns!”

“Okay, my character has the same appearance as me with horns.”)

Alias: “Dabi” 

(”You can’t name your character after yourself!”

“But I’m not named Dabi.”)

Class: Phoenix Sorcerer

Motto: Ashes to Ashes

(”You can’t play this class either, it isn’t canon.”

“You told me to pick one from the wiki; ain’t my problem you didn’t specify.”

“I said no homebrew!”

“And that means... what?”)

Alignment: Chaotic Evil

(”You ignored my instructions about our alignment too, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but you said ‘good’ so I assumed I misheard.”

“We’re the protagonists of this story--our cause is just!”)

Feats and Skills: ...Hmm, for some reason, many things have been written and then crossed out?

(“W-What have you done?! You can’t just modify things however you feel! Why would you even swap out Nourishing Fire for an Elemental Affinity that deals ice damage?! And did you just scratch out ‘long rest’ and put ‘short rest’ here? That’s OP!”

“When the hell have any of you let me get a long rest?”

“Animal Handling as a skill, seriously?!”

“Figured you’d give me some monsters to tame.”

“Go fuck yourself!”

Shigaraki was, in fact, planning on there being monsters for Dabi to tame.)

Backstory: A traveler with a shadowy past.

(”That’s... your whole backstory? Are you freaking kidd--”

”Aww, come on Dabi, this bio is lame! Oh, I know, I know! You’re actually a prince in disguise, exiled from his kingdom and seeking vengeance on his father, the one who left him horrifically burned and on the brink of death, which caused you to be rescued by the soul of a lonely phoenix, and at the end of your quest, after reclaiming your rightful throne from your evil father, you free the phoenix who possessed you to save your life, but then it returns and swears its eternal love to you! Eehee!”

“We’re...not doing that.”

“You can’t do that anyways, it completely undermines my lore. There are only two kingdoms in this world, and I’m going to be the ruler of both of them.”)

Notable Stats and Weapon: +3 Deception, +4 Insight; wields darts.

(”But why do I even have to pick a weapon? It says right there I have Burning Hands.”)

Carrying: A shard of never-melting ice in the shape of a three-petaled flower; it exudes a calming chill even when wreathed in the wildest of fires. Looking at it makes you feel... melancholy?

(”Why is this the only section with detail?! If you could put this much effort in here, you should have taken the rest seriously too!”)

Mr. Compress:

Race and Appearance: Human, a man in the prime of his life, with a roguish glint in his eye and a rakish gold mustache above his mysterious smirk. There’s an artfully placed scar below his right eye that speaks to a life of the blade and adventure, and his pressed linen and metallic brocade doublet belies his nature as a man of impeccable taste. His jaunty black bandana is always pulled low over his eyes, but mischief seems to twinkle out from beneath the accompanying black mask nevertheless.

(“Oh, I like it! A lot! Hey, hey, will you rewrite mine for me? Make it like yours but cuter!”)

Alias: The Dread Pirate Roberts

(“Huh? The first part is good, but why “Roberts”?

“Well, no one would surrender to the Dread Pirate Westley.”

“What are you snickering about, Kurogiri?”

“Nothing at all, Shigaraki Tomura.”)

Class: Multi-class Swashbuckler and School of Conjuration Wizard

Motto: To the Pain!

(“These two classes don’t compliment each other at all. You should change to Hexblade at least!”

“As you wish.”

“Kurogiri’s laughing again. What are you two hiding? Tell me!”)

Mr. Compress knew full well the classes he picked didn’t mesh; he just lives for the shits and giggles. He’s actually been playing DnD longer than Toga’s been alive, but where’s the fun in telling Tomura that?

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Skills: Acrobatics, Persuasion, Performance, Sleight of Hand

(“Okay, but am I the only one who actually created a real character instead of a self-insert? DnD’s a role-playing game; isn’t the whole point to use your imagination?!”

“Ain’t our fault your real self is too boring to be a decent character, Lizard.”

“You never miss an opportunity to insult me, do you, asshole?!”)

Backstory: Although he came from unremarkable origins, Westley Roberts found himself thrust on to the path of great destiny when the merchant ship on which he was employed was attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts--

“How can he attack his own ship? You forgot your own name, didn’t you?”

“Not all, Shigaraki! I’m not that old!”

--but when Roberts heard the tale of Westley’s quest to prove himself for the one he loved--

“Wait, who is this other character now? There was no love interest listed before!”

“Just let me tell the story!”

--Roberts was overcome by the depth of Westley’s tale of woe and decided to name him his successor, passing down the title of Dread Pirate Roberts--

“Can I change my character to a Dread Pirate?”

“No, Dabi!”

“I’m just sayin’, why was I not informed of this option?”

--sothathecouldmildlyterrorizethewatersaroundhishomekingdomandfinallyamasstherichesneededtoimpresshischarminglove. PHEW! Thank you for letting me finish!

Notable Stats and Weapon: +4 Dexterity, +5 Charisma; wields a rapier with impeccable skill. Is definitely not left-handed. Carrying: A Rodent of Unusual Size. Excellent distraction. Also edible.

“What is wrong with everyone in this room?!”

And the rest of the League I didn’t finish, but:

Spinner: A gorgeous lady Argonian who spits beams of pure light--

“No, this is too cool. Change it.”

“Awww come on, Shigaraki, just let me have this--”

“Change it.”

Toga: Tabaxi assassin. ON A QUEST FOR LOVE. (May or may not have decided this after peering over Mr. Compress’s shoulder during character creation time.)

Twice: Halfling wizard. None of his stats make sense because he couldn’t make up his mind where to put them.

Hawks: Aarakochra bard. Entirely useless. That asshole who rolls to seduce everything.

Kurogiri: The DM. But not by choice.

There’s no Giran or Gigantomachia because I started writing this before either of them were really “part” of the League. Use your imaginations~

[blitheringmcgonagall]

Operation Make My Wish Come True

JILY CHALLENGE December 2019

@blitheringmcgonagall v @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world

 Prompt:

 It’s September 3rd when “All I Want For Christmas” by Mariah Carey blasts through the walls of Lily’s flat from the stereo next door, and Lily is ready to murder her new nightmare off a neighbour…

 “Who the hell listens to that song in September?” Lily huffed.

I don't want a lot for Christmas There is just one thing I need I don't care about the presents Underneath the Christmas tree

The bass notes made the thin walls of her flat vibrate.

She was in a bad mood. Petunia had just dis-invited her from spending Christmas with her and Vernon (which was a blessing in disguise, scrap that, a total relief, but still), she had a ton of study to do for her college exams in October and an essay to write -

I just want you for my own More than you could ever know Make my wish come true oh All I want for Christmas is you

 Somebody had increased the volume even higher. Lily winced, hands over her ears as she stared at her ipad. She had thought those two new black-haired boys (the cute ones) next door looked decent, she should have known it was too good to be true.

“Right! That’s it!” she seethed, getting up suddenly.

 Drrrrrrriiiinnnggggg

Lily kept her finger on the doorbell.

“Keep it down, will you?” said the tall, lanky, black-haired boy with glasses and hazel eyes who opened the door distractedly.

“Excuse me?” said Lily, her hands flying to her hips.

“What?” a male voice in another room called out. “I can’t hear you with all the noise?”

Bespectacled, cute bloke was looking at her with a gobsmacked expression.

“I said can you please stop making that noise,” he said, looking progressively more distracted and running a hand through his hair.

“Listen, mister,” said Lily, narrowing her eyes dangerously. “If you don’t switch off that horrendous music within the next three seconds-“

The other dark-haired boy appeared, towelling his hair dry and grinning at Lily with the smug look of someone who knows they are unfairly beautiful.

“For goodness sake, Prongs, switch off that Christmas music, you’re driving everyone mad! Can you not see our next-door neighbour is livid? What did you say your name was?” he tutted, shaking his head lightly and rolling his eyes at Lily in a conspiratorial manner.

I won't ask for much this Christmas I won't even wish for snow, and I I just wanna keep on waiting Underneath the mistletoe

“What the hell do you mean, Pads? That was-“ the taller fellow said, looking momentarily stunned as his gaze flew from Lily’s to the smug-and-gorgeous boy’s faces.

“No need to be embarrassed, Prongs, lots of people love Christmas music, I mean you’re obsessed with Christmas and-“ gorgeous bloke’s posh voice sounded like something out of Downton Abbey.

“What the fuck?” the first boy said, his face now a bright red colour and his hand running through his messy hair.

“Look, can you both stop fighting like an old married couple for a just a second, and kindly switch off that stupid song?” Lily said sighing heavily and rolling her eyes back at gorgeous boy.

“I never-“ said glasses guy.

“Switch it off, Prongs! Terribly sorry for behaving so rudely, I’m Sirius,” beautiful bloke said with a charming smile, dropping the towel into the other guy’s hands and shaking Lily’s with a firm grip. “And this is my sort-of brother James – decent chap, aside from his infernal love of Christmas songs, and pretty popular with the girls when he’s not making an arse of himself by-“

“Oi! Pads!” James said, looking at his brother as though he wanted him dead.

I just want you for my own More than you could ever know Make my wish come true All I want for Christmas is you

“For the love of God, can one of you switch off that song before I-” Lily said.

“Sorry! Yes! Yes, of course!” James seemed to suddenly come to his senses and dash off into the sitting room.

“Frightfully sorry, he’s not usually that bad! What did you say your name was?” Sirius smiled widely.

“Lily. Lily Evans,” she said.

  …………………………………..

  “James! James!” she hammered on the door, less than a week later. “Get.Rid.Of.That.Music. Now!”

The door flew open and James stood there, a panicked look on his face.

“I swear I didn’t,” he started.

 I don’t need to hang my stocking There upon the fireplace Santa Claus won’t make me happy With a toy on Christmas day

 “No need to lie, James!” Lily groaned. “Just make it stop! I’ve an exam in two days’ time and I desperately need to revise!”

“Fuck! Sorry! That was-“ James said looking back inside at the flat with a furious look on his face.

“Off. Now!” Lily warned, rolling her eyes at him.

He did look extremely cute when he was flustered, she realised.

“Nice t-shirt,” she added.

I mean, it did look very cute on him, she hadn’t realised what lovely, muscly arms he had, with lovely veins. And the maroon colour made his dark skin tone even more attractive.

“Huh?” he said, looking vacant.

Oh. He was a cute himbo. Oh well, he was still cute, poor boy.

“Never mind,” she smiled up at him. “Can you please switch off that stupid song?”

“I didn’t-“ James said, vaguely gesturing inside his flat.

“You did,” Lily snorted, waving goodbye.

  ……………………………………..

   The next time, it wasn’t as infuriatingly loud as before, in fact, she could hardly hear it. Still. It was almost a tradition now. And it would never do for James to think that is was okay to play Christmas music in October.

“Hello,” James grinned sheepishly as he opened the door.

“Hello,” Lily smiled back. “I see you’re playing that song again?”

“Yes, well, yes, you know me, Mariah Carey and all that lark…” he motioned with his hand. “Can I invite you in for tea?”

“Er, thank you, yes,” Lily said, biting back a laugh. “As long as you promise to switch it off.”

“Ah. Yes!” James laughed.

He made her a beautiful cup of tea (it was just tea, but still, it was exactly as she liked it, and she had only just realised his hands were very beautiful too).

“How did your exam go?” he asked, blowing over his mug of tea.

“Alright,” Lily cringed. “Although the next one is pretty awful, I hate anatomy.”

“Oh, what are you studying?” he asked, looking impressed.

“Physiotherapy,” she said.

“Wow!” he said. “I’m studying Sports and Exercise Science, I’m hoping to go on and do a Masters in Loughborough University when I finish here.”

“Oh! I thought you...”

Well she couldn’t tell him she had thought he was a Himbo, could she?

“Thought what?” James said, looking embarrassed.

“Oh, nothing!” Lily smiled brightly. “Do you like sports?”

She nearly kicked herself in the foot.

“Absolutely!” he flashed her an enthusiastic smile.

She smiled back.

“Er, about the anatomy, we could study together some time? It’s part of my course too,” he said, looking at her expectantly.

“Oh,” she blinked. “Thanks James, yeah, why not?”

   ……………………………………………………

  The next time it came on so loud and so suddenly that she dropped her phone.

“Oh for crying out loud!” Lily said hotly, storming next door and lifting her hand to rap on the door.

The door flew open and Sirius stood there, smiling in a relaxed manner.

“Hello, Evans, Darling!” he said.

“Hello to you too, prat!” she said grumpily. “Tell James to bugger off and switch off that damned music!”

“Tell him yourself, he’s inside talking to his mother,” said Sirius, winking at Lily and placing an arm around her neck as he escorted a startled Lily into the sitting room.

“I… why?” said Lily.

“Oh! Lily!” James’ face was bright red. “I swear that wasn’t me, that was Sirius!”

“Yeah right!” Sirius barked a laugh. “Everyone knows I detest Christmas, Prongs, don’t be ridiculous.”

“He does, dear, don’t be silly,” Mia Potter smiled at Sirius and shook her head at James.

“Sirius, you absolute tosser!” James growled.

“James! Don’t embarrass yourself in front of Lily Evans,” Mia said, giving Lily a benign smile and patting the seat beside her. “James, do be a dear and bring in that marmalade tart you just made, Lily is staying for some tea and cake.”

Sirius winked in an exaggerated manner at Lily and waved James towards the kitchen.

“He’s an excellent cook,” Sirius said, tossing his hair airily and reclining back onto the sofa, looking smug again.

“He is,” Mia agreed.

“He gets very busy this time of year, raising money for his favourite charity, Médecins Sans Frontiers,” Mia added thoughtfully, sipping her tea.

“Oh,” Lily thought, feeling suddenly warm all over, and wondering could James see the heart eyes she was making at him.

“I know,” Mia’s eyes twinkled. “He’s wonderful, isn’t he?”

Well she could hardly say no to his mother, could she? Especially after tasting that utterly divine marmalade tart…

  ……………………………………..

   The exams had gone well, it would soon be Christmas, and Lily was in a bad mood. Which was completely understandable, because what possible reason would she now have to call in on James all the time? They had taken to studying together, and he still played that bloody song at least once a week, which was extremely cute and adorable and it would be officially Christmas in less than an hour’s time, and she wasn’t going to her sister’s and she hadn’t told Marlene and she wasn’t exactly looking forward to…

I don't want a lot for Christmas There is just one thing I need, and I Don't care about the presents Underneath the Christmas tree

Well, that was a bit unusual, she thought. James didn’t usually put on music this late. She stared at Netflix for a while longer and finally got up, fixing her hair and slipping on a dash of lipstick.

“Alright, Evans?” James said.

He looked so stunning, in his cosy Aran jumper.

“Hi,” she said, blushing slightly.

“How are you?” he said.

“Fine,” she lied.

“Are you…” he looked at her expectantly.

“Sorry?”

“It’s just,” he said, scratchuing his head awkwardly. “You knocked on my door and…”

“You were playing that song again,” she said, playing with the back of her earring.

“No I wasn’t,” he said. “I’m listening to a 1980s compilation.”

“No, you’re not,” Lily said calmly.

James raised his brow and opened the door.

It looked beautiful and warm and inviting and the fire was crackling and there was wine on the side table and homemade biscuits and…

Call me (call me) on the line Call me, call me any, anytime Call me (call me) my love You can call me any day or night Call me

“That’s not Mariah Carey, that’s Blondie,” Lily said.

“I know. I told you,” James grinned playfully.

“Well someone was playing it a minute ago,” Lily said, folding her arms stubbornly.

“Admit it, Evans, you just wanted to call over and have some Christmas Eve bubbly with me,” James laughed, opening the bottle of Prosecco and eying her adoringly.

“No I…” Lily huffed.

Something like disappointment flashed over his face.

“I… yes, yes that’s right, Potter, I did,” Lily said, holding her head up high.

Fuck it, I mean, he wasn’t wrong…

“Good,” he said.

His smile lit up the entire room.

He handed her a glass.

“Merry Christmas, Evans,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“Merry Christmas, James,” she said quietly.

They continued looking in each other’s eyes for longer than strictly necessary.

“James,” Lily said.

“Yes?” James said.

They were standing very close together.

“You know, you could actually play that song now, it is Christmas Eve,” she said.

“I thought you hated it?” James said.

“Nah, I didn’t,” Lily’s face broke into a smitten grin.

“Alright, Evans,” James said, saluting her.

I just want you for my own More than you could ever know Make my wish come true oh All I want for Christmas is you

 They moved closer to each other, until their lips were touching, Lily breathed a soft laugh and James brought his forehead down to touch Lily’s. They kissed slowly at first, tenderly.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” James smiled.

“So have I,” Lily placed her arms around his neck and kissed him harder.

“Ha! Fucking finally!” Sirius’ loud and obnoxious voice filled the room as Lily and James jumped in fright.

“Fucking hell! You gave me a heart attack!” James said, glaring at his stupid best mate.

“Took you long enough!” Sirius said, rubbing his hands with glee. “Thank God we won’t have to listen to that godforsaken song anymore! You do realise when you get married, I’ll be able to say this was all due to my playing cupid?”

“How?” Lily said, rolling her eyes at Sirius, as usual.

“Well, it’s very simple. James fancied you as soon as we moved in. I heard you telling your friend Marlene that you hated hearing Christmas songs as you were coming up the stairs to your apartment. Hence, Operation Make My Wish Come True. I stuck on that song full blast, blamed it all on James, and the rest, as you know, is history!”

“You fucker!” said James, laughing despite himself. “I tried to tell her it was you on a number of occasions, at the start, anyway. I may have gone along with it after a while…”

“That explains a lot,” Lily said, placing her head on James’ chest. “You plonker!”

“I know!” Sirius grinned. “I am a genius!”

In fairness…

Sirius winked at them again.

“Merry Christmas, love birds,” he said, pouring himself a glass of Prosecco and plonking himself down on the sofa. “So, what are we watching?”

Lily looked at Sirius quizzically. Her friend Remus thought Sirius was extremely hot. Sirius had made a complete arse of himself when James and Lily’s friends had all played charades together. Sirius had been apparently so distracted by Remus that he had gotten a prompt that read “Namesake” and had proceeded to mime one word, four syllables because (and she was quoting him here) “I thought it was some Japanese book, Evans!”

“James,” Lily said smoothly, holding James’ hand and pulling her towards the door. “I have some anatomy homework that I need to practice with you, in my flat, right now, alright?”

James’ brows shot up.

“Er, yes?” he stammered.

“And another thing we need to work on,” she whispered into his ear, grabbing the bottle of wine on her way out.

“Hey! Evans, that’s cheating!” Sirius shouted after them, sounding horrified. “I bought that!”

“Shut it, Black!” Lily called back cheerfully.

“Yes?” James said, kissing her hungrily as they stumbled towards the door of her flat.

“Yes, Operation Payback Time,” Lily said, waggling her eyebrows at James.

“Ugh, you devious thing! I love you, Lily Evans!” muttered James, continuing to kiss Lily as she tried to fit her key into the lock.

“I know,” Lily smiled as she kissed him back.

[vincered]

    ❛                        IF     YOU     WANT     TO     HAVE     IT     ALL     ,     TAKE     IT     ALL                                 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝  𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬  ,  𝟕𝟐����𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬  ,  𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐬

               [    PARK    CHAEWON,    CIS    FEMALE,    SHE    /    HER.    ]                introducing    nero    waterway,    VICTOR    of    the    72nd    hunger    games,    representing    district    two.    my    sources    say    that    they    are    twenty    years    old    &    that    they’re    pretty    handy    with    manipulating    opponents    and    allies    alike.    wonder    if    that    did    them    any    good    in    the    arena    ?    anyways,    caesar    says    you    can’t    miss    them,    because    they    remind    everyone    of    a    battle    cry    echoing    sending    shockwaves    through    ankle    deep    water,    an    unsatisfied    hum    falling    from    carefully    painted    lips    to    preserve    a    pristine    reputation,    the    sound    of    short    staves    hitting    a    dummy    in    the    dead    of    night    –    raw    hands    interrupted    by    an    unwelcome    visitor    &    happily    sipping    on    hard-earned    wine    ,    hiding    the    bitter    taste    of    blood    behind    a    victorious    grin.

              NOT    ME    literally    seeing    this    rp    &    screaming    becos    i    was    JUST    thinkin    about    the    hunger    games    .    i    was    actually    gonna    bring    nero    in    as    a    tribute    but    i    remembered    i    love    nero    so    i    couldn’t    but    some    day    one    day    maybe    ,    i    don’t    know    .    n    e    ways    ,    i’m    cc    ,    i    can’t    spell    &    i    prefer    feminine    ,    she    /    her    pronouns    .    NERO    is    much    like    her    namesake    ,    the    horrifying    roman    emperor    ,    very    ...    bad    !    in    short    ,    she    don’t    giv    a    fucc    but    i    hope    she    ...    grows    .    BUT    this    is    super    long   ,    i’m    sorry   .   if    u    wanna    plot    PLS    like    this    &    i’ll    hope    on    over    (:    also    pls    click    HERE    for    a    mobile    version    of    this    since    ik    it    might    b    hard    to    read    on    my    theme    .

❛   𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗   𝖔𝖓𝖊   ╱   𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭  

FULL   NAME   nero  atlas  waterway  NICKNAME(S)   empress  (  by  the  capitol  ,  obviously  )  ,  snake  ,  traitor  .    AGE  twenty  GENDER   /   PRONOUNS  cis  gendered   female   /   she  /  her   ORIENTATION  pansexual  ,  demiromantic   HOMETOWN   district  two  ,  inner  city  near  the  wealth   FACE   CLAIM  park  chaewon  (  go  won  of  loona  )

aesthetic :    a    battle    cry    echoing    ;    sending    shockwaves    through    ankle    deep    water    ,    an    unsatisfied    hum    falling    from    carefully    painted    lips    to    preserve    a    pristine    reputation    ,    fingers    taped    with    bloodying    bandages    after    hours    of    training    past    her    point    ,    raised    by    wolves    she    learns    to    bare    her    teeth    –    but    not    before    she    learns    to    hide    her    claws    ,    bloodthirsty    eyes    while    holding    an    opponent    underwater    –    her    LAUGH    is    still    used    as    a    soundbite    ,    the    sound    of    short    staves    hitting    a    dummy    in    the    dead    of    night    –    raw    hands    interrupted    by    an    unwelcome    visitor    ,    attending    parties    with    regret    laced    in    the    way    she    stands    properly    (    was    victory    her    best    option    for    infamy    ?    )    &    hiding    the    bitter    taste    of    blood    behind    a    victorious    grin    .

LABEL   the  potentate  ,  the  truculent  ,  the  amoral  MORAL  ALIGNMENTS   neutral  evil  /  chaotic  neutral    ( + ) POSITIVES  strategic  ,  potent  ,  adroit  ,  tactical   ( - ) NEGATIVES  barbaric  ,  nefarious  ,  blasphemous  ,  fustian   HOGWARTS  HOUSE  slytherin  first  ,  ravenclaw  second   MYTHOLOGICAL  PARENT   athena  +  mars   DEADLY  SIN  wrath  +  pride

❛   𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗   𝖙𝖜𝖔   ╱   𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞  

trigger  warning  :  death  ,  murder  ,  drowning

             𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫  𝐢.   nero  ,  a  name  synonymous  with  evil  &  barbaric  acts  –  blessed  is  the  baby  girl  born  into  the  waterway  family  .  her  brother  ,  augustus  is  primed  to  be  a  victor  ;  tall  ,  lethal  with  the  personality  to  match  .  she  can  still  remember  being  held  face  down  in  the  bathtub  by  a  boy  three  years  her  senior  ,  body  flailing  as  she  struggles  for  air  –  nero  can  remember  her  brother  burning  her  arm  over  an  open  flame  ,  can  recall  every  cut  their  parents  had  to  pay  thousands  to  prevent  a  scar  .  nero  got  the  name  synonymous  with  evil  ,  but  it  should’ve  been  given  to  the  boy  who  tried  to  throw  her  into  the  quarries  when  she  was  five  .  their  parents  ,  politicians  in  their  own  right  –  an  ambassador  to  the  capitol  ,  married  to  the  deputy  mayor  –  are  eager  to  produce  a  victor  ,  to  throw  augustus  into  the  spotlight  with  a  laurel  wreath  onto  his  dark  hair  .  they  look  to  nero  &  hope  for  the  same  thing  –  two  victors  are  better  than  one  –  &  once  they  finish  wiping  bathwater  from  her  mouth  ,  finish  healing  a  burn  &  picking  up  a  broken  body  from  the  rock  tops  ,  they  put  her  in  augustus’s  path  .  the  perfect  opponent  ,  the  perfect  rival  ,  the  best  partner  in  school  .  

                          so  the  academy  accepts  both  waterway  children  &  they  climb  the  ranks  faster  than  no  other  .  once  nero  learns  how  to  wield  a  weapon  ,  how  to  hold  her  own  –  payback  is  dished  out  faster  than  augustus  can  blink  &  through  the  attempted  murder  the  siblings  enact  ,  respect  is  earned  .  it’s  rocky  ,  but  there  are  new  nights  they  spend  taping  each  other  up  &  walking  each  other  home  .  teen  years  are  spent  together  ,  ruling  the  career  academies  with  their  sheer  ego  &  skill  .  augustus  ,  rocks  the  spear  like  a  gladiator  while  nero  adopts  short  staves  .  they  both  excel  in  everything  ,  including  the  bloodlust  &  the  craving  to  kill  .  waterways  in  their  true  form  ,  they’re  in  talks  to  volunteer  &  only  the  stupid  would  oppose  their  will  .  but  ,  at  nineteen  augustus  is  found  dead  in  the  quarries  –  feet  away  from  where  nero  laid  at  five  ,  feeling  the  life  slip  from  her  fingers  .  nero  ,  who’s  never  shed  a  tear  in  public  cried  for  the  next  week  ,  red  rimmed  eyes  glaring  at  everyone  who  looked  her  way  at  a  sniffle  .  it’s  deemed  an  accident  ,  but  augustus  –  so  close  to  victory  ,  would’ve  never  accidentally  fallen  to  his  death  .

                         𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫  𝐢𝐢.  the  plan  is  to  enter  the  games  at  twenty  -  three  ;  an  age  near  the  middle  of  the  pack  ,  not  too  young  ,  not  too  old  .  but  the  games  are  supposed  to  be  hers  –  they’re  supposed  to  be  augustus’s  ,  so  she  volunteers  at  eighteen  .  her  sheer  potency  shirks  her  competition  &  she  strides  to  the  stage  with  a  smirk  curled  on  her  lips  .  the  capitol  takes  an  instant  liking  to  her  –  just  the  name  nero  strikes  their  hearts  with  admiration  ;  mixed  with  the  baby  face  ,  the  clear  bloodlust  in  crimson  lips  as  she  boasts  with  pride  about  the  games  .  she  loves  the  games  ,  she  loves  the  capitol  ,  she’s  a  victor  wrapped  up  in  the  cloth  of  a  princess  .  it  becomes  clear  that  manipulation  is  her  forte  –  she’s  good  with  words  ,  she  leaves  everyone’s  head  spinning  &  she  walks  away  with  a  training  score  of  ten  before  interviews  .  when  she  meets  the  stage  clad  in  a  a  ruffly  dress  ,  she  makes  the  crowd  love  her  (  ❛  oh  ,  it’s  an  honor  .  ❜  ,  ❛  i  hope  i  can  make  you  guys  proud  of  me  .  ❜  ,  ❛  my  brother  would’ve  been  so  happy  that  you  guys  have  given  me  a  proud  welcome  .  ❜  )  –  she  earns  her  fair  share  of  sponsors  the  night  before  her  games  &  goes  into  the  game  knowing  she’ll  win  .

                          her  games  are  much  like  her  ,  barbaric  down  to  the  bone  .  a  seemingly  never  ending  fjord  ,  surrounded  by  climbable  walls  of  rock  –  it  almost  reminds  her  of  home  .  the  bloodbath  starts  on  rocky  shores  ,  the  cornucopia  is  the  mouth  of  a  cave  halfway  underwater  &  nero  claims  her  first  kills  in  the  water  .  the  girl  from  eleven  ,  held  underwater  the  way  her  brother  held  her  ;  the  boy  from  three  ,  head  bashed  in  with  a  rock  ;  the  pair  from  five  ,  spear  through  the  pair  like  kebob  .  her  allies  look  to  her  for  instructions  ,  the  career  pack  waits  for  an  eighteen  year  old  empress  to  give  orders  to  her  soldiers  .  the  careers  run  the  game  ,  it’s  almost  un-fun  to  watch  if  not  for  nero  &  her  sheer  entertainment  .  her  laughs  ,  the  quips  she  sends  to  allies  &  non  allies  alike  ,  still  used  as  soundbites  &  promotions  to  this  day  .  she  starts  wars  with  her  words  before  ending  it  herself  with  crimson  stained  hands  .  she  turns  her  allies  against  each  other  just  to  take  them  down  herself  in  the  woods  ,  promises  safety  to  the  non  careers  only  to  betray  them  in  the  cruelest  of  ways  .  her  final  showdown  –  the  girl  from  three  ;  she  survived  to  kill  the  girl  that  killed  her  partner  ,  for  love  ,  or  something  –  the  thing  nero’s  never  searched  for  .  they  survive  a  fall  from  a  cliff  into  icy  waters  &  after  nearly  dying  from  electrocution  ,  blood  is  spilt  in  fjord  water  &  nero  claims  the  crown  with  her  knee  on  the  back  of  the  tribute  ,  hands  drenched  like  the  hair  clutched  in  her  fingers  .  she  can  still  remember  her  brother  trying  to  drown  her  ,  he’s  with  her  when  she  wins  .

                         𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫  𝐢𝐢𝐢.  a  willing  tribute  ,  an  ecstatic  victor  .  she’s  chased  the  crown  for  as  long  as  she’s  lived  &  to  hold  it  in  her  hands  is  enough  to  make  her  smile  for  a  lifetime  .  eager  to  shake  hands  with  president  snow  ,  nero  has  an  easier  life  as  a  tribute  than  most  –  she  has  NO  regrets  ,  she’s  the  perfect  tribute  ,  the  perfect  victor  &  quickly  rises  to  almost  it  -  girl  status  .  her  face  is  everywhere  ,  the  face  of  multiple  brands  &  products  ,  life  size  advertisements  are  all  around  the  capitol  &  her  game  goes  down  in  history  (  top  three  on  the  most  ruthless  ,  cruelest  victors  in  history  )  .  because  of  her  willingness  &  her  eagerness  ,  she  gets  an  easy  life  –   parties  with  the  rich  ,  nights  spent  with  fans  willingly  .  snow  keeps  a  loose  leash  on  his  newest  ,  favorite  victor  ;  lets  her  wield  her  words  in  whichever  way  she  wants  &  nero  gets  everything  she  wants  .  she  watches  with  her  head  held  high  as  others  suffer  ,  losing  no  sleep  ,  sleeping  with  whoever  she  wants  ,  gaining  whatever  she  wants  –  empress  nero  is  branded  on  her  skin  in  invisible  ink  ,  but  she  wears  the  title  with  pride  .

                          and  yet  ,  she  feels  a  little  suffocated  by  the  time  the  74th  games  come  around  .  she’s  known  now  ,  a  capitol  lap  dog  ,  a  willing  victor  ,  a  willing  tribute  –  nero  waterway  is  not  only  lethal  ,  she’s  ruthless  ;  but  ,  there’s  a  part  of  her  that  realizes  snow  is  tightening  her  leash  .  he  demands  secrets  from  the  people  she  beds  ,  the  lives  of  her  parents  hangs  over  her  heads  &  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  ,  nero  FALTERS  underneath  the  watchful  gaze  of  the  capitol  . she  doesn’t  live  up  to  her  namesake  for  the  few  months  leading  up  to  the  games  ,  shirks  from  the  limelight  she’s  grown  to  love  as  she  reevaluates  her  decisions  .  regret’s  started  to  seep  into  her  bones  ,  but  nero  is  an  empress  ,  she  doesn’t  know  how  to  surrender  .

❛   𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗   𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊   ╱   𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

exterior  ,  known  to  be  both  potent  &  untrustworthy  –  nero’s  still  managed  to  wrap  the  capitol  around  her  little  finger  .  she  makes  heads  spin  with  harmless  words  ,  pulls  strings  while  she  bakes  cakes  for  her  favorite  game  makers  .  outwardly  ,  people  know  she’s  NOT  to  be  underestimated  –  that  though  she’s  terrifyingly  tiny  ,  she’s  much  more  lethal  than  most  people  will  ever  be  in  their  entire  lives  .  nero  ,  like  her  namesake  ,  synonymous  with  evil  &  savagery  ,  will  start  wars  without  lifting  a  finger  &  laugh  while  her  fingers  get  stained  with  blood  . 

&  while  the  capitol  craves  it  ,  it  may  rub  other  victors  the  wrong  way  .  a  bit  too  proud  of  her  achievements  ,  nero  has  absolutely  no  regrets  about  her  life  .  she’s  trained  for  it  her  entire  life  ,  she  grasps  her  laurel  wreath  in  between  crimson  hands  &  she  boasts  her  pride  .  she  rolls  in  the  fame  &  the  glory  ,  not  understanding  the  nightmares  &  the  remorse  felt  by  other  winners  clad  in  gold  .  young  &  naive  ,  she’s  almost  childlike  with  her  pure  glee  –  if  not  for  the  bloodthirsty  barbarian  hiding  inside  of  her  .  outrageously  pretentious  ,  borderline  evil  ,  everything  she  says  has  a  meaning  behind  it  –  usually  negative  .

interior  ,  nero  is  lonely  .  a  victorious  socialite  of  all  things  now  ,  she  trains  the  potential  tributes  back  home  ,  attends  lavish  parties  &  mingles  with  high  status  citizens  but  she’s  lonely  at  the  top  .  a  stranger  to  romance  ,  she’s  never  sought  after  it  as  much  as  she  seeks  sexual  interactions  –  she  more  craves  friendship  ,  companionship  in  the  way  she  used  to  have  an  older  brother  .  

but  she  hides  it  well  ,  takes  pictures  by  her  advertisements  ,  watches  the  games  with  glee  ,  laughs  with  game  makers  &  other  ruthless  victors  .  she  masks  her  loneliness  &  her  suspicion  with  charm  &  her  preceding  reputation  ,  unaware  that  her  isolation  is  exactly  what  president  snow  wants  .  her  loneliness  is  what  he  counts  on  ,  but  as  smart  as  nero  is  strategically  ,  she  stupid  .

midway  ,  her  psyche’s  been  a  bit  twisted  &  contorted  because  of  her  upbringing  –  what  ,  with  the  attempted  murder  &  the  glorification  of  the  annual  murder  games  .  she’s  been  an  unfortunate  victim  of  the  capitol’s  brainwashing  ,  viewing  the  games  as  an  extravagant  event  &  winning  to  be  the  greatest  honor  .  she’s  flourished  as  a  victor  as  well  ,  willingly  playing  into  everything  the  capitol  wants  her  to  become  as  a  side  effect  of  being  so  terribly  naive  about  everything  .

there’s  a  part  of  her  that’s  starting  to  suspect  something  is  wrong  –  whispers  of  traitors  &  to  keep  a  close  watch  on  all  the  victors  ,  but  it’s  not  like  nero  has  many  actual  friends  .  not  many  people  actually  want  to  befriend  someone  that’d  gladly  go  into  the  games  again  ,  but  she’s  sat  back  &  observed  while  snow  tightens  her  leash  ,  restricting  her  from  her  daily  life  .  early  signs  of  regret  are  starting  to  seep  into  her  bones  as  snow  starts  demanding  more  &  more  ,  but  she’s  been  idolizing  the  capitol  &  everything  all  her  life  –  it’ll  take  a  lifetime  to  wipe  her  slate  clean  .

❛   𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗   𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗   ╱   𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

in  conclusion  :  nero’s  evil  ,  very  bad  ,  very  annoying  .  &  don’t  look  at  me  ,  i  know  this  is  long  &  THIS  is  why  i  couldn’t  take  up  two  muses  cos  then  i’d  be  stupid  for  BOTH  &  i’m  simply  so  fuckin  stupid  please  love  me  anyway  if  u  wanna  plot  ....  jus  like  this  &  i’ll  slide  in  .

[aion-rsa]

Best Horror Movies on Netflix: Scariest Films to Stream

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Editor’s Note: This post is updated monthly. Bookmark this page to see what the best horror movies on Netflix are at your convenience.

Is it Halloween when you’re reading this? If not we’re still close enough with fall here and the month of October almost upon us! It’s the time of year where we like our drinks spiced with pumpkin or apple, our flannel light, and the movies we consume scary. And lucky for you there are more than a handful of worthwhile scary movies on Netflix.

There is nothing quite as fun as embracing the spooky, the creepy, the scary, and things that go bump in the night. Thankfully we have horror movies to help us down these paths. If you ever find yourself in need of a thrill or a chill, check out some of the best horror movies on Netflix, we’ve gathered here.

Enjoy your tricks and treats.

Looking for the best horror movies on Netflix UK? Click here!

As Above, So Below

We know what you might be thinking: a found footage horror movie? Yes, this was one of the later adherents to a genre craze that got run into the ground during the 2000s and early 2010s. However, As Above, So Below is the rare thing: effectively creepy. With a crackerjack premise about the real Catacombs of Paris being a secret gateway to Hell, the film casts an energetic Perdita Weeks as a modern day Indiana Jones in a Go-Pro helmet. She and her colleagues make the unwise choice to go off the tourist-guided path in the catacombs, which is home to the remains of more than 6 million people who died between the early middle ages and 18th century.

But once deep below the City of Lights, the film’s dwindling protagonists find themselves crawling beneath a wall with the words “Abandon all Hope Ye Who Enter.” And things just get bleak from there. This is a ghoulish good-time for those who are willing to indulge in the gimmick storytelling.

Apostle

Apostle comes from acclaimed The Raid director Gareth Evans and is his take on the horror genre. Spoiler alert: it’s a good one.

Dan Stevens stars as Thomas Richardson, a British man in the early 1900s who must rescue his sister, Jennifer, from the clutches of a murderous cult. Thomas successfully infiltrates the cult led by the charismatic Malcom Howe (Michael Sheen) and begins to ingratiate himself with the strange folks obsessed with bloodletting. Thomas soon comes to find that the object of the cult’s religious fervor may be more real than he’d prefer.

The Blackcoat’s Daughter

Some kids dream about being left overnight or even a week at certain locations to play, like say a mall or a Chuck E. Cheese. One place that no one wants to be left alone in, however, is a Catholic boarding school.

That’s the situation that Rose (Lucy Boynton) and Kat (Kiernan Shipka) find themselves in in the atmospheric and creepy The Blackcoat’s Daughter. When Rose and Kat’s parents are unable to pick them up for winter break, the two are forced to spend the week at their dingy Catholic boarding school. If that weren’t bad enough, Rose fears that she may be pregnant…oh, and the nuns might all be Satanists.

The Blackcoat’s Daughter is an excellent debut directorial outing from Oz Perkins and another step on the right horror path for scream queens Shipka and Emma Roberts.

The Evil Dead

1981’s The Evil Dead is nothing less than one of the biggest success stories in horror movie history.

Written and directed on a shoestring budget by Sam Raimi, The Evil Dead uses traditional horror tropes to its great advantage, creating a scary, funny, and almost inconceivably bloody story about five college students who encounter some trouble in a cabin in the middle of the woods. That trouble includes the unwitting release of a legion of demons upon the world.

The Evil Dead rightfully made stars of its creator and lead Bruce Campbell. It was also the jumping off point for a successful franchise that includes two sequels, a remake, a TV show, and more.

Gerald’s Game

We are living in a renaissance for Stephen King adaptations. But while there have been many killer clowns and hat-wearing fiends getting major attention at the multiplexes, the best King movie in perhaps decades is Mike Flanagan’s underrated Gerald’s Game. Cleverly adapted from what has been described as one of King’s worst stories, Gerald’s Game improves on its source material when it imagines a middle-aged woman (Carla Gugino) placed in a terrifying survival situation after her husband (Bruce Greenwood) dies of a heart attack during a sex game.

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Movies

15 Best Stephen King Movies

By John Saavedra

Movies

The Shining: 5 Things Jack Torrance Taught Us About Social Distancing and Quarantine

By David Crow

Handcuffed to a bed in their remote cabin in the woods, Gugino’s Jessie must face the fact no one is coming to save her in the next week… more than enough time to die of dehydration or the wolf prowling about. Thus the specter of death hovers over the whole movie, seemingly literally with a monstrous shade emerging from the shadows to bedevil Jessie each night. A trenchant character study that frees Gugino to show a wide range of terror, determination, and finally horrifying desperation, the movie delves into the shadows of a woman haunted by trauma and demons almost as scary as her current situation. Almost.

The Gift

Who knew Joel Edgerton had it in him?

The Gift is the Australian actor’s writing and directing debut and it doesn’t disappoint. Edgerton stars as Gordon “Gordo” Mosely. He’s a nice enough middle-aged man if a little “off.” One day while shopping he runs into an old high school classmate Simon (Jason Bateman) and his wife Robyn (Rebecca Hall). After their brief encounter, Gordo takes it upon himself to start dropping off little gifts to Simon and Robyn’s home. Robyn sees no problem with it at first. But Simon becomes disturbed, perhaps because of the unique past Simon and Gordo share.

Many horror movies understand there must be a twist of some sort or at the very least an unexpected third act. Even still The Gift‘s third act switch up is particularly devastating because it’s so mundane and logical. The Gift ends up being an emotional drama disguised as horror.

The Girl with All the Gifts

Just when you thought there was nothing left to be done with the zombie genre, in comes a shocking and original idea… one that has sadly grown only more scary in 2020 with regards to The Girl with All the Gifts. A brilliant little indie from Colm McCarthy, this underrated gem imagines a zombie apocalypse as something closer to a viral pandemic that lasts for generations…. and one where a vaccine is always just out of reach.

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Movies

Evil Dead Movies: The Most Soul Sucking Moments

By David Crow

Movies

Zombie Comedies Ranked

By David Crow

Thus enters the class of Helen Justineau (Gemma Arterton). Years after a fungal infection ravaged the planet, turning the infected into “hungries” (breathing zombies), their offspring have shown a creepy ability to retain the ability to think, learn, and love… even as they crave living flesh.

Hence the students in Helen’s class, including her favorite Melanie (Sennia Nanua). The child is special… too much so when it’s believed her biology could create a vaccine that would spare anymore humans turning “hungry.” But to harvest her body, the military will drag Helen and Melanie through an urban hellscape which has reduced London to an abandoned refuge for Hungries and feral children who likewise hunt uninfected humans for food.

The Golem

The Golem is such an awesome monster from Jewish mythology that it’s hard to believe they don’t make more movies about him. Well now they have. The Golem isn’t a straight-up remake of the 1915 movie of the same name so much as it is the next step in the evolution of this grim mythological beast.

During the outbreak of a plague, Hanna (Hani Furstenberg) will do whatever it takes to defend her community from outside invaders. Unfortunately, and in true fairy tale fashion, the creature she conjures up to defend her community quickly develops a murderous mind of its own.

Green Room

Green Room is a shockingly conventional horror movie despite not having all of the elements we traditionally associate with them. You won’t find any monsters or the presence of the supernatural in Green Room.

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Movies

31 Best Horror Movies to Stream

By Alec Bojalad and 1 other

Movies

The 13 Best Horror Movie Themes

By David Crow

Instead all monsters are replaced by vengeful neo-Nazis and the haunted house is replaced by a skinhead punk music club in the middle of nowhere in the Oregon woods. The band, The Aint Rights, led by bassist Pat (Anton Yelchin) are locked in the green room of a club after witnessing a murder and must fight their way out.

Horns

A horror vintage for a distinctly acquired taste, Alexandre Aja’s Horns is a bizarre fairy tale for adults. As much a revenge fable as a typical chiller, this movie which put “Harry Potter in Devil Horns” is actually something of a grim love story based on a novel by Joe Hill.

Daniel Radcliffe plays Ig Perrish, an outcast in his local community who wants nothing more than to forever be by the side of his lifelong love Merrin (Juno Temple). After her brutal unsolved murder prevents that, Ig swears he’d sell his soul to get revenge.

Funny thing is the day after he makes such a proclamation, horns begin growing from his forehead. The greater they grow, the easier it is to get sinners around him to confess their most hidden shames, and indulge in others. But with the clock ticking before he becomes a full-fledged demon, and his soul is presumably claimed by Beelzebub, there is only a narrow window before he can get revenge while raising a little hell.

Hush

In his follow-up to the cult classic Oculus, Mike Flanagan makes one of the more clever horror movies on this list. Hush is a thrilling game of cat-and-mouse within the typical nightmare of a home invasion, yet it also turns conventions of that familiar terror on its head.

For instance, the savvy angle about this movie is Kate Siegel (who co-wrote the movie with Flanagan) plays Maddie, a deaf and mute woman living in the woods alone. Like Audrey Hepburn’s blind woman from the progenitor of home invasion stories, Wait Until Dark (1967), Maddie is completely isolated when she is marked for death by a menacing monster in human flesh.

Like the masked villains of so many more generic home invasion movies (I’m looking square at you, Strangers), John Gallagher Jr.’s “Man” wears a mask as he sneaks into her house. However, the functions of this story are laid bare since we actually keep an eye on what the “Man” is doing at all times, and how he is getting or not getting into the house in any given scene. He isn’t aided by filmmakers who’ve given him faux-supernatural and omnipotent abilities like other versions of these stories, and he’s not an “Other;” he’s a man who does take his mask off, and his lust for murder is not so much fetishized as shown for the repulsive behavior that it is. And still, Maddie proves to be both resourceful and painfully ill-equipped to take him on in this tense battle of wills.

Insidious

Insidious is the start of a multi-film horror franchise and a pretty good one at that. Patrick Wilson and Rose Byrne star as a married couple who move into a new home with their three kids. Shortly after they move in, their son Dalton is drawn to a shadow in the attic and then falls into a mysterious coma from which they can’t wake him.

It’s at this point that the Lamberts do what horror fans always yell at characters to do: they move out of the damn house! Little do they know, however, that some hauntings go beyond mere domiciles.

The Invitation

Seeing your ex is always uncomfortable, but imagine if your ex-wife invited you to a dinner party with her new husband? That is just about the least creepy thing in this taut thriller nestled in the Hollywood Hills.

Indeed, in The Invitation Logan Marshall-Green’s Will is invited by his estranged wife (Tammy Blanchard) for dinner with her new hubby David (Michael Huisman of Game of Thrones). David apparently wanted to extend the bread-breaking offer personally since he has something he wants to invite both Will and all his other guests into joining. And it isn’t a game of Scrabble…

It Comes at Night

Surviving the apocalypse comes with a certain amount of questions. For starters, what do you do after you survive a global pandemic thanks to your secluded cabin in the woods…and then someone comes knocking? That’s the situation that the family consisting of Paul (Joel Edgerton), Sarah (Carmen Ejogo), and Travis (Kelvin Harrison Jr.) find themselves in in It Comes at Night.

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TV

Best Horror TV Shows on Netflix

By Alec Bojalad

TV

Best Horror TV Shows on Hulu

By Alec Bojalad

When Paul and his family come across another family in the woods seeking shelter and water, they hesitantly welcome them in. But this soon proves to be a dangerous decision. Having guests in the real world is annoying enough to deal with and it only becomes harder when you suspect that any one of them could be sick with a highly-contagious, utterly fatal illness.

Paranormal Activity

Ignore the sequels. Yes, you know they’re bad and we know they’re bad. But long before “the Ghost Dimension” (whatever the hell that means), there was this eerie surprise hit that started it all. A movie which was estimated to be the most profitable movie of all time in its day–earning $193.4 million worldwide on a budget of $15,000–Paranormal Activity put Blumhouse Productions on the map and is still a supremely affecting piece of atmosphere.

Presented as the true story of a young, and not wholly likable, couple (Katie Featherston and Micah Sloat), the film follows the pair as they attempt to document the bumps they’re hearing in the house at night–only to discover a demonic presence and some repressed memories for one party. A still brilliant exercise in sound design, tension, and the uncanny ability to trick audiences into believing what they’re seeing is actually happening, this remains the best found footage horror movie ever made.

Poltergeist

Before there was Insidious, The Conjuring, or a myriad of other “suburban family vs. haunted house” movies, there was Poltergeist. Taking ghost stories out of the Gothic setting of ancient castles or decrepit mansions and hotels, Poltergeist moved the spirits into the middle class American heartland of the 1980s. With a smart screenplay by no less than Steven Spielberg (and, according to some, his ghost direction), Poltergeist finds the Freeling family privy to a disquieting fact about their new home: It’s built on top of a cemetery!

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TV

The Best Haunted House Movies and TV Shows of All Time

By Sarah Dobbs

Movies

How Annabelle Comes Home Fits into The Conjuring Universe

By Don Kaye

You probably know the story, and if you don’t you can guess it after decades of copycats that followed, but this special effects-laden spectacle still holds up, especially as a thriller that can be enjoyed by the whole family. Fair warning though, if your kids have a tree outside their window or a clown doll under their bed, we don’t take responsibility for the years of therapy bills this may inflict!

Red Dragon

The often overlooked other child of the Hannibal Lecter movie family, Red Dragon is no The Silence of the Lambs, no matter how much it wishes it was. Nor is it as visually evocative or luscious as Ridley Scott’s decadent Hannibal. Nevertheless, we find this prequel to both films to be at least worthy of association with the former, and ultimately more satisfying than the latter. A definite attempt to reshape Thomas Harris’ first novel to feature the Lecter character into a Silence of the Lambs clone, Red Dragon still has quite a bit to enjoy.

At the top of the list is of course Sir Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal for the third and final time. Definitely his hammiest iteration of the character, even a campy Hopkins is impossible to resist given the not-so-good doctor’s droll wit or distinct taste palate. Director Brett Ratner’s framing around Lecter is competent enough, and he wisely gets a superb supporting cast who can overwhelm any shortcomings.

Edward Norton is a compelling lead FBI detective; Philip Seymour Hoffman is delightfully repellent as a tabloid journalist who suffers a terrifying fate; and Ralph Fiennes roars as the serial killer who inflicts that fate on Hoffman. It may be no Manhunter–Michael Mann’s first adaptation of the source novel–but Red Dragon‘s the one on Netflix. So love the one you’re with!

The Silence of the Lambs

If you are only going to watch one Hannibal Lecter movie, this is the all-time masterpiece which remains the sole horror movie to win an Oscar for Best Picture. An absolutely gripping thriller even 30 years later, Jonathan Demme’s movie is an all-time great because of stellar performances and a sharp screenplay told by an even sharper eye.

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Movies

The Silence of the Lambs: A Thinking Person’s Monster Movie

By Ryan Lambie

Movies

Best Horror Movies on Hulu

By Alec Bojalad and 1 other

Here is the movie that kicked off the serial killer craze in Hollywood during the ’90s. Yet more than the gory details, what lingers in the mind are little things like an opening sequence that introduces Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) as the lone woman on an elevator full of FBI ubermensches, or the way Anthony Hopkins breaks his unrelenting stare to mispronounce “Chianti” with dripping disdain for the Yokel sent to interview him. Every facet of this movie works, and thus it hasn’t aged a day. We do recommend watching it with a side of fava beans, though.

Sinister

One of the better Blumhouse chillers to come out of the 2010s, Sinister is the case of a brilliant elevator pitch meeting a superior pair of talents in director Scott Derrickson and star Ethan Hawke to bring it to life.

The setup of the movie is simple: There is a pagan demon god who will consume the soul of any nearby children whenever someone sees him. And not just him, but recreations of his image on walls. And wouldn’t you know it, true crime journalist Ellison (Hawke) just moved into a house with an attic full of home movies stuffed to the gills with Bughuul. And Ellison’s daughter is right downstairs. Uh oh.

Sleepy Hollow

As much a comedy as a horror film, Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow should always be on the table when discussing October viewing options. After all, this demented reimagining of Washington Irving’s classic short story, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” never forgets the selling point is to have them rolling in the aisles. And more than a few heads do just that.

As a film with the most varied and imaginative uses of decapitation, Sleepy Hollow cuts a bloody path across Upstate New York. In fact, despite its American setting, we might as well confess what Sleepy Hollow really is: a modern version of a Hammer horror movie.

Burton incorporates all of his favorite tropes here: The intentionally stuffy faux-British acting (even though all the characters are of Dutch descent); the exaggerated and formal clothing; more than a few heaving bosoms; and lots and lots of gore. This film is so perfectly macabre and gleefully grotesque that you might even be forgiven for not noticing at first glance how dryly funny and deadpan a place this Sleepy Hollow tends to be.

Splice

What if Dr. Frankenstein banged his monster? That is just one of several creepy elements to Splice, a weird psychosexual sci-fi/horror hybrid. Directed by Vincenzo Natali and starring Adrien Brody and Sarah Polley as the world’s worst scientists, Splice follows two not-so-smart doctors who attempt to play God by creating an entire new species of creature they name Dren (Delphine Chanéac).

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Books

Frankenstein Adaptations Are Almost Never Frankenstein Adaptations

By Kayti Burt

Movies

Best Horror Movies Streaming on HBO Max

By David Crow and 2 others

At first a computer-generated child with alien eyes and a roping tail, Dren soon grows from girl to young woman, seducer to… well, something even more unexpected. Weird, unpleasant, and ultimately unshakable like that one bad dream, Splice plays with ideas of identity, gender, and parenthood.

Sweetheart

Don’t let the name fool you, Sweetheart is very much a horror movie. What kind of horror movie, you ask? Well, after a boat sinks during a storm, young Jennifer Remming (Kiersey Clemons) is the only survivor. She washes ashore a small island and gets to work burying her friends, creating shelter, and foraging for food. You know: deserted island stuff.

Soon, however, Jenn will come to find that the island is not as deserted as she previously thought. There’s something out there – something big, dangerous, and hungry. Sweetheart is like Castaway meets Predator and it’s another indie horror hit for Blumhouse.

Tucker and Dale vs. Evil

Tucker and Dale vs. Evil is a fantastic little satire on the horror genre that, in a similar fashion to Scream, is packed with laughs, gore, and a bit of a message. When a group of preppy college students head out to the backwoods for a camping trip, they stumble upon two good-natured good ol’ boys that they mistake for homicidal hillbillies.

Their quick, off-the-mark judgment of Tucker and Dale lead to these snobs getting themselves into sticky, often bloody, and hilariously over-the-top situations. Tucker and Dale vs. Evil rides a one-joke premise to successful heights and teaches audiences to not judge a book by its cover.

Under the Shadow

This 2016 effort could not possibly be more timely as it sympathizes, and terrorizes, an Iranian single mother and child in 1980s Tehran. Like a draconian travel ban, Shideh (Narges Rashidi) and her son Dorsa (Avin Manshadi) are malevolently targeted by a force of supreme evil.

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Movies

How Jason Blum Changed Horror Movies

By Rosie Fletcher

Movies

The 13 Best Final Girls in Horror Movie History

By David Crow

This occurs after Dorsa’s father, a doctor, is called away to serve the Iranian army in post-revolution and war-torn Iran. In his absence evil seeps in… as does a quality horror movie with heightened emotional weight.

Underworld

No one is going to mistake Underworld for high art. That obvious fact makes the lofty pretensions of these movies all the more endearing. With a cast of high-minded British theatrical actors, many trained in the Royal Shakespeare Company, at least the early movies in this Gothic horror/action mash-up series were overflowing with histrionic self-importance and grandiosity.

Take the first and best in the series. In the margins you have Bill Nighy and Michael Sheen portraying the patriarchs of warring factions of vampires and werewolves, and a love story caught between their violence that’ shamelessly modeled on Romeo and Juliet. It’s ridiculous, especially with Scott Speedman playing one party. But when the other is the oft-underrated Kate Beckinsale it doesn’t matter.

The movie’s bombast becomes the movie’s first virtue, and Len Wiseman’s penchant for glossy slick visuals, which would look at home in the sexiest Eurotrash graphic novel at the bookstore, is its other. Combined they make this a guilty good time. Though we recommend not venturing past the second or third movie.

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[cant-blink]

Wrote a Rodorah Story Thing

Woke up at 3am. Couldn’t sleep. Checked tumblr and found a reblog of my recent Rodorah post. The one about how Ghidorah would react to realizing they had feelings for Rodan and how they would try to hide it whilst plotting to betray Rodan. That reblog went a little something like this:

‘After rereading this, I suddenly had this thought that, if they do develop feelings for Rodan and are able to swallow it back enough to finally betray him in the end, Rodan…doesn’t react how they thought he would.

He’s upset, yes, but more…resigned.

Like he knew it was coming.

He even says as much: “I was…kinda waiting for this, to be honest.”

And Ghidorah just stops, shocked, because that comment…hurt.’

 Welp, my sleep deprived mind went to work and the urge to write was too strong! This is for you, @flamingkingoftheskies. You did this to me! 

-

It was a familiar scene, Ghidorah having Rodan pinned to the ground beneath them, their heavy weight pressing on the pterosaur’s chest and stomach. Making breath difficult. They have done this plenty of times before, forcing submission from their little slave through means of violence. They would take pleasure in the sight and feel of him struggling to get free only to then give up the useless endeavor.

But this time, there was no such reveling.

They had intended to kill the little bird. The fun was over, their slave has outlived his usefulness, and now it was time to end it. Just as Ichi has done before with other victims that have been foolish enough to form an attachment to him. Rodan was no different from them, Ichi would tell himself. But he knew that was a lie. Rodan was different.

Ichi didn’t want to do this. Whether this new odd affection for the bird was real or the result of attempted mind-control from the pterosaur, he still hasn’t figured out. But it didn’t matter because the result was the same. It took strength just to get this far into their betrayal of him, to lash out at him when he had least expected it. To tear into his armored hide and toss him to the ground. But that strength was suddenly drained when their victim had to speak those words.

“I was…” he had managed to choke out when they pinned him, their intention for murder obvious. “…kinda waiting for this, to be honest.”

That brought a stab in his heart, and San let out a soft whimper to show he felt the same pain.

Rodan knew this action was coming. This whole time, he knew this was inevitable. As inevitable as the rising and falling of this world’s star. He saw the destruction they caused, he saw the senseless deaths they had brought upon this planet. He knew he would fall like the rest of them. Yet he still persisted in being with them. Still performed his odd little courtship towards them. Still made efforts to seduce them, mate with them. After the horror they put him through beforehand, he still wanted them for reasons beyond their understanding.

This can all be over. Just kill this slave and be done with it, all the confusion this odd feeling was bringing them would be over. They can put it all behind them and move on to the next world. Business as usual. But Ichi felt it, as did San. If they did this, pull through with this betrayal, that confusion would turn into pain. Unknown, horrifying pain. Pain already ebbing through them and just waiting to get worse.

Ichi heard another whimper from San, breaking him of his thoughts. He had to remain strong, he can’t falter now. He made his decision and he had to go through with it. Whatever pain it brought, he can deal with at a later time. He can help San through it at a later time. Just…

He still hesitated, staring silently at their slave with his usual cold expression. The bird was just lying there, accepting his fate. Even leaving his throat exposed for them to land the deadly blow. He could strike right now, it’ll be an easy kill. Clamp down on that arrogant little neck, taste the hot blood and magma. Crush the wind-pipe and feel that heartbeat fade into nothing. He’s done this plenty of times before, now was no different.

But still he faltered. He glanced over at San, whom was still letting out soft whimpers of distress. It was clear his youngest brother was trying to remain strong, for them, but he always had a hard time hiding his own emotions. Hiding how much it hurt…

Ichi returned his gaze to the slave. He can do this. He lowered his head down, fangs inches away from his throat. He felt the slave tense, but nothing was done to push him away. Just one bite, he can do this. Ignore the warmth radiating from the skin beneath him, ignore the scent. He can do this. He…

…

He can’t do this.

His distress wasn’t nearly as obvious as San’s; indeed, he did an excellent job concealing it behind his cold glare. But the hesitation, he couldn’t hide, and after a moment, he knew he couldn’t pull through with this. But of course, he didn’t have to, did he?

“Brother Ni,” he said in a toneless voice as he pulled away. “Kill him.”

It was a simple order, one that should go smoothly. Ni has made no secret how much he wanted to kill this bird, and was no doubt awaiting this moment the second they took him hostage. Even now, Ni was snarling at the slave and Ichi fully expected him to leap at the opportunity. The alpha brother still wasn’t sure if it was something he wanted to see happen, but this was the easiest way.

That was, until he saw something he never thought he’d witness. Ni… faltered. For only a second, but it was enough for Ichi to see through his snarls, see through those bloodthirsty eyes.

Ni felt the odd affection too…

All this time, he never would’ve guessed, which was what his younger brother was going for. Ni felt disgusted that this was even a thing, why the slave elicited such odd and unpleasantly warm feelings within him. He hated it. He hated this bird. He hated himself. And for a second, he hated that Ichi had placed this responsibility onto him.

He hated how his heart sunk for a brief second at hearing those words, hated the pain erupting from it. He hated how he faltered. He hated how he showed weakness.

He hated the overwhelming anger and frustration that brought. He hated how he was able to direct that to this bird. And he hated how his hesitation only lasted a brief second.

The best he can do is try to make this swift, as he lunged down with a snarl and bit down onto the slave’s stupid little exposed throat.

He always found himself fantasizing about this moment, when he would be allowed to end this creature’s life through just such this method. He would savor feeling the life leave him and a powerful thrash would no doubt snap this stupid pest’s neck. Just one good shake.

But he remained still, tasting blood and magma on his forked tongue. The slave did not struggle beneath him, and although he saw and felt the creature lift his wings, the claws did not try to yank him away as they usually did.

Ni rarely let anyone touch him so softly as Rodan was now. He barely tolerated it when his brothers would show affection with soft touches and gentle grooms, or didn’t tolerate it at all depending on his mood. Most certainly, he never allowed an inferior creature to do so. He would rip them to pieces for having the gall to touch him without the intention of tearing him apart in brutal combat.

But it felt different this time. That stupid warm feeling was back as he felt the claws trail along his golden scales with loving tenderness. Didn’t this idiotic creature realize he was dying? Why was he doing this? And why did Ni’s responding growl sound so… weak?

He bit down harder.

It should be easy for Ichi not to watch this. San has already turned his eyes away, trying to rely on his easily distracted nature to look anywhere else but what was in front of them. Ichi had done nothing to reprimand his distraction, although doing so in similar situations wasn’t really necessary as San needed no encouragement to watch the suffering of an inferior creature.

There was no sadistic pleasure in him this time. Just focus on the fire around them, the ones sparked from Rodan’s contact with the flammable vegetation. Watch those flames dance hypnotically and try not to think about the slave. The funny little slave...

Ichi wished his attention could be so easily diverted from the suffocating little pest, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away. Rodan was staring back at him, strangely calm even as his body began struggling for breath. Ichi could feel their slave’s erratic heartbeat from the pinned chest beneath them, and it was utter torment. How could this creature be so accepting, so calm, so confusing, so infuriating, so…

…

He felt the pain in his heart get worse as the little bird, their little bird, started to go limp with unconsciousness. The words came out before he could even stop himself.

“Let him go.” It sounded a little more panicked than he would’ve liked, but he didn’t need to say it again. Ni relinquished his grip and their slave immediately jolted with much-needed breath. His coughs and gasps were hindered by the hydra’s weight, but Ichi helpfully stepped off from him. Allowing him free, and if he were to flee, Ghidorah would do nothing to stop him.

But he doesn’t spring up to beat a hasty escape, instead shakily righting himself as he caught his breath. His eyes, bright golden eyes, look up towards them. San was looking at Ichi with confusion and maybe something bordering on relief. Ni was silent, glaring at both Ichi and him, but without a snarl on his bloodied muzzle. Ichi felt uncertain with himself, with his words. He had resolved that it was best to kill the bird and now he was going back on his decision?

“Ghidorah?” he could hear the soft, raspy voice from the pterosaur. He was still staring at them, with those stupid hopeful eyes of his. He only got a growl from Ni in response, but despite that, he crept closer. He shouldn’t be coming closer, he should be fleeing. He just narrowly avoided getting murdered and for all he knows, he could still be killed!

But he didn’t seem at all afraid as he reached out a wing to touch theirs. That warm feeling was intensified at the touch. The touch wasn’t new, Rodan was always physical in his odd attachment to them and usually earned a snap of retaliation from Ni. But the right head did nothing this time. This seemed to encourage the bird to huddle closer to them and they felt his warmth against the scales of their chest.

It was too much to take in. Too much warmth, too much confusion, too much everything. Ichi pulled their body away from their slave. He still looked uncertain, but his words were firm as usual.

“Go back to the nest.”

Without giving any time for a response, Ghidorah spread their vast wings and took off into the air away from the bird. They had a lot to think about, a lot to discuss. They needed to clear their heads, figure out what to do next from here.

It took everything San had not to look back as they disappeared into the thundering clouds.

[fataziraphale]

The Best and Wisest Man Whom I Have Ever Known (A Good Omens Secret Santa)

Happy holidays, @ditherwings!!! I was your Good Omens Secret Santa! I had oodles of fun writing this—I too adore literary history and Aziraphale being a dork. You have excellent taste! I hope your holidays are wonderful and you enjoy this offering from me.

When Aziraphale sent a letter to cancel their dinner plans, Crowley dropped a potted plant in shock, scattering ceramic shards all over his kitchen floor. Aziraphale never turned down the Café Royal. He relished in running into all those authors he was fond of, like the unsettlingly tall one who flirted a bit too much for Crowley’s taste. Plus—and this generally piqued Aziraphale’s interest even more—their French patisserie was to die for.

Perhaps more alarming, Aziraphale’s elegantly looped handwriting announced he was cancelling dinner because he was currently in mourning.

In mourning? For a human, then? It didn’t seem in-character. Among their other arrangements, Crowley and Aziraphale had made a pact, some drunken night in 1431, that they weren’t going to love any specific humans. Sure, it was all right for Aziraphale to go the salons and debate the merits of various magazine poems, or be on a first-name basis with his local baker. It was another matter entirely for him to become attached.

It all got too messy. They’d agreed on that. They’d practically emptied out a winery after Boccaccio died—Aziraphale because the man had made such incredible contributions to the literary canon, Crowley because he’d inspired a whole generation of women to take up masturbating, but both because Giovanni was a friend. They knew what happened to humans after they died, they knew the man’s soul would live on until at least Armageddon, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that they would miss him, and they couldn’t keep going on like this, becoming blubbery messes incapable of doing their duties every time a good drinking buddy got ill. So they’d decided not to. They’d promised.

So then who the dev—who was Aziraphale mourning now?

Miffed at Aziraphale going back on his word (and certainly not worried about the angel, don’t be daft), Crowley fetched his hat and coat and set off into the streets of London. Carriages crowded the road, humans weaving in and out of the foggy air. Crowley flagged a cab and rattled off Aziraphale’s address, tapping his foot against the carriage floor as it bumped against the cobblestones.

It was awfully inconvenient, relying on humans for transport, but he had never been particularly good with horses. He’d read in the paper about a German woman who’d traveled a great distance in some sort of horseless carriage. He’d been thinking of heading to the continent to see what the fuss was for himself. He wondered if Aziraphale would like to come along—they could go hear that new Brahms piano thing everyone and their mother raved about.

But no. Aziraphale was in mourning.

Not for the first time, Crowley wondered if it wasn’t simply a euphemism. If Aziraphale wasn’t angry with Crowley but too polite to say so. Sure, they’d had that tiff in the 60s over holy water, but Crowley had thought they’d patched things up. He’d bought Aziraphale his weight in apology chocolate. So what could be the matter now?

Yet as he exited the cab onto Aziraphale’s street, Crowley couldn’t help but notice a pattern: young men sporting black armbands. Yes, there were bucketloads of them—this one hurrying into his apartment, that one buying flowers from a stand on the roadside, those two comforting a weeping woman. Crowley remembered himself just enough to push one mourner into the street, making sure to do so when no carriages where heading his way.

The bookshop was closed, but that was normal for Tuesdays. Crowley rang the bell and, when no one answered, willed the knob to turn.

The angel Aziraphale sat his desk, sniffling over a copy of The Strand.

Crowley stared at him. Indeed, Aziraphale did appear to be mourning—he wore a black crêpe around his upper arm, and another adorned the hat hanging on his hat stand. He put down the magazine with a sigh that came from the very depths of his soul, if angels had that sort of thing (Crowley wasn’t entirely sure). He removed his spectacles from his nose, tucked them into his pocket, and caught eyes with Crowley across the room.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Aziraphale murmured. “You’ve read it, haven’t you? Do sit down. Would you like some tea? No, you’ll likely need something stronger.”

Mystified, Crowley lowered himself into a chair, stopping first to lift a heap of books off its seat and onto the floor. “Read what? I saw the men in the streets. Who died? Is it someone important?” His eyes widened. “They didn’t catch that friend of yours, did they? That author who wears all those gaudy green flowers?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Oscar is perfectly sound, though I’m not sure A Woman of No Importance was his tightest work. Perhaps he should stick with prose rather than drama.”

“Then what’s this about? Someone from your gentleman’s club? No, it’s got to be some famous bugger if everyone’s gutted about it.” Crowley cast his eyes around for inspiration. “It’s not the Queen. I would have heard if it were the bloody Queen.”

Aziraphale drew a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes. Crowley had never known Aziraphale to be a crier, but now he was getting the disturbing impulse to start saying things like “There, there” and “It’ll all be all right in the end.”

“He was a great man,” said Aziraphale. “Perhaps Britain’s finest. Crowley, I simply don’t know how I will go on without him.”

Crowley had already reached across the desk for Aziraphale’s hand before he remembered he was supposed to be a demon. “I thought we said we weren’t going to do this. Not after Joan. We weren’t going to get close to humans.”

“Oh, he and I aren’t close. Goodness, though, I should think I’m going to write the man a very stern letter. You simply can’t go playing with people’s emotions like that!”

“It probably wasn’t his fault,” Crowley said. “You know, dying. Humans tend to do it whether they want to or not.”

“But humans can choose not to murder a beloved cultural figure!”

This caught Crowley’s attention. Murder wasn’t always the work of his side, but it was certainly more in his wheelhouse than the angel’s.

“Do you want revenge, angel?” Crowley tried his best to snarl, but his tone came out more like sympathy. “Because I can help you with that. I can turn the murderer’s… undergarments into ants. I don’t know, give me time to think of something really devious, I’m a bit rusty.”

“Perhaps you could write him a letter too,” said Aziraphale, and then his eyes lit up. Something inside him clicked, and a smile lifted his chubby cheeks to Heaven—just as it had when he’d first tried bread back in Mesopotamia, or last week when he’d showed off his charmingly bad gavotte.

“We could start a movement,” Aziraphale gushed. Crowley’s heart, despite not strictly needing to beat, threatened to give out altogether. “Yes, I believe we could! One letter might not sway the man, but twenty? Fifty? One hundred? We could rally the men in the streets! Tape up posters in Trafalgar Square! I could make a picket sign! I’ve always wanted to make a picket sign.” He stood up, raising a triumphant fist as he glared righteously at a stack of encyclopedias. “Why, if we put enough pressure on the man, he’ll have to cave! He’ll bring the dead back to life in no time at all!”

“Er,” said Crowley. “I’m not sure that’s how that works.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. If anyone can think of a way to bring back the world’s greatest detective, it’s Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“Why would this Conan Doyle bloke kill a detective? Did he do a crime he wants covered up? Does the detective owe him money?”

“What? Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale chuckled. Crowley could feel his cheeks growing pink for at least three reasons. “Sherlock Holmes is fictional. He’s Doyle’s literary creation.” He frowned. “I gave you The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes last Christmas. Did you not read it?”

Crowley stared. “Do you mean to tell me, all this time, you’ve been planning to skip out on dinner because you’re mourning someone fictional?”

“He’s a very good detective.”

“I don’t believe this! Angel, I thought you were actually depressed!”

“I am depressed!” Aziraphale scoffed. “And it’s perfectly reasonable to be affected by literature! Why, just last year, I closed my bookshop for a month to recover from The Picture of Dorian Gray!”

“I thought you just didn’t fancy dealing with customers!”

“And you, my dear.” Aziraphale jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you! 1806 BC! You cried after reading The Epic of Gilgamesh! At seeing the humans’ first attempt at truly great literature!”

“Angel, those were tears of laughter! That guy Enkidu had a hard-on for two bloody weeks! Could you keep a straight face reading that?”

“There’s no need to be crass.” Aziraphale coughed into his handkerchief, but Crowley could recognize those upturned lips anywhere. “Anyway, I’m hardly alone in this. Plenty of readers lived for the Holmes stories. It’s a true pity there won’t be any more.”

“Good. Oodles of angry humans. Doyle did my job for me.” Crowley was already mentally drafting a very threatening letter. Naming the man’s children should do the trick. In the off-chance he didn’t have any children, well, the replacing Doyle’s undergarments with ants idea was growing on him.

“But you see, this is why I mustn’t go to dinner with you.” Aziraphale assumed his most sincere expression. “It would be disrespectful to be seen lavishly dining and carrying on when such a tragedy has befallen the literary world. Why, none of my friends there would let me hear the end of it.” He gazed forlornly into an empty mug, rimmed around the top with cocoa stains.

“What about lunch?”

Aziraphale’s head snapped up. “Oh, excellent. I’m simply starving. And a man must eat. No one could blame me for that.”

Crowley’s mouth curled into a devilish grin. He held out his hand, and Aziraphale took it. “I won’t tell any of your author friends if you don’t bring up me and Gilgamesh.”

“Perhaps only in private.”

“It’s a funny poem! The bloke had sex for two weeks!”

“Ah, that reminds me. If you truly don’t want your first edition Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, may I have it back? It would make an excellent addition to my collection.”

“You devious bastard. You only bought me that bloody book because you wanted it.”

Crowley weaved between dusty stacks of hardbacks and emerged blinking onto the Soho street. Remembering the mourner with his arm around his compatriot, Crowley vaguely thought of putting an arm around Aziraphale.

But that wasn’t the way their love language worked. Crowley’s love was showing up. Was badgering Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle to a bloody pulp until he brought Sherlock Holmes back to life, logic be damned. Was giving Aziraphale an excuse to pig out on French pastry. Was hailing a cab and taking Aziraphale’s hand to pull him up inside.

As Aziraphale’s plushy hip pressed into Crowley’s, he thought of the new electric lights they’d shown off at the Paris Exposition. He could feel that current now, running through the angel’s body into his.

He realized Aziraphale had only broken his promise if their pact not to love humans extended to fictional ones. At any rate, if it included falling in love with angels, Crowley was in an awful lot of trouble, and he owed Aziraphale about £15.

Perhaps some promises were made to be broken.

[marril96]

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 14: The Scream Queen

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: You decide to introduce Rowena to some new culture.

Editor: @wonderifshelikesroses

Rowena wasn't kidding about hanging out with you publicly. In the weeks that followed, you hung out with her more and more, much to the chagrin of your friends.

"She's a snake! Dug her bloody claws into you and won't let go!" Crowley'd said during one of his signature dramatic rants about his sister and all the different ways she was using you and stealing you from him.

Having run out of arguments ages ago, for nothing you could say would convince him there was no way Rowena was using you as you'd hardly had anything she'd want, you'd simply said, "Snakes don't have claws."

Dean wasn't too happy with the situation, either. Neither was Castiel, but he kept his commentary to himself, while Meg found the whole thing hilarious. The more dramatic Crowley got, the more amused she was. Which usually led to the two of them bickering, something you welcomed as it got attention away from you.

Sam was the only one who supported yours and Rowena's budding friendship. Not that you called it that. For all intents and purposes, the two of you were just acquaintances doing schoolwork in public. And in private. And sometimes telling jokes and laughing instead of doing said schoolwork. As acquaintances did.

As annoying as your friends were, you knew there was no malice to their actions. They were just protective. Especially Crowley, as he knew best how Rowena was and didn't want you to get hurt. But neither he nor the rest of them knew the true her. The one that flashed warm, genuine smiles. The one that spoke in a soft voice as she explained problems over and over, endlessly patient. The one that was sweet and kind and acted more like a friend than an enemy behind closed doors.

You finally understood why Sam was friends with her. He'd been the first one to get to know that side of her. Now that you got the privilege, you could see why they understood each other so well. What made their friendship work so well despite their differences in social standing.

Having his support meant the world to you.

"Your taste in movies sucks," you said one late November evening, looking over Rowena's DVD collection instead of studying. All classics. The majority black and white.

Rowena put her phone down and huffed. "As if yours is better."

You flashed her a grin. "Mine's fun."

"Mine is cultured," she retorted smugly.

You snorted. "I'm pretty sure culture existed after…" You looked for the latest release in her collection. "1975."

She shrugged. "I prefer the classics."

"I can see that." An idea dawned on you like a light bulb flashing on. "We should get you up to date."

Rowena raised her eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah," you said, confident. Decisive. "We should go to the movies. Watch something new."

"You must be joking!"

"Nope. Gotta introduce you to some new culture."

She raised an eyebrow. Curious. Suspicious. "And what exactly would we be watching?"

"The Slashing."

It was a horror movie that had recently hit theaters. Most popular horror reviewers raved about it; you couldn't wait to see magnificence for yourself.

Rowena made the same face she'd made when Miss Hanscum had offered her donuts. Disgusted. As if someone had murdered her entire family. "I am not watching a movie called The Slashing."

"It's a good movie," you argued.

"If nudity and gratuitous violence falls under your definition of good."

As a matter of fact, they did.

"Reviews say there's not that much nudity."

She scoffed. "Is that supposed to convince me?"

"There's shirtless guys," you said with a shrug.

Covered in blood and most likely getting violently murdered. But hey, shirtless guys were shirtless guys.

"Now you're really grasping at straws."

Guilty as charged.

"Please? I've been wanting to see it for ages," you said.

"Nothing's stopping you."

"I don't wanna see it alone."

"Take Fergus."

"I don't like going to the movies with him. He always talks, and he insults the characters."

"Then you're out of luck."

Hopefully not.

"Can't you go with me?"

"Sorry, love. Horror is not my genre."

"You might like it."

She fixed you with a stare. Narrowed her eyes in curiosity. "Why do you want me to go?"

"Because."

Because I think we're becoming friends.

Because I think it'd be nice to spend some time with you in the dark, high on adrenaline, far away from math and black and white classics.

Because you're a mystery and I want to solve you. I want to know who you truly are. Because…

I think I like what I see.

You shrugged, adding, "It'd be fun to hang out. Now that we're not hiding in your room all the time."

Rowena thought it over, eyes never leaving you. Did she see what you saw? Was she having as much fun as you did? Or was this all strictly business Principal Shurley had imposed on her?

She seemed to genuinely enjoy your time together, but for all you know it could have been a mask. Rowena was different from most people. She hid her feelings — her entire self — well. Had built up a wall around herself to keep everyone at a distance. It was hard to tell who she really was.

One thing you were one hundred percent certain of was that she wasn't the mean girl she presented herself as at school.

But who she actually was was a mystery.

"If I accept, then you have to accompany me to a place of my choosing," she said after a few moments on contemplation.

"Is this blackmail?" you asked, quirking up an eyebrow.

"A trade," she said simply.

Fair.

You could live with that.

"Sounds good to me."

Her mouth widened into a smile. "Excellent! In that case, I will go with you to see The Slashing." Her face scrunched up at the mention of the title. A cute little expression. "But if I don't like it, I will walk out."

"You a scaredy cat?" you teased.

She blushed scarlet as her hair and turned her head. "No."

"Sure you're not."

"I am not scared!"

Of course she wasn't.

"Whatever you say." Before she could utter a retort, you said, "It's a deal. If it'd bad, we leave."

This was going to be fun.

*****

It was the last day of November and it was cold as hell itself. The ice in the air bit at your exposed skin; even through thick layers of clothes and a scarf covering your neck and mouth, you were shivering as if under a fever.

Maybe going to the movies, in this weather no less, was a mistake. Maybe you should've waited a few more weeks and pirated the damn movie like a normal person instead of freezing your ass off in below zero weather for an hour and a half of half-naked teenagers getting murdered on big screen.

One look at Rowena, in her maroon coat and knee-length red boots, told you it was worth it.

It wasn't every day that you got to take her to the movies.

Loser girls and popular girls didn't do that sort of thing together. As per the unwritten rules of your school's social hierarchy, their worlds didn't mesh together. They didn't mesh together.

And yet, here you both were.

Freezing, but close to your destination. Determined. Stubborn despite the awful weather.

"I bloody hate winter," Rowena commented as soon as you stepped into the theatre.

It was warm inside, pleasant, comforting, and you let out a breath of relief as the cold in you started melting.

You never wanted to go outside again.

"Technically, it's still Fall," you said.

Rowena glared, not in the mood for technicalities. "It's cold."

You shrugged. "No argument there."

Despite the horrid weather, there were still plenty of people around. Parents with overly excited children. Tired people just getting off work, eager to relax after a day of hardship. Groups of high schoolers giggling. Couples holding hands and popcorn.

You and Rowena oddly fit in.

Did you look like a couple to observers? Granted, you weren't holding hands, but you'd gotten here together, and you'd exchanged banter.

Friends, people would think. Definitely friends.

A feeling much alike disappointment swept over you. You pushed it down, ignored it. You and Rowena were sort-of-friends. And that was how it would stay.

You cared about her as a friend.

Nothing more and nothing less.

Just friends, you reminded yourself. Just friends.

You paid for the tickets, prompting Rowena to raise her eyebrows in surprise, bought some popcorn, and the two of you went to take your seats. The theater was packed, mostly with teenagers and young adults. Thankfully, none of the faces you saw looked familiar. If they went to your school, you didn't know them.

Not that you were ashamed to be seen with Rowena. But there were some things that felt more private, more intimate. Things that were too special to be spread around school in the form of rumors riddled with half-truths and blatant lies.

Things like watching a movie with a friend. In the dark. Far away from wandering eyes and cruel whispers. From blond, blue-eyed assholes' stares and nasty bitches' glares.

"Treating me, are you?" Rowena said.

"I invited you," you replied. It was only fair that you paid.

"Fair point," she conceded. With a teasing note in her tone, she said, "I take it this is a date, then."

A rush of heat spilled over you, burning at your cheeks. A lump formed in your throat, hard to swallow.

"A total date," you said with as much sarcasm as you could, praying to all deities you could think of that it was convincing enough. Thankfully, the room was dark enough to hide your flushed cheeks, but your voice, your rushed breathing and racing heart were all yours to deal with.

Traitors.

What was wrong with you?

You liked Rowena, but she was still a mean girl. She was still friends with bullies and in a relationship with a jackass. Even if she was single, you would never go out on a date with someone like her.

You only liked her as a friend.

Right?

Right?!

Rowena chuckled. If she noticed you were flustered, she didn't comment on it. "A bit too cheap for my taste," she teased.

"My sincerest apologies, madam. I wasn't aware of your price demands."

"Aye." Her shoulder brushed against yours as she shrugged. "I'm a restaurant girl."

"High end, I take it?"

"What else?"

You had to laugh. "Unfortunately, I don't think there are movies here that'd fit your standards. You'll have to live with it."

She laughed along. "I suppose I will."

"We got popcorn." You offered her the tub. "It's close enough."

She made a disgusted face. "No, thank you."

"Your loss," you said with a shrug and shoved a handful in your mouth.

"You are a pig," she said, not really meaning it. A mock insult from one friend to another.

You playfully elbowed her shoulder. "You're on a 'date' with said pig."

"Starting to regret it."

"If it makes you feel any better, we can blame this all on Principal Shurley. He's the one who made you tutor me."

"Bloody bampot," Rowena said in agreement.

You raised the popcorn up like a glass of champagne about to click against another. "Amen to that."

As soon as the movie started, the murmur of voices quieted down. Your eyes were glued to the screen, adrenaline pumping through you as the characters screamed and ran for their lives. There was beauty in horror; danger that wasn't real but still felt so vivid, fear that made your skin crawl and your heart race in excitement, blood that looked so fresh and bright on the big screen. Not many people understood that. But here, in this room, it seemed like everyone did.

Every now and then your glance would wander to Rowena. This wasn't her scene, but despite clear distaste on her face, she still watched. She took everything in. Every deathly scream. Every shift in music. Every splash of blood. Her body twitched, and you could tell it took everything in her to contain her screams. But, like the strong girl she was, she still watched.

She didn't leave. Didn't even go to the bathroom to get away from it all. She was scared, but she still stayed.

You admired that. Admired the dedication. The stubbornness.

She wanted to be here with you. Wanted to hang out with you.

A pang of regret pulled at your heart.

You never should have doubted her.

A piercing scream suddenly echoed through the room as the killer jumped out from behind one of the few remaining characters. It died down along with the girl as the knife bit into her flesh, slashed her up from the inside out.

A few people screamed along with her.

A giddy smile spilled over your mouth as excitement rushed through you like a potent drug.

And, as if on cue, a hand covered yours, tiny fingers squeezing for dear life.

You looked down, surprised to find Rowena's pale hand in yours, pink nails glittering in the dim light from the screen.

Her eyes were on the movie. Mouth pressed into a firm line.

An involuntary reaction.

You smiled, squeezing back. Her skin was warm on yours. Comforting. Right.

Your hands remained linked for the rest of the movie. Every time a jump scare would pop up, Rowena's fingers would tighten around yours. You would return the gesture. A wordless promise that you were there, that nothing would happen to her. That she was safe despite her fear.

As soon as the credits started rolling, the two of you parted. Neither said a word about what happened. Acknowledged it in any way.

No comments were necessary.

You'd held hands.

Longer than was necessary.

Tighter than was friendly.

And it felt so right.

Like it was the way it was supposed to be.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @tasyahilker @a-queen-and-her-throne

[ifridiot]

Let Them Eat Flesh

GOD okay this is unfair because Let Them Eat Flesh is a series but GUH that series is still such a fave.

SeriesLink

So this series, like Quid Pro Quo, was another big project that I decided to play with the fun concepts up front and not explore fully because i genuinely didn’t think there’d be any interest in it. If i wanted to write something solely for myself that no one else would read save for after me begging for attention, I’d work on my original fiction lmao.

But the two key scenes i had in my head were David giving Frank the blood transfusion scene from the show, with the additional angst of David being Infected, and then the scene where Frank is fighting Billy and David shoots him. I’ll go more into detail under the cut.

I loved the first scene because i love the like... drama and dubious ethics of saving Frank’s life while potentially infecting him with in illness that will like... physically alter him when he can’t consent to that treatment. I didn’t really get the world building opportunity to like... go into the entire Idea i have behind my Zombie AU, but there’s a lot of stuff going on with Infected people socially and politically and economically. 

The infection also causes a painful physical transition, and certain baseline ‘normals’ for a healthy human are altered. Infected are slower but stronger, and have better endurance than uninfected people. They see better in the dark but are sensitive to bright light. They’re obligate carnivores -- obligate cannibals, only fully healthy when eating regular meals of human flesh. Those who refuse to accept that new requirement to their diet lose cognitive function in an accelerated type of dementia that leaves them weak but prone to violence, and eventually they succumb to malnutrition and starve to death.

With the infection being a new ‘illness’, it’s still considered a deeply taboo and awful thing to survive that way. Infected people have a harder time getting and keeping jobs, many turning to illegal options that utilize their new strengths while putting them at risk. There are organizations both lobbying for greater government action in isolating and segregating infected people and illegally hunting and murdering them. 

so one of the earliest scenes that occurred to me was:

Later, there will be plenty of time for David to fret and self-loathe and question the morality. In the moment, the choice is clearer than any crystal, and Hamid’s dithering over medical ethics fills David with a passionate, frustrated sort of rage.

“If he doesn’t get a transfusion now , then he dies !” David says, fighting to keep from raising his voice. All that time in the basement trading verbal barbs with Frank, as passionate as they could get, he’s still not good at this part. Playing at the calm, level-headed end of the argument, presenting himself as both passionate and yet not irrational in his investment. “You don’t get to decide him maybe catching what I’ve got is worse than him dying !”

“No! And we do not get to decide that it is better, either!” Hamid speaks just as passionately, obstinate for all that he was willing to accept a patient in his home, to triage a dying, condemned man -- willing to do everything to save his life but this. “This is meant to be his decision, and we cannot ask him. Even if he were to wake now, he is no position to make such a choice.”

It’s Dinah who speaks on David’s behalf, quiet and direct with her father. For all that Farah and Hamid have spoken together in soft, lyrical Farsi, Dinah sticks to English. David thinks it’s for his benefit, but it’s hard to tell with a woman like Madani. David also thinks her siding with him has less to do with saving Frank than it does with the fact that her murdered partner had also been infected, and that she is more sympathetic to the idea that the mutation wasn’t some kind of life ender.

David’s blood looks like anyone else’s, dark, rich red flowing through the IV line, from David’s arm and into Frank’s. Life, he insists to himself; just like Frank had given of himself to keep David alive, now David gives of himself. He’s keeping Frank alive, whatever else may come of this -- surely living, even in this condition, was better than dying.

from Wretched and Joyful

the second scene that came to me when i decided to just Go For It revolved around my deeply held desires for 1. Billy Russo to be fucking dead, and 2. David to get to be the one to do it lmao.

I loved this idea of like. Given all the socioeconomic and political ramifications of Frank surviving the events of the first season exactly as seen in the show, except being Infected with my super special pseudo-zombie illness, Frank ending up living with the Liebermans. We see in the show how deeply and immediately Frank bonds to that family and how they very clearly become a second chance for him to keep his family safe, and i was super into the idea of zombie!Frank living with them and having this like, confused ‘i can’t ruin the good thing Lieberman’s got except also i love him and want him’ bullshit self-denial thing with Frank. 

That all came to a head in All We Do and Flesh and Bone, and then in part nine, I wanted to have something almost like a thriller as the apex of rising action, with Frank fighting Billy. In turn, that provided me with an excellent narrative opportunity to show how David also is deeply protective of Frank and get my personal reward of writing David shooting Billy Russo in the fucking head lmao.

This is what came of that:

[Frank] has to win, because if he doesn’t, it’s his family in danger and he can’t, he cannot let any of them be hurt, not again, not again.

“I made you a promise,” Billy says, triumphant, face bloody, hands bloodier, grinning as he sits back, reaching for the gun holstered under his arm. “In that basement, with Rawlins? I promised it would be me and I’m guh --”

Heat splatters over Frank’s face, hot, wet, stinging. His mouth is open and he tastes blood, thinks it must be his own until he registers the great gorey hole where Bill’s left eye had been, the echoing bang of a gunshot, the way Bill’s gone stiff, his grin more rictus now that revel. Bill topples onto Frank, dead weight, and it feels like slow motion but it’s not, it’s still so much so fast.

“Frank, are you -- shit, Frank,” and Frank’s heart is starting slow, starting to even out because whether he wants to puke or not -- his mouth is full of Bill’s blood and whatever all else had flown in when the gun went off -- that’s David’s voice, that’s David standing there, gun still held in front, two handed to deal with the kick put out by that stupid, ‘just for show’ P250 Frank had last seen in the basement he’d nearly died in.

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, iamartemisday

May 20-Frank Castle/Clint/Bucky/Jane soulmate fic. Any prompt is fine, for @iamartemisday

Written by @ozhawkauthor

“So three snipers walk into the bar, right, and they’re all really, really hot.”

Jane lowered her beer and stared at Darcy in puzzlement. “I don’t think you’re starting that joke off right.”

“Because it’s not a joke, you’re just not paying attention.” Darcy was staring past Jane at the door, so Jane felt somewhat obligated to turn around and look. They’d only been at the Avengers Facility five days, and Darcy had already created a vast and complicated spreadsheet ranking everyone at the facility on a hotness rating out of a hundred, while Jane attempted to set up her machinery alone. 

It wasn’t like Jane would have allowed Darcy, or anyone else for that matter, to touch any of her machines anyway, but she still felt vaguely resentful that Darcy had the time to casually lust after any of the seriously hot men (and women) she’d glimpsed wandering around.

“So who are they?” Jane asked, looking at the three men who’d just walked in and taken a table on the other side of the room.

“Seriously, you don’t actually live under a rock, Jane!”

“I just don’t watch TV,” Jane excused herself. “I’m assuming from your reaction that they’re Avengers?” They all looked the part, she thought; leanly muscular, with watchful eyes and a certain economical grace to their movements.

“Two of them,” Darcy said. “The blond is Hawkeye, the brunette with the long hair is Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier. The third guy is the Punisher.”

“Sounds like he should be an Avenger,” Jane said, knowing Darcy wouldn’t need any more urging to fill her in on why someone with a superhero code name who wasn’t an Avenger was hanging out in the facility.

“He said no when they asked him to join. But he’s Barton and Barnes’ soulmate, so…” Darcy shrugged. “I guess he’s a sort of allied party?”

“Soulmates?” Jane blinked at that, looked at the three men with new eyes. “Really?” They weren’t sitting as close as she’d have expected a soulmate triad to be, but maybe that had to do with the military wariness all three men displayed.

“Word is,” Darcy leaned close, lowering her voice, “they’re missing their fourth. They’re an incomplete quad.”

Jane twitched.

Darcy grinned knowingly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jane said, as much to herself as to Darcy, but she couldn’t quite stop herself from staring at the three men.

After all, she did have three soulmarks on her body. Quad soulmark groupings were incredibly rare - rather like quadruplet births. Still. Surely she couldn’t possibly have three men like that as her soulmates?

“Want me to introduce you?” Darcy knew Jane had three soulmarks, but not what her words said.

“No,” Jane said hastily, and the option was immediately gone anyway, because a siren started blaring and the three men leaped up and bolted from the room at top speed. “They’re kind of scary, Darce.”

“The best things in life are scary,” Darcy said confidently.

“I don’t think there’s any science to support that.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Your loss. Let me know when you’re ready to start getting your brains banged out by three moody, sexy as fuck snipers, huh?”

“Never happen,” Jane said, but she could hear the lie in her own voice, and Darcy just snickered.

“Suuuure, boss. Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, y’know.”

“Shut up, Darcy.”

It was only as she was finally falling asleep that night when Jane realized she’d totally forgotten to forbid Darcy from telling the men about her and her three soulmate marks.

“Oh, bollocks,” she said to the ceiling, eyes popping wide open.

Still, surely Darcy wouldn’t have said anything before Jane caught up with her in the morning.

Would she?

“Oh, I didn’t say anything,” Darcy said airily when Jane asked. “Well. Nothing specific. I might have mentioned that you have three soulmate marks. I don’t even know what they are, how could I get specific?”

“Oh god, Darcy, really? Did you have to? What did you do, lie in wait for them when they came back from their mission?” Jane groaned and dropped her face into her hands.

“Certainly not, and if you ever went to the canteen to get a proper meal, you’d have been able to see them yourself, at breakfast!” Darcy said virtuously.

“Oh, so you ambushed them while they were eating, instead?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Me, ambush three lethal assassin-sniper types?” Darcy stuck her nose in the air and scurried off before Jane could get any more accusing, leaving Jane to sigh and wonder just what her assistant had said. And what said assassin-snipers might do about it.

Which, as it turned out, was absolutely nothing.

Or so she thought until about a week later, when she spun on her heel quickly to rush back to the lab when an idea struck her, and spotted a dark shadow ducking out of sight.

She wasn’t 100% sure, but the shadow had looked suspiciously like a certain broken-nosed, ruggedly attractive non-Avenger who really had no business being on this level.

The next time she caught one of them following her, it was Clint, and she found her eyebrows shooting up as he leaned back over the parapet of the building, avoiding her gaze.

“They’re watching me.”

“Hm?” Darcy looked up from the sheaf of reports she was leafing through as they walked between buildings in the compound. “What’s that?”

“The sexy snipers. Wherever I go, I’m pretty sure there’s one of them watching me.”

“I can’t quite decide whether that’s creepy or hot as fuck.” Darcy pushed her glasses up her nose and grinned at Jane. “Pretty sure I know which side you’re coming down on, though. Wotcha gonna do about it? I think I’d give them something worth looking at, if it was me.”

“Shut up, Darcy. It’s all your fault they’re watching me, anyway.”

“Me?” Darcy put a hand over her heart in faux outrage. “Maybe they’ve just got the excellent taste to have spotted you’re the most beautiful woman at this facility.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Damn.”

Jane couldn’t help but grin at Darcy’s expression. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a shadow which really shouldn’t be there as they entered the lab hallway, and she stopped walking. “I’ve had about enough of this,” she muttered under her breath, before saying loudly “You might as well come out where I can see and we’ll bloody well get this over with. It’s a completely ridiculous idea anyway; just because something’s mathematically more likely than other possibilities doesn’t mean… Jesus Christ, make a fucking noise, will you!”

“Sorry,” Bucky Barnes murmured. He’d materialized out of seemingly nowhere, but definitely not where she’d expected him to be, considering that shadow. Looking down at her from startlingly intense blue eyes, he stood waiting silently.

Jane’s eyes narrowed, even as she stood with her hand pressed over her still-racing heart. “What did you say?”

He smirked, just a little bit. “Why? Were you expecting something longer? Figured there was no point in all four of us being covered in screeds of text.”

“All four…”

Bucky nodded past her, and she whirled to find Frank and Clint there, both having come up soundlessly behind her while she faced Bucky. It was Clint who peeled off his tight grey T-shirt to show row after row of her sprawling handwriting across his ribs.

“Oh my god, they’ve all got the same words.” Darcy started laughing, choked off abruptly as Jane threw a murderous glare at her, and said hastily “You know, I’ve got… somewhere else to be! Bye!”

Frank took a slight sideways step to let Darcy past, and then Jane was left alone, the focus of three pairs of terrifyingly intense eyes. There was so much concentrated masculinity in the hallway she could hardly breathe with it.

“Hey,” Clint was the one who broke the awkward silence.

Frank’s mouth twitched in something which might almost have been a grin. “So,” he said, and though Jane waited, he didn’t add anything else.

“God damn it, I told you he’d one-up us in making his word the shortest,” Bucky said, and Jane suddenly realised what was going on.

“You deliberately gave me one-word soulmarks?” she squawked. “Do you have any idea how stressful that’s been for me over the years, wondering if I’d accidentally miss one of you - or more than one?”

“Is it worse than having the entirety of your right thigh covered in a rant about statistics, complete with swear words? My Catholic parents weren’t impressed,” Frank said dryly.

“Your right thigh?” Jane’s gaze dropped to said thigh, a very muscular thigh in close-fitting combat pants.

“It’s why we figured I should be the one to show you the words,” Clint put in. “Bucky’s is somewhere even less polite to show off in public.”

Bucky had moved up closer behind her, she could swear she could feel heat radiating off his body, warming her spine, so she wasn’t surprised when his low voice rumbled close to her ear. “I’m happy to show you in private though, doll.”

Jane had to swallow several times to get enough moisture into her mouth to speak. Her throat felt dust-dry. “I feel like we should probably go somewhere private, yeah. To, uh, talk.”

“We can do that,” Frank agreed. “And then we can do anything else you’d like, after.”

That was an offer she didn’t want to refuse, even if her knees did feel a little weak just thinking about all the many, many things she’d like to do with her three exceedingly hot soulmates. She sneaked a glance at Clint as he fell into step beside her, at the way his abs literally rippled with muscle.

I’m pretty sure some of the things I’m thinking about aren’t even anatomically possible.

But damn, I’m going to have a LOT of fun finding out.

[bellastrix]

the love, the dark, the light, the flame bloody and raw, but i swear it is sweet

BELLATRIX HECATE LESTRANGE. THIRTY ONE. SENIOR OBLIVIATOR.

anger bubbling beneath your skin like a loaded gun, soft laughter slowly turning manic, glass is only brittle until it breaks ( then it’s sharp ), rosy cheeks, bullets caught between teeth, how you’d rather tighten your own chains before letting anyone see you weak, a cheshire cat’s smile, how only murder makes you feel alive, a quiet desperation, slowly losing your mind, double lives, a wolf in shackles ( a bird in a cage ), the way you feel things so strongly ( it’s deafening, overwhelming ), there are no bargains between lions and men ( i will kill you and eat you raw ), broken champagne glasses, bloodshed wrapped in extravagance, family heirlooms, divine violence, always overreacting, a constant paradox, a quiet conviction that you are right ( that this will all make sense in the end ), wreaking havoc, how you think that this is love ( but it isn’t, it never was ), no conscience ( no remorse ), taunting them with your very last breath and the feeling of having nothing left to lose ( you know you’d die for this ).

PINTEREST BOARDS: (x) (x)

PLAYLISTS: (x) (x) (x)

name: bellatrix hecate lestrange occupation: senior obliviator. former house: slytherin. date of birth: december 23. age: 31.

pregnancy tw, early birth tw, health problems tw, possible child abuse/neglect tw.

BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS.

She’s born on the night before Christmas’ Eve, and she’s a weak and feeble thing, born four weeks too early. Her mother is young, barely out of Hogwarts. But she has a good name, good blood, and isn’t that what’s most important in this wretched world? So Evangelina Rosier uses that to get herself out of this mess that she has found herself in. A deal is forged with her second cousin, Druella Black. And the unborn baby Rosier has been dealt with, before they’ve even taken their first breath. And with that, the next phase begins - the praying, the hoping. The Blacks want a baby boy. A strong heir, to take after its father.

But Evangelina Rosier goes into labor four weeks too early, on the night before Christmas Eve. It’s a long and excruciatingly painful birth, the kind that never seems to want to end. When it seems like Evangelina’s body is about to give out, a small baby girl is finally born. The child doesn’t scream, and there’s just something slightly off about her eyes too, isn’t there? It looks like a tragic thing, dangerously small. But Evangelina never sees. She doesn’t bear to look at her mistakes, and quickly leaves the child with the Blacks.

… … … … … … … … … … … … . . … … … … … … . .

Well, the child certainly wasn’t what the Blacks had signed up for, but they considered themselves people of honor, and thus, they’d make sure to honor the obligation that they had made. The Rosier baby was taken in and quickly given a somewhat ironic name ( Bellatrix means female warrior ). The night she arrives at the Black Manor, she never screams. She just stares at her new parents with those big black eyes that always seem to be appraising something.

Her first few months of life were uneventful, certainly. Mostly attended to by nursemaids and servants, Bellatrix never saw much of the people who had taken her in. Cygnus Black came into the nursery every now and then, because contrary to Evangelina Rosier, he was the kind of man that liked to look at his mistakes. They were reminders, after all.

But she would not remain that ghost for long. Her bones eventually hardened, her skin thickened, her eyes grew meaner. Once her first birthday came around, there were already rumors among the staff of the estate that the first born Black child surely had to be possessed by something.

And she’d grow more cruel, too. She was the kind of child that would claw, bite, scratch and kick her way through life. Now, when her father came to see her ( which was to be more and more often ), he no longer came to contemplate his mistakes. He wanted to see his daughter.

So perhaps Bellatrix learned something, in that way. Be cruel, be cruel, or else your heart will be ruined. No one can really fault a little girl for craving her parents’ love, can they?

She had a complicated relationship with her mother from the start. Druella Black may have cried and prayed and wept for a child for years, but she could still not bring herself to love the child that finally came. And what kind of mother can’t love her own child? From that point, Bellatrix became a constant reminder of her own failures as a mother, as a person, as a member of the pure blood elite. So what was Druella’s solution? Well, the same as her cousin’s, of course. Best to not look at all.

So perhaps it was no coincidence that Bellatrix became her father’s little shadow, wrapping him around her little finger. Eager to prove herself, she learned everything that a son of Cygnus would have learnt. She was determined to show her father that being a girl would not stop her from becoming worthy of the Black throne, to carry his name with pride. Over the years of her childhood and adolescence, Bellatrix forged herself into the golden girl, a respectable heir in the making. Desperate to wear the crown.

Under her father’s influence, uncontrollable rage was switched in for an eerie quietness, anger instead boiling right below the surface, just waiting to be unleashed. She was so eager to please, to sculpt herself into whatever he wanted, so she suppressed her emotions the best she could, even though it never felt natural. And so, the nurses whispered again, but this time, it was about her sweet, sweet smile, matched with those mean, mean eyes. ‘Doesn’t it look distorted? Like that damn Cheshire cat. Something’s not right about that girl, I’m telling you. She came out wrong’.

Behind closed doors, Cygnus also encouraged Bella’s darker side. Introduced her to the dark arts and the chaos that she would later come to love so desperately. Perhaps she loved the dark all the more because she tied it so closely to her father’s love.

violence tw, murder tw

HOGWARTS YEARS.

So she comes to Hogwarts, maybe a little naive. She doesn’t foresee nor expect when the first classmate bluntly calls her a half blood to her face. But they also don’t foresee her fist, which lands just as bluntly in their face. 

Maybe she tries a little too hard to fit in among the other Slytherins. She wants to be adored, feared and loved, all at once. She never quite achieves that ----- sure, some of her classmates learn to love her, to look up to her. Most of all, they learn that she’s a volatile thing, a little dangerous. Quick to anger, a little unstable.

But she’s popular too. The pockets of the Blacks are deep, and her parents are not afraid to buy love and admiration for their eldest daughter. After a while, Bellatrix no longer notices that her friends are always a little nervous around her.

And she’s a quick learner ---- she’s nothing if not desperate for perfection. So she becomes someone that she thinks people will relate to, maybe even like. She’s the girl that will drink you under the table, that will use her family’s money to throw the best parties, will always laugh at your dirty jokes ( no matter how vile, she’ll tell an even worse one next ), plays quidditch like it’s what she was born to do.

And just like that, she thinks that people may just have forgotten how everything came about, how they first came to be the friends of Bellatrix Black. 

It never feels quite natural to her ----- almost as if she’s a wolf in shackles, a bird in a cage. Wild and feral but also small and breakable. Those years feel like an endless charade, to her. The only time she feels free is when her temper boils over ( another punch thrown, a whispered hex, nails burying themselves into soft flesh, a forbidden curse at the tip of your tongue ).

She played for the Slytherin Quidditch team, as a beater, and was eventually made captain ( nothing less for a child of Cygnus, she must excel ). During her time on the team, she was notorious for her cruel playing style, her foul tricks, the constant smirk on her lips as other players fell to the ground.

During her sixth year at the school, she gets recruited into the Death Eaters and somehow, it all seems to fall into place. With them, she can be herself. They don’t mind her anger and her chaos and her growing taste of destruction ( and later, death ). They come to expect it, to adore it, to fear it. She loves them for it.

She meets Tom too -------- and it’s a shit storm, gorgeous chaos. I will clarify that they were never romantically involved, but she did love him, in her own way. She still does. Tom showed her the world ------ showed her her true potential, what she could be, bared her strength and weaknesses. He taught her things even her father had been afraid to show her, and once again ----- Bellatrix comes to relate darkness to safety, to love, to affection. He’s so very vile, but she feels SAFE with the Death Eaters. Like herself. She’s so very vile, too. (x)

So she graduates from Hogwarts with top grades and offers from most bureaus at the Ministry to join their ranks. But Bellatrix declines all of them.

violence tw, murder tw, torture tw

AFTER HOGWARTS.

So instead, she pours and pours and pours all of what she is ( and has ) into the Death Eaters. All of her energy is spent on learning and yearning and studying the Dark Arts under Tom’s influence. He teaches her occlumency, teaches her how to protect herself. She feels safe, at peace, adored. All she has ever wanted, she finds within the dark, within evil.

He also teaches her legilimency, how to attack, how to fuck with someone’s mind, how to steal secrets.

Quickly became Voldemort’s personal attack dog, always willing to do his bidding, no questions asked.

Eventually, a year has gone by. Soon, two. She has closed herself off from everything -------- though the official reason is that she has taken a year off from her studies to find herself, to discover what she wants to do with her life. 

It soon becomes time for her to return, go back to normal. So she joins the oblivators.  Though the choice had ultimately been hers to make, the dark lord was always whispering in her ear, encouraging her to infiltrate the ministry. The goal was to have sleeper agents of death eaters in every department once it was time to go to war. It also helped that becoming an oblivator just made sense — fucking with the minds of muggles could already be counted as a hobby (albeit a twisted one), and she had always been good at taking things that didn’t belong to her… Memories would be no different.

Became a senior obliviator at twenty five, which was early, but still not early enough for her, you feel.

Currently waiting eagerly on her promotion to the head of the department of magical accidents and catastrophes…. Any day now, y’all….

She is genuinely good at her job - even though she’s totally corrupt and obviously does most things in the interest of the death eaters.

Will occasionally throw pureblood galas, but isn’t too invested in them. They’re just for show.

Among the Death Eaters, Bellatrix is in the inner circle. She considers herself the dark lord’s right hand, and prides herself on being his most loyal servant.

PERSONALITY.

Madness and power are two sides of the same coin ------ and Bellatrix is so very attracted by power. It’s the one thing that she desires most. That’s the thing with Tom too. She loves him, so much, but it’s his power that she has fallen for. Never him.

Power drives her absolutely mad, pushes her to her peak, makes her see red. 

Bellatrix is also like night and day -------- and she switches from being pleasant, laughing, charismatic to being vile, chaotic, evil in the matter of seconds. It makes her highly unpredictable, and more than a little bit scary.

When she’s at her worst, Bellatrix is cruel, sadistic, self righteous, impulsive, angry as hell, deranged, unstable, manipulative, a little bit unhinged, ruthless, playful, childish and absolutely lethal. It’s always brewing right below, so close to the surface, just waiting to come out. And that’s what she’s like when she’s her normal self ---- when pushed, she becomes worse.

But she’s also calculating, clever, quick on her feet, intensely passionate, fiercely loyal (until she’s… not), adaptable, intuitive, caring and assertive.

Bella often contradicts herself — she has grown up believing that it’s best to be cold and devoid of emotions (#thanks dad), but she’s a highly emotional person by nature. She tries to suppress that as best as she can, but she usually boils over pretty fast. Other emotions are usually translated into anger as well, so that’s fun. I think the best way to describe her is that she’s just fire, always burning hot or cold. These days, she has given up on trying to suppress herself.

Voldemort’s influence on her is also really important!! His influence poisons her mind, her soul, her heart. The darkness that was already there is amplified, becomes a thousand times worse. Though already a skilled witch, he introduced her to magic she could only have dreamed of — and that power became corruptive, addictive. For power, Bella would gladly pay the steep price of sacrificing her soul, her humanity.

Bella’s one true love is power. It’s what she cares about most, what she’d die for, what she’d kill for.

Bellatrix really does think that she is in the right.

She’s the hammer ( doesn’t have the most finesse, mostly just likes getting things done, her technique isn’t exactly intricate, but ALWAYS effective ). 

Bella finds solace in chaos and destruction. Imagine serene piano music playing while she fucks someone up.

Has absolutely no moral compass AND no remorse for what she is doing.

Very brave !!!!!! Would sacrifice herself for her cause in an instant bUT is generally really fearless, too.

Right now she’s really unstable because of the time clash. VERY unhinged. Not having the best of times.

THE TIME CLASH.

So the time clash happens and it’s a disaster.

She finds out that not only have they lost the war, her master is dead.

And it breaks her, worse than Azkaban ever could. 

So what does Bellatrix want to do? She wants to resurrect him, he can’t really be dead, can he? Not someone with such power.

But she also wants to change the past, put everything back together like it was supposed to be.

Bellatrix is 100% trying to take over the Death Eaters until Voldemort comes back. She’s trying really hard !!!!!!! Success rate? Unknown!!!!

But she also has this idea that maybe he also came with them, from 1980? She’s looking for him, delirious, terrified. If they can’t win in 1980, they’ll have to in 2029.