#and the ultimate killer he’s a mother and a father and a son and a brother he’s a Masculine cowboy action hero and a Woman he’s a final girl

[dcxdpdabbles]

So I've seen a couple of Demon twin prompts that have Danny and Damien knowing and keeping in touch with each other over the years with the Batfam none the wiser (The funniest being that Damien had Danny go and replace him for a week then the two played it off like it had been happening since Damien was brought to the manor. Another good one had Danny quickly dropping off Ellie with Damien leaving him to introduce Bruce to his granddaughter). How would this play out for you? Would Danny have run with Damien faking killing him, would he have just disappeared from the compound (?) One day?

Their mother had given birth to identical twins. Damien was born three whole minutes before Danny, which shouldn't have mattered much but to the Ra's it meant the world of difference.

Ra's did not want to raise more than one hire. He did not believe in spares or succession struggles. He gave Talia the ultimatum,- pick one twin to raise in their ways and give the other up to a civilian family or lose them both and her status.

Talia will never claim to be an angel. She knew that her heart was cold and wrenched as needed to cleanse the world. She was far too selfish to even consider becoming a civilian away from the league.

It wasn't a bad life, in the end, to become a regular civilian but it was not for her. Ra's had many children who were never deemed worthy of being part of his greater plans. He never mistreated them, but ultimately he ignored them and they grew up not knowing the blood that ran through their veins.

Talia herself knew of six siblings- all different ages and races- that she had seen from a distance. Her father would take her sometimes to see them, to be reminded that unlike them, she was destined for greatness.

They were nicknamed as the Lost by one of Father's past heirs. He had died fifty years before Talia's time but he was known for his surprisingly humorous outlook on life. How Ra could stand it, she will never know.

Sometimes Talia pitted her Lost siblings. They would be outlived by their father- as all of his children thus far have been- but they would never know the waste their lives had become. They would never know the glory of battle, the rush of leading an army, or the satisfaction of successful missions.

They lived in a rose-colored world inside a small fish bowl. Her Lost siblings would never know the vast wonder of the world.

Sometimes Talia envied her Lost siblings. Even though they had no real impact on the world, no real importance, they lived peaceful lives. They grew, made friends, and fell in love without fear of being betrayed. A foolish belief but one that seemed almost blissful.

How light would their shoulders be to not have to carry the weight that Talia has known all her life? Weight to be the best, to be the killer her father required, to allow her son to head to a possible death day after day.

None of them had to worry about their children never returning from a mission like she did. That's why she trained Damian so harshly, why she pushed and pushed until he reached perfection. If she didn't, then Damian would be bested in the field and his death would shatter what little humanity she still held.

She had taken Danny- her sweet youngest boy- to America to entrust him to her Beloved. It was only as she arrived on American soil did she realized that Bruce would not be satisfied with only one twin.

He would do everything in his power to get them both. Despite the years he trained with them, after learning their ways and their mission, Bruce did not approve of the League.

He was powerful enough to succeed in taking Damian as well if she gave him the chance.

Talia chooses to not do so. She instead stopped at the closest city that was miles and miles away from Bruce Wayne. She found Amity Park, a small sleepy town that would never gather much attention let alone Bruce's, and located a couple struggling for a second child.

After her men screened them and after making sure that they were harmless despite their eccentric research into ghosts, she gave the Fentons her Danny in adoption.

When she signed the adoption forms, Danny offically became a Lost sibling. She flew home, and held Damian just a tad bit tighter and longer, allowing only a few tears to fall before shutting away her heart.

She visited him through the years, but never within sight. Danny was unaware of her presence, as he stumbled his way with his life. He was unpopular with his peers, uncoordinated in basically everything, and the idea of him harming anything was laughable.

He had too much of his Father's heart but none of his will.

Talia made the right choose in getting him out. He would not have survived long within her lifestyle.

When her sons turned six, Talia had chosen to take Damian to see his Lost brother. She had two motives for doing so. The first was to show Damian what became of those deemed unworthy. To let him see that he had been given the honor of being the twin to inherit all that the Al Ghuls could offer.

The second was so that Damian could see his brother still lived, even as worthless and meaningless as he did so, he was still alive. He would know nothing of their world but he would still be able to walk through a different one.

She hoped but never voiced that he would find comfort in this and maybe even affection for her foolish Lost brother.

_________________________________________________________

What she was not aware of, was that Damian Al Ghul was just as selfish as she was. Once he saw what he deemed as his there was little in this world that would stop him from owning it.

He believed he was entitled to having a connection with his blood brother so underneath Talia's and the League of Assassins' noses, Damian did just that. He officially introduced himself to Danny when he was eight and told him the truth about their heritage.

Danny welcomed him with open arms. Despite being polar opposites in personality the identical twins were the best of friends. Damian always looked forward to seeing his brother for a short visit whenever the opportunity arose.

Danny was always pleased to host him for a weekend and the Fentons were more than happy to have him over. They may not have been able to adopt Damian but he was just as much their son as Danny was.

Damian just wishes he could return the gesture but if he ever had the Fentons over at Nanda Parbat they would all be dead within the first thirty minutes.

It was best to go to Danny.

Then Damian went to live with Father. It was a rough adjustment and he is not proud of his less-than-optimal reaction to Father's adoptive siblings seeing as the Fentons had proved blood is not required to love a child. It took months of getting used to living there before he was comfortable enough to go visit Danny again.

They spoke every night on the phone, however, since he no longer had to worry about traitorous warriors reporting his contact with a Lost sibling. He told Danny everything about the Waynes, just as Danny told him everything about being Phantom.

They just forgot to tell any of the Waynes about him.

Damian offered to have him over now that he knew Father would never harm his brother, and that the other Wayne children wouldn't kill him either. Danny, ever the most mischievous of the two, had a better idea.

"We could prank the family instead." Danny chirps floating above his bed, headphones in his ear as tries to play videogames upside down. He grins at the screen where Damian stares back at him.

Facetiming Danny can be a bit difficult when his brother has a hard time sitting still.

Damian wasn't strong enough to say no to him.

____________________________________________________________

"Master Bruce" Alfred didn't shout exactly but it was a near darn thing that had everyone in the cave tensing up. They all turned to an older man who was nervously gesturing to a screen. "We seem to have a guest"

They gather around the older man, watching as a teenage boy wearing baggy oversized sleepwear rampages through the kitchen in an ill-fated attempt to make...a sandwitch?

"How did he get in?" Bruce demands at once watching the boy pour himself a large cup of milk. His face was turned away so they couldn't see him clearly but-

"What are you all babbling about? That's not a guest." Damian scoffs after pushing his way to the front of the computers. He waves a hand at the stranger and it is conveniently at that exact moment that he turns around gulping down his milk.

It's an exact replica of his youngest. What in the world?

"Demon Brat" Jason starts slowly, hand reaching for his gun. Bruce would be angry by that, except he's not exactly sure that his son is standing with them now "Who is that?

"Obviously it's Daniel."

"Who?" Dick asks

Here Damian actually pauses looking around at everyone in as close to alarm as Bruce has ever seen him. "Daniel. My brother. Do you all not remember him?"

"Master Damian, this is the first time I have heard of your brother," Alfred stressed, the tone just a tad bit off from being upset. Damian's eyes widen behind his mask suddenly looking rather small.

He stares at the butler like he has never seen him properly nodding his head to the Batcomputer. "Check for yourself."

"I'll do it." Tim offers strolling over. With Babs on vacation with her father, he is the best with computers. He will know if something has been altered. A few clicks on the keyboard was the only sound within the cave as everyone stood around in unease.

A quick hiss between his teeth has Tim announcing. "Demon Brat isn't lying."

There on the multiple screens is proof that for the past four years- since Damian came to live with them- there was Danny. The brother with a medical condition that made being a Bat impossible.

Tim even had a personal folder- one he made but couldn't remember making based on his wonderous expression- titled "Angel Brat". Apparently, he and Danny got on like a house on fire. At least according to the files.

"Are you all quite sure you have no recollection of Daniel?" Damian questioned. His stance is protective, tense in a way Bruce has come to know as his son being nervous.

None of this makes sense. The last time Damian was this nervous was the last large Justice Leauge mission when all hands were on deck to fix the timeline-

Oh No.

"Damian, on the last rank 10 mission of the league you were the only one on the Watchtower when Flash shifted us back. Even Alfred was commanding a tank that day." He states waiting until his son nods in agreement. Around him, everyone was equally tense likely realizing the same thing.

"I was not alone Father. Daniel was with me. I couldn't possibly control all those stations alone."

Of course.

"Damian, I'm afraid the last mission erased Daniel from our timeline. I do not remember him."

His son's eyes practically bug out of his head. He swings around in small circles looking towards the rest of the family. His jaw clenched at their blank expressions.

None of them remembered Daniel either.

"We must inform Daniel at once-"

"No!" Dick shouts, cutting him off. There was a slump in his shoulders as he spoke much less sharply now. "If we do that, there is a chance that Time will try to force his existence out. It could.... erase Daniel completely."

"So what? We just pretend to know the kid? Lie to him?" Steph scoffs,

"Yeah as much as it sucks. I've worked with Bart long enough to know that there is a real danger in telling Daniel the truth." Tim sighs running his hands over his face.

"That's fucking great." Jason sneers, kicking a chair. Duke's hands are curled into tight fists, while Cass is looking at Damian with a sad frown.

Damian sneers at them, fleeing into the showers. Cass is one step behind him. Likely for the best, his eldest daughter has always been the best one to confine into. If anyone can get Damian talking about his feelings without being too pushy, it's her.

Alfred remains silent but his posture is stiff and straight. He is equally as displeased as his more explosive children. Not that Bruce couldn't blame him.

His heart has already shattered a dozen times over once Daniel's files have been brought up. He has forgotten his son. Has lost him in a way as close to death.

He flickers through them with the family. Everyone wants to remember as much as possible. There is so much. Daniel has a heart condition that has him attached to a heart pump, his consistently cold and is rarely strong enough to wander too far away from the manor.

In fact, he seems to collapse a lot like his legs just become intangible. Talia isn't aware he is still alive- Damian broke the rules to get him out of the league before his plan execution due to his condition.

Despite all of this, Danny had the biggest heart out of them. He seemed to be the kind of person with an easy smile, and happy pun waiting. He is so gentle that Tim's nickname "Angel Brat" is not just a mirror of Damian's

And Bruce forgot him.

To make matters worse the cave's elevator dings on, and down it comes Daniel himself. He looks exhausted, likely not used to being up so late but he smiles at them all warmly anyway

"Hey guys! Welcome home!" He greets. He rushes forward, hugging everyone with ease that not even Dick has been able to do. His movements are done so naturally that this must be how he greets them every night.

Everyone lets him and he doesn't seem surprised by the fact they return the hugs.

Bruce feels like vomiting as his youngest- Damian is older- smiles up at him. "Welcome home Dad! Love you."

"I..." His words catch in his throat. Daniel tilts his head confused but Bruce pushes through wrapping his arms around him just as tightly. "I love you too son."

"Tell the others you love them too" Daniel whispers in his ear. "Don't forget that they need to be shown through words and gestures too Dad!"

Bruce stiffens, unsure if he should but he doesn't have enough information to deny Daniel anything. If he suspects something is wrong he may zap himself out of existence. He can't let that happen.

He pulls back from Daniel after a moment, and then without giving the others warning, he reaches for the child closest to him. Jason yelps as he is dragged into Bruce's warm embrace. "I love you, Jason."

"Ugh what?" Jason sounds confused from above him- when did his little boy get so tall?- but he wraps his arms around him too, giving the beaming Daniel a quick glance before he mutters. "Love you too old man."

Bruce turns to Dick who is practically bouncing on his heels, arms held out. He steps into them easily, grunting as Dick squeezes him with all his might. "I love you, Dick"

"I love you too!"

Tim is staring with wide longing eyes over Dick's shoulder and Bruce knows he will have to hug him next. Behind him, Daniel has moved to embrace both Jason and Steph, which triggered a group-wide personal hug.

Even Alfred is there affording hugs and I love yous.

It's.....nice.

_____________________________________________________________

None of the Bats are good enough to read the body launage as Cass is. She saw the mischievous glee her new brother was hiding as he went around hugging everyone.

Damian taps her wrist. "Will you keep quiet of Daniel's harmless jest?"

She smiles. "Funny. They think they can't say no to him. "

"Oh, Dad! Now that you're back can I paint your nails?" Daniel asks loudly. "I have the best black nail polish!"

"....I suppose that is fine."

Damian cracks a smile. "My brother is a menace."

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Demon and Angel Brat #We are going to pretend Talia had them naturally so Danny can be a supirse #The twins prank the Bats #They playing into the whole identical twins with opposite personalities #Where Damian is serious Danny is childish #Cass knowns it's a lie #Babs did all the fake files for them in exchange for all her expenses paid on her vacation #Mulitple Povs

[syyskirjat]

Sueños de piedra (ch1)

Okay, I promised (to myself) to check out whatever media won the ultimate obscure blorbo tournament ( @who-do-i-know-this-man (I wasn't sure whether to tag you or not but in the end I figured I might as well, hope you don't mind I guess))

Turns out that it's a guy from a 2015 Spanish YA fantasy book

And turns out there's a free sample available! Which is lucky for me because I'm currently very broke

Sueños de piedra by Iria G. Parente and Selene M. Pascual

I don't speak Spanish so I'm gonna rely on the translator quite a lot lmao (well I understand some Spanish actually, but definitely not enough to read a whole book)

The title translates to something like "Dreams of Stone" I think?

Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away, a prince rewarded a wizard for helping rescue a young girl in trouble. Charming. Too bad none of this is true. In reality, the prince dreams of glory and revenge; the magician, with her spells not always being a disaster and the young woman in trouble, with fleeing from a past that torments her... and from the memory of the man she has killed. Once upon a time...

(Yes this is just Google Translate, sorry)

Okay so, prince, magician and a damsel in distress? Prince wants revenge for something, who knows what, magician is having trouble doing the magic, and the damsel is in fact a killer? Ok ok

The dedication goes as follows:

To all those who embark on a direct journey towards their dreams every day. May you always reach your destination.

Okay so Marabilia is a place? That's apparently also the name of this book series. Is this like the kingdom then? So it consists of three islands, two small ones and one big? Or is it supposed to be a continent? It definitely seems too small to be a continent

I know the blorbo is called Arthmael de Silfos so I'm guessing he's from the Silfos area in the north of the big island then. I can see what's probably a city called Duan and a forest called "Merlon Forest". We also have different towers around the big island, one of which seems to be called the Tower of Black Magic. (I didn't even need to use the translator for those yay xD)

Okay the first chapter is called Arthmael so I guess we're meeting our blorbo already, which is nice

— Let me make it clear: are you going to give my crown to a bastard?

Okay..... the very first line and I already think Arthmael might be a bit of a spoiled brat (I assume he's in fact the prince)

Apparently Arthmael just found out that he has an illegitimate older brother but I guess this brother's mother is noble anyway so it's legit? I dunno yet. Arthmael thinks this guy is blackmailing his father somehow and is already considering poison as a solution

And anyway, what kind of a name is Jacques for a king?

lmao, so much shade to all the kings called Jacques

Okay so Jacques's family is very powerful and loved by the people of Silfos and the king fears a civil war if he disrespects his claim to the throne. Alright. Kinda weird since based on Arthmael's thoughts, this society has a similar attitude to bastards as in European history, but okay then. I wonder if Jacques is even actually the king's son or is this some kind of a ruse?

Arthmael is very cheeky and even references his dad's love life directly to his face, his dad is not very happy

The king tells him to just be a good boy and hopefully they'll find him some crown princess to marry so he'll get a kingdom that way

I guess these different areas on the map are kingdoms then, that makes sense. They look like very small kingdoms but this is a small place in general.

Arthmael doesn't seem to mind this idea except that there's only one possible princess like that in Marabilia and that's Ivy de Dione. Not sure what's wrong with her.

Well, who knows? Maybe, if I wait a few moons, some other bastard, in Verves or Idyll, will come out from under a rock and come offer me her hand.

Somebody's very snarky, that's cute

Arthmael is very haughty about how the people have always known him as the crown prince and accepted him as such, Jacques laughs and asks what has he even done for the people. He's like well he hasn't really done much yet because he was planning to do things once he became king, but he's been supporting the local business (taverns) and employing servants (lmao). Also apparently there are some girls he's seeing...

Apparently Jacques's family are big traders and business people (despite being noblemen) and create lots of jobs, and also big on charity, so everybody loves them

Arthmael is jealous of how proud his dad looks when Jacques says this, and how he's never looked at him like that

Well, I guess you're kind of a little shit so it makes sense, Arthmael

— If the smartest thing is to become the idol of a few starving people in order to be king, I can do it too.

Oh my god, this little brat

He declares that he's going to be a hero, to overshadow the charity of Jacques' family, because heroes are remembered by history while philanthropist aren't

So he plans to become a storybook Prince Charming, saving damsels in distress etc.

Jacques finds this understandably hilarious, the king is not amused

Once Jacques leaves, the king again offers to arrange a marriage to Arthmael, specifically with the princess of Dione

I'm almost tempted. I have never been to Dione, but they say that their ships are the lightest and fastest, and that sailors come to their shores from the other side of the sea, speaking strange languages that only they understand. Who come from lands where women wear short dresses, if they wear anything at all. Places where war is so normal that, as soon as a child is strong enough to pick up a sword, they push him to the front lines.

Alright then, I see what he fixates on

Was there anything wrong with the princess then or?

Barbarians. I remove the thought from my mind.

Oh okay. What a charming young man /s

Dione is like right next to Silfos according to the map btw, is this like one of those neighbourly feuds?

Okay he says it's because he doesn't want a foreign kingdom, he wants to keep his home, which is fair I guess

The king is like what do you want me to do, kill Jacques and his pregnant wife? And Arthmael is just like yeah great idea, because he's a dumbass. The king is like wtf

Apparently Jacques' family is from that Duan city that I noted earlier, and his mother died a few days ago and apparently "her loss is greatly felt"

The king regrets spoiling Arthmael too much, and talks about how Arthmael doesn't understand anything about suffering or anything and only cares about girls

Arthmael is already considering faking his death to make them all feel sorry, because of course he is, he's exactly that kind of guy

He says he doesn't want to go try to charm the princess, he'd rather just go off on his own (also there's a whole bit about how only a man can rule Dione or something and the king of Dione won't accept his daughter to become a ruler)

His dad tells him no, just stay here and be a good boy, don't make everybody gossip about drama in the royal family

Arthmael is like hey you managed to hide your bastard son for years, you can hide my disappearance

They fight a bit more but then Arthmael just storms out, grabs a few things from his room and leaves

a change of clothes, a bag of coins, my sword, and my favourite cloak. I do not need anything else.

Okay then, good luck I guess

To be a hero you only need a brave heart. Or so they say.

I feel like you also need to not be a selfish prick but maybe that's optional

Okay end of first chapter!

Our blorbo seems like a real brat!

But I guess the point is probably that he needs to learn some lessons along the way, or something like that, idk. I'm sure there's a reason for why whoever entered him into the tournament likes him so much

I'm guessing the damsel in distress is not the princess? Probably? She wasn't called a princess anyway. TBH she's the character I'm currently the most curious about. The next chapter is from the point of view of someone called Lynne and I hope that's her. Could be the magician too though I guess? No wait, I think the magician is a guy. Altho idk maybe Lynne could be a guy's name, I don't fucking know.

I'm guessing that Arthmael will try to rescue the damsel so he can be a hero, because that's what heroes are supposed to do, but then it'll go wrong somehow? And then the magician will get involved somehow, I have no clue.

That's all my predictions I suppose. Altho I'm guessing that Jacques might turn out to be a villain somehow, I didn't get the vibe that he was particularly great either, just not as much of a brat as Arthmael, and it would then be something for Arthmael to do when he gets back home. Then again maybe the book will surprise me, who knows. To be honest, it would feel a bit like a cop out if it turns out that the guy he hates actually is evil, but it could be handled well, and it's not like I like Jacques either so far. He seems extremely sus too

No guesses as to what the title refers to yet, it could be anything

Idk, like I said, the damsel's storyline is the one that interests me the most rn, it might actually get me to read further (good job, blurb, you got me)

I still have a surprisingly good amount of the free sample left, there's actually nine chapters here, so idk, maybe I'll keep going? We'll see

I'm pretty happy with how much I was able to follow the text even on my own, altho I definitely had to rely on the translator. I would not have had the patience to try to translate all of this myself. But I definitely understood multiple full sentences! Yaaay xD

Apologies to fans of this book series, I hope I didn't seem too rude

#sueños de piedra

[beachylupin]

American Woman || Remus Lupin x American!Fem!Reader

jesus christ. i'm so sorry that it's taken me almost a month to update this story. i think i got very overwhelmed with posting all of it, and the whole entire thing just so happens to be like... 10k words and i frankly don't have time to go through and edit all of that right now. good for more parts, right? also SLOW BURN? please tell me that one of you picks up on it. pls. i wish i could promise that the next part won't be so long away, but i genuinely can't promise anything </3 as always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated <3 part 1 here, mb here word count: 3.4k warnings: this isn't necessarily happy, kind of stressful, a wee graphic (?), maybe like two swear words, quickly edited, i'm sorry

The Eldritch Manor had one bedroom with a double bed in the center of it and two dressers. Remus, who had already claimed one of the dressers, had given the bed to you since you were the “guest” in the safe house, but you had every intention of switching with him after his change in a week.

All the things the change did to a body was devastating, and you knew the small leather sofa wasn’t going to do any good for him or his already aching limbs.

Remus wasn’t young for his age. He was turning nineteen in a few months, but his body aged quicker due to the trauma it was put through every month, making his body at least thirty-five. He had a cane propped up against the wall near the front door that he hadn’t used yet, multiple first aid kits stacked under the bathroom sink, and cabinets full of prescription grade no-maj pain-killers, given to him out of love by his no-maj born friend.

He knew his body was much older than yours, and yet, he crammed himself onto the tiny, two-seater sofa in front of the fireplace the first night happily, telling you to sleep well.

You woke in the chilly bedroom and dressed casually: jeans and a thick, navy blue knit sweater. You paired it with wool socks, happy you had thought ahead and brought warm clothes. 

The Manor was drafty, as you learned last night when you nearly froze yourself to sleep once you shut the bedroom door.

You poked your head out of the bedroom, seeing Remus still asleep on the couch, an open book laying on the ground next to him. His scarred face this peaceful was a comforting sight. Your heart clenched as he shifted, knowing this would most likely be his last good sleep for a week and a half, the moon getting fuller and fuller every night.

Remus looked so young; much younger than he had looked last night in the light of the fire. His lanky legs were curled up under him, sure to crack when he woke up and stretched. His cheek was squished against the arm, soft puffs of air blowing through his lips.

It had been a late night discussing both of your lives, mugs of tea warming your hands as you sat in the recliner across from Remus on the couch.

Remus had grown up in Wales under the protective shadow of his mother and father, Lyall and Hope. Hope was a muggle homemaker, and Lyall worked for the Ministry’s Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Since this department was so broad, it was very mismanaged, and the werewolf registry had gone unnoticed for a long time.

Fenrir Greyback was brought in for questioning after two muggle children were killed, their bodies showing signs of a werewolf attack. Greyback wasn’t registered, but Lyall recognized all the signs he showed, claiming that he was, indeed, a werewolf.

“Soulless!” Lyall had yelled during that hearing. “Evil, wretched creatures! They deserve nothing but suffering and death!”

He was then thrown from the hearing, ultimately sealing his son’s fate as Greyback was released that same day.

Greyback broke and entered into their home, turning Remus shortly before his fifth birthday, changing Lyall’s views on lycanthropy forever.

The Lupin’s became nomads, moving from small village to small village, trying to contain their child’s behavior by keeping him as a recluse. He had a loving home, but had never known friends before Hogwarts.

You, on the other hand, grew up in New York, in a small town near Lake Placid. Your upbringing was fairly normal. Your muggle father worked as a carpenter, whereas your mom worked for the Wizarding Resources Department for the Magical Congress of the United States in New York City. She was gone from the time you woke up until shortly after you went to bed most days.

Because of that, it was mainly you and your father, who treated you like you were made of solid gold. He was a fantastic chef, an amazing storyteller, and the reason why you were able to be independent in your young adult life, giving you the courage to stand on your own two feet.

Since your town was surrounded by woods, it was unsafe to go out at night in fear that the creatures of the forest would take you away.

You were nine when the howling you often heard far out in the forest came closer. They were outside in the streets of your town. In the homes of your neighbors. 

What was to become of your friends? The girl down the street that invited you to her sixth birthday party? The boy you sat next to in second grade? The woman who handed out full-sized candy bars on Halloween?

Their homes were being ravaged by monsters.

Screams followed the howls, and the two of you did as you were supposed to: you hid under your bed until the streets got quiet again, and your muggle father, only armed with a shotgun, sat by the front door in wait.

Your house, miraculously, was untouched.

When the howls stopped, and the screams turned to cries, you crawled out from under your bed, finding your father horror-struck by the picture window, staring out at the carnage.

You couldn’t help but peek, seeing your neighbor boy, Lukas, writhing on the tar, his mother wailing as she tried to cover his exposed insides. He was your friend. The boy who taught you how to play ball.

How could they? Your little brain screamed. What kind of monster could do that? He was a child!

Your father pulled you away from the window, his eyes wide as he knelt down to look at you.

“Don’t blame the wolves, sweetheart,” he said, his voice grave. “Nobody has ever shown them kindness. They don’t know any better.”

You tiptoed to the kitchen, bringing your small suitcase, to begin brewing your first batch of wolfsbane for him.

You set up on the kitchen table and began carefully brewing the potion. Sure, it was difficult, but you could do it with your eyes closed at this point.

“Wolfsbane, betony, and a drop of dittany,” you mumbled to yourself, dropping it all in a cauldron before adding some water. You let it steep over the stove top, taking a peek back into the living room.

Remus was still asleep, mouth now open as his feet hung up and over the armrest. The blanket had fallen off of him at some point, leaving him in flannel bottoms and a plain, white t-shirt. How was he not freezing?

You checked your watch. You had about a minute before you needed to stir the potion and add bat spleen powder and another drop of dittany. Surely, you could put the blanket back over him.

Or would that be too presumptuous? That’s something a friend would do, right? Or a lover, for that matter. Was Remus even your friend? He could be even though you just met. He gave up the bed for you, and the two of you had spilled your life stories to one another. Surely, that meant something.

You shook your head at the thought, turning back to the burner to continue the potion.

Remus woke up near the end of your process, letting out a loud yawn as he stretched and sat up.

He saw you standing in the doorway of the kitchen, calling out, “You chilly? I can start another fire.”

You glanced over your shoulder, noticing him staring at you from the couch, his hair mused from sleep. Your cheeks started to burn as you looked back at the potion.

“If you want to, sure,” you said, eyes on the potion. “Otherwise, this is almost done, then I can do it.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he got up with a groan, taking a squat near the fireplace.

Your brain screamed as your cheeks continued to burn. Remus was a very handsome guy, but you weren’t supposed to feel anything for him, except maybe bad for his situation.

But he was kind, and you could tell he was the most gentle out of all of his friends you met last night. He seemed to care.

If you were going to feel anything for anyone in England, it was always going to be him.

A blue plume of smoke caught your attention. You pulled the small cauldron off the burner and strained it into a mug.

You turned around, watching Remus light the fire and take a seat on the couch, his brown eyes locking to yours as you entered the room.

You handed him the freshly brewed potion, taking a seat at his feet. “Drink up while it’s still warm,” you said, urging the mug to his lips. “It isn’t as bad when it’s warm.”

Remus’ nose crinkled. “You don’t understand how terrible it tastes.”

“I’ve tried it,” you said. “Just drink it, and I’ll make you some green tea.”

He sighed, throwing you a glare before downing the potion and holding back a gag. He thrusted the mug into your hands, his palms meeting his forehead as he groaned.

“See? Not as bad warm,” you teased, reaching out to pat his knee.

Remus shook his head. “‘S just as bad.”

“‘M sorry,” you cooed. “How do you want your tea?”

“Plain,” he muttered, his palms finally leaving his forehead. “Not green. Earl grey if possible.”

“Fresh out,” you said, having just thrown away the box last night. He groaned.  “Do you want coffee instead?”

“Black?” He asked, perking up.

“I can do that,” you said. “You should get dressed. ‘M assuming we’ll be getting guests soon.”

He nodded and shuffled off into the bedroom while you walked back into the kitchen.

You heard a door open behind your back. Assuming it was Remus who might’ve forgotten something, you didn’t turn around, not wanting to seem like you were checking on him.

“Where’s that lass?” A bassy man shouted from the front door. “That American woman?!”

You almost screamed, peeking out from the kitchen.

The man standing at the door was a marvel. Despite his low and loud voice, he stood stout at just five and a half feet, he looked miniscule compared to the large man that barged in next to him..

Remus poked his head out of the bedroom, looking at you in the kitchen doorway, eyebrows furrowed.

As if he could sense your silent confusion, the short man laughed loudly. “I’m Demolcles Belby! I’m told you’re Bane,” he said then looked at Remus. “You must be Moony then?”

Remus smiled tightly and nodded once at the short man, glancing back at you before disappearing behind the bedroom door again, closing it.

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, and you nervously wiped your hands on your dark jeans as you crossed the small house.

“Hi, Mr. Belby,” you gushed, extending your hand toward him as you introduced yourself. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Ah, someone who shares my passion?” He said, his grip tight on your hand. “The pleasure is all mine!”

“They sent you? You’re Bane?!” The other man, who you assumed to be Mr. Moody from his gruff hmph, barked. “You’re just a kid!”

You stood straighter, taking the familiar insult with narrowed eyes. “You must be Mr. Moody? The one who wanted me to disapparate across the ocean?” You asked, extending your hand to him. “I’d like to think that I’m more than just a kid.”

Remus came back into the living room as Moody snubbed your hand. He was dressed in a dark green button up and jeans, staring at your extended hand, eyebrows furrowed.

“She’s much more than a kid, Alastor!” Belby shouted back, taking your hand into his. “She jus’ so happens to be the Congress’s most innovative potioneer! Why, you’re lookin’ at the lass who tried figurin’ out a way to produce wolfsbane potions at mass market value.”

Remus looked between you and the man before wandering into the kitchen for his promised cup of coffee.

“That’s expensive,” Moody scoffed, briefly glancing at Remus leaving before returning his attention to you. “You’d never be able to afford the resources without making it cost thousands of galleons.”

“Well, when you have a greenhouse filled with the most important ingredient, and almost everything else is locally sourced, it becomes a lot less expensive,” you said, a small smirk playing on your lips as he grumbled under his breath. “My only issue is preservation. Simply jarred? It spoils during the new moon. Canned? Possible since it won’t spoil, but not ideal… The taste is still there. Pill form? Now-”

“A wolfsbane pill?” Remus piped in, now standing next to Moody, a warm mug in his hands. “That’s genius.”

“I’d like to think it’s possible,” you said, your cheeks turning pink. “I just have to find out a way to turn the potion to powder and-”

“That’s not what you’re here for,” Moody cut you off, crossing his arms.

You shut your mouth, teeth grinding as you tightened your jaw. “I know that,” you quipped, standing straighter.

“All work and no play. Isn’t that, Bane?” Belby chuckled, slapping your back. “We should probably get crackin’, now shouldn’t we?”

You threw him a tight smile, nodding before looking at Remus, who was already staring.

“We-” Moody said, his attention turning to Remus. “-have our own matters to attend to.”

Remus nodded once, clearing his throat. “Right,” he mumbled, glancing back at you. “Good luck.”

You smiled slightly, mumbling, “Thanks, you too.”

That’s how the rest of the week continued. Moody would angrily drop Belby off so that the two of you could continue your work while Remus disappeared with him, wishing you well on his way out the door.

Belby wasn’t horrible to work with. Rather, he was a joy, just a bit too loud for your liking. Sure, he had a lot of interesting stories, and you genuinely learned a lot from him when he wasn’t shouting about his brother’s kid, but when someone shouts around you for eight hours a day, it starts to become grating. 

Especially when trying to figure out a way to turn a liquid to a vapor while exploding at the same time.

You took many bathroom breaks just to get some peace and quiet, staring at yourself in the mirror and asking yourself if you had done the right thing in coming here.

Remus would always come back in the evening, usually having just eaten at the pub with his friends. His spirits seemed to be high every time he reappeared for the night, happy to be home even if you didn’t talk to him very much.

He’d quietly sit on the couch after stoking the fire and fixing himself a drink, his nose in one of the many books strewn along the floor. He’d always place a glass of water next to you as he passed, his scarred hand gently squeezing your shoulder.

You frankly had little time to eat or talk, your forehead in your hands as you stared at the papers in front of you. The now daily migraine thumped against your skull as you read and reread and reread the papers in front of you.

How on Earth were you going to craft a bomb? The whole project felt like a bite that was just too big to chew. You weren’t Oppenheimer.

“Hiya,” Remus cooed as soon as the front door opened on the evening of the full moon, smiling as he saw the back of your head tipped down over your makeshift desk by the fireplace, fingers on your temples. “Alright?”

You lifted your head, glancing over your shoulder to see him toeing off his shoes. “Sure,” you said, looking back at the papers. “How’s it going with you?”

Remus hummed in response, bringing a chair over to sit next to you. “Oh, you know,” he said, peeking over your shoulder with a small, lopsided smile. He smelled like whiskey, sour and sweet. “‘M just dandy.”

You checked your watch, looking at the low sun outside of the window. “Should probably make your potion,” you mumbled, your head in your hands again.

“‘S alright. I’ve got an hour,” he said absently, narrowing his eyes at the paper. “Have anything figured out yet?”

You dropped your hands from your shaking head, pushing yourself away from the desk. “I’m essentially trying to make mustard gas.” You got up, stretching out. “Pretty hard when it needs to be done now.”

“Who gave you that timeline?” Remus hummed, following you into the kitchen.

“Who do you think?” You asked, deadpan.

Remus snorted quietly. “You don’t like him, do you?”

You shot him a look. “Does anyone?”

“He’s not all bad,” he said, sitting at the table near the stove. “Just very… serious. Thinks he’s saving people, but in a way, he kind of is.” You shook your head, feeling his eyes on you as you filled the cauldron. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” You asked, trying desperately to ignore the honeyed way he was looking at you from his seat, your heart beginning to feel sticky from it.

Remus shrugged, sitting straighter. “Making me the potion every day… Being here.”

You glanced at him, catching him confidently staring before turning your back on him as you reached for ingredients, hoping to hide your flushed cheeks. “Would you be alone otherwise?”

“I haven’t been alone for a transformation since I was fourteen,” he said quietly, finally averting his eyes as you busied yourself with the cauldron.

“Oh?” You asked, your turn to stare at the side of his head now. “Do you go to a pack, or-”

Remus smiled to himself, shaking his head. “James, Sirius, and Peter are animagi.”

“And they’d join you?” You asked, looking back at the boiling pot. “Rather brave-”

“Well, outside of the cage, yeah,” he mumbled, and you could feel his eyes on the side of your face again as your eyebrows quirked up in thought. “You’re not allowed downstairs tonight,” he said seriously.

You added the wolfsbane, catching his stern stare. “I’ve had my fair share of being face to face with a wolf before-”

“No,” he cut you off, his gaze hardening. “You’re not coming downstairs, alright? I’ll be fine.”

“Remus-”

“Promise me that you’ll stay upstairs.” His hand was on yours suddenly, squeezing, his eyes pleading.

You looked at your hands, heat burning in your ears. “I’ll stay upstairs,” you mumbled, your response making him squeeze your hand harder.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, dropping your hand.

A lull fell over the two of you as you waited for the potion to finish, checking your watch again. Moonrise was in half an hour, and he had to be downstairs before then. The potion should finish in time, but he should’ve drank it an hour ago for him to be asleep in time of his transition. You added an extra drop of dittany and a bit of wormwood, stirring it again in hopes that it would be fine.

The potion plumed blue smoke, and you strained it, handing him the mug. “Bottoms up.”

He drank it, his nose hardly scrunching before he checked his watch, standing. “Lock the door behind me?”

You nodded reluctantly, tailing him to the basement door. He started his descent to the cage in the cold, brick basement.

“Good luck,” you said from the top of the stairs.

He glanced over his shoulder, smiling tightly. “Sleep well, Bane.”

Locking the basement door was hard, almost as hard as hearing Remus lock himself in the cage, the keys hitting the bottom step with a dull thud as he threw them from the cage.

You hoped the potion would kick in at the right time, rendering the wolf tired enough to just fall asleep before any damage could be done.

You hurried to the bedroom, dragging your blanket and pillow into the living room and trading it for Remus’ things. He’d have no choice but to sleep in the bedroom.

You sat on the couch, your bed for the next week, waiting.

Waiting for a noise. 

A feeling. 

Anything.

A low howl started from the basement, filling the house. Your heart sank. It didn’t kick in in time.

Another howl, this time, it sounded like a wail, rang through, followed by another, and another.

Was he crying? The wolf was crying.

You left Remus to suffer alone in a basement for the first time in five years.

You stood, pacing, as the cries turned to growls. You grabbed the keys and went to the basement door, standing in front of it. He made you promise to stay upstairs.

You couldn’t break that promise, even if he was alone.

You didn’t dare cross him twice.

Your eyes filled with tears as something crashed against the steps, another howl coming from the basement. Sinking against the door, you closed your eyes, your face in your hands.

If you couldn’t even get a potion that you’ve been making for years right for someone who hated what they were, why would you think you could try to help a whole group of ferals who enjoyed it?

Fuck.

taglist: @ttulipwritezz @jasontoddsmentaldisorders @acciotwinz @lilianelena39 @prongsprincessworld @hawkins-2000 @ginseng-green-tea

#remus lupin #part two #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x american!fem!reader #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fic

[darknesseddiem]

𝐀𝐥𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐳: 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝟔𝟔

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: In the shadowy annals of crime, a figure emerges, casting a chilling pall over the world. Eddie Munson, infamous for his macabre deeds as a serial killer, now stirs fear with an unprecedented proposal. Like a sinister weaver, Eddie prepares to embroider a fabric saturated with long-held vengeance. Whispers of his scheme cloak his intentions in darkness, leaving observers to ponder the depths of his depravity.

Each stitch in his plan weaves a sinister narrative, drawing the curious into the abyss of his psyche. As intrigue mounts, the world braces for Eddie Munson's cryptic request, poised to unravel reality itself, ushering forth chaos and terror.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 MDNI, gore, mentions of blood; violence, descriptions of torture and death, Eddie is a serial killer, cannibalism, cruelty, mistery, Eddie is on the death row, mentions Chrissy's mother and allusion to her death.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Please be advised that this series of stories delves into darker and more disturbing themes than my previous works. The content will include highly sensitive and grotesque subject matter. If you find yourself uncomfortable with such material, it's perfectly understandable. Your well-being is paramount, and your decision to refrain from reading is respected.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,4K

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

Fell free to support my works with some 𝐊𝐨-𝐅𝐢!

In the somber depths of the penitentiary's labyrinthine corridors, where the very air seemed to congeal with foreboding, the flickering glow of pale moonlight dared not venture. Within these subterranean confines, an imposing edifice of concrete and steel stood sentinel, its walls steeped in the crimson stains of untold atrocities perpetrated by the merciless hands of those who had transgressed against the sanctity of innocent lives. This fortress, a bastion of unforgiving incarceration, cast its shadow over all who dared to tread its bleak corridors, an inescapable abyss of despair and anguish.

Descending further still, into the bowels of this infernal domain, lay the deepest recesses of confinement - a purgatory reserved for the most depraved and desolate souls. Here, shrouded in perpetual darkness and devoid of even the faintest glimmer of sunlight or human contact, languished men and women so irredeemably profane that they had become naught but spectral echoes of their former selves. Condemned to an eternity of solitude and torment, they withered away in the suffocating embrace of isolation, their existence a cruel mockery of the vibrant world they once knew.

Amidst this realm of despair and desolation, a singular figure loomed in the shadows - the enigmatic inmate of Cell 66, a nameless specter whose very presence invoked dread and apprehension. Eddie Munson, a man cloaked in the chilling aura of mystery, stood as an epitome of cold-blooded savagery, his nefarious deeds shrouded in the veils of silence and secrecy. For a decade, he had steadfastly refused to divulge the twisted tapestry of his dark past, his lips sealed with an iron resolve that defied the relentless interrogation of law enforcement.

Eddie Munson, age of 28, stood accused of crimes so heinous and grotesque that they defied comprehension - murder, slaughter, torture, and the ultimate depravity of cannibalism. The latter having as victim his father, William Munson, the man had his heart ripped out of his body while he was still breathing, and eaten by his own son.

His victims, numbering unknown, bore the indelible mark of his sadistic cruelty, their anguished cries silenced forever in the abyss of oblivion. Yet, despite the relentless onslaught of interrogation and torture, Eddie remained an impenetrable enigma, his psyche a labyrinthine maze of madness and malevolence that confounded even the most seasoned investigators.

In a desperate bid to extract the truth from him, they exhausted every tool in the arsenal of human torment. Shock therapy surged through his veins like bolts of lightning, while hypnosis sought to unravel the tangled web of his mind. Sleep deprivation gnawed at his sanity, each minute stretching into an eternity of agony. Temperature manipulation plunged him into the icy depths of despair, while purposeful drowning submerged him in a watery abyss of terror.

Yet, despite their relentless efforts, the truth remained elusive, shrouded in the darkness of his twisted psyche. As the investigators and police faced the grim reality of their failure, they reluctantly conceded defeat. With heavy hearts and haunted souls, they consigned him to the unforgiving confines of death row, where the specter of execution loomed ominously over him like a shadowy executioner awaiting his final reckoning.

Perched upon a cold, unforgiving chair, Eddie Munson found himself shackled before a cadre of stern-faced law enforcement officials. The putrid hue of his garb, a garish orange jumpsuit, seemed to mock the gravity of the situation, its color reminiscent of flames licking at the edges of his very existence.

As he awaited his fate, the weight of his crimes hung heavy in the air, a palpable presence that suffocated the room with an oppressive sense of dread. The gaze of the officers bore into him with a mix of contempt and morbid fascination, as if they were peering into the depths of a bottomless abyss, searching for a glimmer of humanity amidst the darkness.

The clang of metal against metal echoed through the chamber as the handcuffs tightened around his wrists, a stark reminder of his loss of freedom and impending doom. And yet, despite the grim tableau unfolding before him, Munson remained eerily composed, his eyes betraying no hint of remorse or regret, but instead, harboring a chilling calmness that sent shivers down the spines of those who dared to meet his gaze.

"I, Judge William Bennet Carver," the judge's voice reverberated through the solemn courtroom, each syllable weighted with the gravity of the impending verdict, "sentence Edward James Munson for the heinous crimes of murder, slaughter, cannibalism, torture, concealment of a corpse, violence, and femicide, to face the ultimate justice: the electric chair."

The resounding thud of the judge's gavel against the polished wood punctuated his decree, sending a chilling ripple through the hushed chamber. Yet, amid the somber atmosphere, a twisted smirk danced upon Eddie's pallid visage, his lips curling into a sinister grin that betrayed a morbid amusement at his own demise.

The dim light of the courtroom cast eerie shadows across his features, accentuating the gleam in his eyes that flickered with an unsettling blend of defiance and derangement. To Eddie, the solemn pronouncement of his fate seemed to serve only as fuel for the perverse amusement that bubbled within him, a dark amusement born of a mind steeped in darkness and depravity.

As the weight of his sentence settled upon him like a suffocating shroud, Eddie's gaze remained locked upon the judge, his expression an unsettling mixture of defiance and amusement. For in the face of impending doom, he found only a perverse delight in the twisted game of fate that had brought him to this chilling juncture.

Before the attendees could muster the resolve to depart the trial chamber, a chilling silence settled over the room like a suffocating fog. Yet, amidst the palpable tension, a voice shattered the eerie stillness, cutting through the air with an unsettling cadence that sent shivers down the spines of those present.

It was Eddie, his voice devoid of the usual satisfaction that accompanied his macabre deeds, each word dripping with a cold detachment that belied the horrors lurking within his psyche. As if emerging from the depths of a nightmare, his utterance hung heavy in the air, a spectral presence that seemed to linger long after the sound had faded.

The unexpectedness of his speech sent shockwaves through the gathered throng, their eyes widening in disbelief at the audacity of this monstrous figure to break the oppressive silence that had enveloped the chamber. And yet, despite the chill that coursed through their veins, there was an undeniable allure to Eddie's words, a morbid curiosity that compelled them to hang upon his every syllable, like moths drawn to the flame of his dark presence.

For in that moment, Eddie Munson stood as a harbinger of terror, his voice a haunting echo of the abyss from which he had emerged, leaving all who bore witness to wonder what other horrors lay concealed within the depths of his twisted mind.

"Before you lend me to my inevitable fate," Eddie's voice sliced through the heavy air, his tone carrying an unsettling calmness that seemed incongruent with his looming demise, "there is a final thing I must ask."

The twisted curvature of his lips formed a grotesque grin, a stark contrast against the grim backdrop of the courtroom. His smile, more akin to a rictus of madness, sent shivers coursing down the spines of those assembled, each icy caress leaving behind a trail of apprehension and dread.

The macabre spectacle of Eddie's grin seemed to warp the very fabric of reality, casting a pall of unease over the room as if the darkness within him threatened to consume all who dared to behold it. And yet, despite the visceral discomfort it elicited, there was an undeniable magnetism to his presence, drawing the gaze of onlookers like moths to the flame of his twisted charisma.

For in that moment, Eddie Munson stood as a specter of malevolence, his smile a haunting reminder of the horrors that lurked within the depths of his depraved soul. And as the weight of his words hung heavy in the air, the gathered throng braced themselves for the chilling revelation that awaited, knowing all too well that whatever he had to say would only serve to deepen the darkness that enveloped them all.

“Nothing you say will save you, Mr. Munson.” Judge Carver said seriously.

"Indeed, Judge Carver," Eddie's voice echoed through the chamber, carrying an eerie calmness that seemed to mock the severity of his situation. His gaze, like obsidian pools devoid of remorse, bore into the judge with an unsettling intensity, as if daring him to peer into the abyss of his twisted psyche.

A grim chuckle escaped Eddie's lips, its echo reverberating off the walls like a sinister melody. "Save me?" he mused, the words dripping with a venomous disdain that sent a shiver down the spine of all who heard. "Oh, dear judge, salvation is but a distant memory in the shadowed recesses of my existence."

The air seemed to thicken with tension as the weight of Eddie's words hung heavy in the room, casting a pall of unease over the gathered throng. And yet, despite the palpable discomfort that permeated the chamber, there was an undeniable allure to his defiance, a morbid fascination with the darkness that lurked within him.

For in that moment, Eddie Munson stood as a testament to the depths of human depravity, his words a chilling reminder of the horrors that lay concealed within the darkest corners of the human soul. And as the judge's stern gaze bore down upon him, Eddie met it with a steely resolve, knowing full well that no words could save him from the abyss into which he had willingly descended.

"I want my story to be told to the world," Eddie's voice sliced through the tense atmosphere of the courtroom, each syllable laden with a sinister promise that sent a shiver down the spine of every witness. Gasps of shock rippled through the room, eyes widening in disbelief as if Eddie had uttered a profanity that defied comprehension.

"But... on one condition," he continued, his words hanging in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating all who dared to breathe in their ominous implications. The palpable anxiety in the room intensified, a suffocating weight pressing down upon the gathered throng, rendering them paralyzed in a state of morbid anticipation.

The silence that followed was deafening, a tangible presence that seemed to fill the room with a foreboding sense of dread. Each heartbeat thundered in their ears like a drumbeat of impending doom, the rhythm echoing the pulse of their mounting fear.

And then, with a voice that cut through the silence like a blade, Eddie delivered his chilling demand: "Bring her to me." The words hung in the air like a curse, casting a shadow over the room as the gravity of his request sank in. In that moment, the darkness that lurked within Eddie Munson's twisted soul spilled forth, enveloping all who bore witness in its malevolent embrace.

As Eddie's demand reverberated through the room, a hushed murmuring rose among the spectators, whispers of unease intertwining with the palpable tension that gripped them all. Judge Carver, his brow furrowed with concern, exchanged a glance with the bailiffs, uncertainty etched in their solemn expressions.

Suddenly, from the back of the courtroom, a figure emerged, cloaked in shadows and bearing an aura of ominous dread. It was a woman, her features obscured by darkness, yet her presence radiated an eerie calmness that seemed to quell the rising panic.

With measured steps, she approached the bench, her gaze fixed upon Eddie with an intensity that bordered on obsession. And as she drew closer, the dim light revealed the haunting familiarity of her visage—a haunting resemblance to one of Eddie's victims, long thought to be lost to the annals of his depravity.

A collective gasp swept through the room as the truth dawned upon them all, a revelation so horrifying that it threatened to shatter the fragile facade of their reality. For in that moment, it became clear that Eddie's request was not merely a macabre whim, but a sinister plot to unleash a new chapter of terror upon the world—one that would plunge them all into the depths of darkness from which there could be no escape.

"It's about time I found you, Munson," the words cut through the air like a frigid wind, each syllable dripping with a chilling resolve that sent shivers down everyone's spine. The voice, belonging to a middle-aged woman, resonated with an underlying tremor, hinting at the depths of her pent-up anguish and fury.

Eddie's gaze locked onto the woman, his expression unreadable yet tinged with a flicker of recognition that danced behind his steely facade. The name she uttered—Selenne Cunningham—stirred a distant memory within him, a memory veiled in the shadowy recesses of his consciousness.

A sinister smile curled at the corners of Eddie's lips, a perverse amusement twinkling in his eyes like the glint of a predator stalking its prey. "Ah, Selenne Cunningham," he purred, his voice laced with a venomous edge that mirrored her own icy tone. "Your daughter... such a delicate flower, crushed beneath the weight of my artistry."

The room fell silent, the tension thickening with each passing moment as the gravity of their confrontation hung heavy in the air.

With the first thread of Munson's sinister plot meticulously woven, the tendrils of his malevolence unfurled like a dark shadow, poised to ensnare those who unwittingly danced within its grasp. The nefarious machinations of Eddie Munson, honed to a razor's edge, stood poised to carve a path of unfathomable destruction through the lives of all who had dared to cross his path.

As the tendrils of his wickedness coiled with calculated precision, a palpable sense of foreboding descended upon those ensnared within the web of his deceit. Edward Munson, a specter of malevolence risen from the depths of darkness, loomed large on the horizon, his presence casting a long shadow that threatened to engulf all who stood in his wake.

With a chilling resolve that echoed through the corridors of fate, he returned from the abyss, his resolve steeled by the bitter taste of past failures. This time, there would be no room for error, no margin for mercy.

Eddie Munson had returned, and with him came a reckoning so dark and terrible that none would emerge unscathed.

#darknesseddiemfics #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddiemunson #dark!eddie munson #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #bestfriend!eddie munson #older!eddie munson #eddie the freak munson

[knife-em0ji]

Sorry for this long post but can people stop treating Vader and Anakin as completely separate people. Like. That type of dissociation were obviously coping mechanisms by Old Ben and Vader. Not like. A literal fragmentation of personalities. Like if you love Anakin Skywalker imo you have to accept that he was a cute kid and a padme simp and a fun older brother and a boy desperately in need of acknowledgement and praise and a father who ultimately loved his son but also a guy who commits atrocities in his anger and strangles people who annoy him and has a victim/persecution complex (although admittedly for good reason) and was also a notorious child killer. This man contains multitudes.

Imo falling to the dark side/using the light side of the force isn’t marked by a shift or fragmentation of personality, but rather what emotions are used to channel the force and guide one’s actions. I think part of what’s so hard about resisting the dark side and coming back to the light is that there’s positive feedback loops of power, and resisting that by doing good and healthily channeling emotions is just plain hard. Especially in the case of Anakin, who is notoriously a “in for a penny, in for a pound” type of guy. He’s loyal and loves completely and dangerously with his whole heart, and he hates just as much.

And I think guilt is a huge factor with him struggling to do good; it’s pretty much a thought process of “Well, I’ve already committed thousands of atrocities and have countless amounts of blood on my hands, I have to believe whole hog in what I’ve been doing because then otherwise what was it all for.” I think that’s what makes his sacrifice for Luke so poignant, because it speaks to how much he loves his son that he’s able to overcome that spiral and do one last act of love for his son, unselfishly and without rationalization.

Idk, I just watched ESB again, and I think beyond just wanting to possess Luke and use him for power, it’s reasonable to think that part of the reason Vader wants him so badly to turn to the dark side with him is that he still thinks the dark side is the only way he can have enough power to protect his family and therefore keep them—he’s objectively much more powerful than he was in the prequels, and a main part of his struggles during the fall of the Republic was that he didn’t feel “strong enough” to protect the people he loved as a Jedi. He wasn’t able to free the slaves. He wasn’t able to save his mother. He wasn’t able to stop Ashoka’s expulsion from the order. He wasn’t able to prevent Padmé from dying. With the commitment he’s had to his path and the objective amount of power he’s amassed since the twins’ births, I think it’s reasonable to assume he desperately grasping at the idea that somehow, this time, he’ll be able to achieve what he’s never been able to do before. But his failure always lies in the fact that his motivations are, and always have been, ultimately self-serving, that his pride and fear of loss—which are completely understandable in moderation and not something he should necessarily be punished for—outweigh his real and genuine care for his loved ones and the galaxy at large.

Idk. All this to say that Anakin has always been Vader and Vader has always been Anakin. They’re the same fucking person, you fools! Stop taking dissociative rationalization literally!!! It’s right there in the text!!!! His return to the light does not negate his time in the dark and vice versa! There is good in him !! He is capable of unspeakable evil !!! BOTH ARE TRUE AT THE SAME TIME!!!!!

#darth vader #anakin skywalker #Star Wars #look. I have a PhD in Darth Vader. he is my babygirl. my sweet cheese. my silly rabbit. #my meow meow has committed atrocities by the likes you’ve never even believed #Vader studies #tbh don’t even get me started about how I think imposing a strict binary on a cosmic energy field and channelling exclusively one side of it #is reductive to the theme of ‘balance’ like. how can you be balanced if you only use one side and whole heartedly reject the other huh. huh

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Midnight | Chapter 2 | S.R

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary - Spencer makes a decision that could effect his whole life.

A/N - Chapter title from the Set it Off album “Midnight”. Song lyrics at the end of the chapter.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - brief mentions of Tobias Hankel and Maeve, post prison arc, Spencer starting to lose it, case related talk, heavy drinking, slightly suicidal thoughts.

WC - 4.8k

Chapter Two - Hourglass

Four Months Ago

There was a feeling that had ripened within him over time, the feeling that no matter how many they stopped, it would never be enough. Maybe it was Gideon who planted the seed all those years ago when he’d lost his faith in what they did. He hadn’t nurtured it enough and so it hadn’t grown but when it did start to blossom it did so rapidly. 

It had taken root deep within him, its long spindles embedded in the soil of his doubt and uncertainty. It fed off of his scepticism, like it was all the water and sunlight it needed to grow and grow until it couldn’t possibly get any bigger. 

How much of his life had been spent fixating on serial killers, on the victims they couldn’t save, sometimes even on the ones they did? His work had been his obsession for so many years, even though sometimes it chipped away pieces of him he’d never get back. With his intelligence he could have done anything, but he’d chosen to help people. But it didn’t feel very helpful these days. 

Better men and women had given up this life, people much stronger than him, choosing to put themselves above their careers. Gideon. Elle. Alex. Morgan. Hotch. And with each one the world had still turned, the rest of them continued to do what they did best. Serial killers were still brought to justice, victims were still saved. But with each person that left, Spencer felt the losses hit harder. 

He’d been punished for simply doing his job time and time again. Hankel had kidnapped him and drugged him while he was following a lead. Maeve had gotten caught up in his web of evil and death. Cat had taken her revenge on him when he’d arrested her. 

That’s ultimately what had cultivated the slowly growing seed. Prison had taken something from him he was sure he would never get back. A piece of his sanity, his belief in justice, winning the war of good versus evil. Every case he’d worked since being reinstated had left him feeling disheartened, the bad continually out weighing the good. 

He found himself keeping score in his head, which was something Morgan told him never to do. If you start keeping count, pretty boy, you may as well throw in the towel. But the sick tally in his mind grew and grew without his realising. 

The number of victims they saved paled in comparison to how many they didn’t. The number of unsubs they arrested didn’t correlate against the ones still out there. The losses hit deeper, scarring him from the inside. No matter how much good they did it wasn’t adequate. It wasn’t enough for him anymore. At some point he had to say, enough is enough. 

And enough was enough.

The story of Spencer Reid life’s read as such: son of a schizophrenic mother and a father who abandoned him, genius outcast, FBI agent. There had to be more than this. Time only moved one way, there was no going backwards. But Spencer felt like he'd been standing in place too long.

Enough was enough. 

His eyes were trained on the glossy table top, a particular pattern in the wood grain commanding his attention. It was funny that he’d spent so many years sitting at this same table every single day and never paid it any attention. Cases took precedent over examining innocuous pieces of furniture. Or at least, they used to. But the feeling within him that had been growing since prison had all but taken over and he couldn’t even muster the strength to feign an interest in what Garcia was talking about. 

The clock on the wall ticked by, it’s monotonous yet rhythmic tick, tick, tick drowning out the sounds of his team talking around him. It felt somewhat pertinent, as though it was counting down the seconds to his demise. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if it started to chime, signifying the hour of his breakdown. 

He stared at the same pattern for so long it started to move, swirling and manipulating before his very eyes creating effigies that weren’t really there. Maybe none of them were really there. Maybe he’d died in prison and this was all a particularly vivid creation of his own mind. 

It wasn’t a far cry to say he was losing his mind. Maybe he’d already lost it somewhere along the line. Maybe Cat’s baby really was his and the stress of discovering he’d been sexually assaulted caused a late onset schizophrenic break. Maybe he was a shell in a bed on a psych ward, using thoughts of work and his team as a way of protecting himself from what had happened to him. 

Or maybe he was just done with it all. Maybe the one small thread holding him tethered to reality had finally snapped. Maybe Doctor Spencer Reid would never be the same again.

Is this where I give in? Is this the end of the road? 

“Boy wonder?” Garcia’s voice cut over the droning sound of the clocks ticking.

Spencer’s eyes snapped up from the table and he had to blink a few times to get the moisture back to his eyes and be able to focus on the brightly coloured human ray of sunshine in front of him. Her eyebrows were furrowed beneath the thick frames of her turquoise glasses and her red painted lips were pulled together tightly. 

He felt the other seven sets of eyes on him from around the table but tried to ignore them in lieu of focusing on Penelope. One thing at a time, no need to overwhelm himself with stimuli. 

He blinked a few more times, trying to tug at his subconscious and ascertain what they had been talking about. He knew it was in there somewhere, even if he hadn’t been actively listening, his brain would have soaked up the words being spoken around him. He clawed for the information he needed but found nothing.

“Huh?” He rolled his lip between his teeth and shrugged almost guiltily at the fact he hadn’t been listening. 

“We’re talking about decapitation, you usually have a lot of icky facts on the matter.” Garcia aided him but still saw no recognition behind his eyes that he’d taken any of that in. 

He could have spouted off numerous pieces of information pertaining to that subject matter. He could have told her that early versions of the guillotine were used in England from twelve eighty six until the seventeenth century and that the modern form of it was invented shortly before the French Revolution with the aim of creating a quick and painless execution. He could have told her that the United States Government had never employed beheading as a legal method of execution. He could have also told her that Saudi Arabia still used decapitation as a form of capital punishment and it’s the only country still known to do so. 

There were a lot of things he could have said, not even necessarily relating to decapitation. Even if he’d said, sorry, I can’t recall any right now, at least it would have been, in some way, better than what he did say. 

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he intended to say what actually came out of his mouth. In fact, he tried hard not to say it. But the thread had well and truly snapped, sending him spiralling into a pit of his own morality. He was too far gone, too much had changed. There was no pulling him back from the brink this time. 

When he placed his palms on the table and pushed his chair back, he felt the confusion flood the room. And when he got to his feet and grabbed his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder, he swore he could hear the questions on everyone’s tongues. He kept eye contact with Penelope, trying to block out all the other bodies in the room and keep focused on one single thing. 

“I can’t…” he trailed off, voice sounding more or less as shattered he felt. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, before forcing out the rest of the words. “I can’t fix this.” 

By this he meant anything. He couldn’t fix the evil in the world, he couldn’t fix his doubt in their abilities. He couldn’t fix his ever growing need to not be here anymore. But he wasn’t going to stand here and explain that. 

He stepped back from the round table, refusing to look at any of his other team members and cast his eyes to the floor as he shuffled his way towards the door. 

“Spencer, where are you going?” Emily’s voice called behind him. 

“Fix what?” JJ added. 

“Kid, we got a case.” Rossi spoke too.

But Spencer ignored them. He wasn’t even sure he really heard them. He continued out of the door and down the walkway towards the stairs leading to the bullpen. He didn’t look back as he made his way to his desk. 

He unholstered his firearm, the one he’d worn on his hip for some fifteen years, and placed it on the desk. He’d long ago gotten used to the weight of carrying it around but he couldn’t deny how much lighter he felt when he removed it for the final time. Next he slid his hand inside his satchel and retrieved his FBI credentials and set them down next to his revolver. 

He thought maybe he’d feel something as he gave up his life’s work, or hear a voice telling him he was making a mistake. But he didn’t. If anything, the only thing he felt was relief and slightly annoyed he hadn’t done this sooner. 

He breathed an easy sigh, content in his decision to walk away. As he looked up from the items on his desk, a set of eyes were staring at him from across the room and his momentary calmness faded away. 

He should have known it would be you who came after him. In the few years you’d been with the BAU the two of you had grown close. You took his place as the youngest member of the team, strong, brilliant and fierce in every way. 

You had a passion for reading, learning and foreign cinema. You didn’t look disinterested when Spencer reeled off statistics, quite the opposite actually and you even encouraged him to tell you more. It hadn’t taken long before the two of you started hanging out away from work, frequenting book stores and museums and watching movie marathons together. 

Spencer thought you were beautiful, possibly more so than anyone he’d ever laid eyes on. But he didn’t mix work and pleasure, it was frowned upon by the bureau and even if it wasn’t Spencer liked to try and keep those two sides of his life separate. He couldn’t imagine sitting at the round table for a morning briefing and having to look across at someone he'd seen naked. Or even more embarrassingly, someone who had seen him naked. 

He valued your friendship above all else, and he wasn’t going to let his carnal impulses get in the way of that. But it was because of that friendship that he wasn’t surprised it was you who had followed him. 

He stood still as you walked closer to him, knowing it didn’t matter what you were going to say as he’d already made up his mind. He would humour you to a certain extent but he wasn’t going to stay. He couldn’t stay. 

“What are you doing?” You sounded mildly frustrated, as though you were a mother who had caught her child defacing the wall. 

“Leaving.” He shrugged. “I thought that was fairly obvious.”

“You’re walking away? Leaving the BAU?” You folded your arms over your chest, cocking your eyebrow at him. 

“Correct.” He nodded stiffly. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, since I left prison. I’m no use here anymore.”

“Well that’s just not true.” You clucked.

“Whether it is or it isn’t, it doesn’t change the fact that I am leaving.” 

“You’re really over dramatic sometimes, do you know that?” 

“Excuse me?” He frowned at you. 

“I can’t imagine how terrible prison was, but that’s no excuse for walking away from something you love. You’re going through something, I get it, but throwing away everything you’ve worked so hard for because you spent three months in prison is pretty dumb for someone so smart.” You dropped your arms to your sides, shaking your head at him in disappointment.

Spencer felt a small ball of anger start to pool in his chest at your crude and incorrect summation of what he’d been through. As if you had any clue what prison was like for him, what the weight of carrying around that trauma was like. You were wrong, leaving the BAU wasn’t dumb, it was the smartest thing Spencer had done in a long time. He thought you understood him, but now he could see he’d been sorely mistaken. 

“With all due respect, Y/N,” he spat, stepping a little closer to you. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You try spending time in prison for a crime you didn’t commit and then tell me I’m being an idiot. You don’t get to pass judgement on me unless you’ve been where I’ve been, walked a mile in my shoes. And quite frankly, I don’t think you would have made out alive.” 

The tone he spoke to you in was like nothing you’d ever heard from Spencer’s lips. It was menacing, almost evil in its nature. It caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand and your stomach coil into knots. Prison had darkened his soul, bruised his psyche. You’d all hoped he would bounce back, but maybe there was no bouncing back. As you looked into his wild eyes, you realised it was possible you had lost Spencer to the shadows forever. 

“Fine.” You swallowed your fear, shrugging your shoulders. “I was only trying to help.”

“I don’t need help. Least of all from you.” He hissed, quickly turning on his heels and making quick work of strolling across the bullpen.

You simply watched him go, knowing anything you said would be a waste of breath. Maybe he would come around or maybe he wouldn’t. You supposed it wasn’t your job to look after him despite how much you sometimes wished it were. 

But you and Spencer had never been fated to be more than friends, a tragic and cruel joke from the universe in your opinion. He wasn’t your problem, it wasn’t on you to go after him and talk him into coming back. No matter how much it tugged on your heart to watch him walk away. 

***

It was hard to concentrate on the case with Spencer’s sudden departure hanging heavily over all of you. It took longer to build a profile and subsequently longer to find the unsub. Maybe if it hadn’t been for Spencer playing on all of your minds you could have found him before he killed that final victim. 

You sat alone on the jet home three days later, toying with your phone in your hands. You’d lost count of how many times you’d almost sent that text or nearly called that number. But somehow you knew Spencer didn’t want you reaching out and that you’d only end up more disappointed if you tried. 

You’d been so caught up in thoughts you didn’t hear someone heading your way or even sense their presence until a glass of scotch was being slid in front of you. You glanced up to see Luke standing over you, a sympathetic smile on his lips. You nodded by way of telling him to join you and he did. 

A few years ago when thirteen serial killers escaped prison, Hotch brought in reinforcements to aid their capture. You were a Fugitive Task Force agent who was tapped alongside Luke Alvez to help with the mammoth undertaking. Ultimately the Fugitive Task Forces loss was the BAU’s gain when you both took Hotch up on his offer to join the unit. 

You and Luke went way back, more years than you cared to count. It was you he’d gone to when Daniel Cullen had attacked his partner and thought Phil would never walk again. It was you he called when he drank so much he could barely stand and you who would drive him home from the bar night after night, making sure he got back safe.

It was you who had suggested him getting a dog to assist with his rapidly declining mental health and residual PTSD from serving overseas. It was also you who had gone to multiple breeders and watched him handle an obscene amount of puppies until he found the right one for him. It was you he called in the middle of the night when Roxy peed on his couch while she was toilet training or ate one of his shoes. 

So it was little surprise when he was tapped by the BAU to help capture those thirteen killers, the Crimson King included, that he’d put your name forward for it too. 

Luke Alvez was the closest thing to a brother you’d ever had. At least now he was anyway. Once upon a time there had been a fleeting moment where the two of you considered the possibility of being more than friends, several years ago now. It happened one night after he’d called you when Roxy had gotten out. You’d spent hours looking for her and upon returning the dog home, Luke had shown his gratitude by kissing you. 

It wasn’t completely unwelcome, you’d always thought Luke was devilishly good looking and so maybe you’d kissed him back. No, you’d definitely kissed him back. But as his hands started pawing at you, trying to lead you back towards the couch, you found yourself moving away. 

“What are we doing?” You couldn’t help the soft chuckle that left your lips. 

Luke looked slightly bewildered, his lips a little puffy from the kiss. And then he started to laugh too. 

“I have no idea.” 

Neither of you had ever brought it up again and you’d fallen into a sibling type relationship. Luke looked out for you, he was the one person you always trusted to have your back and vice versa. He knew you inside and out, all the skeletons in your closet, so it wasn’t a surprise that he’d been the one to come and talk to you now. 

He lifted his glass and you followed suit, clinking it against his. You both brought your respective glasses to your lips and sipped the amber liquid. 

“So,” he sat back in his chair, swirling the scotch around. “Weird week, huh?” 

“I’ll say.” You rolled your eyes, quickly taking another sip. 

“You think this is really it? You think he’s not coming back?” 

“I don’t know him as well as people think I do.” You shrugged with a sad smile. 

“You spend more time with him than anyone else does. I’m almost jealous of how much time you spend with him, conejito.” 

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips at his use of your nickname, just like you’d expected had been his plan. It was a Spanish term of endearment which he’d called you for as long as you could remember. It meant little bunny and he’d dubbed you such due to how fast you were. 

You’d gone for a run together one day not long after you’d joined the Fugitive Task Force and he’d been amazed that you’d run circles around him. As he caught you up, struggling to catch his breath he’d laughed, “whoa slow down there conejito!” And the epitaph had stuck ever since. 

“Oh please, you know you’ll always be my main man, viejo.” You shot him a sly smirk. 

In kind, you’d bestowed upon him the moniker of viejo or old man. He’d been so impressed you’d actually learnt even a single word of Spanish he hadn’t even been mad at the slight against him. 

“As sweet as that is,” he chuckled before turning suddenly serious. “Is there something you haven’t told me about you and Reid?” 

“Alvez, trust me when I say, you and I got closer than Spencer and I ever will.” 

“You mean to tell me you spend all that time together and you’ve never…” he trailed off, giving you a suggestive look. 

“We never.” You shook your head with a small laugh. “Do you think if we had we’d have been able to keep that from a team of profilers? You and I made out once a million years ago and within two days of being with the team JJ asked me what the deal between us was.”

“Did you tell her?” Luke frowned but amusement danced in his eyes. 

“Not in so many words. But she knows. They all do. Why? Are you embarrassed?” 

“Embarrassed? For people to know I made out with a smoking hottie like you? Never.” He scoffed. “The only embarrassing part was that I couldn’t seal the deal.” 

“Oh stop.” You laughed, waving your hand in the air. 

“Aye, you would have made a beautiful bride.” He teased. 

“Enough!” You couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Y/N Alvez. Ay dios mio.” 

“You’re done. Jokes over.” You were still smiling when you brought your drink to your lips. 

“Sorry.” He snickered, not sounding at all sorry. “You gonna talk to him?” 

“Why me? Literally everyone on this jet bar you and Simmons have known him longer than I have. Why do I have to be the one to talk to him?” You huffed into your glass. 

“Because,” a voice came from behind Luke and JJ stood up and rounded the seat with a slightly sad smile. “You’re his best friend.” 

It pained her to say it and you knew it. You’d shown up at the BAU one day and taken the title of Spencer’s best friend from her without meaning to. You rolled your lip between your teeth guiltily. 

“I wouldn’t say that.” You tried to shrug it off. 

“I would.” Luke scoffed. “And so would anyone who has spent any time with the two of you.” 

“Either that or they’re in love with each other.” Rossi called out from somewhere down the jet. 

“Well now you’re just being absurd.” You shot back. 

The chatter continued around you, the rest of the team piping up to tease you but it wasn’t the same as it usually was. There was something missing, a void that had been left in the group dynamic with Spencer’s sudden departure. 

Maybe things would never be the same again. 

***

Spencer knew he needed to do something. After three days of pacing back and forth throughout his apartment, practically wearing a hole in the carpet, he knew he couldn’t do this forever. 

What was life after the BAU? What was Spencer Reid’s next move? 

There were countless things he could do with his time, with his intelligence it wouldn’t be hard to find another job. He also had enough money saved from years of government work and a low budget lifestyle, so he didn’t have to work. But after three days the boredom grew to fever pitch, he certainly needed to do something. 

It would be easier to think if his brain wasn’t clouded by a long list of names. The names took up so much space in his mind that he didn’t have much capacity for anything else. 

Names of victims he couldn’t save. Memories of all the people he wasn’t able to get to in time. Piled up inside his head were self compiled case files of the ones they simply didn’t have the time or resources to help. And along with that, a list of suspects who had gotten away with murder. 

What if there was some way for him to still make a difference, to still help those in need all on his own. A one man justice system where there were no rules, no bureaucratic red tape to skirt around. Where no one was dictating to him who he could help and how he could do that. 

As he continued to pace the length of the room, his frantic mind racing through thoughts at a hundred times a minute, he accidently kicked one of multiple empty scotch bottles littering his floor. He shook it off and continued to march up and down, bringing the bottle in his hand to his lips and taking a generous sip. 

This was what the BAU would refer to as devolving. Spencer was spiralling down into an abyss of his own creation. He’d been drunk almost constantly since he walked out of Quantico three days ago, but even intoxicated he was still smarter than any sober person. 

He wore nothing but a pair of underwear and his old, tawny robe which he wore open, slipping off of his shoulders more every minute. He hadn’t bathed, hadn’t even so much as brushed his errant locks. He hadn’t slept much aside from a few hours here and there but that was only when he drank so much scotch it caused him to pass out. 

Maybe there was nothing left out there for him. Perhaps he’d peaked, reached the highest climbs of his own expectations. Maybe he was destined to spend the rest of his days as nothing more than a drunk lunatic who raved about his glory days as a once prolific FBI Agent. 

If he couldn’t stop lamenting over the list of names now etched into his brain, there was little chance he’d ever do anything more with his life. 

He’d had forty two years on this Earth, some better than others. He had three PhD’s, he’d worked hard at a job he loved for a long time. He’d made a difference, even if only in a small way. Maybe forty two average years was better than eighty terrible ones. 

Sure he’d never gotten married, never even come close. He’d never had the chance to be a father, something he’d always wanted to achieve. But maybe it simply wasn’t on the cards for him. He was sure he could learn to be ok with that. 

He took another large sip from the bottle, finishing the contents and feeling the blissful burn as it made its way down his throat. He tossed the empty bottle on the floor with the others as he stumbled back to the couch. 

He fell to the leather cushion, holding his face in his hands and closing his eyes, welcoming the dizzying sensation of the alcohol swarming his brain. Something had to give. He couldn’t keep on this path of self destruction. But what? What did the future hold for Doctor Spencer Reid? 

The grains of sand had been steadily trickling through the hourglass for fifteen long years and once it was emptied, Spencer knew there was no going back. And time was about to run out for him. 

When pretending lends a helping hand,

We hold it close, so close and never let it go.

Then the pen begins to write the story,

With an end that bends right out of our control.

How did we get so jaded? I don't know,

Was it the white lies feeding our egos?

I never valued minutes I burned through,

Is that just how it goes?

Seconds I wasted, I was fixated,

You're devastated, sorry to say,

I can't fix it, is this where I give in?

I'm falling through the hourglass,

And I don't think I'll ever make it back.

So I throw stones at walls I'll never climb,

Victim to the sands of time.

Falling through the hourglass, the hourglass.

Time is strange, it's ever flowing, never going back,

It moves but only in one way.

Turn the page, look back at what you wrote,

Do you still feel the same?

I'll bet your mind has changed.

How did it get so scary? I don't know,

Was it the hard life starving our egos?

I never valued minutes I burned through,

Is that just how it goes?

Seconds I wasted, I was fixated,

You're devastated, sorry to say,

I can't fix it, is this where I give in? (Let's go)

I'm falling through the hourglass,

And I don't think I'll ever make it back.

So I throw stones at walls I'll never climb,

Victim to the sands of time,

Falling through the hourglass, the hourglass.

'Cause that's just how it goes.

'Cause that's just how it goes.

'Cause that's just how it goes.

Falling through the hourglass,

And I don't think I'll ever make it back.

So I throw stones at walls I'll never climb,

Victim to the sands of time,

Falling through the hourglass, through the hourglass.

I'm falling through the hourglass,

And I don't think I'll ever make it back.

So I throw stones at walls I'll never climb,

Victim to the sands of time,

Falling through the hourglass, the hourglass.

Next Chapter

Taglist

@andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @takeyourleap-of-faith @dirtytissuebox @smurphyse @ssa-uglywhore27 @reidselle @reidsbookclub @dreatine @dr-spencerr-reidd @spenxerslut @radtwinkie @drayshadow @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @safespacespence @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @justreadingficsdontmindme @dielgonacoffee@hotchandspencearedilfs @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle

#spencer reid #unsub! spencer reid #unsub spencer #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Someone Who Doesn’t Want To Be Saved

Author: RedCraneFalling

Artist: Callion

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Castiel/ Dean Winchester, minor Andrea Howl/ Sam Winchester

Length: 49000

Warnings: Temporary Major Character Death, Child Abuse, Implied/ Referenced Underage Prostitution, Canon Typical Violence, Homophobia/ Parental Homophobia, One use of the F slur

Tags: Childhood Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, John Winchester’s A+ Parenting, Wing Fic, Grace-Soul Bonds, Loss of Virginity, AU - Canon Divergence, Parental Guardian Gabriel, !Kid Sam

Posting Date: October 2, 2023

Summary: A child shall be born of twice-tainted blood, the eldest of two and the two soldiers’ son. A saint’s soul emerges, yet a hunter is made. Born martyr from love, built killer by pain. On his hundredth season, the lock he will break, as Mother kills Child for her Father’s sake.  All God’s angels shall perish by creatures of ol’ ‘less a Seraph gone wayward does hopelessly fall Fledgling angel, Castiel gets in an accident shortly before his seventh birthday, and quite literally falls out of the sky and into Dean’s lap. The two quickly become close, but both of their families are hiding dark secrets. Dean’s in the form of an absent father who seems to drain all happiness from his two children whenever he’s around, and Castiel’s in the form of a prophecy which unites the two boys, but may ultimately tear them apart.

Excerpt: Dean starts climbing and Castiel waits for him to be about halfway up before he flaps his wings twice and jumps to the branch. “Hey no fair!” Dean calls after him, “I forgot you could fly. Flying is cheating.” “You didn’t specify no flying when you made the rules,” Castiel calls back laughing from his perch on the branch.  Castiel watches Dean climb the rest of the way up, his muscles stretching and coiling under the skin of his arms. He’s strong and lithe, graceful and sure of his movements in a way that Castiel can only imitate in flight. On the ground, the calculated angular movements of an Angel make him look robotic in comparison. He is unnatural where Dean is at home, as a true son of the Earth. And God took clay from Earth’s four corners and gave it the breath of life. Man is better than angel. Created for more than just the divine. Their perfect imperfections leave room for beauty. When Dean gets up to the branch he’s huffing with exertion. There’s sweat on his brow where his hair sticks to his forehead, and his cheeks are bright red around his freckles. The flush brings out the green in his eyes.  “Cheater,” Dean accuses when he sees Castiel’s cocky grin. He reaches out and gives Castiel a light shove.  Castiel moves exaggeratedly with the shove, and falls sideways off the tree branch.  “Cas!” Dean yells in alarm before he realizes that Castiel is simply floating in the air slightly under the branch with one leg still hooked over it. “Gonna give me a heart attack,.” Dean grumbles.  Castiel laughs and uses his wings to right himself so he’s sitting on the branch again. He straddles it, facing Dean.  “Would you like to race back down?” he says with a cheeky grin.  “No,” Dean pouts, crossing his arms “You’d probably just jump, Mister I-Can-Survive-a-Tornado.” Castiel laughs boisterously, and it seems his laugh is contagious because Dean starts laughing as well. They both smile, looking at each other. The sun dapples Dean’s skin with patches of light through the leaves.  Castiel walks with the brothers back to the nearby motel they’re staying at. Dean is in an uncharacteristically carefree mood, skipping and chattering on like the first time Castiel met him. When they reach the motel, Dean’s face falls as he looks at a big black car parked outside their room. He picks up Sam and turns towards Cas frowning.  “You gotta go home now, Cas, but we can watch Scooby Doo another day, okay?” he says. Castiel is confused but agrees and flies away.  The next time he sees the Winchester brothers, Dean has a black eye. He won’t tell Castiel where it’s from.

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2023 #fic preview #2023 promo #deancas #destiel

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

What would you recommend for someone who's never really been able to get into horror movies but is super into psychological horror?

Ooh this is a good question!

I'll give you my top ten in no particular order (please check for content warnings on all of these, take care of yourselves!). Let me know if you want anymore!

Rosemary's Baby (1968) - A young couple trying for a baby moves into an aging, ornate apartment building on Central Park West, where they find themselves surrounded by peculiar neighbors.

Funny Games (1997) or (2007) - both versions are great - Two violent young men take a mother, father, and son hostage in their vacation cabin and force them to play sadistic "games" with one another for their own amusement.

The Shining (1980) - A family heads to an isolated hotel for the winter where a sinister presence influences the father into violence, while his psychic son sees horrific forebodings from both past and future.

Don't Look Now (1973) - A married couple grieving the recent death of their young daughter are in Venice when they encounter two elderly sisters, one of whom is psychic and brings a warning from beyond.

The Silence of the Lambs (1991) - A young F.B.I. cadet must receive the help of an incarcerated and manipulative cannibal killer to help catch another serial killer, a madman who skins his victims.

Annihilation (2018) - A biologist signs up for a dangerous, secret expedition into a mysterious zone where the laws of nature don't apply.

Possessor (2020) - An agent works for a secretive organization that uses brain-implant technology to inhabit other people's bodies - ultimately driving them to commit assassinations for high-paying clients.

A Tale of Two Sisters (2003) - After spending time in a mental hospital, a girl is reunited with her sister and returns home, only to see some truly strange events start to happen.

The Thing (1982) - A research team in Antarctica is hunted by a shape-shifting alien that assumes the appearance of its victims.

Creep (2014) - A young videographer answers an online ad for a one-day job in a remote town to record the last messages of a dying man. When he notices the man's odd behavior, he starts to question his intentions.

#not a poll #ask #recommendations #ask the mods

[castlephantom]

Lament of Innocence things that I question myself (if I'm not alone 👀):

"They trusted each other completely, and they were bound by an old friendship."

The age gap between Leon and Mathias is literally 10 years. But that allows me to have some headcanon that Leon and Mathias knew each other because possibly their fathers were also knights or their mother had known each other.

"Rinaldo: The only person who truly understands it is Mathias.

Leon: If you are an acquaintance of Mathias, you are trustworthy."

Like how long Rinaldo and Mathias knew each other. Some think that they met few years ago but then is this line:

"Rinaldo: His family has a book of secret arts, originally handed down orally."

Which this gives me a theory that Mathias met Rinaldo when he was young. I can't exclude the possibility that Rinaldo also knew Mathias' father. I want to imagine that Mathias' father searched an alchimist and somehow he met Rinaldo.

"Succubus: Th-That old man... his own daughter..."

This really interesting aspect that Rinaldo's daughter, Justine, served her at one point if we take the comic, but I want to think that Justine was a teenager when she was turned by Walter and then was given to serve the Succubus. But then the alchimist says:

"Rinaldo: ... And at the center of it were the bodies of my wife and son... I could not believe my eyes... My daughter was there, laughing, blood dripping from her mouth..."

Justine was probabily outside before she became a vampire. After she was turned, she killed her mother and brother (and I think that she was the second born while her brother was the first born) and Rinaldo was in shock state.

The reason why Rinaldo didn't tell to Leon in the first place is because was uncomfortable topic after someone when really in hell and when he killed his daughter, Rinaldo cried about his family after he lost against Walter and stayed in the cabin, but want a revange for Walter had done to him.

"Rinaldo: Making the Philosopher's Stone is the ultimate goal of alchemy... It provides eternal youth. The two other stones were apparently created accidentally. No details of how they were made remain now."

So the Ebony and Crimson stones were creared accidentally? But if we look to create the Philosopher's Stone where were needed four stages:

nigredo, the blackening or melanosis

albedo, the whitening or leucosis

citrinitas, the yellowing or xanthosis

rubedo, the reddening, purpling, or iosis

This give a me a theory that the where other 2 stones besides the Ebony Stone (the weakest) and Crimson Stone (the strongest).

"Leon: I abandoned everything in order to save Sara! I could... I could never do such a thing."

At this point Leon was really in the most desperate to save Sara only to find out that Walter vampirized her. Leon didn't want to sacrifice her, but Sara felt that she would become a monster. Saddly, Leon made the choise that would bring the existence of the most iconic warpon: Vampire Killer.

"Walter: I see... It seems you have enjoyed the gift that I gave you.

Leon: Yes, thanks to that, I now have the power to defeat you."

Literally Leon was trying to say: Thanks for turning my girlfriend intro a vampire and now I have the power to kill you. (I didn't want to make joke about this, but this was probabily in Leon's mind)

"Mathias: That was my goal. It was my revenge against God!"

One thing that Mathias did this was because Elisabetha died and he was jealous of Leon that Sara was alive. But as I mention in the my post of cause of Elisabetha's illness, which I believe that was the real reason why she died.

"Leon: Is this what the woman you loved would have wanted? The Mathias I know would not have loved such a woman."

At first I thinked that "your wife didn't want you to become like this" but then something was in my mind that "do you ever thinked that your wife would be happy". Seriously Mathias. How selfish you could be? He uses Elisabetha as a pretext at this point for his goals.

"Mathias: Elisabetha was a kind, honorable woman. She was concerned only for me to the very end... That is why I hate Him! Am I wrong?!"

Are you sure, Mathias. I really think that Elisabetha is probabily felling sad at her husband's actions. Imagine if Mathias' parents watch at their son from afterlive and and be like: "... seriously son?! We didn't raises you like that!?". Also would be an argument between Leon's and Mathias' parents.

But imagine that after the events and Leon suddenly tells to Rinaldo about what happend:

Leon: Mathias is a vampire.

Rinaldo: Unfortunatly, he would become like Walter.

But after that tragedy, Leon married a woman that started the liniage so their descedents will hunt Mathias.

#castlevania #akumajou dracula #lament of innocence #leon belmont #mathias cronqvist #sara trantoul #rinaldo gandolfi #walter bernhard #elisabetha cronqvist #justine gandolfi #at this point leon deserved a friend that didn't used him #and now has trust issue but stil how he married a woman #this is combination of headcanons events in the game and a little part of manga #but lets be honest that we don't know about elisabetha and justine #and mathias has death as his only friend but our local bastard stil thinks about elisabetha #if i have to say that is one thing that mathais keep a trait even he became more known as dracula is the selfishness #but a fact is that lament of innocence is my favorite game even i never played

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, (eventual) smut

Word count: 2.8k

A/N at the end.

Song: Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene – Hozier  

“Fuck the rich,” you groaned, frustrated as you kicked over two empty Chinese takeout containers. 

It had been six hours since you came home from your meeting with your employer. Leaving the smug bastard behind in that 18th century abandoned building falling apart at its seams. He didn’t own you – you were your own person. Accepting jobs or refusing them as you wished, but damn it had really felt like he controlled you. And you didn’t like the feeling one bit. 

Power is a dangerous thing. Something to be desired and wars fought over. You would never admit that you longed for it yourself. You just wanted the autonomy to decide your own path, your own life and future. And to make sure your sisters could do the same regardless of your shit start in life. 

Yet, you didn’t feel an ounce of autonomy right now scrolling once more through the endless online hits on one Rhys Montrose. Your next victim. A man who had to be dead and vanished without a trace within 42 hours. Pity, considering the man wasn’t entirely unattractive. 

But ultimately you didn’t care for the man, good looks or not. Sure, he seemed decent in his political stance and you could even find some similarities in your upbringing. Apparently, Montrose had a rather shit start in life as well. Raised in poverty by an unstable single mother. However, he got a chance in life you never did. Turned out his father was some loaded duke who actually recognised Montrose as his legitimate son and heir. From there on his life started taking off, even being able to attend Oxford. Montrose wrote one of the most critically acclaimed memoirs in — well, history. He rose in the elitist ranks and became active in politics. Now there were rumours he would take a shot at the mayor candidacy in London. 

Again, you didn’t care about any of this. It was all just part of your normal vetting process. In order to get close to someone without anyone else noticing, one must get to know said person. The preparations of a kill were usually quite thrilling. Yes, you were a gun for hire but the knowledge that you were planning another person’s demise and about to carry it out without any of the victims being none the wiser was exciting. 

Did that make you a sociopath? Probably. You never intended to officially label it as it would require you sharing your secrets with a shrink. Which was never going to happen. 

But you knew you also had a heart and feelings. It kept you grounded in your beliefs that you were still somewhat of a normal person. Your feelings tied you to your humanity and to your sisters. You would do anything to protect them. Doing brutal things like killing possibly innocent people for money? If it meant keeping a roof over your sisters’ heads and making sure they got an education, and also not unimportant, preventing your little sister from becoming more sick and likely dying, then yes — fuck it all. You really would do anything. And you already were. But a tiny part of you also acknowledged that besides all of that, you also relished the feeling of besting someone. Watching the light go out in their eyes. And if those people also happened to be privileged assholes – well, you weren’t afraid to admit you enjoyed it just a tad bit more.

You rubbed your tired eyes and got up from the carpet where you had spread out your little research station, a dozen printed-out news articles on Montrose lying scattered around. You sighed. “First coffee,” you muttered to yourself as the early rays of sunlight entered through your almost see-through curtains. You bent down to pick up the takeout containers and walked the small distance to your tiny kitchen, throwing them away. 

You had your own small apartment in central London, decorated mostly with thrifted furniture and the little you owned that you brought with you when you escaped your mother’s house. You filled the kettle with water and waited for it to start boiling, grabbing the container of instant coffee from the top shelf, generously adding three scoops of the bitter stuff. 

The ringing of your phone made you pause as you set the container of coffee on your counter. Briefly glancing at your clock that hung above your stove — it read 06.32 — you fished your phone out of your pocket and picked it up, already knowing who it must be. 

“You’re up early,” you heard the familiar voice of your sister Zoe along with some background noise, most likely she was preparing her breakfast. 

“I could say the same thing to you,” you chuckled, moving to lean back against the counter.

“I have an early morning class in—” she paused, probably checking the time. “In two hours,” she sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied instantly. “It’s just, well, I’m supposed to have finished up on my notes on Poe’s Man of the Crowd and—”

“You haven’t yet,” you supplied, a smile finding its way to your lips. 

You heard a huff followed by a laugh. “Yeah.”

You were silent for a minute, listening to the birds waking up outside. 

“But it’s fine, you know. My professor — Jonathan Moore — he’s nice and all. He’s a little hung up on his American literature, but he’s helping me out with my own short story so I can’t complain too much.”

“Professor Moore? I haven’t heard you mention him before.”

“Well, I’ve been busy,” your sister answered reasonably. “And by the way, so have you. How was Canada?”

“It was fine,” you commented, turning around when you heard the little click that indicated the water was boiling. 

“Just fine? Jeez, sis, you can tell me if you shagged a hot Canadian bloke. I promise it won’t be a commentary on your character.”

You laughed as you picked up the kettle to pour the boiling water into your cup, the smell of coffee filling your nostrils almost making you groan. 

“Unfortunately, there was no hot Canadian bloke,” you replied amused. There was however quite an attractive woman that now rested — peacefully? — six feet down in Glendon Forest, Ontario. At least you buried her deep enough so the moose wouldn’t be able to feast off of her remains. That would seem to qualify as peace as far as you were concerned. 

“However, I did get you some real Canadian maple syrup.”

“The answer to all my problems,” Zoe remarked dryly. 

“Exactly.”

Your sister was quiet for a moment as you stirred your cup of coffee, picking it up to tentatively take a sip of the hot drink. Now you really did almost groan if it wasn’t for the shaky inhale of breath you heard through your phone’s receiver. You were about to ask what was wrong — what truly bothered her, but your sister beat you to the punch. 

“Have you heard?” She asked quietly.

“Heard what, love?”

“About the possible serial killer running around London.”

Ah, the infamous Eat The Rich Killer as the media had dubbed him. A little prematurely you thought as there were so far only two confirmed kills, meaning he wasn’t technically a serial killer yet or deserving of a fancy nickname. 

You had been reading up on it about three hours ago because the victims had been part of a tight group of social elitists. People who were close to your target, Rhys Montrose. It briefly crossed your mind how well-timed it would be if Montrose would be killed by the presumable serial killer within your time span of killing the man. It would surely be an easy pay day. 

“Yeah, I heard. Did you know that professor? Harding, right?”

Your sister hummed affirmatively. “Malcolm Harding. He was a bad professor, never prepared his classes, but he didn’t deserve this. No one does.”

It made you smile thinking of your sister’s big heart. She sympathised with every person that walked this earth, even the ones who didn’t deserve it. Some would call it naive, and maybe it was a little naive, but you also admired that trait in her. It was a level of sympathy you’d never experienced or would ever be able to experience.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” you offered. 

“It’s okay. I just hope they catch whoever’s responsible for these crimes. Did you know the killer took… things,” she trailed off, doubtlessly horrified at the idea of cutting up a body. 

“Professor Harding’s finger was sent to The London Dispatch.” You could almost hear her shudder through the phone. “And they haven’t retrieved Simon Soo’s ear yet. How appalling — can you imagine cutting off someone’s ear?” 

Yes, you could. 

“No, the thought of it alone, it’s too awful to think about.”

“Truly horrible,” she agreed. 

“But I really need to get going. I still have to finish up on my notes for Moore’s class.”

“You do that, sweetie. And please don’t trouble yourself too much with this Eat The Rich Killer stuff, just focus on yourself and your studies. Okay?”

“I will try,” your sister promised.

You exchanged your I love you’s and goodbye’s, promising to bring her the maple syrup later today. When you hung up the phone and placed it back in your pocket, you picked up your coffee and lazily walked back towards your living room. You sighed as you took in the mess of articles and your hastily scribbled-down notes on Montrose’s movements of the past few weeks. 

Plumping down on the soft carpet once more, you took two deep breaths. You can do this. You’d done it countless times before. So what that he was some famous politician, being watched by the entire city, possibly the entire country. You could make this work. This was what you did best. 

You grabbed a clean sheet of paper and wrote down the address of Montrose’s townhouse in Primrose Hill. That is where you would start. 

The sound of the alert you had installed on your phone when a new article on Montrose would be posted, interrupted your train of thought. You quickly snatched your phone and couldn’t help but smirk as you read the headline now displayed on your screen.

Rhys Montrose Press Interview This Afternoon in Regent’s Park.

Perfect timing, you relished. Now you didn’t have to sneakily stay within the practically non-existent blindspots at his residence where you had counted at least 12 different cameras through looking up his house on Google Maps. The man was either paranoid or brilliant. Or both. 

You quickly skimmed through the news article. He would be there answering questions regarding the Eat The Rich situation, as well as raise some awareness for a charity run he’s apparently organising. 

You grinned, putting down your phone and eagerly grabbing your laptop to look up Regent’s Park online to examine all the different access (and escape) routes. 

Finally you felt like an opportunity had presented itself, the contours of a plan starting to formulate itself in your mind. 

As you scribbled down your ideas onto another fresh piece of paper in your notebook, you darkly chuckled, “You better get ready for our first date, Mr. Montrose.”

––

The sun was high up in the sky when Rhys Montrose stood in front of at least two dozen journalists and photographers that afternoon. With cameras zoomed in on his face and microphones and recorders all pointed his way, he had to carefully choose his words answering the media’s questions. Luckily, Rhys was a good talker, and if he didn’t want to provide any upfront comment he would charmingly deflect. It always worked. Handling people came naturally to him — being able to play them like a conductor who is in perfect control of his symphony. 

After a few questions on his charity run coming up in two weeks, the media quickly switched tracks to bombard him with questions on the Eat The Rich Killer. 

Are you aware of any possible suspects?

Do you fear for your own life?

Are you joining your friends in retreating to Lady Phoebe’s country estate for shelter?

His mind immediately zeroed in on that last question some 20-year-old newbie had shouted from the back of the pack.

Friends, he inwardly scoffed. But they had indeed invited him to come. None of them being aware that they had just voluntarily invited the killer into their little shelter. 

The groupchat had exploded after the news broke of Malcolm’s murder. Lady Phoebe calling for a retreat to the safety of the countryside, away from the prying eyes of the media and other dangers that lingered in the shadows of the city of London. 

Rhys was way too busy with his extensive plans that needed tending on his road to becoming mayor to accept this ridiculous offer. Besides, he had been more than a little annoyed at this pathetic attempt of outrunning, in his eyes, the inevitable — their deaths. 

He was in the middle of formulating a text stating he wouldn’t attend before he paused at a new incoming text by Lady Phoebe. Jonathan would also join them. Why he was admitted to their inner circle of snobbery was beyond him, but Jonathan had intrigued him from the start. His sixth sense when it came to murder and violence kicking in. Rhys had taken a gamble when he’d placed a freshly murdered Malcolm on Jonathan’s kitchen table, but he had been impressed with the way Jonathan had handled the situation. He had been right about him. And now Rhys couldn’t resist playing with Jonathan a little more, rearranging his plans to include the faux professor in his murderous schemes. 

Was it just for his own entertainment? Possibly. Would he tire of him eventually? Very likely. But Rhys would deal with that fallout when the time came. For now, Jonathan served his purpose perfectly. 

Maybe Rhys would attend after all.

Rhys cleared his throat and placed a befitting, empathetic smile on his face as he turned towards the newbie journalist who was nearly crushing his pencil as he waited for Rhys to answer. 

Rhys knew that he could never look weak in the public’s eye, but he did need to convey a sense of compassion towards the situation.

“I am indeed planning to travel to Hampsbridge House later today. We collectively decided to take a moment for ourselves to mourn the loss of our friends whom we’ve known since our days at Oxford,” Rhys answered, deliberately squashing any mentions of sheltering. A word that in his mind equalled pathetic and weak. 

“We very much appreciate your understanding of our wish to take some time away from the bustling of the city. Lady Phoebe suggested that the calm and serenity of the countryside may aid in our challenge to make some sense of all that has happened recently. And I wholeheartedly agreed with her assessment.”

Rhys looked around, focusing on the cameras. 

“And when I get back in a couple of days, I will be ready to resume my work with a clearer head and a renewed devotion to fight for what’s right in this city. To ensure the safety of all. Not just the social elite, but also the working class,” he concluded. 

The journalists and photographers took it as their cue to finish up and started packing up their gear. Rhys’ security walked up to him and informed him they were set to drive him to Hampsie. He nodded affirmatively at his head of security, relaying his instructions for the stay in the country. His security would remain at the outermost perimeter of the property. There would be no need for them inside the walls of the manor anyway. Likely they would only hinder what he had now planned for the other guests. 

He was discussing his final instructions whilst they left through the entrance gates of the park when someone forcefully bumped into his right shoulder. Rhys turned around swiftly, regaining his composure and stared at the back of a woman who was wearing head phones. He could clearly hear the blasting music even as she kept on walking farther away from him without apologising, completely ignoring who she had just rather rudely bumped into. 

“Sir, are you all right?” His security gathered around him like a protective shield. As if the woman had been any real threat. He chuckled, looking back at his men. 

“It’s fine. Let’s not waste any more time.”

The sleek black car that would take him to Hampsie rounded the corner and Rhys slid graciously into the back seat as his chauffeur held open the door for him. 

Whilst they drove through the busy London traffic, Rhys rested two fingers to his temple. The next phase of his plan was coming to fruition sooner than he had anticipated. But he was prepared. He always had to be. 

At last, they left the hectic city behind them and the smile that slowly made its way onto Rhys’ face was both wicked and dangerous, like a predator ready to stalk its prey.

–––– 

A/N: and that’s part 2!! Next part will be reader going on her mission to assassinate our favourite politician/serial killer, oh my...

ALSO, it’s the first time ever that I’ve been adding these soundtrack-esque songs at the beginning of the chapters. These are really just songs that I thought about (or listened to) during writing that would, in my opinion, really fit the vibe of the chapter. Feel free to play them as you read or perhaps listen to them afterwards

#rhys montrose x reader #rhys montrose x female reader #rhys montrose fanfic #rhys montrose fic #rhys montrose #you netflix #you season 4 #you season 4 canon divergence #jonathan moore #joe goldberg #goldrose #ed speleers #rhys montrose x original female character #on ao3 #you and me

[ystrike1]

I Became the Villain's Mother - By Yulji (8/10)

Oh boy. Oooohhhh boy. This is a weird one. I think I may have done a short review or a post about it before, but now it has a season two, and it's much weirder. It is not going how I expected it to go. We start out with something unique, but now we're heading towards a well deserved but boring happy ending.

Roselia is a Duchess in a loveless marriage, and she also knows she's in a novel, on the losing side. The Chade Ducal family has always been evil. Her husband Cassis is a brutal, cold killer. The heir, Ein, drinks poison to build up his immunity. He also trains day and night despite his young age. They have alot of enemies. Roselia is the miserable step mother that dies. Cassis is the cold father that dies. Ein is the ultimate villain in this story. He kills both of his parents, and he turns into a yandere because he never received any love in his life. He falls in love with the prince's finance purely because he wants to have love, not because he loves her. In the end he dies to and the prince marries the girl Ein tried to steal from him. They live happily ever after.

That does not happen this time. Roselia wants to live and she's not a child abuser. She doesn't hit Ein or ignore him. She actually thinks her stepson is adorable, and she thinks he can be saved with love. He's just a small child, and he was clearly the product of his upbringing. She defends him. She tells Cassis to stop feeding him poison, and she plays with the boy. He trains all day like a robot and she thinks that's not right. Children should play, and eat dessert.

She asserts herself and becomes his protector. Cassis feels like the villain in the beginning.

The Chade family is ultra merciless. Roselia almost dies about a billion times. Her son, and then her cold husband, start protecting her behind the scenes. Her motherly efforts haven't changed much. Ein is still training. He's just hiding it from her, but he does love her. The Duke also wants some of that love now. He eventually starts to believe that Roselia is sincere. He can see her love for her son is true. She's not faking loving the child to get power. The Duke starts wanting um...cuddles and headpats. Also things like sex happen later on with consent which is nice.

Duke Cassis is a yandere that builds gradually. He does not fall for Roselia because of her beauty. His second wife has always been just a pawn. He also didn't give half a shit about his first wife. It takes about thirty chapters for him to romantically pursue Roselia, and that's great. His growing obsession with her protection makes sense...but god the plot his weird.

Ein and Cassis unite to protect Roselia, and she catches them. She watches them torture two men with poison as a team. Ein is a child in this scene. Just like in the original novel he's naturally evil, and on the way to being stronger than his father. It should be weird seeing a child kill, but it makes sense with Ein. It's what he was born for, but Roselia cannot accept it. She has a breakdown, and both of them have to leave her alone with her thoughts for a few weeks.

Duke Cassis literally poisions every noble in court. He doesn't kill them. He infects them with something that makes them cough up blood. It's extremely painful but the victims only suffer. He makes everybody who tried to assassinate Roselia suffer, and also he's frustrated because she wont speak to them. He's convinced that she's going to demand a divorce because....yeah...you poison people with your son as a team. Ein gets sick from stress, because he thinks the only person who ever showed him love will leave him.

Roselia says she still loves them both, but they have to be honest now. She doesn't want to abandon Ein and she's already in love with and married to Cassis. She's kinda stuck, and so seven peaceful years go by. Ein and Cassis do less evil shit, but they are still the most villainous family by a wide margin. Ein grows into a giant, happy mamas boy. Cassis wants a child with Roselia, but she's wary. Raising a child in the Chade family is dangerous, and they still have to get through the main plot of the novel.

Ok.

This is the prince and princess. They are both stupid. I haven't mentioned this yet, but the men of the Chade family have magical powers. Ein in particular has brainwashing powers. The Chade family is an invaluable ally, no matter how amoral they are. The Emperor knows the Empire wouldn't be standing without Duke Chade. The Emperor treats them all with respect. His son is an idealistic moron who thinks everyone needs to be pure and just. When all of the asshole nobles got punished for trying to poison Roselia he got pissy. He told the Emperor Duke Chade shouldn't be so harsh...but...uh...they banded together and tried to kill his wife??? Of course he was mad? Duh? So from then on the prince hated the Chade family... because the Duke dared to punish the people who brought poison into his home. By the way they targeted Roselia specifically because they knew he loved her.

Ok.

Idiots...

His fiance is even worse at first, but she may be redeemed later. I can feel a very stereotypical happy end on the horizon.

This is Karina. Obviously, she is Ein's future wife. They become friends because Karina is friends with Roselia. Roselia is really unpopular in court because her husband is an insane madman who gave everyone the plauge after they tried to kill her. So that makes parties awkward. She bonds with Karina because they both like cats. Karina is a lonely girl. She'd love to join a warm family and have a mother like Roselia.

Hint. Hint.

Cassis softens up for Roselias sake. Ein glares at everybody who disrespects her. Karina fawns over her. The future princess stops acting like a snooty bitch, and hopefully the incredibly stupid prince learns how to think logically by the end.

This was a very enjoyable read, but the art is janky sometimes. Also I didn't want or expect a stereotypical ending. Also Cassis doesn't get much screentime in season two. There isn't that many yandere moments in S2 because everybody is too happy. All of Roselia's scenes with him in S2 are about her being too nervous to have a child, which is understandable. I just wish there was more brainwashing- villain-that-has-the-ability-to-cast-plauges-romance.

I feel like that was glossed over a little too quickly.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #I Became the Villain's Mother

[ramayantika]

Hi i had a book idea once for Satybhama. The wip has been abandoned since 2021 but here you go. I wrote this in 2021.

The Great War is over. My husband, Krishna, has left the earth. Dwarka has sunk, and my sons and grandsons have perished in the civil war. Some of my sister queens have jumped into the fire and the rest have busied themselves in meditation in various corners of this forest where I live. I can’t find them though.

Tall trees and thick bushes are the only things my eyes can see around. There is absolutely no human living beside me or in my vicinity. Here, the only edible items are fruits and tubers, which taste heavenly. Some years before, I would have grimaced at the mere thought of living on fruits in a forest due to my upbringing and royal status. It never fails to amaze me how time changes everything. A city once ruled by a tyrant is brought down and a city built by the finest of architects gets submerged under a sea getting lost to time and history forever. Time is indeed the ultimate killer. No one can escape it.

I am currently sitting under a Neelmohar tree. Maybe it is their growing season, for the tree is filled with purple flowers. Many of them are lying near my feet. I pick one and gently rub my thumb across one of its petals. The colour reminds me of my purple saree, which Krishna had gifted me, and the flower’s softness reminds me of the saree’s beautiful texture. The saree must be in the seabed now, drifting along the sea-waves. Bhadra loved that saree and would shower me with compliments whenever I wore it.

Dwarka — my second home, where I have spent almost all my life, now lies under the sea, hidden from sight. The once tall buildings where I once walked, the beautiful gardens where Krishna and I spent some lovely times, the archery room which Krishna had specifically built for me, everything now exists in my brain like an old dream. I do not remember how much time has passed since Krishna’s death and the submerging of Dwarka. All the time that I have spent in this forest has been devoted to contemplation about my life.

What is there to contemplate about my life? Do I contemplate about the riches I was brought up with? Do I think about the domestic tensions of my household? Do I wonder about the coming Kali Yuga?

There is so much to think about. What did I do in my life? What will happen once my soul leaves my body? Will someone mourn for me? Will I find Krishna smiling with his perfect rosy lips and pearly teeth in the afterlife? Is there even something beyond death? Wise men say that death is not the end, is it not? These are philosophical questions that Krishna would have answered had he been with me here. Now as I am talking to you, I wonder about my memories which appear in front of my eyes as if belonging to an old dream.

I see my childhood self, running on the corridors of my father’s home with my friends. The scene changes where I find myself aged a little older — I am probably fifteen there, I think. There is a bow in my hand and I am assessing the target ahead. Once again, the scene changes and I can see a marriage ceremony followed by the war and the end of Dwarka. But memories resurface again as if asking to look beyond the mundane. I can hear a voice inside me, whispering, ‘There is more to your story; you must go through it all.’

Now I see something else. There is my father’s house standing tall and proud, and a little girl is playing in the mud while looking at the flower bushes in wonder. I see my mother in a temple where I ask about the goddess Durga. My childhood memory flutters away and my teenaged form arrives. I am young, curious and hot-headed. I am travelling alone in Mathura where I see the exact condition of the people residing. It is pathetic. I see myself now as a wedded woman in the kitchen chatting happily with my sister queens about the day. Now I see my lord, my Krishna, putting flowers in my hair while we talk about the sea. He says, ‘Water when demure nourishes the land, bringing us delight and when water turns wild and frightening, it shall engulf all leaving not even remains behind.’

I realize everything. My life’s story does not start with archery, nor does it end with Dwarka. It starts with me being a curious child trying to understand nature and men, and my story is still incomplete.

“Who am I, mother?” I had raised this question once when I stared into a mirror for a long time, finding my reflection slightly different. I realize I never found the answer.

Who am I now? Who shall answer me?

My mother once told me that there are some questions whose answers lie within our hearts. One must introspect over it and they shall find the answer that has been hiding in their heart all along.

I can feel my heartbeat quicken its pace. My mind is busy with its chain of memories arranging themselves haphazardly. Each incident whispers its lessons to my ears and I feel overwhelmed. I want to share my thoughts with someone. Do you want to listen to me?

I will cease to exist after some time. Historians, poets, and scribes will write stories about me that will be read and heard by people across the world. Fame isn’t my concern nor my desire, for I have had a good share of it. The only thing that concerns me is will the Satyabhama in their scripts be me? How much of my life will they write about? What will they include and exclude? How much of my actions will be overdramatized if by any chance someone gains enough liberty to do so? My life story can even turn into a mythical story, and only I would know that I once existed in bones and muscles.

So before you read and hear about me, I want you to hear me speak about my life, Satyabhama’s life. Here, I promise you that I shall present my story with complete honesty. Satyabhama is my name, which means ‘beaming with truth.’ I promise to be true to myself and you.

Would you like to hear?

This is how it begins…

Taglist: @jessbeinme15 @swayamev @just-another-godless-god @merapehlapyaarwaapasaagaya @pokemon-master-elita @svapnakalpa-mareechi @ma-douce-souffrance @eugenephosgene @savlon-bhoi @arachneofthoughts @reallythoughtfulwizard

#krishnablr #satyabhama #Dwaraka #mahabharata #indian fics #stories

[cecilysass]

Still Feeling My Father Ascend (4/4)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 4

Memory: 1990

Scully wordlessly traces her finger along the dented chrome trim of the diner table, trying to keep up the pretense that everything is normal. That this brutal silence is just a casual pause in the flow of conversation.

She can’t remember a single occasion in her life when making conversation with her father has felt so awkward. Not after arguments when she was in high school. Not when she told him she was voting for Mondale. Not even after she was caught making out with Marcus on the couch in the living room.

They’ve been sitting on vinyl seats for ten minutes and have exhausted all possible topics: Bill’s nascent Naval career, Melissa’s recent vegetarianism, what committee her mother is on at church. It’s so awful that Scully feels like bursting into tears. But of course she would never do that in front of him.

When the waitress sets their orders down on the table, neither her father nor she look down at their food.

He gestures to her plate. “Why aren’t you eating? You didn’t become a vegetarian, too, did you?”

“No, Dad,” she says quietly. “If I had, I wouldn’t have ordered a burger.”

To punctuate her point, she lifts the stuffed burger and takes a bite, raising her eyebrows. He nods and studies her face, not touching his own Reuben yet.

“So,” he says too casually, “how’s it going?”

She’s chewing and can’t answer right away, but her eyes widen ever-so-slightly. She knows what he means.

“The Academy,” he clarifies anyway, toying with the straw on his iced tea. “Are you doing… well? Your superiors are happy?”

She covers her mouth with her hand and nods, slowly. “I think so, yes,” she says, through the mouthful of burger.

“That’s good,” he says, businesslike. He nods briskly. “I’m not surprised, but that’s good.”

He lifts his Reuben now and sinks his teeth into it, and Scully knows that for him, this is the end of the discussion. He’s asked all he needs to about Quantico. He can now report back to her mother that he asked and she answered. There’s nothing more to be said.

She watches him eat for a moment, feeling her anger simmer dangerously under the surface.

“Daddy,” she says softly, “do you know what I wanted to be when I grew up? When I was a little girl?”

His eyes lock on hers, and he puts his sandwich down. “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. A doctor.”

“No,” she says in a small voice.

“You don’t remember, Dana. You always wanted to be a doctor.”

She shakes her head. “Not at first.”

He places his finger on the table, his gesture for making a point. “You remember how we used to watch Song of Bernadette together? And you asked me why anyone would believe in the Lourdes spring water when there were doctors and hospitals? That’s when I knew you were going to be a doctor.”

“Before that, I wanted to be a Navy captain,” she whispers. “I wanted to sail a ship. I wanted to protect the seas. Like you.”

He looks down at the table now, shaking his head slowly. “That wasn’t for you, and you know it.”

“That wasn’t for daughters, you mean. Only for sons.”

He meets her gaze again. Scully knows she has her mother’s eyes, but right now, the intensity of her father’s fixed stare reminds her of no one in the world but herself. “That’s not fair, Starbuck. I wanted the best for you. When you went to medical school, you wanted to be a doctor. And if that man, that professor of yours, hadn’t—”

“Ultimately it doesn’t matter what I wanted,” Scully says. “It matters what I want now.”

“To put yourself at risk?” her father bites back. “To chase after– what, killers? Mobsters? Rapists? A tiny little thing like you?”

She bristles at his description of her. “Well, fortunately I’m a good shot, Dad. You can ask my instructors.”

“But your gift is science,” he insists. “It was always a calling for you, understanding God’s rules for the universe. Your brilliant mind. Your mother and I, we’ve often discussed it.”

“I don’t think I’ve found my calling yet,” she replies coolly. “That’s why I’m at Quantico. And I think it’s up to me to decide what my calling might be, not you and Mom.”

“Fine. But why law enforcement?” He leans forward intently with his elbows on the table, in the way that he and her mother always taught her was rude. “That’s what I can’t get past. You could have been working in a lab. You could have been a professor.”

She looks down at her burger. It hurts her to the core that he doesn’t see this about her, this part of her that is most like himself. “I still want to protect the seas, Dad,” she says in a low voice.

“But who’s going to protect you, Starbuck?”

&&&

January 1994

It’s a surprisingly good night’s sleep. She doesn’t remember waking up once, and her dreams are more untroubled than they’ve been since the death of her father. Since Boggs.

When Scully wakes up in the very early morning, she’s enveloped entirely in the warmth of Mulder’s grasp, his arm now fully wrapped around her. She has somehow ended up lying with her cheek pressed against his chest, her leg tangled in between his beneath the blankets.

She should move, but she doesn’t.

He’s asleep, silent and breathing evenly. Lifting her head, she can see puffs of condensation from his breath in the gray morning light. It is very cold in the apartment now. She shushes the voices in her mind worried about professionalism and gently rests her head back down on his pectoral muscle. She sneaks one hand under his back. He’s just so warm. It can’t be helped.

He makes a mumbling sound. Uneasy, she looks at him again, slipping her hand out from under him. He’s not at all awake. With eyes closed, he tosses his head restlessly, his lips moving. “Don’t get up yet, babe,” he murmurs almost inaudibly, something flickering behind his eyelids.

She places her cheek back down on his body and wonders who he’s talking to, what relationship from the past he’s evoking in a dream. It’s hard for her to imagine Mulder with a girlfriend. But surely at some point he’s had them—girlfriends more recent than Phoebe Green.

It would have to be someone very patient with his eccentricity and foibles, she thinks. She wonders if he would be disastrous in a relationship—neglecting his significant other constantly for his work—or if he somehow would be able to turn some of his obsessive focus towards another person. Having lately been the focus of his concern, she can’t imagine what his full romantic attention would be like. How intense that would be.

The notion makes her shiver, even though she’s very warm, really. She decides to shut the door on that thought process.

Instead, her thoughts drift to Mulder saying he couldn’t help but have personal attachments at work. She knows what he means. How can they not have a certain closeness, an understanding beyond regular co-workers? It’s only natural. Natural and overwhelming. Something she needs to put up some fortifications against.

Has there ever been a period in her life more intellectually potent than these past five months working on the X-files? The call of investigating something that can’t exist. That shouldn’t exist. His provocations, her volleys back, his syncretic leaps, her incremental moves to bridge his gaps. The chance to always prove her point. To prove herself.

It makes her heart race; it makes her feel alive; it makes her feel like a chess piece placed in the perfect strategic spot in a way she hadn’t ever before. She wishes she could have made her father understand.

She also worries sometimes it’s like a drug, something she won’t ever be able to step away from. Or worse, that it’s like a disease, something that will ultimately take her over entirely, turn her very brain cells against her. That it’s something she can’t protect herself from. No possible boundaries.

Open yourself to extreme possibilities only when they’re the truth, he’d told her.

As though that sentence represented any kind of meaningful advice.

As though that sentence didn’t really represent both of their personal mantras, anyone’s personal mantra, really: only believe in what’s true. A minefield of tautology, of imprecise meanings. Something about his patronizing tone in that moment—speaking to poor grieving little Dana, whose emotions had made her too slippery to get a firm grip on her science—gets under her skin. This is why, she thinks. This is why it’s better not to let him in.

With her ear pressed to his chest right now, she can hear his heartbeat. Steady and reassuring. It just can’t help but feel intimate. Natural and overwhelming.

“Scully.” His voice, creaky and sleepy, interrupts the pattern of his heart. “What time is it?”

She lifts her head to see him. “It’s morning, I think,” she says quietly. She moves away, as discreetly as possible, sliding herself off of his body and back to a more safe and respectable position at his side, carefully removing her leg from where it’s wedged between his. “Very early morning.”

“We got a little, uh, entangled there,” he says, still a bit hoarse. “Sorry about that.”

“I don’t feel at all cold,” she replies. “And that’s what this was all about, so no need to apologize.”

“I don’t feel cold either,” he agrees. “Good teamwork there, partner.”

It’s his typical banter, but something sounds off, like he is distracted. For the first time, she considers that Mulder, too, has boundaries that are uncomfortable to cross.

“Should I get up to see if the snow has stopped?” Scully asks.

“Oh sure,” he says huffily. “If you want to squander all this good warmth.”

She smiles into his shoulder. If he’s feeling uncomfortable, his coping mechanisms are certainly different than hers.

“We should probably both get up and get started on our workday,” she remarks dryly. “That late paperwork, for example.”

“If we have to,” he says, mock resigned. “Go get the forms and we’ll fill them out right here. You can use my head to bear down on.”

“I should,” she says lightly, not moving at all. “I really should.”

There is silence. Scully is suddenly very aware of the precise weight and dimensions of his hand resting on her back.

“Hey Scully,” he says, changing tone. “You believe Cecil L’Ively had pyrokinesis, don’t you? That he wasn’t just a typical arsonist?”

She chooses her words carefully. “I believe he has very unusual physical abnormalities. A basal body temperature of 109. This may have contributed to his ability to easily commit arson. Science, Mulder.”

“And when the evidence points to answers beyond science?”

“There is no beyond science.”

“When the evidence points to answers beyond what’s conventional?”

She watches her own fingers, flexing them and letting them rest back down on his chest. “I don’t think that sort of leap comes naturally to me,” she admits. “I think my natural inclination is to doubt.”

Mulder says nothing.

“You asked me at the end of the Boggs case why I was afraid to believe, after all we’ve seen. It’s not that I’m afraid, exactly. It’s more that … I don’t know how.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Scully,” he says hesitantly.

“No, I’m not like you. Or my dad. I can’t commit to something abstract. I can’t even always commit to something in front of my eyes— not without trying to second guess it. To see where the holes are, the inconsistencies.”

He seems to be waiting for her to continue.

“If I’m being honest,” she adds, “I worry, a little. Whether there might be something wrong with having one’s only role being to doubt.”

“Come on. Your role isn’t just doubt,” Mulder says. “It’s significantly more than that.”

“But if I can’t—”

“You believe in things. Lots of things. You know that, don’t you?”

Her lips slide into a wan half smile. “Like what?”

He takes a breath. “The power of science to explain. Medicine to heal. In goodness, right, meaning, justice. In your father. Probably your mom. In me, for some reason,” he says. “And I don’t think I’m wrong—you came to the FBI believing you could do something important, right? Help protect people, probably. Be effective. Your own personal motives: they’re who you are.”

Her mouth opens in reaction. She feels like she’s been cracked open, her insides examined on an autopsy table: dissected by Mulder and his Oxford degree. She should be horrified, but she’s not, exactly. Instead, there’s something oddly like gratitude blooming in her chest. He’s only known her for months, but he sees this about her, this part she wants to be noticed and seen. She thinks about how to thank him.

Before she can, there is a grinding noise and a startling brightness.

Both Scully and Mulder instinctively lift their heads in response.

His living room lamps come back on. The TV, too, abruptly hums back to life. An oily announcer’s voice makes promises from the speakers. Scully cranes to see the image of a smiling man demonstrating a blender available for only $29.99.

Scully blinks, dazed, trying to let her eyes adjust. The room looks all wrong, lit so brightly now in the very early morning. Suddenly it feels incongruous to be up close to Mulder. It’s not like the cold temperature has magically changed, but sharing the couch with him seems bizarre under the scrutiny of the light.

“Looks like we’re back in business,” Mulder says, his eyes roaming around the room and landing on her. “You good, Scully?”

“Just trying to get used to the concept of light again,” she says, scowling.

“I know,” he says, flopping his head back down on the couch. “Being able to see clearly is so overrated.”

&&&

Later, as the restored heat and the morning sun conspire to make the apartment a degree or two warmer, they wrap themselves up in thick protective layers and seek the promise of coffee and food in Mulder’s kitchen.

She worries about calling her mom from Mulder’s apartment. Scully plans to thoroughly explain the situation and reassure her mother everything is fine. But she knows Maggie will fret because her daughter isn’t at home as promised. She anticipates an anxious barrage of questions.

She looks over at Mulder, inexpertly cracking an egg on a hot pan. Again she tries to imagine him and Maggie engaged in conversation. This time, it’s not as difficult.

“You know,” Scully says to him, watching the eggs sizzle and brown in the butter, “my mom asked me about the possibility of meeting my partner.”

Mulder raises his eyebrows and reaches casually for his coffee on the counter, lifting it to take a patient sip. If he’s thinking it sounds like the kind of blurring of personal and professional she claimed to want to avoid, he doesn’t say.

“I think it might make her feel better if she met you. More confident about my safety, maybe,” Scully says.

“Or less,” Mulder says dryly, reaching down to fiddle with the level of heat on his stove.

“She suggested dinner sometime.” Scully’s eyes dart up to his face and then back down at the eggs. “You don’t have to, of course. It’s up to you.”

Mulder is attempting to flip the eggs with the spatula, not completely successfully. One crumples on its side. He looks up at her. “Of course, partner.”

“Good,” she nods, licking her lip. “Okay, good, I’ll tell her.”

She can’t read the smile that flashes across Mulder’s face in response, but apparently he’s okay with the idea.

“Now, Scully, I have to tell you some bad news,” Mulder says, growing mock serious. “I don’t have jam. I hope you’re okay with butter on toast.”

“I’ll live,” Scully says “Coffee will help.”

She smiles, too. His cheerfulness is contagious. He piles the poorly-shaped fried eggs onto plates, which she crowns with buttered slices of toast.

“Hopefully the streets will be clear today,” Scully says, as they settle to eat at his dining room table. “So I can get out of here and go home.”

“Exactly what all the ladies say after spending the night,” he says.

Her eyes roll reflexively. “Come on, Mulder,” she says. “You must want me out of your hair, too.”

“Nah,” he says, taking a bite of his toast. “I like having you around.” He chews for a moment before adding: “I mean, what if there’s a body around here to autopsy unexpectedly? Or I need some complicated new organization system for my fridge? You’re handy.”

Scully takes a bite as well. “You’re handy, too, Mulder.”

They eat in silence, and Scully has the sensation that something invisible has tightened between them, something tugged more taut.

She wonders if her father looks down on such moments as these—if her father, post death, can see everything now. If he can read deeper meaning in all the trivialities that surround her daily life. In Mulder’s well-intentioned fried egg on her plate. In the state of her unkempt hair, sticking up in places from sleeping on her partner’s chest. In the geometric fingers of ice still criss-crossing his apartment windows.

She hopes from her father’s all-encompassing vantage point, he’s able to discern the significance in all of this. Maybe now he knows her better than she knows herself.

She picks up her mug and sips the coffee Mulder's made her. The day grows warmer, little by little.

#x files fanfic #xfiles fanfic #the x files #beyond the sea

[destinygoldenstar]

Pierre Meiya ; The Ultimate Archer (Danganronpa The Privileged Traitor)

Pierre Meiya (Pii-Air My-yah) ; 22 Years Old ; From Tehran, Iran ; The Ultimate Archer

Pierre Meiya is a student of Hopes Peak College Class B-3 in Danganronpa The Privileged Traitor.

He is the bro of every group he becomes a part of. A jock who will watch sports and play sports with you any time, and a big bro who has your back.

Despite that, he does NOT have a chill personality. He’s actually a bit of an impatient impulsive brash hot head, and kind of stupid as a result of these traits.

He has absolutely no problem saying what his opinion is and being as blunt as possible. No care what other people think of him. If he’s mad, he’ll make it clear he’s mad. And so on with any other emotion. He can be pretty stubborn about admitting when his logic is dumb, even when he knows he’s wrong, it takes a bit to let go.

Despite these clear flaws, he’s actually a very endearing outgoing guy willing to befriend you if you’re nice to him. Like I said, the bro of the group.

This is because he is the oldest child in his family, of three younger siblings, all little sisters. His mother is a blind woman. His father passed away when Pierre was entering high school. He was a fisherman and drowned in a boat accident. It’s because of this that Pierre is hydrophobic.

Pierre loves his family dear and will do anything for them. After his fathers passing, he became the head of the house as the firstborn son, and nurtured his family.

As for his line of work, he’s an athlete. He specializes in archery as his main sport, and became so good at it that he was a representative for Iran in archery in the Olympics. And won the gold that year despite being so young at the time.

Since then he’s been on the archery team known as The Piercing Leopards. And not only is Pierre their best player, but is a popular friend on the team who looks after teammates and picks them up.

He’s also VERY possessive about his bow, Sage. Named after Sagittarius. He carries Sage with him EVERYWHERE. He will NOT part with Sage EVER.

He WILL lose it if he loses Sage.

Don’t separate a man from his bow. EVER.

Pierre is an outgoing guy who’s got your back. He’s very family oriented, and anyone is a surrogate sibling in his book. He isn’t shy of giving you a hug or a pat on the back. He will look after people younger than him. He believes youth is more worthy of protection than himself. At least with Sage and his skill he can look after himself.

None of this changes when he gets to Hopes Peak, and it’s revealed it’s a killing game. His blood family doesn’t have their bro anymore. But at the same time, there’s also younger students who need his support.

Victim? Killer? Survivor?

See my other profiles; The Protagonist ; The Mastermind; The Ultimate Musical Sensation ; The Ultimate Good Cop ; The Ultimate Bad Cop ; The Ultimate Scientist ; The Ultimate Environmentalist ; The Ultimate Arsonist ; The Ultimate Vigilante ; The Ultimate Violinist ; The Ultimate Renaissance Student ; The Ultimate Dance Streamer ; The Ultimate Video Game Modifier ; The Ultimate Poetry Writer

#danganronpa oc #danganronpa fangame #danganronpa fangan #danganronpa #fangan #fangan character #fangan oc #fanganronpa #my fangan

[rinwellisathing]

More Modern AU Bhaal Cult stuff

So basically, like I said, in the Modern AU RP my partners and I do, I'm in charge of writing the Bhaal cult, which primarily is Gary (Default Durge) and Sentry(my custom Durge) but also includes Orin and some other background Bhaalspawn OCs of mine. -The relationship between Gary and Sentry is special, Sentry is his favorite sibling, always meant to be his protege and successor if anything happened to him. When Sentry is in his abusive first home, Gary visits him and convinces him to give into his urge and murder his abusive guardians. After, because Gary is still too young to raise Sentry himself, but old enough to be considered Chosen and make money through the family's shady dealings, he provides money to support Sentry to his new adoptive family at The Church of Ilmater. After Sentry's adoptive mother at the church dies, Gary takes him home to the Bhaalist compound and teaches him. -Orin, as the youngest, is cared for by her siblings as a group. She's a bit of an annoying, trouble making little sibling, but at least to start out they do care about her and include her in things. When Sentry comes, they paint together, Gary lets her help make snacks for movie nights, Tomi does her hair. Papa Sarevok's influence is what ultimately leads her to hate Gary and Sentry and feel jealous of them. -Tomi, as a middle sister, is quite satisfied in her role. Her beauty makes her good at publicity so she portrays the family publicly as a wealthy, charitable old money family and covers up their crimes. But in the dark, she grows the ingredients for most of the drugs they sell, works as one of their top tier escorts, and gathers information on assassination targets. -Jackal, being the middle brother and quite violent, is the enforcer. He goes to intimidate 'problem people' or take care of nosy Fists when Gary can't be disrupted from his important work. He's an abrasive dick and gets along the least with the rest of the family, but he is an efficient killer and bruiser. -Gabraela, as the eldest sister, helps take care of the younger ones and keeps records of the cult's finances and dealings. She's also in charge of making sure Fel's cooking and cleaning is up to snuff. Generally as assassinations go, she's called in for big jobs that require a lot of power, but again, aren't important enough for Gary to go himself. -Gary, as the eldest brother, is in charge. Sarevok may be 'papa' and the head of household, but Gary is Chosen, Bhaal's favorite son. He deals with all the most important murders, hand delivers the most important bribes, and visits the most difficult intimidation cases. He also has the most doubt about his father, however, especially when he enters a relationship with Enver Gortash instead of assassinating him. -Sentry, as the youngest brother, is new to the cult and fully being trained and prepared by Gary for his role as one of the Chosen, THE Chosen should anything happen to Gary. When his big brother dies, he fully takes over as Chosen, but is still expected to perform the other duties he's been assigned, including the escort work, drug dealing, and bribes. He is an artist as well as a bit of a delinquent and like his big brother, has his doubts about father.

-Fel is the faithful house keeper and nanny to Bhaal's children, helping to guide them and care for them as their father would wish. It is his duty to steer them where Bhaal would want them.

-Sarevok is the head of the household and presents himself as 'father' to the family in Bhaal's absence. He has the final say even over Gary or Sentry as Bhaal's direct mouth piece, but barely involves himself in the day to day affairs of the family.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #oc #tiefling #durge #dark urge #writing

[puterboy1]

Comparing Chirin from Chirin no Suzu/Ringing Bell with other characters

Many commentators have compared and contrasted Chirin from Takashi Yanase's storybook Chirin's Bell with Bambi from the Felix Salten novel of the same name (I won't say Walt Disney because Salten made the character first), but there is little to connect the two animals other than being cute quadrupeds who lose their mothers to a vicious villain. For one thing, their stories and ultimate fates are complete opposites and they do not end up becoming the very thing that took their parents away from them. Here are a list of characters that fit Chirin better than Bambi, just to clear up some misconceptions.

Anakin Skywalker (later Darth Vader) is the first person I compared Chirin to; both turned to the dark side after losing their mothers and sought vengeance on their murderers. One key difference is that Anakin already kills the Tusken Raiders (like what Woe did to Chirin's family in the book) and this story is what if Anakin became a Tusken Raider to avenge Shmi. But since he is already a Jedi, that ship has sailed. It isn't until Episode III that he finally becomes Darth Vader and Chirin's wool is just as black as his armor. Another key difference is that Palpatine was manipulating Anakin into betraying the Jedi while Woe just simply gave him the harsh truth of the world and with this knowledge, Chirin became corrupted. Another similarity is that Chirin idolizes Woe the same way Anakin idolizes Palpatine because he thinks he's better than the other Jedi (or the other sheep), looking up to him enough to agree with everything he says and this seals their doom. Unlike Vader however, Chirin is not redeemed by his son (even if he had one), but like Vader, he realizes that his quest to save Padme (in Chirin’s case, a quest for revenge) was all for nothing and he is stuck as a robotic monstrosity. Another Star Wars character is Darth Revan, who started as a Jedi, then a Sith and finally became somewhere in between, just like Chirin. Chirin could also be compared with Galen Marek from the video game *The Force Unleashed*, growing up and training under his father's killer, then turning to the light. Unlike Chirin, however, he dies. Obi-Wan Kenobi could not have put it better: "You've allowed this dark lord to twist your mind until you've become the very thing you swore to destroy" and this applies to both Chirin and Anakin.

Elphaba Thropp from the book and musical Wicked shares similar ambitions with Chirin in seeking power, becoming failure heroes and ending up becoming a horrible monster (Chirin became a wolf-like ram, Elphaba became the Wicked Witch of the West). Some of the songs from the musical version of *Wicked* seem to fit well with Chirin. "The Wizard and I" fits with Chirin's ambitions of being Woe's partner, while "Defying Gravity" resonates with his passion of becoming a greater force while "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished" represents Chirin's feelings at what he has done. The song also could provide an alternate interpretation to the ending where Chirin decides to live up to his reputation as a monster, just as Elphaba did to the denizens of Oz. Glinda, the book/show's deuteragonist could also be a representation of Chirin's mother's spirit trying in vain to bring him back to the light. Like Elphaba, they express heartbreak over losing their loved ones (Fyero and Wor) in the climax, but unlike Elphaba, the only ending Chirin gets is worthy of the real Wicked Witch of the West.

Eren Yeager from Attack on Titan also has an all too familiar story. Chirin's mom was eaten by Woe, Eren's mom was eaten by a Titan. For this, they became determined to become stronger, but while Eren joins the Survey Corps, Chirin joins Wor and they both end up becoming the very things they swore to kill. There are two key differences, though: Chirin's transformation is motivated by revenge and a desire to prove himself as a predator (in the Sanrio adaptation, he is manipulated by Woe), while Eren's is motivated by a desire to protect his friends and his people from the Titans. Additionally, Eren's story takes place in a much larger and more complex world, with political intrigue and a wide range of characters with their own motivations and agendas. 

Thorfinn Thorsson from The Vinland Saga was raised by the man who killed his father (Woe in this version is Askeladd) and is probably more accurate than Eren because I've other commentators make similarities between him and Chirin. However, as Thorfinn's story progresses, he undergoes a significant transformation. He starts to question his own motivations and realizes that his pursuit of revenge has consumed him and caused him to lose sight of what's truly important. This realization leads him to start seeking a different path, one that's focused on building a better future rather than avenging the past. While there are similarities between Thorfinn and Chirin in terms of their initial motivations and desire for revenge, Thorfinn's story is much more complex and nuanced, with a wider range of characters and themes. Additionally, while Chirin's transformation is largely physical, as he becomes a stronger predator, Thorfinn's transformation is more internal and psychological. Unlike Chirin however, Thorfinn is unsuccessful at killing Askeladd (Canute kills him for him) and when he does die, Thorfinn feels just like Chirin: empty.

Bruce Wayne/Batman from the DC Comics universe is also an accurate example. Like Chirin in the Lyrica and kamishibai adaptations, plus the very first version of the story found in Takasih Yanase's Twelve Pearls, he loses both of his parents. But while Chirin was consumed by vengeance and trained under Woe, Batman did his best to keep his emotions in check and was trained by a great deal of masters. Chirin's adult form is just as terrifying as Batman's costume in the eyes of his enemies. Like Batman, Chirin does confront Joe Chill, the man who murdered his parents, but the gangster ends up getting killed by his own men. Chirin also has some similarities with Batman sidekick Jason Todd, who started as Robin, then he and his mother were murdered by the Joker and he came back as the Red Hood to avenge her death.

Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride. Obvious reasons but with a more comical effect.

Ken Amada from Persona 3 also lost his mom to a monster and sought revenge on her murderer. Both characters also undergo transformations as a result of their experiences. Chirin becomes a fierce predator, while Ken becomes a Persona user and gains the ability to fight against the Shadows. However, there are also some key differences between the two characters. Chirin's story is more about his personal journey and transformation, while Ken's story is more closely tied to the overarching plot of *Persona 3*. Additionally, Ken's transformation is not solely driven by revenge, but also by a desire to protect his friends and to make a positive difference in the world. Not to mention the fact that Ken understood that revenge will not bring his mother back while Chirin does not outright say this out-loud.

Jack Marston from Red Dead Redemption is also another similarity. Lost their dads and sought revenge on the persons who murdered him. At least Jack is more sociable then Chirin though.

Hope Estheim from Final Fantasy XIII. Same as Ken, but fails to exact his revenge and looks up to Snow as a father figure, just like Chirin and Woe, but on a sweeter level.

Clay Lincoln from Mafia III. Like Chirin from the book and other literary adaptations, he loses his family to a criminal and spends the entirety of the game teaming up with other criminals to take over New Orleans. Like Chirin, he even questions his actions after killing the mob boss and the guy seems perfectly willing to let Clay kill him.

Ichigo Kurosaki from Bleach is a more heroic version of Chirin that aligns more accurately with the Bambi comparison. After losing his mother, he too gains power in the form of seeing the supernatural, whereas with Chirin, it's becoming stronger and that is what Ichigo does. Had Chirin protected his flock in the aftermath of the story from afar, then he would be more in tune with Ichigo's desire as a Soul Reaper to protect the people from evil spirits.

Miss Bellwether from Zootopia. Nothing much other than the evil sheep angle. 

Superman in the Injustice video game revolves around the Man of Steel losing his wife to the Joker and then killing the clown. Like Chirin, Superman ends up becoming a feared and darker shadow of his former self. But at least he redeems.

Arya Stark from A Song of Ice and Fire, although I think she's more like Thorfinn in the sense of losing their favorite parent and being raised by that parent's killer. 

Yona of the Dawn also begins with a protagonist being thrown from her carefree life into the harsh reality.

Any other comparisons?

#Chirin's Bell #Anakin Skywalker #Elphaba Thropp #Eren Yeager #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Inigo Montoya #Ken Amada #Jack Marston #Hope Estheim #Ichigo Kurosaki #Dawn Bellwether #Arya Stark #Yona of the Dawn