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masterwords · 2 years

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as the crow flies (part two)

Summary: After a journalist does the BAU dirty, Derek is forced to take the job at the New York Field Office. Hotch is forced to deal. (AU where Hotch and Haley have a daughter instead of a son. Based on this story.)

Warnings: Lo-Fi/Mayhem explosion/injuries, bloody nose, throwing up, Derek has a few brief nsfw moments (cut early because one happens right away)

Words: 5.6k

Notes: Now that we have some plot established, I'll slow down updates to about once a week and keep them about this length. Are we having fun? Giving Hotch the ol' Will Graham Tattler treatment here.

** CHAPTER LIST **

The sheets were pooled around Hotch's deeply bruised hips, and Derek traced delicate lines there mindlessly while he considered getting up. He could stay here, he had time. But if he got up now he could move through his routine without any real hurry. Brushing his teeth, showering, cranking one out because those bruises on Hotch's back told him just about all he needed to know about the future of his sex life. It was fine, he wasn't worried, he could take care of himself just fine for a while.

His thoughts turned to a night at the club once he was in the shower. Sweaty, dancing, writhing beneath pulsing lights and pounding beats. Hotch had been uncomfortable, rigid, nervous around Derek's friends for the first time. He was shy jokes and timid smiles, stiff shifting from foot to foot on the dance floor until he had just the right number of beers in him. The magic number where his hips unlocked and he slithered and became a creature made of sweat and hands and that smile wasn't shy anymore, it was full of vivid temptation and downright sinful. It was a side of Hotch he'd never seen before and he'd be lying if he said it wasn't a pretty consistent fantasy of his since it happened. When he told Penelope about it, she got cartoon hearts in her eyes and said it was the sweetest thing she'd ever heard that he fantasized about his own boyfriend. Well, yeah, maybe...not like it was his only fantasy, but right now it was hitting the spot. They'd been on the outs for more than a week so it felt a little forbidden.

It was an easy quickie once he started humming a little Jodeci.

Every freakin night and every freakin' day... Derek's hand was sliding easily up and down, his eyes closed against the hot water that coursed over his skin. Over and over, keeping speed in time with the song he hummed, mumbled, his hips moving and swaying to the beat. He didn't need much, he was a simple man with simple pleasures. A pretty face, a sexy beat and he was off to the races. I wanna freak you baby in every freakin' way...

He heard Hotch's phone through the din of the shower and poked his head out to listen for movement or a voice. It rang and rang with no answer, eventually stopping. He popped back in and lathered up, moving quickly. Whoever was calling Hotch might start calling him next and it was going to take a little too much explanation if neither of them picked up. The cat's out of the bag, Emily had said to him when her unbelievable nose detected his cologne on Hotch's shirt. Sure, people knew, but not everyone. There was still a lot of careful misdirection and discretion involved here. Hotch staying over...Hotch still sleeping...could have ramifications he wasn't prepared for.

Shaving his head, he listened for the phone. Still nothing. Radio silence, maybe it had been Jessica or Sean, someone just calling to hear his voice. The steady scraping sound of the razor over his head was soothing, and he stood naked still humming Jodeci while he worked.

By the time he finished and gave himself a once over, Hotch was stirring. He thought maybe he'd wake up, check his messages so he craned his head around the corner to peer into the room. A small groan, a whimper, and then silence again. Still as a statue like he'd never moved, the magic had worn off and the sleeping spell returned. He'd fought to maintain that spell all night and was paying for it now with a bone deep exhaustion. Every little whimper and every deep groan when he shifted woke Derek and he was all hands, trying to help him move, to get comfortable. Pillows fluffed and strategically placed, blankets being untangled, and Hotch stayed somehow asleep through it all but Derek's heart raced each time.

It was easy to ignore his injuries when he was upright and running around with adrenaline pushing him forward. He chased down a suspect, he was up and down stairs, he was fine. Until he wasn't, until the crash. It happened just after he got in bed. It was like everything ceased working at once and he could barely move. That was fine, though, they were in bed. It only got scary when his nose started gushing blood again. It wouldn't stop, it slowed for a while and Derek would stop watching, start drifting into his own mellow lullaby and then he'd see wet blood on the pillow again.

A trip to the front desk for a plastic bag, a stop at the ice machine and they were set. Ice on the bridge of his nose, wrapped in the already messy pillow case and pressed against his face while he stared up at the ceiling. The world was bathed in eerie silence. They didn't speak. There wasn't anything to say, anyway. It was apparent right away that Hotch wasn't hearing much and what he did hear seemed to cause almost immediate sharp pain.

They opened the window and let in some air, watched the traffic that never died in the streets. A few people shouted obscenities at each other, a car alarm wailed and Hotch flinched against Derek's arm but said nothing. They lay beside each other, shoulder to shoulder wondering but not asking about the other's thoughts.

It was a bad night.

A bad week.

One for the record books, but they were here together and that had to mean something. No matter how upset Derek had been, he came back. Hell, he came running. And no matter how hurt Hotch had been, he showed up at Derek's door.

Apologies died on their lips.

This quiet comfort had to mean something. Or everything. The world was crumbling to shit around them, but the storm was easier to weather side by side. Hotch had slipped his hand inside of Derek's and closed his eyes, let sleep do its worst. Ten minutes or ten hours, he had no way of predicting what his body would give him but he wasn't going to fight it. Not this time.

Derek thought about all of this as he watched Hotch sleep. It ran through his mind on a loop, interspersed with the heat and flame of the ambulance exploding while he rushed away from it faster than he'd ever run in his life. Diving like some action hero at that last moment, covering as much ground as he could. Duck and cover. Blow up the ambulance now, explain later.

They still had almost two hours before they had to check out and hit the road. Two hours was plenty of time for him to slide back into those sheets, curl around Hotch, and fall back asleep. So he did. Falling asleep was easy, even around the dull ache in his ribs and the headache that was settling in behind his eyes.

Derek woke to the sound of his phone ringing. It was the third call, he hadn't even heard it the first two times he'd fallen so deep into some sunlight drenched morning sex dream. Hotch didn't stir. Not even a little, and while Derek reached over him to grab his phone he wasn't ashamed to say he also felt the gentle rise and fall of his back to make sure he was still breathing.

“JJ,” Derek growled, sliding out of the sweaty sheets and arching his aching back. His body, all at once, reminded him that he had been in an explosion the night before, not having all sorts of raunchy sex in the VIP room. “This better be good. I was having this dream you wouldn't believe...” The dream wasn't exactly about Hotch, but he didn't think the other man would mind, he had his moment in the shower earlier. When it really counted.

“Gross. I'm sick enough as it is,” she replied quickly, but she didn't sound like she was in the mood for jokes. “Is Hotch still in your room?”

He frowned. “Yeah...” he said, dragging it out a little longer than necessary. His suspicion was aroused even more than he was after that dream. “How'd you know he was here?”

“I'd like to say it was intuition,” she started reluctantly. “But it's more than that. What's your room number? I need to talk to you both. In person, right now.”

“He's sleeping...” He said it with conviction. Like he thought she might care. Say never mind, we can talk later. Because that would mean whatever she was calling for wasn't that important...she didn't take the bait.

“If it wasn't important, I wouldn't bother him. You know that. But this is...he needs to see this. You both do. Give me your room number and wake him up.”

He sucked in a breath and glanced at Hotch still dead to the world. The last thing he wanted to do was wake him.

“And Derek? Clothes. I expect you both fully clothed.”

When she showed up, there was no smile to greet him. He was wearing a pair of gym shorts, no shirt, but it was clothed enough. And in his defense, he'd given his last clean t-shirt to Hotch because the last thing that either of them needed was to field questions or concern about his condition. They just wanted to know what could be so urgent.

Hotch was barely sitting, propped up against a few pillows at the head of the bed, his legs stretched out before him. He'd tried to get up, to work the kinks out and wake up his muscles but his back was locked tight and the pressure change made his head pound harder than it had the night before. He could hear again, though, that was something. Not well, and not without pain, but the world was no longer silent. He almost missed it, that eerie quiet that came with the first night snow blanketed the town and everything was insulated and reverent. Now he could hear, and the ringing accompanied all of it.

His headache was a raging inferno behind his eyes.

“You don't look well,” JJ said, glancing at Hotch briefly. He shrugged.

“I was blown up last night,” was his reply, an attempt at levity to make her smile. She looked like she needed one. The way her features were drawn and serious made him nervous. “What is it JJ?”

“Sir,” she started, taking a seat. “I have a contact with The New York Post. They sent me an advance copy, sort of a heads up? It's already being printed, set to hit newsstands tonight.” She handed him the sheet of paper, just a print of the cover and his veins ran with ice. The cover was a photo of Derek's ambulance exploding in a plume of red and gold like out of season fireworks right in the sea of Central Park's emerald. Inset, right down in the corner, was a photo of him in a hospital gown. “There's a six page story about what happened last night. Most of the details are exaggerated, some are outright lies, but there's enough truth there to give it merit. The Director is going to have a fit. In the spread, they have a photo of you and Kate in the street, a photo of you in the hospital...and you and Derek in this doorway.” She let her words hang there a moment, worming their way through the empty spaces in the room. Derek spoke first.

“They were following him.”

“Well,” she said softly. “No. Not exactly. The photo from the street was taken by a cell phone and texted. They're getting me the number now but I have a feeling I already know who it was.”

“Sam,” Derek said. JJ nodded solemnly.

“He deleted some of his history right away but that's my best guess. But there was also someone in the hospital trying to scoop the story on the patient in the OR,” JJ added, pacing from one end of Derek's room to the other with her hands balled into tight fists at her sides. “They have pictures of the Secret Service guys dead in the elevator. They basically tied it all together, made it look like Hotch is the reason for the Secret Service and the hospital bypass and the death threat. Like Hotch was the target.”

“Where the hell were they?” Derek asked, but it didn't matter. There are plenty of hiding places in hospitals, and all they needed was a camera with a decent zoom and a recording device, the BAU provided them with everything else. “Fucking tabloid snakes.”

“It's The Post, Derek,” JJ stopped short, pressing her hand to the small swell in her belly that was feeding her a little extra hormonal piss and vinegar this morning. And sickness. Lots of that. She'd already thrown up about four times and she was nearly ready to excuse herself for the fifth. “It's on every newsstand in this city tonight. Nothing I can do to stop it.”

She looked like she wanted to say more. It was right on the tip of her tongue. “Out with it, mama.” Derek was in no mood to play these coy little word games. He was watching Hotch try to hold it together, try to remain neutral while thinking about the intensity of his violation. He was used to having a target painted on his back but this was a new feeling. A photo of him half naked in the hospital? That was new.

He didn't like new.

“They also have a photo of you Derek, after the ambulance. At the crime scene. So you can imagine what they might have...that they maybe were drawing a connection...” she didn't want to say it. Both men understood it plainly.

“There are plenty of reasonable explanations for my knocking on his door,” Hotch said, voice hardly above a whisper. “Their conclusions will always be extreme. It sells more copies if there's a scandal, we all know that.”

“Chief Strauss wants to talk to you both. The Director is going to demand answers and she wants to get ahead of him.” She'd already called and alerted her after Hotch didn't answer his phone, after Derek didn't answer. She had no choice. Neither of them said a word to her about it.

“It wasn't anything we could have hidden,” Hotch offered in a morose tone. “An explosion in the middle of the city and another at Central Park, no casualties.” He looked down at his hands that had begun to shake while he blinked back painful tears. “One casualty,” he corrected, sucking in a breath. “It was an ending that the Director should take little issue with. We did our jobs. Tabloids will always sensationalize things.” Whether he was quiet to off-set the pain in his head, or if he was just so angry he was afraid that raising his voice would result in yelling was anyone's guess. JJ wasn't about to ask.

“That's true. I'm not worried about that. I'll draft a letter to correct the lies, my contact said they'll run the corrected story but Hotch...that photo of you...” She'd never seen him look so vulnerable in her life. It was upsetting. “They were in your room.”

He didn't like it either, but he was a little flattered that she cared so deeply. The heat of humiliation burned in his lungs and clouded his vision. “What's done is done.”

She couldn't bear the look of him, how sad and defeated he was. The bomb was bad enough but this...yep, she was going to be sick. That did it. “Excuse me,” she muttered, rushing toward their bathroom. She managed to flip the fan on just in time to drown out the sound of her retching. Derek she didn't mind, he'd held her hair back more than once after a night out but Hotch...she couldn't stand it.

Not that he could have heard it anyway.

“You believe this?” Derek asked, and Hotch only stared at him. Or through him. His eyes were unfocused and a little scary, deep set beneath his somber frown. When JJ emerged from the bathroom minutes later smelling like soap and mouth wash, she smiled. It was an eerie, almost scary smile. Derek liked it.

“Give me today in the city, Hotch. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, I'll see what I can do.”

(x)

JJ hadn't been able to do much. One day back, one day out of work and the first thing Derek had to contend with was an early morning meeting with Strauss.

“Effective when?” Derek asked, unable to wipe a look of complete shock from his features. Shock was better than contempt, which was his only other mode when it came to this woman and her antics. Strauss sat across from him in her picture perfect Bureaucratic suit of lies and pursed lips. As JJ predicted, heads were rolling. The Post ran its story and the shock waves were felt for miles. Fix this was all The Director had said to Strauss, and she knew exactly what that meant.

“Immediately, Agent Morgan. They're anticipating your arrival by the end of the week. This is an Executive Decision, it comes from above my head.” Meaning she wouldn't do anything to change it. Nor could she if she wanted to, which she really didn't.

He was being reassigned to the New York Field Office and he had no say. Promoted, she reminded him. This is a good thing. Indignant flames flickered in his eyes at the thought that he'd be sitting at the desk of a woman not even in the ground yet. Hotch was at home now on the phone with the funeral home, helping get her body transported from New York back to England for interment.

There was nothing he could do. This was coming down from the Director himself, and with Hotch on medical leave there was no one to fight on his behalf. It never would have worked anyway, they had a vacancy in New York and the BAU was under heavy scrutiny after that story in The Post. Strauss either played the game or she would find herself in need of a few liquor store boxes to empty her own desk into, that much was made clear to her the minute she argued that this was being blown out of proportion. “There isn't anything wrong with those photos from the Bureau's perspective,” she'd said. She took them to the PR department, she took them to anyone whose opinion might make a difference but the Director couldn't be convinced. She really had tried. “They are humiliating for Agent Hotchner, not the Bureau.” Besides, they were blatant lies and it could be easily proven that those bombs were never meant for Hotch, that there would be no need for Secret Service to shut down a hospital on his behalf...it was all smoke and mirrors, JJ was working on that and it still didn't matter. Pick the low hanging fruit, that's what she knew they would do. Remove one part of the equation and kill the entire thing. She was in front of the firing squad and this wasn't a fight she wanted to take on. She'd already done herself plenty harm saying what she had.

“Yes ma'am.”

Only a week left with the BAU, a week left of his dream job. He could barely contain himself. What he wanted to do was trash it all, break a few windows, take a bat to the copy machine, trash all his years of service over something so asinine as a journalist's fabrications. But he didn't. What he did do was run down to the liquor store on the corner, buy himself a few bottles of whiskey, and snag three empty boxes on the way out. His desk wouldn't take long to clear. He might not come back this week, might just take some personal time. What were they going to do, fire him? He belonged to New York now.

“I'll take care of it,” Spencer offered with tears in his eyes, watching Derek empty out his personal drawers. “I guess it'll give me a reason to come visit you in New York.”

“Yeah, you can come up now whether we...whether you have a case or not, huh?”

That change from we to you hit Spencer square in the gut and he thought he might never catch his breath from it. This couldn't be real. He'd already argued with Derek. They can't just take you away, he'd whispered, but they could. They could do it to any of them at any time and they never even needed a reason. This stupid tabloid story was proof, and it was making JJ almost unbearable to be around. She was so mad one minute and crying the next because she hadn't done her job...if she'd been there she would have seen the reporter, she just knew it. They could all tell her it wasn't true until they were blue in the face but she simply couldn't believe it. She should have stopped it.

Her resignation was already typed up and ready to submit, but something kept her from printing it. Maybe she just wouldn't come back after maternity leave.

“What about Hotch?”

Derek shrugged and looked anywhere but at Spencer whose tears were falling down his cheeks now, right there in the middle of the bullpen. He'd tried to hold it in, it just wouldn't work. This feeling was too big. It was huge and it was bursting from everywhere.

“He's got other things he's dealing with right now, he doesn't have time to worry about this too. We'll figure it out later.”

“What things?” Spencer's voice had gone soft, too quiet. He was shrinking in on himself, his shoulders slumping in utter defeat. His family was being torn apart and he had no control over any of it. The idea that Hotch had no control...that was beyond his capacity to handle.

“I don't know kid, he just got blown up a few days ago and his friend died. He's got his own problems.”

Spencer huffed. “I bet he'd think this was pretty important.”

Derek leveled his glare and sighed. “It'll be fine. A new opportunity, right?” He had to walk away before he started crying. He couldn't hold it together much longer.

(x)

“Hotch?”

He glanced up from his paperwork and squinted into the room. Bleak, dimly lit, more like a cave than an office. He was sneaking in and working at night to try and help the team out, to keep then on track with paperwork. It was either that or wallow in misery at home and he really wasn't much for wallowing. Besides, working at night meant he could be on the phone with Kate's family during their daytime hours, helping them with arrangements for her body, for her apartment, whatever he could. He wasn't responsible, they kept telling him that, but he wouldn't hear it. He survived, she didn't. That was the only thing he could think.

Night was better for the intense haze that his headache was clouding the world with. It's your ears, they'd said at his appointment that morning after an MRI that nearly drove him to the brink of madness considering all of the shrapnel they'd pulled out of him and what if they left one piece inside? It'll only get worse without surgery. Well, he didn't want surgery. But he also didn't want this.

Those pesky nosebleeds, like the one he'd just cleaned up, couldn't have been his ears but he wasn't talking about those. The pain in his head that wouldn't let up and the constant nose bleeds didn't leave him much time to worry about his back, so there was a silver lining. Maybe not silver, maybe a dull gray, but a lining of some kind anyway.

“Yes JJ?”

“I spoke to my contact at The Post and she said the photos were submitted by someone they outsource to, one of their roving reporters, you know the type. They operate under pseuds so their credibility remains in tact. He probably works for a bigger publication but the Post pays more for stuff like this. Tabloids are good money.”

He hummed, having figured as much. He wasn't as good as JJ when it came to press relations but he knew a few things. Enough that he'd managed to avoid any major scandals or problems with the press...until now.

“The good thing is, your face isn't clearly visible and they didn't have any real details about your injuries or Kate, they made most of that up and the Bureau is threatening The Post with defamation if they don't correct the inaccuracies. The bad thing is, Derek said your full name when he barged into the hospital looking for you so...”

“Keep an eye out for anyone digging around. Got it. Thank you JJ.”

“Sir, are you alright? You seem...”

“I'm okay. It's been a rough week.”

“Yeah. You can say that again.”

She could see a smear of blood on the back of his hand even in the dark room, it looked like he'd tried to wash it off but missed a spot. It didn't alarm her, and the realization that it didn't alarm her settled funny in her stomach. Right beside the little popcorn feeling of the baby moving in there. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

He peered at her through the thick shield of his lashes and put on the best smile he could. It made his head throb to move his face like that and he knew then that it probably was his ears causing all of the trouble. Smiling shouldn't hurt. “Always,” he lied.

He had to pull over on the way home. Another nosebleed, this time it was all down his front before he had a place to stop so he could rifle through the glove compartment for some napkins or tissue. He'd used his tie, of all things, just to make it to a safe place to pull over. This was getting really irritating. They'd told him it could last a while. Nothing to worry about, just the trauma from the explosion. Humans aren't made to withstand that sort of thing. You're lucky Agent. Well he'd ruined three perfectly good shirts (and one very expensive tie) now for this pesky little nothing.

“Another nosebleed?” Derek asked, looking up from the game of solitaire he was playing on the coffee table when Hotch walked through the door looking like he'd just escaped a slasher film chase scene. Solitaire meant stress. He didn't like Hotch going in after hours, for starters, and told him no more than two hours or he'd march down there and drag him out. He stayed two hours on the dot. “How many today?”

“You heard the doctor yesterday. It's nothing as long as they stop.”

“How many?” Derek pressed, slapping down a two of clubs with a little more force than necessary. Hotch flinched involuntarily and sighed, hanging up his jacket beside the door.

“Three,” he replied in a too quiet voice. “They were short. I think it's getting better.”

Derek huffed and went back to his game while Hotch kicked out of his shoes and made for the kitchen. It was late, he wanted coffee but settled for tea and a handful of grapes. “Is everything alright?”

“Strauss gave me my walkin' papers today.” He tossed a stack of papers that had been on the couch beside him across the room, hurled them like a frisbee and watched them land on a dining room chair. He'd been going for the table but it could have been worse. While Hotch's water heated up in the kettle he flipped through the pages and felt his headache intensify with every word. “Read 'em and weep. Yoko's breaking up the band.”

The Beatles reference should have made him smile, but smiling hurt and this didn't feel like a time to chance it. “I'll talk to her.” He was leaning hard against the counter, staring down at the pages while his back throbbed loud and deep. No longer willing to be ignored, the third wheel, it forced its way front and center.

“No use. She said it's an executive decision. Above your pay grade, man.”

“Derek, I'll call her. I have a few favors I can call in.”

“Yeah, sure...go ahead...” he sounded sad, angry and unconvinced. Hotch almost didn't hear his kettle whistle he was so lost in the papers, in the agony of his head, of his heart breaking. “Don't get your hopes up.”

He pretended to sleep until Derek drifted off and then made his way to the couch with his laptop ready to draft a letter to Strauss. By the time dawn was streaking across the sky and blotting out the night, his eyes were barely open and he had nothing more on his screen than the ramblings of a desperate man afraid to let go. Nothing he could show to anyone. It might as well be pathetic beat poetry, heartbreak in prose. He'd already lost Haley and that was his own fault but this...it was different. By the time Haley was gone he'd realized he was ready, they were better apart than they had been together but he didn't think it was the same with Derek.

He wasn't ready for this.

This felt an awful lot like breaking up.

“One of the last nights we get to sleep in the same bed and you don't even stay?” Derek asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He could tell Hotch had been on the couch most of the night. There was a pillow and a blanket rumpled beside him, like he'd tried to sleep and couldn't manage it. An empty coffee cup sat beside his computer and Derek walked by, snagging it so he could refill it alongside his own. “Writing the novel that's gonna make you rich so we never have to work again?”

“I,” he started, narrowing his eyes to squint at the screen. His contacts were drying out, hurting his eyes. “No.” Derek laughed.

“Whatever you wrote there won't change Strauss' mind. You know that right?”

“I do.”

“Then why?”

Hotch went quiet and his gaze lost all focus. He was just staring into nothing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest the only thing that would even alert Derek to him being more than a statue.

“I'm not ready for this,” he said finally, tears burning in his eyes. “I thought we would have more time.”

“You think I'm breaking up with you because I have to move?” Derek asked, flopping himself down right beside Hotch and hooking his arm around the other man's shoulders. “You aren't getting off that easy, Hotchner. I said I wanted a commitment right away, I told you this wasn't a rebound from your broken marriage, remember? If it was, I wasn't interested. You think that's changed?”

Hotch closed his eyes against the pounding in his temples. “No.”

“You think I'm gonna let Strauss and the Director and all those other assholes with their ties so tight it cuts off the oxygen to their brains...” he was speaking through gritted teeth now and had to stop himself, had to calm down. “They can change my job but that's all they get.”

“New York is a long way,” Hotch whispered and he felt a familiar tickle in the bridge of his nose. Shit.

“A few hours on the train isn't a long way.”

Blood trickled slow over his lips and Hotch reached up to swipe at it, to stop it before it hit the couch or Derek's leg but he was too late. A small drop, a splash of red against Derek's skin and they both stared mesmerized for a minute. “I'll get the ice,” Derek said, wiping the spot with his thumb and pulling his shirt off so Hotch could shove it up against his nose to stop the bleeding. They would need all new wardrobes by the time this ordeal was over.

With ice on his face, Hotch could barely think. It was soothing his headache and stopping the bleed, really the most pleasant feeling he could manage for the time being. “You want me to come to the doctor with you today?”

Hotch almost said no. He wanted to, because he didn't need Derek with him but something nagged at him, pulled at the empty spaces in his chest and he nodded. “Would you?” They didn't have much time left together, not this kind of easy time anyway, and Derek was right...one of the last nights they had to spend in bed together and he'd been up on the couch the whole time. He wouldn't be so careless with what they had left again.

“Sure. I'd love an excuse to be late. Fuck Strauss. Which doc are we seeing today?”

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #criminal minds #hotchgan #mortch #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x derek morgan

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somefandomincorrectquotes · 5 years

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Nikei: Some kind of bone is on display

Nikei: People who get excited about that sort of that thing "Very excited"

#source: the new york tattler #nikei yomiuri #sdra2 incorrect quotes #sdra2 #incorrect quote

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chl0writes · 2 years

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Bringing the Sarah characters to England.

Listen, I have NEVER written a headcanon in my life but I had a lot of fun! This is literally such a random idea I had but I couldn’t get it out of my brain so here we are. I hope you enjoy :)

Billie Dean Howard.

Billie Dean had travelled to London once before to film a special for her show.

She always talks about how amazing that trip was and how much she would love to return with you.

While you love living in LA, sometimes you find yourself feeling homesick. So when Billie Dean mentioned how much she enjoyed England, you just knew you had to fly home with her.

In London, you see all of the sights from Buckingham palace to the Tower Bridge.

You take bus tours and you take the boat to Greenwich.

Picnics in Hyde Park.

Listen, this lady cannot stand Primark. Far too rowdy and far to cheap for Billie Dean’s taste.

She will drag you around Harrod’s for hours.

She takes one look at the wetherspoons and it’s an immediate no. This is a lady of class, it’s dinner in The Shard or no dinner at all.

West End shows every night!

Billie Dean downs ginger shots from Pret like a PRO.

Lana Winters.

England wasn’t ever really a place that Lana had wanted to visit.

But, she soon changed her mind once she heard how passionately you spoke of your birthplace.

Lana had just published her fourth novel, and the idea of a long two month vacation seemed like the perfect way to celebrate and unwind.

You hire a car and you travel to different parts of the country.

You stay in London for the longest period of time as Lana enjoyed the culture and the diversity of the city.

You take her to as many quaint little book shops you can find and she falls in love with each and every one.

Seeing how much Lana enjoyed the city, you take her to places like Manchester and Liverpool.

She falls in love with Liverpool almost immediately!

The Beatles are one of Lana’s favourite bands so she particularly enjoys seeing all of the memorabilia and The Beatles themed pubs.

Lana’s next book would definitely be set in England.

Cordelia Goode.

Cordelia had always wanted to travel, but the coven and her supremacy kept her tied to New Orleans.

You have it all planned out, the girls are in on it. In October, the two of you would fly to England for her birthday.

You took the Supreme to York. She would love the sights and the scenery of Yorkshire, you were sure.

You went through the notorious ghost walks and she did not bat an eyelid. You on the other hand left clinging to the blonde for dear life.

Lunch in Public Gardens!

Driving out to pumpkin patches.

Is definitely disturbed by kebabs.

Cordelia spends hours picking out individual gifts for her girls. She wants to bring the coven here.

DESPISES the tales of the Pendle Witches.

Bette & Dot Tattler.

Bette jumped at the idea of travelling with you. Dot on the other hand, took quite some persuasion.

Big cities were a no-go for the twins, and growing up in a more secluded corner of England, you know the perfect place to take them.

The three of you were to spend the week in a log cabin in the countryside, far away from everybody.

Upon finding a cookbook, the twins practically made every single recipe in that book. It took several shopping trips but you were not complaining.

Every night ended by watching the sunset, and laying underneath the stars until the chill became too much.

Sally McKenna.

Being stuck in the Cortez, Sally can’t go anywhere.

There was not a chance in hell that you would travel that far away from Sally.

She is a complete sucker for your English accent.

She asks you so many questions about the places that you have been and the things that you have seen.

She could listen to you talk for hours.

Audrey Tindall.

The trip was pretty much inevitable considering you were both desperate to return to the UK.

What you don’t expect is to arrive and really impulsively buy a house in Sussex.

Did you both decide to uproot your life to England? Yes.

The first few months are complete chaos to be honest, but you expected nothing less.

Once settled, you did everything and anything you could. Theme parks, cinema trips and bowling.

Audrey LOVED the beach, so trips to places like Brighton and Blackpool were frequent.

You ate at all of your favourite restaurants and shopped in all of your favourite shops. The ones they didn’t have in the states.

Ally Mayfair Richards.

While Ally isn’t plagued by phobias anymore, she still feared flying. Like, a lot. It took a while for her to come round to the idea of travelling so far away, but she eventually did.

Oz would come along with you both.

The hotel has a spa, if Ally disappeared, that’s where she would be.

Ally doesn’t understand why there are no plug sockets in the bathroom. It winds her up.

Would be glued to the television screen when Come Dine With Me came on the hotel television.

You took Ally and Oz to different pubs and restaurants and she was not impressed by the quality of the wine in said pubs.

Is deeply disturbed by beans on toast.

The pair of you would take Oz to theme parks and the beach.

Wilhemina Venable.

You just knew that Oxford was the most perfect place to take Wilhemina. So much history, so much art.

You hired a car as you didn’t want Mina to be in pain after hours of endless wandering.

You went over the winter, the weather was not great but it made it all the more cozy when you were both cooped up in a cafe with a book and a cup of tea.

The pair of you spent hours in museums and art galleries.

You could see Mina’s face light up as she admired the architecture of buildings that had to be centuries old.

Appalled by tesco meal deals.

She could not stand English television, it was a sort of humour that she could not seem to grasp.

#sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson #american horror story #billie dean howard #audrey tindall #wilhemina venable x reader #lana winters #cordelia goode x reader #headcanon #ally mayfair richards

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honeysucklepink · 2 years

Text

Anyway, Here's Wonderwall (24/24 COMPLETE)

Day 24: Rise (also on AO3)

Six Months After Snow Strands Pub-goers, A Chance to Reunite and Reminisce

Sally Gallagher, The Independent

A little over six months after Winter Storm Sue placed the Blithe Spirit Inn in the headlines, patrons from that fateful weekend held a reunion at the Fawley Bottom establishment.

The historic pub, which at one time shared ownership with its sister pub the Crown and Anchor in Richmond (now owned by an investor group led by current AFC Richmond defender Sam Obisanya), was the host to a “Battle of the Bands” music contest just before Christmas. The weather took a turn, however, trapping customers, staff, and musicians alike. With vehicles buried, roads closed, plows out of commission, and a power line down, guests made the best of their situation as they spent two days and nights at the inn.

“I had never been to England before, or to a traditional pub. I had no idea we would get snowed in,” said Dani, a singer with the now-defunct group One Three Hill, one of the two bands performing that week. “But we made the best of it, and everyone was super friendly.”

The few rooms available were booked up, and most patrons stayed in the main room; blankets and pillows were distributed by the owner and staff. Meanwhile, members of the bands involved, all Americans, pitched in by cooking meals, washing dishes, and entertaining the stranded travelers. With musicians in their midst, singalongs were par for the course; as many were missing flights home for Christmas, holiday carols were popular as well as tunes from the Beatles and Oasis. Thanks to word getting out through social media, the storm survivors found their story reaching this paper as well as the Guardian, The Daily Mail, the New York Times, and as far away as the Lima (OH) Tattler.

Why have the reunion in the summer, and not on the one-year anniversary?

“I didn’t want to tempt fate again,“ said Adam Crawford, proprietor and innkeeper of the Blithe Spirit. “The patrons were the ones to suggest a summer date. I’ve personally found the weather more agreeable, myself.“

Through social media as well as more traditional means of communication, the bartenders, staff, musicians, and customers forged a bond on that Saturnalia weekend. Several of them organized the reunion through direct messages and texts; Liam Chaney, a producer with World of Wonder, took the lead.

“We just thought it would be lovely to have a get-together and catch up, without freezing our asses off,” according to Chaney.

The weekend did not go without incident; a member of another band from the contest, Wes Montgomery of The Warblers, had to be transported by the Mountain Rescue Service, for acute appendicitis.

“We were very fortunate,” said Montgomery, who spent his Christmas recovering in hospital. “There was a gentleman with a snowmobile that had visited earlier who knew exactly how to get to us. I’m extremely lucky.”

While the original plan was to have repeat performances by One Three Hill and The Warblers, the bands have since broken up, with members of both reconfiguring into a new music group, Winter Bird. Just like most of the patrons, they forged new friendships, and in one particular case, something more…

~~~~~~~~

“So, Kurt, how do you like the pub when we are not snowed in?“ Blaine and Kurt were curled up on the same bed they had shared several months before, in their own little world.

“Well, I don’t have the excuse of a swirling snow storm outside to be cuddled up in bed with you,“ Kurt said, brushing his toes against Blaine’s ankle. “So our friends are going to start looking for us.”

“Let them look,“ Blaine replied, before flipping Kurt onto his back and nuzzling his nose against his neck.

After they left England, Blaine and Kurt were practically inseparable, making up for lost time. When Burt picked them both up at the airport, he noted their clasped hands, raised an eyebrow, and said “just another orphan, huh?” Christmas couldn’t have gone better; Blaine was incredibly helpful in the kitchen, assisting Carole and Kurt with baking cookies, as well as guarding them from Finn until they were finished, and helping Burt get the rest of the lights out of the attic. It also didn’t hurt that Blaine was an expert at video games; between the two of them, they kicked Finn’s butt playing Red Dead Redemption.

When they returned to New York, they immediately fell into the rhythms of a couple that had been together for years rather than days. They helped each other with preparing for auditions, cooked dinners, went to the park, met friends for brunch and bar-hopping, and of course a lot of sex. They realized they had both brought baggage with them from old Ohio wounds, causing them to get off on the wrong foot all those years ago. Heck, Kurt thought, maybe if he had met Blaine before Rachel did…

Things changed not only for them, but for both of their bands. With Wes still recovering from his appendix removal, he decided to focus more on school. Elliott, meanwhile, had scored a gig working full-time on the “Werq the World” drag tour. So Kurt, Blaine, Dani and David reformed into a super group. When Elliott and Liam called and asked if they were interested in coming back to the Blithe Spirit Inn that June, Kurt and Blaine dove at the chance.

They had barely made it into the pub before running up to their room, the same one from before. They were a little jet lagged after the flight and road weary from the drive between Heathrow and the inn, and wanted to catch a nap.

That was the plan, anyway. If “napping” led to “making out,” so sue them.

Kurt leaned his head back, and sighed in contented pleasure, as Blaine delivered loving little nips to his throat. He didn’t even consciously think about it before he said what came next: “Mmmm, I love you.“

Blaine stopped nuzzling, raised his head, and looked at Kurt amusingly.

Kurt began to panic. “Wait, why did you stop? Oh God, is it too soon to say it? It’s too soon…“

Blaine shushed him and nudged him back down. “No, no no no, Kurt, it’s okay. Besides,” Blaine brushed Kurt’s hair back tenderly, “I love you too. I was just taken aback because I figured I’d be the one to say it first.”

Kurt laughed and rolled his eyes. ”Well, I had to beat you at something eventually, didn’t I?”

“If you’re trying to get a rise out of me, Hummel, it doesn’t work anymore. We're no longer rivals, remember?”

Blaine yelped in shock as Kurt flipped them over, pinning his hands above his head and grinding their pelvises together.

He squeezed his eyes and groaned, “Oh, okay, that kind of rise...”

#THE END #klaine advent 2021 #klaine advent: rise #anyway here's wonderwall #pink writes things #this fic is now COMPLETE

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newyorkthegoldenage · 3 years

Text

The Broadway Tattler

Scandal sheets thrived during the Golden Age, too, though at least they weren’t sold at supermarket checkouts. The Broadway Tattler seems to have had a short life—the only issues I’ve seen have been from 1933 to 1934. It succeeded similar rags like Broadway Brevities and New York Tattler, which had closed down (the former by force of law). It was structured like a regular newspaper, with sections like “news,” finance, sports, etc., but focused on the world of entertainment. There were no photographs, but lots of illustrations, and the emphasis was on “revelations” and cartoons as salacious as possible, as can be seen from the front pages of the February, April, and June 1933 editions, above.

#1930s #supermarket tabloids #newspapers #scandal

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amwritesitall · 4 years

Text

TV Show Preferences for the Sarahs (AHS+Alice+Tammy+Harriet)

Masterlist

None of you asked for this but I have some thoughts lol

Billie Dean Howard

The Lana Winters Special

I stand by this. Billie Dean is a Lana Winters fan

Some nights when she’s up late she’ll turn on a late night talk show

I also feel like Billie would lowkey love game shows?

Like she would love to play along sometimes quietly

Sometimes yelling at the television

Might watch a paranormal show occasionally

But most of the time she ends up getting annoyed at how fake it is

“They’re not even trying!”

“You’re not supposed to do that!?!”

“Billie, maybe we should watch something else?”

Lana Winters

Watches the evening news every night

She likes to remain informed on everything going on

I mean it’s kind of her job to be informed

She watches any special news event

Enjoys the political satire that is sometimes on SNL

Post Asylum Lana wouldn’t watch a lot crime documentary shows about serial killers and such because it would give her flashbacks

She would watch limited series though like Hollywood

She would totally watch Mrs. America

Docu series Hillary

Might watch The Handmaid’s Tale

Cordelia Goode

Cordelia watches TV occasionally to unwind

I don’t think she has many favorite shows though

She’s content just to watch whatever you want to

She just wants to wrap her arms around you and hold you close while you watch your favorite

If it’s a magical show she definitely would crack quite a few jokes on how wrong it is

Bette and Dot Tattler

Bette likes to watch those dramas targeted for teens

Or soap operas

She LOVES the drama

And I feel like Dot would kind of lowkey like them

She’ll roll her eyes but secretly be into it

She likes to guess what’s going to happen next

Dot likes mystery shows

And some spooky shows that cause Bette to hide her face in your shoulder

Sally McKenna

Out of everyone Sally would be most likely to watch American Horror Story

True crime shows

And on the total opposite end of the spectrum she would watch reality TV shows

But she’d get annoyed with the Kardashians

Ru Paul’s Drag Race?

Live tweets whatever she’s watching whether it be a competition show, reality TV, or drama show

Audrey Tindall

Audrey Tindall is a Billie Dean fan so she’s watching Billie Dean’s show

Because they’re married

Audrey strikes me as the one who’d watch a ton of reality TV

Probably watches Project Runway

The Real Housewives

She’s a fan of the Beverly Hills ladies and New York

Below Deck and all of the spin offs

Reality TV is a good way for her to decompress from a stressful day at work

Also seems like she’d watch Dynasty

Audrey loves drama and hot people

Ally Mayfair Richards

Ally cannot watch crime shows like Law and Order: SVU and all that

She is WAY to paranoid

Watches the news religiously

Especially during times of crisis

You have to pull her away from the TV at times to get her to stop dwelling over it

During election years and the time leading up to it, she will watch every single debate and town hall meeting

You and her watch Oz’s shows with him sometimes

So she does know quite a bit about superhero shows

And other random action shows because if Oz likes something, she tries her best to get to know it as well as she can

Wilhemina Venbale

Wilhemina would watch the news every morning before work as she drinks her coffee and every night around dinner time

Mina does not watch TV without a purpose unless you want to watch something

But by herself she will rarely watch TV unless she’s learning something

I feel like she would watch PBS if she isn’t watching the news

She appreciates the period dramas

Masterpiece Mystery

Alice Macray

Would be a regular to the Cooking Channel, Food Network, and HGTV

The Great British Baking Show

At first you don’t see the appeal, but then she insists you watch it with her and you finally get it

The show just radiates good vibes like Alice does

She would also like a good PG sit com

Alice is so pure

Most likely to watch Shark Week?

Would love nature documentaries

Tammy

When does Tammy even get to watch shows that aren’t meant for children?

There is almost always some children’s show on TV

She’s always either with her kids or working on her side hustle

When she finally get’s time for herself, she would be like Alice and watch HGTV

The thought of Tammy watching Shark Tank makes me chuckle

Tammy wouldn’t be opposed to many shows, so she would be alright with whatever you would want to watch

Harriet Hayes

Harriet has some odd work hours so she doesn’t really get to watch that much TV

She would enjoy a light hearted comedy

She tries not to get into shows too much when Studio 60′s not on break

Breaks are the only time she really gets to watch much television

Could be a little into crime shows?

Harriet’s taste in television would be all over the place

And when she really likes a show she’ll binge the hell out of it once she gets the chance

You might like: Sarah’s AHS Characters’ (+Alice, Tammy, and Harriet) Sleepwear or Sarah Paulson’s AHS Characters’ Best School Subjects

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cainov · 5 years

Text

nonbinary — ever hear people say CAIN ROMANOV looks a lot like BILL SKARSGARD? I think HE/THEY is about 24, so it doesn’t really work. The ANTIQUE BOOKSHOP OWNER has lived in Livingstone for TWENTY-FOUR YEARS. They can be RIGHTEOUS, but they can also be EVASIVE. I think CAIN might be A SHEEP. ( snot goblin. 20. EST. she/they. )

hi hello ... decided 2 bring in my son ... my soft boy ... my light ... some of u may know him from watershed but ! here he is again ! forced upon u all. please love him as i’m very fragile. ** i’ve changed parts of his bio so !! if u think u knew all the deetz ,,, but please be warned that it’s PRETTY HEAVY STUFF !!

pleathe LIKE this to PLOT and i promise i will not abandon u all like the other times usfdg

TW: CULT LIFE, HEROIN USAGE / ADDICTION, DRUG ADDICTION / USE / ABUSE, EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, ABUSE, MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES ( PTSD, ANXIETY ). if i forgot anything PLEASE tell me !!

a e s t h e t i c s

dangling limbs from tree branches, yellowed book pages, opened bottles of vintage wine, oversized sweaters and deep under eyes, bleached denim, worn leather gloves, cat hair against black cloth, fields of wheat, broken windows, descending staircases, tight-lipped smiles during public appearances, golden skies, light spilling from windows, stumbling over one’s own words, wire-framed beds, linens, wool scarves, making the wrong decisions; running, from others and yourself.

general information !!

full name: cain alexei romanov

nickname(s): cock and ball torture, N/A

b.o.d. - feb 19th, fuckin pisces

label(s): the fallen, the phoenix, the crestfallen, etc. etc.

height: 6′4″ jfc

hometown: livingstone, VT babey !!

sexuality: bi…? bi. yes. bi.

stats

biography !!

the eldest to vermont senator vaughn romanov and philanthropist adelaide romanov - they were born into a life of privilege in a very prominent family. they’re the eldest of five.

with this background in mind - cain was taught to be the perfect citizen, the golden child, the all american ( willfully ignoring the fact that his father came from russian immigrants ) son. they were obedient, always staying within line.

several expectations for them included joining clubs at school such as model UN, debate, DECA, etc., sports (soccer, track, basketball, lacrosse - all throughout the years), student government (class president for at least one year), and maintaining a GPA status valedictorian-worthy.

was made to volunteer on the weekends at homeless shelters and food banks - to show the community how much of a gem he was, a darling - a perfect member of society.

his eagerness to impress pleased his parents and thus, he never had a problem with them. life was good for them. they attended church on sundays, sometimes wednesdays, did everything as a family. dinners and christmas photoshoots and new years eve parties, easter egg hunts and family reunions.

lived northside, not on the beach but close enough to it - a big fancy, seven bedroom, eight bath, two fireplaces and an expansive dining room - no pool, but a sturdy treehouse made by scratch.

his ~model citizen~ persona was just that - a persona, a charade. in the community and his family, cain was a hardworking citizen who upheld standards to follow. to classmates - from elementary school all the way to college - cain was the worst.

they were arrogant, harrowing, an outright bully who tore down others when he felt like it, often unprovoked - they were the senator’s son, and a rich one at that - rules never applied to him because of his father and their family’s presence in the community. tattlers faced more consequences than cain ever did.

was the sort of person who’d genuinely look down at somebody if they had less than him. a narcissistic dickhead who cared about two or three people, tops, outside of his family. he was never physically violent, nor did he raise his voice - but that was what’s made it worse. cain spewed his classist bullshit with ease.

his best friends since childhood have been brooks hunter and michael green - a very troublesome trio based on their mutual love for power highs.

only redeeming quality back then was probably their protectiveness over his siblings - wasn’t the best person, but family was family.

went into political science + business to please their father, mainly - everything they’d been taught growing up was essentially to build them into a perfect little presidential candidate.

probably joined a frat though didn’t participate in parties too often - known for keeping his composition even when others resorted to violence, because he never liked to leave a bad press image. this attitude was the same when it came to parties and other ... taboo subjects,

sometime during college, two important things happened.

the first one was that he became a middleman / broker / whatever you’d like to call it. wasn’t producing product, but wasn’t dealing it. was the middleman, the connection between producers and dealers. it was for fun - never for profit. very hush-hush.

the second is that he met earl and may meyers. they were fellow volunteers at a thanksgiving food drive, and the older couple were immediately drawn to cain - and him to them, essentially. to this day he can’t tell you what about them had been so appealing. just, the air around them was something else entirely. some would probably call it unhinged, some would call it comforting. they were kind folks, very down to earth, very religious and warmhearted. they liked his name being cain a whole lot; told him that he reminded him of their late son.

it was the beginning of his senior year in college for cain - a few years after he’d gotten started in the drug business - the couple volunteered more and more at the same places that cain would, the same times, almost as if they were learning his schedule. in retrospect, it was odd, but cain had never thought to suspect the elderly of anything ... deceiving. kept talking to them and it became a genuine friendship.

a few months into it, the couple started talking about the sin of wealth - god choosing only a select few when he cleanses the earth - only the worthiest souls - eventually they’d gotten into the rhythm of claiming cain was special. they could see he would be selected - see it in his aura, in their dreams - god personally speaking to to them, etc. etc.

it was ... oddly appealing to cain - like, maybe i am being constrained by capitalism and disappointing god - even though it had felt nearly ridiculous - it seeped into his mind.

this was essentially the result of emotional manipulation over a period of time - cain unsuspecting, unwilling to believe that he could be manipulated - always so sure in himself.

earl and may told him that they were going to leave livingstone - that there were so many more who had the same ideals as them, that it was time to join them - that it was time to prepare. cain held off from it, at first - having just graduated.

he had so much in livingstone - loyal companions and a close-knit family, a blooming side-business and a long-term girlfriend and an engagement ring burning in his pocket. he was still the same boy - cruel without cause. but he’d found himself surrounded by others, anyway.

within a month of newfound freedom - cain had a change of heart. the third most important event in his life had happened.

it was an average day - june, hot enough that sweat stuck to your skin, but not hot enough that you weren’t glad for it. a family bbq the entire day - relatives from all around - cain had been cleaning up with his mother when, out of nowhere, she had broken down in sobs.

essentially - after a long ... discussion, cain learned that they were not his father’s son.

in a fit of petty anger towards the beginning of their marriage, adelaide had cheated on vaughn. the result was cain.

it was the sort of news that breaks a person. his entire life - he idolized his parents, done everything they’d ever expect of him - let them mold him into whatever they pleased. to find out that his mother - a woman who, he had previously believed, could never tell a lie in her life - was a liar, and that his father - the man he looked up to most as a child - didn’t share the same blood as him.

cain unraveled. that week. several altercations, both sober and drunk - landing in county jail overnight - only to disappear without notice on june 21st, 2018.

it was treated as a missing persons’ case, the first week or so - until it had been determined that cain left on his own accord, then it was dropped much to the dismay of his family.

BEGINNING OF CULT / DRUG / MOST OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS

only earl and may knew where cain went - because they had left together, cain’s last minute decision. cain’s mistake. the fourth most important thing to happen to him.

only hours away from livingstone - on the border between new york and vermont and not nearly far away as cain would had liked - was the cult’s location. they wore white linens and cotton - never mixed, and technology had been abandoned. prayers and daily chores.

it felt ... natural, at first - for the first three months - it was grand, in the beginning, peaceful, mind-clearing. they treated him differently - as if he were something special, as if his birth was a gift - a sign from the heavens above. cain come to undo his past’s damage. a leader, perhaps. the longer he stayed - the more apparent it became that he wasn’t who they had long waited for.

once they began slipping up - the members became displeased with him and punishments occurred - sometimes once a week, sometimes multiple. the memories are suppressed, for the most part - but they can’t forget the hands. pulling, and tugging, and gripping, and begging - asking him to repent, please, repent - head held underwater, counting seconds until his vision goes out - pulled out gasping and sobbing. it repeats in their mind - each day blurring into one another.

once he started reacting violently - they found ways to subdue him.

heroin intake - little by little, everyday - enough to leave him in a high he wouldn’t remember - enough to burn a hole through his memory.

with memories becoming dimmer each day - cain managed to sneak paper and pencil into his ~living arrangement~ and he wrote everyday - wrote as much as he could remember about livingstone, about his family, about his life before. sometimes he couldn’t remember what he’d written previously.

when these were found - it had been the final straw. they had dragged him, kicking and screaming and mind-numbingly high into place - a twisted reenactment / retelling of the mark of cain and a brand of the mark burnt permanently into his skin right above his heart - forehead not an option due to difficulties fully subduing cain (he bit them).

left to die in the middle of woods afterwards, with nothing but his writing and the clothes on his back - cain shouldn’t had had the strength to go on - but they did. they didn’t know what day it was - really, what year it was - but cain got up and cain ran. and cain, obviously, survived.

it was pure luck that cain had run into a truck driver who wasn’t doubling as a murderer - one who took him to the hospital - who essentially, gave cain another chance to live. cain was found on june 21st, 2019.

END OF CULT / DRUG / MOST OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. STILL MENTIONS OF TRAUMA / MENTAL HEALTH / RECOVERY / ADDICTION BEYOND THIS POINT.

immediately reunited by his family - everything went very fast. he couldn’t recognize his youngest sibling, but couldn’t remember why he’d left in the first place. couldn’t remember the name of his girlfriend, but the color of her hair and the way she smelled.

put into therapy and recovery for their addiction - vaughn romanov makes his announcement that he’s running for the 2020 election the day after cain is found and brought home. they’re not expected to be alright within a few weeks of therapy - but cain feels restrained, in a way - confined to the role he’d always had to play. expected to up, and continue with life as if he hadn’t endured an extremely traumatizing year.

is essentially forced to stay in livingstone for the time being - but cain has taken a few things into his own hands. they’ll go to therapy, work on their recovery - but, having no further interest in what he’d gotten a degree in - has decidedly bought himself an antique bookshop off of the owner looking to retire, and has taken shelter in the apartment above it.

with their four cats, of course. his parents agreed - purely to give him the space to recover whilst keeping him close to them. if only he hadn’t found recovery to be most helpful in the form of pills - his old business now turned into a way for him to get what he believes will make him better.

personality !!

to clarify - cain is no longer the douchebag they once were. kind of .. learned to be a better person with his entire experience - mostly a lot of self-blaming that boils down to karma and deserving what happened to him.

he’d always been a pretty ... quiet, person - even with the massive ego - but now, cain’s ... quieter. kinder, if not a little sarcastic. distant and not much for parties - that never changed - but it’s more of a ... restrictive, distance, than one of comfort.

smokes weed but rarely drinks - as if it’d make a difference with the pills addiction he’s using to battle his heroin one.

like mentioned - they’ve got four cats. that’s their personality. had two of ‘em before he’d disappeared, and just got the other two probably ... yesterday, tbh. they’re named frank (big chungus when yelled - white and gray), brock (orange. fluffy. stoic. devours food.), shoelace (black-furred and missing an eye), and crunchwrap supreme (crunch for short, calico with bent ears).

probably has photos of their cats in his wallet.

parents help pay for the cost of owning the bookshop - though cain’s expected to fully take on the financial responsibility when he’s ‘well again’.

their memory is fucked. forgets a lot of things - short term, long term, it’s a struggle. managed to keep the notes they used to take back at the cult - so it helps, but not always. forgets dates, faces, names, events. he wakes up sometimes and doesn’t know where they are.

they don’t sleep a lot, regardless - night terrors came with his trauma, and in an attempt to avoid ‘em, they don’t really ... sleep. only a few hours each night because it gets so bad.

cain suffers from severe touch aversion. skin-to-skin contact of any sort is enough to send them into an intense panic attack. they wear leather gloves more often than not, in an attempt to combat it without hindering them too much. not the biggest fan of body contact in general, even with clothes - but it won’t send him into a panic like bare skin will. makes it obvious from the get-go that he doesn’t like physical contact if somebody gets too close.

also dealing with ptsd and attends therapy every week - therapist recommended he kept writing after looking at his notes - so he does, keeps an entire journal where they write and like ... sketch a little, because it helps them cope. means more to them than it would seem.

they’re pretty blunt. won’t go out of their way to announce that they joined a cult, hence the disappearance - but won’t lie about their disappearance if the topic comes to it. cain doesn’t like delusions, doesn’t like secrets - doesn’t like unnecessary attention, either.

being said uh ... cain sort of hates the new division ? anything that resembles a cult, he instantly hates. hates the watershed app too.

being in town keeps cain anxious, because they’re aware they’ve wronged a good amount of people - but it’s hard to remember who, and what, and when, and why - and it’s just. an entire ordeal of figuring out how to ... redeem himself to multiple people.

screwed over a lot of people when they left ! from their plugs / customers to their ex-girlfriend who they are, undeniably, still in love with - you can’t forget that feeling - to his friends.

isn’t ... aware that michael is in prison. isn’t aware that kieran is dead. hasn’t been told yet.

is high often ! says it’s just weed but ... it’s not !

hates cars and swimming and crowds - hates feeling trapped and will avoid it when possible. doesn’t want to be seen as unsociable, but it’s difficult.

climbs trees when overwhelmed and needs a space to think - has a tall tree right outside of the window of his apartment, on the side opposite of the street if that makes sense ?? can be found there often. like - won’t leave a conversation to go climbin’ but. y’know.

feels the need to redeem themself to ... everybody, really. wants to avoid conflict and wants to be a better person - they’re trying really hard but not everybody believes them.

really .. wouldn’t be surprised if people from livingstone were suspicious of cain, for whatever reason - they don’t have the best track record anymore !

they’ve got a stutter that developed as a result of the trauma - their voice is damaged from screaming a lot. working on being less self-conscious about it, thinks there’s more important things to worry about. in general cain looks ... gaunt, too thin, generally unhealthy.

they can still definitely hold a conversation, and like i said they’re pretty…lowkey. soft, sort of. generally a quiet person and while they’re not the most social, they won’t be a direct asshole or anything. likes people! just…has low energy.

goes by he/they, doesn’t really care which one as he alternates pretty frequently.

very happy with being the owner of a bookshop - especially antique. feels more genuine than political science or whatever.

got really into the investigation of the cult he was part of - they got uncovered and arrested due to cain’s escape but there’s still branches out there - you could call him obsessed. willing to stick his nose where he shouldn’t, even though he really ... really shouldn’t.

wanted connections !!

so first and foremost - people who he’s grown up with his entire life. people he’s just. wronged. people who idolized him - people who envied him, who despised him, etc. etc.

would love ! a good amount of antagonistic connections because it fits the bill.

exes he’s dumped, old hookups, ex-friends, people he got into an argument with / fought before he disappeared last year.

ex-gf would be gr8 ! thanks ! will be holding american-idol-esque auditions.

any prominent families in livingstone that his family would know. family friends - family rivals. his siblings.

people he’s trying to redeem himself to - trying to prove his worth, that he’s better now. y’know.

old clients that he left in the dust !

people from his frat - people he used to go to the occasional party with.

people angry at cain, still. just. so mad. pissed completely.

some good ol’ reconnecting / reconciliation plots ! i’m a slut for slowburn friendships. enemies to friends.

people he used 2 bully.

wholesome shit, angst shit. i said slowburns but i love them. friends to enemies. enemies to bigger enemies. anything.

no. hookups. please. only previous encounters. nothing in the present. for obvious reasons.

except MAYBE sexual tension but the kind that hurts. maybe a fun, casual sexting thing. they’ve got needs too.

people who just hate his dad b/c politicians suck !

i imagine a lot of conversations between him n other people start out ... aggressive, because they’re mad at him. :/

people who are soft for them ?? people who are hard on him ?? make his life difficult but also uwu him.

i’ll rly take anything !! just like this so i can slither in !!

#cult tw #drug addiction tw #drug abuse tw #abuse tw #heroin tw #mental illness tw #ptsd tw #livingintro

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thatsbelievable · 2 years

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#My Sandwich is Worth Millions!#T. Allison Inkspotte #sandwich #sandwiches #money #vintage #newspaper #articles #article #The New York Tattler #June 8 #1901

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cainromainelettuce · 5 years

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( non-binary ) haven’t seen CAIN ROMANOV around in a while. the BILL SKARSGARD lookalike has been known to be (+) RIGHTEOUS & (+) AMBITIOUS, but HE/THEY can also be (-) EVASIVE & (-) UNTRUSTING. The 24 year old is a SENIOR majoring in BUSINESS. I believe they’re living in EMERITUS, but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( snot goblin. 20. EST. she/they. )

surprise !! i am the snot goblin ! (aka james aka saige aka amos aka aleta) !! i very much apologize for this intro being late !! and also for possibly being pretty long.

EDIT: i forgot to mention but 1. like this if u’d like to plot w/ him !! obv !! and then 2. if discord is easier for any of u, my thing is emo stan #3644 uwu

TW: CULT LIFE, HEROIN USAGE / ADDICTION, DRUG ADDICTION / USE / ABUSE, EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, ABUSE, MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES ( PTSD, ANXIETY ). if i forgot anything PLEASE tell me !!

a e s t h e t i c s

dangling limbs from tree branches, yellowed book pages, opened bottles of vintage wine, oversized sweaters and deep under eyes, bleached denim, worn leather gloves, cat hair against black cloth, fields of wheat, broken windows, descending staircases, tight-lipped smiles during public appearances, golden skies, light spilling from windows, stumbling over one's own words, wire-framed beds, linens, wool scarves, making the wrong decisions; running, from others and yourself.

general information !!

full name: cain alexei romanov

nickname(s): cock and ball torture, N/A

b.o.d. - feb 19th, fuckin pisces

label(s): the fallen, the phoenix, the crestfallen, etc. etc.

height: 6′4″ jfc

hometown: rochester, ny babey !!

sexuality: bi...? bi. yes. bi.

stats

biography !!

cain, like all of my other children, was born into a life of privilege. his father’s a senator of new york and his mother’s a philanthropist; both pretty prominent figures. cain is the eldest of five.

he was raised in mind of keeping a good public reputation, taught to be the perfect citizen. essentially, he was a golden child who could really do no wrong. as a child, he’d always aim to please his parents in any way he could.

this included joining several clubs during school, such as model UN, debate, DECA, etc. etc. as well as a few sports (soccer, track, basketball, lacrosse -- all throughout the years, not at once). pretty sure he’s been a class president once or twice, and has been in the lead for valedictorian.

his whole thing was that he was supposed to be perfect. volunteered on the weekends at homeless shelters and food banks and like...he just did The Most. the absolute most

this pleased his parents, and he never had a problem with them. life was good. they attended church on sundays, sometimes wednesdays, always did things as a Family. like, we’re talking family dinners and christmas photoshoots and new year eve parties.

probably lived in a gated community tbh

he went into college strong, started off as a double major in political science and business, lookin’ to take after both his parents. he’d Always been fairly close to tatiana, being around the same age as her. nothing freaky ever happened among them, and i wouldn’t have really called them...friends, if that makes sense? they were confidantes, they vented to each other for whatever reasons at the time.

however this whole ~do no wrong~ bearing was a charade. in the community and his families’ eye, cain was just this precious, hardworking citizen who gave back when possible.

those who actually, genuinely knew him knew he was just a dick lmfao

arrogant, harrowing, and an outright bully who tore down others when he felt like it -- often unprovoked. he was the senator’s son and a rich one at that, and ever since middle school he was just...mean !

because of his father and his family’s general position in the community, tattlers were the ones getting in trouble rather than cain, who’d often go without punishment for his attitude.

like...was That Bitch who’d actually, genuinely look down at somebody if they had less than him. just an absolute narcissistic dickhead who only cared about like, maybe two or three people outside of his family.

his only redeeming quality was probably his protectiveness over his siblings tbh -- even if he wasn’t ... the best person, nobody was rly allowed to fuck w/ his family.

this carried into college, he probably joined one of the frats too, y’know. known for keeping his composition even when others resorted to violence, ‘cos he never liked to get physical. it would’ve been bad for press, y’know ??

sometime during college, two important things happened.

the first one is that he became a sort of...middleman? broker? he wasn’t the one creating/growing what he was selling, but he wasn’t the one dealing them. y’know, he was the middleman. took drugs and sold them to dealers to sell, for profit, for funsies. very hush-hush for the obvious reasons.

the second is that he met earl and may meyers. they were fellow volunteers at a thanksgiving food drive, and the older couple were immediately drawn to cain -- and him to them, essentially. to this day he can’t tell you what about them had been so appealing. just, the air around them was something else entirely. some would probably call it unhinged. they were kind folks, very down to earth, very religious and warmhearted. they liked his name being cain a whole lot; told him that he reminded him of their late son.

i’d say the beginning of this was late junior year for cain. the couple volunteered more and more at the same places as cain, as often as he did -- which, in retrospect was odd -- but cain hadn’t really known better. being the Good Samaritan he acted as, he kept talking to them. it became a genuine friendship. a few months into it, they had started talking about like...the sin of wealth and what it does to your soul, god choosing only a select few to be saved when he eventually cleanses the earth, etc. etc. they claimed that cain was special, one of those to be selected, they could see it in his aura, etc. etc.

it was...oddly appealing to him? like hmm..maybe i am being constrained by capitalism and disappointing god!

but like...this was mostly because of a lot of emotional manipulation for a duration of months -- and he had never once suspected anything like that to be happening. cain had always been so sure of himself, that he’d never imagined one day being manipulated, even if he was manipulative himself.

earl and may told him that they were going to leave rochester, that there were so many more who had the same ideals as them -- it was time to join them, to be saved. cain held off from this, as a senior in college by now.

after all, he had his perfect lil family and a good side-business going on, and he had a long term girlfriend who put up with his shenanigans. cain was still an absolute asshole to others but he had at least found his crowd to all be collectively awful and full of themselves, y’know?

over winter break, however, cain had a change of heart pretty suddenly.

for the third important thing had happened.

it had started off as a pretty average, normal day. christmas had gone and passed -- it was one of the days between christmas and new years eve, y’know? a period of days where time nor place is real. like walmart at midnight, or an empty 7/11 parking lot. during a seemingly normal conversation about his ancestry with his mother, she had suddenly broken down in sobs.

it was during this discussion that she revealed, to cain only -- that he was not his father’s son.

the beginning of vaughn and adelaide’s marriage had a pretty...rocky start, to say the least, and in a night of petty anger, adelaide had cheated on vaughn. this resulted in the pregnancy that wound up with cain.

the news rocked cain’s world in a very bad way, the sort of way that breaks a person. his entire life he looked up to his parents, did everything they ever asked of him, molded himself into perfection for the hope of being a sliver of a man his father was. and to learn that his father was not, actually, his father?

within the week he’d gotten into several altercations, both sober and drunk, and had landed in county jail overnight. nobody knows where cain went on new years eve, but he hadn’t skipped town until the third -- according to tatiana, who had received one last gift from him on the 2nd (her birthday).

then, he was gone. it wasn’t a missings person ordeal -- cain had made it very known that he was leaving rochester and that he had skipped town. hadn’t even broken up with his girlfriend before doing so. hell -- hadn’t even told the people he worked for.

BEGINNING OF CULT / DRUG / MOST OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS

only earl and may knew where cain went. because he went with them to the place they had told him so much about. this was the fourth most important thing to happen to him, because it changed his life.

cain didn’t know what a cult looked like, but it felt pretty accurate to hollywood’s interpretations. they lived separate from society in rural new york -- not nearly as far away as cain would’ve liked, but thank god in the long run for that. the people wore white, linens and cotton. there was no technology, just prayer and daily chores. money meant nothing, there.

i want to keep this part relatively short, so i’ll try my hardest. cain was only in the cult for three-ish months before he escaped. the beginning was grand -- it was peaceful, it was mind-clearing. he was treated as something special, his name being some sort of ... message, a sign that he’d been a gift for the group. that he’d be, ultimately, an eventual leader for them. however -- the longer he stayed with them, the more apparent it became that he wasn’t the messager they had long waited for.

he began slipping up. they became displeased with him. punishments occurred. sometimes once a week, sometimes multiple. he remembers hundreds of hands, pulling and tugging and gripping and begging -- asking him to repent, please, repent, and submergence on more than one occasion. these were not the worst.

they were convinced that he couldn’t truly be cleansed of his sins unless he forgot his past life.

fun fact: heroin in small doses, daily, can lead to memory loss.

though it’d only been around three months of this -- it really felt longer to cain. time wasn’t a concept. there was only the ground they walked on, and god, and that was that.

drugged and weakened but still kickin’, he had gotten into a particularly violent, brutal fight with earl. this was the last straw. cain had attempted to murder his ‘brother’. this led to his next punishment.

in a particularly twisted reenactment / retelling, cain had been branded with the cult’s interpretation of the mark of cain (they were going to be accurate and place it upon his forehead, but after a lot of resistance [he bit somebody] it was, begrudgingly, placed atop his heart instead) and left for dead in the middle of nowhere.

by all means, he probably should’ve died. by miracle, though cain was no longer a believer -- he was found by a farmer.

END OF CULT / DRUG / MOST OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. STILL MENTIONS OF TRAUMA / MENTAL HEALTH / RECOVERY BEYOND THIS POINT.

by early april he’d been reunited with his family. things went very fast, suddenly, for him. recovering from his forced addiction, and the trauma he’d been put in within only a small amount of months -- and his father’s reputation -- his mother’s inability to look him in the eye -- cain took matters into his own hands and, rather than return to lockwood, put in his transfer to hendrix.

because he’s a grown man who, while recovering from being in a cult, can still make his own decisions even if they’re irrational. he should’ve taken a year off, really, and recover. but he couldn’t imagine staying in his house, either, and generally ?? his mind was just a very messy place.

he went to hendrix a s a p, before his term in the summer even began. he wound up at hendrix a few weeks (like...three?) before the lockwood kids and was very dismayed to find out that oh, coincidence, there’s an abroad semester attending !!

so that’s sort of where he’s at rn.

personality !!

okay so...douchebag cain is No More. they’re retired.

to the hendrix students they’ve familiarized themself with, they’re a pretty quiet person. well-meaning, kind enough if not a little sarcastic. sort of distant, not much for parties. smokes weed and like, drinks occasionally, but not much else. definitely doesn’t do anything harder.

they’ve got four cats. that’s their entire personality. four cats. they got them all after transferring to hendrix and like ... no regrets ?

i imagine their parents still pay for their schooling ‘cos it’s not like their father Knows that cain’s not his child. if anything, vaughn just thinks that cain suffered a mental breakdown and needed a break.

anyways. they love their cats a lot. like, probably has photos of them in their wallet.

as mentioned above, their memory is pretty...fucked up right now. they don’t forget anything major, but there are days where it takes them a while to remember faces or names and sometimes they wake up and won’t know where they are.

not that they really...sleep a lot? they have night terrors, which fuck with their sleep schedule. they sleep only for a few hours each night because the nightmares are too bad.

cain suffers from severe touch aversion. skin-to-skin contact of any sort is enough to send them into a pretty bad panic attack. they wear leather gloves more often than not, because it helps without hindering them too much. they’re not the biggest fan of body contact in general, even with clothes, but it won’t send them into a panic like bare skin will. they make sure their few friends know that they don’t really like physical contact at all.

they’re dealing with PTSD, attends therapy every week. keeps an entire journal where they write b/c it helps them cope. it’s like, everything to them.

they’re...sort of like...blunt? they won’t go out of their way to be like ‘hey i joined a cult and it fucked me up pretty badly’ but they won’t lie about it either if the topic somehow comes to that. they don’t like delusions, but they don’t like drawing unnecessary attention to them either.

lockwood students being at hendrix makes them pretty anxious, just because they were looking to sort of ... rebuild themself into a better person, and like pretty much most students at lockwood knows how much of a massive tool they used to be. not to mention like, their plugs and customers they screwed over by leaving, and their ex girlfriend who they’re still probably in love with ?? but it’s just complicated now.

smokes weed to soothe them rather than just get high. is probably stoned often.

doesn’t really like cars! or swimming! or crowds. doesn’t like to feel trapped.

whenever they’re overwhelmed and needs to be away from everything, they’ve developed a habit of climbing into trees. they won’t suddenly go jump in a tree during a conversation, but more so at night or when they need to think.

probably trying to redeem themself in some sort of way. because while they want to avoid the lockwood students as much as possible, that’s not right. they want to fix the shit they’ve done and be a better person, because the whole...situation they’ve been in has opened their eyes.

uuuhh...there are days where they forget that tatiana’s dead. so that’s sad.

i wouldn’t be surprised if people from lockwood were suspicious of cain, considering they left rochester only a week or so before tatiana went missing, and just so happened to come to hendrix around the same time eva went missing ??

oh !! cain developed a stutter, and their voice is a little damaged from...screaming. a lot. in general they look a little gaunt, a little unhealthy.

they can still definitely hold a conversation, and like i said they’re pretty...lowkey. soft, sort of. generally a quiet person and while they’re not the most social, they won’t be a direct asshole or anything. likes people! just...has low energy.

goes by he/they, doesn’t really care which one as he alternates pretty frequently.

dropped the political science part of his major and like...unfortunately is very much unhappy with being a business major atm. he might just go through another four years of college in a diff major or fuck off all together.

EDIT: i forgot to mention that he’s sort of really into the investigation of the cult he was part of b/c they’re still like...out there. also fascinated by the watershed app and shit, ‘cos they fucking...hate this shit with a passion. probably willing to stick their nose into places they shouldn’t

wanted connections !!

so first and foremost, cain would’ve been known around lockwood. connections relating to that would be v much appreciated !!

mostly enemies or people they’ve wronged, tbh, ‘cos he was a massive dick.

exes they’ve dumped, hook ups, ex-friends, people he’s gotten into arguments or fights with.

his ex gf would be gr8 . if anybody would like some angst.

uuhhh i’d imagine he’d know a few of the other prominent families from rochester, especially. not to say that they would’ve all gotten along.

hendrix pals !! give me some solid friendships based on mutual respect.

people cain used to receive drugs from and people he used to send those drugs to.

ex-party pals ??

people suspicious of them b/c cain was/is a very suspicious person. people still angry at them.

let them RECONNECT and FIX FRIENDSHIPS

people he’d bully or fuck with or whatever.

wholesome shit. angst shit. slowburns, anyone ?!? enemies to friends. friends to enemies. enemies to bigger enemies.

i’m not taking hook-ups for....obvious reasons.

but sexual tension is welcomed. maybe a sexting thing ??

ppl they DON’T even know that well but hATE his dAD because FUCK POLITICIANS y’know ?!?

old pals from lockwood, if i didnt mention that.

i imagine a lot of conversations w/ lockwood kids begin like ‘this is where u fucked off to, huh?’ b/c like....they told everybody they were ditching rochester. it wasn’t a secret or a shock. but it’s still like huh. u bastard.

people who are soft for them ??

people who are hard on him ??

make his life difficult but also uuuhh uwu him

#water:intro #drug abuse tw #abuse tw #cult tw #mental illness tw #ptsd tw #sorry this is so late folks !!

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victusinveritas · 5 years

Photo

Taken from the New York Tattler, July 8, 1909.

#bones #grave goods #that sort of thing #news item

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nitinraiphotographyblog · 2 years

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Best fashion photographer in India

Fashion and photography go hand in hand. Photography designers and their clothes act as a means of communication between the designer and the audience. When it comes to the world of “fashion”, it cannot survive without the action of lights and cameras.

“The fashion market is fiercely demanding and all the responsibility of how clothes are displayed in advertisements, catalogues, and calendars falls on the shoulders of a fashion photographer. So, one really has to be the best in the job”, says Nitin Rai, the best fashion photographer in India.

Nitin Rai: Best fashion photographer in India:

Nitin Rai has more than three decades of experience as a photographer who has received a lot of fame and love at both national and international level. He has worked as a picture editor for major publications such as Sunday Magazine, Business Today, and Asia Times, a global daily newspaper which was published from New York, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Bangkok. Nitin has also photographed for designer collection of Rohit Kholsa (a leading designer of the 90s).

Apart from portraying renowned fashion brands at their best, Nitin Rai in his career of three decades has specialized in Portraiture, Landscapes, Documentary, Photojournalism, Food, Interiors & Product, Real Estate, and Industrial photography. His images appeared in Time Magazine, Der Spiegel, Stern, Figaro, Facts, Tattler, The Sunday Telegraph, and The Independent, among other publications.

Nitin currently supervises a team of photographers that provide clients with high-quality images. Aside from photography, the team creates coffee table books, calendars, and diaries, which they envision, design, and print.

He is the Director and Founder of The Raghu Rai Center for Photography India’s leading photography and visual arts school.

Qualities required to be the best fashion photographer: Says Nitin Rai:-

A good fashion photographer is someone who can go beyond making good images.

He or she should have the Midas touch to make images that contain mood, give expression and bring out each detail of the designer’s garments and accessories. This makes the garments and models look their artistic best and adds to the marketability of the outfits.

Each fashion image is a piece of art for me, and it must work by itself creatively, aesthetically , so much so that you would want to frame it and put it up on your walls to appreciate it.

“I pay attention to the smallest of details. If you wish to be the best fashion photographer in India, then the first and most important aspect to work on is meticulous attention to detail. You must ensure that lighting, backdrop, angle, theme and overall composition components are in sync. All these components are vital for a perfect image”, added the best fashion photographer in India (Nitin Rai).

The best fashion photographer should give undivided attention to the following factors:

Body language of the models

Expressions

Form and flow of the garments

Candid and free flowing images

Mood captured in the image

Timing of when to press the shutter to capture the right moment

Composition

Lighting

Background or location

Hair and make-up

Even a minor mistake in any of the above mentioned points, might ruin a fantastic image. Fashion photography is all about attention to detail and originality. As a result, a professional fashion photographer's duty is multifaceted in terms of bringing all of the aspects together to click that perfect shot to communicate the designer’s work to audiences.

Want to be the best fashion photographer in India?

If photography is not merely a frolicking activity for you and you want to work as a professional photographer to be the best fashion photographer in India, then it is important to learn the ropes of photography from the best photography institute in India. It may appear like a major leap to take the path of photography professionally, but if done with the right institute and best people, the path will become easier. As Nitin Rai teaches and nurtures the students himself at the Raghu Rai Center for Photography. His expert skills and knowledge has nurtured many students and helped them carve out beautiful careers.

More about Nitin Rai:

Nitin has won the Nikon international photo contest in 1992.

His photograph of the demolition of the Babri Masjid in 1992 was on the cover of Time Magazine.

Currently, he splits his time between teaching photography at the Raghu Rai Center for Photography and working on commercial tasks for a variety of clients, from corporations to publishing organizations.

Nitin's first solo show of photography, titled 'India: Continent of Circe-1’ was presented at Triveni Kala Sangam in 2009, and was organized by Ebrahim Alkazis of Art Heritage. He took part in an Art Elements group show, where his work was displayed alongside those of painters MF Husain, Ram Kumar, Raza, and Raghu Rai. In 2011, he created and participated in a display for the Global Buddhist Congregation that featured 13 national and international photographers. He had a picture display named 'Father and Son' at Dhoomimal Gallery in 2012 alongside his father Raghu Rai.

The following are some of Nitin's coffee table books:

IIT-Delhi

India 24 Hours, a best-seller put together by 16 leading Indian photographers

Rajasthan, a travel guide for Times Books, Singapore

Madhya Pradesh, a coffee table book along with 16 leading Indian photographers

Lakshadweep, the beautiful coral islands with Raghu Rai

If you wish to learn from the best photographer in India, then enrol at Raghu Rai centre for Photography and learn the skill from Mr. Nitin Rai himself.

If you want to know more about Nitin Rai, log on to :- www.nitinrai.com

#fashion photographer #fashion #best fashion photographer #fashion photographer India #fashion photography #nitin rai #raghu rai #nitin rai photography

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sacriledgy · 6 years

Text

i’m going to make a newspaper called the new york tattler and all it’ll be is 5 pages worth of what villains (and perhaps good guys) did that week that was bad

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chl0writes · 2 years

Text

SP Characters’ Hobbies.

Headcanon because I had lots of fun writing the last one :)

Billie Dean Howard.

Billie Dean is a busy lady, so free time can be a rarity.

As Billie spends a lot of the year away shooting, the pair of you are often apart. So when she comes home, anything she does do, it is an absolute necessity for you to be by her side.

The Wordle has Billie in a strong chokehold. She never misses a day and she gets particularly cocky when she does it in less attempts than you.

Billie loves to play games. Whether it’s a game on her phone or a board game, she loves to play. And she’s rather competitive.

Shopping. Billie Dean likes to spend money and it is no secret. She is always showering you with gifts.

Billie is a huge fan of the theatre. So are you. If she is ever filming in New York, she takes you along with her so you can catch a Broadway show every night.

This lady is obsessed with reality tv. She has binged every single real housewife programme and knows everything there is to know about each Kardashian.

Lana Winters.

Lana’s main hobby is writing. It is her job after all.

Lana loves to read. She tends to steer clear from the thrillers as they can be triggering to her. The classics are her favourite and she’s partial to a good romance.

Knitting is something Lana enjoys in small doses. She couldn’t ever make a blanket or a sweater because she would just get bored halfway through and give up.

Listen, Lana likes to dance- when nobody can see her. Or when she’s drunk. If she’s on her own and a good song comes on the radio, she will start to move. If she’s had one too many drinks In a bar or at a wedding, she will be all over that dance floor.

Do not ever let this lady in the kitchen. You thought you were a bad cook? Lana was worse. Food delivery services had become your best friend. She hates cooking, despises it.

Cordelia Goode.

Cordelia doesn’t have too many hobbies. She does however, adore plants.

She is very specific in the way that she waters them and the way that she positions them so the sun can hit them in the right place. You might have to ban her from the plant section in the store, because she has no self control when it comes to buying new plants and flowers for the house.

Cordelia has so much to give, which is why she truly adores teaching lessons to her girls.

You love to read but Cordelia doesn’t really have the ability to lose herself in a book the way you do.

There is nothing more relaxing to Cordelia than long walks in the evening, just as the sun is setting. It’s one of your favourite things to do together.

Bette & Dot Tattler.

These ladies love to bake. Baking with them often ends up in arguments because Dot is too bossy, and Bette is too messy, but it doesn’t ever stop them. You’re useless in the kitchen so you just sit back and observe.

They both love to sing. Not so much in public anymore, but singing to you when you’re watching the sunset or cozy by the fire is one of their favourite things to do.

They love sunsets, and stargazing. They would drag you outside almost every night to sit on the grass and gaze into the sky for hours.

Bette loves to experiment with makeup. She loves to stare at you while you do your own makeup every morning and is always asking you to put some on her. Dot however, does not and will not let you go anywhere near her face with a makeup brush.

Sally McKenna.

You

Before Sally had met you, her hobbies consisted of excessive drug use, binge drinking and chain smoking. She still does all of that. Just in smaller amounts. You are working really hard to wean her off of the drugs though.

Because of you, Sally rediscovered her love for music. You set her up with a Spotify account on her phone and she spends hours making all different kinds of playlists.

Sally had told you all about her music career in her past life. One day, you surprised her with a brand new guitar and she cried for a whole week.

You have never heard anybody play guitar like Sally McKenna. She is incredible. She loves to learn the chords of your favourite songs and within hours she is playing you the most beautiful acoustic renditions of them.

Sally sees herself as quite the influencer. She is always taking pictures and videos to share on her various social media accounts. She can lose herself to TikTok for hours.

Audrey Tindall.

Obviously acting is her whole life. Even when she isn’t on-screen, she definitely uses those wicked acting skills to her advantage.

Audrey always has new scripts to learn and she will always record herself reading through her lines on a voice memo. Audrey likes to run a lot, this way she can listen to her lines while she is running.

Audrey is an avid television watcher. You both spend hours binging on shows and having movie marathons.

She hates to clean. Hates it.

Ally Mayfair-Richards.

Being senator and a mom takes up a lot of Ally’s time. Is being a mom a hobby? Because being Oz’s mother is her absolute favourite thing to do. Besides you.

Wine testing? Sign Ally up. She loves to go out and discover new wines to add to her collection at home, which is so big it’s concerning.

She is a little bit obsessed with the food network channel.

Ally enjoys cleaning more than the average person. She cannot do anything until her surroundings are clean and she will not hesitate to re-tidy something if she is not satisfied with the way that you have done it.

Lego. Oz has so much lego and he loves to build with his mom. She doesn’t admit it, but Ally loves sitting cross legged on the floor building houses and cars out of the bricks.

Wilhemina Venable.

Before Mina met you, her life didn’t really exist outside of the office. You introduced her to so many new things and she will be forever grateful.

She read a little before. Now, she always has a book in her hand.

Mina loves to listen to music, she always has. It helped on the days her thoughts were particularly loud. One of her favourite things about you is how much you adore music too.

This woman, is an insane cook. She finds it therapeutic. You are in awe of the way that she takes the most basic recipes and makes them 10x better.

Mina hasn’t ever been a huge watcher of films or TV, but she will sit with you while you are watching Netflix and she becomes rather invested with some of the shows you watch.

She hates Greys Anatomy. Hates anything medical.

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elfnerdherder · 7 years

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Ill Intentions: Chapter 1

Summary: AU in which Will Graham is a disenchanted journalist, resigned to his fate of back-page wedding announcements at Tattler News. He has a watch that beeps to tell him when to get water, when to go for a walk, and when to eat, but he hasn't yet found a program to tell him how to feel when the Chesapeake Ripper of all people sends Fanmail.

Dear Will Graham, I adored your analysis of the Minnesota Shrike. How quickly you boxed him into a corner and revealed his hand! Surely the ladies on campus will sleep better knowing to avoid anyone that looks remotely like them with a father in tow. That, or perhaps you’ve inspired them all to dye their hair a poignant shade of blonde until the next killer comes along. I wonder if your clever little mind would be able to catch someone like me, however; would you be interested in playing a game, Mr. Graham? I’ve grown bored as of late, and the city is not much to entertain these days. You can respond in your new column. Congratulations, by the way. -Chesapeake Ripper.

He really shouldn’t be excited that there are lives at stake. In reality, though, Will hasn’t felt much in a long, long time.

You can read Chapter 1 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 1: Writer’s Block

Will was trying very hard not to slam his head against his desk.

Deadlines were one thing; he’d struggled meeting deadlines most of his life, from getting to class on time in high school to finishing a paper due promptly at midnight in college –what professor wanted a paper posted by midnight, anyway? What professor decided that at midnight, they’d wake from their recliner in their tenure-paid home and pad over to their HP, gleefully closing the submissions link on the assignment before anyone else could turn it in? Did they grade it immediately after, from 12:01 to 4:00 where they’d finally pass out at their desk, exhausted but proud of their ability to really dig it to the students whose hopes were crushed at exactly 12:02 when they realized with a sinking sensation that they couldn’t turn their paper in?

He told himself tangents were just another way to get out of the task at hand.

Deadlines were one thing. He’d gotten better at deadlines in the ‘adult world’, gotten better at a watch that kept him on track and on time with its beeps, dings, and notifications. Most of his life revolved around the smartwatch that even reminded him when it was the last time he’d eaten or stood up from his uneven, wobbly desk. Time was odd for him, but that small, sturdy little electronic had kept him on time for the past four years. More or less.

No, no, the problem at hand was writer’s block.

“Dear Bev, I’ve heard a lot about the Minnesota Shrike, and it makes me scared to go to class. He’s targeted universities all over this area, from Maryland, Virginia, New York, Maine; when will the FBI catch him? What kind of person would do that to these girls?”

He considered the other questions Beverly had chosen to answer, then compared it to this one. ‘Chats with Bev’ was the long-running advice column at Tattler News, a high-ratings paper that –in his opinion –verged dramatically towards gossip-fodder and tabloids at times rather than news. It was a job, though. Four years out of college and at least he could say he had a job.

This, however; this was not his job.

“It’s not really right for me to do this,” he called out irritably to Beverly across the room. “I’m not ‘Bev’.”

“A bet’s a bet, no matter how drunk we were,” Beverly replied cheerfully. She wasn’t the least bit perturbed by his expression, or by the way his fingers tapped angrily against the keys.

“I have no idea what to say to these people,” he muttered.

“Hey, you’re getting credit for writing the column this week. That’s a little extra money in your pocket, right?”

Right. He rubbed his face, leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette, letting it hang from his lips as he considered the question. It was a little ham-handed sitting below ‘my husband is cheating on me’, but it was a little awkward just above ‘what can I expect when my daughter starts her period?’ It was a serious question, one bred from terror and fear. The Minnesota Shrike had been attacking for months, no word on whether or not he’d be caught anytime soon, what with the way the FBI was trying to keep things under wraps.

That wasn’t his problem, though. His problem was writer’s block, and trying to make a reply that was engaging, informative, and colorful enough that when it hit the third page of Tattler News, neither he nor Beverly would lose their jobs.

He sighed, took a drag of the cigarette, then promptly put it out in the ash tray. It was a nasty habit, one he’d been trying to break for years.

At least he’d had the smoking habit longer than he’d had the writer’s block.

He pulled up articles, news, and reports on the Minnesota Shrike, staring down at them and tapping his fingers over the words. The reply needed something delicate, something carefully constructed rather than the normal garb that told people to stay safe and remain in groups. He wasn’t targeting just people, he was targeting women. He wasn’t just targeting women, he had a type.

That type was now currently terrified.

He poured himself a finger of whiskey, sighed quietly. It was going to be a long night with him and the Minnesota Shrike.

Writing was a comfort when it worked. It was as much a release as it was a barrier, one where Will could spend his days behind the comfort of a computer screen rather than interact with people. He knew how to interact –the application of eye contact was sorely lacking. That made people nervous, as much as being stared at for too long made him nervous. His watch beeped. He needed to drink some water.

He couldn’t, though, not with his boss staring so acutely across the desk at him.

“Beverly told me about you chiming in on her column. I approved it, seeing as how it’d already been done,” he said. A cigarette was tucked behind his ear, the remnants of his own bad habit. Will figured that editor’s offices in the newspaper industries were probably the last safe havens of many things, from comma splices to typos to chain smoking. The air was thick with it, and he inhaled deeply and nodded.

“If it wasn’t right, sir, I understand,” he said, studying the pen holder. Two weeks later and he was going to reap what he’d sowed.

“Right? You know how popular ‘Chats with Bev’ is? It’s page three for a reason; housewives across this god damn town been sending me questions and e-mails for years, wanting advice from some faceless woman with a penchant for telling it like it is. You know what you did when Beverly let you take a whack at it, eh?” Charlie was one half of the writing spectrum whose prose on paper was enough to make knees weak, but his speech left much to be desired. Will figured he spent so much time making his words pretty on paper that there was none left for real human interaction.

Will could personally identify with that.

“Did I ruin ratings?” he asked weakly.

“Ruin them? Hell, kid, I’ve got triple what I’ve ever gotten! Men, women, teenagers, fuckin sororities sending in group messages. It wasn’t your advice on periods because you’re in way over your head with that, fuck, don’t ever try and give advice on that again.” A warning glance was tossed his way. “These people are asking us about killers, Will. You’re making them all sorts of excited about killers.”

“What?” Disbelief colored his tone uncomfortable, his cheeks red.

“I spent a lot of time thinking about this, EllaofGWU. I think it was a sign of my privilege, being a mid-twenties male that I didn’t know that much about the Minnesota Shrike, and for that I’m sorry. There must be a little bit of resentment, I’m sure, walking down campus with brown hair and fair skin, terrified to realize that you are part of a demographic that someone horrendous has targeted.

“I can’t say when the FBI will catch him, but your other question sat with me for a long time: what kind of person would do that to these girls? There is the hope that they’re alive, but after contemplating that question, alone and ignorant in front of my computer, I think I can safely but regretfully surmise that they’re not. This person, after attempting to get to know such a person through the many lines of type and black #321 ink, is not keeping these girls.

“He uses them, you see, to feed a need. He is delicate, meticulous, able to completely disappear with them without leaving a single trace. They are a proxy, a stand-in for the one he holds dear, the one he so desperately yearns to consume. He loves them in his own way because he loves her –his golden ticket. What kind of person would do that, you ask me? Someone that hungers. Someone that can’t remove the intrusive thoughts from their head. He is sick, and he very much has a daughter that looks a lot like you.

“They say don’t talk with strangers, but that’s not the concern, is it? Don’t just avoid men with invasive questions, EllaofGWU. Avoid their daughters that look like you. A girl that looks alone, camping out at campuses to see which one to attend, whose father watches in the background with love and admiration; avoid them. He hunted these women, and if there’s one thing we know about hunters, they tend to enjoy using bait. Whether the bait is aware of this or not, though, we can’t say.”

Charlie’s eyes pricked pins in his un-ironed button-up after he finished reading Will’s answer aloud. Will shifted, busied himself with filling a plastic cup full of water in the corner. It sat full because Charlie never drank it. The sun from the window made it warm, but he’d deal with it.

“It took up a lot of space, so we bumped the period question because your answer was about as tactful as a senior tugging at a freshman’s panties,” he rumbled. “But we printed this one.”

“They liked it?” he asked, glancing up. His teeth worried over the lip of the cup before he took a sip.

“They fucking loved it! They ate it up, begged for more –some lady just down the road stopped me at Hank’s Hotdogs and started pestering me about wanting you to write about Ted Bundy, and I just fuckin stared at her like she was a shark before I realized they loved you talking about killers, kid. They fuckin loved you talking about the crazies.”

“Death sells,” Will muttered.

“Death, sex, intrigue, conspiracies, scandals, and serial killers. Sometimes, serial killers fall into all five before it, and they ate you up. They want you to have your own column, your own space where they can ask you all about these things. I been getting fuckin calls all week, asking if you were gonna collaborate with Bev again.”

“I cover weddings, mostly,” Will defended. It was a weak defense, one without much passion or care. He hastily took another sip of water.

“Your wedding covers have been weak lately. Freddie was suggesting tossing you, but this…” Charlie jabbed a finger down on the latest paper, grinning. “This is golden, kid. I feel like this was a bit of a redemption, something to remind me you can actually write some good shit.”

“Freddie is always suggesting to toss me,” Will grumbled.

“Well, when you’re front page news material, I’ll give you that same ear, how’s that?”

“Right.”

“Until then, I’m getting them to move some of the ads around, bring them down to maybe a 5.5 to make room for your new column. Chats with Bev, meet your male-killing-counterpart, ‘Will Intentions’.”

“Will Intentions,” Will echoed. The name sounded corny, trivial.

“A play off of Ill Intentions, you know? Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.” Charlie waved a hand dismissively, grabbed the half-finished cigarette behind his ear and lit it. A sign the conversation was over. “I’ve got Cassie on Weddings now; you’re writing my crime-hungry column, got it?”

“Got it.” A beat. “Thank you, sir.”

He walked out of the office, found his desk and sat down, stunned. He had his own column. He wasn’t stuck writing cheap wedding announcements anymore.

His watch beeped; a reminder he needed to finish his water.

He downed it, crushed the cup and tossed it in the wastebasket beneath the desk that leaned somewhat too far to the left. Idly, he grabbed two books and propped the leg up to straighten it, blinking small spreads of stars out of his eyes at the thought that he, Will-fucking-Graham, had sat in his corner of Tattler News for four years and had finally gotten out of his stupid, sanguine-sweet wedding announcements all because he’d made a bet with Beverly while drunk about who could eat the most boiled eggs in under a minute.

What in the hell was real life?

“I heard the news,” Beverly said, standing in front of his desk. He straightened in his chair, adjusted the setting Beverly had no doubt changed when she’d sat down to hunt through his drawers for a highlighter, and smiled a little.

“Will Intentions?”

“Not my idea, swear to god,” she snickered. “I think Freddie.”

“Freddie,” Will groused, shaking his mouse to wake up the computer. “She was trying to get me fired before this.”

“Your wedding announcements were getting a little lackluster,” Beverly pointed out. She sat on the edge of his desk, hip jutted to keep her balanced. “There are only so many times you can mention baby’s breath.”

“I never want to hear baby’s breath again,” Will warned her.

“Are you excited?” she asked.

“It’s not really setting in yet,” he admitted. He let the words roll around in his head: no more wedding announcements. From now on, Will Intentions.

Whatever the hell Will Intentions meant.

“They’re going to bring by the letters, and I’ll forward you the e-mails. Basically, you choose the five best and answer them. Easy, right? I think that’ll help it set in.”

“Easy,” he echoed with a nod.

Beverly shifted, and he watched the leg of his desk wobble threateningly. He wondered if he’d get a new desk if the column worked out. He also wondered if he’d tank abysmally, and Freddie Lounds would be able to see him get the can after all.

His watch beeped to tell him to eat.

He ate as he went through a stack of letters that would have intimidated a lesser man who’d forgotten his lunch. They were quaint, from compliments of his analysis to questions regarding past killers like Bundy or Dahmer. He wasn’t as interested in those as he was the questions about why the police don’t take missing persons cases as seriously, or what caused a teenager to bring a gun to school. Those were recent. Those were fresh, raw wounds. He set those aside, as well as the compliments –a bit of an ego booster in truth.

There was one that made him pause, though, something written on plain white paper with what looked like a fountain pen. Will was somewhat of a connoisseur of pens –he liked to think most writers had a special type of pen, something they used for their best work on bus rides and random notepads while walking in the park. He touched the long-dried ink, nodded to himself. A fountain pen, and a nicely edged one at that.

Dear Will Graham,

I adored your analysis of the Minnesota Shrike. How quickly you boxed him into a corner and revealed his hand! Surely the ladies on campus will sleep better knowing to avoid anyone that looks remotely like them with a father in tow. That, or perhaps you’ve inspired them all to dye their hair a poignant shade of blonde until the next killer comes along.

I wonder if your clever little mind would be able to catch someone like me, however; would you be interested in playing a game, Mr. Graham? I’ve grown bored as of late, and the city is not much to entertain these days. You can respond in your new column. Congratulations, by the way.

-Chesapeake Ripper.

He kept that one because he was curious. Pranks were common, especially when killings were mentioned. He’d once done a paper on the amount of time and money wasted on dealing with false calls during murder investigations, psychos claiming credit for what someone else had done. He read over it once, twice; a third time made him set it by the only photo on his desk, a pack of dogs in an open field. He’d gotten his first crazy, and he hadn’t even done the column yet.

He was intercepted as he was leaving work, the sun falling fast behind the skyscrapers and high-rise buildings of DC. The man wasn’t so much tall as he was broad-shouldered and stout; the trench coat and sunglasses get-up was about as obvious as a black eye, but Will wasn’t going to mention it. He looked him up and down, hitched his backpack up higher, and walked around him.

“Will Graham?” the man asked.

“Something I can help you with?”

“In a hurry?”

“Got a bus to catch,” he replied, still walking. The man kept pace, and Will noted the large black suburban following along.

“I’m Agent Crawford of the FBI, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

“I’ve got a bus, Agent Crawford,” said Will. He noted the flash of a shiny badge in the corner of his eye, although he didn’t stop. If he missed his bus, it was a five mile hike home and he wasn’t inclined to that sort of exercise if he could help it. He was a writer, not some god damn athlete.

“We’ll give you a ride,” Crawford assured him.

“My dad always taught me not to talk to strangers, and if they offered to give me a ride I was supposed to run screaming to the nearest adult.”

“We caught the Minnesota Shrike, Mr. Graham.”

That did stop him. Will paused, puzzled, then looked to Crawford. His watch beeped to remind him that he had a bus to catch. He hardly heard the noise.

“…What?”

“I read your reply in Tattler News last week, and it intrigued me. Enough that I looked back through a few things on the case I’d been currently investigating, and we found what was necessary to catch the Minnesota Shrike.” Crawford held the badge in hand, prepared to show it to Will again.

“You caught him?” His throat was dry. His watch didn’t beep to tell him to get water, but he figured he could use a glass of it.

“We caught him,” Crawford affirmed. “Now, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Will decided that he didn’t mind much at all. His palms were dry, although his heart had begun to jerk about against his ribs rather unsteadily.

They sat down at a small café crammed into the corner of a building two blocks away, and Will stirred his mocha around idly, watching Crawford’s mouth as Crawford watched him. He had a presence about himself, something brutish and capable. Will wondered what his fingers would write out if he’d had the chance to describe him. Lips that turned down, a tarnished gold wedding band; this was not the sort of man with a happy marriage, as of late. He had his work, though. He had the Minnesota Shrike.

“It was just a question,” he explained. “Someone asked a question in the advice column, and I looked through some articles and made a guess.”

“A guess.”

“Yeah.” A pause as he took a sip of his drink. “I mean, a good guess, right? My major was criminal psychology and forensics. I kind of knew what I was looking for.”

“But you’re in journalism,” Crawford pointed out.

“Yeah, well…I didn’t get into the FBI. I’d double majored, and the second was journalism.” Will tried to make his shrug as nonchalant as possible. Strict psychological screening procedures and what-not.

“You couldn’t fight crime, so you wrote about crime,” Crawford mused. He stirred sugar into his coffee and finally looked away from studying Will so intently. “How’d you guess he was using his daughter as bait?”

“Was he?”

A pause, brief enough to tell Will the answer. “…Yes. When we went into the house, he tried to kill her. She was his –how’d you call it?”

“His golden ticket.”

“His golden ticket,” Jack repeated.

“They’re all from universities. He had to be a visitor, someone going to and from without notice, right? The profile said he was middle-aged, so either he’s working with a company that works with all of those universities –possible but not likely –or he’s got something that makes it not weird for him to be there, staring at students. Girls know to be wary of boys, but if he’s got his daughter asking questions or just trying to make friends, why would the victims be worried?” Will took another sip to try and hide how nervous he was, answering these questions. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but he felt mighty guilty, somehow.

“How’d you know they wouldn’t be alive?”

“Why keep taking them if he’s still got the stand-in?” Will asked.

Jack nodded, accepting this. They sipped their coffee in silence, and Will’s watch beeped to tell him he should be home and fixing dinner by now. He downed his drink, stood up. Jack followed suit and offered him a ride in the SUV.

He left him his card, whatever that meant. Will tucked it in his pocket all the same, waved him off at the entrance to the complex. Call if you need anything, he’d said. Maybe he’d call and ask for one of those fountain pens, the kind the high-ranking got after a particularly bristly promotion. Will scuffed his shoe, snorted. He was a writer, not some weird FBI crime fighter.

Granted, he’d once wanted to be, when he thought maybe people could overlook his weird idiosyncrasies and inability to hold conversations very well with random strangers. He’d once thought maybe his quirks at seeing far too much about a person would lend a task force some insight they’d missed. If he could see through the eyes of the guy next door that was cheating on his long-term girlfriend, couldn’t he also see through the eyes of a killer terrorizing a city?

Apparently so, since he’d helped the FBI inadvertently catch a killer.

Psychological screening procedures and what-not, though. Behind the screen of a laptop was where he best shined now, not running around trying to find serial killers to bring them to justice. Truth be told, it wasn’t just the justice part that was enticing, it was the finding, the knowing. Save people from dying, understand the person behind the bloodied knife. There was something oddly cathartic at the thought that the twisted and sometimes horrendous way he looked at things was actually helpful for once –like a chair of antlers, grotesque but useful.

That was that, though. No matter how buzzed his veins were at the idea he’d helped, in his own way, catch the Minnesota Shrike, it was time to get back to the real world. The real world had deadlines. His watch beeped again to tell him he should have eaten by now.

He ate a bowl of oatmeal and considered the letters he’d narrowed it down to. He’d have to look at the killers they referenced, the murders that’d taken place.

I saw the Minnesota Shrike was caught –amazing. Just amazing. Women are being found in the bay here, and I was wondering what your thoughts were on that? They’re not calling it a serial killer because they’re prostitutes, but get real. Pimps don’t just start killing their prostitutes willy-nilly and so easily found. So many, too. Way too many, don’t you think?

At the bottom of the stack, he kept his first crazy fanmail, fingers tracing over the signature. He’d heard vague accounts of the Chesapeake Ripper, although after his realization he’d never be an agent he’d tried to put such thoughts out of his head. They only served to tease him with what he’d never have.

No matter. It was a prank, although a flattering one. It sat at the bottom of the stack to remind him that when given the right opportunity, he actually was a decent writer. Enough to bring a psycho out to play.

The next morning, as he shuffled across creaking wooden floors and made a pot of coffee, he blinked sleep from his eyes and contemplated the beeping on his wrist. Time to get up. Don’t forget coffee. Without coffee, you’re late for work.

It took him far too long to really open his eyes, and as he spooned cold cereal into his mouth, it took approximately half of the bowl and four minutes on his watch to realize his laptop was propped open on the table. He turned it to shut it, confused since he thought he’d powered it down the night before. A yawn, eyes watering and mouth painfully gaping took him aback, and he covered his mouth with the spoon. It took another minute for him to realize what he was seeing, since the coffee was in his stomach but not quite in his bloodstream.

There, propped up on the screen of the laptop, was the fanmail from the ‘Chesapeake Ripper’. As if to tease him, to convince him he hadn’t just left there before he’d gone to bed, a golden sticker had been placed at the top of the sheet, as if to beg him, me, me; pick me.

#LiaS scribbles #Ill Intentions #Hannibal #hannibal fanfic #hannibal au #hannigram #murder husbands #will graham #dark will graham #hannibal is a cannibal #Will doesn't like being hunted #obsessive will graham #autistic will graham

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