#ill be reading the silence of the lambs next

[a-bass-ist]

WE'RE BACK! BOOK REVIEW TIME BABY!

Today's book is ring by Koji Suzuki. Just as a heads up there will be discussion of rape in this post as well as minor mentions of transphobia so if those things are touchy for you I'd steer clear of this book and review

Ok so Ring. You may not be familiar with this book but the odds are you've encountered what it has spawned. The Ring (2002) and Ringu (1998) were both based on this book

As for the writing, stories and narrative: This book was actually quite captivating, the characters feel like real people and are mostly likable (one character is an exception to those rules and we'll get there). The main mystery and the drive to solve it was very very enticing and I really enjoyed watching the pieces fall in place especially towards the end with the frantic strides to save everyone.

Now, to address the elephant in the room, this book definitely shows it's age, and the social climate at time. I won't pretend to know about the cultural landscape of Japan in the 90s but it definitely contrasts with today. This book takes rape very lightly and like it's an every day thing. It puts no weight upon the fact that one of the characters apparently raped 4 women, even Sadako is assaulted before she dies. On the topic of Sadako, she's intersex in the book and this is handled pretty poorly, they kinda treat it as a freakish rarity, something to be studied. A major plot point is that she can't have children and that's why she made the tape. This to me feels like a way of further smearing her as they constantly hammers home the fact that she can't have kids.

In conclusion, It was ok, it would have been much better if it was a little more mindful of the topics it discussed and how they would affect people. But due to where and when it was written I can see why it is like how it is.

Would I recommend it? I don't really know honestly, it's very unique to the movies and merits reading but with the weight of the topics it completely drops the ball on it is a conflicting experience.

[mamayan]

★Mind Break☆

Cult Leader! Tenko Shigaraki x AFAB! Reader

You should’ve known better than to run from the devil.

WARNING: This work contains depictions of psychological, physical, and emotional torture. Cult ideologies/problematic religious themes will be present throughout this writing, and will include nonconsensual and dubiously consensual sexual content. Abuse, violence, murder, sadism, and blood used even in a sexual context will be present. This story is not a romance, and depicts unhealthy obsessions and mental illness caused by psychological breaks. I am not going to tag this work further. By reading this work, you are agreeing that you understand it will include morally conflicting content and sexually explicit material which can be considered extreme. Read at your own risk, and enjoy. ♡

It wasn’t always like this.

You shift, abhorring your inability to function properly anymore, trying to make your body comfortable despite the freezing temperature having numbed your muscles into lead.

The metal bed chained and hanging off the damp stone walls seemed to inject ice into the very marrow of your bones. Was there even a point to it?

You distractedly listen to the soft scurry and skitter of mice. That was the point of it.

Everything hurt.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, face blotchy and swollen from the last round you’d given into.

It wasn’t like this before.

Sure, you’d occasionally slip up, and you’d get a swift smack on your ass for causing trouble. Where was that treatment now? It changed when he stepped up. When Father Shigaraki passed the torch to him, your life became a walking nightmare.

Your chest constricted, eyes shutting despite no light illuminating your surroundings as memories flooded. The throbbing in your skull becoming a fist pounding to get out.

When you’d finally gotten old enough, you’d left the compound. Ran away from everything you’d ever known and loved. Your instincts had screamed at you to get away. Tenko had become a man you could not withstand, because despite his treatment towards you, everyone loved him. They had hailed him as the next great leader and prophet, saying that he’d bring them to greatness and no one would’ve believed you. He was hope in the dark world for your community, and that was the sign which showed you that the only way to survive was to distance yourself as far as possible.

You stayed hidden for nearly five years… you truly thought for a moment you were free. You thought he’d forgotten. That your past would let bygones be bygones.

You were sorely mistaken.

You clenched your teeth as the loud sirens began, the noise so sharp and painful it made your head nearly break.

You could only weakly curl up, mind so foggy and disoriented you didn’t hear anything but a constant buzzing tone in your ears as the siren waned into silence again. You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve slept. Food was brought but it was merely pushed through a hole at the bottom of your metal door. You got two meals a day, bread and a watery vegetable soup.

The sharp pounding on the door cuts through the tinnitus and has you scrambling off the bed, muscles screaming in protest as your skin splits under the jagged earth you’d thrown yourself onto. Tattered clothing not helping the painful friction as you dig your bare feet into the stone and pushed yourself against a wall.

You weren’t fully cognizant, but as the heavy lock turned, you whined as warm light crawled into your space, nearly blinding you despite the dullness.

“Poor thing…,” his voice was raspier than you remember, more gravely in depth as he chuckles, looking down at your pathetic form curled and shaking.

“How’re you doing my little lamb?” His humor isn’t disguised in the least, his glee at seeing you vulnerable and weak for him obvious as he grins.

He tracks your bloody hands weakly hugging yourself, your bottom lip trembling as you look up under your lashes with those teary eyes he adores so much.

Your small pink tongue dips out to lick your lips, his dark garnet eyes watching intently.

“M-m’cold…” your voice is tiny, hardly audible.

His boots thump loudly as he walks towards you, ignoring how you clearly tense up and attempt to mold yourself into the wall to get away from him. When he’s close enough to nearly touch your bare feet with his boots, he crouches down, resting his forearms on dark denim as he tilts his head with a soft expression.

“Tell me lamb, was it fun out there?” The light against his back blanketed his pale skin in warmth, “Did you have fun in the big wide world, running around, dirtying yourself like some common whore?” You flinch as his tone grows in severity. Blurry vision looking at a familiar yet not face.

He has a scar on his lip, one which hadn’t been there before, crossing straight down.

He was still a beautiful man, the scar even seeming to add a masculine charm to his otherwise somewhat pretty visage. Soft purple rings clung beneath his eyes though, making him look softer somehow. He looked like he’d slept about as much as you.

You stared too long.

You can’t react when his hand shoots out and curls around your neck, fingers and rings digging painfully into your flesh as he cuts off your oxygen cruelly. Your fingers grasp at his wrist and hand, futile in their attempt to pry his death grip off your throat as you slowly suffocate. The pinch and pull of the jewelry he wore was breaking the delicate skin and making it more slippery as blood flowed.

He’s rambling, but it sounds like you’re underwater and he’s above the surface, as if he’s speaking another language.

Tears pool down your cheeks, rivers running freely like your blood as your face begins to take on a sickly dark hue, veins bulging in your face and eyes popping wide from their sockets. A few blood vessels bursting in your left eye.

Just as your vision goes dark, he lets you go.

Your coughing fit which followed nothing glamorous or cute, sputtering and hacking as bile rose but nothing came out. Your throat burned like someone forced you to drink gasoline and swallow a lit match, dropping over to your side by his feet and clutching where he’d left bloody indents.

“Pfft, you haven’t changed at all… I’m glad honestly.”

His boot connects with your side, merciful in the amount of strength exerted but still painful in your weakened state. You sputtered, nearly choking again on your saliva as you tremble and struggle to draw in air.

“No one is going to save you lamb, no one even wants to. When you ran away, you died to everyone here, everyone but me,” you can smell the leather of his shoe as he lifts it and brings it to your head, pushing down until you literally croak. “You should be grateful I’m showing so much grace to you lamb, the others suggested I do much, much worse to rehabilitate you.” His voice is snide while your heart wars with his words. He’s lying, he had to be.

You could only cry though. Sniffling beneath his boot as he lifted it off you, eager to look at your face.

His smile is vile, you note as your tired eyes flick up. He looked nothing like the messenger angel Father Shigaraki had dubbed him before his passing. As your tears blurred his pretty image… he looked like a demon from hell. A beautiful monster.

You weren’t sure what he even wanted from you, what it was he truly craved, but you wanted the pain to end.

Your palms scraped against the damp gravely floor below, finding a somewhat good position to lean your weight on and push your body up, even as your blood created an imbalance due to the slickness. Tenko let you, watching as your head hung in defeat lowered even further, chin tucked to your chest as your knees slid up. When you got to a semi-kneeling position, one hand steadying you on the ground, the other… the other reaching out and gripping his pant leg.

Those red eyes widened a fraction, watching intently as you look up at him from your spot on the floor.

His heart rate increased, pounding in his chest as he drank you in, lips twitching as his teeth ached. He didn’t stop you from using him as an anchor and rising up enough to sink your other hand into his pants too.

You looked like a dog begging for a treat, and his cock throbbed in agreement.

You remembered the degrading title he used to force you to call him when you were younger.

“M-Master…” it was almost inaudible, your sweet lips struggling to even form words after the abuse he leveled your throat.

“Master please…” even as your tears continued to fall, face ruined and messy, he laughed. Deep and boisterous, he nearly doubled over as he bared his white teeth.

“Fuck haha! You—!, okay, alright, what do you want little lamb, hm?” Once he calmed down enough, adrenaline high as he stares down at you with a renewed sense of vigor, he spoke.

He leaned down a bit, cupping your jaw and smiling deeper when you cringe and flinch, but still don’t pull away.

“Go ahead, you got my attention now.” He says it almost benevolently, but his eyes were impatient.

It hurt to swallow, your mouth having gone dry as you parted your lips.

“I want to be forgiven… I’m sorry…”

He lifted one sparse brow up. “Yeah? You’re sorry?” You nod, jerky and short as your neck flames up in pain.

He straights, tapping a finger against his lip in a gesture of consideration.

“Okay little lamb,” he snickers, “I’m willing to forgive you and let you leave here, but you need to be cleaned first.” You perk up, eyes finding a hint of light as the prospect of relief is dangled in front of you.

“Yes, anything please,” you gasp, desperation bleeding into your voice.

That’s why it takes you by surprise when his hands drop and begin to calmly undo his leather belt. Fingers steady and sure as you blankly watch him unbutton his jeans, and shimmy them down enough for his fat leaking cock to spring free.

“Well then, we can start by cleaning this filthy mouth first.” His eyes are closed as he grins, pearly canines on display and distorted features resembling something inhuman.

“T-Tenko…?” His hand not holding his cock swiftly sinks into your hair, easily dragging your face closer so he can slap the hard rod against your soft cheek a few times, the smell of him warm and bitter, contrasted by the damp cool air around you. “That’s not what you call me, is it lamb?” He doesn’t sound angry, but when you look back up, he’s dropped his cock and raised his hand.

The blow is more sharp than it is brute force, your head held in place by his other hand to avoid you collapsing and hitting your head on the floor.

Your cry echoes weakly. Face inflamed as your jerked right back to his groin where he smashes your injured cheek against his dick, rubbing it in as he groans.

“You need to be retaught manners too it seems, but we’ll just stick with a simple cleaning today.”

He’s speaking as if discussing a mundane topic like the weather, scolding you like one might scold a child in school. His tip rubbing and spreading pre-cum and tears across your face as you calm down from the pain he assaulted you with.

“Open your mouth.” He’s not asking but you obey and part your lips.

He holds a lot of your weight up by your hair, watching in fascination as his swollen mushroom tip rests against your bottom lip. His engorged meat rod looks insidious against your face pretty, thick veins protruding from the angry red of the skin, long and thick but tapering towards the tip a little where it curves up. He lets his hips tip, the tip entering your warm wet cavern, lips opening wider as he sinks about a quarter inside.

Your face scrunches, likely due to the sensation and taste of him, little tongue moving languidly against the underside of his shaft. He curses, bucking his hips a little more and arm exerting force when you attempt to pull back.

You whine around him, hands trying to push his hips back but too weak to prevent him from sliding out and doing it again.

“That’s it lamb, I’m just cleaning your mouth, relax~” he chuckles, Tenko’s grip in your hair tightening painfully as he begins testing your limits with depth and speed.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if, fuck, you just stayed home where you belong like a good girl,” he moans, your teeth accidentally grazing his cock but it seems to spur him on rather than flinch in pain.

“Shit, that’s it, go ahead and bite if you feel like dealing with a concussion, I’ll break your skull on this floor happily.” He’s sneering down at you, loving the fear which enters your gaze as you now struggle to open wider and avoid such a fate. It only helps him work his cock deeper, into your throat where you almost scream due to the blinding pain.

His earlier damage still too fresh as he loses it moaning, your slobber and blood now coating his cock and bringing delicious friction as he lets his tip tease your raw throat. His balls tap against the under side of your chin, his white pubic hair nearly tickling inside your nose as he tries to fit all of himself inside your mouth.

The noises you made would make any normal person stop. The painful howls muffled by his cock and stuffed back down your throat, his speed increasing as his balls drew tight.

“Have to keep you clean inside and out lamb, so you’re going to take every drop—,” his teeth are grit, grinding together as his orgasm washes over him, hot ropes of cum gagging and suffocating you again as he lets his cock rest inside your throat while he finishes. You don’t feel the cum, only him twitch as he empties his load into your belly.

Your eyes stare blankly at nothing. Dark spots dotting your vision even when he pulls out and pushes you off him.

You land on your side, wheezing and clutching your throat again as you blink away the darkness threatening to consume you, your adrenaline keeping you awake as Tenko crouches down beside you again.

He’d redressed, looking unfazed with a healthy pink hue to his cheeks now.

“C-can I leave now…?” Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own now. Each syllable grating on your damaged flesh.

“Why the fuck would I let you leave?” His words nearly stop your heart. Icy dread replacing the burning.

“Y-you said…” your eyes leaked, face showing your absolute shock and disbelief.

He laughed, standing up again, shoving his hands in his pockets as he smiled down at you.

“I lied.”

His lips tug higher as he leaves, locking you away again even as your wail echoes woefully throughout his hideout.

Invisible needles stabbed up your knees, waking you up more than the blaring white light.

You wanted out, away from this migraine inducing brightness, but all you could do was pray.

As a child, you’d preferred to sleep or pass notes around rather than be immersed in devotional. You wished you paid more attention, because only God could save you from this hell.

You flinched, startling yourself as shadows stretched and danced around the walls, despite the fluorescents preventing such things from being cast.

Your arms wrap around yourself, kneeling and hunched over as the visions continued even when you closed your eyes. Faceless dark creatures trying to pry into your mind as you scream, the noise bouncing back and slamming into your sensitive eardrums, breaking you from the moment.

They were gone, your weary eyes tracked, licking your dry chapped lips and imagining how nice it would be to have some sort of lip balm or lotion.

Your head bowed again, lips running through carefully memorized prayers as events from your past unfurl like a blooming rose. Each petal a fractured piece you try to suppress and fail, the voice of your therapist so distant now since you’ve been home.

Deep breathes led to panic attacks and unconsciousness, the faces of family and friends skewed into wicked distortions you struggled to differentiate between dream and reality.

Tenko remained vivid in your memories though. You grimaced, as it was likely due to the pain he inflicted in your youth, which seared into your subconscious as a warning for any future interactions. Humans rarely touch a hot stove twice.

You shake and tremble as time drags on, murmuring scripture from memory as best you can to ask for grace, pleading for your safe release.

Tiny patters catch your attention, eyes blinking open and staring at a small mouse. Soft tuffs of light brown fur, the little creature might’ve invoked disgust and fear before your capture, but now only bland curiosity filled you.

It scurried around for a while, sniffing at the metal tray left by a thin hole on the bottom of the door, looking for crumbs it would not find.

It was… abhorrently cute.

You returned to prayer, until your evening meal arrived and was silently exchanged, your eyes catching not even a glimpse of skin.

You shuffled awkwardly before the tray, decorum gone as you eat with need for survival instead of enjoyment, eyes steely and swirling almost violently as a tiny squeak draws your attention down.

The mouse. Tiny pinpoint dark eyes and a little pink twitching nose face you.

You should kill it. It likely had diseases or something else, it’s better of dead but…

Something inside prevents you, and instead you drop a few crumbs of bread.

It was all you could spare. The little creature isn’t wasteful though, eating with gusto unlike you as you watch in mild amusement.

“If you like the food so much, we should switch places,” you whisper jokingly, the mouse ignoring you in favor of licking and sniffing out even the most minuscule piece of food left.

You finish your meal too, however unsatisfying and unfulfilling.

Your eyes close shut even though the light disallows you any proper rest, mind shutting off like a device to power down.

Your hazy brain reboots at the sound of footsteps some time later, obnoxious compared to the ones belonging to the one in charge of food delivery.

Tenko, your brain unhelpfully supplies. You don’t want to see him. You want nothing to do with him or this compound anymore, but your body was beginning to associate him with more than just pain.

He was warm, physically speaking at least, and the skin on skin contact left you reeling with comfort you didn’t want to receive from him. He’s a lunatic and a psychopath, and you loathe him like none other, but the terror of him is equal to the hatred.

Your new friend abandons you as the locks turn, your eyes trailing up from the ground to watch as the door slowly swings open, revealing the man who haunts even your dreams.

“Hello little lamb, did you miss me?”

Each wobbly step felt like treading over broken glass.

You could hardly stand, legs truly unused to the feeling as you’d given up your mad pacing in favor of protecting the damaged soles of your feet.

Not anymore though, as the hand tangled in your locks jerked you onward, using your hair almost like a lead as you stare at the filthy floor you traverse on, destination left an anxiety filled mystery.

“Come on little lamb~ we’re nearly there,” his soft cooing voice makes your insides revolt, twisting and causing you to stumble.

At least he’s there to make sure your face doesn’t hit the hard surface of the ground, oddly powerful in his lean physique as he simply holds up your weight and pulls you along side him.

He’s merry and cheerful, whistling occasionally as he strolls as if through a friendly neighborhood park and not some type of underground dungeon only found in medieval theatrics.

Your eyes trail back at the light smattering of your blood on the floor, wearily looking as far ahead as you could in this half crouched position.

It was dimmer out here than your cell. The blaring alarms replaced by white hot light that seared your mind awake and deprived you of sleep further.

Out here the shadows danced. Your eyes fearfully taking in the monsters beginning to crawl off the walls and towards you, just out of reach though, as if Tenko was holding them back.

That scared you even more.

A new room came up just at the end of the hall, a shorter distance than you’d felt it was.

He hauled you forward and threw you inside before dim lights illuminated the space from an antique switch on the wall.

There was only a chandelier in here, you noted before the breath left your lungs on impact with the ground, side blaring up in pain as you lay still.

Your eyes widen, pupils dilating as strange staticky figures moved about the space, the room swirling like a whirlpool of colors before you were yanked up and out of the fever dream.

Tenko was humming some sort of hymn, his deep timber almost soothing despite his violent manner of dragging you towards a small in-ground pool.

A baptism pool, with steps leading into the shallow water with a metal railing for assistance, likely for the elderly.

Your vision seemed to jump back and forth between the water being a dark blue and bloody red, unintentionally jerking in Tenko’s hold.

He seems to misinterpret it, “It’s okay lamb, I’ll be baptizing you tonight, washing the sins of the outside world which tainted you away.” You want to bark at his delusional little speech, to roll your eyes or do something, but you’re silent like a doll in his hold. Weak. Pathetic. Worthless. Powerless.

He lets you drop, in favor of scooping you up bridal style in his arms, your filthy sorry figure truly in need of a bath you’ve been denied thus far.

He’s not the least bit repulsed, seeming even thrilled to hold you close as he smiles his pearly white canines at you.

“Look at you, being so good for me. I almost want to reward you,” he chuckles, face calm and even as he takes you both fully clothed into the shockingly cold water.

He doesn’t even flinch.

You’re unable to do much else but gasp, curling into Tenko’s warm chest as chills immediately wrack your body.

Once he’s about waist deep, he extends his arms and lets your feet sink down, one hand spread between your shoulder blades and keeping you up.

Those red hued eyes truly seemed to manifest evil, the dim lighting not dampening the color’s vibrance. He looks like a malevolent angel.

“Are you ready? You’ll need to hold your breath for just a little while I recite the passage.”

Something inside is trying to worm itself out past your lips, begging you to speak up, move away, not trust him.

You can’t seem to remember exactly why as you nod numbly.

Until his free hand raises up, pressed against your chest just under your collarbone and caging your upper body between his hands.

His smile is almost serene.

Then you’re submerged, just barely enough time to hold your breath while the chilling liquid around you wakes you.

Your eyes blink open despite the chlorine burning them, seeing him through a strange mirage now, lips moving and canted up.

Your chest starts to hurt after ten seconds. Then it’s a somewhat urgent need after twenty.

At thirty your instincts take hold and you struggle, air being pushed out meanly by his hand as he applies pressure to still you.

It’s impossible though, you need to breathe. You need it with urgency as your feet kick out, arms coming up to fight and remove his grip, but he just keeps you under. The adrenaline wins though, finally pushing him roughly so you can come up for greedy gulps of air, choking and sputtering while the rooms spins and nausea grips you.

“You didn’t even last a minute lamb,” he remarks offhandedly, and your near drowning reminds you why he is to be feared like death itself because his next move is to grip your throat, the other tangling back in your hair while he smiles down at you, face cinching unnaturally tight as he leans over your panting trembling figure.

“How about this? If you can last a minute, we’ll stop.”

Liar, your heart and mind roar with passion, but your survival instincts demand you do so because it meant life or death.

He doesn’t prepare you this time, sinking you under while his laugh filters through the water into a muddled tune as you fail to even last thirty seconds this time, clawing and biting like a wounded animal as your vision begins to go dark and lungs threaten to shut down.

He yanks you back up, just enough time to gather in air before you’re plunged again, vision beginning to fade as those horrid shadow creatures emerge, almost playfully as you dance around suffocation.

Your mind is playing tricks, these devils aren’t real, not when the one above you is flesh and bone attempting to end your miserable existence.

You’re dragged to the surface again, fighting for freedom from the death grip which holds you in the water as you lash out, a war cry almost deafening to your own sensitive ears.

It’s impossible to tell how long it goes on, your will for survival being challenged by a soul deep exhaustion, finger nails soaked in blood from scratching at his arms and even his bared skin around his throat and chest.

He’s content to watch the inevitable. The moment when your mind releases the concoction of chemicals to ease your death peacefully, because it could fight no longer as he repeatedly drowns you.

His eyes gleam with wicked joy, pupils enlarged as he pushes you beneath the water again, you’re thrashing so much more futile despite how you still struggled. You still wanted to live.

It’s inevitable though, when your vision goes dark, creeping in at the edges and swallowing your sight hole as a painless numbness washes over you.

You begin to hear again first. Strange warbled noises and hissing. Your foggy mind is content to drift, light as you feel rested and freed from the confines of agony which plagued you like a disease so long.

It sounds pained, the noises, the strange squelching and smacking not connecting as you languidly listen and try to decipher what was occurring around you.

Your vision returns next. Slowly, as if not to frighten you, your eyes begin to take in more and more light. Faded blurry shapes and colors becoming clarified into a full picture you could actually make out.

You were on the ground, this floor tiled like you’d see around a public pool. Face resting down as you looked at a familiar baptism pool which began filling your mind with dread.

The water was rippling, your eyes noting that the room was rocking.

Feeling came back last. You felt the chilly air slowly prick at your wet skin and hair, teeth sensitive as you felt your body rock, pressure and numbness beginning to fade into true feeling. Your hand was out stretched and dipped into the water, as if he couldn’t be bothered to fully pull you out, the cool liquid somewhat refreshing as your skin felt hot and feverish.

A blooming white hot pain in your rear caught your full attention though, body too weak to even manage words as you lay limp on the ground, realization dawning as full frontal clarity strikes you like a branding iron.

“Awake?” He muses, hand moving to press your face back down when you attempted to lift your head, not bothering to lessen his crushing weight as you choke and heave. Your eyes can only widen further, looking up at the mirrors which acted as a backdrop to the the pool to see your body and not recognize it. Not recognize you. As if this was all happening to another as he grunts, the hot iron rod which continued its path inside your taunt previously unused sphincter as you groan low in your throat like a wounded animal. Your own native language foreign in your mind as it goes blank to only focus on the mirrors.

His pretty face screwed up in pleasure, his tongue nearly hanging out his mouth as he pants and works his hips against you, more of a struggle to fully sheath himself inside your bleeding rectum due to the lack of preparation he’d done. The stretched ring of muscle inflamed as he lets a drop of spit hit just above it and slide around his cock as he grips your hips.

“You have such a tight little ass—fuck—,” his head drops, hair falling into his face as he watches you take him, pulling out occasionally to see how wide he’s left your abused asshole.

“—p-please—,” you brokenly whimper the words, still unable to fathom why this all was happening. What did you do?

It didn’t matter, not when his thrusts were getting rougher, thick cock spearing you and nearly tearing you open as he grunts and moans above you.

“Keep begging lamb, I want to hear it,” he chuckles, and your vision becomes blurred with tears you can’t even wipe away. Too tired and hurt. You wanted to sleep again.

He doesn’t like your unresponsiveness though, bucking hard and digging his knees into the ground to scoot you up.

You shriek as he pushes your torso back into the water, hand tangled in your hair as he cackles now, deranged expression lighting up at the break in your stoic facade.

“I-I’m sorry—!” Your voice is broken and raspy as you cry out, hands trying to keep him from pushing your head back into the water as his cock begins slamming inside you aggressively.

Blood, spit, and his earlier load he’d jerked and shot over your unconscious figure frothed at the base of his cock as he sinks inside you.

“Start begging lamb!” He moans as you tighten in fear and panic, senseless babbling too quick and jumbled for him to truly appreciate.

“Tsk, that’s not how you beg—fucking idiot,” he sighs, ruthless as he shoves you beneath the water again. Enjoying your futile struggle as your hips jerk and work his cock with delicious friction inside your rigid hot walls.

“Fuck yes, tighten your ass slut, that’s it!” He’s close just from watching you struggle.

Your eyes are open, staring at the bottom of the pool as he abuses your hole above the surface, oxygen deprived and delirious until he yanks your head up.

He moans loudly when you cough and sputter water out, the suction of your walls driving him wild as his thrusts become more jerky and uneven.

“O-oh God please—!” You can only sob for mercy, praying to be saved from the purgatory that is Tenko Shigaraki.

“Yes—! Pray to me baby, because I. Am. Your. Fucking. God.” He growls and punctuates each word with a merciless thrust, pushing you under one last time as he grinds his groin against your soft rear and pumps his load deep inside.

Bleary eyes blink open to dim lighting, seeing a familiar cell from the position of the metal bed.

Your head ached like it might split open any second, but your soul felt the most damaged.

You could only whimper and whine as you sat your stiffened body up, muscles screaming in protest as you stood before collapsing to the ground below.

It was a miserable reality as you dragged yourself over to the little toilet in the corner, attempting to relieve yourself but only finding the water saturated with murky red and clots.

The little sink difficult to use as a wash station, as you cup the icy water, for once grateful for it, and let it wash down your battered form.

It took what seemed like forever to clean away the evidence of him, but as you looked around, you realized blandly there were no clothes for you anymore.

What you’d worn to the… baptism, had been stripped in your unconscious state. He didn’t seem to feel like returning the tattered rags.

You crossed the room, laying beneath the metal bed now, content with just sitting with the low hum of aches inside and out of you. Curled on your side, you sit and watch the door in the dim orange glow of the lights.

They turned off the white fluorescents, which meant the noise would come soon.

It did, not long after that thought, the wailing siren began as you numbly looked ahead, no longer flinching at the noise.

Hours seemed to pass before your food arrived, which you crawled towards, content with eating on your stomach as you rested.

It was the familiar squeak which granted your friend the favor of seeing your face.

Your little mouse came just on time for… whatever meal this was. You hardly paid mind to it, throwing a few generous crumbs for your mouse like a gracious host.

“You should feel honored mouse, this is the finest bread they serve here.” Your giggle is slurred as you bite into the stale bread, mouth dry and the baked good only acting as sandpaper.

You finished it all though. Your mouse not one to be beat either, leaving no trace of the crumbs you’d left for it.

You smiled, content to watch it skitter about, before it curiously moved closer to you.

Then a little closer.

Then it was sniffing your finger, flinching back at first when you lift it, but coming back anyway as you softly pat its tiny head with the tip of your pointer.

“Am I all you got down here…?” You imagine those beady little eyes filled with intelligence and understanding.

“That’s okay. We can stick together.” It’s whispered like a sworn secret.

You let your eyes fall closed, trusting mouse not to attempt to nibble on you while you slept.

You awoke with a jolt, heart beating wildly in your chest as shadows rampaged around the room, the sound of the siren wailing as you try and scramble away from the chaos.

They were everywhere, trying to grab you, actually grabbing you, your scream of fright falling on empty halls as you struggle with your sanity.

Your legs kick out, arms thrashing as you attempt to fight off these morphing demons, hazy mind fighting for some sense of reason despite the madness.

A clawed hand reached at you from below, your palm instinctively coming down to smack it away in your panic.

The siren ends, and with it, the shadows seem to disperse as you pant and try to catch your breath, dizziness and fatigue weighing on you as your fingers rub together and feel something… stinky.

Your heart stops. The world seems to as well.

“Mouse…?”

It’s not real. Yet the little brown clump of fur and dark blood and guts could only be the dead body of your tiny friend.

“Mouse— I-I didn’t mean it— wait, why?!” Your shriek echoes, blood on your hand streaking your cheek now as you wail in anguish, careful to lift up the mangled corpse you’d crushed.

You did this. You hurt it. It was your fault.

It felt like you were being shattered. Screaming until you couldn’t anymore, coughing up blood from your raw and abused throat, clinging to your cooling friend as time became irrelevant.

Food came and went. You didn’t touch it. You didn’t know how many trays were given and taken away without a single piece touched, but it finally summoned him.

Heavy boots were your first clue, eyes still following shadows of little mice dancing around you.

The door opening changed the direction of your gaze as Tenko stepped inside, face impassive this time as he looks at you.

His presence invokes the tears which bubble and spill down your cheeks, quick to crawl on your knees to him like he was your last salvation.

“Please—,” your lower lip wobbled as your scratchy small voice broke the silence. “She’s hurt… I hurt her… please…” and he watched.

Watched the lovely little angel he adored lose her wings and fall to the depths of hell where he ruled.

“Shh… it’s okay, I’m here. Let me see,” he crouches down, smile soft and soothing to your frayed nerves, one hand moving to tuck a matted and tangled chunk of your hair behind your ear. He didn’t seem the least bit repulsed by the decomposing mouse corpse you held. Eyes focused and attentive on you, as you cried and confessed the sin of murder to him.

Like he was your God.

He wrapped you up in his arms, carrying you out as you sobbed weakly for mercy and forgiveness… for the little mouse and for your crime of harming it.

Your face buried in his neck, breathing in the scent of bleach and chemicals like it was fresh air.

You were curled up in a ball, rocking yourself comfortingly as you trembled in fear before hallucinations so real you weren’t able to differentiate anymore. Shadow monsters haunting you at every second except when he was around, trying to crawl into your mind and destroy you completely.

Your hands ran through your hair, clean now as Master had been returning nearly everyday to bathe you with him.

He should be back soon.

You glance at the bed and clean living space, somehow so foreign and alien that you feel terrified of even laying on it without him.

You hum a familiar hymn, counting the seconds until these demons are cast out in his presence.

Your soft skin is naked and bare, but the room is warm despite phantom goosebumps raising.

The door opens, boots muted on the fluffy carpet, strolling towards you with ease and grace as you unfurl and crawl towards him.

“Little lamb, did you miss me?” His cherry red eyes sparkling with amusement and mischief, glossy white hair swept back save a few strays which framed his face.

Your smile is genuine as you nod, “Welcome back Master.”

He watches you with immense satisfaction, your skin and hair healthier now that you’ve been rehabilitated and given proper nutrition and care.

You sit perfectly still, nude body on display for thousands of eyes. The solemn atmosphere disallows for embarrassment as Master speaks, voice carrying his message and voice of God for the people.

“With this sacrifice, let our sins be washed in blood!” his arms spread wide, the cheer of the church deafening yet you move not a single muscle.

You don’t watch, even as the muffled screams become gurgled sounds of drowning.

The sacrifice had to be a damned sinner, one Master deemed better off sent to Heaven early. Dying for the church like this meant even though they were unclean, they could still find salvation through their death. It wasn’t anything new, even as a child you’d witnessed such things.

You cease useless thoughts, eyes trained on him.

He caught your gaze, eyes crinkling as he grins before winking.

They smear the freshly spilled blood over you, hooded masked members wordlessly carrying out the ritual.

“Now the blood of a virgin needs to be spilled…” he murmurs for heads to bow, prayer beginning but you don’t close your eyes, staring out blankly as iron burns your nostrils.

Your skin painted with the blood of a sinner, laid dead on another alter, which you let yourself skip from staring at.

The prayer finishes as Master rises, turning his attention on you as he walks your way. His clothing is all white, current appearance similar to a saint as he approaches.

“Little lamb,” he smoothes a hand through your soft hair with affection, bright red eyes nearly glowing as he leans close, undeterred by the blood coating your cheeks, lips, forehead, and major portions of your body. “Are you ready to be slaughtered?”

A chant in the crowd begins. Hummed at first, building in volume, the words ominous. “Lamb for slaughter.”

You briefly wonder if you’re next, just like the man they’d gutted next to you.

You nod anyway. It hardly mattered whatever he chose to do with you.

Your eyes still widened in surprise as he pushed you gently to lay back on the alter, as he climbed up as well before his people watching with heated gazes.

Master grins, looking sinister and beautiful as he licks his lips and addresses the masses.

“I shall now make the virgin bleed,” you don’t question him as he easily spreads your thighs open, leaving your slit on full view for the crowd and his own eyes.

“Be good for me lamb, I know you can do it,” these words are hushed and spoken just for you, as he places a gentle kiss on your forehead. The action is soothing, and you allow your muscles to relax as you watch the crowd with a mixture of emotion.

Were they real or shadows?

You jolt as you feel something hot and wet prod your vaginal entrance, looking down to see Master had freed his heavy thick cock, erect and leaking from the dark red tip as he pumps it with his free hand a few times.

Then he lets the soft warm tip slip through your folds, parting them to press.

It takes immense force that leaves your chest heaving for air as your finger nails chip and break on the marble alter, body wracked with the intense desire to cringe and pull away.

You stay still, as he grunts pushing into your dry walls, essentially digging his cock inside your cunt to burrow deep.

You’re hardly breathing anymore, face frozen in agony as he stuffed you with each searing inch as you grit your teeth and endured.

The chanting was muted by the muddled noise in your head, like water in your ears, as tears slid down your cheeks.

He pulls out completely once his tip kisses your cervix. His cock coated in a sheen of your blood, though whether it was actually your hymen or the tearing of your vaginal walls was not important. It was the symbolism.

He lets his people take in the sight of you both, feeling pride swell inside him as they grow wild with excitement, moving to close in around you both now. The elders stayed back, their robes and masks in place as they continued the chant while the younger and common members touched and groped your trembling body, smearing the blood and even moving it down to your slit where you jerked a little.

“Be gentle with my lamb, tonight, I make her my wife on this auspicious occasion.” His teeth are sharp and glaring as he smiles, your eyes watching as if behind a screen.

What day was it? You wondered oddly, curious why you couldn’t recall it at all.

Master begins disrobing, shamelessly revealing each inch of his lean muscular build for all eyes as he falls on you again, this time caging your view in to only see him.

Your eyes connect, his alight with joy. “Keep your eyes on me while I fuck you stupid tonight.” He whispers in your ear, too low for anyone else to pick up on, using the position to lick the shell of it as you moan at the strange sensation.

He uses one arm to stay propped above you, letting the other move towards the hooded hard nub just above your slit, pressing softly and rubbing circles as electric shocks of pleasure zap up your spine. Your toes cramp as you try to straighten, but his hips smashing against you ass he sinks into you again stop your movements.

Your eyes widen in shock.

It doesn’t hurt at all.

It’s strange, the fullness still heavy and different, but the sting and ache are gone as he uses the blood of that scapegoat as lube to fuck your pretty cunt.

Tenko laughs as your eyes glaze over, face already showing the euphoria as he works your clit and his cock slowly into you, taking his time this round without the necessity of injuring you.

His gaze even gentle as he almost lovingly fucks you, the terrified expression on your face amusing at the very least for him.

“Relax lamb, we got the pain out of the way, just keep your legs spread for me and I’ll do all the work.” He assures, and like always, you fall for it.

He works you both to climax quickly, chuckling as you clamp and seize around his cock helplessly.

Your hands gripping at his shoulders as he leans down to kiss you, slipping his tongue in your mouth for a filthy kiss that leaves you light headed and pliant as he hardens again inside you.

You glance down wearily, his hips grinding back into you as his finger works your clit again.

“Let’s feel so good we both want to die.” Those red eyes seal your fate.

“Tenko! Stop breaking your toys, I’m not gonna share mine if you do.” Small childish and chubby hands grip at his own, tugging the toy owned by you from his grasp as he eyes you with disdain not matching a child his age.

“I have to break them.” He rolls his eyes, picking up the disfigured doll he’d “fixed” given to him by his previous family. The ones before his Master Father Shigaraki took him in.

“Why? That’s stupid.” You retort, obnoxious as you try to hide your dolls as if he even wanted them.

“Because if I don’t break it, then how is it even really mine?”

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

A/N:

I hope you enjoyed this piece! It was very self indulgent if I’m being honest~

[leavingdeadgirl]

not a lore ask but since you seem to want to ramble: 1 song you associate with each character and why?

Hi anon ily. I did 2 for the first few sorrgy

Lori:

1. Sin Eater by Penelope Scott. The song displays a strong desire to be good from the singer while also expressing a bit of disdain for someone who seems to be better in every way (and is, fittingly, referred to as the “holy mother god”) while also evidently seeking validation from this person that they feel they won’t or can’t get.

Notable lyrics: “you’re the holy mother god and I aspire to your goodness, but the only thing I have inside to offer is a pit / I suffer just to moan, I scratch my itches to the bone / I keep confessing till I hit the spot from which the guilt emits”

2. I Don’t Smoke by Mitski. Again leading into Lori’s longing to do good and be good, to have friends, to be closer to people. Trying too hard for someone distant.

Notable lyrics: “if you need to be mean, be mean to me / I can take it and put it inside of me / if your hands need to break more than trinkets in your room / you can lean on my arm as you break my heart”

Cody:

1. Habits by Tove Lo. Though Cody doesn’t do drugs (this detail is irrelevant and thus subject to change) or have any addiction issues, the song all in all encompasses the life of someone whose every second is spent trying to find even a moment of happiness, living in a daze trying to forget someone they can’t think about.

Notable lyrics: “spend my days locked in a haze, tryna forget you babe, I fall back down / gotta stay high all my life to forget I’m missing you”

(See also: So Numb by TX2)

2. Gross by Penelope Scott. The song is about a breakup, partially, but I also relate Cody to the other end of it, being about the complicated nature of relationships with people around you when you’re mentally ill and being torn between wanting to push those who love you away and wanting to be able to love and show love to them.

Notable lyrics: “I hate it most when they’re kind, when they have meaningful lives / and I’m the awful one standing next to them” & “I’m never gonna feel good again, I’ve played this game through to the end / I’ll pull the plug or I’ll wait it out, but I don’t need you around / I wish I never met you, I wish I wasn’t a waste / I wish I had the guts to fuck my own life up or the heart to set myself straight”

Jane Doe:

1. Pure as a Lamb by Baby Bugs. While it is about abuse specifically in a religious setting, its depiction of abuse and the specific sort of feeling of betrayal expressed makes me think of her. Not to mention the rather simple language used reminds me of Jane, who was between 5 and 10 and, though she was very good at reading and writing, didn’t speak in especially complex language.

Notable lyrics: “you plucked my petals, just like the devil would do / and if I’m going to hell, I hope that you go too” & “now I feel dirty, look what you did / I wasn’t an object, I was a kid / I’m scarred and mangled, I am used / and all of this because of you”

2. The Ballad of Jane Doe from Ride the Cyclone. While the song goes into how that Jane Doe doesn’t know who she is or the life she lived, that’s not true of my Jane Doe, but the song does go into the plight of a dead girl whose story is left unknown, never to be mourned or remembered.

Notable lyrics: “I’ve got no celebration / just this consolation: / time eats all his children in the end” & “a melody floats through the air / when silence falls, does no one care? / another sad, forgotten tune / another song that no one knows / so that's how it goes”

The Thing:

1. Monster Truck by Jazmin Bean. Angry as fuck song, pretty violent, but all of Jazmin’s stuff matches an aesthetic and a type of music I associate with The Nursery.

Notable lyrics: “I don’t wanna eat the sun (succubus, fuck, suck you straight to the tomb) / I’ve been living on the run (white lined chalk, take it straight to the dome, dome)” & “make it hard, rocket launcher, fuck / fuck your dirt bike, I’ve got a monster truck” & “and this world is a sick fucking joke, just masters and puppets and mirrors and smoke / so fuck it, let’s light it, let’s to / I’m playing with fire, I’m planning to blow”

2. Brutus by The Buttress. Specifically encompasses its relationship to Lori.

Notable lyrics: “my name is Brutus and my name means heavy, so with a heavy heart I’ll guide this dagger into the heart of my enemy / my whole life you were a teacher and friend to me / please know my actions are not motivated only by envy / I too have a destiny / this death will be art / the people will speak of this day from near and afar / this event will be history, and I’ll be great too / I don’t want what you have, I wanna be you”

Emily:

1. Heaven Says. Specifically the Deltarune remix, but I saw a FAITH animation for the song and I’ve associated it with her since

Notable lyrics: “heaven is above / heaven is the answer / life is terror / blood in the machine, you are in danger” & “greater than life / stronger than death / echo around the world / search for the end / answer for your crimes / beg for mercy / take back you control / take back your control / take back your control, control, control, control, control-”

2. Christmas Kids by ROAR. Idk.

Notable lyrics: “the Christmas kids were nothing but a gift / and love is a tower where all of us can live / you change your name or change your mind / and leave this fucked up place behind / but I’ll know / I’ll know”

Sarah Warner:

Class Fight by Melanie Martinez. Sarah was a girl who tended to act out a lot, but always felt totally justified in everything she did and like she was giving people what they deserved when she lashed out or was otherwise doing something good/funny/right.

Notable lyrics: “I wanted to be in her shoes for one day / I just waited till recess to make her pay” & “her face was fucked up and my hands were bloody / we were in the playground, things were getting muddy / the teacher broke us up after I broke her / and my one true love called me a monster”

I don’t have any for the other specific victims but I do have one for all of them:

Fall Fair Suite (the opening) from Ride the Cyclone. All of them dying in “accidents” just makes me think of the RTC kids’ reactions to the accident that killed them, and I think they’d feel similarly.

Notable lyrics: the whole thing, more or less.

[stray-cattt]

Sweet Dreams, Harsh Mornings

A Valorant Fanfic, once again. If you would rather read it on AO3, link is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40655328

Summary: Based off of the post by @honestlyitsjustsam on Tumblr that says "Goodnight ill be thinking of Cypher being in the arms of his dear wife Nora, laying down on their bed and then their cute daughter jumping to their bed to join and snuggle them but only for Cypher to actually wake up from his dream to his alarm sound on his cold and lonely bed surrounded by the monotone steel walls of the headquarters" So I will be using that as my summary :) Some Arab is used (like three words) Disclaimer tho, I don't speak Arabic I used google translate.

In my opinion, not my best work but wooo writing go brr anyway!

Baba: dad, أمي: mom, عسل: honey

 Cypher smiled sweetly at Nora next to him, the sun rays illuminating her face with their gentle glow. Cypher slowly pushed her hair out of her face, carefully as not to wake her. A content hum fell from his lips, his smile growing wider, noticing the drool that was leaving his wife's mouth. He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes looking at her, so calm and serene. How did I get this lucky? Cypher asked himself, as he memorized every freckle that adorned her face.

       The quiet morning either fortunately or unfortunately, did not last much longer. A quiet squeak broke the silence between the two. Cypher rose his head a bit to look at the source. The door was left slightly ajar, but no person was in sight. He was left in confusion until a small laugh was heard behind him. Cypher laid back down and pretended not to have heard a thing. Suddenly he felt a weight on him, smiling he turned to meet his daughter’s eyes. Giggles escaped out of her mouth filling the room.

       “Baba! It’s time to get up!” She yelled slightly, shaking the poor man ferociously.

       “Alright, alright, I’ll get up.” He sighed, putting his arms up in defense. Seeing as her father was awake, she then moved on to wake her mother. Before Cypher's arms could scoop her up and protect his sleeping wife, she pounced.

       “أمي! Gotta wake up!” She squealed as she shook her mother.

       “Hm?” Nora groggily said, a confused look written all over her face.

       “Up! Up!” Their daughter said jumping up and down on the bed.

       “Alright, I think that’s enough little one,” Cypher said, now standing. He made his way over to his wife's side before picking up the small girl. Said girl pouted at him and rammed her head into his chest in defiance, only earning a hearty laugh from him.

       “Are you hungry?” He asked her, booping her nose, effectively distracting her from her pouting fit. She gave a swift nod before reaching out to her mother. Cypher shifted her to his left hip, turning to his wife, who was trying to blink the sleep out of her eyes.

       “Good morning عسل.” Cypher smiled. Nora smiled back, getting herself out of bed. She only walked a couple of feet before pecking Cypher on the lips sweetly.

       “Good morning love,” Nora replied, running a hand through Cypher’s curly brown hair. “And good morning to you too, trouble maker.” She said, turning her attention to the small girl in Cypher’s arms, ruffling her hair. The girl just smiled widely in response before sticking her tongue out at Nora.

       “Now, let’s go get some breakfast. Shall we?” She asked, holding out a hand for Cypher to take. He grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together, bringing her hand up to his mouth and giving it a soft kiss.

       The three of them all spent the day together from dawn to dusk. Starting the day off with creps and jelly all over a certain someone’s mouth, and ending the day with lamb, sauce yet again found its way all over a certain someone’s mouth. Who that someone was will forever remain a mystery. Cypher sat in his chair reading a book as Nora got the young one ready for bed.

       “I wanna sleep with you and baba!” The girl whined as Nora tried to lead her to her room. Ears perking up at this, Cypher diligently placed a bookmark in his current place. He walked over to the source of the commotion with a hand on his hip. Crouching down, his knees popping in the process, he met his eyes with his daughters.

       “Do you not want to sleep in your big girl room tonight?” Cypher asked her, brushing some hair behind her ear. She shook her head strongly before rushing over to him and clasping her hands around his neck. Cypher stood letting a sigh leave him as he heaved the girl onto his hip for the second time that day.

       “She sure is a stubborn one.” Nora smiled before crawling into bed.

       “Yeah, I have no idea where she gets that from,” Cypher said with sarcasm.

       “Well, it certainly isn’t me.” She responded, laughing quietly. Cypher rolled his eyes in response but let a smile grace his lips. Carefully he laid down his daughter next to Nora before climbing into bed himself. Cypher flicked the lamp off, then rolled over to meet the eyes of his lover. But instead of being met with her eyes, he was met with her lovingly stroking their daughter's hair, she was humming a song lulling their young one further into sleep. Cypher’s eyes held nothing more than love for the two amazing women in his life.

       “I love you, Nora,” Cypher whispered, not wanting to wake the sleeping girl in between them. Nora smiled and opened her mouth to respond, but a loud alarm startled Cypher out of his slumber. He jolted awake, still processing his dream as bits and pieces of it flooded into his brain. Cypher felt his stomach churn, wanting so badly to go back to his dreamland. He crossed his arms around himself as tears began to roll down his face. Cypher looked around him to take in his surroundings, the cold monotone steel walls staring back at him. A similar feeling of loneliness washed over him, almost as strong as the day he lost them both.

       Cypher tried desperately to wipe his tears off but they just continued to fall. Deciding he wouldn’t be able to get himself together before breakfast he let them fall, no longer trying to stop them. He sat in his bed, staring at the wall, praying that he could go back to his family. But even if they were somehow alive, once you join the Valorant Protocol, you can never go back to the life you once had.

       Cypher’s absence did not go unnoticed by the agents that morning, as the distinct smell of his tea was nowhere in the air. Sova made a note to himself to check in on the man and bring him a bagel once he finished his food. The other agents also made sure to check up on him even though he ensured them he was doing well once he had left his room. And if Cypher stayed up the next few nights working on projects to keep himself from dreaming of the again, that’s not my secret to say.

[lailoken]

‘Heathen Survivals’

“In Scotland, as in other parts of the British Isles, the conversion to Christianity was largely led by foreign saints who were of noble birth or royal descent. They converted the tribal kings who then forced the new religion onto their subjects. For this reason the process was resisted by the lower class, and even by some members of the ruling power elite. The Chronicle of Lonecast recorded that as late as the 13th century Father John, the parish priest of Inverkiething, seduced young village girls so they danced wantonly around an ithyphallic stone idol. He allegedly 'stirred them to lust and [to] use filthy language' while leading a procession around the churchyard holding aloft a representation of 'the male organ of generation' on top of a pole. At Loch Mournie in the 17th century the local minister condemned his practitioners for continuing to practice the pagan ritual of sacrificing bulls. Twenty years later Hector Mackenzie of Mellon, his two sons and his grandson were summoned before a session of the kirk (church) elders to explain why they had killed a bull on their farm "in ane heathenish mannere". In his defense Mackenzie told the elders the sacrifice was an attempt to recover the health of his sick wife. It was not recorded who the animal was sacrificed to.

In 1650 a woman was called to account before the kirk elders for killing and burying a lamb under the threshold of a house, a magical liminal place. She told them she had sacrificed one of her flock of new-born lambs, the healthiest, so the rest would be protected from disease. When Isobel Young was charged with sorcery in 1692 for burying a live ox, her son told the court it was common husbandry practice and nothing to do with witchcraft. In a program broadcast at Hallowe'en 2009 the local radio station on the Isle of Lewis mentioned a letter written by a 17th century visitor to the island calling on the laird and the church to outlaw 'barbaric customs' at that time of year. The writer said he had seen a bull sacrificed and its blood spilt on the earth and ritual bonfires blazing on every hill. (Letter from Linda Fallows to author 31.10.2009)

On the Isle of Mull disease broke out in the herds of cattle in 1767. It was decided to take drastic measures to deal with the outbreak. A need- fire was lit on a hilltop without the use of flint and by friction between two pieces of wood. 'Need' is from the Old English niedfyr and the Old German nieten, meaning 'to churn'. The fire had to be lit before moonrise and during its lighting an old man chanted an incantation. Then a sick heifer was sacrificed and the diseased part of the animal was cut out and burnt on the need-fire. The rest of the good meat was then cooked and eaten by all those present as the fire gradually burnt down.

An ancient druidic cure for epilepsy still practiced in the Highlands at the beginning of the 20th century required the sacrifice ofa black cockerel. A hole was dug near to where the patient had experienced their last fit. The bird was buried alive while an incantation was read out calling on the earth to "swallow the evil". Shortly afterwards the sufferer would recover and, it was claimed, would have no more fits during their life.

In 1909 when a farmer died on Orkney his grieving family sacrificed his prize heifer. This was said to be an offering to the hogboy or hogboon, from the Norwegian haug-bui or haug-buinn meaning 'mound dweller'. This was the Norse term for a tutelary or guardian spirit associated with ancient burial mounds. Sometimes the hogboy was believed to be the shade or earthbound spirit of a former owner of the nearby farmstead or the ancestral founder of the family concerned. They remained earthbound to watch over their property, land and descendants and to monitor the progress of the estate down the generations.

In the 18th century Martin Martin said that the inhabitants on the Isle of Lewis still performed sacrifices to an ancient sea-god called Shoni or Shoney on Hallowe'en (October 31s). They brewed a special beer and after sunset threw cups of it into the sea. Afterwards everyone went to the local kirk and sat in the pews in silence while a candle was lit on the altar. This candle had to burn down and go out before they would leave. The rest of the night was then spent in the fields drinking, eating, singing and dancing. It was believed this ritual would ensure a good crop of seaweed used as fertilizer on the fields and therefore a bountiful harvest for the next year.

In the Hebrides St Michael, the patron saint of horses, horsemen and boats, was spoken of in the 19th century as "the god Michael". On the saint's feast day of Michaelmas (September 29th), a special bannock or oat cake was baked inside a lamb's skin. It was then blessed at a special Mass by the priest and dedicated to the saint. It was also a traditional custom on the same day to hold horse races and, unusually, both men and women participated in these events.

As well as blood sacrifices there was also a folk tradition of making offerings to the genii loci, the 'spirits of a place' or nature spirits, that inhabited the countryside. In 1697 when Martin Martin was travelling through Scotland he said country people still held pre-Christian beliefs. Although they claimed to outsiders that they were God-fearing pious folk, secretly they believed the hills were inhabited by spirits and made offerings to them. These entities could appear in an instant from their natural hiding places whenever they wanted to startle a passing traveller.

In January 1657 at Cullen in Forfarshire Margaret Philp was arrested on a charge of practising witchcraft. Her servant, Isobel Imblaugh, who may have been related to Philp's husband as they shared the same surname, testified she had seen her mistress have dealings with a spirit taking the form of a talking hare. Imblaugh said she had seen Philp put out a bannock, a jug of beer and a piece of meat for the sprite and the next morning it was all gone. On another occasion the spirit-hare had allegedly entered the house through an open window and drank the beer left out for it in a bowl. In the 19th century superstitious Highlanders left offerings of milk at 'fairy hills' (prehistoric burial mounds) and standing stones for the faeries known as brownies.

Aspects of pagan moon worship also survived in folk magic and folk customs. People believed warts could be cured by a simple ritual at new moon. When its crescent was first seen in the night sky a handful of soil was taken from under the right foot of the sufferer. This was then made into a paste using the affected person's saliva and spread over the infected part of the skin. This was then covered with a dressing and left until the lunar disc had waxed to full and then waned again. It was removed when the crescent of the next new moon was seen in the sky. It was said that this procedure was always successful in removing the blemish. Unmarried women also performed a ritual at the new moon to divine who their future lovers or husbands would be. When they could see the lunar crescent in the sky they sat astride a gate or stile without any underwear on. They then recited the following charm:

'All hail to thee the moon, All hail to thee, I privy good moon, declare to me, This very night, who my husband shalt be'

Various wells and springs all over Scotland were visited until comparatively recent times for healing purposes. Many of these places were said to have specific properties to heal diseases and illnesses in a throwback to pre-Christian times. For instance any well dedicated to St Tegla was claimed to be able to cure the 'falling sickness', probably dizziness caused by fluctuating blood pressure levels. St John's Well at Balmanno in Kincardshire was frequented by parents taking their children to be cured of rickets, a once common disease caused by malnutrition. St Kilda's Well cured deafness and drinking the waters of Trinity Well in Perthshire was reputed to be able to cure even the so- called Black Death, or bubonic plague.

St Fillan's Well near Tyndwell in Perthshire was visited by those suffering from mental illness. They were first dipped in the water by their carers and then taken to a nearby chapel. Once inside they were tied up and the chapel's bell was placed on top of their heads. The patient was then left in this uncomfortable and rather undignified position overnight. When their relatives returned the next morning at dawn they were supposed to have been cured.

Another well used to try and cure the mentally ill was situated on the isle of St Maelrubla on Loch Moree in Ross and Cromarty. Near the well was a tree where pilgrims hammered coins into its trunk as offerings to the saint or the spirit of the well. There were also the remains of a stone altar on the island allegedly used by the druids to sacrifice bulls on in ancient times. When St Columba arrived in the area he reconsecrated it to the Christian faith.

People suffering from depression, anxiety, or other mental problems were rowed out to the island in boats. Just before reaching landfall they were thrown out into the shallow water and then dragged by ropes the rest of the way to the shore. Once at the well they were forced to drink the water and a piece of their clothing was cut off and hung from one of the branches of the tree. An offering of a coin was then made by hammering it into the trunk. It was said that the well's healing properties were negated when a shepherd threw his mad dog into it. This apparently caused the spirit who inhabited the well to leave.

Some of the holy wells were only potent at certain times of the year. One example was at Craigie, which only possessed healing properties on the first Sunday in May. Its waters were said to be a powerful antidote to all known diseases, malefic witchcraft and the baleful influence of the Good People or faery folk. Crowds gathered at the well and colored threads and scraps of clothing were hung on the shrubs and rocks surrounding it.Other wells were given offerings of pins, needles or coins in a far memory of the sacrifices given to water deities in pagan times.

The prehistoric megalithic monuments of Scotland still retained their special nature after the conversion to the new religion. An ancient custom of holding legal courts at stone circles for settling property and land disputes survived into historical times. The bishop of Aberdeen held one at the Ring of Peddles and a nobleman called William de Saint Michael was summoned to attend it. He was asked to explain why he had seized some property from the Catholic Church. Forty years later the son of King Robert II of Scotland held a special court at a stone circle and called the bishop of Moray to justify why he was making a claim on some land at Badenoch. This ancient custom also survived in Wales. In the 1980s a man asked a council official to meet him on neutral ground at the Pentre Ifan cromlech near Newport in Pembrokeshire to discuss a longstanding property disagreement.

Following the conversion of the pagan Scots prehistoric sites like stone circles, standing stones and burial mounds were popularly believed to be the meeting places of witches, the haunts of spirits of the ancestral dead, and the habitat of faeries, elves and goblins. One witch was seen to regularly visit a local standing stone for unknown purposes of a magical nature. Another, Helen Rogie of Lumpahana, was accused of building a cairn or pile of stones on a hilltop for the practice of alleged 'devil worship.' She was probably making offerings to, or doing rituals involving, the genii loci.

In 1649 the male witch Andro or Andrew Man was accused of setting up a stone as an idol. He was seen to perform a "superstitious ceremony", taking off his hat to bow to it. In his defense Man claimed it was only a boundary stone marking the edge of his land and the beginning of his neighbor's. This is interesting in itself as in prehistoric times standing stones were often erected for just this purpose, to divide one tribe's land from another's. Such boundary makers were also regarded as having a magical liminal significance. The kirk refused to accept Man's explanation and decided he was performing some kind of “heathenish practice". He was ordered to break the stone into four pieces.

One of the earliest recorded examples of witchcraft in Scotland was in the 2nd century CE when King Natholocus consulted a famous witch living on the sacred island of Iona. The King had just lost an important battle with a rebel army who were trying to overthrow him. He sent a messenger to the witch to ask her advice about what he should do next. Unfortunately after consulting the spirits she predicted the King would be murdered. This dastardly deed would not be carried out by one of his enemies, but by somebody close to him who he trusted.

The King's messenger demanded to know by whose treacherous hand his master would be killed. The witch gave a mocking laugh and replied; "Even thine, so shalt be well known within these few days." The man returned to court in some distress and at first he was reluctant to pass the witch's prediction to the King. He thought if he told the truth the King would put him to death. However, if he kept it secret one of the others present might tell the King anyway. Only one possible alternative was left. Just as the witch had predicted, he entered the King's bedchamber during the night and stabbed him dead while he slept.

St Patricus or Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, was a 5th century Romano-British subject allegedly kidnapped by Irish pirates and sold as a slave to the king of the Dalriada tribe in Scotia. However an alternative story says that Patrick was forced to flee from his home country of Scotland to Ireland after being attacked by the witches of Dumbarton. He fled in a boat across the sea to escape them as he knew the dark sisterhood were unable to cross water. 

During the 7th century King Kenneth became so concerned at the widespread practice of witchcraft and wizardry in his Scottish kingdom that he passed a new law condemning its practitioners to death. Three hundred years later King Duffus (who reigned from 962 to 966), the son of King Malcolm I, fell ill with a mysterious malady and began to physically fade away. His physicians could not help him and they began to believe some form of witchcraft was involved in the ruler's dramatic and potentially fatal decline in health.

A few days after the King became ill word reached the court that a number of witches had been gathering nearby to magically bring his death. A young girl who worked in the royal kitchens had been overheard threatening Duffus' life. The governor of Forres Castle immediately ordered her to be arrested and interrogated about the alleged plot. She named her own mother as the head of a witches' coven casting spells against the sick King. As a result of the servant girl's confession several women including her mother were detained. They were caught red- handed in the act of roasting a wax image representing the King over a fire. Once the image had been destroyed and the witches summarily executed the King recovered his health.”

—

Scottish Witches and Warlocks

by Michael Howard

[xsarcasticwriterx]

Young God-Part 1

Summary: Your power isn't even a power its simply words. You can understand people, get into their head and know them better than anyone all willingly on their end. This made you useful to the avengers when villains came and you could understand and fix them. When this is asked to be done to loki you cant help but fall for the god the more you get to know him.

Pairing: Loki x reader

Warning: Swearing, Loki being loki,angst

Notes: Ok lemme just start of saying loki isn't going to be...nice in the beginning of this i got the idea off of joker and harley quinn's relationship and slightly silence of the lambs so do with that what you will now i adore loki so he won't be a dick the whole time just yea someone getting into loki's head? he isn't too chill with that.

You walked down the stairs leading to the dungeon where the god was locked away ready for you to speak to. you heard the mocking laughs and sarcastic remarks made as you passed the cells.” “hey mortal lemme get a taste” he said thrust to you. you flipped him off not looking at him and passing on by. seeing the god laying on the couch reading a book you walked through the boundaries placed stepping before him. Odin had given you a pill, said it would allow you past the wall of an hour and only you. “hello” he said reading his book still. “apologies for my fellow inmates they can be quiet rude” he said with a small smirk.

“ironic coming from a man with the nickname silver tongue” you said sitting down on a chair in front of him. he placed down his book “oh doll there's more to that nickname” he said with a wink. you simply rolled your eyes in response. you had been told loki was like this. “anyways why are you here” he asked sitting up turning to you “did odin send you to make sure im behaving?” he asked with a snarky tone

You made a mental note of his hatred for odin, though from your interactions with the man you slightly understood that. “i'm here to speak to you” is all you said. loki scoffed “you doll are a horrible liar” he said with a smirk. He stood up and walked around you almost scanning you. “what's the real reason your here?” he asked behind you. “truly i am here to talk to you” you repeated with a straight face and shrug. “then talk” he said bending down right in front of your face. his breath ghosting over your face and his long wavy hair falling in his face. “your a god you live for years on end tell me loki, how old are you?” you asked. loki gave a smile before standing “my age? that's what you came for?” he huffed. “ill answer your questions if you answer mine” he said in return

you turned around facing him “i don't answer questions” you said with a shrug “oh come on doctor i know your other patients didn't just comply with your questioning” he said with a smirk. he was always smiling or smirking, never a true smile something to show planning, no not planning, anger? no not anger. hurt? yes thats it hes hurt and hides it with his devilish smile. to throw you off to push you away. make you fear him over wanting to know him.

Now the new question was how did he know you were a doctor. well you may not be an official doctor but you were one of sorts. You had been in college to get a phycology degree until fury swept you up making you work for him. you tilted your head alarming the god you were lost on his accusation. “oh dear as you said i am a god you don't think i could fall for your tricks and lies like the others did you?” he asked walking to you “doll only i make the tricks here” he said holding your jaw. “now we play by my rules” he said with another smile. “stop” you said. his smile widened “stop smiling” you said. you saw a hint of confusion wash over before it was erased with another smirk “why doll?” he asked. “because its a lie” you said. loki's face became serious “you talk of lies yet you wouldn't tell me why your here” he said walking around the room.

“Fine i'm here to evaluate you” you said simply “now will you answer my questions?” you asked. “I have been just not the ones you want the answer to.” he replied. “agree to my terms and ill be more than willing to answer you” he said with a sarcastic smile “i ask the questions not you” you replied. he shrugged laying back down reading his book again. you only had an hour with him so you had no choice but to comply with his rules or you'll get nowhere but you also didn't want the god to think he could just boss you around and throw a fit.

you shrugged picking up your bag walking out of the room. “1,054″ you said blankly. you turned confused “my age” he said still reading. you nodded walking back in “one question” you said sitting down. he smirked still looking at the book but not reading it “well start simple. name?” he asked. “y/n” you replied. “y/n....mmm now y/n why are you here?” he asked sitting up. “to evalu-” you started to say before he cut you off “why are you here?” he asked “were not doing this loki i said one question” you said standing back up. your hour was almost over. “what happened doctor don't like a taste of your own medicine?” he asked with a dark smile. “why do you do that? smile so much?” you asked. “you tell me you said it was a lie which means you've made your own deductions of it so tell me doc why do i smile so much?” he asked tilting his head.

“to make people uncomfortable. they see you smile this mischievous smile a smile that they expect from the god of mischief. you become what people expect of you so they stay away now why you push people you don't know away i'm not quiet sure on but i assume it has something to do with your spite for odin” you said simply. loki gave a wide smile standing up “well well well doc, you are utterly” he said behind you getting close to your ear “wrong” he said simply straightening backup. “now you well i do have so many things to say about you” he said moving in front of you. “you evaluate people thinking you know everything about them so much more than they know themself, from body language to words to the crime they commited. but i my dear am simply a king who deserved a throne and would fight for it” he said sitting back down “hours up doll better leave before your trapped in here” he said looking at you with another smile. 

Walking back up you felt unnerved. the god had a weird aura to him like he could read your mind. granted he may actually be able to in which case you need to be more careful about such things. you walked to your room feeling empty and drained. you fell back on the bed rubbing your face. the odinsons had given you your own quarters while you stayed there. there was  knock on the door and you groaned “its open” you replied and the door opened revealing yet another god, a kinder one. Thor walked over sitting next to you “how was loki?” he asked. “loki was....exactly how yall described him” you sighed. thor griminced he hoped his brother would behave “did you get anything out of him?” he asked. “just his age which is useless it was more a test to see if he'd comply with me. think he got more out of me than i of him” you said looking up at thor. 

“give him time. my brother can be...difficult but your a legend at this so you should do well it may take longer than usual but you'll get it” thor said cheerfully. you gave a small smile. you wanted to believe that you truly did but honestly you weren't sure. “loki sure is a strange guy” you said sitting up “Well he's not a guy hes a god such as i and he was raised by my mother” he said to you.

“get some rest i bet you'll do much better tomorrow” he said with a smile walking out. you sighed and changed, laying bed you felt sleep take over. 

you stood in a black room seeing your parents smiling faces “mom? dad? you said with a smile. you started to run to them before blood dripped from there eyes and they slowly faded away. you stepped back feeling empty once again. you heard a chuckle and turned seeing loki laugh and roll his eyes before vanishing too

You awoke with a small scream and your heart racing. you were drenched in sweat and tears streamed down your face. once you calmed you growled launching up from bed and walking down to the dungeon storming past the assholes shouting crude things at you. you stood at loki's cell banging on the wall “hey asshole” you said blatantly. “well hello to you too doll isnt this a shocker” he said with another smile god how you wanted to slap that smile off his face “shut up” you said. loki sat up looking at you “well what can i do for you?” he asked. “your not supposed to have you powers in here” you said with a stern face

loki tilted his head in mock confusion “why i don't” he said voice dripping in sarcastic hurt as if offended by such accusations. “don't lie you bastard! You were in my head i know it you know it so let's just both know it” you yelled at him. His smile widened “ok darling but see i do have one question left unanswered. how did your parents die?” he asked stepping to the glass. “they didn't it was simply a nightmare” you groaned. 

“no no see people who dream of the death unprompted feel pain,sadness,fear they try to stop it you well you felt nothing you just...stood there” he said looking down at you. “so how was it they died?” he asked. “if you can get in my head then you sure as shit know” you said looking down at the floor. you really did not want to speak of it.

“of course i do doll but i want to hear you say it” he said leaning on the glass. “i will not play into your game” you said storming off “you still hear it dont you? their screams” he said. “i do” he said after

you turned “pardon?” you asked walking back to him. “have a nice night darling” he said smiling walking back to his couch. “but you said-” you were cut off by the sounds of footsteps “oi you are not to be down here madam” the man said walking to you “oh yes sorry i must have sleep walked” you replied walking upstairs back to your bed.

laying down your head felt as if it was spinning. This was going to be an interesting roller coaster wasn't it.

[razieltwelve]

The Sound of Thunder (Spoilers)

This post contains spoilers for the future direction of The Sound of Thunder. If you do not want to read spoilers, stop here.

The Sound of Thunder is basically inspired by Silence of the Lambs with Lightning playing the role of Hannibal Lecter and Fang stepping into the shoes of Agent Clarice Starling. 

The story opens with Fang be sent to interview Lightning in a secure facility. Amodar wants to get her insight into a case since someone has begun to commit murders that are eerily similar to those committed by Lightning. The critical difference is that while Lightning killed sister, she often focused her ire on the younger sister whereas the present murders seem to show greater anger toward the older sister.

Lightning’s sister, Serah, is currently in protective custody, her whereabouts unknown.

After a brief conversation, Lightning taunts Fang but takes an interests in her, revealing the differences between her murders and the present murders.

That’s where the first chapter finishes.

The basic idea of the story is fairly simple. Fang is going to try to put together the clues to identify the murderer while bodies continue to pile up. 

Things get increasingly tense when Yuna and Rikku are abducted. Yuna’s father is a powerful politician, and he demands that something be done. What disturbs Amodar and Fang is that the two aren’t actually sisters. However, when asked about this, Lightning tells Fang that it isn’t necessarily the blood relationship that matters, so much as the bond between the two. After all, she didn’t just target any old pair of sisters. Lightning always went after the sisters that were the closest.

It is during this time that Serah Farron apparently disappears from police custody. After consulting with the witness protection program, Fang discovers that the murders have occurred in areas not far from Serah. She believes that Lightning’s ‘admirer’ is trying to finish what Lightning started by killing Serah.

Lightning just laughs when she’s told this, telling Fang that her ‘admirer’ would never be so crass as to take what’s hers, not if they know what’s good for them. Fang points out that Lightning is stuck behind bars, but Lightning merely smiles and tells Fang that she’ll be out soon enough.

Fang begins to believe that Lightning knows exactly who the killer is. This belief is further bolstered when forensic analysis shows that the weapon and style used to kill the latest victims is archetypical of the veterans from Lightning’s old unit in the military. Many of them simply vanished off the face of the earth after the war, and still others were lost in the conflict but never confirmed dead.

With the days passing and Braska (Yuna’s father) growing more desperate, he decides to use his political clout to force a meeting with Lightning. Lightning was a former soldier, someone who loved the outdoors and a good bit of exercise. These days, she’s cooped up in one of the most secure cells in the world.

His offer is simple. If she can give information that allows them to save his daughter and Rikku, he will have her transferred to a new cell on a deserted island. She will still be confined, and the island itself is so isolated that escape would be meaningless, but she will get more time outdoors, and a cell that allows her to do some indoor exercise.

Amodar urges Braska to reconsider, but Braska is adamant. It is at this point that Fang’s sister, Vanille, disappears. Fang is horrified, especially when a cryptic message left at the scene suggests that the one responsible is indeed the killer. She seeks out Lightning’s advice, only to find that Lightning has already been transferred as is being held in another secure location.

Dr Jihl Nabaat tells Fang that she should hurry. As Lightning’s former warden, she protested the move, but was overruled. She doesn’t think that Lightning’s new minders will be able to hold her. They don’t know what they’re dealing with.

Fang hurries to the location where Lightning is being held.

Meanwhile, Lightning is being wonderfully civil. She has passed on information to Amodar indicating that the killer is a former colleague, someone who grew up in a broken home, someone who grew to blame someone in his life that he viewed as something between a sister and a lover for his ills. During their time on the front, they came to understand one another and she learned that he planned to enact his own bloody vengeance on the world.

His name? Caius Ballad.

During a seemingly uneventful dinner, Lightning begins her escape. Faking a seizure, she lures the inexperienced guards close enough for her to kill them and take the keys. She then takes their weapons and sounds the alarm. As the backup team rushes to her ‘cell’, Lightning begins to systematically hunt them down, wiping out the entire team. She does this by wounding some of the members to lure out the others and erode team discipline while using the bodies of the guards she killed as props to draw attention at critical moments.

Rather than attempt to escape through the front door, Lightning instead takes advantage of the building’s geography to escape first to the roof and then over to a nearby building where she kills someone else, takes their clothes, and disguises herself using a hat to hide her hair. She even changes her gait and simply walks out of the building as reinforcements rush into the original building.

Fang arrives on the scene shortly after, and Lightning actually stays to watch her. When Fang somehow manages to trace Lightning’s steps via intuition and cunning, Lightning ambushes her. Rather than killing her, Lightning knocks her unconscious, but not before leaving her with a few clues.

When Fang regains consciousness, she tells Amodar what she has learned, and she finds out that Caius Ballad isn’t really the one responsible. Instead, when they track him down, they find out that he’s been dead for years. In fact, it looks a lot like Lightning killed him herself. The isolated cabin he was in was also rigged with a trap that killed most of the team sent to apprehend him.

Following Lightning’s tip to investigate the ‘chains of the past’, Fang delves into Lightning’s history. She discovers evidence that after Lightning’s parents died, she and Serah became abnormally close. At this time, they were badly let down by the system. They lost their house. They had to resort to begging to survive, and Lightning ended up joining a gang to make ends meet. It was during this period that Lightning’s kills were believed to have begun. This relationship only deepened until Serah met Snow Villiers. This enraged Lightning who saw it as a betrayal.

Lightning went to war only to return and find that Serah and Snow were going to get married. It was around that time that Lightning’s killings began to ramp up. Fang believes that Lightning saw Serah marrying Snow as the last piece of her family abandoning her and leaving her all alone. It was notable that in the car accident in which Lightning’s parents died, Lightning never lost consciousness whereas Serah did. Lightning spent three days in that ravine trapped next to the dead bodies of her parents trying to get out of the wreck and save her sister. The other driver would escape charges due to political connections but would later be killed during a robbery gone wrong.

Snow would later be killed in a car accident, but the more Fang investigated the matter, the more certain she grew that it wasn’t an accident at all. That was when Lightning’s killings took on an even more gruesome style, culminating in the hideously awful murder scene where Lightning forgot to cover her tracks. Some of her hair was found on the scene, along with fingerprints. This was how Lightning was caught.

But something about the old case files bothers her. Looking more closely at the wounds on that last, pivotal set of murders, Fang notices that the older sister was actually harmed more than the younger one - something closer to the current murders. Moreover, the knife work isn’t quite as expert as in Lightning’s older murders.

She doesn’t know quite what to make of it, but as she delves into the archives containing Lightning’s old records, she finds a note about a location very dear to Lightning: an old beach house in Bodhum. It was never hers, but her family used to walk past it every day. Fang has a hunch, and she follows it to the beach house.

There, she discovers that although it should be abandoned, there are signs that it has been lived in recently. Preparing herself, she makes her way inside. She finds Yuna and Rikku huddled together in a dark pit. She tries to call it in, but there is a jamming device in place. She is about to leave and call for reinforcements when she spots a familiar bit of clothing nearby. It belongs to Vanille.

Fang can’t bear to leave. She presses onward and finds Vanille unconscious and strapped to a chair. However, before she can leave, she is ambushed and knocked unconscious herself. When she wakes up, she finds herself staring into the face of Serah Farron.

Suddenly, it all clicks in Fang’s mind.

Lightning was never the sole killer. She and Serah had been killing people together, right from the start, most likely beginning with the driver who crashed into their car and killed their parents. The reason they’ve been killing sisters is because they don’t very highly of them. They see them as not being close enough, of not caring about each other the way Serah and Lightning do. In fact, Fang remembers that as close as the murdered sisters generally were, there were always rumours of friction and occasional arguments - imperfections in Lightning and Serah’s eyes. After all, alone and with none one else to turn to, Lightning and Serah always had each other. How could they respect people who couldn’t even manage that?

When Fang tells Serah this, the other woman is impressed.

Fang also explains her suspicions about what happened later. Snow’s accident wasn’t an accident. Lightning sabotaged his car. Serah says that is exactly what happened, and she framed Lightning for the last murder to get her arrested and killed. However, Lightning surrendered and avoided being killed, and she was then put out of Serah’s reach for revenge since she genuinely loved Snow.

Her plan was to then commit more murders knowing that Lightning would be drawn out. This succeeded, and she went after Vanille to get to Fang since she thought Lightning found Fang intriguing, and Lightning hates it when people mess with her stuff.

Sure enough, Serah is still talking when Lightning arrives.

The two sister square off. In the midst of their battle, Fang manages to free herself and Vanille, and they run for it, saving Yuna and Rikku along the way. The beach house is destroyed in an explosion when Serah, who starts losing, detonates a trap she’d set beforehand.

This spells the end of the two sisters.

Or so Fang thought.

A few months later, having received a commendation for her efforts, Fang gets a letter. It’s from Lightning. She thanks Fang for a most interesting adventure, especially the chance to reunite with her sister. Fang doesn’t have to worry. Lightning has other scores to settle and other people to kill, and she wants to see how far Fang can go.

A few days later another letter arrives.

It’s from Serah. In her words, she tells Fang that the world failed her and Lightning. They spent years afraid, wondering what new horror the next day would bring in. She talks about how often Lightning came back home bruised and beaten from her work with the gang, and how often Serah had to steal and lie to get essentials. She tells Fang that she and Lightning are going to settle their score one day. She hasn’t forgiven Lightning for Snow, and she probably never will, but she has other people to go after first.

A few days later, two sets of murders begin. They’re no longer targeting sisters, but Fang knows who is responsible. She joins the special team Amodar is putting together to catch the two sisters.

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

So, yeah, there is an unedited stream of consciousness of the ideas I had regarding where the story would go. Obviously, it’s very rough, but this was the ‘skeleton’ of what I thought might happen. Had I written it in full, I would have fleshed it out and tinkered with it a lot.

[johaerys-writes]

Where Blood Roses Bloom

Fandom: Castlevania

Pairings: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha, Hector/Lenore

Summary:

After Trevor gets grievously injured by a night creature, he and Sypha return to Dracula's castle to seek Alucard's help. The man they find there, however, is but a shadow of the friend they left behind.

Meanwhile, in far Styria, Hector does his best to survive in the vampires' court, a lamb amidst wolves. Little do the wolves know, the lamb has fangs of its own.

Chapter 8: Safe is up! The trio return to the castle after their brief encounter with the night-creatures in the woods, and have some much needed quiet time. Plenty of introspection, angst, hurt/comfort, Alucard POV :)

Read on AO3! Or read from the beginning

“I prepared a bath,” Sypha says with a small, awkward smile as soon as Adrian steps into his room. “I figured you would need it.”

He stands at the threshold of his study, blinking into the interior. In the time it took for him and Belmont to return to the castle, Sypha lit up the fire in the hearth, dragged one of the copper tubs in his room and filled it with warm water; she even put some order to his chaos, placed his books back in their proper place, tidied his desk, folded his blankets. It... almost feels like home again.

It is still odd, though, to see her in his space; it has been so long since anyone has stepped foot in any place he called his very own. It should have felt like an invasion, but it doesn’t. He is surprised by how much he welcomes her presence there, considering how things were left between them before he stormed out of the castle.

“You and Trevor took your time getting here. I should probably reheat this,” she says, and her gaze glides discreetly straight past him and to the tub of water, which waits for him by the fire. "Unless you have a preference for lukewarm to cold baths?”

Adrian lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Belmont's horse had been so spooked by the night-creatures, that it took almost an hour for them to find it, trudging through the snow. With Belmont stopping every so often to catch his breath, Adrian was surprised they even managed to get back at all. At length, they found the poor animal hiding behind a small thicket, close to a lake nearby. Even when they climbed into the saddle, the horse was jittery and restless, and Adrian would have turned into a wolf and ran to the castle on his own four legs if he hadn't thought it would have unsettled the beast even more.

Besides, riding two-saddle with Belmont wasn’t quite as uncomfortable as he would have once thought. The warmth of his chest, pressed up against his back, was more than welcome against the bitter cold he had had to endure that past day, and his arms resting at either side of him as he held the reins felt… good. Comforting. Infuriatingly so.

Not that Adrian would ever admit that to him outright, but still.  

Sypha flicks her fingers, and instantly there is steam rising from the water, giving off the sweet scent of herbal soap. It smells faintly like her, Adrian realises, and something warm spreads within him at the thought that she used her own soap to prepare his bath. Sypha gives him a last smile as she turns to leave. “I’ll come back to bring you some tea. Or would you perhaps like some time alone…?”

“Tea sounds wonderful,” Adrian replies, and is surprised by how readily the words fly out of his mouth. “Thank you, Sypha.”

Her smile widens, and there is a flicker of understanding, but also of expectation in her eyes. Her gaze has none of the hurt or confusion it did last time she had seen him, none of the shock and fear. That alone is more comforting that Adrian can express.

“Alright then,” she says quietly, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue. “I’ll be back soon. I'd better go check on our perpetual patient first.” The door closes softly behind her, and Adrian is on his own.

With mechanical movements, he pulls off his boots, removes his clothes. A small blanket of snow, muddle and pine needles is gathered around his feet as he undresses. He doesn’t even bother folding them, leaving them on the floor next to the tub instead; they’re all covered in so much blood and dirt that he hardly make out the colour of the fabric anyway.

The warm, soapy water is slightly on the scalding hot side, but Adrian doesn’t hesitate a moment before lowering himself in it. It embraces his body swiftly and the many cuts and scrapes on his arms and legs sting. Adrian leans back against the sturdy copper of the tub and lets the water seep into his sore and tired muscles and take away the ache, the cold, the numbness. He rests his head on the rim of the tub and closes his eyes with a sigh.

The past couple of days drift behind his tightly closed eyelids, before he can stop them. His duel with Belmont, their ill-timed kiss, the dinner he and Sypha prepared for him, their argument. Himself running away, the castle and the forest disappearing behind him in a blur. He doesn't remember that many details after this, nothing concrete; only himself running for miles and miles until his limbs were numb and his lungs were on fire. Even when he could run no more, though, when he was so far away from the castle that he couldn’t even see its tall and sharp peaks, he remembers the ache in his heart being exactly the same, as if he’d never taken a step away.

They’re always within him, those memories, that hollowness, that pain. No matter how fast he runs, how far, they're always there. The voices in his head that tell him that he’s meant to be alone, that he's always been different, that he doesn't belong. All of his life, even since he has any sort of recollection of himself, he remembers feeling adrift, with neither foot planted firmly on the ground beneath him. Half human and half vampire; a part of both worlds, and accepted by neither. His father, after he had lost his mind, had tried to kill him because he thought him too human, soft and weak, with a human heart and human sensibilities; Sumi and Taka had tried to kill him because he wasn’t human enough, because to them he was a ruthless, heartless monster, same as the ones they’d come to know.

As if there really is any difference between vampires and humans in how monstrous they can be.

Adrian has seen enough of the world to know that anyone’s a monster to someone. He is a monster in the world of humans, and a monster in the world of vampires; an oddity and a stranger in both. If there is no place for him in this world, then where is he supposed to be? What is he supposed to be?

If you’re a monster, then so am I.

Belmont’s words ring in his ears. Adrian grips the edges of the copper tub tightly, until his knuckles go white. He presses his eyes shut, trying to ignore the shock he had felt at that moment, but also the affection that swells within him and that he can no longer deny. It rises in his chest, shy like an early spring bud on cold and frosty ground, even as he tries to push it down. It reminds him of the earnestness in Belmont’s gaze as he said it, the warmth of his touch and the steadiness of his presence, and it makes him wonder if, maybe, just maybe, there is hope for Adrian yet.

And if that isn’t the cruelest thing that Belmont has ever done to him.

So lost is he in his thoughts, that he doesn’t even hear Sypha as she enters the room. Her footsteps are quiet and her voice soft when she says his name, the teapot and fine china rattling on her tray. The sweet aroma of herbal tea fills the room.  

“I brought you tea. Would you like some?”

Adrian has no strength to respond to her. It feels like it has all been drained out of him the moment he stopped running, as if his resolve simply crumbled the minute he stopped resisting.

“Alucard,” she says again, and Adrian doesn’t quite know why that name, from her lips, tears at him. She cautiously steps closer, and set the tray on the low coffee table. She extends her hand gingerly to touch his shoulder, but he recoils with a sharp intake of breath. A look of hurt flashes over her features.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, and that too, sends a stab of pain through him. “Would you like me to leave?”

Adrian takes a deep, slow breath to calm his rapidly beating heart, then shakes his head silently. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he doesn’t want to look at her either. He’s not sure what he’ll see there, this time.

“Would you like to talk?” Sypha asks, and again Adrian shakes his head. She gazes around the room, her eyes falling on a low stool. Carefully, she picks it up and brings it close to the tub. “I’ll sit here and keep you company, then. Is that alright?”

His silence is enough of an answer. She sits there, quietly for a time, gazing out of the window while he stares at the water in his bath. It’s starting to get cold, but a flick of Sypha’s wrist and it’s comfortably warm again. Adrian hugs himself tightly, pulling his knees up to his chest. He doesn’t quite know what to tell her; it’s awkward, sitting with her like this, but at the same time talking feels like an impossible task right now. His throat is raw and his heart is heavy, and there's so many thoughts swivelling in his mind that he wouldn't know where to start, even if he tried.

Still, he doesn’t want her to leave. That, he knows well enough. Her presence is comforting, the scent of her skin and of her herbal soap drifting around him, and she is humming an old song under her breath, like the ones his mother used to sing once. It helps fill the void a little.

“Do you want me to wash the blood off you?” she asks softly, a while after they’ve both been sitting there in silence.

Blood. Right. Adrian’s hands are still covered in it; it’s both Belmont’s and the night creatures’, and perhaps a little bit of his own, too. He has done nothing all the time he’s been in the tub, other than dejectedly sit in the water. He listens as Sypha stands up and looks around the room, then comes back with what must be a washcloth.

“I’m going to touch you now,” she says. “Is that alright?”

Adrian nods guardedly, but he still flinches a little when he feels her hands on him. She pauses and withdraws.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, with patience. Adrian swallows thickly, embarrassment rising within him with every moment that passes. Her apologies somehow make him feel even worse. He wonders if she’ll really get up and leave this time, but at the same time he has no energy to speak or to comfort her. He simply waits, eyes fixed on the water, hugging himself tighter still.

Sypha tries again, more slowly and gently this time, and this time Adrian doesn’t flinch quite as much. She carefully brushes the cloth over his hands and forearms, turns his wrists this way and that, carefully cleaning the blood and grime away. The warm cloth feels rough against his skin, and it stings just a little when she wipes the blood of the scratches the night creatures managed on him, but Sypha’s touch is gentle, even tender. She is careful not to linger too long on any of his scars, to brush the cloth over them as lightly as possible, as if afraid they’re still hurting him. And in a way, they are.

It feels like an eternity has passed since anyone has touched him for so prolonged a time. It reminds him of the last time someone touched his bare skin like this, a night that is etched in his memory with blood and fire and sharpened steel, and he trembles. He tries to remind himself that he is safe now, that Sypha has been nothing but patient with him all the while she’s been here and has never physically harmed him, that he can still protect himself if need be, if bad comes to worse.

He trembles all the same.

“Would you like me to stop?” she asks, her voice but the barest whisper murmured between them. “One word, and I’ll stop, Alucard. I’ll leave you be.”

Adrian closes his eyes and breathes slowly. He gives his head a slow, steady shake. He feels so strange like this, naked and vulnerable and exposed. He doesn't appreciate being seen in this state, but he finds Sypha’s touch almost tolerable. More than that, he knows the absence of it will leave him feeling... empty.

So he takes a deep breath and lets her clean his arms, his shoulders, his chest, lets her wash his hair. Her fingers are gentle and delicate when they thread through his locks and massage his scalp, working up a lather. She touches him like he’s fragile, easily breakable, like his skin is made of paper and his bones of glass. A part of Adrian knows that this sort of tenderness is unnecessary; that kindness such as this often pushes the hurt and loathing deeper instead of washing it away. Still, he is grateful. He’s grateful for her patience, grateful for her care, and he leans into it even as a part of him rebels against it, begs to run away again.

Adrian loses track of how long they stay like this, with him soaking in the water and Sypha’s hands on his skin, his scars; her gentle humming in his ears. At length, she starts talking to him in low and mellow tones, without expecting any answer. She speaks of the books she has found in the library, of the many spells she's managed to unearth, but it isn't long before her descriptions of spells and scrolls devolve into tales and legends of ages past and long forgotten. Snow is falling gently beyond the window, fluffy snowflakes tapping the glass, and Sypha is telling him a story of a water nymph in a far away land, up to the North, that fell in love with a hunter, and saved him from certain death when he fell in a frozen lake in the depths of winter. The nymph heard his cries and pulled him out of the water, Sypha says, then dragged him to a cave, and almost scalded herself when she tried to light a fire, so that he wouldn’t freeze. She nursed the hunter to health, and stayed with him until he gained full consciousness, even though it was getting harder for her every day, being away from the safety of her cold waters.

Adrian doesn’t know why this story tugs at him so viscerally. He listens attentively while she speaks, afraid to miss a single word.

“It is true, then,” he says quietly, when she almost reaches the end of her tale, speaking more to himself rather than to her. “The things we cherish the most often do us… the most harm.”

Sypha’s fingers stop their careful ministrations for a moment. Adrian thinks he can hear a soft smile in her voice when she whispers, “Certain things are worth fighting for, even if they hurt sometimes.”

Adrian says nothing to that. He just glances up at her, golden eyes meeting crystal blue. “What happened to the nymph?” he asks, and his heart beats with a strange sort of expectation.

Her smile widens, and she tilts her head to the side so that the light from the fire paints her fair skin amber. “They fell in love and lived happily ever after. The nymph in her lake, and the hunter in the cabin he built close by to be with her.”

Adrian huffs a quiet laugh at the gentle triumph that flashes in her eyes. “Do all your stories have a happy ending?”

“No,” she says, pouring fresh water over his hair to wash the soap away, “but this one does.” Her voice becomes softer when she whispers, “At least I hope it does.”

Read the rest on AO3!

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Best Serial Killer Movies of the ’90s Ranked

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Someone must have left the freezer door in the morgue open, because grisly reminders of the past are thawing before our eyes. You can see it this weekend with the release of John Lee Hancock’s The Little Things, a throwback to the days when movie stars hung out at crime scenes instead of in spandex, and it’ll be more apparent next month with the launch of Clarice, a television spinoff of 1991’s The Silence of the Lambs. All the evidence points to only one conclusion: the serial killer thrillers of the ‘90s are back!

Not that we’re complaining. For a macabre minute or two, every Hollywood name appeared eager to play either the detective or the killer—the hunter or the obsessed, which often proved interchangeable for both characters. Granted that means there can be something formulaic about many of these movies. Yet they can also be bleak, hard-edged, and ambiguous. From our modern gaze, where the dominant studio conventions prefer reassuring morality tales and sunny lighting, these movies’ preference for shadows and discomfort in the mainstream is kind of startling.

So grab your magnifying glass and fortify your stomach, because we’re about to revisit some of the best (and worst) of ‘90s serial killer thrillers. (Also this list is strictly for the decade when the genre was at its height and it excludes slasher movies like Scream, which may feature serial killers but were not exactly adult-oriented thrillers.)

12. Eye of the Beholder (1999)

Eye of the Beholder is a tonal oddity that only passingly flirts with the conventions of ‘90s serial killer thrillers, all while it tries to pay homage to (read: rip-off) Alfred Hitchcock. But any credit it deserves for deviation—including making Ashley Judd’s central femme fatale the killer—it loses in execution. As a muddied, impenetrable tale about an intelligence officer (Ewan McGregor) who spies on and falls in love with a serial killer, Eye of the Beholder is a scattershot of bad ideas that run the gamut from ludicrous to misogynistic.

Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but this movie will close the lids over your pupils inside of 30 minutes.

11. Nightwatch (1997)

It feels a little mean to rag on Ewan McGregor back-to-back, but maybe serial killer movies just aren’t his genre? That could be at least one takeaway from an ill-advised double feature of Eye of the Beholder and Nightwatch, the latter of which is a remake of a 1994 Danish film that I’ve not seen… and probably won’t since both the original film and American remake are directed by the same man.

McGregor plays medical student Martin here, a kid who gets an after school job by becoming the night watch security at the local morgue. But as a series of grisly prostitute murders pile up, Martin realizes he needs to figure out who the killer is—that or continue to be framed by the necrophiliac fiend who keeps coming by the morgue for one last liaison. It’s exactly as skeevy as it sounds. Do yourself a favor and go your whole life without hearing Nick Nolte sing “This Old Man” while climbing onto a corpse.

10. Natural Born Killers (1994)

The movie that Quentin Tarantino disowned, Natural Born Killers is a seedy mess based on a Tarantino script that was heavily rewritten by Oliver Stone, David Veloz, and Richard Rutowski. The concept itself is a seemingly inevitable escalation of the “bad romance outlaws” archetype that’s been floating around Hollywood since at least 1950’s Gun Crazy, and which was then made iconic by Bonnie & Clyde (1967).

But whereas those films relied on bank robbers living fast, Natural Born Killers descends into a seeming final form with Mickey and Mallory (Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis) as giddy serial killers who are eventually out for maximum carnage. Technically the pair are supposed to be presented as victims of traumatic child abuse—and who are then wrongfully glorified by the media. But Stone’s sloppy and tanked vision lacks the discipline to achieve anything beyond its maliciousness. Early sequences imagining Mallory’s abusive childhood like it’s a television sitcom, and later psychedelic visions of Robert Downey Jr.’s opportunistic news reporter as the Devil, do little to divorce the film from its shallow self-satisfaction in close-ups of heads being shot.

The movie came under controversy in the years after its release for inspiring alleged copycat killers as well as school shooters. It feels irresponsible to blame media for actual violence, but it’s still quite an indictment that Stone’s attempt to criticize media glorification became a favorite for many a disturbed individual with a gun.

9. Kiss the Girls (1997)

When studying competent, middle of the road Hollywood thrillers, Kiss the Girls is a solid place to start. As a decently made bit of studio convention, the movie is anchored by strong elements like Morgan Freeman as James Paterson’s literary hero, Alex Cross, and Ashley Judd as Kate, the victim who survives a masked killer’s attempt to abduct her into his harem.

Moments like Kate’s escape sequence through the North Carolina wilderness are effectively filled with adrenaline, and Judd particularly gives the salacious piece conviction. However, it is salacious to a fault. Even if the movie toned down the source novel’s even more lurid misogyny, the film studies Kate and the other victims with a lascivious male gaze, blurring sex with violence, real world horror with leering entertainment. Right down to its title, the film can be rightly criticized as Hollywood glamourizing another story about violence against women. Whether that damns the whole movie depends on the viewer, but it certainly keeps it low on our list.

8. The Bone Collector (1999)

Marketed with a hell of a tagline about there being thousands of taxi cabs in New York City that’ll get you home—and one that won’t—The Bone Collector is almost comically slavish to the clichés of ‘90s moviemaking. The wrinkle here is that after a faux cab driver begins abducting his victims off the street, the crime psychologist who must stop him is entirely stuck by his bedside. Due to a tragic accident, Denzel Washington’s Lincoln Rhyme is paralyzed from the neck down. Yet he is still able to catch serial killers by communicating in the earpiece of police officer Amelia Donaghy (an entirely unconvincing Angelina Jolie).

Read more

Movies

Lost Girls Review: Netflix Takes on the Long Island Serial Killer

By Rosie Fletcher

Books

The Last Book on the Left Takes on the Grim History of Serial Killers

By Alec Bojalad

Together the pair stay one step behind the mystery killer’s tracks as he executes a series of increasingly gruesome and ridiculous murders. It’s preposterous, and in some ways a forerunner for Saw with the satisfaction it takes in absurd death traps, but Washington is effortlessly compelling, even when he never leaves his apartment. As a bit of absurd Hollywood fluff, right down to the ultimately lackluster unmasking of the killer, it can be entertaining, even if you’ll deny it afterward.

7. Copycat (1995)

More potent than I remembered, Copycat is a genuinely well-crafted Hollywood thriller that may not reinvent the wheel but takes it out for a damn good spin. In the driver’s seat is Sigourney Weaver as Dr. Helen Hudson, a criminal psychologist who is an expert on serial killers until one follows her into the bathroom after a guest lecture. He nearly hangs her from the ceiling. Following that white-knuckled opening, the film jumps years ahead and Helen has become agoraphobic and afraid to leave her home.

Yet when a local series of murders reveal the pattern of a predator imitating the methods of his favorite “celebrities”—one crime scene is like the Boston Strangler and another emulates the horrors of Jeffrey Dahmer—Helen is pulled out of retirement by a no-nonsense detective (Holly Hunter). The winning chemistry between Weaver and Hunter—who are refreshingly free from the studio-mandated romantic subplots in some of the other movies on this list—and the blunt force power of their performances aid this sincerely disquieting flick. A needlessly convoluted third act aside, the movie still works as a warning about the danger of fanboys a generation early.

6. Fallen (1998)

Denzel Washington appears again thanks to this clever supernatural spin on the serial killer genre. At the beginning of Fallen, Washington’s John Hobbes appears on top of the world. The serial killer he chased for years (Elias Koteas) is about to breathe deeply in the gas chamber. Yet after the lever is pulled, and with Koteas singing the Rolling Stones’ “Time is On My Side” until his last breath, a funny thing happens: the murders continue.

In fact, more than just the killings, strangers in the street sing “Time is On My Side” in Hobbes’ ear, and he soon realizes that he faces a devil of a killer whose been operating since the beginning—quite literally since the villain is a demon who was once an angel that fell with Lucifer. It’s a bizarre premise given strutting confidence thanks to Washington’s performance, as well as good supporting work by John Goodman and Donald Sutherland. Twenty years later and its ending still sticks with me.

5. The Exorcist III (1990)

If you haven’t seen The Exorcist III, we know what you’re thinking: “Really?!” Yes. In fact, this isn’t even an exorcist movie; it should’ve been titled Legion like the 1983 novel it’s based on. Alas writer-director William Peter Blatty was forced to use the title and do reshoots that added an exorcism in the climax. Still, this supernatural thriller which involves a serial killer back from the dead is far better than it has any right to be.

Following the character of Lt. Kinderman from the 1973 masterpiece, the middle-aged gumshoe is now played by George C. Scott instead of the late Lee J. Cobb, and he possesses Scott’s usual love for contrasts between the restrained whisper and a bombastic howl. He also makes a sympathetic, secular detective forced to face the horrors of Hell when a series of murders committed against Catholic priests appear to be the work of the Gemini Killer (Brad Dourif), a serial killer whom Kinderman sent to the chair more than 10 years ago.

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Movies

The Exorcist III is a Classic and Better Than You Remember

By Jim Knipfel

Movies

The Exorcist Is Still the Scariest Movie Ever Made

By David Crow

Somehow the fiend—plus Kinderman’s long dead pal Father Damien Karras (Jason Miller)—appear to now be living in the same body of a John Doe kept in a mental asylum. With an unrelenting atmosphere of dread, palpable tension, and more of Blatty’s intellectual struggle with concepts of faith and evil, the film is more high-minded than its hacky title suggests. It also features one of the best jump scares in movie history.

4. Summer of Sam (1999)

The only movie on this list directly based on an actual serial killer’s crimes, Spike Lee’s Summer of Sam is a serious-minded joint. However, it’s only partially about the murders perpetrated by David Berkowitz, aka the “.44 Caliber Killer,” aka the Son of Sam. Rather the film focuses on the effects a serial killer has on the culture of New York City during the sweltering summer of 1977, and how it affects young lives trying to make it in the big city.

Influenced by Lee and his co-writers Michael Imperioli and Victor Colicchio’s memories of growing up in 1970s New York, the pic is a love letter to a grim moment in history when the city was about to explode with murders, blackouts, crime, and disco. All of this is digested from the vantages of Vinny (John Leguizamo), a philandering hairdresser guilt-ridden for cheating on his wife (Mira Sorvino), and his childhood pal Ritchie (Adrien Brody), who’s left the old neighborhood behind to join the fledgling punk rock scene.

With a greater interest in how a serial killer affects the culture and institutions of a city on edge than being a traditional crime drama, Summer of Sam is a bit of a forerunner to David Fincher’s far more polished Zodiac from a few years later. With heavy-handed dialogue and a plot too big for Lee to fully get his arms around, even at 142 minutes, Summer of Sam can be uneven and messy. But it has the sweaty incorrigibility of a long night out, and of revelries half remembered like from a fever dream.

3. The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999)

The rare serial killer movie told entirely from the perspective of the killer, Anthony Minghella’s The Talented Mr. Ripley is disarmingly creepy. Despite its glossy awards bait sheen, there is a cold-blooded streak that runs deep to the heart of the piece, likely due to Patricia Highsmith’s source 1955 novel. Starring Matt Damon fresh off his Good Will Hunting golden boy sheen, the film uses its casting to disorient and ultimately disturb.

Like Highsmith’s book, the film is not structured like a traditional thriller. It instead favors a detached ambivalence about its seemingly nebbish hero as he agrees to become an errand boy for the rich by traveling to 1950s Italy in order to retrieve a silver spoon cad (Jude Law) for his father. But the more time Tom Ripley (Damon) spends with Law’s Dickie Greenleaf, the more he grows envious of Dickie’s lifestyle, his wealth and confidence, and maybe even his affection for socialite Marge (Gwyneth Paltrow). There is a subtle—too subtle due to ‘90s Hollywood conventions—homoerotic undercurrent throughout the film as Ripley slowly works up the courage to take his first life. It won’t be his last.

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Movies

Knives Out: When Murder Makes You a Better Person

By Natalie Zutter

Movies

Seven: The Brilliance of David Fincher’s Chase Scene

By Ryan Lambie

Highsmith wound up publishing four subsequent sequels to The Talented Mr. Ripley, but unfortunately no more were made with Damon. Perhaps because this was too unsettling for an ongoing franchise.

2. Seven (1995)

While watching David Fincher’s masterful Seven, the thing that immediately stands out is the oppressive nihilism that permeates throughout. There were decades of neo noir before this detective yarn about the hunt for a serial killer, but none demonstrated such an overbearing sense of despair before the opening credits were even concluded. And perhaps what makes it unshakable is how welcoming the film is toward bleakness; it succumbs long before the gut-punch finale.

Telling the story of an old cop days from retirement (Morgan Freeman) and a hotheaded rookie detective (Brad Pitt), Andrew Kevin Walker’s script has an economy of pace that still impresses despite its cynicism. Very quickly one murder becomes two, then three, and soon four. Yet none of the atrocities are reveled in by Fincher’s blocking; they’re off-screen mutilations which leave psychic damage on his two leads and, eventually, us. The deaths also quickly establish a pattern that their serial killer is targeting seven souls, each intended to embody one of the seven deadly sins.

The movie is a classic now for its climax where the killer “John Doe” (a reptilian Kevin Spacey) turns himself in and leads the cops into the darkest pit, but it’s the entire package that makes this one linger more than 25 years later. At the end of the film, Somerset quotes Hemingway by saying, “‘The world is a fine place and worth fighting for.’ I agree with the second part.” I’m not convinced his film does.

1. The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

As the film that kick-started the idea that serial killers could create their own film genre, The Silence of the Lambs still remains the best of its kind. Blessedly unaware that it was creating conventions for countless copycats, the film tells its psychological drama with simplicity and clarity. Whereas other films on this list bask in their bleakness, there is a dogged optimism and even perverse warmth to this Jonathan Demme adaptation of Thomas Harris’ Silence of the Lambs novel. And that’s of course largely attributable to the casting of Anthony Hopkins and Jodie Foster.

As Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Hopkins is of course monumental. It’s a performance that turned a quinquagenarian into an overnight movie star, and became Hopkins’ calling card as he returned to the not-so-good doctor’s well one too many times. Still, he’s undeniably enthralling as Hannibal, a cannibal psychologist with superhuman powers of observation and mental menace. Even so, Foster is often overlooked by critics for her own contributions as the FBI trainee who’s proverbially fed to the incarcerated Lecter—a pretty face to get the serial killer to consult pro bono on the crimes of another mass murderer. It’s just one more example of casual sexism faced by Clarice that gives Foster as much to play as Hopkins.

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Culture

David Fincher’s Zodiac: The Movie That Never Ended

By Don Kaye

Movies

The Little Things Ending Explained

By David Crow

Surrounded by the slights and prejudices of men—be they in law enforcement or straight jackets—Clarice is constantly underestimated. She finds an intellectual rapport with Hannibal, but she pulls herself out of the darkest night, and the screaming of the lambs, without assistance. Her perseverance matched by Hannibal’s darkly seductive qualities is the juxtaposition that makes Silence of the Lambs one of the finest films of its decade.

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Wednesday in Holy Week - March 31, 2021

Today Is Wednesday in Holy Week, or Spy Wednesday.

Today and during the Sacred Triduum, the Matins and Lauds of the Divine Office are often sung in a haunting service known as the Tenebrae service (“tenebrae” meaning “shadows”), which is basically a funeral service for Jesus. During the Matins on Good Friday, one by one, the candles are extinguished in the Church, leaving the congregation in total darkness, and in a silence that is punctuated by the strepitus meant to evoke the convulsion of nature at the death of Christ. It has also been described as the sound of the tomb door closing. During the Triduum, the Matins and Lauds readings come from the following day’s readings each night because the hours of Matins and Lauds were pushed back so that the public might better participate during these special three days (i.e., the Matins and Lauds readings heard at Spy Wednesday’s tenebrae service are those for Maundy Thursday, the readings for Maundy Thursday’s tenebrae service are from Good Friday, and Good Friday’s readings are from Holy Saturday’s Divine Office).

by Dom Prosper Gueranger 1870

The Chief Priests and the Ancients of the people, are met today, in one of the rooms adjoining the Temple, for the purpose of deliberating on the best means of putting Jesus to death. Several plans are discussed. Would it be prudent to lay hands upon Him at this season of the Feast of the Pasch, when the City is filled with strangers, who have received a favourable impression of Jesus from the solemn ovation given to him three days back? Then, too, are there not a great number of the inhabitants of Jerusalem, who took part in that triumph, and whose enthusiastic admiration of Jesus might excite them to rise up in His defence? These considerations persuade them not to have recourse to any violent measure, at least for the present, as a sedition among the people might be the consequence, and its promoters, even were they to escape being ill-treated by the people, would be brought before the tribunal of the Roman Governor, Pontius Pilate. They, therefore, come to the resolution of letting the Feast pass quietly over, before apprehending Jesus.

But these blood-thirsty men are making all these calculations as though they were the masters. They are, if they will, shrewd assassins, who put off their murder to a more convenient day: but the Divine decrees,–which, from all eternity, have prepared a Sacrifice for the world’s salvation,–have fixed this very year’s Pasch as the day of the Sacrifice, and, tomorrow evening, the holy City will re-echo with the trumpets, which proclaim the opening of the Feast. The figurative Lamb is now to make way for the true one; the Pasch of this year will substitute the reality for the type; and Jesus’ Blood, shed by the hands of wicked priests, is soon to flow simultaneously with that of victims, which have only been hitherto acceptable to God, because they prefigured the Sacrifice of Calvary. The Jewish priesthood is about to be its own executioner, by immolating Him, whose Blood is to abrogate the Ancient Alliance, and perpetuate the New one.

But how are Jesus’ enemies to get possession of their divine Victim, so as to avoid a disturbance in the City? There is only one plan that could succeed, and they have not thought of it: it is treachery. Just at the close of their deliberations, they are told that one of Jesus’ Disciples seeks admission. They admit him, and he says to them: What will you give me, and I will deliver Him unto you (St. Matth. xxvi. 15.)? They are delighted at this proposition: and yet, how is it, that they, doctors of the law, forget that this infamous bargain between themselves and Judas has all been foretold by David, in the 108th Psalm? They know the Scriptures from beginning to end;–how comes it, that they forget the words of the Prophet, who even mentions the sum of thirty pieces of silver (Idem, xxvii. 9. Zach. xi. 12.). Judas asks them what they will give him; and they give him thirty pieces of silver! All is arranged: tomorrow, Jesus will be in Jerusalem, eating the Pasch with his Disciples. In the evening, He will go, as usual, to the Garden on Mount Olivet. But how shall they, who are sent to seize Him, be able to distinguish Him from his Disciples? Judas will lead the way; he will show them which is Jesus, by going up to him and kissing him!

Such is the impious scheme devised on this day, within the precincts of the Temple of Jerusalem. To testify her detestation at it, and to make atonement to the Son of God for the outrage thus offered him, the Holy Church, from the earliest ages, consecrated the Wednesday of every week to penance. In our own times, the Fast of Lent begins on a Wednesday; and when the Church ordained that we should commence each of the four Seasons of the year with Fasting, Wednesday was chosen to be one of the three days thus consecrated to bodily mortification.

On this day, in the Roman Church, was held the sixth Scrutiny, for the admission of Catechumens to Baptism. Those, upon whom there had been previous doubts, were now added to the number of the chosen ones, if they were found worthy. There were two Lessons read in the Mass, as on the day of the great Scrutiny, the Wednesday of the fourth Week of Lent. As usual, the Catechumens left the Church, after the Gospel; but, as soon as the Holy Sacrifice was over, they were brought back by the Door-Keeper, and one of the Priests addressed them in these words: “On Saturday next, the Eve of Easter, at such an hour, you will assemble in the Lateran Basilica, for the seventh Scrutiny; you will then recite the Symbol, which you must have learned; and lastly, you will receive, by God’s help, the sacred laver of regeneration. Prepare yourselves, zealously and humbly, by persevering fasts and prayers, in order that, having been buried, by this holy Baptism, together with Jesus Christ, you may rise again with Him, unto life everlasting. Amen.”

At Rome, the Station for today is in the Basilica of Saint Mary Major. Let us compassionate with our Holy Mother, whose Heart is filled with poignant grief at the foresight of the Sacrifice, which is preparing.

How terrible is this our Defender, Who tramples His enemies beneath His feet, as they that tread in the wine-press; so that their blood is sprinkled upon his garments! But is not this the fittest time for us to proclaim His power, now that He is being treated with ignominy, and sold to His enemies by one of His Disciples? These humiliations will soon pass away; He will rise in glory, and His might will be shown by the chastisements, wherewith He will crush them that now persecute Him. Jerusalem will stone them that shall preach in His name; she will be a cruel step-mother to those true Israelites, who, docile to the teaching of the Prophets, have recognized Jesus as the promised Messias. The Synagogue will seek to stifle the Church in her infancy; but no sooner shall the Church, shaking the dust from her feet, turn from Jerusalem to the Gentiles, than the vengeance of Christ will fall on the City, which bought, betrayed, and crucified Him. Her citizens will have to pay dearly for these crimes. We learn from the Jewish historian, Josephus, (who was an eye-witness to the siege,) that the fire which was raging in one of the streets, was quenched by the torrents of their blood. Thus were fulfilled the threats pronounced by our Lord against this faithless City, as He sat on Mount Olivet, the day after His triumphant Entry.

And yet, the destruction of Jerusalem was but a faint image of the terrible destruction which is to befal the world at the last day. Jesus, Who is now despised and insulted by sinners, will then appear on the clouds of heaven, and reparation will be made for all these outrages. Now He suffers Himself to be betrayed, scoffed at, and spit upon; but, when the day of vengeance is come, happy they that have served Him, and have compassionated with Him in His humiliations and sufferings! Wo to them, that have treated Him with contempt! Wo to them, who not content with their own refusing to bear His yoke, have led others to rebel against Him! For He is King; He came into this world that He might reign over it; and they that despise His Mercy, shall not escape his Justice.

[bygosscarmine]

A PERILOUS ENGAGEMENT

Man from UNCLE - Wife or Knife AU

for @karis-the-fangirl  later rather than sooner, but here is the fruit of your Wife or Knife AU in my imagination!

It’s ended up being less about the source material and way more about the potential of a very rigid, very tall man being forced by a small pistol of a woman into a [fake?] relationship. It was incredibly fun to write, and rewrite. I hope it’s enjoyable to read!

1/12

The ball may have been the event of the season in the country town of Middleton, but it was hardly high society. This should have set Elias Carrick at ease. Considering that he wasn't really meant to be in Middleton, and his friend Napoleon was so determined he should go, the general effect was a more subtle form of disquiet.

Napoleon was not the actual inmate of Elba Island, but a friend from Oxford given the moniker for reasons best left unsaid in polite society: more properly George Solo. His reassurances were to the tune of, “If you’re ever to make vicar from curate, you’ll need connections. And to make connections you need polish. The first step to polish is to at least have attended a party once.” Not reassuring, and putting rather a lot of weight on a single performance.

Solo had been in the neighborhood of Middleton kicking his heels at his uncle’s home for several weeks. Finding that Carrick would pass through the country on his way to the parish in the North, he had invited him to stop for a short holiday. Carrick had surprised even himself by accepting. The amusements had been tame enough so far, but he could not shake the sense he might end up regretting this whim deeply. He had regretted every other caper the dashing but devious-minded Solo had drawn him into, back in the day.

He stood feeling rather like a lamp-post at the edge of a London bustle, stock-still and being bumped into as if practically invisible. There were silks and muslins fluttering about, and smart jackets darting between them, all turning eager faces towards each other with smiles in their eyes. The chandelier light filled the room with a slight haze of smoke, and the heat of so many people all crowded together made him feel a little out of sorts. He had attended a middle-aged woman to a seat, and had been quite happy to allow her to gossip away at him, but had been supplanted by a matron who thought she was rescuing him. Now he had to find some other way to be politely engaged in the party, and Solo was at his elbow to make sure he did.

"Solo! My boy," said a figure of rather aged splendor, approaching. "And your friend, delightful!"

Solo made his introductions between Carrick and the Squire--his uncle was helping the Squire in some matters of business, and the man had generously included them all in his invitation. The dubious nature of inviting the man of business's nephew and friend to a ball was probably just a highlight of the country life, but Carrick felt as though he shouldn't have accepted.

"You know, there just aren't enough handsome lads about in these parts to do the pretty, so it's a famous thing to have a few visitors! Now, come, I must carry you off to please the young ladies."

Understandably, he took Solo along first, and Carrick purposefully missed his look of beckoning, to remain shored up in the debris of the party's tides. The Squire bore back down on him pitilessly, however, and ushered him along to stand up with a young woman of reddish blonde hair and a delicate face. Since Carrick was well over six foot, and built on the lines of yeoman, she seemed to be in some terror of him.

He said gently, "I am not sure I will get all the steps right," since he knew that his preference for silence did not strike people as comforting. She glanced up at him nervously, but when he moved without too much clumsiness she seemed relieved, and even made some remarks to him as if taking pity.

Being a man of the cloth did seem to excite a certain tendency toward pity in women. At least he had found it so. She left his side at the end of the set without hesitation, but with a polite word of thanks, so she was not fleeing him, either.

He had hoped to disappear into the crowd again, but Solo bore down on him with a woman who he clearly had been dancing with himself, as they laughed together. She was dressed as a matron, but still young and lively, which suited Solo. In fact, she appeared to be a widow as well. Her dark eyes were gleaming as Solo said, "Elias Carrick, madame. Future vicar and current scrapegrace. Carrick, this is Mrs. Hettisham, the Squire's daughter."

"Pleased," said Carrick, bowing.

"Keep her safe from that clumsy fellow in the eyesore coat by taking the next dance, all right?"

"It would be my pleasure," said Carrick.

The woman was quite kind to Carrick, and far from nervous. He enjoyed the scant moments they had in each other's company in the country dance that was raucous and so disorderly that when he forgot his steps it was quite unnoticeable.

"Ah, it is so nice to dance again," said Mrs. Hettisham. "But I must retire or my mother's friends will think me quite lost in dissipation."

"Let me see you to a couch, ma'am," said Carrick. He hoped to settle her and then give her company, since it would mean not having to meet yet another stranger. However, the Squire was busier about the room than his slow gait would have led one to expect. He was at Carrick's elbow almost immediately, with another blushing young lady who had no partner.

As they entered their apartments at the inn after the evening, Carrick told his friend, "If you wished for me to go to this party to gain a little polish, I can't see how it could have answered the purpose. I spent the whole evening scaring little girls."

"Sometimes learning that you are the scariest thing in a room is just the thing to find the proper confidence. Mrs. Hettisham is a wonderful example. A woman who certainly knows her own worth well enough to command whatever situation she is in."

"She is lovely."

"You know, I don't think she is?" said Solo, musingly. "But it makes no difference."

-

Gabrielle Seymour was meant to be in mourning. In truth, she grieved, and was mourning the loss. She was impatient with the form of the thing, however, which seemed to force her to sit and think about how unhappy she was and how little she could do about it. She had "borrowed" some clothes from one of the maids to sneak down and at least listen to the music, but had been forced to take up a position in a corner just enough obscured from the ballroom to see the edges of the dance while also worrying someone would stumble onto her taking the wrong door for supper.

She was choosing her moment to sneak back away, and it was probably now. Her aunt was safely ensconced close to the door to the dining room where she could scrutinize her staff's missteps closely in setting refreshments, and her uncle was now holding court in the card room where his status as host would not prevent him from losing a great deal of petty cash to his guests.

Just then, her elder cousin Lady Hettisham darted over as if to smooth her skirts out of the crush. “Have you seen them?” this dab of a woman in a charming half-mourning of watered silk asked in an undertone.

“I can’t see a thing from here, as you well know, Maria,” Gabrielle retorted.

“Oh, do keep an eye out,” the young widow said, and escaped to not bring attention that way.

Gabrielle could not hazard a guess what it was Maria wished her to see, since what she found immensely entertaining ranged from a truly terrible clash of jewelry to signs of an incipient tendré between ill-matched young people.

Gabrielle was just timing her dart across the hall, risking being glimpsed from the door, toward the servant stair when she saw the stranger Maria had wanted her to notice. A fair man of some height was leading Mrs. Pratt to a seat at the wall. Gabrielle knew from her own experience of coming into this neighborhood several years before that Mrs. Pratt looked even at first sight like an obnoxious woman and proved to be so in a very short time of acquaintance, but he was leaning down to hear her over the music with an intent expression. He not only helped her to her seat but sat beside her as a sacrificial lamb to her conversation, without the slightest appearance of humoring someone he wished to avoid. For a moment, Gabrielle sat riveted by the grave, square face of the young man at her uncle's ball. Then she recollected that if she could see him so well, they also might see her, despite her drab dress. The odd pair had found the few chairs shoved beside this side of the fireplace, which she had relied on being unwanted as both hot and cramped. She fled as smoothly as possible from the area.

Maria was happily chattering as her maid undressed her when Gabrielle knocked and entered.

"Someone had a delightful time tonight," Gabrielle said, keeping her voice light.

"I had never thought a Middleton ball might see a rake who knows just how to entertain a young widow," said Maria with a chuckle. "It takes so very little to make me feel gratified this way!"

She cast a more piercing look at Gabrielle, however, and said, "You did not enjoy yourself, did you, coz?"

"My disguise made it quite impossible for me to do so," Gabrielle said drily. "I had to hide in a corner and wish in vain to be brought a cool drink. I saw that large, fair man with Mrs. Pratt, but you would be put to the test to convince me he was a rake.”

"Oh no! He danced by me with little Georgina, and looked as though he were trying to juggle eggs, he was so nervous and gentle. I believe he is destined for the church. Luckily, his friend is destined to be a man of business. I do not understand how they are friends."

Gabrielle asked for more details on the flirtation, so she might not have to discuss more about her own evening, and soon bid her cousin goodnight. She spent some time in her own bed thinking, however. It made more sense that her cousin had been pointing to two strangers, particularly one who had flirted with her. 

It stung more than it ought to that there were young visitors in the village that she would probably never meet. She didn’t want a London season, or even to be asked to dance at the ball--she just hated to be hidden from the world as if it were shameful that she had lost both her parents. As if she was too young to be trusted to behave in company like a mourner.

If they didn't treat her so much like a disobedient pup, she would have an easier time behaving.

-

Link to all posted chapters here.

[three-drink-amy]

All the Shine of a Thousand Spotlights

masterlist - AO3

My entire schedule for this second arc and when it would start came down to posting this around Christmas. I hope you enjoy this and have a lovely Christmas! 

Chapter Twelve: I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas

The day that John had expected me at our shared workspace, I marched in with a plan in mind. I hadn’t talked it out with Jamie because I was fairly sure he’d try to talk me out of it. He was a bit afraid that if I changed my work life for him that I’d regret it. Well, he hadn’t said as much, but I could tell. 

Both of us had been a bit anxious about the changes awaiting us. The first night that Jamie went to the theater without me, he’d paused at the door, looking back at me. For all the bravado he’d had and promises that we’d be fine, he’d seemed a bit unsure. Pulling me in, he’d given me a long kiss and promised me that he’d be back after his show. I’d smiled and told him that I’d be waiting. That night had set the scene for the next week of shows before I had to start work again. John had given me til the next Monday and I planned to make use of every minute I had before I was expected to work again. When Jamie left for the theater the Saturday before I was to return to work, my plan struck me. 

My bag was draped over my arm, a coffee in hand as I sat down at my desk. John, of course, had beaten me into the small loft that we shared as our workspace. Until we were attached to a show and assigned to a theater, this was where we did the nitty gritty parts. We’d made it our own as best we could. The day we’d finally upgraded ourselves to a workspace and not just working from one of our homes had been an exciting day. 

It felt different today as I walked in there. John was surely going to try to convince me against my plan, but I was sure of what I wanted to do. Ultimately, it was my life. I should get to decide what I want to do with it. Having a ten year career based on never taking a break made it hard to finally take one, but I was ready. And Jamie was the reason why. 

John’s head turned as he heard me enter the room. “Claire! You’re here!” 

“Did you think I wouldn’t show up?” 

“I wondered,” he replied with a shrug. 

“Well, I’m here.” My bag sat on my desk, but I stood and watched John as I took a drink of my coffee. I needed to read his mood before I sprung my plan on him. 

He glanced over as I still watched him. “Have I something on my face?” I shook my head. “Then what are you doing?” 

“We need to talk,” I informed him as I walked closer to his desk. One of his brows raised suspiciously. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious.” 

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been acting odd for the last several months.” He ignored my glare. “Fine, what’s up?” 

“So, I’m here –” 

“Clearly.” 

I rolled my eyes. “I’m here because you demanded I come. And I have come up with a plan that I think will suit us both a bit better.” His brow furrowed as he stared back at me. “I’m not coming back full time. I meant what I said about wanting a break. In ten years, I’ve really never taken one.” I took a deep breath, settling down in a chair by his desk. “So, I will be here Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Then I’m working some, but not all the damn time. If I don’t find a project that absolutely captivates me, I’m not going to commit to something. I think we both know that there have been times in the past we’ve both committed to shows because we felt we had to.” 

John nodded. “Is this about Fraser?” 

I sighed deeply. “No, John, it’s about me.” He encouraged me to continue. “Perhaps it was Jamie who  made me realize it, but I haven’t been in a real romantic relationship since I was in college. And even then, it was half-assed because I was more focused on my studies. I’ve always, always put my career ahead of my personal life.” 

“Including with him,” John added. 

Nodding, I sidestepped the lie I was perpetuating. “When Uncle Lamb got sick, he didn’t have anyone there but me. He’d spent his life on his career and so when his career ended because of his illness, he had nothing to fall back on. When I’m on my deathbed, I want to have had a life outside of the theater. And I’m not going to do that if I’m always running at this speed. So, this is my solution.” 

John watched me for a long moment of silence. “I suppose I understand where you’re coming from. But what are you going to do if we find a show we’re passionate about? What about your break, then?” 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” I said with a shrug. I didn’t really foresee it being a problem. There were more crappy plays wanting to be produced and directed that came to us than actual quality ones. I held out my hand for John to shake. He shook his head with a grin and grabbed my hand. 

“If you’re not careful, I’m going to start working with another director.” 

“John, you know I’d never hold you back from that. Especially not right now.” 

He smiled. “You know there’s no one else I’d rather work with.” 

* * *

The new schedule and system had been working. I only worked three days a week which left me plenty of time to spend with Jamie. He initially felt guilty for my idea of shortening my week, but after some convincing, he came around to my way of thinking. A few mindblowing sexual acts made it pretty easy to sway his mind. 

And so that became our pattern. Only a few days a week we saw each other in passing, or at night after Jamie’s show. But the rest of the week, we worked at deepening our relationship. Both of us were already invested and really just wanted to spend time together. Jamie was always happy to regale me with stories from growing up in Scotland. I’d share stories of growing up on Broadway that he always marveled at. Our lives quickly became intertwined. It had been weeks since Jamie had been to his own apartment. After giving him a key, he took it as permission to never spend a night elsewhere. Not that I ever minded. My favorite way to wake up was in his arms. 

Two months passed in the blink of an eye. Being together was now our new normal. 

I was somewhere between sleeping and waking one night when I heard the door open and close. Jamie must have purposefully crept over to the couch because I didn’t hear him. The first thing that processed after the sound of the door was his lips against my forehead. Smiling, my eyes slowly opened to find him sitting on the couch next to my legs. 

“Hi.” 

“Good evening,” he teased. 

I sat up, pulling the blanket with me. “How was the show?” Before he could answer, I leaned in to kiss him quickly. 

“That depends. Were ye asking as my girlfriend or as my director?” 

I squinted at him suspiciously. “Well it was as your girlfriend –” 

“Then it went great!” 

Grabbing him by the shirt, I brought him in closer. “Now it’s as your director. What happened?” 

He shook his head, feigning ignorance. “Nothing. It went perfectly. Same as always.” 

“Jamie Fraser,” I scolded. 

“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “There was a jagged part of the table and Laoghaire stood too close to it. When she turned away it ripped her skirt.” I gaped at him. “But it was fine because any skin that showed was upstage and no one could have seen anything.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“And Louise walks off with her in that scene and she changed sides so that she could cover it up with her body,” Jamie recapped. “So, it all ended up fine. It was just a moment of shock.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

“There could be far worse things, no?” 

I nodded. “Of course there could.” I shook my head with a sigh. “I’m going to say something to you, my boyfriend, and not to you, the lead of the show.” 

He got an eager grin on his face. “Okay.” 

“Of course it was bloody Laoghaire that messed it up.” 

Jamie laid against the back of the couch as he laughed. “I appreciate your candor. What other dark secrets about the cast have ye been keeping from me all these months?” 

I rolled my eyes. “I would have thought you already knew I didn’t like Laoghaire.” 

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I had an inkling.” 

“What, from that night at the bar?” 

Jamie scooted closer to me, pulling my legs across his lap. “Perhaps even a bit before then.” 

I tried to think back to a time that I’d been more obvious about my dislike of Laoghaire. “When?” 

He grinned as he played with one of my hands. “Do ye recall that night that we stayed late at the theater, just the two of us?” I covered my face with the hand he wasn’t holding. “When you yelled at her to leave me alone, I had to wonder.” 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. I didn’t realize I was so bloody obvious.” 

Jamie laughed, taking my other hand as well. “Ye werena, I promise. It just made me wonder if you were annoyed by her in general or just because of me.” 

I was silent for a moment. “It was you,” I admitted. “God, I didn’t want it to be because of you, but it just was.” 

He leaned toward me and I met him the rest of the way. “I’m fine wi’ yer reasoning.” His lips pressed to mine and I cupped his face in my hands. 

When we broke apart, he sighed like he had something on his mind. All it took was one raised eyebrow for him to talk. “I had something I wanted to run by ye.” 

“Well, go ahead.” 

“Usually at Christmas, I go home to Scotland. But since I only have the 24th and 25th off, I wanted to invite my family to come to New York this year.” 

I nodded. “Okay. That’s not surprising. But you do realize that Christmas is a month away. I mean, tomorrow is Thanksgiving.” 

“Aye, I realize. But I wanted to ask you before I asked them because...well, I’d like ye to celebrate Christmas wi’ my family,” Jamie told me. He almost seemed nervous. 

I laid my hand against his cheek as a smile spread across my face. “You want me to spend Christmas with your family?” He nodded insistently. I leaned in and kissed him again. “Jamie, I would love that.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes!” I looked around the room. “In fact, you should have them come here. You know it’s a lot better than yours.” I grimaced until he agreed. “There’s more space at least.” 

“Are you sure?” His eyes held mine. 

I nodded happily to him. “I’m positive. It sounds lovely. Besides, Lamb has never been much of a Christmas person so I’ve spent many Christmases basically by myself or invited to someone’s open house. It will be a really nice change to spend it with your family.” 

Jamie surged forward and kissed me into the arm of the couch. “I love you,” he sighed. 

I laughed. “I love you too.” 

* * *

Another month passed just as quickly and I was preoccupied by Christmas plans for a family I really only knew through stories. 

I sat at my desk, not doing any work, but instead, focusing on Christmas decorations. I loved Christmas, but spending it alone made it seem sad to decorate. It was for no one but me. So this year, I was trying to do more. 

I held up a paper link chain for John. “How does this look?” 

John swiveled in his chair, glancing over at me. His brow furrowed. “Is that a chain made from scraps of wrapping paper?” I nodded with a smile. “Have you given up on attempting to work?” 

I shrugged. “Answer the question first.” 

He eyed the chain critically. “It’s cute.” 

“Thanks. I haven’t given up totally on work. I’m just trying to do more for Christmas this year and I wanted to run with the idea I had.” 

“Don’t you usually spend Christmas alone?” John asked. 

With a sigh, I tried to come up with a plausible explanation. “Yes, I do.” 

“So then, why do all this?” 

I tilted my head thoughtfully. “I guess it just fits in with the whole ‘doing more for myself’ kick I’ve been on.” 

“Well good for you, I suppose.” John turned to go back to work while I eyed my creation. “That would look charming over the window seat just past your office.” 

I smiled as I looked over at him. “Thanks for the suggestion. I think you’re right.” 

Later that morning, I called it a day, heading home to decorate some before Jamie brought his family back from the airport. He was on his way out as I ran in, my hands full of bags. Glancing down, he frowned. “What’s this?” 

I shrugged, deciding to surprise him too. “Oh, just some stuff I picked up on the way back from work.” I set them down before turning to him. “Shouldn’t you be heading to the airport?” I asked as my arms wrapped around his neck. 

His hands found my waist and squeezed. “Probably,” he admitted before kissing me softly. “Are ye still sure about this?” 

I laughed. “No, I decided just now to tell you that I changed my mind. I thought an hour and a half out would be a good time to do so.” 

He shook his head. “That would be rather terrible timing.”  

I leaned up on my toes and pressed my lips to his. “Go get your family. I’ll be here when you get back.” 

Jamie left and I quickly ran around stringing up lights and making my home as festive as possible. He’d tried reassuring me repeatedly that I didn’t have to decorate or do anything special. But the fact was, I was excited about spending Christmas with the Frasers. I was looking forward to a Christmas I wasn’t spending alone. And that was all because of Jamie. 

Twenty minutes before I expected them back, I threw some cookies in the oven, trying to make the apartment smell nice. Perhaps I was doing a bit much — throwing around decorations and baking — but I wanted to make a good impression on Jamie’s family. I’d met them before, but not as his girlfriend. Not as the woman who was keeping her relationship with their son and brother a secret. It was to his benefit, but I worried that they’d hold it against me. 

I’d never really met someone’s family before. The last time I’d dated someone seriously enough to warrant meeting the person’s family had been college. He never asked and neither did I. Lamb was a natural intimidator. There was a reason Jamie had yet to meet him as well. 

No matter how many times Jamie reassured me, it was a big deal to me. I’d liked them when I’d briefly met them on Opening Night. I only hoped they’d return that feeling once they really got to know me. 

I texted Jamie, hoping he’d tell me how far away they were. Walking from my phone, I went to my room to change clothes quickly. A green jumper seemed festive enough without being too on the nose. I paired it with a pair of black and white checked pants. Maybe a bit overdressed for my own apartment, but I was nervous. I’d rather be overdressed than underdressed. Suddenly, I wished Jamie had sent a car for them. He’d be able to wrangle in my nerves better than I could on my own. I wondered belatedly if Jamie insisted on picking them up so he could prepare them for meeting me. What if there was something about me he had to prepare them for? 

I was getting away from myself. The oven beeped, reminding me about the cookies. I shook my head, trying to get away from my previous train of thought. I loved Jamie and Jamie loved me. Hopefully, that would be enough for his family. 

A sound from the hallway grabbed my attention. I could hear Jamie’s laugh carrying down the corridor. The sound alone warmed me. I finished putting the cookies on a plate and straightened my sweater a bit. I heard the sound of the key in the door as I fluffed my hair slightly. 

Jamie had a happy look on his face as he walked in. His expression quickly turned to surprise as he took in the decorations I’d hung in his absence. He’d stopped in his tracks, making his family linger behind him. His eyes glanced to me before looking back around again. “I was here an hour ago,” he commented as he walked toward me. “Ye didna have to do this, Sassenach.” 

I shrugged. “It was fun.” 

He shook his head at me before his arm came around my shoulder. Gesturing to his family, he said, “Welcome! As you all might remember, this is Claire.” 

I waved timidly to them, wishing I had some of my professional confidence to get me through this moment. 

Really, I shouldn’t have been worried. Same as when she met me, Ellen Fraser ran over to me and wrapped me in a big hug. “Claire, it’s so lovely to see ye again!” 

“And you,” I agreed, returning the hug. “Welcome!”

After Ellen, the rest of the Frasers followed suit and hugged me. It was the reaction I should have expected. They were all so warm and friendly, just like Jamie. We stood in a small circle in my kitchen, Jamie’s arm around my shoulders. 

“I’m so glad you could all make it for Christmas,” I said, unsure of what else to say. 

“Well Jamie usually comes home, but I suppose he has a good reason not to,” Jenny remarked. “Besides, Jamie’s never brought a lass home for Christmas, so we had to jump at the opportunity.” 

I started to chuckle, feeling Jamie tense next to me. Squeezing his waist, I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Thanks, Janet,” he said. 

She shrugged, a grin on her face. “Facts are facts, James,” she replied, pointedly saying his full name as he’d said hers. 

“Thank ye for having us to yer home, Claire,” Brian said, gesturing to my home. “Tis a nice place ye have here.” 

I started to feel a bit shy again. Jamie must have been able to sense it, holding me slightly closer. “Thank you,” I replied in a small voice. “I, uh, I like it here.” I shot an uncertain look at Jamie and he grinned down at me before kissing my temple. 

We congregated towards the other room, sitting down and letting the pressure of the moment dissipate. Ian started talking about the flight to New York and cracked a joke about a loud child onboard. Jamie joined in, sharing a story about a rude theatergoer and the conversation shifted as Ellen pressed Jamie to tell stories from the show. I sat back, listening to stories he’d told me each night as he came home. But there was a comfortability there as he told them to me and his family together. 

After a few hours, it was time for Jamie to get ready to go to the theater. It was his last show before his short break for Christmas. Ellen stood up and went to grab her jacket. “Well if Jamie has to go, I suppose we should be off to our hotel.” 

“You don’t have to!” I offered. They all looked at me. “Just because Jamie’s leaving doesn’t mean you have to retire for the evening. You’re welcome to stay. If you’d like.” 

“Claire, ye dinna have to do that just to impress us or something,” Ian assured me. 

I laughed, shaking my head. “I really meant it. You’re welcome to stay.” 

They shared looks before Jenny and Ian plopped back down on the couch. “Okay then.” 

Brian sat back down too but Ellen looked unsure. “I dinna want to offend ye, Claire. I rather thought that when Jamie left, we would too.” I nodded in understanding. “And so I planned a surprise for Brian and me for this evening.” Brian’s eyebrows rose as he looked at his wife. 

“And what is this surprise?” Jenny asked. 

“Well it’s still a surprise,” Ellen said pointedly. 

“And ye were just going to leave Ian and me to our own devices?” Jenny pressed. 

Ellen shrugged. “Ye’re both adults. I figured ye could find something that sounded fun to ye. I didna think we had to babysit ye both.” 

I couldn’t help but laugh. Jenny clucked her tongue loudly. “Well, I see. I suppose we’ll just stay here and hang out wi’ Claire, then.” She glanced over at me. “If that’s still alright wi’ ye, of course.” 

I nodded to her with a smile. “Fine by me.” 

Jamie walked back into the room, throwing on his coat. “Ye ken the hotel I made ye a reservation at, right?” he asked. 

“We do,” Jenny informed him. “But Claire invited us to stay.” 

Jamie looked over at me, a confused expression crossing his face. He walked back toward my office, nodding his head for me to follow. I walked after him. When I entered the office, he brought me into his embrace. “I ken ye wanted to make a good impression wi’ my family, but you don’t have to entertain them this evening.” 

I looked up at him. “Well I think it’s really just going to be Jenny and Ian. Apparently your mother made plans for her and your father. And I’m happy to spend time with them, Jamie. I want to get to know your family and this is my opportunity.” 

He raised one brow at me. “Are ye sure?” 

I leaned up and kissed him softly. “I’m sure. Besides, it’ll be nice be nice to spend time with someone who actually knows about our relationship.” 

Jamie laughed, kissing my forehead. “I can understand that. Just ken that if they start to annoy ye, ye’re more than welcome to send them back to their hotel.” 

I rolled my eyes. “I doubt they’ll annoy me. But if they do, I know plenty of tricks to put up with annoying people. I did work with Laoghaire for several months.” 

He chuckled. “Alright. Tis yer decision. Have a good time. Dinna let them lie about me.” 

It was my turn to laugh. “Oh, my biggest motivation to spend time with them is to hear all the best stories about you. I’m sure your sister and best friend have the best ones.” 

Jamie shook his head, narrowing his eyes at me. “You canna believe everything they tell ye.” 

“Sure, Darling.” I kissed him before walking from the office. 

Jamie said goodbye to his family and shot me a look before he left the apartment. Ellen and Brian lingered for a bit, not needing to leave just yet. We sat around my living room as we had been earlier. It was surprising to me how comfortable I still felt with them, even without Jamie there. 

Ian stood up and wandered over to my bookcase. “So, this is yer Tony, huh?” he asked, touching one finger to the award. 

“Yep.” I watched as he stared at it. “Jamie will have one too.” 

“Ye think so?” Ellen asked. 

I looked over at her with a smile. “Oh yes. Even if it’s not for this show, he will. He’s a brilliant actor. I mean, you know. You’ve seen him.” 

She smiled fondly. “We used to go to his performances in school. Or in the community theater shows that he was cast in. And we always thought he was wonderful. We could see how much joy it brought him.” I could see the memories playing across her face. “When he told us he wanted to move to New York, none of us were exactly surprised. He’d tried to find success in Edinburgh, but the opportunities just weren’t there. We hated to see him go, but it makes it all worth it now.” 

I tilted my head as I watched her. It was a story I’d heard before — actors moving to New York to find success. All too many times it didn’t end up that way. Families were unsupportive and roles didn’t happen. It made my heart so happy that it wasn’t the case for Jamie. He’d found the part, and even if he hadn’t, his family was there for him. 

“Of course, we ken he flubbed the truth a bit,” Brian added. “When he actually called us with news of a real show he was in, it was obvious that he’d stretched things a bit.” 

I chuckled to myself. “He told me that. It was part of why I wouldn’t let him pass on the part. I mean, obviously, he was perfect for it. But I knew he deserved his shot. His big break.” 

“I havena read any reviews, I’ll admit. Jamie said it got good reviews,” Jenny pressed. “I wanted to read something but I didn’t want to come across someone saying Jamie was shite. I knew I’d just get angry.” 

Shaking my head, I laughed. “I read a ton of them. More than I should have. But I never came across one who said that. Thankfully. Having a terrible lead rather tanks a show.” 

There was a silence that hung in the room. “It’s nice to hear it from a professional,” Ian said, interrupting the quiet. “We always thought he was good, but to hear it from someone wi’ experience in this line of work is nice.” 

“There’s a strong chance I’m a bit biased,” I admitted. “But I wasn’t the only one who wanted him for this role. It was all of us.” 

“Well, I am glad you did,” Ellen said. “I’ll say this now while Jamie’s no’ around. I’ve never seen him so happy. And tis no’ just the show.” I smiled, my hand resting over my heart. 

“Thank you,” I replied, almost a bit choked up. 

“He calls us a lot, usually when he’s heading to the theater,” Jenny told me. I knew he did that. “And you can tell, even over the phone, that he’s just happy.” 

“I appreciate that.” I took a breath. “I know I am. And realistically, I know he is. But that observation from the people who know him best...well, it’s nice to hear.” 

“Ye’re good for him,” Ian said as he walked back over and sat on the couch. I nodded to him with a smile of thanks. 

“We better get going,” Ellen announced, standing up to get her coat. “But Claire, thank ye for having us. And I believe we’ll be back here tomorrow, as well?” 

“I think that’s the plan.” I stood up, accepting another hug from both of Jamie’s parents. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

They bid goodbye to Jenny and Ian, setting up a time for the morning before departing. Ian sat down with his hands behind his head. “Okay, now that the old people are gone, what are we going to get up to?” 

Jenny shook her head at him, but I laughed. “Claire, what do ye think we should do?” Jenny asked. 

“Well you’re the ones who don’t live here. What do you want to do?” 

“We went to most of the tourist spots when we came back in September. So as a New Yorker, what would give us a good New York experience?” Jenny continued. 

I bit my lip, trying to think of the best ideas. “We can always start with dinner and see what we feel like doing after that.” 

Ian threw his hands up. “Sounds good to me.” He jumped up, holding a hand out to pull Jenny off the couch. “You pick the restaurant.” I groaned. I hated having to pick places to eat for everyone. It made it even worse that I barely knew them. 

We ended up at a restaurant in Little Italy that I was fond of. They seemed alright with Italian. As we chatted over dinner, I could see how Ian and Jamie had been best friends for so long. They had remarkably similar senses of humor. Jenny and Ian regaled me with plenty of entertaining stories about growing up with Jamie. I loved hearing each story. The one that amused me the most was Jamie dressing up and putting on an elaborate one man show for the children of the small village they lived in. It seemed to certainly be in line with the man I knew now. 

I laughed hysterically as I told them about the time that I came home from work on Halloween and found Jamie dressed as the Phantom. 

“Christ, please tell me he didna try to sing for ye,” Jenny said as she laughed with me. 

“That was my mistake. I asked him to sing “Music of the Night” to me and I shut that down after about five notes,” I informed them through my laughter. 

“Why the Phantom?” Ian asked. “Did he bring ye an elaborate dress to be Christine?” 

“He did actually find me a dress. It was ridiculous and rather hilarious.” Grabbing my phone, I pulled up the picture of the two of us from Halloween and showed it to them. We hadn’t gone anywhere, but it had been fun. I took a sip of my drink before answering his original question. “He dressed as the Phantom because one time, before we were even dating, I’d told him that when I first saw that show, I was attracted to the Phantom.” 

Ian burst out laughing. “Oh, Jamie.” 

“I will say,” I continued, “he worked that half mask quite well.” 

“It looks very becoming on him,” Jenny joked. 

After dinner, I let Jenny and Ian decide what we would do next. Jenny apologized, but dragged me to Rockefeller Center to go ice skating. I assured them it would be an insanely long line, but they had already made up their minds. I didn’t even try to keep track of how long we waited. We kept up conversation as we made our way through the line. Once we were allowed in, it was crowded, but admittedly, kind of fun. 

Ian gathered us together with the tree in the background. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of all of us. Showing it to us, we all commented that it was a good picture before Jenny and I skated off again. He caught up to us after a moment. “I sent it to Jamie,” he commented. “Thought he’d want a picture of all his favorite people.” 

I slowed unconsciously as I skated. It felt like an honor to be considered one of Jamie’s favorite people. Especially considering who the others were. 

That night, I had only been home for ten minutes when Jamie walked in the door. I turned around and he wrapped me in his arms, kissing me soundly. “Hi,” I greeted. 

“Hi,” he said, kissing me again. “How was yer evening?” 

I laid my head against his chest, wrapping my arms around him tighter. “It was really fun! I had a great time with Jenny and Ian.” 

He planted a kiss in my hair. “Good, I’m glad.” Standing back, he gave me a look. “So, I heard ye went ice skating at Rockefeller Center.” 

“I did.” 

“Isn’t that a bit touristy?” I rolled my eyes, knowing where this was going. “I once told ye that we should go to the top of the Empire State Building and you told me you wouldna be caught dead doing something so touristy.” 

“And I stand by that. We are both New Yorkers and don’t need to do that. But Jenny and Ian wanted to go ice skating, so we went. It wasn’t my decision,” I defended. “Also, I was with two tourists.” 

He shook his head, but I saw a small smile on his lips. “Whatever.” Jamie walked over to get a glass of water. “But ye had a nice time?” 

I nodded happily. “They’re great.” 

A broad smile crossed Jamie’s face. “I’m glad ye think so.” 

I walked over to where he was standing, tucking into his side. “Did they have anything to say?” 

His arm came around my waist. “Ian might have texted me to tell me how much fun they were having wi’ ye.” I glanced up at him and could tell by the look on his face how much it meant that we all got along. 

“So, how was the show?” I asked, changing the subject. Jamie started telling me, walking into our room as he changed clothes. I sat on the bed and listened. Once he was finished changing, he stood in front of me. Starting with a kiss, he laid me back on the bed and we were done talking about our evenings. 

* * *

I woke on Christmas morning to the feeling of lips against my cheek. Turning my head, I saw Jamie smiling next to me. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him in close. His arms came around me, holding me to him. 

The day before we’d spent with his family. It had been a fun day where the Frasers shared their Christmas traditions with me. There had been several times I’d glanced over at Jamie and saw the touched look on his face. If it meant a lot to me that his family was making me so welcome, it meant more to him. 

“What time is your family coming over today?” I asked as he started to kiss a trail down my neck. 

“Eleven.” 

“That’s rather late.” 

“Not to me,” he remarked. I peeled open one eye and looked at him. He met my gaze before moving his lips to my chest. “I wanted to have time to do what I wanted this morning.” 

“And what’s that?” 

His head lifted and he shot me a confused look. “If ye dinna ken the answer to that, then ye’re no’ really paying attention, are ye?” He pulled my pajama top up and brought his mouth down again. A groan escaped my lips before I could stop it. “There ye go.” I pulled my top up the rest of the way and threw it to the floor. His hand was at my other breast as he moved his way down my torso. 

He placed a kiss at my belly button when my hand went to his hair. “You realize you haven’t even kissed me yet this morning.” 

“What do ye consider this?” he asked, pointedly placing a kiss to my hip. 

I tugged at his hair, pulling him up toward me. “You know what I mean,” I said before crushing my mouth to his. He responded happily, chuckling against my lips. I held him to me as we shared a long, deep kiss. His body settled between my legs and I could tell he was ready for more. I was fine taking our time. 

He started pushing at my pajama pants and I shimmied them off with his help. We got him out of his and he returned to me with a heated kiss. Taking our time was out of the question now. His hands roved across my body, stoking the fire building within me. I shot my hips up to his and he ground against me. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I reached down and grabbed him. He groaned into my neck but took my hint. We moved together, paying attention to the other’s tells that we’d grown so familiar with in the last few months. It was a dance and we followed each other, finding our mutual pleasure in the other. Today, it was a slow dance, as we climbed higher and higher til we reached the crest together. 

Jamie laid next to me, my hand in his. Once I had enough energy, I rolled onto my side, facing him. “Can I say something in full sincerity?” He nodded. “This is probably the best Christmas morning I’ve ever had.” Jamie laughed and pulled me closer, kissing me soundly. 

A couple hours and a second round in the shower later, Jamie’s family arrived to celebrate Christmas with us. We opened presents and drank eggnog, told stories, and generally enjoyed everyone’s company. 

In the early afternoon, Ellen started making some Christmas cookies from scratch. She had a recipe she knew by heart — passed down from her mother and her grandmother before that. I felt overly emotional when she called me in to help her. As I stood in the kitchen with her, following her instructions and creating something with her, I started to miss my own mother. It had been years since I’d felt it so strongly. I’d been so young when she and my father passed, that often, I just didn’t recognize what I was missing. But as I stood there with Ellen Fraser, acting nearly like mother and daughter, I was overcome with emotion. Tears stung my eyes and I helped form the cookies and put them on the pan. She put them in the oven and I excused myself to my bedroom. 

Jamie followed me into the room, not saying anything, but wrapping me in a tight hug. He’d given me a family again — one that was more than just an orphaned girl and an overworked uncle. It was a strange sensation, but I knew I didn’t want to lose it. 

I pulled myself together and the rest of the day was spent working on the typical Fraser Christmas dinner. Jamie and I were far from experienced cooks, but we helped where we could. In the end, we all crammed around my small kitchen table and shared a lovely home cooked meal together. They told me stories of Scotland and made me yearn to go there someday. Jamie echoed his promise that he’d take me to see his home. 

When they were leaving, we all shared long goodbyes. Jamie was going to see them off tomorrow, but I wasn’t able to. In the few days they’d been here, they’d made me feel like part of the family. Like they were my family. I hugged them all tightly and told them, honestly, that I hoped I’d get to see them again soon. 

The next day when Jamie got back from taking them to the airport, I’d finished up a call with John that we’d scheduled. Neither of us had wanted to go into the office, but had things to discuss. I was walking out of my home office when he walked in. We met in the middle and shared a quick kiss. 

Jamie had a fond smile on his face. “They loved you, mo nighean donn.” 

“Really?” 

“Oh aye. It was all Mam could talk about. She kept saying that someday when I have more time, I have to bring ye to Scotland,” he informed me with a shake of his head. 

“Well, you know I’d like that.” 

He kissed my forehead. “Me too.” 

I took a deep breath, thinking on the conclusion I’d come to as he left to take his family back to the airport. I’d treasured the time with his family and how it had made me feel. They’d made me a part of their family in the few days that they’d been here and I loved it. 

But it only reminded me of how I’d never introduced Jamie to Uncle Lamb. He knew why I hadn’t and assured me it was fine. I was always worried about how Uncle Lamb would react. The odds of him approving of me dating an actor were slim to none. Still, when Ian had mentioned “Jamie’s favorite people” it made me feel bad that my favorite people had yet to meet. And they lived in the same city. Our relationship was a secret for a reason, but it didn’t need to be a secret from Lamb any longer. 

I held Jamie close and pressed my forehead to his. “So, I came to a conclusion.” 

His eyes opened and looked back at me. “Oh?” 

Taking a deep breath, I stood back and grabbed his hands. His eyebrows lifted as he watched me. 

“I want you to meet Lamb.”

Next chapter

[scapegrace74-blog]

Saorsa, Chapter 16

A/N  Here is the next installment of Saorsa.  Jamie’s on a mission, and Ned Gowan makes his first appearance.  He keeps poking his head up in this story, like a marmot with a law degree.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging!  It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

For a man who couldn’t walk more than fifty yards without getting winded, Jamie Fraser was still a force to be reckoned with when he set his mind to a task.  In the two days since she’d confessed her dual secrets to him, he had directed labourers to a nearby bog to cut peat to burn through the winter instead of wood; suggested they mill the estate’s abundant acorns for flour, rather than letting the wild boar eat them all; shown Murtagh what was needed to repair the old grist mill; and sent the field hands out to collect the season’s last thornapples, so that Cook could stew them as preserves and dry them as fruit leather.  He deferred publicly to her position as Lady of Lallybroch in all matters, but it was clear that he knew a great deal more than she about the running of the estate in hard times.  How that came to be was a question she grew increasingly focused on answering.

With supper eaten and cleared away, they were now at opposite ends of the long couch in the great room.  Claire sat with her legs curled by her side, a novel resting on her thighs. Jamie's feet were extended on an ottoman as he listened attentively to BBC Radio broadcast the latest news of the war.

Her guest treated the war with odd disassociation.  Unlike most every other man she knew, he neither gloried in Britain’s triumphs nor seemed overly moved by her defeats.   He asked strange questions about the location of Pearl Harbor and the size and nature of a Panzer division, but otherwise absorbed the news in silence.  The Duke of Sandringham’s comment about the dubious dedication of the Scots to the war effort came to mind.  In truth, she barely knew Jamie, but she was certain he was not a coward nor a draft dodger.   As usual, all her suppositions about his motivations led her to barred doors that she did not feel entitled to open.

The news ended with the usual orchestral flourish and was replaced by quiet jazz.

Jamie stirred and looked her way.  “I’ve been thinking, Sassenach...”

She smirked, both at the now-familiar nickname and the fact that Jamie always seemed to be thinking.  He was often silent, as though over-awed by the simplest of daily occurrences, but it was clear that he was a man who reasoned deeply, yet preferred action to words.  It was a practical intelligence, when contrasted with Frank’s cerebral style.  If her late husband had been a florid adjective, James Fraser was all verb.

“I ken tis yer decision but would it no’ be wise tae consult the law about yer… situation?” he finished delicately.   She’d yet to tell anyone else about Frank’s death or her pregnancy, and she appreciated Jamie’s discretion.

“I thought of that, Jamie.  But I’m worried about what will happen if word gets back to the Duke of Sandringham before I’m ready.  He’s connected to every High Street lawyer in Scotland, I’m certain of it.”

Jamie grinned what she’d come to consider his piratical grin before suggesting, “Aye.  Where’er in Scotland could we find a man of the law who wouldna go blethering tae an English laird about keepin’ Lallybroch out of ‘is clutches?”

She couldn’t help smiling back at him, despite the seriousness of her situation.  Their eyes clutched and held for a long moment, before she broke the hold and looked down at her lap, smile fading.

“If you could make some discreet inquiries…” she murmured.

“Consider it done.”  He rose carefully from the couch and came to stand before her.

“It’s time fer me tae be beddin’ down wi’ Murtagh in the croft, Mistress Beauchamp.”

The switch from the familiar to the formal was not lost of her, and she rebelled against it instinctively.

“Absolutely not!  You’re still healing.  And you are not a labourer.  You’re my guest.”

“I’ve strayed in yer bed too long already,” he protested, and then blushed as he realized what he’d just said.  He plowed ahead anyway.  “Yer a widowed woman, and tis no’ right for me tae… weel, ye ken what I mean.”

“I most certainly do not.  I’ve been a widow for as long as you’ve known me.  Nothing about that has changed.   I will not hear of it, Jamie.  If you feel badly for depriving me of my bed, we can switch bedchambers.  You aren’t sleeping in that damp croft, and that’s final.”   She rose to stand in front of him, her fists resting against her hips and her chin thrown back in defiance.

“Did no-one e’er tell ye that yer as stubborn as a whole team o’ oxen, Sassenach?” he said with resigned affection.

“Let there be no mistake, Mister Fraser.  I’m far more stubborn than a whole team of oxen.”

**

Ned Gowan looked every bit the part of a disreputable lawyer.  His long hair was pulled back into a greasy pigtail, and he had the narrow, canny eyes of a larcenist.  Jamie would not divulge where he’d located the man, but he begged Claire to listen with an open mind as he set forth his argument.

The royal grant that saw Lallybroch pass from a family of Jacobite traitors into the hands of Frank Randall’s ancestors was clear.  Lallybroch would be held in perpetuity by successive generations of Randalls until there was no direct heir, at which time it would pass to the current Duke of Sandringham, to whose line protectorship of the estate had been given.  As long as the customary payment of a hundred pounds was made twice a year and a Randall resided at the estate, Lallybroch was theirs.

There could be no question in anyone’s mind that the child Claire bore was the lawful heir of Captain Frank Randall, conceived after their marriage and before his death.

Therefore, once born her child would be the natural inheritor of Lallybroch.   During the child’s minority, Claire would hold the estate in trust and be responsible for its management.

“Even though I’m a woman?  Even though I’m… not a Scot?” Claire asked, her hand unconsciously touching her still-flat belly.

“Oh, yes, my dear.  British history is full of examples of foreign women wielding power in the absence of their native husbands.   On that subject, the law is very clear,” the lawyer responded with a twinkle in his eye.  “I’m not saying the Duke will not try to contest it, but the child you carry is the future Lord or Lady of Lallybroch.”

She was totally engrossed in what Ned Gowan was saying, so she missed the look of mute agony that travelled over Jamie’s face.

**

The relief she felt after Ned Gowan’s visit put her in a playful mood.  She ribbed Jamie good-naturedly about his peculiar fondness for Cook’s cock-a-leekie soup at the supper table.

“Tis almost as good as my mam’s recipe, Sassenach.  She would make it when’er I was ill, or when I strayed too long in the dreich and came home frozen tae the marrow, which was often.”

She opened her mouth to ask about his mother, but he forestalled her question with his own.

“Where’abouts are yer people, Sassenach?  I ken they’re no’ here in Scotland, but do they visit ye?”

The smile fled from her face, and Jamie immediately looked contrite.

“Claire, I dinna mean to…”

“It’s alright.  It’s just that, well… I don’t have any ‘people’.  Not really.  Not the way you mean.”

He emitted a soft sigh and reached for her hand where it rested on the table.

“My, err… my parents died when I was quite young.  In the influenza epidemic that followed the Great War.  My uncle, Lambert, raised me until I was old enough to attend boarding school.   It was quite the unconventional upbringing, visiting all manner of places, wherever his work took him.   He was an archaeologist, you see.”

Jamie nodded absently.

“Lamb died before the war.  Cancer.  It’s been just me since then.   Well, and Frank.”

“How long were ye marrit tae ‘im?”

“Less than a year.   Love during wartime, I suppose.  We met last June, were married by October, and he was deployed only weeks later.  We last saw each other in August, and then…”  Her free hand unconsciously strayed to her flat tummy.

“I’m sae sorry, Sassenach.”   She was grateful there wasn’t an ounce of pity in his tone, only sincere regret.

“No, it’s alright.  It sounds cold, but we weren’t together long enough for me to truly miss him.  Anyway, you asked after my people, but all I have are memories.”

A pained noise burst from Jamie’s throat.

“Ye ken that isna true, Claire.  Afore ye know it, ye’ll have yer wee bairn tae raise.  And the men and women of this estate care for ye, truly.”

“Do they?” she asked, glancing at him sideways.

“Aye.”  Jamie nodded, but said no more.

[brightbeautifulthings]

Face of Evil by George Morris De'Ath

"Is it possible to truly understand evil without either becoming evil, or becoming a victim?"

Year Read: 2020

Rating: 2/5

About: Lydia Tune is looking for a subject of her next true crime book when she stumbles on Jason Devere, one of the most gruesome serial murderers of all time, holed away in a near-forgotten asylum. She's determined to get some insight on his psychology, even though doctors and detectives alike warn her off the case. Lydia will have to play Jason's mind games to get any information from him, but when fresh murders by what looks like a copycat killer are discovered, she wonders exactly what game she's playing. Spoilers are under the cut. I received a free e-ARC through NetGalley from the publishers at Aria & Aries. Trigger warnings: death, gore, body horror, rape, misogyny, violence/violence against women, abduction, stalking/harassment, gaslighting, asylum horror, mental illness, shock treatment, threats.

Thoughts: Much as I love all the adaptations, I'm not always sure The Silence of the Lambs did great things for horror culture. It's led to the inevitable knockoffs, but I'm gullible and I'll take anything with a similar premise. I like reading different versions of the same story and seeing what new directions creators can take it. But aside from a blatant ripoff of the premise, there's not much comparison to make here, and I can't say I enjoyed it much. It's slow-moving, unscary, and too preoccupied with flowery descriptions, especially of its main character. I forget how many times we're told Lydia's fingers are "slender," but more than once is too many. Being gorgeous is her main personality trait, and no woman describes her female characters like that. I try not to hate on beautiful, confident, ambitious female characters (the novel is happy to do that for me), but watching her view every interaction as a manipulation is exhausting. She's a psychologist-turned-writer, but the book is poorly researched; there isn't a speck of psychology to be found anywhere. Occasionally, she starts to profile someone and stops herself, but there's no compelling character analysis of anyone, least of all the killer.

Alex and Jason are equally gorgeous, apparently, so--hang on. What genre am I reading, again? Except for all the murder at the end, I would strongly believe I'm reading an adult romance novel for most of this book, and I'd encourage De'Ath to try his hand at it. If you want beautiful people flirting with and slighting each other for 80% of the book, I hear romance readers are a very welcoming audience. Unfortunately, I don't think Face of Evil is going to come over very dark or frightening to a typical horror crowd. There are a couple of gory deaths, but Jason Devere is no Hannibal Lecter or Buffalo Bill. And therein lies the main problem: Jason isn't the least bit frightening, or even all that interesting. His conversations with Lydia are the best parts of the book, true, but the bar was pretty low. The last two chapters are darker than the rest of the book put together, but lacking a compelling villain, it's a lot of shock value without much suspense or fright. Oh, well. Can't win 'em all.

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS. TURN BACK BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.

I didn't really like Lydia, but the end of the book does her dirty. It's a clichefest of her finding the courage to love again, losing her love, and being stuck with her murdering rapist's child. Way to drag a confident, ambitious woman with no interest in starting a family through the mud--which is where she belongs, right? Horror has a long history of violence against women and general degradation of female characters, and Face of Evil does nothing to overturn that. The book would have been better without the epilogue, but not much.

[mypoisonedvine]

I Never Danced Until I Met You - Chapter 3

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 2]

Taglist: @a-banana-for-your-thoughts @saint-hardy @sophiasescape @letscici @itsametaphorbriansblog @wackiekebab @tinyybiceps @lilredbird101 @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @terrainhead

Word Count: 5.5k

Rating: this is about as E as it gets, people.  you’ve been warned!

You woke up to sunlight pouring through the shudders with your head resting on his chest, and you lifted it to look up at him.  He was already awake, and looking back at you.  As your eyes met, there was a shared moment of ‘did we…?’ between you two.

You smiled, remembering what had actually happened the night before: you’d been up nearly all night talking, reading, laughing- he even played you a few songs. 

Of course you had wanted to go further, there were times where you felt compelled to jump him, but it turns out you’re much more shy when it came to those sorts of things than you were about everything else.  He seemed to have sensed your nervousness and, thankfully, didn’t push you any further than you were comfortable.

“I’m sorry, I hope your arm hasn’t gone numb,” you apologized sheepishly.

“Don’t be, though it has,” he smiled. “A worthy sacrifice.”

“I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep- I’ve never stayed up that late before, at least not for fun,” you reminisced.

“I can’t believe you’ve fought battles lasting all night, but conversation exhausts you,” he teased.

“It’s different!  As tiring as it is, fighting is also energizing,” you explained.

At that moment, you heard footsteps just outside your door, and you instinctively sat up, pulling away from his touch.  The door opened and Geralt was on the other side.  He didn’t give too strong of a reaction to Jaskier laying on your bed, but you did notice an eyebrow raise a bit.

“I came to ask for a favor,” Geralt stated plainly.

“Anything,” you offered instantly, standing up off the bed and awkwardly smoothing out your tunic.  

“Not to speak ill of your troops,” he began, “but they’ve proven less than helpful in my hunt.”

“I gave them to you as a gift, to use only as you needed,” you explained. “Honestly, I expected you to hunt on your own anyways.”

“That would’ve been my preference,” he frowned, “but your sergeant insisted.”

You chuckled, knowing your soldiers were likely seeking glory for taking part in the hunt, even though you made it clear that they would likely not be brought along.

“I’ll tell them to stand down,” you smiled.

“I appreciate that,” he replied, “but that’s not what I came to ask for.”

“Hm?” you prompted.

“I may not need infantry, but I could use a partner,” he continued, crossing his arms as he leaned in the doorway.

“I can recommend my finest,” you suggested.

“I’m surprised you didn’t jump at the opportunity to go out in the field again,” he smiled.

You were flattered, certainly, and surprised.  “You were referring to me?”

“Of course,” he shrugged, “I’ve fought with you before.  Well, beside you.”

“That was a long time ago; I’m expected to stay in the castle, mostly,” you explained, shifting your feet nervously.

“Hmm,” he smirked, “so you’re all corporate now.  No bloodlust left, just politics.”

“You think I’ll fight a monster on a dare?  That only works on men,” you scoffed.

“It’s not a dare, just a question: do you still know how to fight?” he pressed.

You grinned, crossing your arms.

“Do you still parry like a drunken idiot?” you countered.

“You said it wouldn’t work on you!” Jaskier protested.

“I don’t want to go because he attacked my ego,” you defended, “I want to go because I need to kill this beast.”  You turned back to Geralt: “pray tell what it is?”

“What it is is doomed, once you’ve got your sword in hand,” Geralt quipped.  You laughed.

“So you don’t want me to bring my pole-axe?” you presumed.  His face curled into a toothy grin.

“Oh, definitely bring the pole-axe.”

~

Both of you were looking pretty rough when you returned to the castle, riding in through the gates on your horses, covered in gore and dirt.  You’d managed to avoid significant injury, as had Geralt, aside from some scrapes on his hands and a gash on your shoulder.

“Sir Protector!  Sir Geralt!” a soldier at the gate announced when he saw you riding in, “Should I call for a healer?”

“Bath first,” your reply came all scratchy and hoarse.

“Yes sir, yes sir,” the soldier bowed to each of you, dashing inside to order servants to prepare your baths.  You didn’t even question that he called you sir: it was normal for your position, plus any feminine grace you had left was probably lost when you were wearing chainmail and covered in blood.

Your bath was nice, as was to be expected in royal bathing facilities.  You were about halfway through when a maidservant knocked on the door and entered.

“I’ve brought oils for you, sir,” she announced meekly with a curtsy.

“No need for the formality, but thank you,” you nodded, motioning for her to set them down beside you.

“Would you like help washing your hair?” she offered.  

“You must have other duties to attend to,” you dismissed. 

“No, just attending the baths,” she explained.

“Baths, plural?  You’re attending to Geralt as well?” you asked.  

She blushed a little. “Yes, I was to bring the oils to him next.”

“Have a male servant do it, please,” you requested. “A maidservant without her maidenhead is… just a servant, I suppose.”

“What are you implying?!” she stuttered.

“Prostitution is illegal here- if it wasn’t he probably wouldn’t have spent any nights at the castle,” you scoffed. 

“And what of my integrity?” she asked, seeming offended.

“Integrity is something that people think they have until they are challenged,” you frowned, “and Geralt presents… quite a challenge.”

The maidservant stepped forward, delicately touching your scalp and motioning you to dip it into the water.  As you came back up, she used some soap to wash you.

“A woman as progressive as you- I’m surprised you’re concerned of things like maidenheads,” she giggled.

“Who said I was progressive?  Knights are usually quite conservative, aren’t they?” 

“Yes, but they’re usually men,” she explained.

“Of course.  But I’m rather traditional, I think.  My troops would certainly think so: many of them have adopted some modern concept of justice, conveniently laden with gray areas and blurred lines, usually surrounding their own twisted ways.”

“And what do you think?” she pressed, her fingers lathering the soap on your head.

“I think that there’s right and there’s wrong.  Good and evil.”

“And you are so sure that you’re good?” she mocked.

“Of course not,” you chuckled, “I do evil things- I kill people, pretty often.”

You heard the maidservant gasp.

“Good cannot protect itself.  Some of us live on the border between the two, using evil to protect what is good.  Good is pure and beautiful, but weak- much like yourself,” you explained. 

“Sounds complex,” she sighed. “Say, you’re apparently traditional, but you’re an independent woman, so tell me: is it good or evil to long for a man?”

“Don’t get caught up in that,” you denounced.

“I don’t know if it’s as easy as that.  If we could choose to have no desires, we would all choose chastity,” she considered, “and yet, many of the maidservants are actually, erm, ‘just servants.’”

You pondered that.  More than ever, you were starting to understand that love is not a choice.

“Love is good; lust is evil,” you decided.

“What’s the difference?”

“Love compels us to do kind things, but lust compels us to do cruel things.”

“I mean, how would I know the difference?”

“Don’t ask me, I’ve never loved a man,” you shrugged, and although you believed it to be true, you felt guilty saying it as if it were a lie.

The maidservant groaned, unimpressed with your advice-giving skills.

“But to long for a man?  Is it sinful?” she continued.

“A woman longs for a man, it’s natural I suppose,” you sighed, “just, be careful.  Men are…” you trailed off, lost in thought.  Fighting in wars and enforcing the law rarely made one sympathetic to men as a group.

“Hm?” she prompted, bringing you back to reality.

“Wait for a kind man, a gentle man,” you recommended, and you turned to see her smiling. “Just be prepared to die waiting,” you added.  Her smile dropped.

~

You decided not to join the rest of the castle’s guests and staff for dinner, sneaking a leg of lamb out to the training fields to sit in silence.  Of course, sensing that there was someone enjoying silence somewhere, Jaskier was obliged to appear and ruin it.  You still smiled to see him, though.

“Dinner together, what will the others think?” you asked sarcastically.

“I hope you know that one of your soldiers waited until you left to give me a stern talking to about having spent the night in your quarters,” he revealed as he sat down beside you.

“Preposterous!  Who?”

“How should I know?  A guy wearing armor, if that helps you at all,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, only one of my soldiers wears armor, that really clears it up,” you groaned, taking a bite of the meat.

“He said that if I ‘besmirched your honour’ by ‘laying with you’ before ‘legal betrothal’ that he would be forced to prosecute me for damages to and theft against the Queen,” he recalled. “How ridiculous is that?”

“Technically, my, erm, ‘honour’ is her property, yes,” you explained.

His eyes went wide.

“Does she actually enforce that?” he asked nervously.  You laughed.

“No, she’s got much bigger issues to deal with.  We have a head of staff who would be responsible for that sort of management.”

“Well, does he actually enforce that?”

“We had to decommission a soldier a few years back for impregnating a maidservant and then denying the child was his,” you remembered. “Then again, I only really knew about that because it was my soldier.  I hear that perhaps many of the maidservants have managed to get away with, 

“And where do you hear things like that?” he asked with a mischievous smile, surely imagining some sort of sultry, girlish whispers of midnight encounters.

“Not somewhere nearly as exciting as you’re picturing,” you scolded. “A young woman wanted my advice, for some reason.  That’s all.”

“I think you make for a great role model,” he defended. 

“Perhaps not in terms of romantic exploits,” you frowned.

“I couldn’t judge you on that, certainly,” he chuckled. “What did you tell her?”

“To wait for the right person,” you shrugged. “Not sure it’s actually good advice, but it sounded believable.”

“‘Wait for the right person,’ how quaint.  You’re secretly a romantic, aren’t you?” he smirked.  You scoffed, but didn’t say anything. “I bet you dream of someone riding up to your window on horseback, throwing stones, confessing his love for you.”

“Sounds melodramatic,” you grumbled with an eyeroll.

“A little melodrama never hurt anyone,” he shrugged.

“Clearly you’re not very well-read,” you chuckled. “Many wars can be traced back to melodrama. If not all of them.”

“Well, at least you have job security!”

“I honestly wish I didn’t,” you admitted.

He looked at you a little more seriously.  “So, you don’t want to live this life forever?” 

You thought about that question for a moment.  It was not a simple answer, certainly.

“I love my job, I just wish that it came with a sense of completion.  The day I stop doing what I do won’t be the day that my Queen is safe, or that the nation is free from crime, or that wars will cease forever.  It will just be the day I’m too old to protect anyone,” you sighed.

He seemed to have a change in perspective after that.

“What about the day you want to retire?  Live a simpler life?” he considered.

You had never really thought about that before, honestly, and yet as soon as he asked, you felt yourself more drawn to it than ever.  You could imagine settling down, maybe even having the time to travel and explore instead of being tied to the castle all day.  Marriage, children, the whole fairytale ending: you chuckled to yourself, realizing you might be even more traditional than you thought.

Just as you were about to figure out what to say, you looked out to the sunset and realized you were probably running late.

“Shit,” you whispered, sitting up dusting the grass off.

“What?” he asked, though it was more of a reaction than a question.

“I have plans, with Geralt,” you explained.  You looked at him but he looked away. 

“That explains a lot,” he scoffed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?  We’re going to play some gwent, talk about the old days; nothing too interesting.”

“Where are you meeting him?” he asked quietly as he stood up.

“His quarters,” you shrugged.

He sighed.

“Have fun,” he said, but it didn’t feel encouraging at all.  Before you could respond, he was already walking away.

~

You had a lovely time with Geralt, though you were a bit distracted as you kept thinking about how Jaskier had been acting strangely.  You were so distracted in fact, that you ended your card-playing a little earlier than either of you had expected.  You hadn’t been back to your room very long when you heard a knock at the door.  Thinking maybe you’d left something of yours in Geralt’s quarters, you were surprised to see Jaskier standing there.

“Jaskier!” you announced with surprised.

“Who were you expecting?” he asked nervously.

“Geralt,” you replied.

“Of course,” he mumbled.  “Listen, I came by to apologize,” he stated with an air of formality, almost.

“What for?”

“I should’ve backed off sooner, in regards to pursuing you,” he explained. You felt humiliation rise in your stomach as you realized he must have lost interest in you. 

“Oh.”

“I misinterpreted the situation, I suppose, and I think that’s my fault,” he continued.

“Right.” 

“I hope we can stay friendly-” he began, but stopped himself. “I take it back.  That would be too painful.”  He sighed and dropped his head, before giving a somber laugh and turning away to walk back down the hall.

“Wait,” you called out to him, and as he turned, you pained to see the sadness on his face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“When I showed interest in you, Geralt told me to stay away,” he recalled. “Whenever Geralt comes by while we’re together, you act so humiliated that he would see us, like you don’t want him to get ‘the wrong idea.’  And now you’re always spending time with him, alone.”

You looked at him, perplexed: this shade of paranoia was not flattering on him.

“I know what’s going on between you two,” he announced. “You’re having an affair.”

“I- what?” you sputtered.

“If nothing else, he’s fallen for you,” he decided, as if that was some sort of step down in terms of insanity.

“That’s preposterous!” 

“It makes plenty of sense: you’re strong, and scary, and beautiful-” he enumerated, and you tried not to let yourself react to the last word. “Your parents, where are they?” he asked.

“Dead,” you replied quietly.

“Perfect!” he shouted, and your eyes widened at the wholly unexpected response. “You’re exactly his type!”

“And what of it?  What if he’s not my type?”

“Oh please.  I know the effect he has on women, I’m the poor sap who has to see it every day.  He’s a big brooding bag of masculinity and everybody wants their chance to try to fix him, to soften him.  You’re the only one I’ve seen get even close, the way you make him laugh,” he grimaced.

“You don’t know me as well as I thought you did,” you sighed as you shook your head in disbelief.

“Can you honestly say you don’t care for him?” he challenged.

“Of course I care for him: I love him,” you explained.  Of course you were going to clarify that a bit more but he interrupted you.

“I understand,” he said sternly as if trying (poorly) to feign composure, “Geralt is better for you.  You two make sense together.  I won’t get in the way.”

You looked at him, truly astounded.

“Jaskier, he’s like my brother.”

“Maybe so!  I don’t know how you people roll in this kingdom, but the way you look at him-”

“Don’t speak ill of my people,” you growled.

That seemed to snap him out of it a bit.

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly as he looked to the ground.

“Geralt is my friend,” you explained. “I love him with a sort of love you only understand when you fight with someone, when you face death together.  I love all my soldiers that way, I love many who lost their battles- may their souls rest in peace- so much that I could die from the love, the terrible painful love, that I feel.”

He looked at you, his eyes bloodshot and glistening with tears.

“Jaskier,” you said softly, hearing more tenderness in your voice than you remembered even being capable of, “my type is sensitive, thoughtful, creative, passionate…”

You stepped closer to him, admiring his expression, heartbroken to think he was so sad over you when all you wanted to do was see him be happy.

“Funny, kind,” you continued, “not a hundred years old.”

He chuckled a bit at that, and you smiled back, close enough now to run your fingers down his cheek, which you did because it seemed like something you would enjoy at the moment.

“Most men see me as an unworthy knight, Geralt respects me, as do a few of my subordinates,” you explained, “but you… you never saw me as a fighter at all.  You just listened to me, and got to know me, and cared more about who I am than what I do.  Please don’t compare yourself to Geralt, you’re nothing like him- and that’s okay, it’s wonderful.”

“Women want him over me, usually.”

“Women want protection, usually,” you responded, “they like someone strong who can keep them safe.  I’ve been alone my whole life: I learned quickly that the only person who was going to protect me was me.”

“And yet, you don’t want to be alone, do you?” he asked you quietly, his gaze running down from your eyes to your lips.

“No,” you whispered back.

It was a very slow moment, one where you felt hyper-aware of every movement and every split second.  His hand was on your waist, pulling you closer, and your hand moved from his cheek to his neck, your fingertips running into soft chestnut hair.

Your eyes were open longer than they probably were supposed to be in the moments leading up to a kiss: maybe because you knew that once you closed your eyes you were vulnerable, that this was going to happen, that once you kissed him you would fall for him and there was no coming back from that.

His lips were so soft, and they brushed against yours so deliberately, with precision.  He tasted like honey and cherry wine and the way incense smelled, and you quickly deepened the kiss in search of more of him.  You felt his hands, holding you close at your waist and hips, tighten their grip.  You made the softest sound against his mouth; you hadn’t even really noticed that you had let it out, but he certainly did, kissing you harder and deeper in response.  As you stepped back into the room and shut the door behind him, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time (at least before Jaskier had sauntered into the castle for the first time a few nights ago and turned your entire life upside down): an unmistakably warm and tingly sensation emanating from your most sensitive areas.  You thought this part was supposed to be pleasurable, but the feeling was sort of uncomfortable, crying out for more, more, more, entirely unsatisfied with this trivial kissing nonsense.  You felt your leg instinctively raise to wrap around him, as if that would somehow make it possible for him to take you immediately and calm this hunger burning inside you.  A hand ran down to your thigh, encouraging you, and your body seemed to want to lift the other leg as well, as if it didn’t realize that would knock both of you over.  As a compromise, you leaned back, hoping that Jaskier would get the hint and lead you both to the bed.

He smiled against your lips, moving down to kiss your neck.

“I thought you wanted to take it slow,” he teased, letting his lips just ever so slightly graze the parts of your neck and shoulder exposed by your blouse.

“I just meant the relationship overall,” you explained breathlessly, remembering the thinly-veiled discussion you’d had the night before when he stayed over, “but if we’re going to do this, I don’t see any reason to wait.”

He tsked in faux admonishment, unlacing the back of your bodice to allow it to slip off.  Of course, he didn’t actually take it off all the way, just kissed along your collarbones and shoulders more.

“If you don’t see any reason to wait, then you’ve never been properly seduced,” he smirked.

“I cannot make this any more clear to you: I’ve never been seduced!” you whined, looking down at him. “I’m not the rare catch you think I am, I’ve never been sought after- you’re the only one, er, seeking.”

He stopped kissing you and looked back, and even though the kissing had been so much less than you wanted, having it taken away wasn’t much better.

“You don’t mean to tell me no one has made love to you before,” he whispered in disbelief.

“I told you, women of the castle are expected to maintain a certain level of decency.”

“Well, that can be hard to upkeep when someone wants for you.”

“No one has wanted, best I can tell,” you shrugged.

“Surely someone was willing to, when you wanted them,” he countered.

“I’ve never wanted for someone,” you explained, “before now.”

The sound he made was something you hadn’t known he was capable of.  It was low, and deep: a growl.  

“Is that… bad?” you asked hesitantly.

“It’s fucking wasteful is what is,” he mumbled, planting more kisses on your chest before he continued. “I know you said not to speak ill of your people, but they truly have no taste.”

You chuckled, though it turned into a gasp as he bit lightly at the skin just where your breast started to meet your ribcage.

“And you…” he continued, “I suppose now is not the time to question your judgment.  But, you shouldn’t have told me that if you wanted me to go faster,” he smiled as he ran his hand up and down your thigh, never quite going high up enough for you. “I feel spoiled now; I’m almost entirely sure that I am not worthy of this honour.”

“Oh please, it is given more-than willingly.”

“My cup runneth over,” he proclaimed.

“So does mine,” you replied, entirely aware and intending the innuendo, “care to drink from it?”

He growled again, and the sound sent shivers up your spine in the most incredible way.

“If you think you can distract me from my task, think again,” he scolded.

“Task?” you questioned.

“I’m savoring a grand feast, and I won’t rush through the courses no matter how much you try to tempt me,” he clarified.

“I’m the feast in this allegory?  I don’t know if I find that flattering,” you frowned.

“Interesting criticism coming from the mind who brought us ‘genitals as goblet,’ but alright, no metaphors,” he obliged, bringing his lips to your ear to whisper into it. “Would you prefer a more literal approach?”

You nodded.

“I’m going to kiss every part of your body I can find.  I'm going to taste your need for me, lick you senseless until you're begging for me, and then keep going for a while longer just to be sure.  I'm going to feel you from the inside, deflower you as thoroughly and thoughtfully as I can, ravish you until you've reached any limit I can find.  I'm going to make love to you: not just sex, not just fucking, but love-making worthy of a thousand ballads, and hopefully, it will be enough to show you what you really deserve."

You felt like you'd had the wind knocked out of you, your innermost muscles clenching around nothing.

"Now I feel spoiled," you whispered.  He smiled, nipping gently at your earlobe.

"It's only just.  You need to be appreciated properly," he explained.  His fingers traced down your spine through the fabric of your clothes.  You moaned but it was also a sob, nearly in tears from how long he'd been holding you on the edge.

"I know, darling, I know," he soothed, fingers running down your arm and squeezing your hand.

"I'm not sure you do," you groaned.  "How can you stay so calm?"

"You have quite the effect on me, love, even if I am blessed with patience," he answered.

"And what effect is that?" you smirked.  Instead of answering he simply guided your hand to his erection.  You gasped, feeling the shape through his trousers and smiling at how hard it was.

"This has been difficult to get rid of ever since I met you," he confessed.

"I want it inside me," you hissed, "I want you inside me."

"All in due time," he promised.

He guided you back to the bed, but before he laid you down on it, he finally removed your blouse completely.  You felt a little chilly being exposed to the air, but your nipples were already so hard from arousal, the cold didn't add that much to it.

He smiled, cupping your breasts in his hands which were delightfully warm.  He massaged them slowly as he kissed your neck, occasionally twirling the hardened buds with his thumbs.  Everything he did felt like it was somehow directly connected to your arousal below: no matter where he touched you, it seemed to send sensations to your inner walls which flexed and fluttered in response.  Soon he began unlacing your trousers, and you blushed, wondering if it was peculiar that you weren’t wearing a dress.  He didn’t seem to mind as he slid them down and smiled up at you.

“Beautiful,” he observed, and though you felt very exposed, you didn’t feel nearly as nervous as you had expected.  He stood up and was about to pull you into another kiss, but you pushed him back.

“As a defender of equality, I’m going to have to ask you to undress,” you smirked.  He smiled back, stripping himself of his doublet and chemise but conspicuously leaving his trousers on before laying you onto the bed.  

“Don’t trust yourself without those on?” you teased.

“I don’t trust you to keep your patience without these on,” he replied back, hovering over you while you looked up at him, laying on your back.  You indulged yourself in running your fingers across his chest, admiring the thick layer of dark hair, the lightly-toned muscles, the freckled skin.  

“So you’re saying you don’t want me to wrestle you down and ride you?” you smiled.  He bit his lip.

“A great idea for another time,” he compromised.  He leaned down and kissed your neck again, but then moved quickly to cover your chest.  He really did make good on his promise to kiss you everywhere, though of course he was clearly saving all the interesting places for last.  He whispered your name against your skin, showered you with praise and affection, held you tightly in his arms.  Your entire body felt hot, and yet your skin was cold from where the remnants of him picked up the breeze.

“You look incredible like this,” he murmured at one point, his lips against your calf while he held your leg in the air.  Having him sitting between your spread legs was glorious torture.

“Like what?” you asked.

“Desperate,” he smiled.  

“Don’t mock me; it’s all your fault anyhow,” you frowned.

“I’m not mocking!  I’m nearly done, only one leg left.”

You whined. “And then?”

“You can’t rush art,” he sing-songed, giving the lightest bite to your skin before dropping one leg and picking up the other.  This one, though, he started at the ankle and moved his way up.  Your breath hitched each time he got closer to where you needed him so desperately.

“Please,” you whispered.

“Soon,” he promised.

“You’ll fuck me soon?” you clarified, sounding a bit more excited than you meant to.  He laughed against your thigh.

“Oh, no, that’s still a ways out,” he corrected. “I’ll touch you where you want me to soon, that’s all.”

You threw your head back in desperation, resisting the urge to pull his face into you by his hair.  That said, you did have to pull his hair, mainly to stabilize yourself, when he started to leave bites and kisses on the deepest corner of your inner thigh.  His nose started to brush against the hairs there, which you only then realized were entirely coated in your arousal.

“I need you,” you whimpered.

“I noticed,” he replied, giving one experimental lick through your folds.  You nearly cried out, sensitive enough to react so strongly to a simple touch like that.

“If only I could write a song as beautiful as those sounds you make,” he encouraged.

“If only I could write a song that would make you get on with it,” you growled.

For the first time perhaps in your entire relationship, he obeyed, wrapping his lips around you and giving broad licks to your most delicate places.  This time you really did cry out, the hand in his hair pulling on accident, the other gripping the sheets tightly enough that you feared to rip them.  He moaned against you, finding the bundle of nerves and sucking on it.  The sensation was overwhelming, you even started to feel light-headed.  He continued until you were teetering on the edge of something that you couldn’t describe, but that you sensed was going to be wonderful.  

“Yes, yes, Jaskier,” you chanted without even really meaning to say anything.  

At that moment, he stopped, pulling back with a smile.

“Enough of that for now, I think,” he teased.

You laughed, some sort of strange reaction to your growing frustration as you felt yourself falling off the wrong end of the edge you’d found.

“You’re insufferable,” you sighed.

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you?” he asked, feigning confusion.  You sat up pulling his face towards yours until you could kiss him, your taste masking his own.  You kept pulling him back and he stumbled to adjust his position in time, though you were finally able to get him on top of you and wrap your legs around him.  Your hips kept trying to meet his, even though his trousers were in the way.  You reached down to push them off and were almost surprised he didn’t fight you on it.  As they moved out of the way you could finally wrap your hand around his length, and you moaned just feeling it in your hand.  The skin was so soft, and yet the member itself was nearly hard as bone.  You revelled in knowing that he wanted you so strongly.  Without breaking the kiss you pushed it down to line up with your entrance, but he pulled away.

“You’re sure that this is what you want?” he asked.

“Would you like me to spell it out for you?” you countered with a raised eyebrow.

“Couldn’t hurt,” he smirked.  

You gave him a quick peck on the lips before you said it.

“Please, Jaskier, I want you to make love to me,” you stated.  He smiled, a little sigh coming out as well, as he pulled you back into the kiss.  He pressed forward, and in one fluid (though not necessarily fast) motion, he was completely inside you.  Having taken so long to get to this point, there was no pain, though the feeling of him stretching you open was very apparent.  You moaned so loud you worried someone would hear, or at least you would have worried about that if you could think about anything but the man in front of you and how incredible he was making you feel.  

It wasn’t long before you were climbing towards that edge again, this time willing to do anything to dive into the pleasure you knew lay on the other side.  He was certainly encouraging, breaking the kiss to suck on a nipple or bite at your neck occasionally.  You figured it would leave a mark; secretly, you hoped that it would.

He pulled his face away when he sensed you were close, not kissing you anymore but holding you close and examining your face.  You did the same, appreciating his slack-mouthed, nearly shocked expression as he continued to press into you as deep as he could.  

“Jaskier,” you whispered, not having any purpose to say it aside from how good it felt on your tongue.  You held his face, laced your fingers into his hair, and did your best to keep looking at him as you reached your peak… much faster than even you had anticipated.  He kept going, even through that, and it made you want to scream- in a good way.  Just as you wondered if you could take any more of this, pleasure building past the point of reason, his movements stuttered, and he grabbed your thigh as if he could somehow press even deeper into you despite your bodies in the way.  He made this gorgeous little sound that you planned to play on repeat in your mind for the rest of your life if you could.  He kissed you again, and fell down beside you.  You didn’t remember the kiss ever ending, or falling asleep, and yet you awoke the next morning to sunlight pouring through the shudders, with your head resting on his chest.

[final chapter]

[messyworldfanfictions]

Summary: You work as a nurse at Claremont Psychiatric Hospital where Martin Whitly, the famous serial killer who murdered 23 people is incarcerated. You’ve always liked serial killer stories and you had one a few doors away, but you were far too scared to break the rules. You’re not allowed to go into the prisoners’ cells, especially not the surgeon’s. One day, the guard brings you Martin at the infirmary for headaches. […]

“The hardest part is the lack of human contact, having someone to talk to, I miss it.” he lamented with a false expression of exaggerated sadness.

“I understand, it must be very difficult for you…” You said, avoiding his gaze. You didn’t know what to say to comfort him. He looked so sad.

He leaned towards you.“You seem like a nice girl,” he whispered, staring at every details of your face. “You could visit me at night after your work, I know you’re the last one to leave, the guard told me. ” he smirked, his eyes sparkling. “It’ll be our secret Y/N”. […]

Will Martin manage to manipulate you? Are you brave enough to accept his offer ? It’s just a visit for a little chat after all …

Pairing: Martin Whitly x reader , Martin Whitly x you

Warnings: Reader-Insert, Doctor/Patient, Rough Sex, Rough Body Play, Fear Play, Face Slapping, Hair-pulling, Daddy Kink, Emotional Manipulation, Light BDSM, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Orgasm Control, Dubious Consent

A Notes: Hi guys ! This fanfiction will be in 2 chapters, this is my second fanfiction so be kind please ^^. Constructive criticism are welcome, English is not my first language so I apologize for possible mistakes. If you see errors, please tell me! :)

I’m so thirsty for Martin Whitly, I needed to do this. Please, check the tags, it’s going to be very rough, don’t like don’t read.

Have fun and tell me if you want the second chapter ;) ! Feel free to reblog !

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Chapter 1 : Trapped

Your name is Y/N you started working at Claremont Psychiatric Hospital two weeks ago. You love your work and you love the place where you are working. You have always been fascinated by human psychology and having contact with mentally ill people helps you to understand them.

You work in the C-Wing infirmary, you are not allowed to enter in internees’cell even if you have the key, it’s too dangerous. When they need special treatments David, the guard, brings them to the infirmary and you examine them there.

There are not a lot of inmates in your prison wing, only 15, you’ve never seen one of them, Martin Whitly. He is a serial killer who murdered 23 people, no one can enter his cell without an authorization and without the supervision of David, he is responsible for him. Your unhealthy curiosity makes you want to approach this cell but it’s far too risky.

You’d like to know what’s behind that cell. A monster or just a human who made mistakes? You are often told that you are a little naive to believe that all men have something good in them, but you are convinced of it.

****

It’s 9:00 in the morning and you’re in the infirmary, suddenly you heard someone knocking on the door. “Come in!” You shouted. It’s David, he seems upset. “Hello David! Are you alright?” You asked worried.

His brows were snapped together and the features of his faces were tense “Yes, yes I’m fine. I just have a … problem with Whitly, he hasn’t stopped complaining about headaches for a few days and I think I’ll have to bring him to you.“ He answerd, sweating.

“Oh… But you don’t have to worry David, I don’t have any problem with that, why are you so … anxious about that ? ”

“ I-I… I don’t like taking him out of his cell and I don’t want him to talk to you or any other nurse. But I’m obliged to bring this psychopath to you, when you’ll be alone with him, please be careful. I’ll stay outside to respect the confidentiality between you and your patient, but he’s very manipulative. Don’t listen to him, do your job and that’s it. If he tries anything, call me and I’ll take him back to his cell. ”

David was leaning against the door, arms crossed, looking at you concerned. You moved slowly towards him and in an attempt to comfort him, you caressed his arm gently.

“Okay… don’t worry.” you said with a sweet smile.

The moment David lefted the room, grinning from ear to ear you jumped for joy, you were finally going to meet Martin Whitly! You’re so excited to see what he looks like in real life and not on a piece of paper. You’ll finally see if he’s so impressive, if he’s so intimidating or if he is just as sweet as a lamb.

But your whole face started decomposing when you remembered David’s words about Martin. You’ve never seen David so nervous about a prisoner before. What was he scared of ? You know David has a crush on you so you thought maybe he is overreacting, he just wants to protect you from a criminal.

“That’s cute” You thought, smiling. “ But I’m a big girl, I can defend myself. who does he think I am? A helpless little girl” you mocked for yourself.

What is certain is that you weren’t afraid of Martin Whitly or not yet. You’re just a little nervous, but it’s David who’s making you unnecessarily stressed. You’re going to show David that you can handle it on your own.

****

It’s 5:00 PM now, you’re tidying the infirmary a little. It’s been a pretty quiet day today, except David’s visit this morning you didn’t have any visitors.

You heard a door slam in the hall, so you went to the little window next to the door to see what’s going on. There, he was there. Next to David was standing the surgeon, his hands handcuffed and slowly walking towards the infirmary, chains on his feet.

He is tall, compared to David’s height you think Martin is about six feet tall. You could hear the sound of his boots and chains echoing in the hall. He is imposing, he doesn’t seem very muscular but he have broad shoulders and thick thighs.

Your gaze on his legs, you looked up slowly looking at every details of his body. The closer he was, and the more you could see he was smirking. He was looking at you from the moment you were looking at the window. Disturbed by the way he was looking at you, you suddenly pulled out of the window, embarrassed that he saw you staring at him this way.

You heard the door handle moving, “Try to look natural” you said to yourself, your hands trembling. 

The door opened, David and the surgeon silently enters the infirmary, Martin never taking his eyes off you. 

“Mr. Whitly, I’’m going to tie you to Miss Y/N’s treatment table, I’’m going to leave your feet tied, you don’t have to get up or walk, you have to lie down while Miss Y/N examines you. I remind you that you must not touching her, intimidating her and you must not asking her informations about her and her personal life. If you break the rules, Miss Y/N will tell me and I will escort you directly to your cell even if you have not had the required care.” David warned in an authoritative tone, looking at the surgeon with a dismissive look. 

The seconds seemed to be hours. They stared at each other like two dogs ready to fight. David had a tense face and Whitly was looking at him with an arrogant smile. "Is it clear” he whistled with his teeth clenched.

” Y-e-s. “ Whitly provoked, insisting on each letter.

David gave me a worried look and said, “If you have a problem, call me, I’m right outside the door. "I noded, giving him a falsely relaxed smile.

You are staring at the closed door, the silence is heavy in the room. Whitly is lying on the treatment table with his hands tied, staring at you intensely. You decided to break the silence  

"So, Mr. Whitly, what’s the problem ? ”

“Please, call me Martin,” he grinned broadly “I’ve had severe headaches for a few days now and it happens at any time of the day.”

You blushed and looked away. “Okay, I’m going to examine you, if I hurt you, feel free to tell me. ”

You could feel his gaze on you while you were taking his blood pressure. He was charming, his curly salt and pepper hair looked so… soft ? He had a little whiter curl than the others just above his forehead and it made you melt. You love bearded men, you are served. He had strong forearms strewn with dark hair. He was very, very charming…

You grabbed your stethoscope so you could listen to his heart, you approached his white blouse with your hands and lifted it up gently to introduce your hand under it and then bring your hand up to his chest. The contact with his skin made you shiver, you can feel his chest rising faster and faster. Is it your touch that is causing this effect? You decided not to linger and removed your hand a little too quickly, you hadn’t noticed that your hands were shaking but he didn’t missed it.

“Are you cold miss Y/N?”

“W-What? ” you said , stuttering. He looked at your hands and made a movement towards them. “Oh… Oh uhm… N-no I-I-I… ” you didn’t know what to say, stress started to rise, if you showed him that you were afraid he would take advantage of it.

“Don’t be afraid of me, I’m the one who’s tied up, and you’re the one who has the tools to torture me. ” he mocked. You responded with a coy smile. Now you are feeling stupid, it’s so embarrassing.

You applied a tourniquet on his upper arm, “I’m goint to do a blood sample, i want to see if everything’s okay, it’ll hurt a little” you said as you approached the syringe on his arm.

“What a thrill” he laughed.

When the blood sample is finished, you put his sleeve back on correctly.

“I’ll give you the results next week, don’t worry I’m sure it’s just the lack of air, it must be difficult to be locked in the same room most of the day. David told me you could walk around under supervision for 30 minutes a day. ”

“The hardest part is the lack of human contact, having someone to talk to, I miss it.” he lamented with a false expression of exaggerated sadness.

“I understand, it must be very difficult for you…” You said, avoiding his gaze. You didn’t know what to say to comfort him. He looked so sad.

You got up to put your stethoscope and the syringe at the right place, your hand grazed his hand still attached to the treatment table, he took the opportunity of this proximity to grab your wrist firmly. You turned around, surprised by this contact a little too brutal for your liking. You tried to pull away , but it didn’t work. He had a lot of strength. So you turned to the door, wondering if you should call David.

“Please, please… Y/N ! Don’t call him, I don’t want to hurt you. You seem like a nice girl,“ he whispered, his puppy eyes searching any reaction on your face. "I’m just asking you for a little bit of your time. You could visit me at night after your work, I know you’re the last one to leave, one of the guard told me. ” he smirked, his eyes sparkling. “It’ll be our secret Y/N” .

You felt the pressure loosening slowly around your wrist and you used the occasion to removed your hand a little precipitously. What had just happened? Was he that lonely ? You slowly backed away not turning your back on him and knocked gently on the door to let David know he could come in.

A few seconds later, Whitly was gone, you checked out the window, Whitly walked away looking behind his back, to maintain a visual contact with you. But he was quickly corrected by David. You didn’t know what to think, you were lost.

****

In the corridor, David was getting irritated, “Whitly, look in front of you, you freak. ” They passed several doors until they arrived in front of the surgeon’s cell, David pushed him inside and came up to him to tie him to the wall by his pants.

“Ohhhh calm down David, I’ve been a good boy. ” He provoked. “Very pretty girl… don’t you think? ” he added with an arrogant smile.

David felt the anger inside him, a vein popped out in his neck. David’s movements became rougher and rougher as he attached Whitly’s pants to the wall.

“When she passed her hands under my blouse… Oh Boy… It was hard not to get hard. Those big eyes and that mouth… Hmmm… it must be so satisfying to see her on her knees looking at you with her wet eyes, her mouth around your co…” Whitly did not have the time to finish his sentence that David had violently pressed him against the wall of his cell, he was strangling him. The criminal wasn’t even trying to loosen his hands around his neck, he was just looking at David with a provocative smile.

“SHUT UP! Shut your fucking mouth or I’m going to… ” he warned, before finishing his sentence he let go of Whitly who was catching his breath. “Jealous, are we?” Whitly giggled breathless.

David pointed his finger at the surgeon’s face in a threatening way, “If you touch her, I’ll kill you. ” and walked away slamming the door. Martin walked up to the red line that crossed the room and gasped , “I’m going to do more than touching her, and she’ll to love it. “

****

It’s midnight, you are sitting in the infirmary with the key that opens the cells between your fingers, you slide it from one hand to the other, remembering Martin’s words. David came earlier to say goodbye, he had left a few minutes ago. You didn’t know what you had to do. You were struggling inside, a part of you is saying it is a very bad idea to go see Whitly in his cell. The other part of you is saying that anyway he was tied to a wall, what could he do to you? There was something exciting about breaking the rules. The danger excited you so much. When the adrenaline flows through your veins, when you know that what you’re doing is very wrong, you love it.

"Come on, let’s go” you sighed giving yourself some courage. You took headache medication with you, in case he needed it, you’re too kind. You also took handcuffs because you know he doesn’t have his handcuffs when he’s in his cell, you prefer to know him tied up. Deep down you don’t really know him.

You are walking through the dark corridors of the hospital until you reached the door before the hall of Whitly’s cell. You walked past that door and locked it behind you, the path was dark, the only light was from the criminal’s cell. You were slowly walking towards that door that was forbidden to you. Your heart was pounding, and you didn’t know if it was excitement or nervousness.

You were only two steps away from the door. You raised your hand to knock on the door and then lowered it, you decided to enter, you don’t need to have his permission, so you gently slide the key into the lock. *click* The door opened, you walked in indecisively, he is sitting at his desk, his back is facing you, he slowly turned around and smirked at you.“Y/N” he pronounced your name with a hint of ecstasy in the voice. “Please, come in! »

You came in and closed the door behind you, unsure of what you are really doing, in your right hand were the handcuffs, in your left hand the medications. Martin first looked at your left hand

«  Hahnnnnn, you are so sweet Y/N” he said with a fake grateful look. Then his gaze moved towards your right hand and his eyes darkened. “What are you going to do with that? ” he asked emotionless.

“I-I… don’t take it personally I just prefer to take my precautions and… » you mumbled coyly.

With puppy eyes, he interrupted you "Please don’t treat me like an animal, I already am all day. "You lowered your head, sorry for what he had just told you, so you didn’t see that his sad face had turned into a wicked face.

"Okay,” you said with your eyes still lowered. “But I keep them on me and I won’t hesitate to use them” you said with a fake assured look.

He stared at you for a few seconds, “You are in charge sweetheart. "he said with a large smile. he got up from his chair and walked towards you, you saw the cable attached to his pants stretching as he moved forward, he took a step forward, you took a step back, he walked until he is stopped by the rope, his feet not crossing the red line drawn on the ground.

"Are you going to be glued to the wall like a scared little girl or are you going to have the courage to come and talk to me a little closer? »

"I’m not afraid of you. » Liar, you were terrified, you knew it was wrong but you liked it. You love the danger that is coming from him. You love the way he dared you to approach him, you’d never done anything so exciting in your life.

"I’m waiting. » he said impatient.

You gulped. You moved slowly towards him and you stopped at 1 meter from his body.

"That’s what I thought… girl. Incapable of crossing a red line.”  he whispered falsely disappointed, turning to the wall behind him, moving away from the red line. You couldn’t see his face anymore, his back is facing you now.

“Hey, I’m not a child! "You protested, as you rushed towards him, passing that red line and getting closer to him quickly. "You think I’m weak, but I’m a woman with…”

Before you finished your speech, you hardly have the time to see him turning around, he grabbed you by your arms, sticked you against the wall and he smashed his hand against your mouth. Shocked, you tried to struggle and scream, but his hand muffled the sound of your voice while his body crushed yours against the wall so you couldn’t move.

“Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh, stop screaming and struggling like that or you’ll make me angry." he whispered in your ear. He waited a few seconds until you calm down and finallly gently removed his hand from your mouth.

"Please, please…” You sobbed.“ Don’t kill me… I’m begging you… P-Please…” You begged, your eyes flooded with tears.

“Kill you?” he said amused. “I said I wanted human contact, I’m not going to kill a pretty doll like you,” he groaned, sticking his nose in your neck. You were relieved that he didn’t want to kill you. He began to give wet kisses along your neck and you started to relax. You felt a warmth growing in your stomach, your hands getting sweaty. The pressure his body exerted on yours made your head spin, trapped between the wall and his hard body, you were turned on.

Suddenly you heard a noise from the handcuffs, he took them and put one of your wrists in them.`

“W-what are you doing” you asked in an anxious and begging voice.

“You insisted on keeping them on you, so now you have to assume the consequences” He said with a face full of lust.