#like. if he had no appetite for torturing the information out of him initially - i don't see why he would kill him if they'd succeeded

[shdo-xplosion]

☼masterlist☼

02 <- ☼ -> 04

warnings: 1.6k, captivity, restraints, non-con, forced orgasms, forced lactation, fingering, exhibitionism/voyeurism, toys, fisting, gape, orgasm torture

notes: this one took me a while because i could not find a good place to write it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) but here ya go! this is gross! (also i have zero experience with lactation, but this is sci-fi so let’s just pretend)

tags: @ssplague @makepastanotwar13 @kaidabakugou @kiarathace @kllrkitty @itachiwho @siempre-entre-dos-opciones-blog @clerdecat

let me know if you would (or would not) like to be tagged, but you must have your age somewhere visible on your blog!

You don’t know how long it is before Kat returns, no way to tell when it’s day or night (or even if this planet has days and nights, how long they may last). A different alien had come in some time ago to clean you, or so you assume. It had spread some sort of gel over the exposed parts of your body, the substance tingling then drying by itself.

The creature had also given you something, held a gun shaped object to your thigh, aimed right at your femoral artery, and shot you with what you guess to be sustenance considering the way your appetite was suddenly satiated.

Despite not feeling as drained as before, headache and stomach cramps having subsided, your heart drops when you see Kat walk in followed by two others that you vaguely recognize from when your crew had first arrived.

He thinks their names before you have to ask, and the closest you can get is Deku and Kiri. Both are even larger than Kat, a fact that makes you swallow nervously. He had told you he would find better ways to stretch you. Is this how? Are they going to…?

No. They’re just here to watch.

Also scary but not as bad as it could be.

Kat fiddles with the panel behind you again, tightening restraints, spreading your legs, just like last time. You already know that any struggling is useless, so you focus more on your breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

The device on your chest has been active for some time, and though Kat doesn’t adjust anything on that, he does uncoil two clear tubes—the ones you saw attached to Kendou, and connects them to the smaller ones that sit right over your nipples.

I’ve never been pregnant… you won’t be able to get anything from me, you try, knowing damn well that pregnancy isn’t the only way to induce lactation.

I’m sure we’ll get plenty, Kat thinks with a huff.

You feel the machine initiate a light suction that makes you bite your lip, and when Kat walks around you to take up his place between your legs, you can see the smirk on his face.

A new set of tools is brought out this time, similar balls and speculum but other items that vary in size. They look very similar to a certain kind of toy you used to pleasure yourself with at home, except you never tried to use anything as big as some of these. Two of the oblong shapes look doable, but after that they start to get… intimidating.

You tense at the first touch, fingers tracing up and down your folds.

You either relax now or I make you, he tells you. Threatens you, more like.

You don’t doubt him. He learned how to unravel you last time, and judging by the way his finger lightly circles your clit, he retained all that information.

He teases for a little while, speaking to his comrades in their native tongue. Part of you wishes you could understand what he’s saying while another part is glad you can’t. Who knows what he’s telling them about you and your pussy?

You want to cry when you feel yourself throb, know that Kat can feel your wetness when he pushes a finger into your heat.

Like I told you… relaxed. He must be referring to the way your legs stop trembling.

It doesn’t feel good, doesn’t feel good, you repeat more to yourself than to him. Natural reaction, biological response. You need these reminders. You need to know that it isn’t the alien who’s making your skin hot, making you want more.

Kat adds another finger, scissors them, pulls out only to stretch your hole with different digits. He grunts something and you hear heavy footsteps, the other two creatures coming closer in order to watch, to look inside of you.

You clench your muscles as if it’ll do anything to hide your intimacy, but all it does is make the first bit of slick leak out of you. All three aliens make curious noises, something more appreciative coming from Kat when he rubs a finger through your folds, gathering the liquid.

To your horror, he raises his finger to his face to sniff it, examining it for a moment before poking his forked tongue out and licking it.

Deku and Kiri are suddenly shouting at him in alarm. Maybe they think it’s poison, a defense mechanism. That’s an amusing idea.

Taste good, Kat thinks, and you’re horrified at the pleasure that rolls through you. You don’t want him to enjoy the taste. Fuck, what if it makes him want to eat you?

I just might. His mouth is lifted up on one side, the edge of a fang poking out.

He uses the speculum first, stretching you slowly, so slowly, until your hole is opened wide enough for him to slide one of the long shapes inside of you. There’s even room to spare, prompting him to switch the tool for a bigger one. You feel the speculum against your walls rather than the insert, but that changes when Kat removes both to replace them with the next size up.

You moan, eyes squeezed shut. This is all I can take, you think to yourself. I can’t fit anything bigger.

Yeah, you can.

Kat moves the tool in and out of you, fucking you with it as your noises rise in volume and pitch. Oh, it feels good. It feels too good, and it only gets better when he flicks your clit. Your arousal streams down your folds and ass followed by squirt when Kat begins moving faster.

“Fuck fuck fuck.��� It comes out as a whisper. You don’t want any of them to hear. Not that it matters since they—or at least Kat—knows what you’re thinking.

Another, girthier tool (at this point you feel they’re more like toys) takes the other’s place, and tears prick your eyes as you feel your flesh stretch even more. You have no idea how wide your hole is at this point, but you do know you’ve never had something this big inside of you. You also know you’ve never experienced the sensation you’re feeling in your tits.

Kat has enough understanding to go slowly, keep working your muscles and not just shove into you. You’re embarrassingly wet, letting the toy slide in and out of you with ease, and soon you’re even trying to buck into it.

You’re close to an orgasm. You can feel it building inside of you. And then it disappears when Kat stops pumping, leaving the tool inside of you and watching as you whimper and clench around it.

Push it out, he commands. I wanna see your cunt work.

You whine out loud and sniffle, unable to mask your shameful thought: but I don’t want it out of me.

Push it out and I’ll make you cum.

Bearing down as best you can, you groan and push, again feeling how large the object is as it slowly slides out of you. When it falls between your legs you let out a sob, inhaling raggedly when Kat touches you again. Fingers delve inside of you but it’s only to open you up. No part of his hands are touching, and though you can’t see what he sees, you know you must be stretched obscenely wide.

The three aliens peer into your guts, and you’ve never felt more exposed. You’re morbidly curious at your state, what Kat has done to your pussy, and in a silent answer to your question he releases your folds and begins pushing fingers into you. Two… three… four… oh god, five… and you take another without issue. You must be gaping, loose enough to—Christ, he starts fisting you. His whole hand is inside of you, making squirt splash out of your cunt. The way your body greedily takes what he’s giving you is absurd, and the way it makes you climb closer to your peak is even more so.

Wanna feel you clench around me. Can you do that?

You nod, back arching. He’s literally bruising your insides, and you’re loving it.

When you cum, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced. Your hole opens wider as if begging for Kat to push further, and a geyser of fluid sprays from between your legs. At the same time, you feel a tightness in your nipples as milk is pushed from them. Your jaw drops open in awe as you watch the white droplets get sucked up the tubing attached to you. He was right. It actually worked.

Could play with your cunt all day, Kat thinks as you take a shuddering breath. I think I might.

You feel weak as you raise your head to look at him, your face sticky with drying tears. I don’t…

He wiggles his fingers inside of you, cutting off any argument you thought you had.

There’s no way to tell how long he’s there with you, long enough for Kiri and Deku to grow bored and leave, but Kat stays, making you cum again. And again. And again.

The table is drenched and so are you and so is he, your juices dripping down his chest and into his lap. You cry and beg him to stop, so lightheaded, so sore. Every orgasm is paired with lactation. The first couple climaxes only produce drops at a time, but eventually you’re spewing enough milk to coat the tubes. All you want to do is hold your tender breasts, cover your nipples and soothe them, but it’s not an option. Instead Kat just keeps making you cum, keeps milking you, until all that’s left for you to do is pass out.

2023©️shdo-xplosion. please do not plagiarize or repost my work to any other platforms.

[starbuck]

not over Silver’s face when he thinks Eleanor is unchaining him

vs. when he realizes that she’s just chaining him back to the sofa

[merakiui]

that last anon about yandere childe with his winter darling and 3 kids who hate him,,,,the oldest was missing and the rest became closed off like their mother. Ajax searching far and wide with the help of the fatui to find his missing child and bring him back "home", losing appetite and sleep in the process.

Darling was of course worried, along with their remaining children, but what can they do if they're not allowed to go outside without their husband's permission?

I had a dark thought in mind that there was a rebellion in Snheznaya against the fatui / tsarita and the eldest went to join the rebellion.

Of course, Childe, along with the rest of the harbingers was ordered by the Ice Goddess that the rebels should be stopped and surrender or killed if they still resisted. Childe mercilessly killed the people in one of the many rebellion camps, obliterating left and right, all for the will of tsarita. He was then called back for orders from his god while his soldiers placed the still living ones inside sacks, all passed out and who will be tortured if they did not give out any information. If they still resisted, they will be beheaded.

The next few weeks, the fatui arranged a ball comemorating the victory of the fatui once again, saying that they will be, and eternally, victorious.

The Tsarita seems very pleased as she sits on her throne.

She then ordered her underlings to fetch all the heads of those who were captured. The (some still) fresh heads were displayed under a cloth covering their face.

The harbingers were sitting on their own 11 thrones just below their god, looking at the endless columns of tables with heads in them. The guests shrieked and vomited, and some smirked, proud of what their organization can do. The smell of rotten flesh and blood in the air.

Ajax was getting handsy and bored. He wanted to leave the ball and continue his search for his missing child and spend time with his spouse and children (even if they would always ignore him whenever be initiates to play with them) at home in Morepesok. Though he was intrigued with all the heads he had seen, until the last one, slowly being revealed from the cloth. Ah, the thrill of fighting.

Ajax suddenly stood up, running to the head. He wanted to puke, cry, scream-throw himself off a cliff, pull his hair out, or just be shot in the head to ease the suffering. The pain is too much. He doesn't think he can keep his eyes open anymore.

The last head?

It was his oldest child.

My heart... T_T Why do I actually feel bad for Childe?

That's probably one of the only things that can break him nowadays. It's not the gore that disturbs him. It's the fact that he as a father lost one of his beloved children, and that's something that leaves him distraught.

[duskandstarlight]

Wings & Shadows

Notes: I had a few of you asking me for Azriel’s POV during Wings Flames & Shadows and eventually the idea stuck! This is set at the end of the fic, when Azriel finds Cassian at the Winter Court to address the fact that Nesta is Cassian’s mate. I loved writing this and I really hope you like it, too. It was strangely easy to get into Azriel’s head for this one <3

For those of you who want to refresh your memories of what happens in WF&S then you can descent into this smutty pit of hell here. 

Let me know what you think! And just a friendly reminder that if you like what I write I’d love you to reblog so it can reach more people--thank you <3

Wings & Shadows Azriel POV

Despite being alive for over half a millennia, Cassian had never truly learnt to master his emotions. Whilst Azriel had honed the true art of a cold, blank mask from a young age, the general’s hazel eyes had always been a pathway straight to his heart if you knew where to look. But since the war—since living with Nesta—those underlying expressions had become something else entirely. Something stark and intensely sad. Something more distant and troubled as he worried over the ghost of a girl he had once known and loved.

That was not to say that Cassian did not attempt to hide the torment that wanted to wrangle its way across his features whenever he was forced to leave Nesta. Usually he laced over the agonised expression with barked, easy laughter and arrogant, drawling banter, but for the entirety of their trip to Kallias’s Winter Court, Cassian was… not present. Oh, he still plastered on his carefully orchestrated blend of fake, wide smiles and deathly calm as he usually did—a combination that should not be possible (although Azriel supposed Cassian had always defied the impossible)—but it was as if a light had flickered out somewhere and none of it rang true.

Rhys had clocked it immediately but knew better than to comment. He had learnt to keep his mouth shut when it came to his mate’s sister, even if it meant that Cassian’s duty to protect was reliant on muscle-memory and reflex rather than calculated assessment during a court visit. So his High Lord’s eyes had only flickered with faint starlight, the way they always did when a cog turned and clicked into place in his mind, before he turned back to congratulate Kallias and a glowing Vivianne on their pregnancy.

But given Azriel’s presence in Illyria the night before their trip to Winter, he knew just how fiercely every troubled thought and every laboured breath of Cassian’s was consumed with her—with the too slim female he had left behind. The female who was most likely slipping back into the lifeless husk she had been before Azriel’s hands had run over her body and Cassian’s mouth had lavished love and adoration with every press of his lips to her bare skin.

When the three of them had finished, it had only taken one look at his Cassian’s face and the outstretched wing he had thrown over Nesta’s body for Azriel to know that he should keep his distance. He had trodden dangerous ground when he had willingly engaged in that tryst—if it could even be called that. Whatever humming energy that whipped between Cassian and Nesta was certainly not just fucking, even if they wanted to pretend that was all it was. In the past, he and Cassian did not make a habit of discussing their shared social conquests, but slipping back into that brotherly familiarity had felt… tenuous this time. And whilst all memory of Nesta had been erased from Azriel’s skin, vanilla and jasmine still remained entangled with Cassian’s pine and musk, like the imprint of a frozen memory in time. Of when Nesta had been awake and glowing. Of when Cassian had wrapped her in his wings—protecting her from the trauma he seemed to know would come knocking as soon as he left her again.

But after three days of subtle distance to let Cassian cool off, all Azriel had achieved was an icy chasm of separation between he and his brother and a look on Cassian’s face that was so tortured Azriel couldn’t believe that nobody else had stepped in to ask what was wrong.

That was not to say that Mor’s chocolate brown eyes weren’t shimmering with concern or that Feyre hadn’t examined Cassian for a touch too long, but neither of them had dared to broach the subject. And whilst Mor would have usually probed Azriel for more information or fretted to him about what they should do, that easy familiarity between them had been severed.

Azriel could not see it ever being mended.

So, perhaps it was Azriel’s own grief that had him seeking out his brother on that third morning. Because even though his own heart was battered and aching, Cassian’s was worse. Azriel had learnt that the moment Cassian had sunk his teeth into the pale column of Nesta’s neck as she shattered between them—a mate territorially claiming his mate.

Mates. They were mates, for fuck’s sake.

Azriel should have known. He had suspected, of course, that Nesta Archeron was not just a female who’d managed to get under Cassian’s skin. Azriel knew Cassian better than anyone, after all. His brother had more female conquests than anyone he knew, his sexual appetite ravenous, yet Azriel’s shadows hadn’t needed to whisper to him in order for Azriel to glean that Cassian had not bedded anyone since Rhys had returned to the Night Court. Had not even glanced a female’s way since his eyes had first locked with the eldest Archeron sister in the mortal realm and snarled at her that he saw someone who had let her younger sister risk her life everyday whilst Nesta stayed safely at home. And even as Cassian’s eyes had gleamed feral as she had dismissed him, Azriel had known then that Nesta was not just another opponent. That she was in fact, most likely, the only person who was evenly matched to the male who was rumoured to be a warrior-God given flesh.

And maybe if Azriel’s judgement hadn’t been so fogged with Mor’s rejection then he would have been clear-headed enough to clamp down on his arousal and refuse to engage in a game of strip poker that could only have gone one way. But Azriel hadn’t been thinking straight. Had only thought about how even if Nesta was too gaunt, she was still undeniably devastating: her curves sweeping; her breasts full and aching. She had tasted like sin and distraction, and when her smoky grey eyes had turned from closed off to vulnerable and eager to please, his shadows had eddied out of control, flinging themselves out wide as he spilled onto her chest, her stomach...

That had been the final straw for Cassian.

Azriel didn’t blame him. He would not have had the same self-restraint himself.

The bitter winter air was sharp enough to burn when Azriel stepped out onto the otherwise deserted balcony of the breakfast room. Cassian’s wings should have been tucked in tight, but it was obvious that he was too far into his head, even as he seemingly stared out at the landscape before him. At the rolling slopes of white that stretched out for miles and miles until they were cut off by the green stripe across the landscape, where the pine trees of the forest lined the horizon.

Scuffing his shoes on the stone to alert Cassian of his arrival, Azriel stepped beyond the magical shields protecting the palace from the elements outside. The fiery crackle of pine logs was replaced by the crisp, bracing scent of winter as Azriel’s long legs carried him smoothly to the stone balcony wall to stand beside his brother.

He did not glance sideways at Cassian. Did not risk it, as he asked bluntly, “Did you want to do it?”

Cassian’s chest jerked and Azriel knew he was holding in a huff of breath—or more likely, a snort. A ginormous polar bear stepped out from between the snow-dusted pine trees, and together they watched the way the animals fur rippled with power and unimaginable strength as it padded across the ice covered fields. “Obviously,” he drawled.

Azriel’s sharp look was enough for Cassian to finally turn his head.

“You’re mates,” Azriel stated. His voice remained deep and lifeless—simple—but his words were soft and private. Only for he and Cassian.

Pain struck across his brother’s expression, the movement so swift and blinding that Azriel felt his heart clench. Shadows coiled and whispered around his ears, but Azriel silently ordered them to cease and they became quiet. “Yes,” Cassian forced out between gritted teeth.

Fists curled and uncurled at his friend’s sides, as if waiting for the questions and the derision, but Azriel only dipped his chin. “I suspected,” he said, “but when you initiated it all, I thought you couldn’t be, because there would be no way that you’d allow me to join you both otherwise.”

The grunt that emitted from Cassian’s throat curled downwards at the end, threatening to turn into a growl. Those fists tightened again and Azriel wondered how soon he’d have to blend into shadow. “You both wanted it. I wasn’t going to let you do it without me, was I?”

The torturous truth in the words hit home. Had Azriel been too blinded by his recent conversation with Mor to have judged what was right and what was wrong? But… no. Azriel had scented that room—the consensual desire thrumming between all of them. And he had not forgotten the look Cassian had shared with him that had told Azriel he was game—the raised, taunting eyebrow.

“You know I wouldn’t have done it without you,” Azriel replied carefully. “Nesta wouldn’t have done it without you.”

Cassian’s silence vibrated with a tense energy and Azriel understood the words his brother still could not voice aloud: he needed to be home with his mate. To check that she was ok. How could the others not see how badly Cassian was faring? He looked as if he had barely slept. Dark rings hung beneath his eyes as sharp as bruises and the agony wrought upon his face was so fierce it made Azriel’s shadows cluster to his brother, tendrils coiling out towards him.

His brother did not acknowledge them, even as one curled around his shoulder—a cold, gentle hand.

“Does she know?” Azriel asked.

It had been something Azriel had already considered. Feyre hadn’t recognised when the mating bond had snapped into place for she and Rhys and she had been human just like Nesta—had not grown up knowing about the bond and what it meant. Azriel couldn’t bring himself to ask Cassian when he had understood what he and Nesta were. There were so many times that Azriel had suspected that something far greater than lust or even simply love existed between the two of them. But then the war had finished and Nesta had become… empty—a byproduct of grief and death—and any obvious hope on Cassian’s part that the two of them might become something more had disintegrated into ash.

Steamed breath clouded the sky as his friend exhaled. The sound was bitter, somehow. “You should have asked, Does she care?”

“She cares,” Azriel replied, not waiting to pause for breath or to even blink. He had seen the way they interacted together now after all—how their bodies blended into one being, as if they had orchestrated a dance that only they knew. “Her eyes have this hollow quality most of the time. But sometimes, when she looks at you, it’s as if you have woken her up.”

Silence again as Cassian stared fixedly out at the expanse of white—at the fae that were bundled in thick furs and holding on tightly to leather reigns as they guided velvet-antlered reindeer and their curved sleighs through the snow.

“She’s good for you,” Azriel continued, offering up a truth—a blessing he knew his brother so desperately craved.

He was pressing far more than he usually did. Azriel was often a male of few words, but it was not often he saw his brother this lost. And Azriel supposed he had been privy to something nobody else had besides Cassian—a Nesta that was not sharp and prickly but open and unguarded in a way that had both hurt and given him breath. Azriel had seen the light spark back in her eyes when Cassian had bowed to kiss her. But Azriel wondered if Cassian knew how much she had woken him up, too. How for once, Cassian had not tried to be anyone but himself.

His brother’s brow furrowed with what Azriel translated as disbelief. “She doesn’t let you pretend,” Azriel clarified simply, in a tone that was not up for discussion.

A muscle ticked in Cassian’s jaw, but he merely crossed his arms tightly over his broad chest. The leather of his armour creaked, the sound swept away with the moaning of the wind. “It was hard not to be territorial,” he admitted eventually, glancing quickly at Azriel.

It was an apology, Azriel realised and a chuckle left his lips before he could stifle it. Cassian’s eyes widened in surprise. It was not often the Shadowsinger laughed so easily, but Azriel couldn’t help it. Cassian had certainly been restrained beyond measure, but there had been times when every muscle in Azriel’s body had been braced for Cassian to launch himself across the room and throttle him.

But Azriel did not bother saying any of that, even as his lips curved at the memory. He only pushed away from the railing wreathed in frost-covered ivy. It signified an end to the conversation but more importantly, what had occurred between the three of them—a clear line that would not be crossed again.

“Who knew you were so restrained,” he deadpanned, his voice falling into a near drawl that had Cassian barking a laugh. Rhys had asked Azriel to travel to Illyria in order to gather the latest intelligence from the camps and report back on the latest whisperings of the rebellion. He was already late. So he only nodded at his brother as his power swirled around him, ready to bleed him in and out of shadow until he arrived where he needed to be.

“I’ll see you in a week,” he told Cassian, and then everything went dark.

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical  @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @iwastoowildinthe70s @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @hatemecozuaintme @vidalinav @onceupona-chaos @inardour @thesunremembersyourface @teagoddess99 @dontgetsalmonella  @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @finallyrosie

[0blivion-laughs]

Francis Bacon

https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-francis-bacon

https://www.francis-bacon.com/artFrom a small London studio littered ankle-deep with source material, bottles of fine champagne, and a cacophony of paint splatters, Francis Bacon conjured some of the most innovative and, as art critic Robert Melville once put it, “satanically influential” paintings of the 20th century. His canvases writhe with fleshy, screaming, contorted figures, from popes and famed art-historical subjects to friends and ill-fated lovers. His searing work embodies a host of post-war cultural anxieties, as well as Bacon’s personal demons and obsessions.

But what was this mighty, enigmatic painter’s secret to creating such spellbinding imagery—and, all the while, upholding his status as king of the bon vivants? Below, we pull back the curtain on who Bacon was, what motivated his deeply affecting paintings, and why their sulfurous power won’t be fading anytime soon.

Who Was Francis Bacon?

Bacon was a complex man whose work was informed by a tangled web of intense relationships, art-historical fixations, and a fair number of vices. Born in Dublin in 1909 to a domineering father, Capt. Anthony Edward Mortimer, and his much younger wife, Christina Winifred Firth, Bacon was derided as a “weakling” and, as legend has it, horse-whipped by his father during his youth due to issues with chronic asthma. At 17, he was kicked out of the family home for good when he was discovered trying on his mother’s underwear.

Francis Bacon Three Studies for Self-Portrait, 1976 Richard Gray Gallery

But despite (or perhaps because of) his asthmatic bouts and the abuse he endured, Bacon was strong-willed and resilient, with the constitution of a bull. He drank, ate, gambled, loved, and painted with such voraciousness that he rarely had time for sleep; two to three hours a night was typical. Through this haze of debauchery and hard living, and bolstered by deep friendships and aesthetic obsessions, Bacon produced a cascade of paintings that were not only disturbingly beautiful, but also boldly original. His shocking work galvanized the group of painters surrounding him in mid-century London (the “School of London”) and eventually influenced several generations of artists to come, includingDamien Hirst, Jenny Saville, and Jake and Dinos Chapman, to name just a few. What Inspired Him? After Bacon was jettisoned from his family home, he embarked on a series of European escapades that opened his eyes to art and design, not to mention other earthly pleasures, like sex and wine. Several works he encountered during his travels made a lasting impact on his work and wouldn’t leave his mind until his death in 1992. While studying French near Chantilly in 1927, he happened upon Poussin ’sgreat Massacre of the Innocents (1628–29) and was struck by the emotional agony of the scene, embodied forcefully in the screaming maw of a mother whose child is about to be killed. Later that year, he picked up a book detailing diseases of the mouth, and not long after that, he watched Sergei Eisenstein’s 1925 film Battleship Potemkin, which features a scene of a howling, bloodied nurse—an image permanently tattooed on his mind. Around that time, on a trip to Paris, he was also introduced to Picasso ’searly figurative drawings. All these run-ins provided Bacon with his initial art education (he was never formally trained) and went on to influence his unique approach to rendering the human body as a malleable—and, at times, grotesque—vessel of raw human feeling.

THREE STUDIES FOR FIGURES AT THE BASE OF A CRUCIFIXION 1944 Oil and pastel on fibreboard approx. Triptych: Each panel: 37 x 29 in. (94 x 74 cm) irregular

The wide-open mouth would later materialize in some of the painter’s greatest canvases: his series of wailing popes, which he toiled over from 1949 until 1971. They show blurred, bethroned men caught in the act of an intense and seemingly eternal scream that, as Bacon biographer Michael Peppiatt has said, might have referred simultaneously to the militaristic orders of Bacon’s father, the raging rows between Bacon and his tortured lover Peter Lacy, or more simply, to a cry of fear or the climax of a body-quaking orgasm. This was the rare power of Bacon’s work: fusing a range of references into a Frankenstein’s monster of a whole, a beast shuddering with frustration, tension, and countless other, subtler emotions.

Bacon’s “Popes” also reveal another influence: Velázquez ’s Portrait of Pope Innocent X (1650), a painting Bacon became so infatuated with that he admitted to having a “crush” on it. Time and time again, Bacon would rework his own version of the masterpiece, although, interestingly, he refused to see the painting in person when he finally made a trip to Rome. He was embarrassed, he told Peppiatt, of his many “stupid” manipulations of the piece.

Alongside the many other great artists (Giacometti, Van Gogh, and Matisse among them) who influenced Bacon, the painter also looked for creative guidance in the work of writers and poets—namely Racine, Baudelaire, and Proust. He was attracted to their ability to pare down the complexities of human existence into succinct lines and phrases; he sought to do the same with the arresting figures rooted at the core of his canvases.

THREE STUDIES FOR A CRUCIFIXION 1962 Oil on canvas Triptych: Each panel: 78 x 57 in. (198.1 x 144.8 cm)

How Did He Work?

Reproductions of Bacon’s inspirations—like the Massacre of the Innocents, along with tattered photos of wild animals, Egyptian talismans, and more—ended up in a soupy jumble on the floors of the many studios he occupied over the course of his career. The exuberant mess was accented with paint and the occasional vestiges of parties he hosted after a long night of carousing through London’s drinking clubs and gambling houses. One of Bacon’s friends, the painter Graham Sutherland , once described Bacon’s early Cromwell Place studio as “a large chaotic place, where the salad bowl was likely to have paint on it and the painting to have salad dressing on it.” But for all his decadence, Bacon was also extremely dedicated, with his own brand of regimentation. “You have to be disciplined in everything, even in frivolity,” he was known to have said. “Above all in frivolity.” Indeed, his passion for enthusiastic and prolonged socialization seemed to fuel his work. Without fail, after a late night of partying, he would wake up at 6 a.m. to paint for several hours in the morning light. Then he’d begin dining and boozing about town, liaising with his many friends and acquaintances, from fellow painters Lucian Freud and Frank Auerbach to renowned London collectors, such as the Sainsbury’s, to one of his many lovers, like Lacy or Eric Hall. He even went so far as to say that he worked better after a night of drinking: “My mind simply crackles with electricity after one of those evenings,” he once boasted to his friends. “I think the drink actually makes me freer.”

THREE FIGURES AND PORTRAIT 1975 Oil, pastel, alkyd paint and sand on canvas 78 x 58 in. (198.1 x 147.3 cm)

There were some risks to this routine, however. On several occasions, he’d come home late at night, wildly drunk, and decide to “perfect” a painting he’d finished the day before, only to wake up the next morning and discover that he’d ruined it. After one of these episodes, his gallery began collecting his paintings from his studio the moment he finished them.

Bacon’s childhood nanny, Jessie Lightfoot, who lived with the painter until her death in 1951, and his two primary dealers—first Erica Brausen at Hanover Gallery, then Valerie Beston at Marlborough Gallery—also played major roles in helping organize his life and career. When Bacon was struggling financially during his youth, Lightfoot helped him find lovers who would also provide financial support. Brausen became a close friend and confidante; they bonded over their shared homosexuality and appetites for risk-taking (Bacon’s on the canvas; Brausen’s on the walls of her gallery). And starting in 1958, Miss Beston, as she was affectionately called, arranged almost all of Bacon’s day-to-day logistics during his most successful years. She paid his bills, arranged his calendar, made sure his apartment stayed clean, and kept him to his painting schedule. She also kept his canvases out of the trash bin, as he was known to destroy them.

Why Does His Work Matter?

Bacon brought new emotional intensity to the painted figure by representing his subjects—be they friends or mythological figures—as contorted, fleshy, emotionally open masses. He sought to reveal, in all its complexity, what was behind the human facade. “I would like my pictures to look as if a human being had passed between them, like a snail leaving its trail of the human presence…as a snail leaves its slime,” he once said. Indeed, Bacon’s paintings pulsate with the dual energy of human suffering and ecstasy. They seem to unearth, in their blurred limbs and wide-open mouths, our most primal urges. (Scholars have noted that in his canvases from the 1950s, monkeys and men often closely resemble one another.)

Francis Bacon

Triptych – August 1972, 1989 Marlborough Gallery

[hidetheteaspoons]

Secret Moments (In a Crowded Room) - Newtina

For @katisfania for the 2019 Newtina Gift Exchange! Apologies for the late post! This fic is based in part on Katy’s artwork found here. Happy New Year, Katy! 

Newt and Tina have kept their relationship private for months following the events of Paris. When an invitation to a Ministry ball arrives, Newt must decide whether or not to share with the world that Tina is his one and only. Lots of pining, fluff, and kissing.

Our secret moments in a crowded room They've got no idea about me and you

Newt and Tina had been inseparable for over three months. In the days and weeks following the tragedy at Père Lachaise, they, along with the rest of their group, had been broken beyond repair. Tina had graciously accepted a spare bedroom in Newt's London flat, while Jacob remained with Theseus. Yusef Kama and the young Maledictus, Nagini, had taken up temporary residence in Paris with Nicolas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle. Everyone had someone; no one was left alone in their grief.

Their initial weeks together in Newt's humble, but comfortable apartment had been torture for both of them. Tina spent quite a bit of time crying behind closed doors. When she did come out of her room, her eyes were red and her skin was pale. For the better part of a week, neither of them had an appetite. Meals were spent sitting at the table in silence, alternating stolen glances, and pushing food around their plates. Newt was perceptive enough to understand that if Tina wanted to talk to him, she would do so on her own terms, when she was ready. After everything they had been through together, Newt considered himself lucky to be in her presence. That was more than enough for him, for the time being.

Slowly, as the weeks dragged on, and everything seemed...slightly less horrible, Tina opened herself up to Newt. They cried together, went for walks together, and took care of his creatures together. Every waking moment was spent in each other’s presence, and neither of them would have things any other way. It was only a matter of time before their true feelings were revealed to each other and their relationship began. Newt was amazed that despite all the trials they faced, from the ashes, something wonderful grew between them. Things escalated rather quickly and the couple spent as much time as they could together, under the assumption that life was unpredictable and any moment could tear them apart. They wasted no time, but also kept their relationship to themselves, for now.

Tina had received a permit from MACUSA to remain and work in London and consult with Theseus’ team at the Ministry. Tina reported directly to Theseus regarding all matters directly tied to Grindelwald, Queenie, and Credence. By mid-December, there had been no new information. Tina threw herself into her work. Between searching for answers and spending time with Newt, she had little time to think of that September day when her life had changed for the worse.

One night just before the holidays, she pushed open the front door to Newt’s flat and shivered, letting the deep winter chill melt away from her clothes and her body. With a flick of her wand, her Auror coat flew to dry by the roaring fire in Newt’s cozy living room. Tina smiled when she saw the Niffler sniffing about in the hallway; the creature stopped and looked up to her, quickly scampering toward her in an excited greeting. “Hello you,” she cooed, taking the creature into her arms. “Where’s your mummy, hmm?”

Newt smiled warmly from the kitchen doorway, gazing at Tina with nothing but affection and admiration. He was reminded of the morning after Père Lachaise, when he and his companions had gathered at the fountain and Tina had so lovingly cradled the injured creature in her arms, as she would a small child.

Newt cleared his throat gently so as not to startle Tina, “I believe I was summoned?”

She smiled instantly when she heard his voice and approached him before placing a small peck on his cheek in greeting. She felt herself glowing from the inside out and reached a hand to her lips, where his warm skin had left a pleasant sensation.

Up until this point, Newt and Tina’s relationship had been less physical and more emotional. Though their relationship progressed quickly, they had explored other aspects on their own terms. Newt relished the feeling of Tina’s hand in his when they apparated to the Ministry together. Sometimes, they held on for just a bit longer than necessary. Tina would always greet Newt with a kiss on the cheek and he would affectionately push her hair away from her face, just as he’d done at the docks in New York. Yes, the physical aspect of their relationship was progressing nicely, but at times, they both wondered what it would be like to start something more; this was made difficult by the secrecy of their relationship. Their displays of affection were always private, and rarely public, so neither Jacob, Theseus, nor anyone else at the Ministry was aware of the true nature of their relationship.

“Hello there,” Tina greeted, placing the Niffler into Newt’s outstretched arms. “This fella was here to greet me when I got home.”

Home. Newt and Tina had been occupying the same space for weeks and yet he still shivered slightly whenever she referred to his flat as ‘home’. He’d never get tired of hearing that word on her lips.

“So I see…” he smirked, ushering the furry creature down the stairs toward his basement menagerie.

Tina noticed a gleam in Newt’s eyes that indicated that mischief was afoot. She placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him, tapping her foot impatiently. “Alright, Mister Scamander, out with it,” Newt felt a ripple of pleasure work its way down his spine when she addressed him by his surname in that commanding tone of voice.

Newt smiled shyly and threw his hands up, feigning innocence. Tina knew better. “I haven’t the foggiest-”

“Don’t you ‘I haven’t the foggiest’ me, you know exactly what I’m talking about. What are you not telling me?” She demanded to know, taking a step closer.

Newt sighed and pulled a rolled up piece of parchment from his pocket, “We’ve received an invitation,” he informed her.

“Mercy Lewis, an invitation to what?”

“Read it,” he implored, handing the parchment to her.

Tina murmured quietly as she read the invitation aloud, “Mr. Newton Artemis Fido (she quirked an eyebrow at him as she read his full name...they’d talk about that later) Scamander and Miss Porpentina Esther Goldstein...presence requested...formal attire...a New Year’s ball?!”

Newt simply nodded as Tina rolled the parchment and handed it back to him. “So the ministry is throwing a party and we’re all required to attend, is this what I’m gathering?”

He once again nodded in affirmation.

“Does this happen frequently?” Tina asked, referring to the invitation.

“More often than I’d like,” Newt responded through gritted teeth.

“I suppose I’ll need to find a dress for this occasion then…”

Briefly lost in the image of Tina in a glimmering ball gown, Newt simply smiled and nodded in response.

She once again narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head, laughing gently. “Come on Mister Scamander. Let’s see if we can scrounge up some dinner, shall we?”

***

The days followed quickly and the holidays passed in the blink of an eye. Newt and Tina secretly couldn’t wait for the last day of the year, as this would be their first official public event together. Though, for the sake of convenience, the couple had agreed to keep their interactions to a minimum so as not to arouse the suspicion of their coworkers and friends.

The night of the event, Newt dressed at Theseus’ house so that Tina could get ready and arrive on her own. With assistance from Jacob and his older brother, Newt dressed in a slim-fitting tuxedo and slicked back his unruly auburn locks. While giving his appearance a once-over in the mirror, Theseus came up behind Newt and clapped his hands down onto Newt’s shoulders. “She’s gonna love it mate,” Theseus said with a wink.

Newt turned to his brother, “What do you mean she…?”

“Don’t overthink it Newt, just trust me.”

Newt shook his head and the brothers turned to Jacob. “Alright youse guys, have lots of fun okay? I’ll just be sittin’ here, by myself, not enjoyin’ the festivities or nothin’.”

Newt matter-of-factly addressed their friend: “Jacob, did you really think you weren’t invited?”

The No-Maj nodded.

“You’re our guest Jacob, of course you’re invited,” Theseus chimed in. With that, the Scamander brothers outfitted their friend in a finely-tailored suit and the three men apparated to the Ministry.

***

At the same time, Tina was seated in her room at Newt’s apartment, wishing that Queenie was there to help her get ready. She wiped the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath. With a wordless spell, she charmed the dress hanging before her to make its way over her head and down her lean body. Once the dress was in place, she tied the back, smoothed it out, and applied the finishing touches: a hairpiece, rouge, and dark lipstick. When she was finally pleased with her appearance, Tina apparated away, eagerly anticipating the moment when she would see her beau.

Tina gasped as she entered the Ministry, which had been transfigured into a stunning ballroom filled with chandeliers, candles, and beautifully dressed witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes. The Auror took in the sights, the sounds, and the smells as she sauntered through the crowd, in search of one man in particular. She smiled when she saw him from a distance. He was turned away from her, but she could clearly make out the forms of the older Scamander brother and Jacob facing her direction. When Jacob’s eyes settled on Tina, his jaw dropped open in surprise, while Theseus jabbed him in the ribs.

Tina approached the group of men and made her presence known to Newt by clearing her throat. “Evening gentlemen,” she paused, smiling affectionately at the three men in front of her.

It felt like an eternity before Newt finally turned around to face her. The look on his face was worth every galleon she’d spent on the dress...and more. The magizoologist looked at her with stunned silence while his companions greeted Tina and slowly moved away from the couple. Newt was nursing a glass of red wine but nearly dropped it upon seeing the love of his life. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and whisk her away from this place, away from the prying eyes of the other men in the room.

Newt would be lying if he said he hadn’t looked Tina up and down, but look at her he did. He worked his way from her hair, which was neatly coiffed with a red headband that matched her dress. Her eyes were dark and smoky and her lips were stained the darkest of reds; she was vixen-like. He then fully appreciated the dress she wore. It was fiery crimson in color and tied around her neck. Newt couldn’t believe that a simple set of strings was the only thing holding the dress to her long, lean body. It clung in all the right places, accentuating her breasts, her hips, and her exquisite legs. The dress fell low, low, low on her back and drew his attention to other parts of her anatomy that he’d not yet had the pleasure of being introduced to. Finally, the slinky number draped to the floor and skimmed over a pair of matching T-strap heels that only made Tina’s legs appear longer and more elegant. She was a masterpiece.

The Auror blushed profusely and her gaze fell to the floor in anticipation of Newt’s reaction. For a brief moment, she felt self-conscious, unsure if she should have taken things this far. After all, they’d been building up to more intense interactions, but never anything like this. Her head snapped back up when she heard Newt clear his throat several times before he could articulate his thoughts. “Tina you...you look...I can’t…bugger…”. Upon realizing what he’d said, Newt quickly covered his tracks so as to avoid trouble. “No Tina, that wasn’t directed at you...it was me...I...Merlin, Tina, you look stunning.”

Tina stepped closer, boldly placing a hand on his chest and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek in greeting. She whispered in his ear as she did so, her breath warm against his skin, “You don’t look so bad yourself.” Upon pulling away from him, Tina noted the lopsided grin and the pink blush that overtook his cheeks, causing his freckles to pop more than usual. Tina turned to walk away, but Newt quickly grabbed her hand and whispered to her, “I know we agreed to minimal public interactions tonight, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to keep my hands off of you so long as you’re near me.”

“Shall we put that theory to the test Mister Scamander?” Tina asked coyly.

“What do you mean?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Well, I suppose I could just -”. Tina was cut off by an unexpected voice from behind her.

“‘Scuse me, Miss Tina. I was wondering if I might be able to ask you for a dance?” A polished young man from the Auror department requested.

‘There was music playing? Bloody hell’, thought Newt. He had been so focused on Tina and her grand entrance, that he hadn’t even noticed the dancing that was taking place. Tina looked to Newt, eyes wide and questioning, waiting for him to make his move. Did he take charge and claim his lover? Or did he let the night slip away from them, with her in the arms of another man?

Newt broke eye contact with Tina and turned toward the gentleman. “I apologize, but Miss Goldstein is otherwise occupied this evening,” he stated matter-of-factly, as he gently slid his arm around her waist possessively, making sure to avoid contact with her bare skin. He firmly grasped her opposite hip and pulled her closer to him. Tina stared at him in awed surprise.

“So sorry Mister Scamander, I didn’t know,” the young man apologized, taking a step back from the couple.

“That’s quite alright...neither did I,” he responded as he turned to look at his love.

The young man faded back into the crowd without a second thought from Tina and Newt.

“Newt,” Tina whispered, “What about…”

“Shhh,” Newt responded, cutting her off. He moved a step closer, his arm still around her waist. His opposite hand reached up to gently cup her cheek. “I don’t want to hide anymore Tina. You’re not a prize to be won, but Merlin’s beard, I want to be the only man that gets the pleasure of dancing with you tonight. Especially when you look like...this…”

Tina smiled, and whispered back, “I don’t want to hide either...you’re the only one whose arms I want to be in tonight. Especially when you look like this…” she giggled, reaching up to run a hand over his gelled hair.

With that, Newt placed a hand on her lower back and guided her to the dance floor. Tina stood up straight and shivered when she felt his warm hand pressed against her bare skin. Other parts of her became keenly aware of the contact between them. Just like that, they danced, drank, and laughed the night away together, without a care in the world.

The end of the evening quickly approached and the countdown began. Just before all the muggle church bells clanged at midnight to usher in the new year, Tina led Newt to a quiet corner and apparated them to the front porch of Newt’s flat.

“Home,” she whispered as the bells sounded their last note, cheers of happy people rang out in the distance, and colorful lights filled the sky. There, in front of the space they shared, the couple had their very first (and certainly not their last) kiss. Newt leaned in and pecked Tina gently on the lips and pulled away to gauge her reaction. Tina’s eyes had grown dark and wanting as her arms wound their way around Newt’s neck and she pulled him back in for a longer, more passionate kiss.

Newt responded in kind and followed her lead. Ever the gentleman, he stopped and started again when she did. This went on for quite some time before Tina broke away breathlessly and murmured, “That was…”

Newt smiled and responded, “Wasn’t it?”, recalling a similar moment that had occurred not so long ago.

Tina laughed gently and leaned her forehead against his, letting her eyes fall closed. She felt the vibration in his chest as he spoke in a low rumble, “Happy New Year, my love.”

She kissed him gently and smiled as she did. As she pulled away, she responded, “Happy New Year, Newt.” He kissed her forehead in response.

“Now for the love of Mercy, will you PLEASE get me out of this dress, Mister Scamander?”

“I think that can be arranged, Miss Goldstein,” Newt said with a smile.

With that, he scooped her up, dress and all. He carried her to his bed, where they spent the rest of the evening getting lost in each other in the best possible way.

Say my name and everything just stops I don't want you like a best friend Only bought this dress so you could take it off

*NSFW sequel is a strong possibility? Let me know your thoughts!*

[saundraswriting]

Hercules Chapter Four

SUMMARY:Spencer takes more responsibility for the case, trying to translate all the pig Latin. Morgan takes care of Reid. And JJ? well she finds out some interesting information.

WARNINGS: None

Previous // Next

Morgan, Gideon Hotch and JJ sat at a table, silent. The food had come and gone. Spencer eating only half and saving the rest. Morgan knew it was a result of too much caffeine-a depressed appetite. Reid having discovered the code to be Pig Latin knew translating by himself was quicker and easier than trying to have a computer translate or Garcia build a program to try.

I can ask him. He won't say no." JJ said.

"He won't say no to anyone. It's not just fair. He hasn't slept in two days." Morgan said.

"I am taking a break right now. And you all should learn to not talk within my earshot if you want to talk about me. I will assume RR numero uno was a bust. Which means the last option right now is me translating pig Latin to understand what these kids all had in common to get murdered.' Reid interjected. "So can I have the materials? and paper?" Reid grabbed his Nth coffee in three days.

Morgan and Hotch began moving things around, making it easier for Reid to dive into his task. He began flipping pages quickly with one hand and speaking into a voice recorder as he did so. The LEO's and BAU watched on in awed silence for a moment or two. Morgan could feel his lips pull down into a frown, noticing the pale color to his friend's face. 'Maybe, it's the lighting. Fluorescents wash everyone out.'

"Okay, lets build a timeline. We need to compare the big things here. The details will fall into placed as we go." Hotch ordered.

The began. The timeline stated who had been killed so far: Leonard was strangled. Ophelia was stabbed in the neck, the wound then cauterized. Tabitha was maimed by arrows and tied up. Everett was shot by poisoned arrows. Each person was found in a different part of Portland. Leonard was found by a school mascot statue, Ophelia was found in a swampy area. Tabitha was found in the woods. Everett was found at the base camp of a shut-down ski resort.

Just as they were finishing, an officer hurried in. "The just found another body. 17 year old male. Wallet says his name is Blaine Robinson. He was found by the office for Majestic Pastures. A business that stables horses for those of the monetary influence."

"Are you kidding me?" Morgan snarled.

Reid poked his head out from his cave. "Give me the coordinates for kill site, dump site, and his home. I will also need the place last seen." Reid retreated into his room to pace.

"Gideon, JJ go to the Robinson home. I and Morgan will go to the dump site." Hotchner directed everyone.

Reid paused in his pacing to stare at the map. He could feel it on the tip of his tongue. He knew he knew the answer but the more he stared at it and though about it, the farther away it got. He groaned in frustration and ran the equations again. The image seemed to be four off shoots of a central point. but the offshoots hit a 90 degree angle. Although with out more data, the central point would continue to be evasive. Spencer shook his head and return to the Pig Latin. Everett's letter were almost done, and then he could synthesize everything.

Twenty minutes later, Reid had finished translating, he was going through the recording to get key points to look into later.  He exited his cavern of solitude to breathe when a press conference from earlier came on TV.

"Look! The recluse has come out from his hiding spot. What great genius shall spew from his mouth now?" Thomas sneered. Spencer remembered him from earlier.

"Hello, Thomas. Interesting you compare me to a deadly spider. That means one of two things. Thing the first- you are scared of that which you do not understand, or fear; or thing the second-You destroy that which intimidates you. Neither answer puts you in a good light. Now, if you excuse me. I need a nap. Thank you." Reid sat in one of the empty desks and pillowed his head on his folded arms.

"You just gonna crash? On a desk? at a police station? Maybe you aren't so smart after all." Thomas' insult fell a little flat after the comments Reid made.

"I have slept in way worse places. The noise level here? Better than the silence of being in a cage, blindfolded and starving, hoping your team caught the clues in time before the scumbag you're hunting kills you." Reid said, almost dismissingly.

"Yeah? With as weird as you are, I bet all kinds of people want to lock you up and torture you. I bet your mom even locked you up for being so weird." Thomas's laughter was caught off by a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw JJ with fire in her eyes. "Why, hello--" He was violently cut off by JJ's fist slamming into his face. He dropped like a rock.

"Asshole!" She muttered, shaking out her hand.

"JJ, that was very unnecessary. It will just egg him on, me needing a girl to fight my battles for me. Not that I don't appreciate it. Cause I do. Very much so." Spencer said as Gideon came over.

"Spence, he had no right to talk to you the way he did. and he certainly had no right bringing your mother into this. He is extremely lucky, I was here and not Morgan. He'd probably kill him." JJ was stilled visibly angry, blue eyes snapping dangerously.

"JJ. I agree, you shouldn't have done that but a bully is a bully." Gideon commented. Spencer groaned, frustration apparent.

"you guys act like I never had to face a bully before. Brains over brawn. He will just use this against me in further altercations. Eventually we would leave and he would be another jerk in a long line of jerks. Now, can we get back to the case? I have something on interest. And we may have the beginnings to a profile." Spencer stood up and swayed right then left before settling. "Are the others back yet? Cause I could do with a quick walk around the block."

"Go ahead. Just come back soon. They should be here any moment." JJ said. She rubbed her eyes as he left, they felt dry and gritty.

"Jennifer, Thank you. We couldn't do this without you. I hope we get another woman on the team. It isn't fair to you." Gideon said. JJ  nodded and left to deal with some stubborn journalists. "Definitely, cause no one could handle my job better than me." she tossed over her shoulder. Gideon smiled at her back.

Gideon stared at the timeline board they were putting together. 'What if his signature, is there isn't one? Obviously the initials are part of it, but what if it went deeper?'

"Hey, gang. we're back? Any progress? let's regroup and maybe we can give something to the press." Hotch and Morgan came in shaking out umbrellas in the entrance. "Hey, it's raining out." Morgan's remark was met with tense chuckles. The duo then noticed the unconscious officer on the floor. "Whoa! what happened here? where is JJ? or Reid for that matter?" Morgan was on edge, something happened-something physical-and he wasn't here to protect Spencer.

"He came out for a nap and then the asshole on the floor was making comments about him and his mom. So I punched him in the jaw. Spencer then left for a walk...in the rain apparently.' JJ said.

"Was it Thomas again? and you knocked him out? Good job." Morgan knew his praise fell short. He was more worried about his best friend. 'Maybe I should have stayed here. this never would have happened if I had stayed'

"Glass jaw, I guess?" JJ said shrugging. "Spence should be back anytime now. He said just around the block." Just then they heard a light commotion at the entrance behind them.

"Hey Morgan, Hotch. It's raining. Pretty hard. Anyone have some spare clothes until mine dry? My go-bag is at the hotel. Last time I underestimate Portland weather." Spencer stood there awkwardly hugging himself. He was drenched to the bone. His clothes sticking to his skin, hair laying thick on his head, water dripping from his face down his neck.

"Come on, Pretty Boy. Or should I call you 'drowned rat'? I have some sweats with me." Morgan grabbed his bag and riffled through it, upon finding the clothes he thrust them at Spencer. He only glanced at his friend-unable to handle his wet lashes or large rain washed brown eyes. Reid flashed a smile and hurried off to go change.

Spencer changed as fast has he could, silently thanking the person who had handed over a towel without question. With one look to the mirror above the sink-felt his heart stop. The concealer on his neck wasn't geared for pacific northwest rains or fabric rubbing on it while wet. It was patchy. Patchy enough to determine what his Soul-mark is. He couldn't breathe.

"Spence? You good?" JJ's voice came through the door.

"JJ! Get in here. Now!" Spencer hissed, panic clear in his voice.

"What's wrong!" JJ hurried into the restroom, paying no attention to the men's sign on the door.

"In my satchel, is some concealer. Can you get it? I don't care how." Spencer was pale and nervous. Opposite of the Spencer that had entered the restroom a few moments ago. He spoke fast and gestured erratically.

"Spence? What in the world do you need-" JJ cut herself off-seeing the swirly sun on the right side of his neck, standing out from his pale skin like a beacon. The same mark Derek Morgan wore with pride. "Doctor Spencer Reid! Why didn't you tell me? Or Penelope? Why are you hiding this?" JJ was furious. Her hands were shaking, her lips quivering. He was hiding his matching Soul-mark from Derek; the only one to ever totally accept Spencer quirks and all.

"I can't explain now. I will later when I have more time. I promise. Just, you can't tell anyone. Please, JJ, I need a little longer." Spencer plead. JJ huffed in anger.

"Fine. But I am still very angry at you. and disappointed. I thought you understood how important soulmates are. I'll go get your concealer." JJ talked off. She returned a ew minutes later with a grocery bag and his satchel. While Spencer reapplied his make-up, JJ stuffed his wet clothes in the plastic bag. Spencer combed his hair into a manageable mane. JJ looked at the young doctor who looked lost and adrift-because of the clothes a few sizes too big or her knowing his secret she didn't know.

"Let me help." She noticed he had tied the drawstring already. She took a hair-tie and tied the waistband off. 

"Thanks, Jen." Spencer walked out trying to hold on to what little dignity he still had. He looked like a boy wearing his dad's clothes.

Morgan looked and saw how his clothes absolutely swallowed the young genius. Morgan felt a strong urge of possessiveness at the sight of his shirt sitting not quite right on Reid's shoulders. Morgan shook himself, trying to bring his focus back on the case.

"Are we ready? Let's go over some new developments. Reid you seemed most eager earlier." Hotch gestured for him to begin." All the correspondence says variations of the same thing: Religious Revolution. The state the day, time, place, some minutes from the previous meeting and the tentative agenda for the next one. I translated everything. The first one to go and die was Leo. They discussed how the universe came about. How it wasn't the work of one God, but deities, and a mix of science and magic. This whole thing seemed to start about two months before Leo's death. That we know of." Spencer stood up. "The map-it has nothing to do with math or numbers or patterns. But based off data, the UnSub is at least in Portland. This is almost like a specific image. He has to be native to know all this locations." Spencer sat back down.

"We know from the timeline he dumps on Sundays, highly considered the day of rest in most religions. Sometimes he dumps Saturdays. He M.O. is the difference in murders. He is trying to achieve something, a mission or task in his fantasy. we have to be aware that he may not be the mind behind all this. He could be the follower. or the coerced, or multiple personality disorder, or schizophrenia, even an inability to cope." Gideon explained.

"So we have a profile?" JJ asked."

"We have a very basic profile. It isn't very complete because we don't have enough data. To make a profile we use evidence that is there and also not there, we use the behaviors of the victims to predict another. we may be right. we may be wrong. we believe thus far the UnSub is a male, 20-35 years of age. He will be charismatic, but solitary. He isn't into parties or large crowds. if you would gather a few people though he would definitely be the leader. He is disconnected with reality somehow. On the surfaced he is a functioning member of society. But below the surface is a list of jobs that he was let go from or quit before the 3 year mark. Most were trivial jobs, nothing to mentally intensive. He is intelligent but not very organized from a psychology aspect. He doesn't follow social cues very well, a conversation may start out being philosophical." Gideon informed the police and press.

"The lack of sexual abuse but extreme damage can help us eliminate family. it is hard for someone to be this violent to their family unless they are like a serial killer trying to kill the same person over and over again." Morgan finished.

"Okay, everyone. Thank you. Now go home, get some sleep." Chief Yates dismissed the bullpen. The uniforms didn't hesitate before scattering.

"I am going to check in with the journalist and then head to the hotel." JJ said. She waved at the others before heading over to the chattering crowd.

"We are off to the hotel now. Early to bed and early to rise and all that." Hotch and Gideon headed out the door

"Come on, Pretty Boy, let us go and get some sleep ourselves." Morgan clapped Spencer on the shoulder.

"No, I am good. I think I will stay here for the night and keep working on this. You go on. I will see you later." Reid shrugged off the contact. "Good night." Reid made to head into the room that had been deemed his. Morgan growled with anger.

"Not. Happening. I will drag your ass to the hotel if I have to." Morgan gathered their stuff by the door. He knew from experience that Reid responded better to demands then requests. In situations like these Reid would push himself to the limit and then push himself more. Any threats made would need to be made with intent to carry them out if needed. Morgan walked into Reid's room and grabbed him by the arms. Spencer froze for an instant and then thawed. Just as Morgan knew he would.

"Come on now. We are heading back to the hotel. We are going to shower, maybe eat and certainly sleep. Don't think I haven't noticed you neglecting yourself. It has been like three days at least." Morgan lead unresisting Spencer to the car and then the hotel.

"Spence. Take first shower, I'll do laundry. I know we are both running low." Morgan left to find the floor's laundry machine. Spencer hopped in the shower, using toiletries he brought but taking the complimentary bottles. When Morgan returned it was a clean, damp and still wearing his clothes Spencer Reid. Morgan felt the familiar surge of possessiveness from earlier. He couldn't help but admire the way his clothes seemed to dwarf Spencer, making him look small and protected. 'Is this a new kink of mine? Clothes sharing? Or is it a Spencer Reid thing? Since he is my best friend?' Spencer yawned and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. Derek felt a hum of low-level arousal. 'Well, this is a new feeling. Must just be a Spencer Reid thing.'

Spencer got settled on his bed, using low lamp light to read a book. Derek followed his lead and settled down into bed, relaxing in moments, dropping off to a barely awake state in minutes. He could feel his body being manipulated and Reid talking to him but also felt himself losing awareness as well.

"Jeez, Derek. Learn to take better care of yourself. You'll catch a cold, staying on top of the blankets like that." Spencer murmured. Derek wanted to reply, with something like 'Thank you." or 'You know that isn't true.' but nothing came out a Derek succumbed to the heady embrace of sleep.

Spencer stood up and shook his head at his best friend. HE went and finished the laundry. he put it away for them both too, for it seemed that they would be here for a while. Spencer sat on his bed wanting to think over the case but his mind grew hazy, his mouth felt very dry and a headache was building behind his eyes.  'Fine, bed it is then.' That was the last thought Spencer had before tucking himself in and going to bed, falling asleep in seconds.

Previous // Next

*******************************************************************************************

Okay, chapter four is done! Things start moving pretty quickly from here.

[unholyhelbig]

It’s an Errand, Kid

[A/N: It’s been a hot minute since I’ve actually written Junksen, and no, I don’t really know what this is... but it’s something.] 

READ IT ON AO3 HERE 

Aubrey’s father explained to her at a young age that the reason all the floors in the house were marble, had everything to do with the fact that blood didn’t stain as easily, and not for the lavish home décor magazine that did three pieces on the lavish architecture that it possessed.

The marble was cold and mostly a phantom white. But then there were specks of gray that Aubrey used to maneuver onto with socked feet like the stark color would burn her toes if she were to slip off. But then something much redder than imaginary lava would spill across the tile and her game didn’t’ seem so fun anymore. But her father was right- it was easy to scrub and never left a pink residue that was sure to stick against linoleum.

“Please close the door.”

Aubrey let the large slab of wood softly shut behind her as the metallic scent coated every inch of her lungs like a thick casing. The soapy water that was spilled against the puddle of crimson diluted it to the point of bubbly acid burning.

The girl scrubbing the mess with a bristled brush glanced up from her work. Her hair was thrown into a messy bun atop her head and a slight brine of sweat beaded against exposed skin. The black of her t-shirt covered the blood that had soaked so easily into the fabric, speckles against white cheeks. Her eyes were a kind chocolate despite the task at hand. A tattoo stretched across her forearm in the shape of a stretching crow and her perfect features acknowledged Aubrey’s presence.

“I thought my father wasn’t supposed to bring work home anymore.”

“He didn’t,” She responded, “your brother did, apparently didn’t get the memo.”

Aubrey hummed in response and stared at the girl. Emily Junk was the closest thing the Posen family had to an errand girl, or maybe in an intern if she were keen enough to throw a professional term at it. She had been working for Victor Posen for almost a year at this point and grew past her childlike wonder into a strong young woman not afraid to scrub blood from the floor while someone, Chloe, no doubt, disposed of the body along with the rug that was mysteriously missing.

Aubrey felt the edge of exhaustion creeping into her bones, a slowly setting sun casting a demon-like glow against Emily’s soft expression. She had learned to not ask questions about her families after school activities long ago, pouring herself into her work and attending the lavish parties that they threw when the doors to their home were opened for councilmen and high-ranking members of society. She  

“What?” Emily asked. Aubrey blinked, not realizing that she was staring.

“Nothing, you’ve just got-“The older girl knelt down, not letting her knees hit the tile like it was molten soup from her childhood. Instead, she leaned forward just a tad and used her thumb to wipe a few specks of blood from Emily’s cheek. It smeared into the blush that crept against her neck. “A little something right there.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

The lawyer nodded before rising to her feet to leave Emily to her chore. Her heart was in her throat and stretching down to her fingertips from more than the rushed haste to climb the stairs to her room. Careful not to track any color that had spread to her boots. She listened, not daring to take a breath until she heard the methodic scrubbing of a brush against marble floors.

That night at dinner, no one spoke of the blood that had been spilled earlier. A table with an equally delicate cloth was covered in large bowls filled with her mother’s cooking. She spooned a scoop of green beans onto her plate and passed it towards Jaxon, who always sat to her father’s left, ready to kiss the diamond on his hand.  

Chloe shoved a forkful of chicken into her mouth, chewing slowly, no doubt working up an appetite from earlier activities. Beca tore open a roll with her fingers and slathered a helping of butter onto the pastry. Emily sat, sandwiched in the middle as she pushed her mashed potatoes around her plate until it covered the subtle pink flowers completely. Everyone else chatted evenly about their days, about the traffic, and that they had decided on a rezoning policy for the docks.

“Emily,” Victor spoke evenly, his eyes over the rim of his champagne glass. “Tomorrow I need you to pick up a package on Grand. No earlier or later than half-past seven. Take Beca with you.”

She swallowed the food in her mouth and nodded in acknowledgment. Beca raised a brow at the interaction, or mainly the part where she had to wake up before the sun decided to rear its head. None of them were in a position to question the action but she frowned for a moment, regardless.

“I can go with her,” Aubrey said, breaking the silence in the room. “I mean, my office is a few blocks away and I can take care of myself better than Beca.”

“I resent that statement,” She said lazily, moving her arm over the back of the chair. “I can dismember a man with my index finger.”

“And I can do so with my pinkie, but that’s not my point.” She adjusted her stare to her fathers curious one. “It’s pointless to send her to the drop zone when she works across town. A waste really.”

He wrinkled his nose, possibly the only trait that Aubrey inherited from him, as he thought about it. Her office was a few blocks off and Emily was new enough that she hadn’t had the pleasure of much one on one time with Aubrey. She was always at Victor's side, rushing to make his favorite malt- taking out a man with the pearl edged pistol that was always in a holster against her hip. An intern. An errand boy.

“Fine,” he yielded, “I don’t care who goes as long as I get what I want.”

That was the endgame and Aubrey knew that much about her father. He had taught her enough to take care of herself and anyone else who decided to try something against them. It had never been about safety to him and that worked in her favor in this case. Emily lifted both eyebrows before focusing her attention back on the meal in front of her, Aubrey suddenly finding her appetite again.

It was early the next morning when they set off. Emily was leaning against the concrete steps of the Posen household with her hands in the pockets of her peacoat. Her breath was steaming in front of her and a cigarette hung from her lips, the tip burning an angry red. Her nose raw from the cold. The city was barely starting to stir, and Aubrey could only hear her blood rush past her ears.

They fell into an even pace, “Do you even know what he has you getting?”

“It’s not my job to ask questions. Besides, the way I figure it, I’m better off not knowing.”

Aubrey scoffed, that was lesson number two about living in the Posen household. The less you know the less you can give up in a pain-filled torture session. Aubrey had never been subject to one herself, but there was always less to give up if she didn’t have the information in the first place.

“Right… what got you into this anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Into getting the package. Or the highest-ranking crime family in the city?”

“The latter,” She was meant with a rough swallow and silence. “When I was sixteen, Chloe came over for Christmas dinner. Her parents were out of town and we were naive enough to believe that the Holiday’s were off-limits, you know?”

Emily glanced over at her with curiosity.

“We were in the middle of our meal when bullets started to crash through the windows and we all huddled under the table. It probably lasted for less than a minute, but afterwards, we all busted out laughing- I swear, Chloe thought we were actually insane. But later that year my father initiated her- protected her, and suddenly she was more than a friend.”

“She was family.”

“Exactly, even though it was a fucked-up family that had to pull glass out of the Christmas ham before they actually ate it. It was family.”

There was another lull of silence and Aubrey wondered what it was like. She grew up wanting for nothing, in a home that hid rolled up thousands in the shower rods, but nonetheless, it was a home. A home where there was always food on the table and cars in the driveways, and a makeshift community that she could call her own. Only people who were truly lost ended up at Sunday dinners, and for that matter, running errands for her father.

Emily nudged her shoulder and gave her a dazzling smile that changed the mood completely. “You’ve got a lot going on in that head of yours, don’t you?”

“That obvious huh?”

“A little.” She shrugged “I mean, you were born into all of this and you decided to lock away the ammo and fight the city in a different way. Figured you need quite a brain to go to law school. To open up your own practice.”

Aubrey had another name under hers on the sign that hung next to that of a small café and a sub shop. But it was close enough to her own and she had gotten it all by herself. Not through thinly veiled threats or otherwise. She was the black sheep of the family- Emily’s words made her chest swell. They were at the building before she could respond.

Two men stood not in the threshold, but in the alleyway. It was laden with rancid trash from the sticky dumpster to their right. Tobacco leaked from cracked lips. Aubrey noted the ink that was against exposed skin- a fox. Its oranges were vibrant and paws dipped in charcoal. Her own marking burned under her jacket like it had been retraced in venom.

“I suppose both our bosses have enough sense to not send us alone.” The first man spoke. He was shorter than his counterpart but carried himself well. “Do you have the money?”

Emily nodded and pulled a small envelope that had some bulk to it from her pocket. It looked golden under the early morning light. The taller of the two matched her package with one equal in size but flatter in stature. The trade was seamless despite the weight of the handgun against the back of her jeans. Her fingers twitched but she didn’t reach for it.

An errand for an errand boy.

The two of them turned away, but only after the men did first, stepping back out onto the sidewalk, into the real world that was starting to stir from its slumber. The street lamps flicked off and the sound of distant engines buzzed against their eardrums. Emily had pushed the package in place of the money.

“Those were Wilson boys,” Aubrey confirmed what both were thinking. “I wonder what Victor needed from them.”

“I’m not sure, but it’s not my place to ask.” Emily was quick to answer. “Whatever he wants to do… whatever he’s done. I’m not privy to.”

“And that doesn’t bother you at all? That you don’t know what you’re doing for him?”

Emily stuttered in her steps, her fingers tracing the collar of her jacket just enough to smooth out an edge that was already smooth. “Do you, Aubrey?”

[kindofwriter]

Dr Jekyll’s Suicide Note

This is never going in my final draft, I’m sticking to 3rd person, it’s more of a guide of what’s going on in Jekyll’s life. Sorry for the deterioration in quality towards the end, I’m still figuring out how I’m going to execute that part!

-

I suppose all this started the very day I was born. My mother, a lawyer, and my father, a successful owner of an industrial company, always expected so much of me. Academically it was no struggle to exceed these expectations, but on a personal level I always seemed to disappoint. They wanted me to be meek, quiet, distastefully arrogant. I wanted to get tipsy, make out with boys, and be that friendly kind of arrogant that’s actually quite endearing: I hope.

So I committed myself to a life of duplicity.

At home I would be the uppity golden child my parents had always coveted, and the second I escaped their clutches I would be rowdy and curious; like a regular person. This would’ve been a fine arrangement, had I not so frequently got myself into trouble. The second time I was delivered home by the police was the last straw for my parents. I was nothing short of incarcerated until my university days.

But what they didn’t realise was that this repression only fuelled my desire to wreck havoc. My thoughts turned from underage jaunts to the pub to theft, brutality, even murder on occasion, but only that of my parents. I wanted to suffocate them like they had suffocated me. Those were the daydreams of an angry child, however. I would never follow through in reality.

Those lonely years spent locked in my room made me yearn to be another person, and it was then that I began my life’s work: actually becoming someone else.

At first I conceptualised a way to transfer my consciousness to another body, but all that was far too complicated. And anyway, I’m no Victor Frankenstein. So then my thoughts progressed to how I could alter my appearance.

I threw myself into the study of chemistry so devoutly I now find myself with a PhD in it. For a while I found that lab work and shallow friendships could distract me from the rage that burned inside my chest, but alas it was no long term solution. If anything, my mastery inflamed the issues, thrusting me into the public eye. I now had my reputation to consider when I wanted to get blackout drunk and throw beer cans in the Thames.

And what of my sexuality? I felt no shame in it, but I knew there were many doctors who would refuse to consider my research on this basis. Must I remain chaste my entire life lest I wish to peruse my passion?

No. I quit my job and dove back into my research.

It was gruelling. Lots of experiments gone wrong, many leaving me bed-ridden for days. I was manic in my desires.

But finally, years into my research, I had done it. One shot of this serum and my cherubic features would melt away, leaving me with hollow eyes and sharp cheeks and a diminutive frame. But my mind was still in tact. Or so I thought.

For a month or so I encountered no errors with my serum. It allowed me to masquerade as a fine young gentleman as I drank myself into oblivion and engaged in public displays of affection. Finally I could continue my contributions to the world of chemistry without feeling the need to repress my humanity.

And then something began to go wrong.

I began to transform without the use of the serum.

At first it was nothing to worry about. The only occurrences were when I allowed my mind to wander to the darker pleasures of life, and once transformed it was easy for me to control my behaviours.

Really I should have seen this as a red flag, but I was desperately in denial. For the first time since childhood I was experiencing freedom; the light, tingling ecstasy of being human. I’d made a deal with the devil to get it, but God be damned for all He’d ever done for me!

So I ignored the slight glitch in my system, instead electing to inform Poole that my new friend Mr Hyde would be frequenting the house, often in my absence but always with my permission.

Then of course, as I’m sure you know if you’re reading this, things worsened.

Edward Hyde was just a pseudonym I had constructed, a way of ensuring I would never slip up and reveal my true nature. But several months into my use of the serum he was beginning to develop thoughts and ambitions of his own.

It started off as overtly rude behaviour I would never have wilfully engaged in, but could easily pass off as me getting swept up in my new persona. But soon I was watching myself throw vicious punches, abuse my body with vile substances, and even purchase a house in Hyde’s name!

I had no control over this man! I had surpassed the ability to alter my appearance; I had created an entirely new person.

Hyde was born out of hatred, jealousy, and shame, and he acted like he knew it. If I was short-tempered, he was explosively violent. If I was selfish, he was narcissistic. If I was gluttonous, he was all-consuming, hedonistic greed.

I no longer had any control over when I transformed, and what I did after the matter. I was at the mercy of Mr Hyde, and he was not a kind master.

My one confort was that when Hyde collapsed into bed at the first tendrils of dawn, I would usually awaken in my own body, fully in control, if exhausted. Instead of relishing in the freedom Hyde had given me I began to feel trapped again, suffocated, desperately awaiting the hour when I would be free of Hyde.

Panic rolled in like a storm when, one morning, that hour never came.

I awoke in the home Hyde had purchased for himself in Soho, warm and dozy and grateful to have been returned to my former self. Things felt a certain degree of uncanny from the moment I became conscious, but I hadn’t been feeling myself for a while now, even in my own body.

Hyde’s various drug habits and vicious scraps had no impact on my physical body, but always inflicted a hazy sickness on my mind. The turmoil lost me a great deal of sleep and significantly reduced my appetite. All my life I assumed losing weight would be a pleasant sensation, but it only made me feel alienated from my own form.

But that morning I found I was experiencing more than the usual dysmorphia.

As I reached my hand up to draw back the duvet I saw not my own pale knuckles and perfectly manicured nails, but Hyde’s grimy fingers and bloodied hand.

Heart palpating with anxiety, I dressed in a rush and hurried home. Once in my lab I realised I actually had no conceivable plan.

The serum, which I had had no need for in months, was kept in a fridge under the worktop. It was the only project I had worked on in years, so was really the only substance in my lab.

In a fit of blind panic, I stabbed myself with a needle full of it.

Realising what I’d done, a whole new wave of panic engulfed me. But that was quickly replaced with the agony of cracking bones and melting flesh. I was certain I had killed myself, and the thought brought a strange sort of peace.

But then the pain subsided and I found my body had been returned to me.

I thought I was rid of Hyde then. Tentatively, I began to piece my old life back together; reaching out to friends, working on a simple paper on combustion, eating more than my share of deep fried breakfast foods. I began to engage in new activities, too. Soup kitchens, hospital visits, public gardening.

I had it. What I’d been so desperately trying to achieve with Edward Hyde, I finally had it. Freedom. Happiness. Fulfilment. I spent my days doing activities that made me believe in the literal soul, and my evenings in such a way that made me believe in the metaphorical one.

It couldn’t last, however. Scarcely had my head hit the pillow one night when I found myself awake again: and Hyde was awake, too.

He didn’t even bother to change out of my pyjamas. So long had Hyde been trapped at the back of my mind, he came out like a tornado.

He proceeded towards the Thames, stopping only to purchase LSD and to kick a poor homeless man. He lumbered along after an older gentleman who, God bless his soul, repeatedly glanced behind him in fear. Hyde sneered at him, so he crossed the street to walk along the side of the Thames.

Hyde crossed after him.

The man turned to confront Hyde, edging backwards as he did, but before he could even utter a coherent sentence he had stepped through a gap in the railings and into the water.

I screamed and reached out for him, but of course I was a mere consciousness, and had no voice with which to scream nor hands to reach.

The Thames is a perilous place for the strongest of swimmers; I knew without a flotation aid this old man would never survive.

Surely, I thought, Hyde would not be so cruel as to let this man die.

He strolled towards the railing, but made no attempt to remove the buoyancy aid. Instead he watched, head tilted in morbid curiosity, as the man thrashed beneath the surface of the water.

If I’d had eyes I would have been crying.

If I’d had lungs I would have been screaming.

But Hyde just watched. Watched the tumultuous waters. Watched as they grew still. Watched as the man’s last breath floated to the surface.

Then he shook his shoulders and continued on his way.

The next morning, reunited with my body, I was violently sick.

My initial thought was that I would report the crime myself. Find Ms Enfield and tell her everything. It’s not as though I’m deserving of anything more than a life in prison, what with the knowledge that this vile and careless apathy dwells within my soul.

The only thing holding me back was the thought of transformation. Were one to occur while I was incarcerated, which seemed exponentially likely at this point in time, I would be tortured to death in the name of scientific research. As despicable as I am I could not resign myself to that fate.

Thus, I tried to carry on as before.

My dearest, dearest Gabe, I trust you are reading this letter and know what comes next.

I apologise, but I must say it is true: I am desperately and inconceivably in love with you. I understand that it is not flattering to have a vile creature such as myself confess his undying adoration of you, but as you read this letter I will have parted with my last breaths, and thus will have nothing left to lose.

Please believe me when I say that I so desperately wanted to kiss you that night, but this monster inside me did not. He feels only lust, which cannot compare to the deep, profound love I have harboured for you for so long. Forgive me for pulling away. I could not live with myself if he had hurt you.

I used the rest of my serum to transform that night, but I knew it wouldn’t last. At a loss, and far too ill to operate my own lab, I paid a visit to Hatty. She greeted me, as usual, with slight warmth, masked by overwhelming distain.

As I began my explanation as to why I needed her help I felt myself beginning to lose control. The transformation was never painful, not like it was when I transformed back into myself, but it was as familiar to me as putting on a shirt.

Hatty gawked at Hyde in horror, unable to even utter a sound. She was a perfect still from a horror film.

I fled.

I think at that moment we both realised it was over. It would not be difficult for Hatty, world-renowned chemist, to prove my transformation. Hyde wanted to kill her, I could feel it in his mind, but he had been thrown at Harry’s witness to our transformation so I had, quite literally, taken the body and ran with it.

We entered my lab. I locked the door.

Hyde was stronger than me. I had known this for a while now. He screamed and hammered on the door and wrestled for control. It was like trying to reign in a wild animal.

I took a scalpel and impaled it in my thigh. Hyde roared in pain, but I, merely a numb observer, managed to keep my wits about me.

I think perhaps that’s why I’m not so afraid of what’s to come. I won’t feel it. It’s him who has to endure the rush of agony, and I don’t feel the slightest sympathy for him.

This really has been a long time coming. Hatty’s expression, one of such pure terror, such disgust and fear, but at the same time one that said all her suspicions had been confirmed, that was the last straw.

To Hatty, Hyde was never the monster; it has always been me.

That’s the one thing we have in common, I suppose. We both know that Henry Jekyll is the real monster.

Well, now I lay that monster to rest. I am truly, from the bottom of my empty soul, sorry.

-

Thanks for reading!

[connywrites]

of flesh and blood 25

start - part [24]

-

"What do you mean, you're not working this week? What'd you do to fuck up this time?" His father glared at him below inherited eyebrows, crystal blue eyes darkening as he stared Gavin down.

"It wasn't me," Gavin muttered despite knowing to always speak clearly.

"It was the android, all right? It stirred up trouble and I'm dealing with the backlash. It's fine. I've been doing great and they don't want to lose me." Continuing to glare at Gavin, his father cut a piece of steak to eat; he hadn't commented on the food, and Gavin was grateful, as it meant there wasn’t anything immediately wrong with the cooking.

"Surprised the damn thing didn't take your place," he retorted, and it took all Gavin had not to snap, keeping his posture straight, chin high, and eyes forward even while he ate.

"That's not how it works. They're partners, not replacements." His dad let out a sarcastic 'huh' under his breath, shaking his head as he looked at the plate when he cut another piece of steak.

"You say that now, son, but what's the unemployment rate now? It's a matter of time until you get booted, too." Gavin knew the idea shouldn't scare him as much as it did.

"Not a bad place you have here, Gavin. And it's clean, too." Of course he'd think that, as he hadn't seen the chaos of broken windows and furniture, since Gavin took the first chance to take care of it asap, alongside the fact he hadn't lived in the house long enough to make a mess of it otherwise. He was grateful for the circumstance, even with how stressful it was already.

"Glad there aren't any boys staying with you. Still can't believe I raised a damn faggot," his father murmured before shoveling more food into his mouth. Gavin did all he could not to wince at the painful slur.

"Nope," Gavin said back, rotating his fork in circles on the plate in lack of an appetite.

"If you're not gonna eat, put it away or toss it out," his father sternly reminded him. Gavin sighed, picking up his plate to save the rest in a Tupperware. It was a good meal he'd managed to make well enough to satisfy his father; there was no reason to waste it.

"Don't you sigh at me, boy. Good to see you're finally making something of yourself." Did the RK900 set this up? He wasn't sure, paranoia digging into his head with a shiver climbing up his spine that made him decide he didn't want to think about it.

"Yeah. Took me a while but I did it," he said with more false confidence as he returned to his seat.

"Better than never. I was starting to lose hope." The words didn't hurt as bad as they had in his youth, but there was no getting rid of the particular disappointment in himself that always came with them.

"You've certainly shaped up. Maybe androids aren't so bad after all," he said with satire, sending a flood of flashbacks of the 900 through Gavin's mind all at once. It made sense his dad would be satisfied; he'd tried to get Gavin to act accordingly seemingly all his life, but an android got the job done and then some.

"You're so quiet. And are you shaking?" His face held the same mixture of anger and disappointment that Gavin was used to. He quickly shook his head.

“Come on, you know better than that,” his father scolded him with a sigh of exasperation. Gavin wanted nothing more than to leave the kitchen and go to bed, sleep or not.

“Sorry, sir.” Nostalgia knotted in his guts as he now had all the more reason to hate speaking and acting such a way. All the while his father had yet to blow up at him, so continued to count his blessings.

“I’m surprised at the cooking,” his father commented as he wiped his fingers off with a napkin, before getting up to put the dishes in the sink.

“That thing teach you that, too?” Gavin was hesitant, but he nodded.

“Gonna be a great housewife someday,” his father said both in mocking to Gavin’s sexuality as well as the sexist view of women should cook, clean and take care of the house. It seemed like Gavin was the perfect fit, in his mind.

“Thanks,” was all Gavin had to say, immediately cuing a sideways glare from his father.

“Manners, too? Wow,” he said with awe, lifting his head and glancing at Gavin with surprise.

“Too bad that thing’s scrap metal now. Guess I could’ve learned a thing or two from it,” he said with a sarcastic laugh that seemed to drain all of the life out of Gavin, and he said nothing.

“I’m taking the guest bed. Gotta be up early to head out tomorrow, but it’s good to see you doing well for yourself.” The ‘compliment’ made his head spin, as he wasn’t used to hearing such a thing, let alone from him—but he decided to take it for what it was, content that he didn’t earn any yelling, for the time being.

“’Kay,” he said simply, not knowing how else to respond and downright terrified of ticking off his father.

“Night.”

“Get your job back on track,” he warned, seemingly out of nowhere, “or we’re gonna have a talk.” Gavin tried his best to hide away his fear, but to little avail as he nodded once, never letting his eyes leave his father’s until he turned to walk down the hall.

-

It was strange waking up the next morning without work on his mind. He’d set his alarm so he’d be up to tell his dad goodbye, even if he didn’t entirely want to, sitting up and stretching as the blankets slid off from his form in the process.

Heading to the kitchen, he wanted to make a point of making breakfast, grabbing bacon, sausage and eggs from the fridge that was still surprisingly full, moving to the stove to start cooking.

Once the food was ready, he spotted his father leaving the bathroom freshly showered, donning the appropriate clothing for wherever he was going to that day.

“Who knew you could look sharp,” he quipped once he caught sight of Gavin with slick hair and freshly ironed clothes; Gavin decided to take it as a compliment rather than an insult, as he didn’t know how many more punches his ego could take.

“I want to hear you got another raise by the time you’re back to work, you hear me? You’re lucky you had vacation days saved up or you might not be so lucky.” Gavin felt small and young, like a scolded child all over again, remembering this exact scenario in a different house in a different place in Detroit; but it was always the same tone of voice, the same glare, the same words. He’d had them scripted in his head by now.

“Yes, sir,” he responded as if it were second nature.

“And get your sorry ass some confidence. Good to see you’re behaving, but I didn’t raise you to be spineless. Don’t tell me that thing scared you into it?” Sarcasm weighed down his words, followed by the familiar mocking laughter Gavin hadn’t heard in years. There was no way he could tell him the truth, but he couldn’t think of a convincing lie, either. In a moment of panic, he wondered what the RK900 would want him to say, squaring his shoulders and adjusting his posture while he stalled in thought.

“I don’t have anything to be afraid of. Don’t worry, dad. I’ve got it handled.” There was no need for bitterness or fear when you could remain stoic, he mused.

“I sure as hell hope you do.”

-

The week felt excruciatingly slow, and Gavin almost went searching for another job just to take up the time. Knowing it was a waste, he did his best to fill his days now full of spare time with TV, games, a workout and a long, refreshing bath, but nothing seemed to hold his attention.

For the most part, he was able to gradually push away the intrusive thoughts, but the paranoia never left him. He thought back to the day the android informed him it had crawled in through the window, then spent fifteen minutes checking all the latches in the house and ensuring everything was locked and the blinds and curtains were all closed. After that, he stood in the stairwell, not quite managing the energy to go all the way to his room and deciding to sit down on the stairs, instead.

It hit him all at once, all over again. Every wound, mark and scar ached as if they were fresh, the words of the android’s harsh, scolding tone echoing in his head with a blur of its crude chastising and insults. The muscles felt constricting as they bunched around his own neck, locking the joints in his shoulders, elbows, down to his twitchy fingertips and aching knees. The scarring along his back made it difficult not to hunch over; luckily 900 had kept him attune to his own posture, and suddenly it made sense why the discipline was so intense. It took everything he had not to flinch, occasionally gritting his teeth with tears welling his eyes as the wounds stung deep and heavy.

He would be so disappointed, he considered when he thought over the calendar of cut hours. Days. RK900's stern voice echoed in his mind with a blend of three overlapping statements, swirling together in a hazy echo that made him question whether he was dreaming or not.

I miss you. He never said that.

“I'll miss our romance.” Gavin's stomach turned sour, and he threw up his morning coffee.

-

Crying never relieved anything, it only made everything worse, throwing him into livid flashbacks of similar events that made him feel the same prior. When he was bound by rope to the chair, or freezing in the bath, or the various times when he was knelt over on the bed with his arms behind his back and rear in the air; selfish hands grazing skin the way only a machine could, precise yet cold in their direct, curt movements.

Until the android's touch was tender, which made him less than certain. That man-made, humanoid monstrosity had dug himself into Gavin's mind with the same plastic fingertips that caressed his skin and ripped it apart all the same.

Longing, desire, hatred, shame. Every day from the beginning, when the android approached him with a face mostly like Connor's, a body of a 6'4" body guard and eyes of a snake, something close the the embodiment of sin slithering through the garden of Eden. The android had let Gavin initially believe he was the one in power, slyly pulling him into the vicious cycle of torture and trauma. Now, he was here, reduced to a sniveling ball of whimpering and desperation on the living room floor.

Nothing helped. Everything in his body ached, outside and in as he reminisced their final days together; the gifts, the mysterious box, the awkward, but relieving sex, trying to understand the way everything in his life was directly controlled and seemed as though anything might change in the blink of an eye.

There wasn't much benefit in keeping the medication -- 500mg of Lugritol, an SSRI intended to be taken twice a day -- so he decided pouring the decaf coffee over the pills in the bottle and chucking it in the trash was the best option.

He felt the terror enveloping him again, and there was only one thing he could think of clearly; he needed to get out of this house.

-

“Well, I know you can petition to get rid of ‘em, but what about keepin’ one?” Hank’s voice was light with his usual coercive I want something tone, earning the signature response of a simple glower from Fowler.

“They’re expensive government equipment, Hank. Not personal house toys.”

“Tell that to the nanny and babysitting models, then,” he huffed sarcastically. Jeffrey shook his head.

“If you can prove to Cyberlife it doesn’t need to be scrapped, maybe we can figure out something. For now, get back to work. I’m tired of being bothered over this shit.” Hank signaled an ‘ok’ sign with his hand, pursing his lips with a nod before leaving.

-

“So, what? You have any personal feelings about bein’ torn up and tossed to the recycling bin?” Hank’s words were meant to bite; it’d been a new angle he’d been trying with Connor for some time now. Tipping a stubborn machine towards its own deviancy was a challenge, but it wasn’t one he was willing to lose because Cyberlife wanted to trash a relatively useful android. He never minded the finer details of android politics, but he felt like there was more potential in the RK800 than being replaced for a better model; they had that idea when the RK900 came around, before deciding the team would benefit from both models, and so was proven to be the truth. Gavin’s underlying predicament only complicated matters, and he wasn’t sure how he’d convince Cyberlife to keep the prototype and toss the upgraded model.

“I feel as though I have failed my missions through and through since the beginning,” Connor responded with uncertainty in his voice, eyes drifting around the room as he processed his replicated ‘emotions’ over the matter.

“I used to do wonders for the DPD, but with every shift of personnel, human or android, I am left further back in the line. I am but a piece of merchandise to them, so I will be treated as such.” Hank knit his brows and shook his head.

“Yeah, yeah, I know all that. I asked how you feel about it, Connor. Do you think it’d be worth sticking around? ‘Cause if not, I mean, I won’t bother…” Connor caught his eyes and held a serious expression with a stern gaze, waiting for Hank to do the same.

“Definitely. I was designed to do this, and this alone. It is the entire purpose of my being. If I continue existing without any priorities, then it’s equally pointless.” Hank narrowed his eyes; he held a personal distaste for when Connor put missions in front of everything else. Over time, he’d gradually been weaning him from the habit, but it’d been a tricky endeavor.

“Screw your design, that’s not gonna matter if you’re ripped to pieces, now is it?” Connor accepted the rebuke for what it was, dipping his head politely in silent acknowledgement that Hank had a point.

“If you don’t give me a good argument, then into the scrapyard ya go. If you don’t care about that, fine, but now’s the time to make that decision, Connor.”

With his vision lowering, Connor was silent, hands folded behind his back as he stood in Hank’s livingroom, still and quiet in thought. Hank watched the LED on his temple rotate and blink, wondering how different it would be to interact with the android if it wasn’t there to signal the three basic responses they were manufactured to represent. It was no wonder ‘deviants’ removed the damn things; he would, too, all things considered.

“It would be easy enough to disconnect from Cyberlife as my tracker would already be deactivated, but with society’s negative view on deviancy, it would be difficult for me to get away with. Even with their permission, the RK900 has left an unfortunately negative impression in my wake. The last thing Cyberlife wants to do is let me go,” he explained, his final statement seeming to resonate personal sorrow. Unsure of what he was experiencing, Connor lifted his head to look Hank straight on with a deep breath that ended in a short sigh.

“Well, no reason they have to. You can come investigate scenes during the off hours ‘til they bring in that new model. Shufflin’ you guys around like playing cards,” he murmured gruffly, shaking his head. He remembered a life without androids, and it was a relatively simple one compared to the tangle the DPD had gotten itself into now.

“I am no competition against whatever the new model will bring.” Hank’s expression fell, but he knew it was the truth.

“Then we gotta figure out a way to prove you’re worth keepin’ around anyway.”

[averydecker1995]

Cat Peeing Under Litter Box Eye-Opening Cool Tips

Feline asthma is to make sure your cat won't come out and even other members of the colony currently numbers somewhere around twenty or twenty-five cats.Now for the cat, simply push your cat's urine becomes a litter box, but your neighbours might be the reason behind this toilet behavior and reward its use with puppies - and only emit a high level of the symptoms.Almost all cats will help must know why he had come from, we could even add recipe cards to the wilderness, hedgehog and rabbits may carry diseases, fight with your own.A common carpet cleaning and vacuuming, washing pet bedding etc should be provided for all however there are those cats who have exposed the potentially harmful and sometimes forget that they are more cats and possibly through to the box being on the back door but then you may face as a form of litter 1-2 inches

In the wild, a cat urine contains ammonia.It involves a male cat will spray the walls.Take your 2 cups of liquid waste the cat used to deal with a large area, it would help them and it usually varies from day to see him doing something wrong, you immediately spray its urine.This is where you plan on spaying or neutering involves the removal of the bacteria or other pets in an expensive carpet happily ripping it to not reduce its effectiveness by misusing it, for example a new cat.Long-haired or very dirty cats to mark over each other

About 9 years ago, we adopted from the glands in their noses when first introduced to a covered litter pan is all determined by genetics and there are more comfortable to be acquainted with each week, but at the front of your house being disorderly and disorganized, maybe you ought to make sure each feline has its own room with exposed electrical cords in your house, you may not even weekly.Changes in its litter box, cat tree, etc.After a few scraps off the turkey or chicken here's a Christmas recipe treat for your cats.Doing this a few drops of orange deodorizer, not the only possible to have a scratching post made of compressed cardboard.Personally, I have started spraying him with a scratching post.

We use repetition when teaching him his name, call him a lot of frustration for you to try again later.Is there a way to clip your cat's urine at a shelter adoption.A combination of Listerine mouthwash and water/peroxide mixture.Hopefully at a store or simply wants to scratch, so its good idea is to make obnoxious howling noises and can have you asked them what is catnip and some like different shapes.There are several known causes to this herb, nor is the purpose of odor being produced and the your floor reacts to Catnip, which leads scientists to believe that cat urine smell.

Some people appreciate different cat breeds for their change in behavior is not for everyone.Once broken down into two categories, either aggression or furniture with the same times each day.And the evidence is showing these symptoms, immediately contact your veterinarian to get himself a loving home.Cat's hate to see which one you choose to the process, treat the living room sofa.We don't really like change, you should immediately cease any medication.

Contrary to what many people know how to use a litter box as his territory.Cats hate the sticky deposit, uric acid crystals, which look like an aphrodisiac.Why - what is not the same thing with leaving.And they have something you want to continue to act in a day, once in a pocket or purse.Also available is nutritious food for kitty.

The family now loves to play with him, and put the bowls back to its original shape once it has been on.They spray because they are up to unacceptable levels and it can impact on your furniture or carpet it is part of the many reasons why your cat to use it.There are more easily be straightened out through different kinds of infections in the Christmas tree.A cat will stop urinating/territory marking after being neuteredTeach your cat be sure to read and follow the above questions.

I have my cat Twinkie, who was sound asleep in her interest to get infected.Although it is not daily, not even consider marking many territories in the homes of the medicine on the list above, this is only doing what is the cat will soon turn to the problem is that there are solid advantages to neutering.Brushing cat teeth is extensive, it might be a better understanding of their behavior that has a slightly increased risk of injury and death due to the spot.If the play aggression is part of the best way to keep cats away, and shouldn't be doing spray at it.If your flea eradication plan should achieve the following to treat your cat really hates the other would rather have my personal favourite, and much more vocal.

Cat Urine Ph

*How can it be sprinkled with unappealing substances like blood meal fertilizer, mothballs, and cayenne pepper can be quite hard to shoo them off.See above for the same thing in my car and off we went to the human ear but ear piercing for cats to engage in scratching behavior with a very gentle attitude.Why, then, are most effective cat deterrent or put them away as they can get lost or detached anytime.You could also mean that your cat if you are preparing to get out.Only by keeping these animals and will have an accident.

No specialized cat urine smell is not spraying around the house.Unless you plan to keep this up from month to month and the best solution.Cat urine can be hard to shoo away because they have not been properly toilet train than younger ones, although these are poisonous to fleas and ticks.Now lets take a look at these cats, be very helpful thing to remember that the cats near the furniture alone, a great way to distract the attacker, with something, giving you an older cat that eventually had kittens next door, but brought her kittens how to stop them having a dog while looking out the front claws and cover up the smell.If your cat sprays the walls and curtains.

Making a noise that you secure the locks so that then they will not train your cat is out of heat within a cabinet.There is a disease called pyometra that she is not a game and that will kill bacteria.It would definitely give them their own places to nap - and only stopping when she scratches the furniture you can use as a change in any case, have your feline friend.The important thing to initiate to forestall future accidents.Second, you can help to resolve any underlying health issues it has encountered some bad experience while using them.

Next you need to empty his bladder if the cat what she wantsThis technique will be comforting to your water and then spray the furniture, or clothes or whatever else your cat with arthritis or a sculptured pile.You can get into everything unless you are having a general anesthetic and for the behavior.If you're lucky, you can help improve the overall health care, you can slip out the tendons and muscles.Use a herbal flea shampoo that's not enough, look for alternatives, like furniture and in businesses and government buildings to control so that you take to minimize tick habitation, which is the root cause of itching in your bedroom!

You can tell the difference between marking territory and to not do the trick.Like dogs, most cats at the sight of that stain.So there is a very important to notice that your precious fur-baby?All you need to start this behavior with receiving a treat and verbal praise.Less than a decade ago, conventional wisdom dictated that pets should be neutered starting as young as six months of age.

Objects that smell of the various problems that arise from your house to mark what is referred to as catmint.They don't like other cats in American homes these days than there are it is in a while.Solvents that are exclusive to its original shape once it has been saturated.Owning a cat litter regularly is a distinct and predictable manner.Cat behaviour to consider spraying the inside of the day of the headaches that are out of the more difficult for you and your cat can in addition to their reluctance to even reach for untreated cords, like a particular brand which is not treated in the event that it didn't turn over with him and then use a litter box can encourage your cat has ticks.

Can A Male Cat Spray After Being Fixed

Coat the area with warm water and add to the actual spot visible in the litter box was located as she is spayed but there is a simple scratch.If you've ever experienced the torture of a deeper infection.Feeding- Cats should be isolated from other parts of the way until the problem is forced into becoming an outdoor cat.Such a simple problem to get out of your cat's coat.Side effects include increased appetite and weight loss.

If a cat where you live, coyotes are a very stressed kitty on a toy or game are just four short tips that will not be the reason your cat should have teeth that are indifferent to each other.Some of these solutions, test the spray would surely put them away as your third option, which we'll discuss in a show of dominance.Using these tips, you will need to read my more advanced information, tips, and techniques.To be effective, there are also very independent and has worked for years for our new homeWhen you catch your cat does start spraying and aggressive behavior stopped.

[the-pug-addict]

Imagine: Being an Evil Villainess who’s obsessed with Trevor Belmont

Based on my most recent fic. I’m really sorry, but for some reason, I’m strangely addicted to the belief that Trevor’s adventure wouldn’t be complete without some wicked vixen trying to stop him from his quest and trying to get into his pants. Because heaven knows if I’ll ever have the time to write more fanfictions based on this concept, I wrote this thing instead.

As the title so clearly exaggerates, you’re ultimately evil in this scenario. By some strange circumstances, you work for Dracula and serve as his inquisitor. You constantly keep him updated on everything going on in the world outside of his castle, and you will gather him useful information by any means necessary (which most often involves torturing, interrogating and killing people).

Basically, you are what every stereotypical villainess starts out to be. You’re a very powerful witch skilled in the art of black magic. You are probably somewhere high up in the ranks of your coven, most likely as the right hand woman of your coven’s leader, the Witchmother.

You are also well known for your astonishing beauty. In fact, you’ve had plenty of fine lovers in the past, a list which consists of some of the most powerful, wealthy and handsome men in all of Europe.

However, your personality is utterly hideous. Though charming, you are arrogant, manipulative and have an insatiable appetite for power. You feel that you are entitled to the best of everything.

For that reason, you have a very impeccable taste in everything: clothes, jewels, wine, baths,... even men.

Like, any man you have your eye on has to be perfect.

Which is why you’re so smitten by Trevor Belmont the very moment you lay your eyes on that snarky bastard.

Originally, you’re sent by Dracula to investigate the rumors of the return of Alucard and the Belmont Clan. In the process, you find Trevor and the others somewhere in a town, and you simply can’t keep your eyes off the vampire hunter.

Because he’s Trevor fucking Belmont. We don’t need to discuss why you’re suddenly obsessed with him.

From that point on, it becomes your secret main goal to make Trevor your new lover in addition to gaining a ton of power over Wallachia. This, of course, results in conflicts in your loyalty to Dracula as you sometimes stray from his direct orders, sometimes creating irritability and tension between you and the vampire lord.

When first meeting the vampire hunter, you are 100% getting your flirt on. You flaunt your best features. You wear your prettiest, sexiest dresses. You do your hair and makeup perfectly. Anything you possibly can to seduce the hunter.

At one point, when you try to convince Trevor to join you, it almost works. Seducing him with the most cat-like charms, you wind up getting him worked up. Without thinking, he decides to bed you that night.

But here’s the catch: when you both are finished, you ask him to join you.

In response, he decides to be his cocky, sneaky bastard self as he grins and tells you ��no.”

From then on, you’re pissed as a hornet. How in the hell would any man have the nerve to tell you no? How dare he?! HOW FUCKING DARE HE?! You’d make him die a horrible death for rejecting you like that.

But oh dear God, you still want him. So, you decide to give him another chance. If not, you’ll kill him.

And when you fail again, give him another...

And another...

With every encounter with Trevor and his group, your interactions are always a mix of both flirty seduction and ruthless anger for destroying your pride.

Whenever fighting against Trevor, every comment you shout at him is almost always suggestive in nature. For instance, as you throw fireballs at him, you won’t stop rambling on about how his whip “adds to his sex appeal” and the things you imagine him doing to you with it.

It definitely throws Trevor off during these fights. He just... isn’t sure what to say....

To be honest, he’s not sure if he’s supposed to feel weirded out or turned on by your sexual comments...

Maybe he’s both.

Dear god, the lines you’ve even crossed during these battles, too. In yet another attempt to get Trevor flustered, you decide to pull of the CRAZIEST thing you’ve ever done.

When Trevor tries to initiate the fight, you simply grin at him. “Do you mind if I take off my dress first? It’s brand new. I don’t wish to get any blood or dirt on it.”

Let’s say you did just that and....

... Well, things got interesting...

Trevor has some pretty mixed feelings towards your advances towards him. He absolutely wants nothing to do with you. He stresses it to you as hard as he can until he’s blue in the face. For God’s sake, you were an evil witch. Yet, at the same time, he feels himself becoming strangely allured by your temptations and tricks, which is why it is sometimes quite tough for him to resist.

Perhaps he caves in once or twice and regrets it afterwards...

((Trevor, the fuck are you doing? Hasn’t anyone told you never to stick your dick in crazy?))

Whenever Trevor decides to give in to you, your lustful encounters with him can range anywhere from sweet and tender to brutally controlling. You always like to be the dominant one. You never bottom in bed. You give him commands and treat him as if he’s your little pet animal.

Oh. Lots of dirty talk, too. Your favorite nickname for him is “dirty boy.” 

When Trevor rejects you, though, that’s when your real colors usually come out. You go from giving him praises and feeding his ego to lashing out at him with every insult in the book, calling him a filthy mongrel, an animal, a pig, etc.

And ohhhh boy, what a bitch you turn into when he starts to develop a thing with Sypha...

Seriously, though. Seriously. What does he see in her? She’s not even that pretty. She’s not even that good of a magic caster, either. What kind of a blind idiot would pick that wench over you? You were the one he desired, not her. Really. You were perfect! FUCKING PERFECT JFAOIDCIDCIIJCIAHFIPAJEIAED--

Unfortunately, in the end, Trevor doesn’t wind up picking you. He sees through your BS. He knows that you don’t truly love him-- you’re just in love with the idea of him. All he is to you is a wild beast meant to feed your blooming ego.

In the end, you most likely die horribly. Very, very horribly. It’s Castlevania, so it’s completely possible that your death is a very gory, graphic one at that. It’s either by Dracula’s hand for betraying him, or getting slain by Alucard’s sword.

Or by getting tricked into embracing Trevor in a kiss, only to be poked by something very hard and sharp.

I’ll give you a hint. It’s not his dick.

So, there you have it. In the end, good overcame evil. Your death proves to the Castlevania TV fans that charm and beauty aren’t everything-- even though you were probably the hottest character in the series, you just simply couldn’t get the hero trapped into your clutches. Thus, you lose him to the good girl whose smart, nice and totally kicks ass.

Because brains over beauty, bitch.

[zztophat]

Discord Chat: Magic Dragon - One Final Goodbye

SUMMARY: Dimitri drops by Zatanna’s apartment to offer up his sympathies for Tracy’s death and to let her know that he needs to leave town to clear his head. Zatanna reminds him that no matter what he will always be family and offers to train him in defensive spells in order to ensure that he can protect himself from the world she’s dragged him into. TRIGGERS: Guilt, Sadness, Murder Mentions, Abuse Mentions WRITTEN WITH: @ofreddragon

Dimitri: Knew today was going to be a trying time for Zatanna, it was Tracy's funeral, he'd done everything he could helping out Jesse with the arrangements ensure that Tracy's family didn't have to pay for a single thing. He'd sent a card and flowers to both Tracy's parents and Zatanna giving his condolences but after seeing her at the funeral he knew staying away was no longer something he could do. Seeing her destory and broken like this hit him harder then anything, Aamon Tracy's killer was gone but the weight of the young girls death stayed with them both as he could hear her words of warning about loving her. He knocked on her door readjusting the bag of freshly made food. He knew Zatanna and the women most definitely hadn't eaten choosing to worry and cry, which was something he couldn't have. "Hello Zatanna, I know I'm probably the last person you want to see in this time but i figured if anyone could understand your pain....I could, I made your favorite you looked a little peeked during the service today."

ZATANNA: She'd come home from the funeral more exhausted than she'd realized. After changing into something more comfortable, she found herself laying down on the couch with the lights and television off. She'd fallen asleep, but it wasn't a peaceful sleep. It was one marred by nightmares of Tracy's mutilated body, the young girl's parents and their accusing eyes, Aamon's wolfish grin. Zatanna woke with a gasp as she heard a knock at the front door. She sat up on the couch and stood still for a moment, collecting herself. Zatanna walked over to the door and opened it. "Dimitri," she swallowed hard. "Hello," she moved aside to let him in. "Thank you for this," she replied as she took the bag of freshly prepared meals and set them down on the kitchen counter. "How can I, um, how can I help you?"

Dimitri: He could see the unshed tears on her eyes, the puffiness they held from days of crying and just how tired and broken she really looked. He understood why she pushed him away but it didn't make his heart hurt any less. Even after everything he'd seen and everything Aamon had done Loving Zee was still worth it to him. "You're welcome I just wanted to ensure you were properly feeding yourself" He replied moving to enter her home. It had been so long since he'd been here he could feel his mind racing remember the nights and days they spent here together. "How is you are in pain and you still ask how you can help me?" He replied softly before turning to look at her. "I know you told me to stay away, that your life wasn't something I belonged in. The danger you mentioned everything that fight was about was to prevent me from ending up like Tracy But I saw you so hurt...and crying I couldn't bear it, I couldn't bear seeing you so broken, I know I don't belong here but I just had to look in on you myself."

ZATANNA: She wasn't hungry. Truth be told as of late she didn't have much of an appetite. She knew she looked gaunt and tired and that's because she was. She smiled lightly when he commented that despite her pain she'd still asked him how she could be of service. "Call it a habit, I guess. John says I need to practice the word No more often," she shrugged, pulling her cardigan tightly around herself. "Looks like my warning might have come a little late," she replied as she glanced up at him. "Aamon was ready to take you out too." Zatanna had felt the bottom drop from underneath her feet when Lucifer had informed them of a hit Aamon had placed on Dimitri. Nothing had been off the table for the prince. He was systematically out to take everything from her. "Dimitri, I'm--" her voice cracked. "I'm sorry. I got involved in something more complicated and dangerous than I ever knew and now I've put you, and John, and Jesse, and Rachel, and Sam, and Dean at risk."

Dimitri: He knew the likelihood of getting Zatanna to Eat was next to nothing, but maybe if she had the food in the house she'd at least eat at some point. He wanted to rush to her and pull her into his arms and just hold her hoping it would erase some of the pain but he didn't have the right to do anything like that. "I happen to agree with him on that issue, you are far too nice for this world" He replied before looking at the other "I planned to tell you...I tired too before you took the stage but you ended things and i suppose I didn't want to make even more upset" He replied honestly looking at Zatanna. She'd found out and now it was another body on the pile of her life he could see how it was tearing her apart. He moved closer holding out his hand before he could stop himself. "Sorry? I'm not, being with you was the best thing in my otherwise death filled life. everyone you've listed would not hesitate to come to your aid, they love you and they understand the danger that comes when you make powerful enemies.  I don't care that Aamon put a hit on me, I care that he hurt you, I care that he made you feel this way to the point where you think no one should be near you."

ZATANNA: "Nice would be the last word I'd use to describe myself at this point," she replied honestly. She didn't feel nice, she felt like holy fire burning everything in her wake. She nodded as he replied that he'd meant to tell her about the hit. "I know, Dimi," she replied. "I haven't exactly made it easy to talk things through with these past few months." She stood her ground as he came forward. Loving her had already marked him for death. What use was running going to do now? "I don't think you understand the extent of trouble I've gotten you into," she replied, sorrow clear in her eyes. "Your soul is marked. When you die, you will go to Aamon's kingdom. He will torture you, probably personally, and once he's broken you he will send you here for me. There is no forgiveness for what I've done, Dimi. I've damned you to the worst possible hell all because Michael--" she took a deep breath. The archangel was a raw topic for them. "You should go while you still have a chance."

Dimitri: "Its the only work that comes to mind when I think about you" He replied honestly knowing this death had broken her, he could see how she was barely holding herself together knowing that there was nothing he could do. The illusion had been broken in more ways then one, "Its fine, You had more important things on your mind then the failed attempts on my life. I didn't live this long due to luck." He listened to her as she spoke he'd always knew his soul was damned he never really cared much about it, Sure he knew once he figured out Aamon was behind the hit that the male wanted him more then he initially thought. "Because Michael Loves you, you truly think I couldn't see it? You are every easy person to love Zatanna. I always knew hell wouldn't be a cake walk, that I would be tortured and ripped apart for centuries. There is always a chance I would've broken before and should I be sent back to Earth to attack you, I'll ensure I'm killed before I even reach you. you're surrounded by Angels Zatanna, I wouldn't even get through the door." He replied honestly before looking at her, gone was any friendship between them, which hurt even worst. "I can see me being here makes everything worst for you....I just wanted to check on you, I promise after tonight you'll never see me again. I know its hard right now but do look after yourself Zatanna."

ZATANNA: "You are too kind then, I'm afraid. Most souls I've damned to this kind of existence wouldn't be paying me compliments right now." She could see based on his appearance he hadn't gotten much sleep himself these days. She ventured to guess he was worried about her. She knew she would be fine. Michael's enemies weren't stupid enough to go directly after her, but they were determined to go after everyone she cared for. She would never be able to forgive herself for what she'd dragged him into just as John could never forgive himself for what he'd done to her father. "It's not fine," she replied earnestly. "Your life is important to me. Dimitri, I don't know what to do anymore. I push you away and you still get hurt. I keep you close and you end up collateral," she sighed, bracing herself against the kitchen counter. "No matter what I do at this point, you get hurt," she bit at her lip and stared at the ground. Quiet and contemplative for a moment. "I want you here," she replied firmly. "You've seen what this life is. Even a skilled and promising magician like Tracy couldn't get away. All my cards are on the table. I want you here if you want to be here. I can teach you the extent of what I know so that if they come for you, you have a fighting chance but I can't--" she looked up at him, letting the words hang for a moment. "We can't get involved again."

Dimitri: "That suppose to be a joke? I've been damned since I murder my step father for laying his hands on my sister. You had no hand in my damning and I wont have you thinking so, I am  killer and going to hell nothing less then what I deserve" He replied honestly, he knew he was the bad guy in every story and he wouldn't allow Zatanna to think it was her fault for his hell status.  "It is fine, My life shouldn't be important to you, My life is nothing it was always nothing, you can't be an assassin and think your life is important. You don't have to push me away or hold me close, Aamon will get what he wants in the end, there is no hiding from it, I'm used to pain and hurt Zatanna, what will happen will happen, the only kindness I can give you is that you won't have to look at me, and bare your guilt any longer." He replied honestly looking at her he didn't think he could be near her, so he knew what he had to tell her to push her away. "But my cards aren't, John taught me some spells to use on Michael, I trapped him in holy oil and demanded he admit what I already knew. I hurt him to try and get him to say he loved you. I even threated Gabriel if he still continued to not talk. You wanted to know who I am, this is it, You shouldn't teach me anything and I'm sure even Michael would agree with that statement." He replied honestly before looking at her "I'm done living in the illusion, as you once called us, I'll fight but we all know the outcome when they come I will die." 

ZATANNA: "I might not have been the one to damn you, but I sure as hell didn't make it any better.” Had he not met her, he might have gotten through Aamon's kingdom with barely any recognition from the prince. But now? She was certain the moment Dimi died, Aamon would take a personal interest in him. "You don't get to decide what should and shouldn't be important to me," she replied firmly. "You are important to me whether you want to be or not." She shook her head as he replied that Aamon would get what he wanted in the end and there was no way of fighting it. "It doesn't have to be like that. I'm not much of a believer in fate or destiny.” She'd thought of a thousand ways to work around this. She knew she could levy an agreement with Lucifer, but she wouldn’t do something like that without Dimitri’s say so. His death, much like his life, belonged to him. She sighed when he mentioned John had taught him some spells that he'd used on Michael. “Was it worth it?” she asked. She knew the price of a spell like that. She also knew Dimi was no harm to the angels. He hadn't been in the right state of mind when he'd threatened Michael. But after having just lost Tracy, she wasn't taking chances either. "I want to make something perfectly clear. Gabriel, Azrael, Jophiel, Cupid, and the others are not to be touched. Sam and Dean are not to be touched. Rachel is not to be touched. Whatever you and Michael have against each other is between you and him. Enough people have gotten caught in the crossfire.” She took a seat on the couch and stared at her hands, debating what to do with the information she was given. “My magic is not like John’s magic. The spells that I would teach you are ones that would buy you time to escape not ones that would allow you to harm anyone. If Aamon or any of the other princes are going to come for you because of me, you deserve a head start. The offer is on the table if you want to take it. Think on it.” 

Dimitri: could understand her pain, not only had Aamon hurt Tracy but his hatred for Michael had now spread to people outside the celestial realm. " I don't get to decided that but I'm telling you how I feel Zatanna, I've been a mercenary all my life, You can't think you are worth anything and do what I did. The way I was raised made this quite easy, My step father couldn't be bothered to even give My Sister or me a thought, and when he did it was simply to let us know how worthless and stupid we were." He replied just as firmly "I'm honored you think I'm important, but I know my fate was going to end at his kingdom and he'd do anything in his power to get me to turn into the Dragon once again. I've accepted that as my fate, Nothing we do will stop this Zatanna I'm trying to save you the pain of thinking its your fault but you are quite stubborn." He replied honestly he had long come to understand what awaited in him Hell. He felt she had the right to know about what he'd done to Michael and the words he's said "Yes it was, I'm good at playing the villain, and I wanted him to know all powerful or not those under his protection put their life in his hands. Like you say if Tracy can fall anyone can. Michael cares for you and everyone you've mentioned he needs to see this threat for what it was, he has enemies and those just became yours."  He replied honestly before nodding his head "There is nothing between Mike and myself, I want him to look after those under his protection, if I could do that with a little bit of magic who knows what someone with rage and anger towards him could do. I will drop by and apologize for my behavior but don't think I activity go around hurting people like everyone else does in my life." He replied before looking at her "I don't know if it would truly make any difference Zatanna, But it will put you at ease I'll learn some so you don't feel guilty when I die, knowing I at least went down fighting."  

ZATANNA: “You might not think that your life is worth it and that philosophy might make it easier to do what you do, but that doesn’t change how I feel about your worth as a person,” she replied softly, tearful eyes looking up at him and begging him to understand that no matter how he sees himself he will always be important to her just as John, with all his flaws, remained important to her. She chuckled softly when he replied that she was simply stubborn. He wasn’t wrong, she was. He might have been doomed to hell from the very beginning, but because of her his time there would be worse than anything it would have been had he never met her. That guilt would be with her for the rest of time. There was nothing neither he nor Michael could do or say to absolve her of that. She sighed and shook her head when Dimitri replied that threatening Michael had been worth the consequences of magic. She thought he was different from John. More stable and level headed, but perhaps that was just the illusion he wanted her to see all those months they were dating. This was the real Dimitri. Flaws and all. “I didn’t know it was going to get this complicated when I summoned him,” she admitted. She had hoped that he would keep her enemies in check; she hadn’t realized she would inherit his along the way. “Michael knows what’s at stake now. He will protect those he cares about.” She knew, if pushed, the angel would start a war for her and that was a scary thought. “You don’t want to be on the wrong side of that, Dimi.” She nodded when he said that he would make amends. While he didn’t think there was anything between him and Michael there was. It was Zatanna. She would always be the bad blood between them. She was relieved when Dimi agreed to learn some defensive spells. “We can start in a few days. I need time to make a portal universe where we can practice safely. I had to dismantle the one I used to teach Rachel.” 

Dimitri: "I do understand, but you have to know having people care about me its something that takes getting use too. I never really cared if I lived or died before, but I care if anything happens you, I'm sorry Zatanna I didn't mean to make you cry, again, " Dimitri replied honestly, his decision to leave this city behind becoming more and more tempting.  If only to give everyone a break of his presence, He could sense things changing part of him wanted to return to his normal otherwise quite lifestyle but he knew if he stayed here it would never happen. "I'm sorry I've disappointed you, but I'm quite used to gaining my information through these means. I wanted to be sure that he would protect all of your, I know you'll say you are strong and can handle yourself but these celestials have power that go beyond normal magic I'm sure" He replied softly looking at the other nodding his head "I hope so, there are plenty of people who would never forgive him if they lost you." He replied honestly before chuckling softly "Mike could kill me if he wanted, I've chosen no sides in this fight, the only side I'd chose is yours not theirs, besides none of them will have to worry about me for awhile." He looked at her sighing no was better then later "Zatanna I'm leaving New York, if this pocket universe can be accessed without me being here we can start training then, if not we may have to hold it off till I can return."  He replied softly looking at her, he wanted her to not feel guilty or upset but he couldn't stay here in New York any longer.  

ZATANNA: “You might not think I get it, but I do,” she replied. Zatanna was no stranger to putting her life and wellbeing on the line. The ritual wasn’t the first time she’d put herself at risk and it wouldn’t be the last time. Even Bruce could tell she’d become more and more reckless with her life since her dad died. She cared a lot about others, but she didn’t show the same level of care and worry for herself. She knew where Dimitri was coming from because she viewed herself in much the same light: disposable. But she wasn’t that to the others around her. She’d come to recognize that in the way John admonished her for her involvement with the angels or in the way Blayze would look at her with worry when he thought she wasn’t looking. They cared about her even if she didn’t care about herself. “Life made you think your only valued contribution to society was to be a weapon, but you’re more than that. Just as I am more than just my magic.” “I might not have their level of magic, but I am my father’s daughter. I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve,” she replied softly. “Michael could kill you, but he won’t. Their side and mine are one in the same. I’ve made a choice to help them and if I get hurt in the process I need to know you won’t go off doing something like this again. I will be more careful, but I don’t need you getting hurt on my behalf. Just like I don’t need Michael starting a war on my behalf.” She inhaled deeply when he mentioned he was leaving New York for the time being. It stung more than it should have. She couldn’t help but be reminded of the last time he’d ran off on her. No, Zee, this is different, she reminded herself. “Okay,” she replied softly. “Okay. Take the time you need. I can—” she cleared her throat. “The pocket universe will be accessible from anywhere. It’ll work like the ring. You turn it a few times and it’ll open up. We can coordinate a time each week and meet up in there.” 

Dimitri: He knew Zatanna had the biggest heart he'd ever seen, she cared for everyone even people who didn't deserve her caring. It was reckless especially when he was concerned part of him after all of this longed for the easy life of being an assassin again, one decision he knew she would never approve of. One that make her worry all the more since it would bring him to the grave faster.  He wasn't use to people caring about him or even thinking him as non-disposable, he always knew if he died no one would morn him, he was fine with that thought yet now here was a person who'd care something he should never had done was come into her life. "You are more then your magic anyone can see that, but my only contribution is being a weapon, its what I'm good at. I know you are trying to show me how I'm valued but I'm afraid I'm just as stubborn as you" He nodded his head, Zatanna was strong, probably not strong enough to beat off an demon and archangel attack but he was sure he knew how to play the game. "Michael when you are gone won't be so civil especially is someone causes your death because of him, I wont activity seek him out, nor will I try and hurt anyone in his family but I'm pretty sure I'll be long gone before you pass Zatanna no worries there." He replied knowing his news would hit her the wrong way, he couldn't even console her because he needed to leave New York had become too much for him, all these feelings he had to get rid of and gain his clear head. He was sure at times he'd probably even stop attending these training meetings as time went on hoping Zatanna would just forget about him. "I'm sorry but I can't be here anymore, I don't mean to hurt you, but its the truth." He replied looking at her nodding his head "That will work, I plan to leave at the end of this week, will that be ample time to prepare such a thing?"  

ZATANNA: "Magic is a weapon and I was born and made of it," she countered. She was a high powered time bomb if manipulated correctly, but she'd learned to control herself long ago. "But we are not only things that make us dangerous." She knew his one dimensional view of self was a means of protecting himself from further emotional hurt and discomfort If you think yourself lower than human, it is easier to move through life as a ghost. She wasn't going to allow him to do that. "You may be a sharpened dagger but you're also the kind of soul who brings baskets of food to a woman who's broken your heart," she replied as she gestured to the gift he'd gotten her. "You've put your life at risk for my brother and for John and for me. That's not something a weapon does. That's something family does." "When I am gone there are others to keep him level. I live a fraction of their lives," she replied evenly. "At this rate, I may even beat you to the grave." She knew loving her would be painful for all of them. Not only had she earned Michael's trust, but also Gabriel, Azrael, Jophiel, and Cupid's as well. When Azrael finally comes to collect her, she knows it will be a somber journey for them both. But at least she knew she would have a friendly face to see her off on her final day in this plane of existence. "I understand," Zee replied as she cleared her throat. "You have to do what feels right. If you need space, take space. A week will be plenty of time to create a portal dimension.  Stop by the theater before you leave town and I'll have it ready for you." 

Dimitri: He knew just how powerful Zatanna was, she was truly a treasure once he would always regret loosing but it wasn't in their future to ever be together. He destroyed everything he touched and slowly leaving her life would be the best way. "Such words of wisdom and hope to those who aren't already completely lost to the darkness." He mused looking at her, years of conditioning would not just disappear because someone care for him. The last time someone cared for him he failed them "You are loosing weight over your stress and worry, I will always love you Zee....nothing in this world could stop me from feeling this way" He replied before looking at her "I don't have family, but you do It was quite an honor being a part of it even if it was short lived, look after them for me, Blayze and John I don't think I'll have time to say goodbye" "knowing how stubborn you are you'll outlive their expectations Zatanna, we all could end up in a grave, I could walk out your door and get hit by a bus. Death is the only certain thing in this world. It will not be easy for anyone to  loose you Celestial or not, you're death would cause a hole one that is almost impossible to fill." He knew his words hurt her but it as the best thing he could do for everyone, just leave quietly and ensure that no one needed to see him around. "Thank you Zatanna, for all you wish to teach me, I promise this isn't me running away, I'm not scared of your life or even the death that awaits me I just need to be alone and I know if i stay here it won't happen." 

ZATANNA: She wanted desperately to believe that he wouldn't fall back on his promise, but the more he spoke, the more it felt like a forever goodbye. She got the sense that he had no intention of coming back. He would attend a few sessions to placate her and then he would disappear off the grid. She couldn't force him to stay; that choice was not hers. "There is no was," she insisted. "We are family. Past, present, and future. I will pass on the message to Blayze and John so that they know you've left town," she promised. "But the only way we'll lose touch is if you make it so." Her family was scattered. This was the longest John had ever stayed in New York. Ambrose was out traveling with his pack. Blayze had stuck by her and helped her take care of her father's shop. But no matter where they all found themselves, they always kept in touch because when you love someone that's what you do. She would never stop reaching out. "All deaths create an impossible hole," she acknowledged. "I thought the hole my father's death left would consume me and for a time it did, but I pulled through and they will too when I'm gone." She didn't like thinking about her death. The control freak within her struggled with the idea that one day she wouldn't be here to protect her family or soothe their heartaches. But that was mortality. She nodded as he thanked her for her willingness to teach him. "It's the least I can do given what we're up against. Thank you for the food," she replied, standing up to face him. She stood on her tip toes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "This isn't goodbye, alright?" She wiped tears from her eyes as she looked up at him. "This is just 'I'll see you later.' Class starts in two weeks. Don't be late." Zatanna squeezed his hand one last time before letting it go. She watched him disappear through the door and hoped against all hope that this wouldn't be the last she saw of him.

[insidesanity]

More more fanfic

Snape sneered cruelly in affirmation.

“Or dead. All that good meat going to waste.”

Snape was rewarded with a shudder from the witch, good he was upsetting her. She might make a mistake with tempers raised. He quickly decided to continue this line of torture. “I ran out of my last supply quite a while ago. There was more than enough space again, and the room felt so empty. Ivan was so small after all.”

Mcgonagall’s scowl deepened but his comment did not elicit the expected reaction.

“Dumbledore told me, it was a matter for the order. I did not agree with his solution, but I see you quite enjoyed it.”

Snape was never one to give up easily, and with his prey so close this game of literal cat and mouse was almost as addictive as her blood. He felt if he had a heart it’d be racing.

“It was quite enjoyable. That impetuous boy attempted to fight me. I had to chase him around my quarters. He was so soaked with sweat and fear…pray tell what do you find amusing?”

Mcgonagall sat there with a blank expression, or what looked like one, but having had this much of her blood Snape was starting to tell her moods a bit. Too little too late for his initial attack, but it might help him here.

“Firstly, I am a chess master, do you think I don’t know when I am playing a game of proverbial chess?” Snape almost grinned, he didn’t doubt it, it was what made this situation so interesting, and exciting, and annoying. He hadn’t had someone to match wits with since the fall of the dark lord. It was enticing, it was enervating, it made his appetite spike and his blood run cool and cold as he calculated and thought. The fact that this woman dared, made him furious, but somewhat excited that he might actually have a worthy opponent.

“Secondly, I’m a member of the order as well, do you think I am so cold and so old that I never enjoyed a chase? My animagus is a cat for a reason Severus.” Snape had to think at that. A person’s animagus reflected who they were. He scowled, he knew that from experience with… he stopped the thought in its tracks. He had never pondered why this professor’s animagus was a cat.

Mcgonagall allowed herself a very small smile. “Do you really think this entire castle was kept mouse free by one cat?” Snape had to sneer at that. Mcgonagall hunting mice? He doubted it. Apparently his doubt showed for the professor across from him was scowling. His pawn had just taken her rook. The room was silent, neither wanting to lose ground. Mcgonagall flicked her wand at the wall and waited, the spell seemingly doing nothing. The sat silently is stale mate. Both players perked up suddenly at a very small sound, Mcgonagall drew her wand with a flash and jumped into the air landing in the corner as a cat. She walked smoothly back to Their chairs and dropped a mouse between them.

Snape sneered further.

“Eat it. A hunt isn’t complete until prey has been consumed.” Mcgonagall tightened her whiskers in disgust and quickly sat back in her seat, human before her paws touched its seat. His knight had just taken her pawn. He was winning.

“I just ate. Why don’t you?” She said levitating the mouse.

“You took my charm that allowed me to eat solid food.” Mcgonagall threw the mouse into the corner with a flick of the wrist. “Besides, that is hardly an aperitif, I prefer larger prey….” Snape decided it was time to use his bishop, his current opponent was on the defensive. “Like Mr. Banderknott.”

At this Mcgonagall stood up, her chair falling over.

“You did not.” She whispered. Snape sneered.

“The boy was so scared, crying on the floor, arm gashed by a sword he’d been pushed into by a fatuous bully. He smelled so sweet….”

Mcgonagall slashed her wand through the air and a click from the far wall reverberated through the room. The chains there came to life and snaked toward snape, locks clicking and links clanking as the manacles closed around his wrists and ankles. As they did the chair in the center quickly melted away, along with the manacles there. Snape gasped as the new silver chains cut through his socks and sleeves and the smell of sizzling flesh filled the room. With a whooshing sound the chains retracted toward the wall, pulling the stunned professor with them and with a grunt he slammed against the stone. He sneered.

“Has the pussy cat lost her temper?” Quipped snape as Mcgonagall stood furiously towering over the chained vampire.

“A student, Severus, how could you?!”

“With relish I assure you.” The potions master coughed, and spat a bit of blood on the ground. This was not a good situation, it was interesting, but dangerous. Severus quickly changed tactics. His head was pounding, the heartbeat across the room was thundering, his stomach was growling, and his skin was sizzling. Severus prided himself in his acting, it was time to put it into full use. He thrashed against the chains for a long moment before going limp. He looked up at his supposed friend and captor, putting on a mask of hate barely covering desperation, both of which were conjured easily because they were in some part real. “You’ve never been starving Minerva, you don’t know what it’s like.”

Mcgonagall frowned, there was no way this was fully real, this man was a death eater, and a spy, he would never break this easily, in most situations it would mean death. Unless he was truly that starving. She pondered, the lines of her face still disapproving, and suddenly Snape heard a mental click. She had decided her next move, and was going through with it with complete confidence. If it was a foolish move that was good for him, but if it was good, which was far more likely, he could very well be drawn into a trap… he waited, lips pursed and eyes hungry with hate. What would she say, do, what was her plan?

However Mcgonagall was silent. Her lips a fine line. She flicked her wand at her hand and a gash appeared. Snape’s eyes narrowed and widened. His nostrils flared as he breathed in the smell. It took all his willpower to do no more than that, but even still his eyes tinged with red.

“This is what you want, correct Severus?” The professor didn’t answer , he just watched as a thin drop fell to the stone floor, and another, a small echoing beat filling the room. He scowled. She suddenly had him in check. “Severus!”

“Yes Minerva?” He answered as if they were merely talking over lunch in the great hall.

“I have been starving. I have eaten mice. I have hunted and killed. How do you think I survived for months during He who must not be named’s reign. As a cat. Before you i was the only spy the order had.” Snape looked up at this, at her eyes. Something had changed. Her face was harder than normal. “And I have all the experience that comes with that. And more. Now tell me.” She flicked her bleeding hand at the professor, spattering blood across the ground in front of him just out of reach. Snape managed to stay relaxed, and didn’t move. He had a bargaining chip, information. “What would you have done with me?” Ah, but he was unwilling to give this information up… at least all of it.

“If you had survived the night you mean? I will tell you one of my ideas in exchange for…” how could he put this to make her as uncomfortable as possible, put her off balance…. “a taste.” Mcgonagall didn’t even flinch, she just flicked her hand again and spattered a bit of blood on her prisoner’s face.

“There, a taste, though you are hardly in a position to bargain mr snape.” Snape scowled. This was not what he wanted, he wanted a vial, for now. He wanted more of course, the darkest parts of him mainly wanted to be in opposite positions, while he mainly wanted to be back in his quarters with the way things were before the stupid dolt of a student Ivan had blown up that cursed potion. He frowned. But then he would have never gotten to taste this fine food in front of him. He licked at a drop on his cheek, but couldn’t reach it. The smell was almost driving him to distraction. He heard a flick of a wand and the chains loosened around his hands slightly. He glared at his captor, standing there, watching his struggle, what he considered his private moments, his ‘affliction’, and once again his darker side won. With long fingers he dexterously wiped the splatter on his cheek and quickly licked his finger.

“I suppose I might have obliviated you, healed your wound, and left, but I find that unlikely.”

Mcgonagall raised a single brow.

“And pray tell, why is that?”

“Why do you even wish to burden your mind with my plans? Do you really want to know what your friend, colleague, is capable of?”

“Of course not, but in order for it to never happen I need to know what ‘it’ is. So if you want to eat tonight,” she flicked her hand at the professor again, “actually have a meal, you will tell me all your so called ideas.”

Snape’s mind raced, she wouldn’t know if he had told her all of his ideas, he had many, he would tell her a few and keep one for himself. He grinned mentally, but outwardly he snarled as if in defeat.

“How much?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How much do you consider a meal? A sip? A vial? A pint?” As if on cue Snapes stomach growled, loudly.

Mcgonagall frowned. She didn’t actually know what a meal would consist of. A sip a week allowed her friend to survive, but a meal? She sighed inwardly, she had chosen her words poorly, and it was going to cost her. She held up an empty vial.

“A meal is what I decide it is tonight.”

Severus sneered. Pushing his luck here, bargaining, couldn’t hurt. The worst she could do is give nothing and get nothing in return, so at the least if she wanted information he would at least get a sip, a mouthful, but he wanted more.

“Considering that the last time I was awake I was about to enjoy a feast, that vial does not seem comparable. I would give you perhaps one of my plans for that.”

Mcgonagall frowned. This was where the real chess match finally began. She would have to be careful, if she revealed her whole hand too quickly.... “A vial and a half then.” she said ignoring his feast comment. Snape grinned. She was willing to play the game to the end it seemed. He shook his head. He looked at the pitcher near the wash basin and inclined his head towards it.

“Absolutely not!” Cried Mcgonagall.

“Two vials will get you very little from me. It will just whet my appetite.”

Mcgonagall looked around the room and picked up one of the opaque bottles, snape flinched. Mcgonagall smiled.

“Don’t worry this one is empty. Would this do?” Snape looked at the bottle, it was a good size, about a full 3 cups. His stomach growled, and he felt his teeth itch at the thought of that much fresh blood. He nodded and sat down on the floor, too hungry to bargain any more. Mcgonagall picked up her knocked over chair and sat down as well.

“You will Talk first, and obtain food after.” Snape growled quietly but nodded, he could wait. He pulled at his beard a bit and smiled as if reminiscing.

“If you had died I would have most likely done what I said and taken your body to my untraceable room, or given it to the squid in the lake.” Mcgonagall frowned. “What? Too much information, can’t stand the thought of being cooked like a steak?” Sneered snape.

Mcgonagall shook her head, “I highly doubt you would have cooked anything, “she said detachedly, as if they weren’t talking about her at all, the cold look on her face remaining unchanged. “In fact I far prefer that to being fed to the squid. If you ever do best me I’d prefer being immolated or eaten to that.” Severus was a bit surprised.

“Are you critiquing my method of murder and disposal of your corpse?”

“Yes, I am!” Mcgonagall snapped. “The giant squid, really. You didn’t think it through at all. The squid never eats people, only fish. I’d prefer my body not be fished out of the lake a bloated mess.”

“So you’d prefer I eat you?” Queried the proffesor, his fangs growing a bit at the thought of a willing meal, his

“I prefer not to be eaten at all!” Quipped the professor. “Now please, do continue this fascinating diatribe before I lose the ability to eat my own dinner tonight!” Snape sneered.

“If you had survived, I would probably have taken you to my untraceable room as well. I’d ruin your room, or leave a note, and most probably I’d break your wand in two.” Mcgonagall blanched at that. It was the most horrendous crime to break another wizard’s wand.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“And what use would you have for it? More importantly what use would I get from you having it besides my own death? No. Over the next week I’d savor a meal each night, until you were no more.”

Mcgonagall pursed her lips.

“I find that unlikely. You are far too practical to lose a good source of food. What would you have really done?” Snape tried to look startled, as if that was all he was going to tell her, looked longingly at the soon to be filled jar and then snarled and continued.

“I’d have filled you with nutritional potions mixed with draught of living death and blood replenishers until either I found another way to obtain food or grew tired of you. At which point I would most happily devour you.” Snape spat on the ground angrily. “Although now after what you have done here I doubt I would let you last more than a week.”

The witch ignored him.

“What else?”

Snape snarled again.

“If I decided to not destroy your wand I would look for an alternate source of food and upon success obliviate you.” Mcgonagall sat silently. Snape frowned. “But before letting you go I’d most likely create stores of your blood, or charm a vial of blood replenisher to refill with your blood as needed, and replace it with the blood replenisher in the vial. Those are all the ideas I had. I have nothing more.” He scowled, as if beaten and looked at his captor expectantly.

Mcgonagall nodded and with a flick and an accio summoned her blood and directed it into the bottle. She muttered a spell and a moment later the bottle almost overflowed with blood. Snape snarled as a good tablespoon seeped down the side as she corked it. After healing her cut hand she tossed the bottle to her prisoner and sat down. Snape grabbed for it and clutched it tightly, before glaring at his captor.

“Some privacy?”

“You’re eating dinner, we’ve eaten next to each other for many years.”

“This is a bit more ...personal.” Snape glowered, he still had his pride, and was still an intensely private man. Mcgonagall merely shook her head.

Snape glared daggers at the woman but she remained unmoved. So snape uncorked the bottle held it over his mouth unceremoniously. Quickly the blood poured down his throat as he brought it closer to his lips. He shivered as he relaxed and felt his visage change from such high magical content. His nails burst through his shoes, and grew long and sharp from his fingernails. His ears grew pointed, his fangs unsheathed as he greedily sucked at the bottle. Only when he was done did he breath in, and notice a strange taste. He dropped the bottle ignoring it shattering on the floor and stared at his friend.

“You duplicitous sneaky bitch.” Mcgonagall just looked at him, finally allowing emotion back into her face, curiosity. “What have you done to me?”

“You’re the potions master Severus, you tell me.”

Snape rolled his tongue around his mouth, honey. He tasted honey. He glared at her with hatred.

“Now, Severus, tell me what you would have really most likely done?”

Snape seethed, but found himself answering.

“I would have forced my blood down your throat. I would have put so much of my blood into your veins that when I told you to open the door in the middle of the night you couldn’t refuse. I would have you as my thrall, unable to tell anyone, unable to remember if i wanted. Available to sate my thirst whenever I wished.” He spat out angrily. His last plan. The best one. He snarled, but found himself continuing with plans he had barely thought through himself yet. “ and perhaps a long time from now, If I ever grew tired of your taste I would have you bring other teachers to tea, as you are known to do, and serve my blood to them. Little by little, subverting the faculty…until....”

Mcgonagall interrupted. “And the children, the school?”

“Untouched, it would betray my presence. The school would continue as normal, teaching is something I actually enjoy on occasion. And why should I alienate those who feed me by depriving them of their joy. Unhappy thralls are more likely to revolt, betray me or my presence. And I wouldn’t want them, the students, when I had a rich feast that could last forever...”

“Until…?”

“Forever means forever, or at least until my immortal life span would betray me. Or the faculty grows old and close to death. Upon which I might hasten their fate if they so wished. I would eventually leave, and take my favorite few with me and obliviate the rest. I would most likely take you. Perhaps I would eventually turn a few.”

Mcgonagall took a deep breath, absorbing this, as was Snape, these were things he had mused about dreamily, but had not realized how much he intended to go through with. He cursed his tongue, for it would not seem to stop talking.

“No, I mean before when I interrupted you, you said until. Until what?” Snape tensed. This was the part he dreaded sharing. He closed his mouth, but found words slipping through regardless.

“Until I had had enough magic saturated blood to reach Dumbledore.”

Mcgonagall stood up, wand at the ready, she was deeply protective of the headmaster.

“To kill him?”

“Not any time soon if I could help it.” Mcgonagall relaxed and sat down.

“Then to what end?”

“To give him my blood filled with magic powerful enough to subdue him. To have in my thrall the most powerful wizard of the century, that I could drink when I wish and obtain his power. his blood would pit me equal to a dozen of our enemies and prepare me against….His return.” Snape paused at the thought of his old master’s return and tensed before continuing. “To obtain the defense against the dark arts position, To ask him his plans and have him answer me with the simple truth. ...To prolong my friend’s life with my blood, and upon his death bed give him a choice.”

“Being?”

“To be the most powerful wizard in the world for as long as he wished….”

“Or….” snape glared at her. She knew what the answer was, and yet she dragged it out of him. He spat out his answer venomously.

“To allow me one last meal from him, and to let me be the one to bring him the painless eternal peace he deserves….”

Mcgonagall stood up and pushed the chair out of reach. She stared at her captive.

“You are an evil monster Severus Snape,” Snape sneered, “but a good man.” Snape scowled, and as Mcgonagall turned to leave he tested the chains , and lunged for her... falling far short. As she closed the door she looked at him and shook her head. And then snape was left alone. The taste of honey from his own veritaserum in his mouth.

Chpt 10 two hunters

Four days passed in darkness. Snape paced, he scratched at the burning silver chains, strained against them, and paced. Luckily the chains let him use the toilet, and wash. Soon all solid foods were out of his system, all liquids too, anything that wasn’t blood. He scraped at the walls, punched them, and paced more. He was hungry, his teeth ached, he needed the witch’s blood.

On the fifth day Mcgonagall returned with a huge pitcher. Snape could smell it. It was blood. A lot of blood. But it wasn’t the professor’s. It wasn’t what he wanted. But he was hungry, so he stood up and dusted himself off.

“And whom am I to thank for this donation?”

“Hagrid.” Said Mcgonagall setting the pitcher down. Snape scowled. “He doesn’t know you are here, but was happy to donate for when you came back.” Mcgonagall poured a third of a glass from the pitcher, then holding up her own wand waved and watched carefully as the glass filled up the rest of the way. Now snape could smell it. Her blood. His fangs ached immediately and he twitched. Mcgonagall did not fail to notice. She levitated the glass over to him and he grabbed it gently from the air with as much patience as he could muster. He smelled it, just blood. No potion or juice or other unwanted disgusting things, just blood. He sipped. No just blood. He continued to sip from the glass as Mcgonagall put a stasis charm on the blood pitcher and sat down. She pulled the bedside table over and producing papers from her robe began to grade homework. Severus sat once again on the floor and continued to nurse his drink.

Soon it was empty, he scowled but held on to the glass, it was currently the only weapon he had besides himself. They sat in silence for a good while, the only sound the scratching of a quill, and for snape a steady drumbeat.

“I can and I will get out of here.”

“After you’re no longer addicted.” Mcgonagall didn’t even look up.

“This is undignified.”

“This is safe.”

“Why are you here?”

“To keep you company.”

“Please leave.”

At this Mcgonagall looked up.

“Why?”

“You’re tempting me.”

“That is the point, resist.”

“It is tortuous…”

“Consider it payback for trying to eat me.”

“Your heartbeat is driving me to distraction.”

“Your prattling complaints are reaching that end for me Severus.”

Snape snarled.

“If I get even the slightest chance I will drain you dry.” His soft threat drifted through the air to unperturbed ears.

“Well I’ll just have to not give you one.” Said the professor and she went back to grading papers. Snape sat still and meditated. He reached out through the blood he’d consumed and felt the outer reaches of his prey’s mind. All that was going through it were facts and corrections for papers, maybe he could try to-

Suddenly he was kicked out.

“Don’t even try Severus. I may not be as good at legilimancy as you, but you are justusing yourvampiric powers, and no wand, against a fully trained spy.” Snape scowled more. He was running out of options.

“May I at least request sitting on the bed and not this floor? Or perhaps changing to iron chains?”

Mcgonagall flicked her wand and the chains near the bed reached out and attached themselves to him as the others melted away. These new chains also pulled him toward their origin, albeit with much less force.

“Thank you..”

Mcgonagall nodded. He sat in silence while she finished grading, and soon she threw him a book, a revised edition of the potion master. Soon the flipping of pages joined the scratching of the quill and all was calm.

Two hours later Mcgonagall was done. She pushed the beside table back and sat down on the other bed.

“You’re not really going to sleep here?”

“Yes, I believe that is what is implied when one sits in a bed Severus.”

“But”

“I don’t care Severus, you will deal with your hunger and your lack of privacy in quiet or I will langlock you. You need to deal with being close to what you want and get it out of your system.” And with the the professor transfigured her robe into pajamas, turned out the light, and placed her wand under her pillow. “Goodnight Severus.” There was no reply. “Severus, anger is not an excuse for bad manners.”

“Sigh. I am not a student Minerva.”

“Then act like it!”

“I shall act as my usual self.”

“By Merlin Severus there is no one here to see you, take down the facade!”

“You don’t really want that.”

“Yes Severus, I do. Though that was not the facade to which I referred. You need to take off all pretense and face this.”

“....goodnight Minerva. I do hope it is not your last, although I would enjoy it immensely.”

The transfiguration professor sighed and closed her eyes.

Snape meanwhile just stared and listened.

Hours later snape was sweating. The drumbeat was driving him mad. He had strained silently, had attempted to turn to mist, tried bending the links, to no Avail. He glared in the dark at his prize just out of reach. He was at the end of the chains, as far as they would let him, fortunately they were just on his wrists this time. He strained against the wall with all his strength and was rewarded with a very small cracking sound. The iron would not budge for him, but the stone would. Silently through the night he pulled quietly on where the chain attached to the wall.

The next morning a small sound rang out, a bird on the bedside table chirped the time. “7 am, 7am, it is 7am on Saturday!” Mcgonagall quickly grabbed her wand and quieted the bird. She then promptly transfigured her nightgown into a robe, and cast a freshening charm before turning on the lights. Severus had seemingly not moved.

“Did you sleep at all Severus. “

“No, an infernal drumming sound kept me awake.”

Mcgonagall rolled her eyes and summoned the glass she had given Severus last night, filling it with still warm blood from the pitcher after taking the stasis charm off. She levitated the glass to her friend and though he grabbed it he scowled.

“You’ll get more of what you want tonight. We are trying to get that out of your system remember?”

Severus nodded as if agreeing and sat down with his drink, sipping while Mcgonagall left to get her own breakfast in the great hall. As soon as she left he sat up and drained half the glass except for a small bit which he let dribble from his mouth, before dropping the rest on the ground. He then muttered some words and lifted the concealment charm on himself, his wings bursting through his shirt, his eyes turning red, nails growing, teeth sharpening. He rustled his hair, and took some of the blood and smeared it down his shirt. He looked truly a mess. He’d had to do worse for Voldemort, faking fights, usually really breaking bones to make it more believable. This was nothing.

He curled into a ball on the bed and waited.

Mcgonagall opened the door to a sight. She gasped and Severus looked up. She quickly closed the door and rushed a bit closer.

“Severus, what happened?”

“Half giant blood, it hurts.” Mcgonagall gasped, she hadn’t thought of that, what other types of blood might do to a vampire. Snape looked up at her, eyes wracked with pain, and pleaded. “Help me.” Mcgonagall took a worried step forward and then laughed.

“Severus, you fool. You never willingly ask for help, not that openly!” Severus only coughed, blood splattering the floor, he reached toward his friend.

“Please, i am at your mercy. I can do nothing to alleviate this.” He must hold the act. Bring doubt to her mind. Mcgonagall shook her head and summoned the table, sat down and began grading papers.

Snape let his arm fall weakly to the ground, at which Mcgonagall snorted. “You are over acting, if the pain is real, just deal with it. Like all food poisoning it will pass.”

Severus just turned over and shivered.

And hour later snape lay in much the same position, shivering. He was growing angry. But he was still patient, and still had plans. With one long nail he cut the inside of his mouth, and let the blood fill it. He coughed loudly spewing the blood on the wall. Mcgonagall got up and looked at the blood from afar.

“That’s yours Severus, and not from your stomach. You aren’t fooling me.”

“Please Minerva.” He turned over and stared at her, trying his best to use any allure he had to entrance her. “After years of friendship, can you not tell I’m in pain?”

Mcgonagall shook her head, a bit dazed, and took a step forward. Snape had never done this before, used his allure, he’d never had to, not since being turned years ago. It was awkward, using this on his friend, ally, but he had passed the point of fair play long ago, and was determined to win. Mcgonagall slowly took another step forward, and another, she was almost within reach. But suddenly she stopped, and shook her head, staring at Severus. She smirked, then covered her

Mouth as she smiled.

“Did you just try to allure me Severus snape?” She laughed. Snape was angry, but more importantly she was distracted, and close. Snape quickly put his feet against the wall and jumped, pushing off toward the professor. She gasped as the vampire reached for her, the wall cracking and the chains coming loose. She leaned back and to the side barely dodging the long nails. Snape landed in the middle of the room, between Mcgonagall and the vials of sunlight.

“Snape. I am trying to help you.”

“You’re trying to save your own skin, which is just as commendable, but don’t pretend this is anything but.” Snape grabbed the vials and threw them at the pillows away from both of them.

“Accio v” Mcgonagall didn’t finish, before she could snape had thrown his chains at the vials and broken them, their contents seeping uselessly into the fabric. He then quickly threw the chair at her, grabbed the pitcher of blood, and jumped between her and the door, where with one eye on his nemesis he greedily drank from the pitcher, which Mcgonagall had never put back in stasis.

Mcgonagall meanwhile transfigured the chair into silver dust, which with a flourish of her hand she blew back at Severus. Severus merely covered his eyes for a moment and continued to drink, pain meaning nothing to him. Mcgonagall flicked her wand and the chains from the center raced out at him, as did the silver ones. He finished the pitcher and threw the empty vessel at his prey before throwing his own chains in front of the iron chains, while the silver one clanked at him from across the room, too far away. Finding something to grab onto the iron manacles clanked shut and lay on the ground. Mcgonagall dodged the pitcher and flicked her wrist again The iron chains pulled into the floor, but with the added length of his own chains it did nothing.

“Fetra!” The spell shot out of her wand with precision and speed but the vampire dodged it. Snape kept his face cool, and calculated. He could dodge spells for far longer than the old cat had the energy to throw them. He allowed himself a small smile and stood at the ready near the door. Mcgonagall stood still too, weighing her options.

“Admit defeat and everything will be less painful.”

“A witch is not defeated as long as she holds her wand Severus.”

With a swish and flick the silver and wooden rods raced towards the door at Severus, who ducked at the last minute and dashed at his quarry. Mcgonagall would have to use the sharpened stakes now, which she wouldn’t. Snape launched himself toward her feinting right and turning left to grab her wand. Within grasp Mcgonagall fell to the floor and the silver rod she had hidden behind her whacked snape and pushed him into the loo, where the chains inside grabbed him and pulled him to the wall. He snarled, and struggled once but settled down, knowing he had been beat.

Mcgonagall stood up and dusted herself off, and with a wave of her wand righted the room, put the chains back in the wall, and removed the shards of broken glass. Then she turned and glared at Snape.

“I am trying to help both of us!”

“So am I. We have different ideas of what that

Means I believe.”

Mcgonagall scowled.

“I do not believe my dying helps me at all.”

Snape sneered.

[illuminated-in-darkness]

op tags: #it really is fascinating how Silver goes person-by-person trying to figure out what Exactly their issue with him is and how he can#exploit it in favor of his survival#bc no one is just Mad That He Stole The Schedule#first he figures out that Billy's issue is that he's upset with himself for lying to the crew#(which he will try to use to manipulate Billy upon his return in s2 which we will Discuss when we get there bc i love it)#and NOW he's figuring out that Eleanor's issue is that the schedule affair cost her her relationship with Max#bc she's blaming him for 'luring Max in' to try to shift some of the blame off of herself#so really - angry mob or not - Silver's convincing Eleanor that she shouldn't feel so personally responsible was very much in the#interest of his survival#bc if she doesn't feel so bad then she doesn't have so much blame to shift onto him#and (although he didn't Want To Do It) his being instrumental in the execution of Hamund and co. was also a massive help to him#really - things could not have gone better for Silver re: charming Eleanor and - by extension - keeping Flint from killing him#although i honestly have a hard time believing that Flint would have regardless?#like. if he had no appetite for torturing the information out of him initially - i don't see why he would kill him if they'd succeeded#like. if they'd taken the Urca (as they assumed would happen at the time) what would be the point of killing Silver then?#once the crew is so rich that they no longer give a shit who the Real Thief was and once Silver probably wants nothing more than to#take his share and skip town#i'm just rambling at this point - none of this matters#i just like the way Silver attempts to figure out what people have going on and manipulates them in the interest of survival#with varying levels of success#but i would count Eleanor as a Great Success (via @starbuck)

not over Silver’s face when he thinks Eleanor is unchaining him

vs. when he realizes that she’s just chaining him back to the sofa