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brotherscain · 11 months ago

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precanon wincest hair washing drabble, 2.3k, teenchesters/weecest

The hunt that night went well. Dad had this shifter pinned under his thumb since the first night in town, all they had to do was get to the thing and kill it dead.

If Dad had only brought Dean along, they would’ve weeded it out a day earlier. He wanted Sam in on this one, though, and Sam was still new enough at hunting to warrant a training wheels protocol. It had to be nearest to a sure thing as they could hope doing what they did. And it was. For Sam—for John and Dean right there with him—it was no question. Dean staked the final blow, gravely recognizing it kept Sam from being a killer for however longer.

In the car, John stretched his hand behind Dean’s head and scruffed his nape firmly enough to jostle him. Father to son, man to emerging man. Dad smiled, disheveled and not quite happy, but proud. He wore it to glance at Dean, then Sam. Proud and grateful.

“You boys did good tonight.” John served up no elaboration, he didn’t need to. Dean let the praise wheedle its way into him. He wanted to look over at Sam but didn’t because he knew Sam had already forged himself indifferent to Dad’s opinion. Dean wanted to enjoy it for a second longer, Sam wouldn’t get it.

Back in the motel lot, Dad fished his pocket for a few crumpled bills to give Dean. “Why don’t you take your brother to the vending machines? I’ll unload.” Dad stopped giving them so much junk food change right around the time Sam started wearing Dean’s too small hand-me-downs. Tonight he prompted Dean almost like he had a thousand times years ago, to a different kid.

Dean’s door creaked on its hinge, Sam’s following moments later. An ease settled over Dean. Everyone made it out okay. Dad wasn’t losing his head bunting orders at them about what they should’ve done better. Sam likewise kept whatever brewing comments he had under the lid. Dean figured he could count on at least one of the lit up vending machines having a Reese’s. As far as hunts went, it could’ve been a lot worse. They did do good.

The vending machine’s artificial blue-white beam bugged every so often, dimming before a kick-start into throbbing fluorescence. Sam scuffed his beat up sneakers against the pavement directly in front of it, eyeing up the options and sticking an open palm out in Dean’s direction. Dean slapped a bill down into his waiting hand.

He watched Sam hunch to look down at the buttons while punching in a code. Off behind him, Dad lifted a bag over his shoulder and reached inside the Impala for a second one. All around them cicadas chirped over one another and the night swelled with trapped mugginess. Dean thought about melted chocolate on his fingers and instead of feeding the leftover change into the slot, he stuffed it all in his back pocket.

Sam straightened to his full height, lifted the chilly soda can closer and tapped on the top rim three times before cracking it open. It burst in loud fizzy pops. Sam tipped his head back to swing a short, gulping chug. This way Dean could see parts of Sam in a new light. Small spatters of dried blood flecked the underside of his bottom jaw, a shiny red sheen bloomed on the high swell of his cheekbone. Dean kept himself from lacing his fingers through Sam’s hair, but made a face at the matted mess of it.

“You have monster guts in your hair,” he said, staring as Sam used the back of his limp hand to wipe the carbonated trickle from his mouth. Sam felt around his head curiously, coming away with a tacky coat of muddy crimson and a grimace. Dean laughed at him, couldn’t help but to. “That’s gonna be a bitch to get out, man.”

Sam cut a glare Dean’s way. He was extremely touchy after hunts, and Dean knew better than to prod him. Knowing better didn’t make it any less funny. That was Sam’s fault.

“Eat me,” he threw back dryly, annoyed Dean had the nerve to carry around a sense of humor about these things.

Sam wet his caked hand with driblets sweating off the soda can and cracked a small grin. Before Dean thought a little smarter about what that meant, Sam was dragging the mess all down the side of his shirt. Not that it hadn’t already been stained and ruined with a lot worse, that’s not what mattered. It was his snot-nosed brother thinking he could retaliate.

Dean jumped on him seconds after, first by shoving him away hard, then fisting the ribbed collar of his tee and tugging him closer. This past year Sam’s gone through a growth spurt, shot straight up like a beanstalk, but he still only came up to Dean’s shoulders. Between that and his knock kneed gangliness, Dean could still push and tilt and trip him any way he wanted. His shirt twisted up in Dean’s grip against the current of Sam’s squirming to get away. They were laughing together or maybe just panting or maybe they weren’t making any noises at all except for their shoes on the ground and their hands nipping each other’s skin. Dean thought about wrestling him to the concrete and shoving his face into all the boot prints. It would be easier to wrangle the drink out of his hands and spill it down his boxers. In all its sloshing, it had already splashed them enough times Dean could smell the cola while it dried sticky.

A door opened and shut firmly somewhere close in the long line of identical rooms. Dean didn’t really care to stop their roughhousing until the commanding voice boomed out. “Boys!” Dean positioned ramrod straight, Sam’s shoulders hunched while he uselessly looked to iron out all the wrinkles in his shirt. Dad waited for Sam to finally glance up. He was going to chew them out for being so loud at the late hour, for acting like mutts more than sternly raised men.

None of that happened. Dad stalked a few steps closer to the parked car, raising a brow at them as a wry smirk fixed itself to his face. “Gonna pick up some dinner. You boys get cleaned up before I get back.” He was in good spirits, but it was still a demand all the same.

“Yes sir,” Dean shot off. Sam didn’t say anything, only nodded his head to show he’d heard and understood. And if it had been a worse night Dad would call him out on it, start a whole thing that didn’t need to be started. Dean felt lucky when Dad just tapped the roof a few times before getting in.

In between the engine roaring to life and tires crunching gravel, Sam stuck Dean in the side with his pointy elbow. “Your bet?”

Dean zoned out on the glowing tail lights, thinking. “Burgers,” he finally said, blinking back to Sam. “Yours?”

Sam drew in a heaving breath before pressing his lips together. “Chinese.” They used to bet each other’s left overs on it. Now it’s habit enough just to go through the motions.

Mosquitoes ate him alive, buzzed around the lip of Sam’s drink enough to keep him from sipping any more. He really was a mess. Hair knotted in clumps, face scratched up. Sam wouldn’t mind until he saw all of it in the mirror and remembered other kids his age didn’t track monsters down for a living. Then he’d get all huffy for first dibs on a very long shower and not want to talk much the rest of the night. There was no such thing as a good hunt in Sam’s eyes.

“Come on.” Dean bobbed his head in the direction of their room. “First shower’s yours.”

Inside the A/C churned cool air out through a low and steady humming. It was prone to spit water out, so Dean couldn’t comfortably sit in front of it and soak up the chill. He dropped himself down on the couch and sprawled out, feeling gross and mucky but sated somewhere deep in the pit of his belly.

Sam dug through some bags and came out with a fresh pair of boxers, a towel, and some small miscellaneous bottles. He padded in a direction opposite the shower, Dean didn’t have the energy to search his motive out. But then Sam was behind him, gazing down at him without saying a word. He’d taken his shirt off and since neither bothered turning on any lights when they were walked in, the moon pooled shimmering light across his chest as it fell and rose strongly.

“There won’t be enough time,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “Not for both of us before he gets back.”

The solution was easy. It was what it was. Sam knew that as well as Dean. “Okay Sam,” Dean replied slowly. Sam had red marks down the base of his throat, and Dean wondered if that was from earlier tonight or left hy him near the vending machine.

Sam didn’t break their tense staring, but he did inhale a terser breath. “Are you going to make me say it?” He didn’t look pained either way, only impatient and intentionally guarded.

“What are you talking about?” Dean still asked anyway. Like he didn’t intimately know. Like he didn’t lay awake thinking about it a lot more than he should, when Sam would look for him next. Ask for him. And pretending not to know should’ve made it easier, too. To stop letting it happen. But it didn’t.

Sam became fed up with Dean’s pretending. “There won’t be any warm water left for you.” He took off, headed toward the bathroom without turning around or faltering even once.

A panic peeled the skin from around the achy center of Dean’s chest, awoke the crescendo of its relentless pounding. It felt worse than anything Dean’s ever felt before, and it was always the same at this crossroads. One day he should see if it kills him in letting it run its course. One day, maybe.

“Sam.” Dean caught him as Sam’s finger flipped the light switch. “Okay.” He nodded and got up, trying not to give away his shakiness, hoping Sam would still wait.

They shut the door and turned off the flickering light since there was a window in here, too. The bathroom didn’t make space for two people, but neither of them wanted it anyway now that Dean had given in. He brushed past Sam’s warmed skin to turn the shower knob. Then he worked around Sam’s form, pressing into it, to get to the sink. He tried avoiding his own reflection as he bent for a drink of tap water.

Sam set down his things and caged Dean in from behind, his hands finding the hem of Dean’s top, skirting along and underneath it to dance goosebumps across his abdomen. He moved up, up, up. Traced the thick chain of Dean’s amulet, had it bouncing subtly off the plane between his ribs.

Dean rocked back against him, to push him off more than anything. But he was still trying to be gentle. He didn’t want Sam to get the wrong idea. Dean was here, he was with Sam. But— “Get in, it feels nice,” he whispered, pebble skipping his gaze around his baby brother’s face. “Let me wash you.”

Sam understood and found Dean’s eyes before tipping his head in agreement. He stripped completely bare, tapped Dean’s arm to let him through and allowed Dean to pull the curtain back for him. Sam closed his eyes under the stream, loosed some of the tension his body clung to.

Dean got to work, shrugging his top off before reaching for the shampoo bottle, squeezing a dollop into his palm and rubbing his hands together to coat them. “C’mere,” he murmured, even though he helped guide Sam close enough.

It had started when they were both younger, because Sam couldn’t do these kinds of things by himself yet but Dean could. Then, somewhere in all the gunk of their lives, it grew on them. There was routine in it; Sam would shut his eyes tight, roll his neck this way and that as Dean’s sudsy hands directed him, and they tried not to talk too much. Both began to understand there were going to be things Dad just shouldn’t know about.

Dean stayed careful around the tangles, worked them out with his fingers as gently as he could. Sam never winced or whined about it anymore or anything, but Dean couldn’t kick the habit. He threaded his hands through its soapy slickness, dug in by the base of his neck, eased the notches out.

Sam hummed and sighed, drooped and sagged. Content. His hand circled around Dean’s wrist for no reason other than to feel him.

Sometimes, more often than Dean could confess, it grew into more than this. Dean would undress himself, Sam would coax him under the water with him. They’d roam and glide their touch all over their slippery bodies. Tonight they would need to be quick, quicker than usual. So Dean crept in and pressed his chest to Sam’s back and scrubbed them both down without meaning to linger very often. Sam turned his cheek to Dean’s shoulder, pressed his open mouth to the wet flesh and scraped his teeth against him lightly. They were both close to hard, but there wasn’t time and Dean tried to believe it wasn’t about them, only bodies and their closeness.

Dean got to fooling himself this was better, as long as it was just this. Eventually he’d have the willpower to deny it altogether. Eventually.

#🎱#hi! this is unedited. mostly word vomited. probably Not My Best. but i do sort of love it anyway <3 #wanted to share and hold myself more accountable to my writing goals! woo!#gwenny writes #samdean #wincest #weecest #wincest fic

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luke-hughes43 · 8 months ago

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surprise | luke and stella

this takes place like barely 2 months into them dating. and is really cute bc they are both still in that awkward phase.

stella's pov

so for columbus day weekend, i'm heading to michigan for a tournament and a visit with the softball program too. i was hoping to get to see luke but the timing of my games, his games, and then going to ann arbor, it just isn't working out.

but that's ok. i'm coming out for thanksgiving to see him anyways.

mom is coming with me to michigan and ellen offered to pick us up. i take a quick nap on the plane because as soon as we land, we're heading to the field.

it is borderline too cold for softball so i have my under layers on. i'm playing centerfield and in the leadoff position. we have a double header tonight and then a double header tomorrow. so lots of softball. and then sunday will be play until you lose and then i have my michigan visit on monday.

i'm hoping to be able to surprise luke at his game tomorrow night but we'll see how i feel. anyways, the game starts and it's going good. i'm getting good hits and making the plays in the field.

i get up in the 5th inning and bunt to get on. then i get the steal sign and take off for second base. i slide into the base and my cleat gets caught in the base and my knee twists. i hold my knee while staying on the base and the umpire calls time.

i still haven't gotten up yet and so my coach comes running out, "what's wrong? are you ok?"

"i twisted my knee when my foot touched the base. i think i'm good, i just need a second." i say and get up to my knees. i finally stand and just walk around a little bit. i do a little jog and tell my coach, "i'm good coach. hurts but i'm good."

"are you sure? i can sub you out so that you're good for the next game." he double checks. I nod, "i'm good."

he nods and goes back to the dugout and i get set at the base. the game goes on and we win the first game 4-2. my knee hurts the rest of the first game and all of the second game but i power through.

in between games, i'm icing my knee and both bella and avery (my bestest friends in the whole world) come over to me. bella asks, "are you ok stella?"

i nod and say, "yea. just hurts a little bit but i'll be ok."

avery says, "ok." and they just sit with me while i ice my knee and we gossip about everything going on at school before we have to get ready for the second game.

the second game goes fine, we win 2-1 but my knee kills. as soon as i get back to the dugout i take my cleats off and put ice on my knee. we had the last game of the night so i don't rush to get out. i lay on the ground with my knee propped up on the bench and ice my knee.

after i don't even know how much time passes, my mom comes in to the dugout and says, "hey honey. how's the knee?"

"it hurts but i'll be fine." i say with my eyes closed.

"ok. do you need anything from me?" she asks. i shake my head and then she continues, "ok. well honey, please hurry up. you have someone who wants to see you. and i think coach is waiting for you."

i nod and finally get up. i'm confused as to who would be here to see me but she does have a point that coach probably wants to talk with the whole team there. i put my sneakers on and grab my bag to head over to the team huddle. as i leave the dugout, i hear what sounds like my boyfriend say, "hey there superstar."

i turn and make eye contact with luke. he's here. oh my fucking god he's here. oh my god. i run over and hug him. he holds me tightly and kisses my head. i say against his chest, "i've missed you."

"i've missed you too stella."

we both pull away form the hug just enough to kiss each other. i smile into the kiss and hold him tight to me, not wanting to let go. i hear my coach yell, "zegras, let's go! kiss your boyfriend on your own time!" the girls giggle and so do i. i peck his lips and he says, "go. i'll wait right here for you."

i nod and hobble over to the team. the girls are giggling and bella elbows me. i smile and nod and listen to coach debrief the game. to be honest, i'm not actually listening. the only thing on my mind is luke luke luke.

i zone back just in time to hear coach dismiss us. i go straight back over to luke and into his arms again. not only because i've missed him so much but it's also cold as fuck. while holding me, luke asks, "how's your knee baby?"

"i'm fine. it hurts a little bit but i'll be ok. nothing i can't handle." i say into his chest. after like a minute, he asks, "are the two girls who are looking here every 30 seconds bella and avery?"

"yea." i respond quietly. i turn and wave them over. i say to luke, "and now you're about to meet them. bella is a guard dog and avery is really shy."

he nods and they come over. i say to them, "bella and avery, this is luke my boyfriend. luke, this is bella and avery. my best friends."

avery says quietly, "it's nice to meet you." luke smiles at her and bella says, "nice to meet you luke."

"you guys too. stella talks a lot about you guys. really good things." he says with a smile. avery smiles but bella's face remains the same, she's not impressed. she's very protective of me. she says, "so how do you expect to make long distance work luke? i know it's hard and i'll be the one picking up the pieces if you break her heart."

"i don't plan on breaking her heart. i know it's hard but we text almost everyday, we call twice a week. and have some trips planned to see each other. i promise bella, i really like her and i really wanna make this work with her. whatever it takes."

"good. because i have a bat and i will fly to michigan to hit you with it if you break her heart." bella threatens. i giggle and luke nods, "understood. plus, her brother is best friends with mine. if i break her heart, trevor knows where i live and will kill me."

"fair enough. you're acceptable." bella says and winks at me. luke smiles and holds me tight. my mom walks over and says, "hey honey. i'm gonna meet up with ellen and catch up. you're welcome to come but i imagine that you wanna stay with luke. he's welcome to come to the hotel tonight but he can't stay over. i'll text you when i'm on my way back. do you guys need a ride?"

luke shakes his head, "no thanks mrs. zegras. i drove here so i can take her back, it's not a problem." she smiles and heads off. luke tights his arm that's around me and i say, "i think we should go soon because it's cold and my knee hurts."

luke smiles, "we will stel. bella, avery, it was great meeting you guys and i hope to get to see you guys again. i'm gonna get her back to the hotel to rest and i might see you tomorrow but i don't know yet."

they both nod and we walk off to luke's car. he opens the door and helps me in like a gentleman. he starts the car and hands me the aux cord. i start playing music and he makes the short drive to the hotel.

once we get there, we go up to the room and i all but collapse on my bed for the night. luke laughs, "comfy?"

"yes. but i need to shower and i want cuddles." i say into the pillow. he chuckles, "go shower. then we can cuddle and you can ice your knee."

i nod and take a quick shower. i quickly change and immediately get into bed with luke. he pulls me tight into him and i rest my head on his chest. i say in almost a whisper, "i wish we got to this more often."

"me too. i hate that our time is always so limited." he responds. he rubs my back softly and kisses my head. i wrap my arm around him and cuddle as close to him as i can. i say, "yea. but next year we'll be on the same campus and you'll be so much closer."

"i know. just have to get there." he says. i nod and we just lay together in the silence. i must've fallen asleep because i woke up the next morning to my alarm blaring and luke gone.

here's to another day of softball.

(thinking this deserves a part 2 no?)

#luke hughes #stella zegras #luke x stella

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dirty-bosmer · 7 months ago

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OC in fifteen

Tagged by @justafoxhound : share 15 lines or less of dialogue that showcases your OC's personality

This one was so much fun! I had to sift through a lot 😅 Tagging: @elavoria @thequeenofthewinter @gilgamish @kookaburra1701 @wispstalk @skyrim-forever @theoneandonlysemla @sylvienerevarine @lucien-lachance @bostoniangirl21

Going with Nim for this one and tried to pick quotes that were somewhat chronological:

1. "I bet you don't have any friends either. You're as pleasant as guar dung, and you look like a netch fart with a face."

2. "Were we supposed to kill him?" she asked, shaking her dagger free of the straggling bits of bunt flesh. "Sorry, I probably should have clarified earlier."

3. "Who are you becoming?" she asked it, tapping the face of the emerald as though it might respond. "Is that you in there? What are you doing?"

4. “Well only if there's more to it then. Please continue, Mr. Lachance. You have my undivided attention.”

5.. “Oh, little moss," she said to it. "Why couldn't I have been born such a little moss too?"

6. "Ah— oh." Nim looked back to the bottle like it was a long, lost lover returned from the dead. “Well then… a sip, maybe.”

7. "But it's our guild. It's our fight."

8. “We’ll fix this,” she said, reaching for Lorise's hands, holding them tighter than she'd held onto anything in her life. “I promise.”

9. “It’s quite alright, Master Wizard,” she mumbled hoarsely. “I really should go anyway. I need to, um, brew some potions.

10. “It makes me happy, Mathieu. Why is that such a terrible thing?”

11. “Because I’ve sold him a lie. A pretty one. One that masks all the ugliness inside me.”

12. Her face split into an ugly grin then, cracked like an open coffin. "Yes!" she cried out. "Yes, I'm fucking around! As soon as you turn your back, with everybody, on every corner!"

13. “Gods, Arquen. I’m just a woman. I’m not a war.”

14. “You watched gleefully as I tore my life apart. When you put your hands on me, I turned myself inside out. You touched pieces of me not even I’d seen before, and now what, Lucien? Now you’re scared of what lies beneath?”

15. "It’s me or something pretending to be me or I’m pretending to be it. I can’t tell, but I can feel it. Can you feel it? Have you ever? Have you ever looked at yourself and thought, ‘what will it take to get rid of you? Why do you keep doing this? What a truly remarkable feat that you’ve managed to fuck up your life this badly?’”

#tag games #oc: nimileth #the illusionist

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hayleythecannibal · 7 months ago

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Twisted Minds: Act II- Chapter Twenty-Four Ko No Mono

TW: Crime scenes, Gore, Implied Death, Death, Cannibalism, Guns, Animal Death, Mental Heath, Desecration of Remains, Pregnancy, Vomiting,

Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 under the name @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @punkin-time @miaowkitty @gabriella-aesthetic @urlocalfanficwriter @dilfdemolisher

Twisted Minds Masterlist

GRAHAM/L/N HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAY-

Will twists in the throes of his fevered dream. A sound Gagging competes with his pathetic moan. Will finally awakens, disoriented. The Gagging comes again.

GRAHAM/L/N HOUSE - BATHROOM- DAY-

Will in T-shirt and sweats as he opens the Bathroom door to find Y/N leaning over the toilet gagging. “Honey?” Will calls to her. She groans back, she’s donned in one of his T-shirts. He goes over to her and holds her hair. Rubbing her back. Once she’s done vomiting, Will brings her Alkaline Water and anti-nausea medication. “I’ve been feeling so sick lately.” I take the pills with the water.

“Do I need to-” I shake my head, “no. I think its just a stomach bug or something.” Will kisses my Forehead and brushes my hair out of my face. “Are you sure because-” I give him a look. He nods. He helps me up and takes me to the kitchen. He makes me some buttered toast and then there's a knock at our door.

GRAHAM/L/N HOUSE - DAY-

Will in a T-shirt and sweats as he opens the front door. ALANA BLOOM Is on the stoop with APPLESAUCE. Will's DOGS mill around them, saying hello. Will watches as she bends to pet them. “Do we do friendly visits anymore?” Will raises a brow. “This isn't a friendly visit.”

“What kind of visit is it?”

“I guess I'm trying to convince myself of something. Or maybe I'm trying to convince you.” Alana is pensive, thoughtful, struggling with confrontation. “Or maybe I don't know why I'm here.” Alana adjusts her stance. “I know why. You're worried I killed Freddie Lounds.” The statement is matter-of-fact and sits there between them. “Did you?”

“What do you think?”

“I think that's the wrong answer to tell somebody who is already wondering what you're capable of.” Alana says, the sound of breakfast cooking and the sound of soft singing comes from inside the house. Will smiles softly “Been wondering that for a while.”

“I know you're lying to me. You've slipped into some kind of skin and I think it fits a little too well.”

“I told everyone Hannibal was a killer and no one believed me. Just like no one would believe you if you said I was a killer.” Will's tone chills Alana. But she's brave and persistent. “I'm afraid, Will. But not of you. I'm afraid for you. I don't think Hannibal is good for you. I think your relationship is destructive.”

“But Hannibal's good enough for you.” Alana reacts to that, stung. Will tries to soften his remark. “You should be afraid. You're right to be afraid. I have something for you.” Will quietly goes inside and returns, brandishing A HANDGUN. “Whoever you're afraid of... don't be afraid to use it.”

Alana reacts in fear, then Will SPINS the gun on its TRIGGER GUARD and offers it to her. He holds her gaze. Alana takes the gun. And her certainty about him wavers. She sees the old Will for a second. “Takes 9mm rounds. Buy a box and find a range. Practice.” And he goes back inside. The door swinging closed behind him, leaving Alana alone in the cold.

HANNIBAL LECTER'S HOUSE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT-

the fire flickering wildly. HANNIBAL placing it on the table in front of Will and Y/N. As the flames die down, we reveal THREE THUMB-SIZED BIRDS sizzling in their own fat and flesh.

“Among gourmands, the ortolan bunting is considered a rare-but debauched delicacy. A rite of passage, if you will. Each of the birds resembles an oval of butter with wings, feet and head still attached. Preparation calls for the songbird to be drowned alive in Armagnac. It is then roasted and consumed whole in a single mouthful.”

“Ortolans are endangered.” Will remarks. Y/N smirks, “Who amongst us is not?”

“I haven't been gorged, drowned, plucked and roasted. Not yet.” Will says as he gazes down at the birds who have met their fate in the stomachs of them. “Traditionally, during this meal, we're to place shrouds over our heads, hiding our faces from God.” Hannibal picks up one of the birds by its head.

“I don't hide from God.” Will and Y/N pick up their own birds. Raising them in a toast. “Bones and all?”

“Bones and all.”

Following Hannibal's lead, The couple place the bird in their mouth. As the flavor fills his mouth, Will nods in appreciation. It's clearly delicious, despite the CRUNCHING of tiny bones. Never taking his eyes off of them, Hannibal draws in the bird's head and beak, blithely crushing them between his molars before continuing. “After my first ortolan, I was euphoric. A stimulating reminder of our power over life and death.”

“I was euphoric when I killed Freddie Lounds.” Y/N says and then smirks. If only she was truly dead. “Tell me, did your heart race when you murdered her?”

Y/N deadpans, “No. It didn't.”

“A low heart rate is a true indicator of one's capacity for violence. One might say you are genetically predisposed to it.” Maybe he’s right. My mother was a serial killer, I hunt serial killers by thinking like them, and inevitably i have grown to enjoy the blood that runs down my hands. “This is my design?”

All teeth, starkly white in the chiaroscuro of blackened, scorched skin. With lips shriveled back, it's almost as though this death mask is grinning at us.

BAU - MORGUE - NIGHT-

The slab bears the burned body of an adult woman. Hair crisp like black hawthorn. Skin charred and cracked open. JIMMY PRICE and BRIAN ZELLER attend to the body. Will, Hannibal, Y/N and JACK CRAWFORD are there as well. “Orthodontics confirmed. It's Freddie Lounds. A little kerosene and fwoomp. Incendiary journalism. If she were burned alive, blood would have boiled out of her mouth.”

“No scabrous crust on her chin. Dead before the match was struck.” Jimmy says as he points it out. “Blood already pooled to the lowest points of her body. She'd been dead at least twenty-four hours.” Zeller says. “Freddie Lounds's ultimate failing was her inability to keep herself out of her own stories.” Jack says with a not sorry tone.

“Freddie had the longing need to be noticed. She was noticed.” Hannibal then leans close to inspect her corpse. “Severely-burned bodies tend to split along lines of musculature –” He points to a JAGGED OPENING along the corpse's back.”-- but this looks like an incision.”

“Cut out her psoas muscles. Looks like he used a hunting knife.”

“A peculiar trophy.” Hannibal glances innocently at Will who averts his eyes. “Why did he burn her?”

“How many people has Freddie Lounds burned in her career?”

“Whoever did this was not striking out against Miss Lounds's exploitative brand of journalism. This is something else. This is something sacred.” Y/N considers the charred corpse in front of her, then: “Freddie Lounds had to burn. She was fuel. Fire destroys, creates. It's mythical. She won't rise from the ashes, but her killer will.” Y/N says.

“He's the one to be noticed now.” Jack Crawford studying Will, Y/N and Hannibal...

GRAHAM/L/N HOUSE - BATHROOM - DAY-

I pace me and Will’s bathroom anxiously, the scary thing is what im hoping for shows up. the "+" of a pregnancy test. The test wand droops in FRAME so that the positive result icon looks like an "X", Oh my god. Is this real? I look down at my non-existant belly and then back at the test.

“Oh my god……OH MY GOD!”

CEMETERY - GRAVESITE - DAY-

The freshly-dug GRAVE and its MOUND OF EARTH are dark against the surrounding snow. a WREATH commemorates Freddie Lounds, sat atop a COFFIN at the graveside. An intimate group of MOURNERS are seated under a canopy – family and colleagues. They face the PRIEST who presides over Freddie's inhumation.

“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

ALANA is watching the intimate group of mourners. But more interested in the cemetery beyond. She waits. At last, she sees what it is she's searching for: WILL GRAHAM

He's mostly obscured by a tree a dozen yards away, standing with Y/N. He notices Alana's gaze and approaches her. “Funeral was long at the chapel and it's long at the graveside.”

“I'm here to mourn Freddie Lounds. Can't imagine it's why you're here.” Alana says with slight distaste. “All sorts of reasons why I would go to Freddie Lounds's funeral. All sorts of reasons why you would go.” Will says as he grabs my hand, guiding me to his side. “Which reason are you here for?” Alana looks to me.

“It's common for a killer to revisit their victims after death. Attend funerals, return to crime scenes.” I say and Alana eyes Will, not amused. “Anyone suspicious?” She asks turning back to me.

“Besides Will?” I retort with a playful smile.

“That was implied.” She replies, still very clearly unamused.

“You were expecting me.” Will tilts his head with a slight furrow of the brow. “It's common for a killer to revisit their victims after death.” Alana repeats my notion. Will sighs taking a step forward. “I'm not here to dance on Freddie Lounds's grave, if that's what you're getting at.”

“Not here looking for her killer, either. Don't seem particularly interested in the crowd.” Alana says, I watch as she tries to analyze Will. “Are you profiling me, Dr. Bloom?”

“A psychological profile is nothing more than statistical probability. You here makes it that much more probable you're Freddie's killer.” Despite her doggedness in pressing Will, Alana looks away..”I'm here because my psychiatrist suggested it would be therapeutic.” As one, the mourners start away from the gravesite and Alana starts after them. She continues away in the cold.

HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - NIGHT-

Will observes the amber light trapped in a tumbler of Scotch. I sit observing both men. “I've been so preoccupied with taking a life, I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the possibility of making one.” Earlier in the day I asked Will about the possibility of children.

Hannibal stops behind my chair, stroking the ends of my hair. “When men become fathers, they undergo biochemical changes that affect the way they think.”

“You said the same thing happens when men become killers.”

“Fatherhood is not always a nurturing role. Fathers can be killers. In protecting a child, things trapped inside a man for years fly free, ready to explode in pain. And dangerous behavior. What sort of father would you be?” Will reflects on that, imagining a different life.

“I would be a good father.” Hannibal smiles warmly. He imagines Will would. I know he will be. Even if he doesnt know about you yet. My little love. “Do you see a life flashing before your eyes that's not your own?”

“Yes.”

“What about you Y/N…What sort of mother would you be?” I think on it, Thinking back to my own childhood. about my brothers and my own Mother. My first victim….and the woman who made me this way. “Better than my own….I’d be better than her. Because No child deserves what i went through.”

“How quickly we form attachments to something that does not yet exist.”

“I'm not attached. I'm only anticipating attachment.” Will furrows his brows in thought. “We have a deep-seated need to interact with our children. It helps us discover who we are.” Hannibal says inquisitively. “Have you ever been a father?” Will asks Hannibal.

“I was to my sister. She wasn't my child, but she was my charge. Abigail reminded me so much of her.” That derails Will's train of thought, almost sobering. “Then why did you kill her?” I ask softly, thinking of my dead child as I grown my new one.

“What happened to Abigail had to happen. There was no other way.”

“There was. But there isn't now.”

“Would you protect this child the way you couldn't protect Abigail?” I lower my head, No one will hurt you My little love. Not ever. Will studies Hannibal, then: “I still dream about Abigail. I dream I'm teaching her how to fish.”

“I'm sorry I took that from you. I wish I could give it back.”

“So do I.”

“Occasionally, on purpose, I drop a teacup to shatter on the floor. I'm not satisfied when it doesn't gather itself up again. Someday perhaps a cup will come together.” Will considering Hannibal's words --

CEMETERY - NIGHT-

Reflecting bone white in the moonlight. TRACKING across them shows their eerie shadows as the world opens a new day. A figure looming, silhouetted in the morning rays, the definition of its outline inexplicable until its sunlit front, a ghoulish representation of -- SHIVA

In multi-armed splendor, the god of the Hindu pantheon. FOUR ARMS fan out on each side of the torso -- eight arms in total. The composite deity made whole via composite body parts strapped to pose in a state of après-mort meditation.

THE HEAD Appears much larger than a normal human skull -- a result of THREE HEADS being strapped together to create a singular monstrosity. The center head faces forward as the ones flanking it point in opposite directions.

A THIRD EYE Leers sightless from a HOLE gouged into the forehead of the center head. As the sun continues rising, its light reveals the impromptu Shiva's many additions and accoutrements adorn and emanate from a SINGLE BODY at its core – The charred corpse of the late-but-not-so-lam

CEMETERY - FREDDIE LOUNDS'S GRAVESITE - DAY-

ZELLER Moves to reveal the RICTUS GRIN of Freddie's corpse. He and Jimmy Price are processing the grotesque Shiva. Will Graham and Dr. Y/N L/N watches them silently.

“Extra parts were harvested on-site.” Zeller takes note. “Just one night in the ground. That beats Jesus by forty-eight hours.” Jimmy says with a slight smirks. “Never thought Freddie would make it to heaven, much less get deified.”

ALANA BLOOM Is walking toward the gravesite with Jack Crawford. Will and Y/N are standing before the Shiva. Jimmy and Brian see Jack and Alana and nod greetings. Will is impassive. Alana holds his gaze. Neither looks away. Then Alana's eyes are drawn back to the Shiva. Its funny how no one ever thinks it Y/N… Always Will.

“This killer is trying to get somebody's attention.”

“I don't think he wants to be found. He has direction. His chaos is getting more orderly.”

“First he burns effigies, then he assembles them.”

“Burning Freddie Lounds wasn't his first effigy. Whoever killed Freddie killed Randall Tier. Mutilated him, dismembered him, put him on display.” I listen, Thats where her profile derails….The person who killed Randall Tier and the person who Created his sculpture are two different people.

“What connection do Freddie Lounds and Randall Tier have?”

“Will Graham. Randall Tier was his suspect and Hannibal's patient.” Will reacts to this and crosses to Jack and Alana. “Freddie was investigating his murder when she died.”

“Freddie was investigating a lot of things when she died.” Will states with an incredulous look. “This is a psychopath who has incubated fantasies of killing and is translating them into action. He's building himself up. Or somebody's building him up.”

“He could have a benefactor who admires his destruction. Hindus believe that destruction leads to new life. Shiva is destroyer and benefactor.” I say turning into the conversation, I cover my tracks well enough to not be known. Though Will and Hannibal make it to where i would never get caught. “He's being guided”

“This is a signpost?”

“Maybe Freddie's killer didn't do this. Maybe his benefactor did.”

“Why?” ALANA dawning in realization. “It's a courtship.” Alana watches Will intently now, determined.

HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - DAY-

Will and Y/N Sit with Hannibal. “Every creative act has its destructive consequence.” Will considers that and is compelled to ask: “What you did to me, what you did to Abigail, was that a creative act or destructive consequence?”

“The Hindu god Shiva is simultaneous destroyer and creator. Who you were yesterday is laid waste to give rise to who you are today.”

“Rise and rise again and again, until the lambs have become lions.” I say softly.

“Yes.” Will studies Hannibal a moment, then: “How much reality has had to be slandered? How many lies have had to be sanctified? How many consciences devastated?”

“As many as were necessary.” Hannibal says Without a second thought. “You sacrificed Abigail. You cared about her as much as I did.” Will says. “More. But then, how much has God sacrificed?”

“What god do you pray to?” Hannibal regards Will as though the answer is obvious. “I don't pray. I have not been bothered by any considerations of deity, other than to recognize how my own modest actions pale beside those of God.”

“I prayed I would see Abigail again.” I say softly, My hands play with the end of my dress. Hannibal lifts my Chin. “Your prayer did not go entirely unanswered. You saw part of her. Should the universe contract, should time reverse and teacups come together, a place could be made for Abigail in your world.”

“What place is that?”

“You've lost a child, Will. It seems you're likely to gain one.” From behind Hannibal, the WENDIGO RISES UP IN SILHOUETTE.

“God is beyond measure in wanton malice and matchless in His irony.” But the Wendigo itself has TRANSFORMED as it raises its arms revealing, Shiva-like, FOUR ARMS per side -- A FAN OF EIGHT.

Will entranced not by Hannibal, but the thing behind him.

BAU - JACK CRAWFORD'S OFFICE - DAY-

Alana stands opposite a curious Jack Crawford. “What are you up to?”

“I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, Dr. Bloom.”

“I think you know. You're not fooling me, Jack.”

“I'm not trying to fool you.”

“You're lying. You're all lying. Will. Hannibal. You're lying to each other and they're lying to you. This isn't in my head. You are hiding something and this will end badly for all of us.” Jack considers Alana's state and carefully asks: “What do you believe is happening?”

“What do you believe? Do you believe Will killed Freddie Lounds?”

“I do not.”

“Do you believe Dr. Chilton's the Chesapeake Ripper?” Alana feels as if she is going mad from all that has crumpled around her. “There was overwhelming evidence–”

Alana angrily interjects; “Stop lying. You think you've moved all your pieces around so cleverly.” Jack's eyes narrow, studying Alana. “What's changed, Alana?”

“I have no confidence that I know Hannibal Lecter anymore. Even with as much as you know or think you know Hannibal, you don't know him either. And you don't know Will. And I’m not sure anyone knows Y/N. You're going to lose, Jack. If you haven't lost already.” Jack stares a long moment, then: “I want you to come with me.”

BAU - CORRIDOR - DAY-

Jack leads Alana down the hall, toward the conference room. Every step Alana takes is filled with dread. Jack opens the door and he firmly ushers her through --

BAU - CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY-

ALANA as she comes through the door. Jack following behind her. Alana follows his gaze and stops short, stunned. FREDDIE LOUNDS.

“How was my funeral?” Alana looks at Jack Crawford. Her eyes well up as the gravity of its meaning WALLOPS her. That she has been putting Will Graham in terrible danger.

MUSKRAT FARM - PIG BARN - NIGHT-

The barn is dark, but LIGHTS BURN on the raised platform. And OPERA MUSIC drifts toward us from the speakers. The maze is a BLACK MONOLITH in the center of the floor. RAISED PLATFORM Mason Verger sits in a wing-back chair, a SUCKLING PIG in hisarms, and he listens to the music as he strokes it.

He stands and looks into the dimly-lit pit, at the rooting PIGS, SNORTING and GRUNTING below him.

He raises a REMOTE CONTROL and changes the music -- the SUDDEN HORRIFIC SCREAMS ring out! “Carlo, I don't think they've had enough to eat.” Mason turns and is surprised to see Will Graham standing behind him. Mason shuts off the recorded screams, then:

“You must be the baby daddy. Excuse me if I don't offer you a cigar.” Will PUNCHES Mason, bloodying his nose. Mason touches the blood and examines it, then laughs in Will's face.

“I'm going to feed you to my pigs.” Will violently grabs Mason by the scruff of his collar and drags him off his feet and over to the pigpen opening. “Carlo? Carlo.” Will roughly pulls Mason to the edge and dangles him partially over the hungry, SQUEALING pigs below. Mason's eyes are more rage-filled than even Will's.

“No I’m not. I’m a friend. But do You think it was Margot's idea to have an heir? Think it was your idea to take it from her? My idea to come here and kill you? No….What you, your sister and I all have in common is the same psychiatrist.” Will drops Mason on the metal grating, hard. Mason gathers his wits, debating lunging at Will's back... then Will turns with a gun pointed directly at the prodigal Verger. “If Dr. Lecter had his dithers, you'd be wrapped around a bullet.”

Will tucks the gun back into his holster, adding: “He's the one you want to be feeding to your pigs…”

#hannibal nbc #hannigram #twistedminds #hannigram x reader #fem!reader #hannibal x reader #will graham x reader #will graham #hannibal lecter

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lilybumblebee · 9 months ago

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I called my boyfriend's cunt his bunt (boy cunt) and he wanted to kill me

#lgbtq #lgbtqia #transgender #transfem #transmasc #t4t #hornyposting

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 10 months ago

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Retaliation: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Everyone can see just how much you're suffering, Spencer more than most. When he confesses to the team about your nightmares, Derek takes matters into his own hands.

Season Five Masterlist

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

"Men are more ready to repay an injury than a benefit because gratitude is a burden and revenge a pleasure." - Tacitus

Dale Schrader was born on February 6, 1967. A lifelong criminal, he began a series of armed bank robberies throughout New York in 1994. He married a woman named Connie on August 17, 1995. On June 16, 1996, the two had a daughter whom they named Jenny, less than a year after the wedding. On May 5, 2001, Dale was sold out by Dan Otey, a fellow bank robber, and was arrested.

Evidence of his involvement in the other robberies provided by Officer Joe Muller proved damning, and Dale was sentenced to fifteen years in a Lockport prison. While incarcerated, Dale proved to be a model prisoner, and due to good behavior, was released in only eleven years.

While serving his sentence, Dale plotted an elaborate revenge scheme which he set into action two days after his release. He tracked down the home of Joe, having discerned that he and Otey were the ones who were responsible for his arrest.

At Joe's house, he abducted his wife and two sons at knifepoint, subsequently placing them in a crack house frequented by Stacy Ryan, the sister of a deceased former cellmate, and a group of fellow addicts whom he paid to keep an eye on the hostages.

With Joe's family taken care of, Dale approached Joe outside a hardware store, showed him a picture and phone recording of his captive family, and blackmailed him into helping him acquire a key in police storage. What the key goes to, you have no clue.

Before getting the key, Dale decided to abduct his daughter to spite his now ex-wife, stabbing Ryan to death en route and dumping her body on the side of a road. Dale abducted Jenny while Connie was away from home and placed her in a cabin near the Canadian border. Jenny's abduction was what called in the BAU, who created a profile for him.

That's why Derek is chasing Dale close to the middle of the night in the middle of the woods. Jenny wasn't hard to track down which caught Dale red-handed, and Derek wasn't going to let him get away.

"Don't move, Schrader!" Derek yells.

"Dale Schrader, you're under arrest for the murder of Stacy Ryan and the kidnapping of your daughter, Jenny."

Derek pulls him up by his cuffed hands and brings him to the police car that is by the cabin where Jenny is being held.

"Let me say goodbye to her," Dale pleads.

"You lost that right the minute you took her," Emily glares.

"She's my daughter! Jenny!"

Jenny looks frightened by him and coils into the police officer assigned to watch her.

"No, it's okay. He can't hurt you."

"Jenny, I'm sorry."

"Are you going to ride with her?" the officer asks Derek.

"Yeah, I got it. Jenny, listen to me. I promise you he's gonna go away for a long time. It's going to be alright."

Email shoves Dale into the back of the police car and approaches Derek who is talking to Jenny. She takes out her phone and calls Hotch to give him an update, Derek lets Jenny talk to her mom on the phone, and the police officer going to ride with Dale and Emily is canceling the Amber Alert put on Jenny.

Soon after, everyone leaves the cabin in their respective vehicles and heads down the mountain to get on the main highway. Emily is the first car in the group followed by the ambulance followed by the other police cars. Derek relaxes in his seat for the long ride ahead of them when he comes across a sight he never wants to see.

The car that held Emily, Bunting, and Dale crashed into the ditch on the side of the road. Emily is on the side of the road with cuts on her head but it doesn't look like Dale is anywhere near the scene.

"Pull over. That's one of us!" The ambulance pulls over and Derek jumps out before the car has a chance to stop completely. "Prentiss!!"

"What the hell happened?" she groans painfully.

"Are you okay?"

"I think. Bunting's down there. He's dead. Schrader's gone. It was a big truck. New York tags, Victor Alpha 737. They went northbound about ten minutes ago."

"That son of a bitch got away," Derek curses.

"He's got a partner," Emily winces.

You're stuck at the station with Rossie, Spencer, JJ, and Hotch. He took the time he needed off before returning to work. This will be his first case back since the funeral so you're not sure how this is going to go for him. Spencer looks at you and notices how distant you look. He hasn't had time to tell the team how you've been feeling since you got out of prison, and he needs to tell them soon, or else you're going to crash.

You haven't been sleeping well because every time you close your eyes, the nightmares come. They're not even about prison. The energy stuck to you makes you see all sorts of shit at night that you'd rather forget. Spencer looks at his hands and flexes them because he's gonna do something he hates doing. He reaches over to you and grabs your hand as a way to show you that you have his support.

You do something that tells him you're dying inside and need help.

You squeeze his hand without looking at him.

"The first case back, we won, and you'll be home for breakfast," Rossi smiles at Hotch.

"We never figured out why Schrader killed Stacy Ryan. She had no connection to his daughter or his ex-wife."

JJ walks into the office with the phone in her hand.

"There's been an accident. Emily's in the hospital and Bunting's dead."

"Is she alright?"

"She has a concussion. Morgan's with her right now going to the hospital. Schrader escaped the scene northbound in a truck with a partner."

"We need roadblocks now. Do we have a license plate number?"

"Emily remembered a partial."

"It's better than nothing," Rossi comments. "He could be headed to Canada. We need somebody who knows the area."

"I'll get an officer. I'll make sure Schrader's face is everywhere," she says and leaves.

"Schrader was a bank robber. Now he's murdered a woman, kidnapped his daughter, and killed a cop. He's obviously more sophisticated than we originally thought."

"He's got a bigger plan. It's not just about getting his daughter and fleeing the country. We never profiled that he'd have a partner. We don't know this guy at all."

With two agents down, the rest have to reinvent the profile since you never anticipated Schrader to have a partner in all of this. Why did he escalate from robbery to murder and kidnapping? What's his endgame?

"Alright, so Schrader pulled a series of bank heists in the 1990s. He was the only one to ever go away for the crimes. He was a model prisoner, only served eleven of his fifteen years. He was released early on good behavior, and any friends he had are either dead or still in prison," Spencer recaps.

"A three-ton truck was found north of the accident, not too far from Canada. We have the heaviest presence at border crossings. He probably knows that, but I don't think he's gonna sit still for long."

"He might have to depending on how injured he is," Spencer says.

"What do we know?"

"Dale Schrader went to prison for robbery. He was hands-off. All of his crimes were impersonal. Two days after he's released, he kills Stacy and kidnaps his daughter. It's both personal and emotional. It doesn't make any sense.

"When he's not attached to the crime, he pulls it off, but the minute he's invested, he lets his guard down and gets caught. It makes sense. He's not the hard-ass we thought he was."

"If Jenny was what he wanted, he had her. He could have left. He could have taken her to Canada. Why didn't he?

JJ comes back in with pictures in hand.

"Here are pictures from the accident."

It's not as bad as it could have been but you're still worried about Emily.

"Any word on Emily?" you ask.

"Apparently, she's arguing with the doctors," JJ chuckles.

"This took a lot to pull off. What if he's got a group of guys to call on? All those bank jobs were solo but this is a lot for one man to orchestrate."

"Have you figured out why he killed Stacy?" JJ asks.

"We haven't found any connection to Schrader, but she may be connected to the partner. Killing her might have been advance payment for breaking him out of custody."

Hotch calls Pen over video chat so everyone can hear what she has to say.

"Garcia, I need everything you've got on Stacy Ryan."

"She was a junkie. If she wasn't high, she was waiting to get high. The only thread I have between her and Schrader is that Stacy's brother spent time with Schrader upstate five years ago."

"Why would Schrader kill a junkie? It doesn't make sense. Where's the brother now?"

"Dead."

"It doesn't feel like Schrader does anything randomly. Stacy must have meant something to him."

"Yeah, but what?"

"Can you figure it out?"

"I'm on it," Penelope says and hangs up.

You're not completely here but you try your best to think about the current case. Schrader's partner saw everything that happened in the woods but he ran away and stole a truck. He knew Emily and Derek were taking that road back to the station which is why he waited for them and crashed into Emily when the moment was right.

This whole thing feels meticulous. If Schrader didn't need his partner for Jenny, then he must need him for something else. For what, you're not sure of. It doesn't make sense because Schrader had five years to plan all of this in prison. He should have had backup plans for his backup plans. He had more than enough time to escape over the border with Jenny before his ex-wife got home and realized she was missing.

Instead, he stayed local in that cabin. He had what he wanted. He could have run. Logically, there must be something else keeping him in Lockport.

One AM rolls around quicker than you'd hoped, and you yawn from how tired you've been. Not only do you need sleep but you're running only on caffeine and energy drinks. It's not healthy for you but you don't know what else to do.

"Schrader's face is all over the news," JJ says. "He's been on the run for almost two hours and we're no closer to catching him."

"We need to find the partner."

"Hey," Spencer says and everyone looks behind him to see Emily and Derek walking into the police station. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I got hit by a truck."

"Here, sit," JJ says and pulls out a chair for her.

"Thanks." Emily has Penelope on the phone and places her on speakerphone so everyone can hear her. "Garcia, tell everyone what you just told me."

"I have unearthed more of Schrader's past. What we do know is that he robbed fifteen banks in the state of New York in the nineties. However, what your resident glamour-puss smarty-pants just found out was that most of that money was never recovered."

"Where is it?" Spencer asks.

"My guess is that only he knows."

"That might be a good reason to stick around Lockport. The robbery that put him away should have been routine, right? What happened?"

"Maybe someone turned him in."

"I don't know. He kept to himself and always worked alone. Who'd turn him in? We're missing somebody. Garcia?"

"Yes, checking, sir. Records leading up to Schrader's arrest show this other bank robber named Dan Otey. He was looking at copious amounts of time, then he strikes a deal, and all of a sudden Schrader is arrested."

"It can't be a coincidence. You know, it's not uncommon for criminals to buy jobs off one another. Maybe that's what Schrader did but Dan Otey sold him out for a lesser sentence."

"It doesn't make sense. Otey was a rat and now he's the partner?" JJ shakes her head.

"You're right, Schrader wouldn't trust him. If anything, he'd want him dead."

"He'd probably use him first. He'd tell Otey that he owes him one and that he might save his life if he helps him get out of this jam."

"Where is he now, Garcia?" Hotch asks.

"Otey is a local. He lives off Route 7."

You get up from the table and head over to the coffee machines to pour yourself an extra strong cup. Spencer waits until you're in the other room before speaking up. This is his chance to tell everyone what's been going on with you.

"Okay, let's take a pause for a second. There's something going on with Y/N. Prison did something to her but she's pretending like everything is fine when I know it's not. I don't think she's been ready to come back. She's scared to go to sleep, she's crying all the time, and she is terrified. She keeps telling herself that she is fine but I know she'll crash sooner or later. It's not going to be pretty when it does."

"I noticed something was wrong on the last case we were on," Emily says. "She left one of the crime scenes and I found her outside begging for someone to help. It looked like she was locked in her own mind. I didn't want to say anything since it's none of my business but now that you put it out there, I had to say something."

"Let me handle her," Derek says. "Thanks for letting me know."

You come back with your coffee but don't notice how everyone is staring at you.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds series rewrite #criminal minds season 5

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puffin-smoke · 2 years ago

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here me out here. In Guy's christmas decorating audio, he says, "I am a man of many talents but I know unequivocally that I'm a better cook than I am decorator." and then lets Honey do the decorating. So may I introduce...

Interior Decorator Honey

For the low low price of a vague knowledge of interior decoration, you can have:

Guy consistently asking Honey if he "sparks joy" and Honey keeps threatening to kick him out of the apartment.

Whenever Honey's stressed they start reorganising furniture, so sometimes Guy will come home to the sofa in the kitchen and a brand new coffee table, and immediately ask what's wrong.

Guy keeps saying that Honey is the "Feng to his Shui". Honey baby darling why do you love that man

Honey going into someone's house for the first time and having to physically restrain themself from talking shit. Vibrating with rage, muttering under their breath, exchanging looks with Guy while he dies of laughter. The moment the friend leaves the room? Blows up like Mt Vesuvius.

Has assumed someone was colourblind before because of the pillows they used. Needless to say that someone wasn't colourblind. That someone was Guy.

Dragging Guy to charity shops. Smile a thousand photons bright. (old person hobby LLLLLL)

Guy goes to charity/thrift stores and looking for furniture and decorations without Honey. If he can't find anything he thinks they'd like, he'll find whoever runs the shop and give them his number, telling them to call him the MOMENT anything cool comes in. Ohh that's why they love that man

Owns many a "festive napkin" (it's called bunting, GUY)

Hates minimalism with a passion. Just based on vibes. Maybe I'm projecting.

Snuck into Guy's room once when they were roommates just to reorganise everything. When Guy got back it felt like he was stepping into another world, a world that smelt considerably less like pizza and oh my fucking god Honey put it back

Also that sleek, modern aesthetic? They are going to kill you

AND HAVE YOU CONSIDERED: Honey making their own furniture. DID YOU THINK ABOUT THE IMPLICATIONS. Them utterly refusing to use IKEA furniture, and making their own; rolling up their sleeves and going ham with a hacksaw and a dream, learning how to do things with resin and how to make carpets, AND making a lil pizza heart carpet for Guy as an anniversary present. THEM GOING FULL SEXY CARPENTER WITH LIKE A TANK TOP AND MMMMMMM

#Can you tell I don't know anything about interior stuff #Is it that obvious #redacted audio #redacted honey #redacted guy #redacted headcanons #This is an excuse for me to spread MY opinions #Minimalism is cool and all but have you ever had everything you love in your room?#Shit's awesome

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fantasies-fairytales-n-fics · 6 months ago

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Thranduil and Josie Pt. 177- Truth Be Told

Summary: An emotional storm hits Dorwinion. A perilous fever is to blame. Josie's verbal attack upon the scarred Marchwarden does not dissuade him from aiding the damsel in distress. Lola takes the bunt of his misguided anger but stands her ground. Red clover, red clover, let Josie come over. Eerie chimes are a reminder that time is short. The Elvenking has been tricked. He receives an unexpected visitor. The 4th of 7 sons is revealed. A dastardly deal with the devil is made. Rahl has a night terror. Merlin has a hissy fit. Blaze is targeted. Seppia's cover is blown. Rahl speaks the truth he believes.

*Chapter Warnings* Angst

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist:

A thrashing thunderstorm had strangely made it's way to Dorwinion during the cold December night. As the rain drops pelleted against the balcony doors of Josie's chambers and the thunder and lightning tangoed in madness, she tossed and turned in her bed, mumbling, pleading and even sobbing at times, but Lola could not wake her nor calm her.

An hour had passed since Charles and Lola had discovered an unconscious and feverish Josie upon the floor. Desperate to bring her scorching temperature down, Charles had ventured off to throw together any type of concoction he could conjure up that might comfort her and had promised his sister he would quickly return, but he never did.

Fidgeting with her fingers just as her father would do when anxious, Lola steadily paced about, trying her best for Leeanduil's sake to conceal her panic after her variety of attempts to slow the Queen's imminent transformation to darkness. Her first effort was opening the curtains to the balcony doors to allow the refulgent full moon to bathe over Josie's body for maximum absorption of it's medicinal rays, but Lola soon feared it was having an adverse effect as Josie's aggression rapidly increased. She had then turned to patting her down with Mirkwood's magical healing water, all the while forgetting that once before it had sizzled on her skin, burning her like holy water would do to a demon. It was one of the many reasons the dark elves kept their distance from Thranduil's protected kingdom.

Josie's cries of pain had then brought Lola to her knees to pray at her bedside, rosary clutched tight in her hands. As she closed her eyes and began, the grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight and it's first echoing chime of twelve startled her to her feet. Just as her fluttering heart had resumed a somewhat normal beat, a knock upon the glass balcony doors sent her into a gasping spin. There in the pouring rain stood an angelic vision of Haldir showered in moonlight.

Racing to the door with a hopeful smile, Lola swung it open with excitement. "Haldir! It is so good to finally see someone! I knew you would not leave her. Where have...how...how did you get up here??"

The drenched Marchwarden's expression was stern as he rushed passed her, eyes focused on his ailing Jo. "I am an elf, remember?"

Stuttering in reply, she began to fidget again. "Right...I...I just thought elves used doors when available."

He sat on the bed, delivering Lola a perfunctory glance before bolting his concerned cobalt blues right back to Josie. "Are those not doors? I felt it imperative to avoid Rahl at all costs."

"I couldn't agree more. Haldir, there is so much to..."

Impervious to anything but Josie's detrimental state, he dismissed Lola by interrupting her. "What has happened to the Queen in the short time that I have been absent??"

"Charles and I found her here on the floor, unconscious and burning with fever. She's been like this ever since, thrashing about and crying. I was unsuccessful to wake her. She's been mumbling too. She said my name and was apologizing for attacking me, but clearly as your elf eyes can see, I am not harmed. Then she mentioned someone named Seppia? and I quote 'Blood. So much blood. The water has turned to wine. I didn't want to do it. She was going to kill you.' Moments later, she called out for Thranduil, pleading for him to come back and take her away from this awful place and then there was other chatter that I could not comprehend, but I did hear Harker's name. She...she mentioned you too Haldir."

Haldir's ears visibly perked with interest and he slightly angled his head in Lola's direction, but the heartbroken elf would not make eye contact nor bring himself to ask what was said, for he feared it was more of her venomous hate speech and his heart could not survive another snake bite.

Lola could see his pain and continued in an effort to ease his suffering. "She was pleading for your forgiveness. You know she did not mean those things. She adores you. Clearly, Rahl's venom is spreading again and much faster. Charles went to find something to comfort her but he never returned. But you, I knew you would come back for her."

Venom or not, Haldir knew that a majority of the spiteful things she spewed at him were true. He should never have allowed the intimacy they once shared, especially when Josie was so very vulnerable.

Haldir swallowed his feelings of immense guilt and remained tranquil as his gaze at Josie became more profound. "She is either experiencing feverish hallucinations or prophetic dreams which as you know can be metaphoric. Her emotions have created the storm. Her power is very much alive inside of her and sometimes at it's strongest when she dreams. Not even Rhal's venom can permanently subdue it."

"I wonder if that holds true for my father in his dormant state? Speaking of Stephane, Josie had went to see Rahl and came back rather angry. She was cruel to me and demanded that I leave. I was very worried and chose to come back. She was herself again but had been crying and she was so frightened that she was going to lose herself and everyone she loved. She told me about her visit with Rahl too and how terribly vile he had been to her. I became furious and briefly left to confront him in hopes my father could hear me and..."

"You willingly left her and her child alone in such a vulnerable states in some fruitless and ill-considered attempt to... ."

Lola placed her hands on her hips, taking her chance to return his prior interruption. "I had to do something! AND did you not leave her as well?? I was trying to help her. What is your excuse??"

His eyes narrowed at the gallant girl. "I too went for aid. I can calm her. Remain quiet if you even possess such a talent."

Lola's lips tightly pursed at his insult, but then as the clock chimed once at a quarter past midnight, she relaxed her arms and complied, for time was running out for her dear and only friend.

With a quiet gulp, Lola composed herself and stood at the opposite side of the bed, frozen solid with anticipation, hope and even fear, for she had no inclination of what was about to occur.

Just as Haldir's eyes widened into a hypnotic gaze, sharp, emulating strobes of lightning lit up the room and as his pupils fully dilated, there was a thunderous, reverberating crack that followed in accordance, causing Lola to jump out of her skin and Leean cry, but Haldir remained perfectly stoic and serene. It was as if both the ghastly gates of Hell and Haldir's fervent soul had simultaneously opened. Good and evil had clashed and both were ready to battle, only the elf of light was determined to win.

Lola rushed to the wailing Princess and held her as Haldir laid his damp hand upon Josie's rosy cheek. Due to her subconscious fear of it burning like before, she instinctively cried out, rejecting his touch and becoming more aggressive in her flailing but Haldir remained tenacious in his quest to calm her. She would need to be for the proceeding plans.

Firmly, he now held her head in both of his hands to keep her in place. "Hear my voice. Feel my touch. Sleep now. You are safe."

"Hal...Haldir?" she softly whimpered and opened her eyes long enough to smile at him, then her movements began to slow and her eyes closed. Within seconds, Josie was still and pacified and her emotional storm had ceased.

Lola's witnessing of the Lorien elf's mesmerizing magic was something all very shiny and new to her. In her upbringing with Stephane, she had seen quite the assortment of witchery but not the magic of elves and Haldir's was the only one she had ever been present for. It was indescribable to her vocabulary. The only word that oddly came to her mind to describe his power seemed to be quite an injustice and that word was.....

"Ethereal." Lola simply whispered, both stunned and befuddled at the sudden serenity. "It is like the eye of the storm."

Haldir's pupils retracted and he quickly retrieved a phial of liquid from his pocket, amber in color.

Lola's head tilted. "What is that?"

"Red clover." he snapped as he opened the lid and filled the dropper, placing 3 drops into Josie's parted lips.

Her eyes gaped. "Wait, is that not what Caroline gave to Julian that supposably killed him??? Why on earth would you give her tha....STOP!"

His eyes practically rolled before side-eyeing her as he dished out a lengthy explanation in a condescending tone. "First and foremost, I would never administer something harmful to Jo. It is rather unsettling and offensive that you would even consider such an irrational thought and to correct your misconstrued tale of her father's fabricated demise, red clover is a highly potent healing agent believed to cure many terminal diseases such as cancer, that which Julian was falsely diagnosed with. He intentionally ingested the plant on a daily basis for that precise reason, but with the unknown interference of that vile vampire witch Caroline tricking Jo into serving him regulated daily and nightly doses of deadly Belladonna also referred to as Nightshade, the bad had outweighed the good. Red clover has the power to defeat evil and poison if given in higher ratios of it's opponent and Julian's was not. There is a reason Narcisse has a colossal field of the seasonal red flowers. Why do you think he built an immunity to poison? Makes one wonder, such as myself, if Catherine's notorious acts were his inspiration in doing so. Whatever his regimen was for ingesting it, clearly it was interrupted at some point. The only issue is, the flowers do not thrive in the winter, but considering Narcisse was intelligent enough to grow them in the first place, then I knew he would have a protected reserve within his realm and I was able to locate it. Do you understand now or shall I draw images to make it more elementary for you to comprehend?"

Placing Leean back in her cradle, Lola turned to the Marchwarden with a wry nose. "Thank you holier than thou Haldir, for spelling out such detailed information to me that I had absolutely no way of knowing. Look, I understand that you are distressed over Josie's predicament and I know of your feelings for her and how hurt you must be by the terrible things she said to you, but you have no validity to speak to me in such an insulting and disrespectful manner. I was not trying to offend you. You should be a little more grateful that I am trying to protect Josie just as you are. I have been with her since her arrival here. I have aided in the birth of that precious Princess in that cradle and I adore her. I would die before allowing any harm come to her. I love her mother just as you do. I put my life at risk for her merely hours ago and found myself at the mercy of Rahl's inner beast in which Legolas, the good, kind and selfless elf, qualities that you seem to lack, came to my aid and paid the price of imprisonment right below our very feet for doing so. Being Stephane's daughter and conceived during Rahl's reign of terror is of no fault of mine which I am willing to wager all that I own that that is why you have been so disdainful from the very moment you walked through those doors. If you so dare judge me for my parentage, then you so judge Josie for hers and even my brother Charles as well. Now, Haldir of Lorien, do you understand or shall I draw images to make it more elementary for you to comprehend?"

Still dripping wet, a scorned Haldir stood and arched his neck, leering down his flaring nose at the proud, petite girl who possessed a prowess for rebuttal. "Your conjecture is invalid. Your mother recently informed me that Caroline is not Jo's birth mother. Her twin Cassandra is and regarding Julian, his mind has been malevolently altered. I hold no ill towards him. Your accusation of judging Jo is merely moot, for even when all believed Caroline to be her mother, I not once projected any comparison upon her, nor do I you or Charles."

"Fair enough, but you still hold ill towards my father. His mind has also been altered by malevolence."

"He was malevolent to begin with."

"No he was not! He is a warlock of light and a good man who has been dealt a mountain of atrocities in his life. The punishments he has bestowed upon others have been well deserved, for they were wicked people. Would you have not done the same to Ashur or maybe even much worse for his attempt to defile Josie and later try to kill her? What about the sadistic guard in the forest who was guilty of the same crime?? I for one believe their tortures were too kind for the crime. I cannot count on both hands the sacrifices he has made for me and especially for Josie and her child. I know you do not care, but he loves them dearly. Need I remind you of how he risked the lives of his men and even himself by venturing into vampire territory, all for Josie and her unborn baby? If that alone is not satisfactory enough for you, then I do not know what is. To me, it is meritorious. From what I am told, he even saved Legolas' life from a monstrous orc. He is a hero in my eyes and even in Josie's. If you view him as evil, then what did that make the King of Mirkwood who was also of light and also held quite the notorious reputation???"

Haldir made his way to the fireplace to dry himself, keeping his back to her as he did so. Lola did not know of Thranduil's survival and Haldir was not about to inform her of it and risk Josie overhearing. She was in no mental or physical condition to handle such news. He would not tell Lola at all, for he knew she would not be able to conceal such a secret. "I will not speak of King Thranduil to you. Why did you not inform me about Legolas??"

"Well, to simply paraphrase my reasoning, you told me to shut up and so I did. I suppose I should also tell you that Bash and my mother are missing."

Haldir turned to face her, his eyes deeply concerned for Josselyn. "Continue."

"Bash was deeply cut during Rahl's attack in the forest and has also become ill. The wound is over his heart and the venom will spread like wildfire. He will transform much more quickly than Josie if we do not locate him and give him the red clover too. Haldir, do....do you think that potion will work for my father?"

Lola's saddened eyes caused Haldir's to soften. "I do not know but I have prepared an abundance of it. It will be needed for Jo. She must receive it every two hours like clock work. There is plenty to share and you may take what you need but I must warn you of what you surely already know. Such a task will be rather arduous to achieve. If you are discovered, the consequences will surely be severe, possibly even be deadly."

"I am aware of the consequences but I do not believe Rahl would end my life. He had the chance today and he did not. He did the same with Charles and Bash. He still considers us his kin and defends his harsh actions against us as teaching us a lesson and I truly believe it is because my father is in there somewhere, fighting to protect all those he loves with all of his will. Stephane saved me from that evil Harker and so I must try to save him from the evil that curses him. We need Stephane for the winter war. He is an irreplaceable asset and he has proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt upon Lestat's mountain... and I...I just need my father back for me. All these years neither of us knew what we were to each other and he may still not know. Life has been so unfair to all of us."

Haldir's heart began to soften as well, but only for Lola. Her defense of Lord Narcisse did not sway his own opinions of the warlock lord, even if she had valid points and he knew deep down inside that it was because of Josie's feelings for Stephane. "I understand. I have watched Jo grieve for her father's return as well and for the mother she never knew, all quite similar to what you have endured. You are strong-willed Lola, much like Josselyn. An admirable quality. Your mother, when did you last see her?"

"In the tunnels. She, myself and Legolas went to search for Ashmole in the place Julian had last hidden it, but it was not there. I was unable to see it. I then went to find Josie and she went to find Bash and now....she is gone and so is he. Maybe they are somewhere on the grounds together? From what I understand, she and my uncle were very close at one time."

For some reason he could not explain, Haldir recalled Josselyn's lips upon his own and even if it was only because she had mistaken him for Julian under Haldir's hypnotic spell, the Lorien elf still secretly enjoyed it. "I have only known your mother for a short while but I do not believe her to be irresponsible. She would have notified you of her whereabouts in the midst of Rahls' presence. Something is amiss."

Lola's brow lifted. "You...you care for her? She informed me of your time together in the forest when she was explaining her years of absence to me."

His brows furrowed. "I do not look upon her in the sense that you are implying. Her heart belongs to Julian and mine belo..."

A series of chimes of the grandfather clock ceased Haldir's words, alerting him that it should have only chimed once. As his brows furrowed once more, he opened the door to view the time.

"Haldir? What is it?"

"1 A.M." he whispered as he counted the chimes to the very end. "13 chimes. The 13th hour in Jareth's realm."

As far as Lola could remember, she had never met the nefarious Goblin King of the Misty Mountains, nor did she desire to. She now trembled something fierce. "W...what does that m...mean?"

Haldir turned to her, his eyes significantly acute. "He is toying with us. Reminding us that time is short."

The yandere Elvenking stood reeling in the rain over the vision he had been unprepared to view of Josephine and Lord Narcisse in a heated moment of passionate bloodshed, or so Jareth's ring would have him believe. The citrine stone's clarity revealed images so lucid that not even his sagacious mind and perceptive elven eyes could decipher the difference between reality and a vivid dream, but in that moment, his nose was as sharp as the twin blades he carried at his sides.

He swiftly turned to view the forest line. "I know you are there. One such as yourself should know a filthy fae's sour odor does not go undetected by an elf.

Out of the dark and into the moonlight, walked Amara, the Seelie Queen of the faerie realm, smiling with observing eyes upon his reformed image.

"Amara." he snarled. "You dare to scrutinize me from the shadows? What is your purpose for being so incredibly foolish? I would be greatly inclined to perceive your lurking as a threat."

"I assure you I come in peace King Thranduil. The whispers of nature alerted me to your transformation. Being so very intrigued, I had to see it for myself."

"Yessss. The birds, the bees and the trees." he snarked. "It should be of no great importance to you of my appearance. After all, you are the Queen of transformations, are you not? For instance, the one before me now is not the one before me at our last meeting many decades ago."

"I am a firm believer that a change will do one good, although I must wonder if it has for you."

Not amused by her passive aggressive insult, he approached and leered down at the fiery haired faerie who stood no more than 5 feet tall. Knowing of her love for the creepy crawlies of the forest, he returned the insult combined with a threat. "Bold, aren't you, for someone I could squash beneath my heel like a bug. What is it that you want?"

Amara knew Thranduil could easily make good on his threat if he so intended, for she held no power to him. In her eyes, no one did. She knew to tread carefully because in all honestly, there was something that she wanted. Legolas. But his father did not know of the binding contract of marriage that his son had indebted himself to, so she played coy since she was unable to lie. "What could you have that I could possibly want?"

"A question answered with a question is deflection." he flatly stated, his eyes narrowing as he began to circle around her. "Fae folk cannot lie. Is that not the truth?"

"It is true. We do not lie with intent. We speak only what we believe to be true."

"Ahhh, yes. Clever wordplay used to their advantage to create loopholes, but what they believe clever, is in fact rather precarious. I assure you, it offers you no advantage with me. Sometimes a lie is just a lie. I will ask a final time. What is it that you want?"

Tauriel had emerged from the trees like a stealthy cat, copper strands flowing to her waist where she firmly clutched the handle of her blade and took her place at the Elvenking's side with stern eyes and lips. Amara now knew she must use the clever wordplay, for she believed it to be true that the Prince did not belong to Thranduil. A precarious belief indeed. "I have spoken no lie. There is nothing I desire from you."

Thranduil glanced at his captain of the guard, who raised a cynical brow to him. He then once again began another circling pass of the Seelie Queen. "Is that your sworn and solemn vow? Your realm consists of love, beauty and unicorns, yet underneath your physical flamboyance is a grotesque viper, much like Jericho, the deceased Unseelie King who was a father to 50 sons and...one...disowned daughter. You. And that King's realm is in great comparison to that of his brother, the goblin King Jareth, consisting of hideous creatures such as goblins and satyrs and his Fae followers do in fact...lie. The apple that you so love to sink your fiendish fangs into, does not fall far from the tree. You may be a severed branch but your roots run deep. It is as binding as the blood of my enemies in your veins and therefore makes you my enemy...and a liar."

"Is it not the same blood that courses through yours?"

Like a snake's strike, Thranduil lunged towards her, his straw-colored strands assaulting her face as his flaring nostrils released a scalding steam. "NOT of my own free will!"

"Nor is mine." she bravely retorted beneath his fierce breath.

Slithering back up to his 6'5 stance, he glowered down at her with canary-like hues as he hissed. "Yours is fully authentic and cannot be cured. Mine was forcefully fabricated."

"Yet the poisonous half can be weakened by the simple removal of the stimulant upon your finger, but you refuse to do so. You enjoy the rush of the darkness. The power it feeds you. The true viper stands before me. That I believe to be true. Only you have the power to shed your skin of sinister scales as I have. Just as the moon you feed from sheds it's shadow, the serpent sheds it's skin to be born again."

"Be that as it may," he admitted, seemingly chuffed with acceptance of what he had become, "an ostentatious snake such as yourself, is still a belly dweller no matter how many times it sheds said skin. That I know to be true, but your power could greatly benefit you in this instance if you wish for your wretched head to remain in tact upon your miserable shoulders."

With implausible speed, the Elvenking's razor-edged twin blades came to each side of the surprised Seelie's neck, one crossing over the other before her Adam's apple to perform as a makeshift guillotine. "So it is you who desires something from me." she questioned as a statement.

"Adept you are. In exchange for your life, you will end two that have betrayed me. It will not only send a transparent message, but assist in clearing the path of an evident nuisance upon my arrival in Dorwinion, which remains days out of reach. You on the other hand, have the power to reach the destination betimes and complete your assignment by simply shedding your skin for a newly altered one. I would recommend something comely, yet enticing, after all, the two I seek vengeance upon have cocks. One in particular who has audaciously trespassed on my personal property. Lord Narcisse. I believe you know of him as all do. He is quite infamously known for his charismatic ways with women, so the task should be effortless if you play your physical attributes correctly. The other I speak of is merely a mundane human of Esgaroth and Dale known as Bard the bowman. He has defied my direct orders despite of the dire consequences. Although they were indirectly implied, he was well aware of my intent, but still chose to take the high road in the Dorwinion realm that will now lead him to his fate. Mind you, if you defy me as he has done, there will be no road that will lead you or your knights and scouts to refuge."

"You desire for me to kill two Kings? The King of Dale and the King of Dorwinion?

"Kings?" he snickered in question with amusement and lowered his blades to slither around her for a third and final time. "Pretentious and insipid men seems more fitting. Death, I believe, is far too merciful and permanent for their deserved punishments. I was envisioning something more harrowing. A metaphorical death per se. An earthbound purgatory. What better torture for a man of extreme vanity to be stripped of his flawless form and reminded of his revolting image each and every time he reflects within a mirror and each and every time a repulsed woman flees with a shrill scream which in turn shall eliminate the prideful, self-conceited and narcissistic Narcisse? And what better for another man, widowed and the bearer of child loss to believe his family did not perish in the vampire attack upon Lake Town, but alive and surely unwell, held captive by Caligula, a master vampire of Barad-dur in Mordor? The noble archer will move Heaven and earth to rescue his loved ones and without hesitation, depart Dorwinion for the Black Lands of fire and doom, surely to meet his fate of eternal damnation when he comes face to fang with the venomous creature that resides within the Ered Lithui. For this task, there is no need to appear to him as any other than yourself. Your sources of nature stem far and wide and will hold the credible validation he will require. After all, in his belief, you cannot lie, but you will which will cease any doubts he has. What say you? Do we have a deal?"

Amara was briefly taken aback by his devious demands. She did not attack in any form without just cause and neither man had ever given her reason to.

Due to the Seelie's silence, Tauriel raised and armed her bow. "Answer him filth."

"Tauriel!" Thranduil scolded as he raised his hand, then swayed it downward.

The arrow-happy elleth obeyed and disarmed her weapon, shooting daggers from her eyes at Amara instead.

"To clarify," Amara began, "You want me to disfigure the warlock lord and deceive the bowman with a lie I cannot speak?"

"Significantly and....you will find the loophole I spoke of or die." he snarled.

Karma had come for her for coercing Legolas, for now she was the one with the ultimatum but that still would not dissuade her from releasing the Prince of his contract. He would be her King someday and she knew she had to kill Thranduil to get what she wanted, for he had given her a reason to, but it would have to be carefully premeditated. The Elvenking was a thorn in her side that could not easily be plucked out, especially the altered version of him which she had come to assess for that purpose.

With reluctance, she agreed to the terms. "I...I will accept the deal."

"Wise choice. Go now. Time is short. If you fail, it will be much shorter for you."

Amara gave a soft nod and vanished into the darkness of the forest.

Thranduil viewed her departure like a hawk, leery of her true motive in seeking him out other than her offered one. With his back to Tauriel, he gave her a special task of her own. "Tauriel. Find Meliorn, the Seelie Queen's loyal, right hand knight. Extract the truth from him of what she conceals and when you do....kill him. Three things cannot be long hidden. The sun, the moon and the truth."

During Josie's storm, thunder rolled and lightning flashed to the beat of Rahl's racing heart as he stirred in his bed with visions of the altered Elvenking dancing in his head. With the exception of cockroaches, very little had the power to make the shallow warlock lord's skin crawl, but the skin of the formidable and conspicuous Elvenking was no longer angelically flawless. It was ghostly pale, dry and thinning with decay. His elaborate attire and debonair was no more. Was he really alive as believed by most or was he really a rotting corpse that had been feasted upon by the bloodcurdling bugs that once frenzied over Rahl's hallucinating body? Had he now come back from the grave like a black plague to infest his dreams and intentionally haunt his long time opponent?

In the heated moment of dream induced hysteria, earth shaking thunder mimicked the recent ground strike of the Elvenking's amber staff, startled the physically restored Darken Rahl awake.

With a shrieking gasp that alerted his guards, he arose, ebony strands a mangled mess and bare skin beset with shimmering sweat in the blinding light show.

Merlin, Lord Narcisse's magical Maine Coon, had laid vigilant at the foot of the bed, tensely guarding Stephane's superficial form out of loyalty as he slept, for even the cat knew his soul was still very much a prisoner inside of his own mind, helplessly dormant while his life was being stolen and dismantled piece by piece by his nefarious doppleganger and sometime during the stormy night as Rahl slept, the normally fearless feline had become frightened as he witnessed the volatile transition back into wickedness. Every time his altered master moved, Merlin released low-emitted growls as his globular golden hues fixated on the door, anxiously awaiting to be freed.

As Rahl had awoke in his frantic state, the panting cat cowered down with eyes blazing of burning amber and ears pinned back, then after a spitting hiss of canine fangs at Rahl's dazed face, he sprinted from the bed as the guards entered, claws loudly sawing into the stone flooring for traction as he sharply made the turn out the door.

After almost tripping over the fleeing feline, a guard notified Darken Rahl of his returned image. "Your grace, is everyth....you...you are yourself again."

Bringing his hands up to his head, Rahl entwined his fingers into his long licorice locks and smiled. "Yes, so it would seem."

Rahl still required verification that his physically sublime sculpture was restored.

With a swift swing of his satin sheets, he slid off of them stark naked and made his way to the body length mirror. Once in view, his eyes traveled from head to toe, studying every crook and cranny of his pulchritudinous form, including his swollen manhood that was screaming at him to urinate. "Ahhhh. The cat came back." he snarled with a grin and then turned to the guard, becoming quite crass. "Speaking of, keep that flea ridden beast out of my chambers. I do not play well with other Felis Catus like that ailurophile alter of mine did and as for that other beast Blaze. Have his master come to claim him before I gain a new decorative rug before my fireplace. I can smell his stench in the night breeze and his pathetic howls for Stephane make me wish to stick a hot iron stoker into each of my ears. There is only room for one King in this castle."

"Yes my lord."

"Oh and did you take care of that traitorous brothel bitch Seppia for attempting to poison me? I still have the bitter taste of Angelica leaves in the back of my throat." Rahl growled and guzzled his wicked wine straight from the carafe in an attempt to wash it away. Finicky as a cat, he grimaced. "And bring me the whiskey. I prefer burning fire over sweet candy."

"Yes my lord. She has been contained and awaits beheading for all to witness come first light."

"Perfect." he purred and slipped on his sleeveless red robe. "And did you succeed at extracting her motives? It is imperative that I know who she is."

"She has refused to speak. Upon stripping her bare and searching all areas of her body, Giller located a branding mark on the back of her neck. The letter M. Two of them. Inside of a circle. One placed upon the other, facing opposite directions and intertwined at the points."

Rahl's eyes slitted. "Harker." he whispered and then gritted his teeth. "They are W's, not M's you cretin! It is a symbol for World of Wonders. She is a sister of the dark. Oh the irony. The big bad wolf is afeard of a cat to do the dirty deed himself. I will pay sister Seppia a visit myself when I return from my outing. Something tells me there is more to this girl than meets the eye. So many will rue the day for crossing me and I have only just begun with my reign of terror. Now, leave me. Nature is urgently calling and I must mark my territory, for I sense in the days to come that more predators will be sniffing around my door."

Upon the guard's exit, the storm had ceased. Rahl returned to the mirror and gazed upon his bewitching image with the pride of a cat. "Mirror, mirror upon the wall, who is the fanciest feline of them all?"

Grinning, he answered himself. "Why of course, it is you, Darken Rahl."

With a spin, he then turned to the window, momentarily basking in the luminating rays of the full moon as he gazed into it with his piercing blue eyes. "Josephine, you will love me like the moon intended, all the way through the darkness. I will not be beaten down again. Truth be told."

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slippinmickeys · 2 years ago

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Proof of Life (5/?)

1. “Through here,” Langly says, shoving his shoulder into the door, which has swollen in its frame. It finally gives with a creak and swings into the room, which is dark and smells of dust, maybe mildew, mice. He takes a couple of steps in and reaches up to pull on a small chain, illuminating the bare room with a single 40 watt bulb which hangs from the ceiling.

The room is windowless, its walls gray. Cobwebs loop gently from corner to corner like party bunting. Mulder steps inside, turns once on the gritty floor.

“This should work nicely,” he says genuinely. “Thank you.”

“I have some tables I can bring in,” Langly says, and Mulder nods his thanks. “Asuka has a room made up for you upstairs.”

“I can stay down here,” Mulder says absently, already cataloging the locations of the nearest shops where he can get the supplies he needs.

Langly looks at him sympathetically, seems to understand the impulse. “She would kill me if I let you.”

Mulder finally looks his friend in the eye, the dingy little light glaring off the skinny man’s glasses. “We wouldn’t want that,” he says gently.

Langly nods, turns to back out of the small room. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to, Mulder,” he says when he reaches the doorframe. “We’re happy to have you.”

For once, Mulder thinks, it might feel good to stay still.

2. The debrief was painful. The questions the intelligence officer asked were formal, but systematic, the goal not to unburden him from the trauma he carried from his imprisonment, but to wring every bit of useful intel out of his story.

When he is finally released, he practically bursts from the room. All they would tell him was that he and Scully were being debriefed separately and that the military would arrange for his transportation back to the States should he wish to go. He had asked what Scully was doing, but was told that information wasn’t being released.

Once he is reunited with his camera equipment (he had handed over two rolls of film that he’d shot in the street before his kidnapping, but had the three rolls he’d shot in the hotel room hidden in the false bottom of his bag – those would be of no use to the military, and he wasn’t willing to share), he grabs someone and asks to use a phone. If anyone can figure out where Scully is, it is Melvin Frohike.

But the number he has for his fixer has been disconnected, and the answering service they’d used on occasion no longer answered for his particular account. When the woman who got him the outside line begins to get annoyed with him, he tries one last number.

“Byers,” he says into the receiver, relieved beyond words to hear a friend’s voice.

“Mulder!” the other man says. “My god, we were afraid you were done for.”

“I very nearly was,” Mulder says. “Listen, I don’t have a lot of time here. I’m trying to get in touch with Frohike, but the number I have for him is no good.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone, and Mulder is worried they’ve been disconnected when Byers begins to speak again.

“Mulder,” he says. “Frohike is… Not in a good place. He’s off the grid. He… felt responsible for your kidnapping. He’s gone to ground. I don’t know where he is. Nobody does.”

Mulder swears, earning him a look from the administrative staffer who is still sitting several feet away.

“I need a local fixer,” he finally says to Byers quietly, turning away from the woman for some privacy. “Someone who can get me information.”

Byers takes a beat and Mulder can hear keystrokes in the background.

“Most everyone we know has cleared out of the area, Mulder. I can get you transportation, but that’s about as good as I can do.”

Mulder accepts the help, figuring he might be able to get some more information once he has boots back on the ground. His first step will be getting off this military base, as it’s clear Scully isn’t here. He hands the phone back to the woman who was helping him and cranks up the charm, asking where he can wait for his ride. She points him to a rec room, and he picks up his single bag and makes his way there.

In the corner of the room is a TV set to an international feed of CNN, and he is knocked back on his ass when old footage of Scully starts to run, playing under a Wolf Blitzer voiceover. After a few seconds, a grainy picture appears; the proof of life picture the militants took of both of them. They are breaking news. Mulder approaches the television, unable to take his eyes off of it. It cuts back to a Blitzer talking head, who drones on about how he and Scully have been recovered alive, and how they’re waiting on more information to be released to the press. More footage showing Scully on location, a shot of her from an old segment, one of her on a bright soundstage. Mulder can’t look away.

And then. And then. It cuts back to Wolf Blitzer, who is announcing a guest; CNN’s own Ethan Minette. Scully’s “longtime boyfriend,” who goes on to tell the host that Dana Scully, the love of his life, has been successfully rescued and how he has it on good authority that she is even now on her way Stateside, racing her way west to be reunited with him and her family. And how he can’t wait to wrap his arms around the woman and never let go.

Mulder’s own arms feel heavy at his sides. She has never mentioned the man, Ethan. But then, Mulder has never really asked. Not outright. He had been half afraid of her answer. Mulder is a man that people leave, always has been. It’s why he never lets anyone in. But Scully had been different, was different in every way.

And before he could properly process what he’s just heard, he is already moving out of the room. His transportation will be here soon. And if it couldn’t take him to Scully, maybe it could take him far, far away from the hurt that was starting to press in as well as out. That was even now ballooning up inside of him. That was pressing him down to the ground.

3. Mulder strolls the market leisurely every morning around ten. He is there as the awnings rise up from the base of their stalls, as the baskets of bread are being set out, wafting a warm, yeasty smell through the nearby stalls in an intoxicating purl. He watches the flower vendors carry heaping armfuls of ranunculus into the back to be trimmed. He hears the fishmongers filling deep trays with ice and watches as the farmers tuck the odd looking fruits and vegetables into the bottom of their displays, leaving only the perfect looking jewels of their bounty for the shoppers to peruse. Voices call out to each other in melodious chorus, asking for an extra bag, for change, asking after the health of wives and husbands. Old men, young; women that are beautiful, women who are plain. He takes pictures of it all.

Paris is at its best in the summer, but at its most interesting in the spring. Langly has so far kept the news outlets at bay, refusing to share any information with even his fellow information-gatherers, and Mulder is free to roam the streets without worry of being bothered.

Asuka has done her best to fatten him up, feeding him the fish and rice dishes of her youth between the heartier peasant cuisine of their current home. Langly himself has complained about gaining weight, even as he wraps his arms around his longtime partner while she stirs a hearty stew in the kitchen. She shoos him out, but never Mulder, who likes to sit at the small kitchen table by the window, looking out at the sky and tasting anything she offers him on an old wooden spoon.

He is quiet, pensive. And at night, when they ease back into an old creaking bed, Langly whispers to his love that he is worried for his friend.

4. He tells Scully about Samantha. Every gritty detail. How he went for his father’s gun, how he opened the door and saw the squiggling taillights of a car as it tore off down the street.

He tells her about the police interview after it all happened. Did he see what kind of car it was? What color? Did he get the plate number? He was twelve. He was only twelve.

“But I remember thinking,” he says. “That if I’d gotten a picture of it, they would have got the guy. If I’d gone for my father’s camera instead of his gun, I could have saved my sister.”

Scully moves to where he’s leaning against the bed, runs her hand up through his hair soothingly, scratches his scalp, then presses the thick clunk of her forehead against his shoulder. He can feel the steam of her tears, of her hurting for him, gathering on his skin.

“Mulder,” she says, empathy thick in her voice, muffled a bit where it’s pressed to him. “You were only a kid.”

“But it tore the family apart,” he says.

She presses a kiss to his neck, then another, then another, kissing every bit of him she could reach.

“And now you try to get the picture,” she whispers, understanding him, his very essence.

“And now I try to get the picture,” he repeats.

5. This is the part of photography he likes the most: the alchemy of it, the process by which he can transfer a single moment in time onto a piece of glossy paper using only a simple mixture of chemicals.

He takes the roll of film he’d shot the week before—tight knots of flowers in the market, a boat on the Seine—and trims it, feeding it through the spool. His dev, stop and fix chemicals are already mixed and waiting in the developing trays. This is the point at which he feels himself enter the zone of the process. It’s just him in a darkroom, lit only by a thick red light. There is silence, and there is peace, and he could be anywhere at all in the world.

He runs a test print and is happy with it. And he begins.

***

Langly knocks on the swollen door and waits patiently. When Mulder finally ushers him in, he stands in the room, slowly turning on the grungy heel of his old Converse. Above them, Mulder has strung up a wire around the whole of the makeshift darkroom, amongst the ropes of cobwebs, and the line is chocked, cheek by jowl, with hundreds of photographs. Langly takes them all in on his gradual rotation, like a zoetrope in slow motion.

Eventually he stops, turns to Mulder.

“They’re all of her,” he says, his voice free of judgment.

“Yes,” Mulder says, reaching out with a gentle finger to touch the one nearest him. “Every one.”

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #au #war correspondent/photojournalist au

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