𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒

PEDRO PASCAL as JAVIER PEÑA Narcos | 1.05: There Will Be a Future

RAFAEL TOVAR (DEVIL IN DISGUISE: JOHN WAYNE GACY)

PEDRO PASCAL The Fantastic Four: First Steps | Close Friends Only by Instagram

❛ Don’t look behind you. ❜ ❛ Something just whispered my name. ❜ ❛ It’s been dead for years, but it’s still calling. ❜ ❛ That wasn’t you breathing next to me, was it? ❜ ❛ I think… I’m being followed. But no one’s ever there. ❜ ❛ There’s something in the walls. I can hear it scratching. ❜ ❛ Why does the mirror show something I’m not doing? ❜ ❛ We buried them. I watched it happen. So how are they here? ❜ ❛ The lights won’t stay on anymore. It’s like they’re afraid. ❜ ❛ There’s blood under the floorboards. It keeps spreading. ❜ ❛ I dreamt of them again. But this time, they noticed me watching. ❜ ❛ I can’t tell if I’m sleepwalking or being moved. ❜ ❛ That wasn’t my voice on the phone. But it said everything I was thinking. ❜ ❛ The photo changed. They weren’t smiling before. ❜ ❛ Why does the attic door keep unlocking itself? ❜ ❛ Something climbed into bed with me last night. I was too scared to move. ❜ ❛ That thing outside? It’s wearing your face. ❜ ❛ I saw you die. I felt you die. ❜ ❛ My reflection blinked after I walked away. ❜ ❛ That voice… it said your name. But it wasn’t me. ❜ ❛ They said if I looked at it, it would follow me home. I looked. ❜ ❛ There’s something living in the basement. It doesn’t like light. ❜ ❛ She’s been dead for a hundred years, and she wants me to take her place. ❜ ❛ I keep waking up with dirt under my nails. ❜ ❛ It said it would kill me last night. Why am I still here? ❜ ❛ Something touched me in the dark. It was cold… and smiling. ❜ ❛ There’s something in the photographs. Behind us. Watching. ❜ ❛ I can feel it watching me, even when I shut my eyes. Especially then.❜ ❛ My shadow moves differently when I’m not looking. ❜ ❛ The voice in the radio said it’s coming for you next. ❜ ❛ I don’t think this is my body anymore. ❜ ❛ I’m not alone in my head. It’s louder than me now. ❜ ❛ You said we were alone. Then who was standing in the hallway? ❜ ❛ Something’s wrong with the baby. It has too many teeth. ❜ ❛ Every mirror in the house cracked at the same time. ❜ ❛ It keeps offering me a choice. I don’t like the second option. ❜ ❛ They never left. I can hear them under the floor, screaming. ❜ ❛ I think the house is alive. And hungry. ❜ ❛ The dog won’t stop growling at the empty corner. ❜ ❛ It wants to wear your skin. ❜ ❛ You weren’t born. You were made. ❜ ❛ Why does the music box keep playing, even with no key? ❜ ❛ It’s not pretending to be her anymore. It is her. ❜ ❛ The dreams aren’t dreams. They’re instructions. ❜ ❛ You were never supposed to find this place. ❜ ❛ They stitched a mouth shut in that painting. Now it’s screaming. ❜ ❛ I think the stars are in the wrong place. ❜ ❛ The last thing I saw was its smile. I can still see it when I close my eyes. ❜ ❛ The door was locked from the inside. ❜ ❛ It said if I ever tell anyone about it, you’ll be next. ❜

Isabela Merced as Dina in The Last of Us S02E01

“i’m  angelo.”  he  didn’t  know  why  he  introduced  himself  like  that;  it  was  always  just  ‘angel,’  a  small  but  useful  distance  between  his  personal  and  professional  life,  one  people  rarely  thought  to  question.  a  safeguard.  “but  everyone  calls  me  angel.”  he  hesitated  for  a  moment;  this  was  a  dangerous  game  to  play,  he  knew.  still,  his  curiosity  was  impossible  to  rein  in.  “what  about  you?”  he  asked,  voice  stripped  of  affectation.  anticipation surged  within  him,  like  the  man's answer  might  be  the  what he was looking for,  the  thing  to  make  it  all  click  together.  “what’s  your  name?”

the man was real. he'd flinched when santiago was rude, he'd looked unsure and lost and something else entirely. it was all far too real and santi wondered if this was the time he finally bit the bullet and lost his mind— he knew it was coming one of these days, the thing that finally broke him down and left him a drooling mess on a gutter somewhere, but this was different. because the man was the same, he looked and sounded the same, but yet— he wasn’t. angelo. angel. santi felt his mouth water, stomach churning unpleasantly. he stared at the pink dyed hair for far longer than anyone might deem polite: his angel — the angel he’d so brutally assassinated — had brown hair. simple, curly brown hair that had looked soft even when matted with blood. he’s vaguely aware he’s been asked a question, downing the rest of his drink, hands itching for a cigarette or something more. name. his name. the dead man walking had asked santi for his name; he knew he’d given angel a fake name when they first met, something nonconsequential that he’d already forgotten, but he could still remember the bitter resentment in the pit of his stomach that had him wondering what his real name would sound like in the man’s gravelly voice. “santiago.” he answered at last, a stupid fucking choice that could end with him dead or imprisoned— after all he’d done, santiago thought it might be some sort of karmic justice that the thing that would land him behind bars would be the pretty twink he’d murdered years before. “ m’name’s santiago. what— what the fuck are you?”

santiago does his best not to preen under angel’s gaze. he’s not used to the attention, always working in the shadows, always doing his very best to stay out of people’s radars. this evening, the only person actually paying any sort of attention to him was angel, whose memory wouldn’t matter much once he finished his job. “handsome, huh? not sure the rugged part is much of a compliment… the sort of thing you’d say to a brute.” santi joked, hating the way his pulse picked up at the offhand compliment. “not sex on the beach, can’t stand peaches. but you’re not entirely wrong… i do prefer sweet things.” “only when it’s the truth.” santi shrugged, keeping his knee still when angel brushed against him; it seemed innocent enough to pass off as accidental, but there was something about the younger man’s eyes that told santiago he wasn’t the type to do anything accidentally. “i have to admit, i haven’t been on too many dates.” the word is heavy, laced with the briefest hint of shyness— he needed angel to be comfortable, and santi figured that going with the angle of a man that wasn’t too experienced with sex work might make angel feel like he’s the one in charge. “but something tells me you’ll have me figured out in no time. you seem smart like that.”

santiago tapped his index finger to his nose. “you’re not very bright, if it took you so long to realize what’s happening here.” it wasn’t exactly a bounty, as that would’ve implied someone needed angel alive— it was an assassination, plain and simple. if santi wasn’t so intrigued, if céline wasn’t so greedy, he would’ve placed a bullet on angel’s head already: it wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before, anyways. “wrong guy, yeah, sure thing.” it was against protocol, but santiago was so pissed he just wanted to freak the other guy out, perhaps get him to shut the fuck up for a while, so he pulled up angel’s file — his goddamned paper fucking file — from his backpack, making a show out of plucking angel’s headshot and throwing it on the ground between them, keeping the actual contents of the file away from angel's eyes. “that you, ain’t it? 6’2, brown hair dyed pink, scar on the back of the neck, skinny frame.” santi leaned back, ankles crossed in front of him, appearing far more nonchalant than he felt. “there’s some real interesting shit here too. paranoid delusions, memory loss. cats and gardening.” he snorted, throwing the file back onto the table, away from the other man’s eyes. “you’re already a major fucking headache, angelo.” that name wasn’t on the file, but santi remembered it from the first time they met. he remembered everything from that night. “who sent me is none of your concern right now. no no, right now, you should be concerned over the fact that i’m a goddamned killer, and you’re the poor bastard handcuffed to my radiator.”

what  are  you  going  to  do  to  me?