margot.

JODIE COMER ph. Scandebergs GQ Heroes, June/July 2025

Jodie Comer via Instagram June 6, 2025

“No.” Refuted with quickness but without scorn. Something similar that would not go unremembered. Blood not tasted but bruises and cuts dug into, a sting the only thing felt. A child, watching the drip of it with no injury felt. Still how she met herself now, blood observed with a mind finally blank. A sign of life she had never properly contained. “You like how it tastes?”

banter. nicknames. how much could margot dip herself into the other? so needy for something she never quite had. not parental. lacking from other figures. only ever knowing such from her brother. he'd been long gone. only crept in the shadows of her buried thoughts. "my sanity has never been more clear." confident. smile brimmed with some enjoyment of the game. survive or game over. the bottle in margot's hands tipped over. she forced a circular movement until a tornado twisted in the liquid. eyes watched it spin, and unwravel. margot sighed having only been amused for a blink of time. "don't mind it." she shrugged. memories of cut fingers shoved into her mouth. adolecent accidents of tripping — scraping her knees just to press her lips to the curve until the wound only pulsed. "it flows inside of us. why be disgusted by such a thing? would mean to be disgusted with ourselves." she pondered. "well," feet swung over the bench to sit herself upwards. "some people are disgusting." spoken to exclude herself from the category. "you're alright, kid." she tossed back. that glint too beaming in her eyes.

"rabbit." grin stretched thin. the expression nearly dimished the former tune of tension once provided by an intruder. margot's mind collected what little she knew of the other woman, and decided they'd been friends. great companions. that dilara would provide warmth that she saw in those scenes. — if not, margot's mood could flip like a switch. "fresh meat. you missed out on the hunt." eyes seemed into dilara's. wondering if the woman had a violent streak. "—and the undressing." smile still remained. "did you ever read...." humming in thought..."peter rabbit?" a snap of her fingers, and phantom was at her side following margot into the kitchen area.

JODIE COMER 76th Annual Tony Awards “Meet The Nominees” Press Event, May 4th 2023

how long. ten years had been a long time trapped in one place. a sigh depleted, sadly, "mm, suppose after the last person who stole my loewe jacket and cut it up into rags for washing dishes." casually spoken when the scene had been gruesome. an irate margot lashing out in such a feral manner — using the very scissors to make cuts in that thief of a person. she'd lured them into the thick of the wood, mauled their body to bits with the craft utensil and then left their disappearance to the fate of the night creatures. "about three years in." seven years ago. there had been other blood on her hand kept silent, treated to her own amusement. nonchalant, margot peeled her jacket off and folded it to the floor. some brand she didn't know. dirty, but warm. "give anything to feel fine silk on me again..." giving it all up, she hadn't really.

But then the appeal of climbing was offered and her urge to climb was back on the table. Eyeing the stump of the tree, she tried to calculate which branch to start on exactly. Dedicated to see who'd murdered the fairy now, she squinted and licked her lips, ''I'm coming to get you!'' Sera made sure of that now as she set foot on the tree and slowly tried to make her way upwards.

amused by the digging sight below, margot giggled. "that two-winged fairy had it coming to her. she's always flying in my face. fairy?" margot huffed. "gnat." swatted away. nothing but dust. though there had been no real fairy, margot had taken care of others in the same sense. a nuisance gone with a violent hand. "ooooo, i am so terrified." eyes rolled over her laughter. the warmth inside her insulated winter coat had kept her comfortable, but the woman loved the pinched icy feeling the season brought to her cheeks. unmoved, she glanced down watching sera's mind crank its gears in the question of how to get up. margot had unspoken faith. perhaps she could wait, still — just when sera would make it to the top, margot could knock her back down. "hey! ever hear the story of jack and jill ?" she shouted below.

"You can have 'em," she finally concedes, tossing the bag to Margot without thinking too much more about it. Were they something worth saving? Would years go by and she'd wish she still had that bag for nostalgia and comfort, or some shit like that? She could only hope not... "Seems like you'll enjoy them more than me, probably." Besides, she couldn't risk being hung upside down by her toes or whatever the fuck it was she'd threatened said.

nevertheless, fingers spread the wrapper further open. a red candy selected and plopped into her mouth. a dramatic whine shrilled up her throat. "mm! god, these are terrible great. take a couple. put them under your pillow, and then in a few years treat yourself." ten years in this hell hole had wiped luxury away. holding the bag out, "trust me."

“Why, you want to drink the blood instead?”

it was considered. a bridge. hiding beneath the arch of the structure just to torment anyone who dared set a foot upon it. using any measures to make sure they didn't cross to the other side. margot silently mused before, "aren't trolls short, and hairy ?" with a cocked brow, the woman folded her arms. still aware of the dripping blood jude licked away at her injury. the cold air couldn't raise the hairs on the back of the blonde's neck, but the crimson could. "when's the last time you had a tetanus shot ?" humor displayed. margot could rest easy on that line. keep her from latching her own mouth to jude's hand. a scene of some rabid vampiric nature. nothing abnormal to the daily actions arcadia provided. "knives aren't toys." tone of a scolding mother inside of an unbothered young adult. "need me to teach you how to properly handle one?" the bottle of alcohol margot held could be smashed against the frozen bench. turned into a sharp weapon good enough for a weapon. sharper than judes perhaps. more sterile. ragged and chaotic as the half-joking woman who bantered. "drink your blood?" primal. decadent.a soothing paradise in the form of what flowed beneath skin. living. fresh. warm from the cold air. margot hummed before breaking out into a forced laughter. "that would be INSANE!" the capitalized word sent her body to sit up. hands on her knees to keep herself steady from jumping the woman. "did you ever cut yourself as a kid ? suck the wound until the blood stopped ?" she did.

"you could stay —" an offer of her tongue. no poison at the tip. the cabins could grow lonesome. while margot enjoyed the solace of isolation... there was such a point where she yearned for a taste of human connection. not from the taunting smiling faces outside of her windows at night. "the one next door is empty. not much too it. just left over junk from the person before. wasn't much of a decorative person, and most has been scavenged." was dilara scared ? a brow cocked, ears perked — margot's mouth twitched pleased that she could almost tell the rhythm of the others heart. "do you like stew, dee?"

Something mortal jostles around them.     In the adjoining corridors,   loud footfall and louder cough,   and in the shared ribs in everyone’s chests.     This thing extends to the unsaid of her nervous shake.     A living thing wound,   redly,   at the base of a tastebud.     How your tongue itches to speak,   and then your nails drag at your thigh,   and then your leg bounces.     Fuzzing outline.     There is too much foreground,   too much of her and not of her shadow.     Eager like yellow in spring’s wake,   after December’s snapped sage green stems.     He stares down at her.     Breathing but only just.     Stolid in such a grief-weak presence.     He eyes her lacing.     It isn’t poor,   adequate,   but it isn’t fully neat.     Skewed in one direction and the next.     Deft for her,   but not for him.     ‘   Right,   ’     he says absently,   right at the precipice of affect.     She will not awaken the depths of him.     Neither the scars knived across his abdomen,   nor his crimson nail-beds.     She is a farrago of the dead and its whet barbs.     He is beyond himself.     Placid and,   thus,   flayed.     Beat-less heart.     Heatless gaze.     He almost sighs.     ‘   What was the knee bouncing for?     You should keep a calm heart.     Slow down.     I won’t tell.   ’     This takes gentler inflection,   coaxing the tributaries of trust from her light to her shadow.     A meat-sweaty hand proffered,   splay-fingered,   to the slender,   curious fawn.     Spotted and toothed.     White and whitened,   furred by brown.     With a soft rasp,   he reciprocates.     ‘   Scout’s honour.   ’

lack of patience. margot wanted to grit the words between her teeth. grind them down in admittance until her mouth was full of white dust. clean of the truth. weak in his eyes. instead, margot stood a little beneath his height with a chest puffed and a tongue withholding. patience thinned with the bouncing knee — but she now stood unflinching. allowing nothing but a grin to stretch across her features. pleasant, but behind hollow pupils vibrated chaotic rage. hungry. they'd not waste it upon each other. "must save our energy for the hunt." if she didn't hold a childish nature, the woman would have set forth out the door. yet, instead, as the strap of her bag slid onto her arm...the other arm lifted and smacked against his own. strong. practically a brick wall. one that margot wanted to chip away at.

hazel hues gave a subtle observation to the clung treat. as if margot was going to ravish tessa brutally for them. she could. smart, margot could pin that at least. a little clumsy, but smart. "mmm," lazy. growing bored — yet the blonde's mouth still watered. "too early in the day for threats. haven't even had breakfast yet." sharing wasn't cancelling out any selfish need. all margot truly wanted was company to keep. company that didn't make her fingers want to wrap around a throat, and squeeze. arcadia had been lonely. more so since her brother had gone into the night.

"wardrobe full of dior. mother always said dior was elegant enough to not age out." lip twitched at the mention of her adopted mother. "timelessly hand crafted. not like chanel. no, chanel was best suited for old women who smelled of baby powder, and let their pomeranians lick off their overload of makeup... versace was gaudy, but dior.... timeless." margot repeated. her mind taken back to a memory she wore the designer clothes, while her hands viciously wrapped around another girls throat for saying some childish insult.

📸: Cass Bird