Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The first time it happened, he hadn't even planned on it. He was still just a small fry trying to make it big in the world of Hollywood. A star-struck kid with way too many dreams and not enough experience to back it up. Still he had a tenacity to him that kept him going no matter how many times he didn't land an audition until he finally got his lucky break. It wasn't much, he hadn't even landed the role he tried out for, but the director had found him good enough to be an understudy for some random background character. The position didn't even guarantee him any screen time. Still it got him into the sets where he could consume everything from the lights to the cameras. He had never felt more at home even as he stood off to the side like an unused prop. His gaze never strayed far from the stage no matter how many takes each scene took. Truthfully, he didn’t even need to be there most days, but no one ever told him to leave so he stayed.

The actor he was the understudy for, David Charles something or another was nice enough. The only thing Vox could really complain about was the fact he was always available when he was needed. His punctuality was Vox's worst enemy, and he found himself wishing from time to time that something would just happen to David. Nothing too serious, mind you, just something that would leave his spot open for Vox to fill. He hadn't meant it- well not really. He had never meant for David's accident to happen; it just sort of happened. Vox had been wandering around the set as usual, just taking in the sights as it were. Maybe he was messing with a few more cables than he should have been- his ma had always said that his curiosity got the best of him at the worst of times. But he didn't do it with any malicious intent, he just wanted to know which cable went where- honest!

Still that didn't stop poor David from later tripping over said cables. Or change the fact that one of the wires had been frayed from years of use and therefore more prone to shocking the hell out of him. When all was said and done, David was a little bit more crispier than before but alive and more importantly no electrical fire started. So, really no harm, no foul. Well except for poor, poor David, but that's why they had Vox! Sure, he felt a bit bad about the whole thing, but not bad enough to tell on himself or not take the role.

So, within the week Vox had officially landed his first role, appearing in the finished film for only about five minutes, but it turned out five minutes was all he needed. He wasn’t a bad actor outside of filming, but when he was actually behind the cameras? He transformed from being a mere actor to a full blown character.

The cameras just loved him.

And so his small debut left the public hungering for more. Suddenly his dreams didn't seem so big anymore as more and more offers were thrown his way. Sure, none of them came with a guaranteed spot but people were now more willing than ever to give him a chance. So, he dove in headfirst, letting his newfound momentum carry him into his next steps. He showed up to as many auditions as humanly possible, and landed his next role right off the bat. Still a background character but with even more screen time, and the ball just kept rolling from there. His face started becoming a familiar sight in Hollywood. Posters and billboards dedicated strictly to his image as his roles became more extensive from background character to side character until he was the main star.

Still it wasn't enough. No role ever satisfied him, he wanted- no, he needed more. More spotlight, more control. He changed course from actor to director. Never producing a movie without him appearing somewhere in it. It gave him everything he wanted. With him now being able to not only act the roles he wanted but to also order everyone else around the set. Critically keeping an eye on everyone and everything to make sure his production went smoothly while stepping on more toes than he could count. He wasn't afraid to reassign cast members or straight up fire someone in the middle of production if he found them lacking.

After all, his brand needed to be perfect.

Something Deborah Hiddleston didn't seem to understand. That dastardly woman had been more trouble than she was worth so naturally Vox had fired her. And of course she hadn’t taken kindly to losing her role as leading lady, but frankly he didn’t give a shit. As far as he was concerned she was a dime a dozen. He never expected to see her again after that. But where he was done with her, she was not. Instead of leaving well enough alone, she took it upon herself to sneak into the studio late at night while no one was around but him.

Clearly something she had accounted for with the way she approached him, murderous intent clear. It was at this point he couldn’t help but realize just how fitting she had been for her role as his femme fatale. Her movements transformed into that of a predator as she kept her gun trained on him. Truly, it was a miracle in a half that he managed to talk her down at all. "You don't really want to do this," was what he said despite them both knowing that she really did.

Still it caused her to hesitate, and in the next moment they were both wrestling for the gun. Deborah scratched and clawed at his face with her free hand while her other hand kept a firm grip on the gun. Only for Vox to twist her arm in an unnatural angle, causing her to drop it a second later. And while she was still distracted from the pain, he flung the gun a safe distance away before wrapping his hands around her neck. Instinctually, she began to claw at him again only this time sinking her nails into his hands, trying to pry them off. Although by then he had already gotten a firm grip and was in no mood to let go. Instead, he continued to apply more and more pressure watching her face slowly turn blue.

Eventually, her movements slowed until they ceased all together, but even then he didn’t let her go. His heart pounding loudly in his ears as the feeling of power and control consumed all rational thought. It was pure euphoria. The feeling was completely sinful. It was better than anything he had felt before.

In that moment, he had never felt so in control and yet so wrong. He knew he should have been horrified, but he couldn’t find an ounce of disgust within him. Barely contained laughter bubbled up in his throat, some of it leaking out before he could smother it. He tried to calm down but more laughter just came up and so he resigned himself to waiting.

He’s not sure how long he waited, how long he was just hovering over the starlet's body, but eventually his mind began to settle. With all the feelings of euphoria leaving him until only cool, calculated consideration was left behind, and without further hesitation he started to methodically clean up any evidence of their struggle. He righted up all equipment that had been knocked down before using a spare rug from the prop room to roll up her body. While the gun was wiped down and against his better judgment he kept it. It could be useful later on. Then, he scoped out his surroundings making sure the coast was completely clear before carrying out the rug to his car. It was a tight squeeze. He hadn't planned to drive home with a dead body tonight. Still he made it work.

At times like these he was just glad he never moved to the center of the city instead choosing to save money by living on the outskirts of budding Hollywood. It made burning her body along with other random junk all that much easier with less of a chance of arousing anyone's suspicion. And by the time he came to work the next day it was like nothing had ever happened. Production ran smoothly just as expected. He almost completely forgot about what he did until one of his stars playfully commented, "Someone must have had a good time last night~”

At the time, he didn't know what they were referring to, but played it off all the same. It wasn't until he saw himself in the mirror did he realize what they meant. His eyes falling on the marks all over his neck. To anyone else it must have looked like he had a particularly rough row in the sheets, but as he traced delicately over the scratches he smiled. They were his own little secret hiding in plain sight. His smile grew even wider as he felt a rush of superiority that came with knowing something no one else knew. In his good mood, he began to whistle a tune, resuming to wash his hands.

Just an average day in Hollywood.

Chapter Text

It had been months since the Deborah Hiddleston incident, Vox had since then finished his femme fatale masterpiece with little to no extra trouble. And when the film had hit the big screens, movie critics and the public alike had eaten it up. Better yet everyone seemed remiss of the starlet’s disappearance.

Actresses fell off the face of the earth all the time after all. Especially after ruining their only real chance at making it big as spectacularly as she had. Still Vox was convinced that any day now the police would be knocking on his door. Until then though he turned his attention to his next work of art.

Production of it was painstakingly slow as he went back and forth on who would play as the film’s protagonist. Originally the script was supposed to follow the narrative of a private investigator. However, as he began to write the script, he found himself more and more drawn in by the idea of constructing this movie from the murder’s perspective instead.

The choice was beyond tempting, but he hesitated to follow through. It just felt like the choice would be too on the nose, too much of an admission of his own wrongdoings. Leaving him feeling antsy but hungry.

But hungry for what exactly?

Hungry for a new script to obsess over? Hungry for the feeling of completion when every line was slowly turned and reworked into something perfect? Or was he hungry for the bittersweet pain of methodically transforming every one of those perfect words into a movie? A movie which would surely be marked as his next biggest hit. Every new one was better than the last, it was all but assured at this point that he would never know the peak of his brilliance. The public adored him as they rightfully should, and the critics were uproariously enthusiastic with every one of his pieces.

So yes, he was of course hungry for more praise and recognition. It was what he deserved, but he knew above all those things he was just hungry for control. The same sickly-sweet feeling of complete control he’d once felt and only once. But could he achieve it through mere imitation? Would it be enough to have a character reenact a similar act of violence on his behalf?

Complete control had evaded him ever since Deborah’s death. The feeling had haunted him throughout the months whether he was asleep or awake. His dreams were filled with holding her down just to watch the light go out of her eyes all over again. The method in which he did this would sometimes change but the outcome always be the same. It didn’t matter if he was simply choking her to death or shooting her with her own gun. The light would go out.

Eventually his dreams even began to further taint themselves into something that should have been his nightmares. Her death became more gruesome as he took to smashing her face in instead. In his dreams, he would repeatedly bash her head into the ground until it inevitably caved in. It was at this point that her face wouldn’t even resemble a human’s anymore, but he still carried on until there was just a mess of red and broken bone.

And yet when he awoke, he didn’t feel an ounce of regret. No matter how ruthless his dreams got, his heart would always betray him. Beating fast with morbid delight.

Still, he lived his waking life as if nothing had happened.

Going through his same routine even as an irreversible sort of change slowly took place inside of him. Where his heart should be, something hollower began to take its place. Like a mini black hole that threatened to swallow up his whole existence, it was a ravenous little thing.

If he didn’t feed it something soon, he would surely go mad.

Although perhaps Vox had already gone mad. With the way he constantly dreamed of murder, it wasn’t a farfetched conclusion to make. The prospect didn’t fill him with any relief as he continued to grapple with his decision. Leading to a worrisome amount of crumpled up paper scattered near his rubbish bin. It became a mountain before he called it quits for the time being. And yet he still didn’t have anything to show for his troubles except for a growing headache.

Sighing deeply, Vox hunched over his desk in temporary defeat while his eyes stared listlessly down at the scratched up surface. His desk had once been in pristine condition but now it was reduced to imperfection due to his bad habit of scratching at it. Even now he absentmindedly dragged his nails down the wood slowly grinding away at the polish. His nails were getting indecently long again. He would need to cut them soon but he kept pushing it off. Some part of him liked the thought of growing them out, but the accusations that would be thrown around if he did wasn’t worth it.

Turning over his hand to keep from further clawing at the wood, he resigned himself to taking a break. He wouldn’t get anything done otherwise. So, he took his dry mouth as an excuse to go fetch himself a glass of water. His feet pushed off the ground, sending his chair gliding across his workroom before he eventually stood up. Stretching his back until there was a series of satisfying cracks leaving him humming in approval as he steps out of the door and then down the hall to the small kitchenette. It was modern for the time but small, suiting him just fine. He wasn’t much of a cook so the room didn’t see much use anyways.

As he rummages around his cabinets he finds a semi-clean glass. It’s a bit dusty from disuse but after a quick rinse it's safe enough to use. Filling it up with tap water, he downs the whole glass. The cool liquid sliding down his throat as his mind begins to wander. Although before it can completely run away from him again, his eyes land on a bottle of vodka perched innocently enough on top of his kitchen shelf.

He decided then and there that liquor was a far better answer to his current predicament than tap water. And a second later he was procuring the bottle before pouring himself a generous amount and throwing it back with little to no hesitation. Unlike the water which soothed his throat, the vodka burned as it went down hitting his stomach with a pleasant warmth. Another glass had his throat perfectly numb to the sting of alcohol while the warmth in his stomach only rose higher.

It was there he cut himself off. He could still write with a nice buzz but getting completely drunk would leave him writing in broken sentences that would be a pain to translate into complete thoughts later on. So, forgoing cleaning up his glass or recapping the bottle he slowly made his way back towards his desk.

Settling back in, he began to write more freely as his inebriated brain didn’t seem to care whether or not writing from the murder’s perspective would be too telling. Words quickly fill up the page and then the next. No doubt it would still need to be revised and refined later on, but finally a plot was beginning to unfold at his fingertips, and before he knew it the outline of his next film was laid bare for his tired eyes to see.

By the next day, he was completely sober again, but unwilling to go back on what he wrote. He found it easier and easier to write from a morally dubious perspective the more he simply wrote and stopped second guessing himself. If no one had found out about Deborah yet then a simple script wasn’t going to give anything away now.

He wrote for weeks, and went through countless revisions before it was ready for a second set of eyes. However, the studio was a bit hesitant to actually start production.

His last film might have had murder in it but the murderer hadn’t been the main character. The female lead had been overshadowed by her love interest who was the ultimate protagonist. A brooding detective with some rememorable one liners who put a stop to his lover’s harrowing string of murders at the cost of his own life. He was an ideal hero, making the film agreeable to the public’s senses of morality.

It was a far cry from what Vox wanted to do this time. Instead of going against the idea of murder, this film was almost a love letter to it. Featuring a protagonist who killed others, for seemingly no reason at all. No where in the story had Vox outright outed their motive behind their killing spree. Instead, he left it purposely open-ended, mainly focusing on what they felt during the act and the thoughts they grappled with in its aftermath. While the victims were seemingly chosen at random. None of them had enough in common to get a solid m.o. which would leave the viewer to come to their own conclusions.

Worst yet the twist was there was no twist. No doubt everyone who read his script had been holding out for some type of turning point. A point in the story where all would be revealed so that the protagonist would have some moral ground to stand on. Transforming him into something the audience could relate to only for them to be disappointed each time he simply continued to kill without a clear motive.

The killer didn’t even find their rightful end by the last line; they were still breathing and nameless. Letting the idea fester that some morally reprehensible man could still be out there while his undeserving victims were left to rot in the ambiguity of their killer. There was no happy ending, which left the studio dubious over how well the public would respond to it. Besides that there were debates over whether it was morally responsible to even produce such a film. No one wanted to be accused of glamorizing murder especially not so soon after World War II.

The country was still recovering from it and craved an escape. This story didn’t provide that. His film was put on hold much to his displeasure, but not outright thrown out. Still Vox itched to push back on the verdict, but even with the power he did have he knew throwing his weight around wouldn’t turn things in his favor here. So with a sharply executed smile he left the board to discuss their decision on their own time.

In the meantime, he needed a smoke. Out in the hallway he attempted to light up a cigarette with his overused lighter barely spitting out sparks. With mounting frustration he kept on trying to flick it with the same results until the sound of another lighter igniting to his left caught him by surprise. David Charles stood in all his glory, smiling at him as he wordlessly offered to light his cigarette.

Lowering his own lighter in defeat, Vox kept his lips wrapped around the cancer stick before leaning in towards him until the tip started to burn away. Politely pulling back, he inhales the familiar bitterness of tabaco, and exhales in the same breath with a relieved sigh. “Thanks.” Sometimes he forgot David was even still around. Despite Vox taking one of his roles away from him all those years ago, as soon as David was all cleared he stepped right back into the world of acting. He was resilient and if Vox remembered correctly he was still doing quite well for himself as an actor.

David shrugged off his thanks with the same easy flourish he always held and dove straight into idle chatter. “Word from the bird tells me, you’ve got a new movie in the works already.” His tone gives away his curiosity, leaving Vox to scrutinize him for a moment.

He wasn’t inclined to let more people know about his movie than necessary, even if David was nice, he was still an actor in Hollywood. He was paid to put up a front, making it hard to know if he was actually trustworthy. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had talked to him in hopes of ripping off of his ideas either.

His mouth tilts into a crooked grin all the same as he bitterly pulls out the cigarette blowing out another puff of smoke. “Not much of a movie yet I’m afraid. The script hasn’t even passed approval.” He rolls his mismatched eyes in agitation, taking another drag of his cigarette as he watches the other with half-lidded eyes.

“Say now I’m really intrigued. What could possibly get the board in such a tizzy they’re denying their ginchiest producer his next movie.” David’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he prodded once more earning him eye roll from Vox.

Momentarily forgetting all about his apprehension in the face of his rising annoyance, he corrects the actor with an even tone. “They haven’t denied me anything. I’m still the bees knees according to them. They just need some time to come around.” He ends up crossing his arms after that, being careful to keep cigarette ash off of his suit.

David didn’t seem to quite believe him but politely agreed with him anyways. “Sure and then you’ll have another movie made in the shade.” His statement sounds more like a question by the end of it. The uncertainty of his tone only further aggravates Vox’s mood, but he keeps a handle on his anger.

And as if the other senses his worsening mood, he’s quick to get on with what he really wanted to say. “Say when you do get the shiny stamp of approval from the big bosses, it would really razz my berries if I could have a role in your next movie. For old times sakes ya know?” He had the bare decency to look sheepish even as he smiled throughout his request.

Vox could feel his left eye twitch at the other’s moxie, almost wanting to do something to snuff it out. His hands tremble, half tempted to wrap them around his neck, but as his pointer finger slides along the smooth surface of his cigarette he reels himself in. “C’mon you know I don’t play favorites like that. You’ll have to audition like the rest.” He forces out a good natured chuckle at the end before taking one last drag of his cigarette. The smoke soothes his wounded pride as he relishes in the last exhale of it, crushing the remaining bud underneath his heel with more force than strictly necessary.

David instantly seems to deflate, but the clyde acts as if he doesn’t mind the flat out rejection. “Ah well feel free to give me a bell if you change your mind or just want to catch up.” Vox has half a mind to openly scoff at his offer, knowing they didn’t have anything to catch up on. Neither of them were particularly close; they just had worked on the same movie once.

Still he saves face by letting out a noncommittal grunt instead. Promptly ending the conversation and forcing the other man to leave first. “Later, gator,” he awkwardly bids him adieu.

While Vox leaves the ‘After a while, crocodile,’ left unsaid, unwilling to play a part in this farce of a conversation any longer. He was glad to be rid of bad company in favor of none at all as he continued to wait on the board’s final verdict.

An hour later the doors to the meeting room finally opened as one by one the members flocked off for lunch. It’s only towards the end of the stream of people does one of them approach him. “Unfortunately, we simply need more time to discuss the content of your film, Mr. Vox.” The old coot’s voice remains monotone throughout, making his words fall flat. His words don’t appease Vox at all and only serve to further irritate him. His left eye twitches before he can stop himself.

Still the older man continues on as if nothing happened. “Although I would advise you to look into alternative ideas for your next film.” Vox has to forcefully contort his expression into something friendly while resisting the urge to swipe at the hand that pats at his shoulder. He registers the action as condescending rather than comforting, and immediately feels his insides bristle in outrage. He was a grown man. He didn't need to be comforted like a child. Still he simply smiles and thanks the man all the same with a firm handshake, and then he watches the other leave without another word, following after the rest of his associates leaving Vox behind.

His smile doesn’t drop until the moment the other rounds the corner. Then, it’s an instant change as his grin twists into a snarl. His eyes narrowed in contempt for the man and the rest of the board. They had no right to deny him his movie. They were simply blind to what he was offering him. His idea was innovative and would no doubt shock the public as much as ensnare them. He was sure of it now if only those buffoons could realize that too.

Curling his hands into tight fists at his side, he calms his breathing which had sped up sometime before into something steadier. He takes a few deep breaths in and then out. Throughout the breathing exercise he works to slowly relax his hands as he begins to make his way out of the building. He could be patient. It was only a matter of time before they saw things from his perspective and in the meantime he would perfect his script. Work was always a good distraction. Hopefully, it would be enough to distract him from his problems with the board and Deborah’s lifeless eyes.