#and i try to memorize the sound of the key turning in the keyhole as if video record isn't enough

[zevrans-remade]

.

[cherrybombusa]

GROUP THREE  - THE CAROUSEL. FAILED.

PLAYERS:

THE HEARTBREAK KID - Casey Russell. THE ARTIST - Sloane Salt. THE CLASSIC - Libby Logan.

EARNED PERKS:

- PUZZLERS: Talk about minds of freakin’ steel! As the only group to solve the puzzle in ONE guess, Casey Russell, and Sloane Salt have both earned themselves a chance to go back and fix it! If a choice happens to go wrong for them in a future event, they will be allowed ONE do-over. Use it wisely! 

MEMORABLE MOMENTS:

- Casey fell on his face, and cost the group a time penalty on his run back from the Ferris Wheel. - The Gang only used one try in their puzzle, and succeeded!  - Sloane dropped the second key, and failed to disarm the Candy Girl’s bomb. The carousel was destroyed in the blast.  - As the one who dropped the key, Sloane was blamed for the destruction of the carousel, and arrested. On the bright side, she saved Libby and Casey from spending a night in jail... But this will come back to bite them all in-game.

When it was put there, he doesn’t know, but the note should be enough to make Casey’s heart skip. There, in the case of his instrument is a folded piece of paper. On its surface? A threat. “COME TO THE NEW CAROUSEL AT 7:30PM SHARP, OR YOUR SECRET IS MINE TO SPILL!” @caseyfm

When it was put there, she doesn’t know, but the note should be enough to make Sloane’s heart skip. There, hidden within her deck of tarot cards is a folded piece of paper. On its surface? A threat. “COME TO THE NEW CAROUSEL AT 7:30PM SHARP, OR YOUR SECRET IS MINE TO SPILL!” @saltofthcearth

When it was put there, she doesn’t know, but the note should be enough to make Libby’s heart skip. There, in her ride locker, is a folded piece of paper. On its surface? A threat. “COME TO THE NEW CAROUSEL AT 7:30PM SHARP, OR YOUR SECRET IS MINE TO SPILL!” @hellolibby​ 

THE NARRATOR: Reunions were supposed to be pleasant occasions, weren’t they? They were supposed to bring feelings of joy, and nostalgia; you were supposed to forget the awkward haze that had plagued your years of high school, and… pretend like the good old days were actually just that. Good. Absence did make the heart grow fonder and all that, didn’t it? 

Though, maybe it’s silly to wonder why this little reunion might not be so pleasant. The three of them - Casey, Libby, and Sloane - all walk up to the Carousel at the same time. They all meet each other’s eyes, and though nobody says it, everyone hears the same thought in their head. ‘Fuck.’

LIBBY: "So..." Libby's voice wavers dangerously - her hands shake, cast and all - but somehow she fights every urge she has within herself to run the other direction before chaos can unravel itself all around them. If the Candy Girl wanted them all here, then she doubted running away would be of much use. They were all trapped in Cherry… But this time, it wasn’t ‘small town syndrome’ keeping them back. "Probably safe to assume running into each other here isn't just a coincidence, right?"

SLOANE: There was an urge to reach out to the both of them and pull them in close that Sloane resisted, looking between Libby and Casey. So much for a lull in this Candy Girl's machinations, it seems a week was enough for her to plan something more. She swallowed thickly and then shook her head, folding her arms over her chest nervously. "Well, obviously I wouldn't be here if I didn't need to be." She motioned towards the Carousel. Talk about betraying her cause.

CASEY: Casey follows Sloane's gesture to the carousel. How did wooden horses somehow seem so menacing at night? It was thirty minutes before Mystic Cherry were due to perform and instead he was here about to do...? The sinking feeling in his gut tells him that this is going to lead to no good. "Yeah, this definitely isn't my idea of a warm up before a gig..." he mumbles, before his gaze falls on them both.

THE NARRATOR: There’s no clock to strike the time - nothing to let them know that 7:30-sharp has approached but the faint sound of Dean Hargrove’s voice in the distance is enough to let them know. They're all watching each other, but they can't help but flinch at the intrusion of the sound... And then, yet again ,when Hargrove is cut off by a voice that none of them quite recognize. They’re too far away to hear what the commotion is about, but somehow they know… Their night just took a turn for the worse.

It would have been impressive timing if it weren’t so fucking frightening, but at just that moment, their very own issue of the Cherry Bomb is dropped from the roof of the carousel, and onto it’s platform - near one of the old horses that looked a little too off-it’s-rocker. It’s clearly meant for them… It has to be. The only problem? The Gang is stuck, woefully, behind a locked fence.

There are a few ways to get to it, at least. They could always take their chances climbing the fence  to get inside of the Carousel; it doesn’t look that high.

Casey knows the guys who work here… They’re always leaving things lying around. Maybe it might be best to look around for a lanyard someone might have dropped.

 Then again, Libby has been treating the Boardwalk like a second home since she was just a kid, and she says there’s always another way in�� Maybe they look for a hole in the fence?

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU MUST RETRIEVE THE CHERRY BOMB. DO YOU CLIMB THE GATE [SURVIVOR], LOOK FOR A LANYARD [PROBLEM SOLVING], OR LOOK FOR A HOLE IN THE FENCE [PERCEPTION]?

LIBBY:  "Come on, guys, Casey's right. What are the odds that someone didn't drop their key? It's the boardwalk." It's easy to tell when Libby is determined to get something done. For the first time that day, she ties her hair up in a high ponytail - she crinkles her nose as she scans the area. She probably looked a little too much like a 60’s witch from her favorite sick day show - but, she can’t help herself. Libby always felt a little smarter when she was acting like somebody else. "Sloane - you look over by the hot dog cart. Case, you should probably take the space behind the ride, and I'll... Look everywhere else. I guess.

THE NARRATOR: It’s really a wonder the boardwalk even stays open, considering how careless some of the employees can be, but after a few minutes of searching for a stray key, our little slice of the gang finds their hands on one. They unlock the gate with ease and all pile in toward the Carousel; eager to get their hands on that ominous little magazine.

The cover of the Cherry Bomb is collaged with photos of Lux, the inside? Crime scene photos. There’s no pictures of her body, of course - that would be crude, even for the Candy Girl… kind of. But images of the blood soaked into her carpet; still pictures of her bedroom, flaunting a life once lived, those are there. A shot of her suicide note, ‘I’m sorry, I love you,’ and all.

And right there, in the middle of the spread, like a centerfold? A note, written in Sharpie - just for our ragtag little slice of the gang.

CANDY GIRL: GET OUT,,, GET OUT, WHEREVER YOU’RE LOCKED!!!! NOT A FAN OF SMALL SPACES?? I’LL STICK YOU IN A BOX. SOMEONE IS MISSING, BUT I WON’T SAY WHO… FIND THE KEY, AND FIND OUT WHO.

BUT WATCH OUT, WATCH OUT! YOU’RE ON THE CLOCK! LET IT RUN OUT, AND THEY’LL STAY IN THE BOX. WILL THE TIDE COME IN? HMM, MAYBE IT WON’T. OR BETTER YET? MAYBE YOUR FRIENDS WILL FLOAT.

YOU’RE NOT LOCKED IN, BUT IT’S STILL ON YOU! FIND THE KEY, OR THIS FRIEND DIES TOO.

THE NARRATOR:  Oh...my. Now, that’s quite the predicament, isn’t it? I suppose we’re at least lucky that the Candy Girl leaves the rules simple, right? Find a key, and maybe she doesn’t kill one of your friends. Maybe.

MAKE A CHOICE: ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED AND LOCKED AWAY IN A BOX. YOU MUST FIND THE KEY TO SAVE THEM. DO YOU LOOK FOR CLUES [PROBLEM SOLVING], OR SEARCH FOR A KEY WILDLY [LUCK - HIGH RISK, HIGH REWARD]?

SLOANE:  Despite the rising heart rate that Sloane is sporting after looking through that shiny new issue of the Cherry Bomb and the revelation of this new note, she's standing tall, directing the other two. "Divide and conquer, like before. There have gotta be clues around here somewhere... she dropped this from the roof, maybe there's something else." Sloane's boots carry her around the perimeter of the Carousel as she searches for something, anything to give an indication of who is in the box and a way to find this damn key.

THE NARRATOR:  Look for clues. Good idea, Sloane! They split up, but maybe it's better that way.

Libby  stays focused on the sharpie scribbled riddle in the ‘zine while the other two search the operator’s booth up and down for something useful. Not so useful, but strange enough to take note of? A cherry red briefcase, shoved into one of the dusty, storage lockers. Not only that… but maybe there’s actually more to the note than they thought.

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU MUST FIGURE OUT THE PUZZLE. ADMIN EM IS HERE TO HELP, BUT MAYBE TRY THE WELCOME DESK TO START.

SLOANE: With shaky hands, Sloane reaches for the briefcase, after staring at the damn riddle for what felt like so long the words had ceased to make sense. She input their first attempt at cracking the code: 3142.

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS!

THE NARRATOR: With the numbers all in the correct order, the briefcase pops open rather easily. They find a key, but along with it, our little gang sees a mess of wires, something that looks like a keyhole, a clock ticking down…. And a note.

CANDY GIRL:  ANOTHER SURPRISE  - AND THIS WILL BE FUN - I GOTTA GO, I GOTTA RUN! BUT BEFORE I DO, I PLANTED A BOMB! AND IT WILL BLOW UP WHEN THE TIMER SAYS ONE!  SO, FIND A NEW KEY, TRY OUT THE LOCK! SEE IF YOU CAN DISARM IT -  BEAT THE CLOCK! BUT IF YOU DON’T - AND YOU DON’T GO BOOM -  THEN ENJOY THE INTERROGATION ROOM!

WHERE TO FIND THE KEY? THAT’S A DIFFERENT STORY. I’M TALL, AND I’M ROUND, AND I’M SLOW, AND I’M BORING! I’M FAR AWAY, SO YOU’LL HAVE TO SPRINT, BUT IF YOU’RE RIGHT, YOU WON’T TAKE THE HIT. YOUR SECOND OPTION? MERRY GO ROUND! CLIMB ALL THE WAY UP! OR SOMEONE WILL DROWN. THE KEY COULD BE THERE, THE KEY COULD BE NOT… OH, WELL, FIND OUT! OR MAYBE YOU’LL ROT.

THE NARRATOR: Well, the threat is clear. They must solve the riddle, get the second key, and disarm the bomb before the timer runs out… if they don’t, the whole thing might be coming down. And they might just go down with it.

CASEY:  A bomb. They were now dealing with a bomb. The words barely have a chance to register in his mind before they're all scrambling to work out what the words on the paper mean and how to save their friend. With his heart still in his mouth, it barely feels like it has a moment to settle before he's spluttering out, "it has to be the ferris wheel, right?" Looking at both of his friends for their sign of agreement.

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU HAVE DECIDED TO GO TO THE FERRIS WHEEL. NOW YOU MUST DECIDE WHO SPRINTS THERE BEFORE THE TIMER RUNS OUT. [STRENGTH, FIGHTER, BRAVERY.]

CASEY: With the agreement of his friends - he's bolting off. Barely a thought running through his head other than the knowledge that he has to get to the ferris wheel before the timer ticks down to zero. Their friendship circle has suffered enough with Lux's death without adding in a casualty at the hands of Candy Girl. Scrambled together with the thought that he's lost enough family over the years, too. So, it's sheer brute force that gets him through the sprint, running like his own life depends on it because... well... it kinda does. With the ferris wheel in sight, he hopes he will make it in time.

THE NARRATOR: Heart racing, chest aching; adrenaline pulsing through his veins, but somehow  he finds the key hanging from the Ferris’ Wheel’s gate like a prize less than two minutes later. With that in his hands, he just has to sprint all the way back to the carousel to save his friends. 

It should be just as easy - it has to be - but maybe the pressure of getting back in time is getting to his head, because on the way back… Casey stumbles. It’s not it’s the wipeout of the century, but it certainly shaves some time off of that fucking timer in the briefcase. Not to mention some skin off of his face -- and is that blood dripping down his collar? Fuck. 

MAKE A CHOICE:  MODERATE SUCCESS. THE GANG HAS SUFFERED A TIME PENALTY DUE TO CASEY’S STUMBLE.

THE NARRATOR: They  have the key, and now they just have to disarm that fucking bomb. It seems simple enough… But it would probably be better if whoever did it was calm. Or good at problem solving. Or just… Really, really, really good at surviving bleak situations. Any takers?

MAKE A CHOICE: SOMEONE HAS TO DISARM THE BOMB [CALM, PROBLEM-SOLVING, SURVIVOR.]

SLOANE: Sloane has dealt with many a crisis, but none so bad as this one, when lives are on the line and there's a god damn bomb in a briefcase like they're in a cheesy 80s action flick. Taking a deep breath, she takes the key from Casey, worried eyes having to fight to not focus in on his injury. They don't have time. They have to do this. "I can do it." She assures them both, steadying her hands and clenching her jaw as she lifts the key towards the keyhole steadily. "Fuck it." She mutters as she tries the one they've retrieved.

THE NARRATOR:  Holy shit. Holy shit.

THE NARRATOR: I can believe this one is really happening.

THE NARRATOR: The three of them held their breath - Casey and Libby watched while Sloane went for the lock with only 30 seconds left on the timer… only to drop it.

It was the fumble of the century - the sound of the key falling into the hidden mechanisms of the carousel like a taunt - and as the clock counted down, they knew they only had one choice… 

The three of them took off running as hard as they could - their lives depended on it, after all - and though it was a mighty effort, they didn’t make it far enough not to be blown off of their feet. They all land in a pile together; beaten, broken… And absolutely fucked when only minutes later, the Boardwalk Police come running.

They expect for handcuffs to be thrown onto the three of them, but as Dean Hargrove comes running up behind them, he instructs them only to arrest Sloane.

He had known Casey and Libby since they were both kids, after all. They were his son’s best friends. How was he supposed to believe that they had something to do with this over the Salt girl? Libby and Casey try to protest, but it’s no use. Sloane is going with them to the police station, and… that’s that.

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU HAVE FAILED YOUR EVENT, BUT AT LEAST YOU FOUND THE FIRST KEY. YOUR FRIEND HAS A CHANCE.

[thesouthernpansy]

sacred geometry (5/?)

stanford pines/bill cipher

ford arrived at backupsmore university ready to put his head down and get lost in his classwork. his new roommate seemed to have come prepared to haul him back out, again.

that, and eat uncooked blocks of ramen.

somehow, that isn’t even the weirdest thing happening on campus, and the prospect of strange new mysteries and stranger new friends has ford feeling almost glad to be here.

it’s a college au, let’s crack some books

(here on ao3)

Observable time seems to contract around Ford through the course of his cursory morning routine, the necessary human inanities stretching out dim and red and slow like light on the lip of a black hole. Ford's thoughts spaghettify desperately around it, spinning away into stringy, unrecognizable particulate. He scratches shampoo into his scalp and tries to let that speak louder than the event horizon of the buzzing in his ears.

In the end, somehow, Ford still makes it to his first class of the day with seconds to spare. Fiddleford has a seat saved for him, but there isn't time to give him more than a grateful nod before the professor arrives.

“Late night?” Fiddleford asks under his breath, brows raised. There's a very specific innocence to his tone that gets Ford's hackles up immediately.

“I overslept,” he snaps in response, neither confirming nor denying Fiddleford's insinuations, which goes unnoticed by neither of them.

Fiddleford makes a little noise of assent, like he understands, and lets the matter drop.

Thankfully, even afterwards he has no opportunity to grill Ford on his assumptions. His next class is one clear across campus that he always rather literally needs to run to, some elective he's been cagey about since the beginning of the semester, and it isn't that Ford doesn't want to know what it is, but every time it comes up he gets the impression that Fiddleford wouldn't actually tell him even if he did ask, which puts a cold unexpected damper on his curiosity. The weight of the mutual unspoken hangs over their parting like guilt.

Ford doesn't have time for that; he has Intermediate Newtonian Mechanics in twenty minutes. It's Obscure Linear Algebra after that, then a meeting with Professor Neilson, then a sprint back to his dorm room to retrieve supplies for the tutoring session he'd forgotten about promising to one of last semester's TAs. All the while Ford feels out-of-focus, like he's watching himself through a pair of cloudy poorly-cut lenses. Professor Neilson suggests he cut back a little on his independent studies and get some more sleep; the TA asks if he's “hungover or something”. Ford tries and fails and tries again not to think about the circumstances of his morning, his patience and concentration hapless casualties in the fruitless mental crossfire that ensues.

By the time he makes it to Warbleheim, Ford is nursing an oppressive headache and half a dozen very credible reasons why he has to bow out of the evening's plans. Bill is already out front, mid-conversation with two figures that Ford doesn't recognize. He looks over as Ford approaches, the flat line of his mouth deepening for just a flash before it breaks open into a grin.

“Well, well, well, speak of what the cat dragged in! That punctuality of yours is no joke, huh, Fordsy?”

“Did I come at a bad time?” Ford notes now the tension he's walked into, the hunched, scolded postures of Bill's friends.

“You came exactly when you were supposed to,” says Bill tightly. “We're the ones running long here, right, guys?”

Bill's friends nod sheepishly, glancing between themselves and back to Bill again.

“Sorry,” says one of them finally, knuckling the side of what sounds like a very congested nose. He's bowlegged and stocky and somehow gives off the impression of having an underbite and overbite at the same time. The other stoops over him anxiously with his hands pressed together, broad boney face marred by a grimace and a large port-wine birthmark on an even larger forehead.

“Sorry doesn't help us, does it, Teeth?” asks Bill pleasantly. Not waiting for an answer, he turns to take Ford's arm and pull him closer. “Fordsy, these party animals are Teeth and Keyhole; boys, say hi to my good friend Stanford Pines.”

The two muster a meek “Hi” in obedient response.

“It's, uh, a pleasure to meet you,” says Ford, feeling awkward.

“We've heard a lot about you,” says Teeth gamely.

“Oh? I, uh,” says Ford lamely, because what comes immediately to mind is “I haven't heard anything about you,” and even he can tell that sounds hostile, gloating and jealous and by all accounts wholly uncalled for. The urge is still there, though, worsening as Keyhole looks him up and down like he's a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

“I still think you should take one of us with you.” Keyhole jabs his chin in Bill's direction, stuffs his fists down into the front pockets of his hooded sweatshirt.

Bill leans forward to pat Keyhole firmly on the cheek, teeth bared. “Buck up, there, buddy! Jealousy's ugly, and you don't need any help on that front.”

From this angle all Ford can see of Bill's face is the taut set of his jaw. Keyhole looks up at him miserably, for all their being at a relative height with one another. Bill cocks his head to one side, holds out his hand, and waits.

Reluctantly, Keyhole pulls one fist out of his pocket and opens it. A soft clink, and a cluttered ring of keys plunks into Bill's waiting palm.

“Ha! That wasn't so hard, now, was it? You'd think I was asking for your bones or something, jeez.” Bill gives the keys an enthusiastic jingle in his friends' direction. “All right, boys, you scamper on home, now, Fordsy and I will take it from here.”

Teeth sticks an elbow in Keyhole's side, and the two exchange a glance. After a beat, Keyhole shrugs and shakes his head.

“Sure, see you later, Bill.”

“Good luck,” Teeth adds.

“Luck is for suckers!” replies Bill brightly.

“It was nice to meet you,” says Ford.

Before either of them can respond, Bill leans into the space between them, tugs at Ford's tie. “You'll meet again, IQ, time's a ticking!”

Ford gives a final wave and follows where Bill leads.

They end up at the back entrance by the concert hall's loading dock. Humming, Bill flips through his newly acquired keys to one that's been marked with a piece of gaffer's tape; the lock clicks in compliance, and the door opens into the dark maze of Warbleheim's backstage. Stacked risers and scrap plywood rest along the far wall by the stage manager's desk, itself cluttered with the nubs of old pencils and playbills weighted down by a bulky black plastic headset. Around them loom the ceiling-high cages protecting the valuable AV and recording equipment the hall lends out across campus, microphones and reel-to-reels and plastic-wrapped wheels of tape, video cameras and thick snakes of cable and the treacherous, loose-wheeled carts meant to transport the lot, somehow, safe and whole to its destination.

For how alien it seems in the quiet dark, Ford isn't unfamiliar with the space; Fiddleford puts a little extra in his pockets every now and then on the back of Backupsmore's collection of outdated tech, and Warbleheim's lighting systems in particular are reliable only in their schedulistic breakdowns. Ford has tagged along on a few of Fiddleford's trips to repair the deteriorating rigs, and even come out here in his friend's stead, once or twice. Last time it had been during a piano major's midterm presentation, which had been cut short by an implosion in the balcony speaker system. No one had bothered questioning his identity when he showed up, and Ford had spent the afternoon crouched overhead while the performance resumed. Even if the music hadn't been terribly memorable, Ford had found himself impressed by the instrument itself, an unexpectedly beautiful black baby grand that Warbleheim's bored-looking techs had swaddled in a padded covering and wheeled away immediately afterwards.

Is that why they're here? Why Bill had wanted to make sure they came alone? Maybe if you're good I'll play for you sometime, he remembers with a rush of heat. Ford thinks of the two of them out on the stage or tucked into a cramped storage room, shoulder to shoulder on a single piano bench, Bill's fingers on the keys, on Ford's wrist, under the sleeve—

“I know what you're thinking,” Bill says, and Ford's throat clamps shut.

“You do?”

“Mm-hmm!” Bill stoops to rustle though a battered cardboard box, pulling out a single light-bulb, which he waves in Ford's direction. It tinkles lightly, clearly blown out. “And you're right, Fordsy, why would I bring you all this way just for a game of chess?”

“Atmosphere?” suggests Ford, trying not to think about it.

Bill smirks, glancing sideways at Ford in a way that...doesn't help.

“'Atmosphere', he says. Joke away, you're gonna need that sense of humor in a second cos oh boy, do I have some devastating news for you. You ready?”

“What are you talking about?” Dread and curiosity rise in equal measure at the back of Ford's throat.

By now their route has brought them to another locked door, heavy-looking metal with a faded plaque bolted to it.

No Admittance Beyond This Point – Authorized Employees Only

Bill grins. “We,” he says, swiftly unlocking the door and pushing it open to an unlit stairwell. “aren't here to play chess.”

Ford hesitates. “What are we here to do?”

Bill tugs his jacket sleeve, reeling him onward. “C'mon, trust me!”

The stairs go down into a series of dim concrete tunnels below the concert hall. Thin rusted pipes run the length of the walls, hissing steam at their joints. Every now and then they pass rooms that appear to be intended for maintenance or long-term storage; the massive grey cylinders and copper pipes of Warbleheim's boiler system, thick stonelike slabs of block insulation, tangled heaps of music stands, the gutted carcass of an old spotlight. Eventually the rooms become rarer, their contents stranger; huge panes of leaded stained glass, shelves lined with jars of murky yellowish liquid, torn slips of paper that upon closer inspection turn out to be playing cards, just the joker, taken from hundreds of different decks of various shapes, colors, and languages. Before them the tunnels stretch on, but Ford is convinced he and Bill must be well past the footprint of the building they'd started in by now.

“What is all this?” he asks finally. “How far do these tunnels go?”

“Farther than you'd think,” replies Bill.

“Do they go across campus? Is this, do they connect to other buildings?”

“Two other buildings,” confirms Bill meaningfully, jangling the light-bulb he's still carrying for emphasis.

Understanding hits Ford square in the chest. “Beta Delta Theta and the financial aid office.”

“And that's a bingo for the man in the front row!”

“You found, I, this is incredible, do the tunnels follow the exact trajectory of the ley lines?” The confirmation sings through his veins, he has to—he needs his journal, where's his map? “Does this mean the founders of Backupsmore knew about them when this place was built? Or, the walls changed from concrete to stone three turns back, did you see that? Were parts of the tunnels were already here? Were the founders somehow influenced by the energy in the area to build here?” He shakes out the map, scrawls several quick notes in his journal's key.

Bill laughs. “Slow down, IQ, you're gonna pull something in that big brain of yours.”

The momentum of Ford's joyful excitement all but deafens him to the statement. “How many times have you been down here? How much have you explored? Would you describe anything you've seen as 'illustratively unusual'?”

“You really are a force of nature, huh, Fordsy. Let's see!” Bill ticks off on his fingers, “Twice, not including today, as much as I could get into, and I'm trying to show you.”

“As much as you could get to, are there parts of the tunnels that are inaccessible? Are they blocked off, or collapsed? Have you, wait.” Bill's words finally sink in, and Ford pauses. “Trying to show me what?”

“What we're here to do.” The duh is unspoken. “And we're close, now.”

Ford stands slowly, gathering his papers, unable to take his eyes off Bill. He thinks, with an abrupt, exhilarated sort of acceptance, that he wants nothing more right now than to hold Bill's hand and run.

“Okay,” he says.

They go.

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (10/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : Graphic descriptions of violence, Viewer discretion is advised (short paragraph)

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 10/? (2730 words)

Author’s notes : Beware ! A Dracula-less chapter (-ish) ! I promise, he’ll be back soon, he really wants to go to that Renaissance fair... (Also yay, part 10 !)

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Mary Van Helsing.

I asked Leah if she hadn't made a mistake. She almost took offense. I sat back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. What ? How ? Van Helsing ? I mean, that could just be a freaky, freaky coincidence. I laughed nervously to myself.

“Hah, you gotta admit that's funny the Van Helsing kid wants to study the Balkanic middle ages”, Leah laughed. Ditto.

Seeing as I didn't reply, she asked if I felt alright. I took a deep breath.

“Leah, there's something I need to tell you.”

“Yeah, of course, what's- Oh, fuck.”

She turned back to her laptop, and started frantically typing, cursing under her breath as she did.

“Someone got my position. Jeez, whoever those guys are, they really don't want anyone finding out they exist !”

“What do you mean ?”

“I mean there's a very good chance we will have an unpleasant visit pretty soon.”

She sounded nervous, which was a strange color on her. She activated an emergency shutdown, and closed her computer, taking a moment sitting still, eyes staring into the void. She then stood up decidedly.

“We don't know who it was, could be nothing”, I tried to reassure her.

“Yeah well, not to boast or anything, but if they got through my defenses, I really don't wanna know. Listen, let's just crash at my place, there's a chance they pinged on the VPN and actually here.”

She was so determined, I didn't even think to contradict her. She left her laptop there, only taking her bike helmet. I grabbed my bag, and followed her out of my office. Even though she was tiny, I had trouble keeping up with her fast paces. As we sped through the corridors, I caught a glimpse of dirty hazelnut hair, and grabbed Leah's arm to take a hard right into another hallway. Felt like running into Helder right now wouldn't be the best turn of events. Plus, I was supposed to give a class he was attending, so, that.

“Thinking back exit ?”

“What else ?”

We kept half-jogging to the end of the corridor, turning a few curious heads on the way, pushed on a service door, and slipped outside. The sun blinded me a second, as we made our way to the parking lot. Leah dug her keys out of her pockets, and unlocked the pad on her motorcycle, cursing a few more times every time she ripped around the keyhole. She turned to give me her helmet, and stopped halfway, wincing. Ah.

“Eris Cetero and Leah Fox. I'm going to need you to come with us.”

A very sharply dressed woman was standing a few paces away, icy stare and tightly pulled dark hair. She looked composed, unyielding, and was flanked on both sides by two men built like wardrobes, poorly dissimulating a handgun under their suit jackets. Not the kind of person to try to run away from, then.

“Listen, we didn't mean any harm. We could all just forget it.”

Sometimes, her bluntness had some perks. She had moved over in front of me, her hand grasping mine.

“You are not in trouble. At least not with us”, the woman continued. “We thought we would wait more, but you forced our hand.”

“We have no idea what you're talking about”, Leah kept going, still on the defensive.

I said nothing, trying to keep a straight face.

“My name is Mary Van Helsing. I work in the Murray Institute for the Neutralization of Abnormalities. We have a lot to discuss, especially with you, Miss Cetero.”

Ah shit. Let's think about this rationally. There was no way I could escape that situation. I also didn't want Leah to get in trouble, and I started to see she was about to keep on going if I didn't do anything. I took a deep breath, which had her stop.

“Alright. We have crossed a line digging into things we shouldn't have. You are entitled to some explanations, and if you feel like this can't be done in a parking lot, so be it. Lead the way”, I declared, trying to be as calm and composed as I could.

I was met by a look of disbelief on Leah's face, and an emotionless nod from Mary, who turned on her heels without a word. Can't believe my incredible charm hadn't worked on her yet. Leah's hand softened, and I took a hold of it as we walked to the intimidating sedan waiting for us.

~ ~ ~

The ride took a bit longer than I thought. From the moment Leah started going deeper in her search, and the moment they arrived, it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, and yet, it took well over half an hour to get to our destination. Maybe they were already close, and we just got unlucky. Seemed about right.

We remained silent the whole car ride. You couldn't have hacked through the tension using a damn chainsaw, at this point. Leah and I held hands, so tight I saw her knuckles going white. She was shaking a little, and I hated myself for putting her through this. If only I weren't a nosy fucking idiot.

We arrived to a decrepit-looking building, most likely turn of the 19th century architecture. Above the entrance, the stone looked like it had been engraved, a while ago, but the script was almost completely worn out. Inside, the emptiness gave an echo to every step, the ground overrun with cables coming from other parts of the house. We kept on going straight forward, went down a slope, and arrived to a huge freight elevator. It made a shrieking noise as it went down for a while, so deep we might as well have gone straight down to hell. If you believe in that sort of thing.

The elevator shook as it stopped, opening on a surprisingly high-tech complex.

“Ladies, welcome to M.I.N.A.”, Mary told us as we stepped off.

The first room was a large hall, open on two more stories, visible through balconies, on which were plastered neon lights. In neatly aligned cubicles, employees worked on god knows what, piles of paper cluttering all desks, the intermittent sound of phones and the indistinct chatter of radio making the noise almost unbearable. Mary kept on walking, some people greeting her as she passed them, and giving Leah and I the strangest looks. Ooh, boy. That was about to be fun.

She opened large fire-breaking doors, and we went on a corridor, making a few turns. As I had learned by now, I memorized the turns. Right, left at the weird plant, another left at the water fountain. She opened a door for us, leaving us to enter before her. That looked awfully like an interrogation room, with one table at the center, and two uncomfortable chairs. The double sided-mirror occupying one of the walls was also a dead giveaway.

One of the guards stopped Leah as she went after me. As she protested, they told us they would explain the situation separately. If they actually knew anything, that might be the smarter option. I reassured her, smiling, and went into the interrogation room. One of the guards came with me, and closed the door, only to stand in a corner, silent. I dragged out a chair to sit, waiting for anything to happen.

“Not really talkative around here, huh ?”, I asked, knowing I wouldn't get an answer.

Moments later, Mary came back into the room, holding a few files, one distinctly bearing my name. It does something to your ego, to have your name on a secret society's secret case file, in their secret underground bunker. The woman sat on the other side of the table, leaning forward on her elbows.

“Miss Cetero, do you really have no idea why you're here ?”, she asked.

Of course I know why I'm here. You know I know. You saw me try to fly into the wind with my partner in crime as soon as we knew you found us. I just had to put my best performance on. Tremble, Hollywood.

“Well, we did hack into some pretty secure servers to get information that we weren't supposed to get”, I told her, and shrugged. “That seems pretty clear to me.”

“There's that, but I want to talk about something else.”

Her face was completely unfeeling, yet her voice was soft, a bit too maternal for my tastes. I had a little smile, encouraging her to talk. There was no risk if I wasn't talking.

“Do you believe at all in the, quote-unquote, supernatural ?”

If she kept talking to me like I was a particularly simple child, I'd show her something supernatural pretty damn soon. I worked to keep down the wave of righteous anger crashing against the insides of my chest.

“Do you mean... ghosts ?”, I ventured.

“Among others. I'm talking more specifically about vampires.”

Her eyes were gleaming behind the rectangles of her glasses. I didn't react, other than a little laugh. Alright, keep it up, play dumb.

“Vampires ? Come on, is this a joke ? Did Leah put you up to this ?”, I giggled.

Not that dumb, fuck's sake. Nobody was this stupid. I actually wanted to kill myself. I was so in character my voice went up an octave all on its own. Repressing a shiver, I kept on smiling like a brainless fish.

“I'm afraid I'm dead serious. As... Phantasmagorical as it may seem, such creatures exist, and we believe you, and your friend, may be in grave danger.”

Well, that seemed to actually work pretty well. Not really trying to think of the reasons why I had so little trouble passing as brain-dead, I had a nervous laughter, and kept going.

“Do I have to look around for a man in a black cape next time I leave my building, Mrs. Van Helsing ?”

“Doctor Van Helsing, actually. And rather, you should look around for the man you know as professor Vlad Balaur.”

Ah, direct, I see.

“I'm not sure I get your meaning.”

“We have good reasons to think Vlad Balaur is a vampire, trying to pass himself up as Vlad Dracula Tepes, a character you of all people know well.”

I didn't say anything, but my heart sank to my stomach.

“In what I will tell you, I want you to assume everything I say is true”, she started, leaning back. “In 1896, a team made up from Jonathan Harker, Quincey Morris, Mina Murray-Harker, and Abraham Van Helsing, put an end to the reign of terror of the vampire known as Dracula. It seemed he was no other than Vlad Tepes, the Impaler, who supposedly had, quote-unquote, “died” during the 15th century. At his return to London, he decided to create this institution, to be certain that should such a horrific event happen again, people would have the knowledge and resources to deal with it.”

She took a pause, gauging my reaction. I tried to keep my innocent façade, but has strictly no idea wether she could tell I was faking. The feeling of dread creeping its way into my mind didn't help either.

“Bram Stoker was an accomplice to the whole ordeal, and published his book, which was explicitly branded as fiction. You know the rest, concerning the sometimes questionable turn of the theme into popular culture. However, vampires, among other numerous creatures, are still a threat on humanity today. And a lot of them take inspiration from ancient figures, like Count Dracula. This would not be the first time one of them fashioned himself the Dark Prince Returned.”

“I'm sorry”, I interrupted, “But how can you expect me to believe any of that ? Do you even have any proof ?”

I tried to keep my panic out of my tone. I didn't want to believe it, but what if she was right ? She couldn't be, right ? He knew so much about everything, and... I tried to calm myself down. Just need to get through this, I'll talk this out with the man himself. All would be well.

“Even if you were right, even if professor Balaur was a vampire”, I began as she only kept staring at me. “He never tried to hurt me, or had any reprehensible behavior toward me or Leah. Why would I need to be worried ?”

She looked at me for what seemed like hours, and finally pulled a file from her pile, and slid it towards me. She then sat back, and lit a cigarette. She offered one, and I declined politely, asking what was in the file.

“All around the city, for the last month, we had a count of twenty-four murders”, she declared. “Look at the pictures, and you tell me what kind of person could have done this.”

Shaking a bit, I opened the file, and instantly had to put a hand over my mouth. You can watch hours and hours of horror movies, and never get used to anything like that. Everything was red. Seeping into the fabrics, clothing, mattresses, drapes. Splattered on the walls, dripping from the ceilings. Body parts, bent in impossible angles, flesh frayed, shredded in long clawing marks, leaving the internal organs and their contents spilling out of the deformed corpses. Throats. Open. So torn apart it just looked like a bundle of rubber tubes. On one of the victim's descriptive notes, I glimpsed the word “pregnant”. I closed my eyes, looking away. There were hundreds. Mary offered again, and I took the cigarette. I closed the case file, taking a long drag.

“What happened in Romania, Miss Cetero ?”, she asked, a bit more softly.

I raised my head to meet her gaze. “I... Nothing happened. I- I visited some museums, hiked a little, why do you ask ?”

My eyes welled up with tears, and keeping on a neutral smile was a physical effort at this point. I kept seeing flashes of teeth, the horse, inside out, bled dry.

“We believe he might come from there, which is why he would identify with Dracula. He could have taken a liking to you there, and followed you here.”

“I think I would remember an encounter with something that does... that does this on a daily basis”, I snapped, fighting through tears. That couldn't be right. It couldn't.

“Your memory could have been wiped. It's not uncommon, once again.”

I started to feel dizzy. Maybe it was the cigarette. I didn't smoke very often, so that was probably that, right ? I must have remained silent a while, because Mary leaned forward, putting back the file on the pile.

“Listen, I will make this as clear as possible”, she snapped. “If we are to stop this creature, we need your full support. For some reason, he trusts you more than most. You cannot tell him about your knowledge of this place.”

She slid a card across the table.

“If you are ever in danger, or need any information, call us. We will call you if necessary.”

She put out her cigarette on a portable ashtray, and I did the same, mechanically.

“What did you tell Leah ?”, I asked.

“Nothing more than she needs to know, which does not include anything about Vlad Balaur. We think the less people know, the safer it is.”

I nodded, and slipped the card into my pocket. Nothing about this felt safe, or right, or anything but confusing, and nauseating. They escorted me out, and I still felt engulfed in cotton, everything muted, even when Leah nearly jumped into my arms as I got out. I barely realized I walked, or the time spent in the car, until they dropped me off at home.

I dragged myself to my apartment, and went straight to bed, half expecting to see him there, on the balcony. Instead, I found a note. I opened the window, and took the folded sheet of paper. The same he used back in Romania, and the same fine, elegant handwriting. It was weighed down with a polished rock, which I noticed, upon further inspection, contained a multitude of little fossils.

I have heard historians like old things, here is one.

For another, I will be back soon.

All my love,

Vlad.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Taglist : @carydorse​ @angelicdestieldemon​ @bloodhon3yx​ @thewondernanazombie​ @battocar​ @moony691​ @mjlock​ @thebeautyofdisorder​ @festering-queen​ @paracosmfantasy​ @my-fanfic-library

[sweetdejun]

coterie: the poker chip (1/2)

gang!x1 x fem!reader

synopsis: you’re an ordinary girl, with an ordinary life. but what happens when you catch the gang that is famous for keeping their deeds under the table, in action?

coterie’s masterlist can be found here

pairing: cha junho and y/n

a/n: mentions of violence and cursing, so proceed with caution.

you held the poker chip out in front of everyone, making sure each of them could see it. before anyone says anything, you’re determined to figure out whose this is; there’s a guy who shows a defeated reaction, muttering something to the guy next to him. that guy’s face remains unchanged. you rule him out too, there’s no way this is his. there are a few of the guys who show relieved looks on their faces, and you rule them out too. who is it? seungwoo clears his throat, “it seems like you’ve picked junho, y/n. junho, go ahead and brief her. the rest of you, come with me, I’ve your assignments. junho, I’ll contact you later for yours.” and all but one of the boys follow seungwoo out of the room. the one you ruled out early on turned out to be the owner of the poker chip. he approached you, with the same blank look on his face and reached out his hand to introduce himself. you shook his hand with a confused look in your eyes. he seemed to notice, and he started, “you must be thinking why I didn’t react when you chose my object. come with me, I’ll explain it to you.” and he turned on his heel, before heading towards one of the many corners of the mansion. you followed him step after step, and he began to speak. his voice was low so in order to hear him clearer, you caught up to him, now walking side by side with junho. “first and foremost, I’m cha junho. I’m twenty years old, I have been a part of x1 for roughly three years now, but I’ve been in the business since I could walk.” you go down a hallway that gradually gets darker; are the lights dimming, or is there an overall absence of light from this area? it sure as shit can’t be that they can’t afford electricity. junho continues walking, and your pace starts to slow until finally, he comes to a stop. “what business, you’re probably thinking, right?” he says, and digs in his pocket, fishing out a key and sticks it in what you can assume is a keyhole (not that you could see much). “was it hand-reading, or were you a psychic?” you sarcastically answer him, and he stays silent before answering, “I’m not sure what you meant.” inhaling sharply, you tell him that it was a joke, and you explained that the joke was that he was saying all the things you were thinking aloud like he knew what was going on in your head. now that you had to explain yourself, the joke lost some of its humor which made you furrow your eyebrows. “ah, I understand now. please know that I don’t really get sarcasm, so if you use it with me, I’ll probably have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m very straightforward.” wow, this is the guy you were stuck with? a breathing machine? your luck is fantastic. “I should be a bit clear about what I do,” he started and opened a door, before getting to the side. “after you.” you step into the dark room before a light flicks on. this reveals a myriad of different weapons along a huge wall, and in front of it is a table that holds multiple weapons as well. “holy shit. what- what is all this?” you breathe out, your eyes wide with surprise. “this is the business.”

you turn back around, and leaning against the doorframe is junho, with a revolver spinning on his finger. once he notices your gaze, it comes to a halt perfectly, and he lifts the gun in front of his face, before finally flitting his gaze over to you. “I chose the poker chip because like the card game poker if you bluff enough, you can win. in other words, if you keep your face blank enough, you can win.” you carefully lean against the table, making sure none of the numbers of blades are near you before you shift your focus back on junho. “I don’t understand.” junho puts the revolver back on its place, then he starts, “my job in this team is to kill. I’ve killed many people, and almost every time, I’ve gone unnoticed. I’ll do the job and disappear. that’s how I’ll get away with it and the reason why I get away with it is because I keep a poker face. even if I miss one little thing, I’m off the hook because they say, ‘he doesn’t look like he did it.’” your gaze freezes in fear because you wouldn’t put two and two together; even if he didn’t tell you any of this, you would have never guessed he was a killer. “do you remember the death of that one big business guy a few months back? the one who owned that building in the city? well, he asked us to borrow some of our weapons, and he ended up trying to sell them to a third party who just so happened to contact us.” junho starts, and the image is blurry in your head but you remember it. it was huge and all over the news that they never found the killer, and then your eyebrows rise in realization. “was that you?” and he nods. you let out a noise of astonishment. that just means one thing: he is great at his job. so you tell him that. “wow, you’re really good at it, then. I wouldn’t have even dreamed that you, uh... do what you do, let alone being the face of the nation’s most memorable assassinations.” and you see the first instant of emotion on junho’s face when he gives you a weak smile at that. “thank you for the compliment. it seems very bad, but I promise, I only kill the bad guys. and that too, after I get the background check and face details from dongpyo and wooseok.” your attention goes to the weapons neatly lined up on the wall, and you’ve watched movies and tv, but you’ve never seen weapons like these before. retractable blades and god knows what, your eyes wandered in wonder and you breathed out, “wow, how do you get access to these weapons?” junho shrugged, moving to stand next to you and mumbles, “well, we have our...source, who’s in charge of making the weapons for us, and by ‘us’, I mean eunsang and me, since we deal more with the violent stuff. of course, you could easily read emotions across his face, which is why seungwoo hyung assigned this position to me.” and as your eyes scan the intricate details on said weapons, and the small x1 emblem twinkles under the lights on the ceiling.

“y/n, I have an important question for you,” and you turn towards junho and urge him to continue. “well, you’ve chosen me to work with. and now you’re also aware of what I do. what do you think you’ll be able to assist me with?” you completely forgot about it for a minute. you couldn’t possibly come up with what exactly you’d do if you worked for junho, besides... helping him with the killings. “I’m not entirely sure what there is for me to do, besides, uh, killing. but I don’t think I’m comfortable with that yet.” junho sighed understandingly, then started, “I won’t do that to you yet. hmm, let me think.” just then, junho received a notification from his phone, diverting his attention from you momentarily. “it’s from seungwoo hyung, he’s calling me to his office. you stay here, it shouldn’t take longer than ten minutes. feel free to look around, just don’t touch anything, as you may injure yourself. I will leave you to it, then.” and he stepped out, leaving you in this...chamber of weapons. what would you do, exactly? you’re sure there is more to this job than killing. the research, the disguise, but that stuff’s taken care of by wooseok and dongpyo, but maybe you could help them with that. or maybe you could be like a... secretary. no, that doesn’t fit with his job. “what the fuck am I gonna do here...” you mumble aloud, and you huff and sit on the ground, which seems to be the only safe space where you could trust yourself to sit. just then, junho opened the door and found you on the floor, your eyes focused on a corner, in thought. then it hits you; who is there to make sure things are going well, and junho goes unnoticed? junho makes sure of it to some extent, you’re sure, but what if you helped him out with that. “junho, I think I have an idea. what if I’m like your guide, or something? like I’ll tell you about your surroundings and I’ll help you run through things smoothly, overall. I don’t trust myself with a weapon yet, as you may have noticed.” and junho stands still, eyes blinking at a constant speed. the air in the room remains quiet and awkward, before he breaths out, “that sounds like a good idea. I guess it makes things a bit easier for me, too. I’ll be able to focus on the job at hand instead of having to worry about what’s going on around me.” you stand up, and your eyebrows go up and junho blinks back at you robotically. “so, does that sound good?” junho nods and says, “we start prepping for our next mission tomorrow, so please be awake by 7 in the morning. I will see you soon, y/n.” and you leave the weapon room and head to yours, excited for what awaits you the next morning.

a/n: ahhhhh there we have it! sorry it took so long, everyone! a LOT has happened over the past few weeks; I was out of town, then x1 disbanded, then I had some personal problems going on and then classes started back up so there was really no way for me to send this out sooner, so thanks for being patient with me! nevertheless, I hope everyone enjoys it, and it’s good to be back on the writing scene!

[subtlerain]

Chrysalis - Part II

→ Vampire!Taehyung x Reader

I ♥ II ♥ III ♥ IV ♥ V ♥ VI ♥

A/N: Hello hello and welcome to Part II! I want to thank you for all of your support on the first part of this series, and I am seriously so pumped to share this next part! I will be posting a new part each Sunday evening (more on that in my faq) and as of right now, I am not sure how long this series will be. Please show your support on this series as I have a TON of ideas I think you will love!

Warnings: angst/emotional themes, sadistic vampire Tae, feelings & character development woop

Tagged: @fuckingpisces @ophelia-carolina @jeongin-stay @charlesgrey1875 @lilliaflurr @thelonelyshinbu @squadlevi 

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my tagged list so you don’t miss the next part! ♥

You stayed curled up in a ball for what seemed like forever, your face dried with tears and mind racing. It was regret you felt first, terrified out of your mind of what you had walked so mindlessly into, what would happen next in this unknown place. You had fallen asleep almost instantly, so exhausted and scared and so drained that the corner of his living room was the perfect surface to curl up on.

You hadn’t cried so openly for such a long time, and whether it was the very terrifying presence of the lonesome vampire, or your own emotions suddenly crashing down on you, you didn’t know.

One thing you did know though, was that you were foolish for thinking he’d be kind to you, have any sense of remorse for your pathetic situation that he very obviously did not care about.

The only thing that kept you somewhat sane was the fact that your sister was still alive and in a clean hospital, a kind nurse by her side, and money for her care and future piling up in the account under her name and her name only.

You awoke at a nudge at your ribs and a low voice above your head.

“Get up, girl.”

You shot up instantly, blinking away sleep from your eyes and brushing back your messy hair with your hands furiously, trying to grasp onto the very little dignity you had left.

You yelped as your eyes landed on the vampire, who was hovering above you. Pure fear caused you to scoot back suddenly, pressing your body against the wall as your eyes widened to saucers.

He stood above you, his almond eyes narrowing even more, “I hate the smell of salt.”

You realized he was talking about your tears, and you wiped at them hastily, “I-I’m sorry.”

You knew you looked pathetic, and you hated it, but when you were faced with death in the form of an elegant creature who at any moment could tear you to shreds, you reacted the way another other human would.

He only looked away, “Follow me. I’ll take you to your room.”

It took you a moment to process his words in your fuzzy brain before you leaped up and grabbed your bags, knees wobbling as you followed him wordlessly.

He walked fast, sweeping along the corridors like a ghost, and you tried to memorize the turns you took down darkened hallways, past old antiques and dusty bookshelves.

You stared at the back of his head as he walked, wondering what he was thinking. Upon your first interaction, it was clear he was not of your kind, rather possessing a supernatural aura that caused your uneasiness. You were sure you had passed other vampires, perhaps in the subway or on the street or in a coffee shop, but they all concealed their uneasy energy, if not gave it up completely, if that was possible.

That was not the same for Mr Kim.

He was the most vampire-ist vampire you had ever come in contact with, from his victorian style, creepy mansion to his lose fitting, velvety clothes.

Unlike any human you would come in contact with, it was hard to analyze him, judge his expressions or gauge his response. He was stone-faced and remorseless, and you wondered just how long it took him to perfect his unpleasant demeanour.

Your eyes drifted from a curl of hazelnut at his nape to the patch of exposed skin at his nape.

But if you knew anything about those who appear horribly sharp and vile on the outside, they used that exterior as protection, as a shield from everything on the outside.

And this vampire’s chrysalis had had decades and decades to build up.

You were pulled from your thoughts as he suddenly stopped in front of a door, and you reeled back to avoid slamming into his back. He produced a key from his dress-coat pocket, a shiny brass instrument that he jiggled into the keyhole. He twisted the knob and you followed slowly as he flicked on the lights.

Like the rest of the house, it was victorian style, lavish and old-looking, but somehow still beautiful and elegant. There was a large bed in the centre with dark red sheets and pillows, a vanity and a closet. It was larger than you expected, and you continued to admire the room until you noticed him looking at you carefully.

“You will sleep here.” He said sharply, and he seemed to think for a moment, his eyes trailing down your body and to the small case still clutched in your hand, “Although it seems you brought some belongings, I’ll send your measurements to my stylist to have clothes made for your stay.”

You shook your head, “Oh, no really, that’s okay! I don’t need—“

His eyes narrowed, “As I said yesterday, you’re living in my house under my rules, and as much as I despise this awful ‘companion’ concept, I’d rather pay for new clothes for you than have you walk around in whatever rags you brought.”

Although you felt a pang of offence which you knew he certainly meant, you just nodded. After all, his father had said he would pay for your expenses, and a new wardrobe did sound rather appealing, especially hand-made ones from his personal stylist.

Silently, you walked over to the bed to place your suitcase on the mattress.

Mr Kim watched you carefully, letting his eyes sweep over your features again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so close to a human. Just as much as this was a new situation for you, it was for him, and he took a moment to analyze you, his narrowed eyes traveling up and down your body. You weren’t particularly attractive nor unattractive, he thought, and he could point out all your flaws easily. You obviously didn’t have a lot of money based on how worn your shoes were and how faded your dress was, and he wondered why you still hadn’t tried to run away after his threats, and after your complete meltdown on the floor of his living room.

The door was unlocked, and it wouldn’t take you long to run back to humanity and back to your sick little sister that you were foolish enough to waste your young-adult life on by agreeing to live with him.

He wondered why you weren’t at least trying to fight back, why you had been so submissive even after his blatant insults.

He noticed that you had been still for a little too long, and how you tried to hide your trembling hands from him, even though he could detect every tremor in your tiny body. But, the most intriguing thing to him was that he could hear the steady rhythm of your heart. He noticed that it spiked every time he looked at you, and you tensed each time he talked. It was rather distracting, he thought, the sound of your warm, pounding organ loud in his ears.

It was also irritating that you were so blatantly alive. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been in the same room as a human girl, one so full of life and so so devastatingly warm.

“Mr Kim?”

His eyes snapped to yours as you turned around and faced him. You looked away for a moment before pulling your eyes back to him.

The vampire was also surprised at your willingness to look at him in the eyes. Most humans avoided the eyes of a vampire, for they were piercing and cold, unforgiving orbs that sucked out nearly all light. But even with your trembling hands and pounding heart, you looked right into him with those large, human eyes of yours, even if he tried his hardest to summon all the darkness in him directly to his irises.

But, he reminded himself, you were not just a regular human girl, of course. You were obviously, horribly, stupid. After all, you had agreed to practically give up your life and freedom for a family member, and live with him, a hopeless, reclusive vampire.

And worst of all, it seemed you had hope that you of all people would be able to change him.

“Yes?” He replied.

You let out the smallest of smiles, “I haven’t introduced myself yet.”

He blinked.

You bowed your head, and gave another small smile, “My name is Y/N.”

You were smiling, however your eyes were still puffy from your tears and your hands were still trembling. He wondered why you were trying so damn hard to be okay when you clearly were not.

He narrowed his eyes, and ran his tongue over his incisors, “I do not wish to know your name, because I am still trying to figure out if I am going kill you.”

Your eyes widened, and your heart rate spiked again, the sweet crimson pumping through your blood rapidly, your response only natural given his words.

Fear.

He brushed back a piece of his fringe, “I will call you what I want, or I will choose to disregard you completely.”

You blinked at the ground, but you nodded simply, as if you had already guessed his answer.

He rested his hand on the doorknob and looked away, “I will give you further instructions tomorrow.”

The last thing you remembered before you fell asleep was the words of Mr Kim’s father:

“He is the future of my company. Your job is to help to integrate him into our world, so do not fail. Your request will not be fulfilled if you do not do your job.”

***

Mr Kim tested your name on his tongue as he walked down the hallway to his own quarters. It didn’t taste bad on his palate, in fact, it rather suited you, he thought.

He listened to your heartbeat even out as he walked down the hallway, and he listened to it slow even more as he lay in his bed that night, his eyes closed, as you fell asleep in the next room.

He had lived alone for decades, and he had always walked down these corridors by himself, the only thing in his ears the occasional hoot of an owl or rustle of leaves. But now, in his home was a human girl, and your presence was nearly overwhelming for his senses, his palate, and his whole, dead, body.

It should be a vampire’s dream, but it was his worst nightmare.

He let his mind roam as he lay in his bed, looking at the ceiling.

He could kill you now, he could rip the human life out of you so quickly that you wouldn’t know what had happened. Or he could drag it out slowly, watch the life seep out of your eyes and let your body go limp in his arms, like a perfect doll.

Or, for a fleeting second, he thought he could take you to the room of your sick little sister and stab you straight through the heart with the sharpest dagger he owned, and he could watch the little girl pale and scream and cry because you had taken the one person that probably mattered the most to her.

Before he slept, Mr Kim wondered what it would be like to be on the side of the dagger this time, to hold it in his hand and place it in the heart of a human.

He wondered if your sick little sister would mirror his horrified, helpless, desperate expression that he wore all those years ago.

***

You slept very well for a person in the home of a sadistic vampire. However, you woke with alarm, the unfamiliar room causing you to nearly scream with panic until you remembered the events of the previous day.

Mansion. Vampire.

You sighed and pulled yourself from under the sheets. You weren’t one to take a lot of self pity, and after your meltdown the night before, you now just felt a little empty. But it was better than crying, so you took the numbness with ease.

Plus, the good news was, he hadn’t killed you in your sleep.

How grim.

You opted for another summer dress, this one light floral and collared. You looked at your figure in the mirror as you did up the top button and slid on a pair of flats.

This was your life now, and the sooner you accepted it, the better.

You thought of your sister for a moment, her doe-eyes filled with tears when you told her that you had to leave. She had tried to sit up in her hospital bed, but the monitor beeped and the the tube in her arm stretched, so the nurse in the corner of the room eased her back down.

“When will you be back?”

You remember looking away and not knowing the answer, wishing that you could tell her something to ease her mind like a date that she could count down in her little brain.

So instead, you smiled the kindest, warmest smile you could muster.

“No matter how long, I’ll always be with you. Sing a song and I’ll sing too, whisper you worries and I will hear them.”

She had beamed through her glassy eyes and nodded, and you nearly sobbed because she was so strong, and the most determined little girl you had ever met.

So when you left, her soft little voice helped you gain courage, and made you smile.

With a deep breath in and out, you put a small smile on your face and made your way down the hallway, using your mental-map of the mansion to navigate, until you finally reached the main foyer of the house.

It was empty, and you let out a sigh of relief when there was no trace of Mr Kim. Although you knew he was most likely lurking somewhere, it was much too early in the morning to deal with his piercing eyes and sharp words.

You stood in the foyer for a moment, unsure of your next move. It occurred to you that he hadn’t told you what he expected the next day, nor where you could find him if you needed anything.

Then again, he seemed to want nothing to do with you, which was just fine. Much like a stubborn child, it would take time to fully complete your task, and time what what you had now.

However, the first problem was that you had no idea where the kitchen was, and the loud rumbling of your stomach was persistent.

Your question seemed to be answered when you strolled down the large hallway and a pungent smell hit your nose. You gagged, and covered your mouth with your hand, eyes nearly watering at the strong scent.

Mold? Rot?

You prepared yourself for the worst as you entered a door towards the back of the house, eyes widening as you walked into the kitchen.

Or, what supposed to be a kitchen, and not mountains containing layers of garbage and old food and blood bags littering the once-white countertops.

Huffing, you made an executive decision, and five minutes later, you were decked out with a face mask, apron and blue rubber gloves you had found in a cabinet, trash bag in one hand and mop in the other.

You bit your lip as you tossed blood bag after blood bag into the trash, followed by old food and boxes of frozen pizzas and ramen noodle cups in the trash. You almost laughed at the fact that he ate the same brand of spicy ramen noodles as you, despite being a blood-sucking vampire.

Maybe you had more in common than you thought.

Once the trash was tossed, you scrubbed the counter tops with the strongest soap you could find and bleached nearly the whole kitchen. Despite the horrifying mess, you were just glad to have not found piles of dead bodies drained of blood that had first come to mind from the smell.

Old pizza and bags of blood supplied by your local hospital were just fine.

It was the humming that awoke Mr Kim from his slumber, the light vibrations sounding from your throat that caused him to snap his eyes open, and just listen, his senses alert. Something moved deep inside him at the sound, so harmless yet so comforting.

He hadn’t heard a woman hum so idly for such a long time.

He wordlessly followed your soprano, creeping along the hallways with narrowed eyes, however, his ears were wide open, and he felt a flit of something pleasant stretch through his body as your voice filled his ears.

He banished the feeling, of course.

Your voice lead him to the kitchen, and he halted his movements when he saw you turned away from him, scrubbing out a particularly stubborn stain on his granite countertop. His eyes flitted to the garbage bags packed with packages of blood and rotten food, and the stench nearly gave him a headache.

It was a stench he hadn’t noticed whenever he rummaged through the kitchen with a burning, instinctual hunger and ripped open a bag of blood, or grabbed a handful of ramen noodle cups and retreated back to his study.

He looked at you, clad in rubber gloves and a face mask, apron wrapped snugly around your waist. Your heart rate was relaxed, breathing soft and even.

And you were still humming.

But then you turned around, and your heart rate spiked, and your eyes went wide with sudden surprise.

“M-Mr Kim! You scared me…” You said, eyes landing on the ground again.

“What are you doing?” He asked, your shallow breaths loud in his ears.

“Cleaning.” You answered softly, your voice muffled by the face mask.

He looked around you, and he seemed to be thinking before he responded, “Very well. Continue.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, nearly expecting him to chastise you. But his response was so normal that you paused for a moment before picking up your sponge and continuing to scrub.

He didn’t leave, either.

You watched him from your peripheral vision as he pulled out one of the dark oak bar stools and sat, leaning backwards on the chair, dressed in silk pyjamas and the same housecoat he had on yesterday. His dark hair was messy from bedhead, but somehow still looked wonderful, wispy curls of melted chocolate brushing around his face.

You were confused but his presence, yes, but opted to pretend he wasn’t there, so instead you scrubbed harder until the countertops shone.

He watched you carefully, and kept himself busy by listening to your heartbeat as it slowed down to a normal pace. You had stopped humming, and for a moment, he wished he hadn’t interrupted you so he could hear the sound again.

He saw the way you kept glancing at him from behind your mask, your wide eyes landing on him before darting back to your work, and he smirked before speaking.

“I’ve come up with a list of rules for your stay here.” He proposed.

You stilled, “O-okay, Mr Kim.”

His eyes never left you, “First, you’re not allowed to leave this house.”

You stopped scrubbing, “What? But what about—”

He narrowed his dark eyes, “Take off that mask, I cannot hear you properly.”

You flushed and slipped off the rubber gloves before pulling off the mask, bare face now completely visible to the man in front of you.

He deliberated, “Fine. You are not allowed to leave this house, unless accompanied by me.”

You blinked.

That was unexpected.

He seemed to notice your surprise and continued, “I don’t trust to not run away. If I lose you, or if you get hurt, my father will not be happy, and as much as I hate him, he is undoubtedly more powerful than I.” He looked down at the countertop, “I do not wish to leave, but I will do so to protect myself and keep you in line.”

You only nodded. Self-benefit. Of course.

“Next,” He continued, not missing a beat, “Do not bother me when I am sleeping. There will be consequences if you do.”

You nodded. Simple enough.

“Do not be noisy for no reason. Do not scream or cry or do anything that is unnecessary or foolish.” He said harshly, not a snippet of remorse in his tone. “I expect you to cook and clean as-well, but do not over eat, I find that annoying.” He looked away.

You nodded again.

He stood up, slightly surprised at your submission, “And your manners are atrocious, I will teach you how to behave properly soon.” His eyes were narrowed as he paced in the kitchen.

You looked down, feeling your face redden.

“Understood?”

You jumped, “Y-yes, Mr Kim.”

Suddenly he was in front of you, and he shook his head, jaw tense, “And…don’t call me that.”

You blinked up at him, and you willed yourself to not look away, “Call you what?”

His eyes were on yours again, dark and unwavering, “Mr Kim. That is my father, and I’ll throw myself off the very top of this mansion before I become that scumbag.”

You nearly laughed from surprise at how sincere his comment was before you spoke up again, “Then what shall I call you?”

There was a crack in his composure for a moment, so quick it was over in a blink of an eye, only visible because you were so close to him. It was as if he was very venerable for just a moment, and you could’ve sworn you saw something inside the deepness of his irises soften for a fraction of a second.

Then he turned away, back facing you, and his voice was low, “If you must, you may call me Taehyung.”

Your lips quirked into a secret smile, and you felt something in the centre of your chest flip.

Taehyung.

***

“Y-you really don’t have to—“

Mr Kim whipped around to face you with narrowed eyes, “Do not make me ask again.”

Deciding hesitation was a bad option, you got onto the stool he had placed down in front of you, raising your height to almost match his.

He unrolled a measuring tape, “Although this is a waste of my time, as I said, you wearing the same clothes every day is not ideal.” His eyes met yours, “I still cannot believe you don’t know your own measurements.”

You only sighed. Taehyung had been rather adamant about getting you new clothes, and you had to admit, your very few pieces of clothing would not suffice. So, here you are, standing on a stool in your room, feeling bumps raise on your arms as he disappeared behind you.

You had noticed that he hardly ever wore the same things twice, and he always had some kind of accessory, ranging from a long silver earring or a leather choker.

For someone who hated your world, you were sure he could easily become the next model for some high-end, trendy fashion brand if he wanted.

You had barely been in his house for a week, and you already knew that arguing with him was a pointless exercise, even if he was being completely irrational. Such as the situation you had found yourself in, where you could’ve just popped over to the local department store, but no, things were never easy, and he refused to step one foot out the door despite your suggestion.

So you went along with him, deciding to use this opportunity to get to know the vampire better, if he would even let you.

You flinched as his fingers brushed down the side of your arm, stretching the tape from your nape to your wrist.

You breathed in, “Do you do this often?”

He didn’t miss a beat, “I would measure my father for his suits, when his assistants were away.”

He moved to write your measurement on a piece of paper, before facing you again, eyes trained on your torso.

You swallowed as his fingers moved around your hips, “Do you see him often? Your father.”

He scribbled down a number, “No.”

Your lips quirked into a small smile, “I guess you wouldn’t want to, the two of you don’t seem to see eye-to-eye.” That was the kindest way to put it, you thought.

Taehyung was back in front of you, his body only inches away as he wrapped the tape around the dip of your waist, “He means nothing to me.”

You bit your lip. You had only had a few interactions with Taehyung despite living with him, but it was clear as day that he despised his father. He had never given you any inclination as to why, but you guessed it was a difference in beliefs. After all, his father is the charming CEO of a big corporation, and Taehyung is a reclusive introvert with a clear dislike to anything outside of his mansion.

His eyes flitted to yours for a second, and he murmured under his breath, “Pardon me…”

You tried not to think about his hands as he wrapped the tape around your bust, and you concentrated on lifting your arms, dropping them weakly as he once again pulled away.

You watched him carefully, a single question balanced on your tongue, “What about your mother?”

He stilled, his pencil hovering above the paper, “She died long ago.” He wrote your last measurement down.

You looked away sadly, “I’m sorry.”

He clenched his jaw, “You’re not at fault, so don’t apologize.”

Based on his reaction, you knew he had closed off this topic, but that didn’t keep you from wondering what had happened to her.

Instead of staying quiet, he spoke up, “And your parents?”

You shook your head, “A sob story I’m sure you don’t want to hear about.”

He turned around at that, his stone-faced expression mildly bordering on curiosity. Of course he knew of your sister, the sick little girl that his father was giving medicine to. But, he realized, he knew nothing else about you apart from your name and your little mannerisms that he had picked up on. And of course, he knew your intoxicating scent, and the sound of that sweet crimson pumping through your veins.

But he had to admit, he was curious about you.

You smiled weakly, “She was a single mom, and she died when I was younger.”

His eyes were already on yours when you looked up, “You have no mother, and your sister is ill.”

You nodded and stepped off the stool, “It’s just me and Mina.”

Taehyung watched you carefully, trying to mask his expression while watching yours. You were acting so calm, open and easy, as if you had just been talking to him about your favourite colour, not this horrible past that he would’ve never guessed existed.

His eyes narrowed, and he felt something sticky inside him, a familiar feeling that he felt all too often, “She left you nothing.”

You shrugged, “We never had much. She was depressed, she was struggling too. Things just got more difficult when my sister got sick.”

Taehyung clenched his fists as he watched you, your expression so calm and understanding, so very horribly accepting of the things that had happened.

He swallowed, “Why aren’t you angry?”

You smiled at the ground, “What will getting angry help? What will resenting my dead mother change?” You looked at him with a sudden determination in your eyes that nearly left him breathless, “I have to keep my head up for my sister, and for myself.”

His lips parted slightly, and he realized that he truly didn’t have anything to say.

You didn’t speak to him much, and when he demanded to be left alone, you did. He didn’t know what exactly you did when he was locked away in his room, but he had never seen you cry, never seen you scream or get angry at the world, even though you had every right to be.

It was so unfair, he thought, so unfair that you had to bear this burden at your young age, so unfair that you had left your sister and lived with him, your selfless actions that you made with such ease, as if it was what anyone would do.

He looked at you once again, your chin up, shoulders relaxed as you started towards the door.

It was so unfair that you, like him, couldn’t just have a normal life.

You glanced at him briefly from your doorway, “Thank you for measuring me for new clothes. I’ll send up dinner to your room later.”

And that, that horrible, terrible, genuine smile that you had given him way too many times. It was those kind eyes you showed him, ones that he did not deserve in the slightest, that made him speechless, because he was so unkind, so horrible and unpleasant in every way.

So why had you always been so kind to him?

Taehyung let his hands drop to his sides, and for the first time, he saw a piece of you in him, a person with a past full of heartbreaking memories.

But where he had hidden, you had risen, and somehow, the world had lead you to him.

[goldenwolfgoddess]

Fixers [closed]

Rose came to in the alley that she had collapsed in shortly after stepping out of the Void. Sitting up, she groaned and held her head in her hands, fighting off the wave of nausea that threatened to overcome her. She would take the Dimension Cannon any day over the trip she had just taken. Days, weeks, years. There was no time in the Void, only constant walking among darkness and shadows and the other creatures trapped within its walls, with no weapons, only a small device that kept her moving forward, kept her safe from the Void’s radiation, and eventually let her through the wall on the other side. Wherever that wall let out. 

When her head stopped spinning, the blonde slowly got to her feet, staggering slightly. Slipping the device from her wrist to her pocket, she slowly made her way out of the alley and onto the street. London. Earth then, that was good at least. Hopefully it was the right London. Rose groaned softly at the thought of her last miss. She had been laid up for a week before she was well enough to cross the Void again, and that world hadn’t even had telly -- indicating beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was the wrong one. 

Looking up, Rose blinked slowly at the sight of another person walking toward her on the sidewalk. Disoriented as she was, it took her several more moments than it should have to recognize the leather jacket, utilitarian haircut, and big ears. When she finally did, her eyes went wide and she practically dove right back into the alley. He passed right on by a few moments later. He hadn’t even seen her. Good thing too... 

Cautiously, she poked her head back out to see him call out to someone on the street, berating a poor bicyclist who had cut him off as he tried to cross, then he hailed a cab and before she knew what to make of it, he was gone. The Doctor. Not her Doctor -- Well yes, he was, he was her first Doctor, but not the one she was trying to get back to currently. Shaking her head, and then immediately regretting it as the nausea came back in force, she made her way back out to the street and stumbled along, not really knowing where she was headed. 

It shouldn’t have been any surprise when she wound up in front of the TARDIS. Frowning, she looked back over her shoulder the way she had come, but then shrugged and made her way over to the doors, placing a hand to one. “Hey there, beautiful... do you recognize me?” The answering hum and mental warmth was answer enough for Rose. There was only a brief moment of hesitation before Rose was digging her TARDIS key out from under her shirt and fitting it into the keyhole. The door swung open wide and she stepped into the Doctor’s third heart for the first time in nearly a century. She was home- Well... not quite. This wasn’t the right TARDIS. But it certainly felt like home. 

“Why are all the lights off?” she asked softly as she made her way up the familiar grated floors to the console where it seemed everything was in low power mode. The humming answer seemed to form almost words in her mind, meaning being conveyed by idea more than by word. The TARDIS was in disuse. A flash of a helmet-looking thing brought Rose’s attention to that same device hanging from the ceiling above. “What’s that, then?” she asked. The TARDIS answered that it was a device to make the Doctor human. “What’s he got to be human for?” Rose asked, suddenly on edge. A brief flash of what Rose realized could only be the Time War, was all the answer she needed. “Oh... so this is pretty soon after that for you two?” Sad confirmation. 

“Well... that’s alright, yeah? Because he’ll be meeting me soon, right? I mean, he’s gotta not be human anymore to do that, but it happens, so...” she trailed off as she heard the TARDIS contradicting her. Her chest squeezed painfully at the answer. So she wasn’t in the right universe after all. This universe had no Rose Tyler. No one to help the Time Lord overcome his demons in the wake of the Time War. 

Rose considered her options for several moments, though she knew she had already made up her mind. She could keep walking from parallel universe to parallel universe, living in a constant state of Void Sickness, as she had come to call it, and potentially never reaching her goal destination, never reaching the Doctor. Or she could do what she could for the Doctor that she had found right here. “This universe bloody well has a Rose Tyler now,” she muttered, rolling her eyes at the happy trill the TARDIS gave in reply. “Yeah, yeah, shut up. Think you can bring up the medical bay for me real quick? I’m pretty sure there are things in there that’ll cut this Void Sickness in half.”

As it turned out, what Rose found in the medical bay -- that didn’t look like it had been tidied at all since the last days of the Time War, if the blood soaked bandages and clutter were anything to go by -- was more than enough to completely eliminate her sickness. By the time she was stepping out of the TARDIS doors half an hour later, she felt like a new woman. The TARDIS had told her what she could about the cover she had set up for her pilot, so Rose knew where to find him at least. The ship had also loaned her the Doctor’s pad of psychic paper so she could go about getting herself settled with identity documents and a place to live, as well as potentially a job. Rose already had a few ideas on that front. 

As Rose walked out of the alley, though, she very quickly discovered that the first thing she wanted to do was make contact, so she made her way to where she suspected the human Doctor would be.

It had been a long time since she had set foot in the Powell Estates. Even longer since she had called it home, but she still had the path to what was her mother’s flat memorized. Seeing that door, though, brought back some memories that she wasn’t quite ready for, despite the fact that it looked nothing like it had when it had been her home. To be honest, it actually looked quite a bit worse. It was clearly not well taken care of -- not for lack of ability, she knew, but likely for lack of a care. 

Composing herself, she went over what she was going to say quickly once more before stepping up and rapping lightly at the door. She knew she was in the right place when she heard a clatter and muffled cursing from the other side of the door. The sound of his voice set her heart beating at double-time, despite how she tried to keep it reined in. When the door swung open, she put on her best face of confusion. 

“Blimey, my mistake, mate. I’m looking for my mate Shireen’s place. I though’ this was it...” She looked at the number on the door and then up and down the hall before looking back at the crumpled piece of paper in her own hand. “Any idea where unit 2254 is?” she asked hopefully, looking up at him.