#but the 2 nuns who ran the library

[the-semicolonoscopy]

I mean, was the library over a hellmouth?

[ichor-and-symbiosis]

Subject of Sin - Part 1.

Incubus Shigaraki x Nun reader; NSFW

Warnings: noncon, dubcon, somnophilia, possessive behavior, desecration of religion, monsterfucking.

Word count: 2,520 

A/N: A huge thank you to @shigamothki-vs-the-lamp for beta’ing and inspiring me to finish this fic! 

Your innocent forays into temptation and sin catch the attention of a demon.

Part 1| Part 2

‎

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎“He sleeps inside my soul ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‎And sometimes wakes up in the night ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎And plays with my dreams.” ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎— Fernando Pessoa

Demons lurk within our minds, not in the crevices of forgotten places. If the darkness ebbs and flows, it is merely a reflection of our innermost desires — a manifestation of sin that refuses to be held at bay any longer.

You kept Father’s teachings close to heart and steadfastly studied the scripture. It was the only hope you had to cling to, having been hidden away at a monastery since childhood. Life was kind and peaceful, and you spent your days deep in prayer and tending to the ill and destitute alongside your sisters.

And yet, one way or another, something began to stir within you. It crept up on you throughout the years in the form of innocent temptations — a yearning to explore the local village for just a while longer, exhilaration after allowing a baker to slip a sweet roll into your satchel as thanks for helping his daughter, despite knowing you were not allowed to accept gifts from others, unrecognizable melancholy as you stared out into the sea of rolling hills on a crisp autumn day and admired the endless blue sky — so many little temptations that doused the bright flames of your spirituality and allowed the darkness to spread.

It was difficult to notice the change. Even when you found yourself restless and cursing the pain shooting up your knees as you knelt before a pew, you quelled your inner conflict with prayer and fasting. But adulthood brought about new challenges. The cracks within your restless spirit had spread like ivy and primed you for your first mistake.

Your day started like any other. Winter ensnared the grounds of the monastery in blankets of glimmering snow and stinging winds that proved difficult to overcome. The villagers were kind enough to send provisions to the monastery, ferried up the winding hills of gnarled oaks by a gentleman who you had seen many times. He was handsome and friendly, his inky windswept hair plastered across his forehead and cheeks nearly as red as his eyes. Father had the pleasure of speaking to him more often than not, but you still attempted to catch a glimpse of the man under the pretense of unloading the cart. Your heart always stirred at the sight of his warm smile.

You should not have entertained your silly whimsies. You should not have gone to bed with impure thoughts after a hasty Hail Mary, staring into the flames of the hearth as you huddled beneath your blanket and slipped a hand between your quivering thighs, watching the glowing red and orange hues of burning cracks within the firewood and remembering those beautiful eyes. The experience was so humiliating that you hurried out of bed in the dead of night and ran straight to the church, letting the sharp pain of cold snow against your bare feet guide you ever further towards your only chance of salvation.

The imposing silence of the church did little to soothe your nerves. Towering walls of barren stone and creaking wooden pillars surrounded you, devoid of hospitality in the dead of night. You took a few meek steps towards the altar. Unable to meet the solemn gaze of your savior, you scurried off to find Father’s private quarters instead. Your loud knocking had clearly startled the man into wakefulness. The poor priest looked just as frazzled as you felt, and you made sure to apologize profusely for your rude behavior as you dragged him to the confessional with tears streaming down your face.

Father had been so deathly silent while you told him about your infatuation with the villager that you were certain he would scold you good and proper. But no, he had been as compassionate as he always was, offering words of comfort and forgiveness.

That should have been the end of it. You did not see the villager for days after your shameful act. The mundane tasks of everyday life kept you busy. So busy, in fact, that you managed to work yourself to the brink of exhaustion one day, and you fell asleep in the alcove of the library like some kind of child.

You did not remember dreaming. Consciousness trailed on the edge of a feeling that stirred you from slumber — a barely-there touch brushing along your bottom lip, followed by a short puff of cold air that fanned across your face and startled you awake. The candle beside you innocently flickered and waved in greeting, and the shadows around you mockingly mirrored its dance.

This game of ethereal cat and mouse continued for weeks. Every so often you would feel lingering sensations trailing along your face whenever you let your mind wander, growing only bolder once you removed your constricting habit within the sanctity of your bedroom. With your hair freed from its confines as you brushed through the soft strands, sometimes you imagined a hand trailing after the brush with each downstroke. It reminded you of how your Mother Superior combed her fingers through your hair to prevent tangled knots from hurting you.

All of this, you could attribute to your imagination … until the sharp divide between fiction and reality steadily grew muddled.

A particularly strange encounter occurred one evening. You opened your small window and pensively stared out into the snowy landscape, a singular thought daring to escape your wicked mouth, where none but God could listen to your act of rebellion.

“I want to be out there,” you had whispered solemnly.

A breeze rolled through in answer, and you marveled at how the air caressed your cheeks and smoothed unruly strands of hair away from your face.

It had felt so tender and comforting. You froze in shock for only a moment before something spurred you to hurriedly close the window and hide yourself in bed.

If only it had been that easy — the following night proved to be more tempting than the last. You were woken up by a tingling sensation on your lips, and a new feeling altogether.

Something firmly cupped your breast through your nightgown. Or could it simply be your blanket tightened around you from thrashing in your sleep?

Your nipple hardened into a stiff peak, begging to be played with. You kept your eyes firmly shut and blushed at your wanton display, modesty briefly overtaking your lustful urges. Yet try as you might, you could not resist bringing your fingers ever downward. Your nightgown had ridden up to your hips, and as the blanket caressed the sensitized skin of your inner thighs and tightened around your breast, you buried your face in your pillow and gently eased a finger through your slick folds.

Your efforts were clumsy and inexperienced. It was utterly frustrating, your hips canting upward to try to find the right angle and failing miserably at it. Your brows furrowed in anger and concentration, and in your delirious frenzy to reach your peak, you found yourself arching your back into that strange grasp on your breast. A gentle swipe along your hardened nipple elicited a breathy gasp, and the feeling of fingers carding through the hair at your temple made you whimper and tilt your head in search for more.

Something slid along the back of your hand and coaxed it into a new position. Your mouth opened in a wordless cry as you finally hit a perfect spot deep within you. The tingling sensation tickled your lips again, and for some odd reason, you felt compelled to stick your tongue out just a little bit, your breath hitching as something soft and warm glided along the wet muscle.

It should have knocked all sense back into you. It nearly did, if not for your cunt pulsing around your fingers as you moaned and chased the aftershocks of heady pleasure with each roll of your hips. Liquid exhaustion flooded your body, urging you to slump back in relaxation. You had just enough energy to carefully remove your sticky hand from beneath your sheet and lay it on the edge of the bed before sleep overtook you. In the morning, you would find your fingers mysteriously clean.

You kept that night a secret. Overcome with shame and disgust, you could not bring yourself to admit to Father that you had broken your vows once again and strayed from his guidance.

“None will know, and therefore it never happened,” you angrily muttered to yourself as you strutted through the snowy grounds of the garden and tightened your wool cloak around you for warmth. “My sanctity is worth more than my foolish pleasure.” A stray rock caused you to nearly trip, and you had to suck in a deep breath to keep yourself from losing your calm.

The more you distanced yourself from the truth, the more you were drawn into the darkness. You kept your secrets safely guarded, playing the part of a devout sister while your aching loneliness was soothed by the balm of an unseen force that played with your senses.

Sometimes you imagined a glimmer of shifting light at the edge of your periphery, but you dared not look. Not ever. The gentle caresses were more than enough to satiate your desires.

Or so you told yourself.

A winter storm was in full effect tonight. Not a soul dared to prance around the cold corridors, which meant you had no chance of being interrupted by a wayward young initiate or an unruly sister with a penchant for late-night gossiping. You were freshly washed and warmed by the fire, your unbound hair fanned out across your pillow and your nightgown scandalously discarded over the back of your chair.

For the first time in your life, you did not bend the knee to pray before rest. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest as you stared at the golden cross hammered above your doorway, its edges aglow from the light of the fireplace.

“God forgive me,” you quietly uttered, and closed your eyes to banish the cross from your sight.

For a while, all you could hear was the sound of howling wind and crackling fire. You were half-tempted to begin all by yourself, but you had learned to be patient. Your visitor always made itself known when you were tethering on the precipice of sleep. Perhaps the delirium that followed exhaustion played tricks on you. Perhaps that had been the culprit all along.

Either way, you wanted it.

And so you let yourself slip free from anticipation and restlessness, the tension in your muscles dissipating as your breathing gradually slowed and you could no longer hear the wind or fire. All you knew was peace. All you perceived was stillness.

It was quiet. Far too quiet. Something felt different tonight.

You were overcome by the sensation of falling, and your body jerked lightly in response. It roused you from the precipice of slumber, and in your hazy confusion, you had enough common sense to keep your eyes closed. Ever so patient, you waited for what would come next, despite the goosebumps forming on your skin that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the feeling of being watched.

A light weight pressed down onto your chest, as though a kitten had curled up there. You focused on your breathing and parted your lips, allowing your soft sighs to slip through. It always liked when you did that. Your mouth tingled a bit. You slowly licked along your bottom lip, and the weight on your chest became incrementally heavier.

A pulse of wetness gushed out of your cunt in anticipation. You rubbed your thighs together for friction and accidentally bunched your bedsheet at your feet, making it slither down your body to expose your breasts. The cold air caused your nipples to harden, and an even colder puff tickled one nipple before an altogether unique sensation followed — soft and textured, like a velvet ribbon, gliding around the stiff bud and ending its journey with a teasing flick.

You moaned quietly as you gripped the sheets beneath you. This time, something sighed against your mouth, trailing along your tongue and all the way to the back of your throat. Before you could make sense of the new experience, a firmer pressure settled over your lips, far more solid and real than any tantalizing tingle had ever felt.

You were delirious with need. Completely and utterly lost to your impulses, and you hadn’t even touched yourself yet.

Something was kissing you, and you were too far gone to consider the implications. Nevermind that you were in a compromising situation and forsaking your vows to the Lord.

Right now, all that mattered was how rough that touch felt against your lips, how slowly it guided your mouth into a deep kiss that smothered your whimpers and gently sucked at your lips with a lewd wet sound. Velvet glided along your tongue, twining like a serpent and licking every crevice of your mouth. It was overpowering, toe-curling, intoxicating. You were swept away by the myriad of sensations, moaning as your nipple was twisted and pinched, and the hair at your temple was lovingly, tenderly brushed through.

Familiar. You knew that touch. You craved it, and you wanted more. No one had ever made you feel like this before. No one ever would, not within these sacred halls.

What if —

What if you dared to look? Just this once, what if you stepped out from the protective embrace of your religion and just …

As though reading your mind, the firm pressure on your mouth disappeared. You opened your eyes, and forgot to breathe.

God help you.

Scarlet eyes. Redder than blood, oh so familiar in their beauty, yet entirely devoid of life. They burned like hellfire, slashed through by slitted pupils that honed in on you with an unyielding stare.

And the skin. You had never seen anything like it on a living creature, this sickly gray shade among numerous cracks and scars that marred the entity’s torso and face. Your gaze trailed over the strange markings around those serpentine eyes, your stomach churning uneasily as your worst suspicions were confirmed — the striated grooves winded and merged into the graceful arch of a pair of horns that curled back into sharp tapered ends.

You were consorting with a demon.

He looked corrupted, as though his very essence carved its demonic aura into his flesh. In a moment of bewildered hysteria, you honed in on the scars etched into his face, briefly noting that he had a mole just below the corner of his mouth, of all things —

The demon readjusted his position, comfortably resting his weight on top of you as his arms caged your head and his hands cradled your face. His fingers carded through your hair in a mockery of affection, and he smiled at you, all sharp teeth and cracked lips.

You wanted to throw him off of you. You wanted to kick and scream and beg the Lord for forgiveness and protection.

You were frozen in place instead.

[slippinmickeys]

The Dreaming Tree (2/4)

...A broom is drearily sweeping

Up the broken pieces of yesterday's life

Somewhere a queen is weeping

Somewhere a king has no wife

And the wind, it cries Mary...

Harbor Springs, Michigan

July 1, 1999

9:02am

A local DNR conservation officer had agreed to meet her at the site first thing the next morning, but had not yet arrived when Scully parked the rental sedan under the Coming Soon! development sign. She had dropped off Mulder at the local library before pulling out a pair of hiking boots from the backseat and swapping them out with her heels. Thus outfitted, she had driven north.

Despite dressing more sensibly for her venture, she still stepped carefully over the rutted, muddy two track that led into the woods, the pungent smell of humus a welcome assault on her nose. She decided to look around on her own, heading for the area where the various Dreamers had lunched the week prior.

The sun was midway through the morning sky, and the poplar leaves twisted in a cool breeze; the underside of them lighter than the tops, like the belly of a sunfish. Construction work had shut down for a couple of hours to accommodate her investigation.

The forest was teeming, fecund, half-choked with chlorophyll, the air filled with the high whine of katydids screaming at her from the canopy. She felt like she had stepped into another epoch; prehistoric and riotous with life.

The big equipment had churned a lot of the forest floor into a chunky, muddy mess, and her hope of finding evidence -- if there was any to be found -- seemed about as likely as her mother converting to Buddhism. It probably wasn’t worth setting up a grid.

Her thoughts drifted to Mulder as she stepped over trout lily and larch. What would he find that she might miss? His intuition was otherworldly, and even after seven years -- especially after seven years -- he could make connections she hadn’t ever considered. And he’d never once looked down on her for it. He’d never once treated her as anything less than an equal. If anything, he put her on a pedestal she didn’t feel she deserved. He was erudite and occasionally conscientious. He loved her with a fierceness she didn’t dare contemplate.

Staring at the weathered heart and initials carved into it, she decided to start at the pine tree and work her way out, hoping the conservation officer would arrive soon and perhaps let her know what she was looking for. Scully reached out a hand and touched the bark of the tree -- it was warm, though the trunk had been in the shade. It gave off a pleasant, earthy scent, and she pulled her hand back, tapping her fingers together, sticky with sap.

She heard something behind her and turned, seeing a tall brunette in a greyish green uniform making her way toward Scully through the bracken. Her hair was pulled up tightly into a low bun, giving her a severe look, but she wore a smile and had a pleasant mien. The woman raised a friendly hand.

“You Special Agent Scully?” she called out.

“I am,” Scully called back, returning the smile and stepping forward.

“I’m Polaski,” the officer said, shaking Scully’s hand as she stepped over a fallen branch. “I have to say it’s refreshing to find you’re a woman.”

“Likewise,” Scully said. The woman took a moment to look around the forest and construction site.

“Geez,” Polaski said, “I like the woods better when they stay woods.” She straightened. “So how did you need my assistance? My sergeant only told me that the FBI was working a case and needed a local flora/fauna expert. He said he didn’t know what the case was.”

Scully wasn’t sure she did either.

“We’ve got some victims experiencing… something akin to hallucinations. The only thing the victims have in common is their presence at this site. The only time all the victims were in the same place was when they all shared a meal in this general area. I was hoping you might assist me in identifying any possible naturally occurring hallucinogens or flora containing psychotropic elements. Are there any you’re aware of that grow locally?”

Polaski nodded, the leather of her utility belt creaking as she leaned back contemplatively.

“Off the top of my head… there’s a couple of mushrooms: fly agaric, big laughing gym. Then there’s unripe red mulberries, though it doesn’t affect everyone the same. And I’ve known some old timers who’ve used sassafras.”

“In what way?” Scully asked.

“Safrole,” Polaski answered, “the oil from the sassafras root can be used to make... whatcha call it, MDA.”

“Methylenedioxyamphetamine?”

Polaski nodded. “Makes better root beer, you ask me.”

“Would you be able to survey the area with me, let me know if you see any of the flora you mentioned?”

“Let’s get to it,” Polaski suggested.

They made their way in concentric circles, the conservation officer occasionally pointing out this or that, none of which were what they were looking for. By the time they’d gotten to the area around the entrance of the site, the sun was at midday high and they hadn’t found a thing.

“Can you explain to me the nature of the hallucinations?” Polanski finally asked.

Scully felt Mulder’s own words form within the confines of her mouth and smiled at the intrusion. What could she tell this woman without sounding crazy?

“The victims appear to be, at the very least, sharing dreams. With physical ramifications.”

“Such as?” Polaski asked, though her tone was of open curiosity rather than the doubtful disdain Scully had been half expecting. With only a momentary pause, Scully opened up to her, giving her some of the stranger details of the case.

“Well, shit,” Polaski said, and Scully wasn’t sure if there had yet been a more succinct reaction to the case.

“Pretty much.”

Polaski leaned against a yellow articulated dump truck that was parked just within the tree line off the highway.

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help, Agent Scully,” she said.

“On the contrary, you were a tremendous help, Officer Polaski, I thank you.”

“This case,” Polaski hedged, “sounds pretty odd. You want me to take a look at state-wide records, see if I can pull anything with similar overtones?”

“If you’re offering, I’ll accept, but are you sure you’ve got the time?”

“Beats getting mosquito bites while busting anglers without a license. Let me take the afternoon, see what I can find.”

With that, Polaski pushed off the Caterpillar and nodded once at Scully, who followed her back to their respective vehicles and pointed her internal compass toward Mulder.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Best Western Motel

Petoskey, Michigan

11:23am

From the dozen or so phone calls that he’d made, it seemed the school had been run by nuns from the Holy Childhood sect, which had been a part of the Diocese of Gaylord, a town forty minutes southeast. However, when Mulder called the Diocese of Gaylord, which had been established in 1971, he was redirected to the Diocese of Grand Rapids, a further three hours downstate because it had been overseeing Holy Childhood before ‘71. School records seemed to be scattered to the four winds, though an older secretary in Gaylord told Mulder in confidence that she remembered the Mother Superior had been close with the priest at the St. Francis Xavier church the next town over -- otherwise, school records would be “forthcoming,” whatever that meant.

Mulder brought a hand to his temple as he relayed this information to Scully.

“Any luck in the woods?” he asked.

“No,” Scully said, “though the conservation officer I worked with offered to look through state cases for anything similar. Otherwise, we got bupkis.”

“Not quite bupkis,” Mulder said, handing her a sheet of paper. “I went through old newspaper articles and was able to track down some old pictures of students from the school. Those from the last thirty years had some names included on the captions and I was able to cross reference the names with records from the local Secretary of State office. This is a list of former students I was able to track down that are still local.”

Scully looked over the list.

“There’s not many,” she said, looking up at him. There were only three.

It was indeed a pitifully small number for the hours of work he’d put in. If he never sat in front of another microfiche machine, he might die happy.

“There’s not. But it’s a place to start.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I figure we can interview some former students and maybe get more insight into the area. Up until two months ago, the only thing up there was the school. Maybe we’ll find a connection.”

“It’s as good a plan as any,” she said.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Bay View Inn,

Harbor Springs, Michigan

1:34pm

They found Argyle Petoskey at his job, waiting tables at an upscale inn and restaurant that had been converted from a Victorian mansion in one of the chautauquas of Harbor Springs. The day was turning hot; Mulder had left his jacket in the car, and even Scully had opted to wear only a blouse on top, changing from her hiking gear back into her pencil skirt and heels in the library bathroom.

Argyle’s manager pointed them out back, where they found him leaning against the wall of the loading dock smoking a cigarette, dressed in a restaurant uniform version of a tuxedo, the pre-tied bowtie hanging loose around his unbuttoned collar. When they introduced themselves, he flicked the cigarette off into a puddle and jumped down to greet them, leaking smoke from his mouth.

“What’s this about?”

“We’re looking into the Holy Childhood school,” Mulder said, assessing the man before him. He had short, dark hair and intense brown eyes and what Mulder supposed passed for a mustache. Argyle’s eyebrows rose at this.

“You mean the federal government is actually looking into the shit that happened at Indian schools?”

Mulder, interest piqued, made a mental note to further investigate and simply said, “Can you tell us about your experiences there?”

Argyle took a breath and blew it out, then fished a foil-wrapped stick of wintergreen gum from his pocket and shoved it in his mouth.

“The school was actually pretty good for me,” he shrugged, “I didn’t come from the most stable home. I got my diploma, kept my nose clean. And I, uh, wasn’t on the receiving end of some of the bad shit that went down.”

“Abuse?” Scully finally spoke up.

Argyle gave her a once-over, his eyes lingering at her cross necklace.

“Like I said, not to me. But I did know some people it probably happened to.”

Mulder nodded. “What was it like when you were there? How many kids?”

“Not many when I was there. I graduated in ‘82 right before they shut it down. After ‘78, a lot of Native families stopped sending their kids. But it was okay. Taught me how to play sports, kept me out of trouble.” He hunched up a shoulder. “Kept me away from my dad’s belt. I made a lot of friends.”

“I didn’t see any playing fields up there, where did you guys practice your sports?” Mulder asked.

“Oh, we’d play lacrosse on the front lawn in front of the school until the nuns yelled, but otherwise the local high school let us use their gym and fields and stuff.”

Argyle looked over his shoulder at the door.

“What about out past the school? Looks like the school owned a lot of the land up there. Anyone ever experience anything strange out in the forest?” Scully asked.

“Like love by the dashboard light?” Argyle chuckled. “No, we didn’t go out in those woods. All the kids said it was haunted. We stayed away.”

“Haunted?” Mulder asked, “by whom?”

“A dead student? Some hunter? An old tribal chief? Your guess is as good as mine. I heard ‘em all. Probably an urban legend. I bet every boarding school has one. Listen, are we almost done here? My shift is about to start.”

“Sure,” Mulder said, handing him a business card, “you mind giving us a list of some of your friends from the school? You don’t need to do it right now.”

“And get blamed for sending the Feds to their door? Fat chance. Listen,” he said, jumping back up onto the loading dock, and tucking the card into a back pocket,  “I’ll put the word out. You staying locally?”

Mulder nodded. “The Best Western on US-31.”

Argyle nodded back, waved. “Good luck.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Petoskey, Michigan

4:56pm

The second student on their list -- Stan Skippergosh -- told them roughly the same thing that Argyle Petoskey had, only in a far less succinct way. It was nearing 5:00pm by the time they headed toward the house of the last student on their list.

The road that led out of town turned country at a stop light: to the west toward the lake were businesses and doctors’ offices, churches and schools, but past the stop light it was all pasture. The road dipped with the countryside, and then climbed up steeply, the banks on either side covered in field grass and Queen Anne’s Lace, the air thick with the buzz of insects and the rich tang of grass blades leeching oxygen. It was mostly farmland with the occasional suburban house, small yards carved out of fields and dotted with swingsets and boxes of geraniums.

Leonard Naganashe lived past the fields and farmland, past where the forest began, and Scully’s Mapquest printout was not quite cutting it -- they had to double back twice and ended up finding his road on their own. The driveway wound like a river through the trees, fresh gravel popping under their tires, and Mulder only noticed the tops of the trees when Scully pointed them out.

“Mulder,” Scully said, leaning forward and squinting through the windshield, “look at the canopy.”

At first it was only one or two trees, the tops of which had been blown off and charred, but as they approached the house it seemed as though nearly all the tall trees surrounding the house were similarly affected, a few with the tops blown off, but many, more of them affected than not, with long perpendicular lines scarring their trunks. Hemlock or birch, beech or maple, none were spared.

The house, in a small clearing at the end of the drive, was a quaint one-story ranch that had simple metal finials attached to all four corners. Lightning rods. Mulder flashed on Darin Peter Oswald and gave Scully a significant look over the console.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Mulder said, throwing the sedan into park and cutting the engine.

The heat hit them like a force when they stepped out of the air conditioned confines of the car, the humidity as thick as bisque. Mulder pulled uncomfortably at his tie as they stepped up onto the landing and pushed the doorbell. When no sound came from inside the house, Scully gave the door two sharp raps. A moment later, a woman appeared, her face wearing a look of wary apprehension. She spoke through the screen door, but did not open it.

“What do you want?” she inquired.

“Is this the residence of Leonard Naganashe?” Scully ventured.

“Who’s asking?”

Mulder and Scully both pulled out their badges, holding them up briefly at face-level.

“What’s he done?” the woman asked.

“Nothing,” Mulder said, repocketing his badge. “Leonard attended the Holy Childhood Boarding School in Harbor Springs. We’re trying to get some background. He’s one of the few former students that still lives in the area.”

The woman snorted. “Nothing good ever came from that school. Leonard included,” she replied. “I should know.”

“Did you attend the school as well, ma’am?” Scully queried from beside Mulder’s elbow.

The woman didn’t answer at first, and Mulder could see her face cloud over.

“I graduated in ‘82,” she finally said.

“What’s your name?” Mulder asked.

“Mary.”

“Can we talk to you about the school?” he requested.

“No,” Mary said curtly. “Leonard took off about a month ago. You find him, you tell him I got papers for him to sign.”

With that, the door closed in their faces.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Best Western Motel

Petoskey, Michigan

7:23pm

They were north of the 45th Parallel -- closer to the north pole than the equator and the summer days seem to last forever -- it was light before 5:00, it was dark after 10:00. The sun shone on and on.

Their hotel was neither the worst nor the best they’d ever stayed in -- just off the highway, but tucked back into the trees of a cedar swamp, each room opened out onto the small parking lot with suburban woods beyond it. Their respective rooms were on either end of the long row, and they’d set up camp in Scully’s, at the far end away from the motel office. Mulder closed the door on the damp cedar brine and kicked off his shoes.

The A/C unit rattled in the window but was cooling the room admirably. It was late and Scully was on her second piece of pizza after realizing that she’d had nothing all day but a stale mini bagel from the motel’s ‘continental’ spread and a hot slug of bad coffee she’d made from the little pot on the small vanity outside her bathroom.

“Are you still thinking this is some kind of mass hallucination?” Mulder asked her around a mouthful of sausage and pepper.

She could tell he was feeling her out, gauging her hostility toward his more outlandish theories.

“I don’t know what to think, Mulder,” she said. “The details of this case, so far as we have uncovered them, leave a lot more questions than answers.”

“I will give you that.” He sighed, wiped his mouth, crumpled up the napkin and threw it in a perfect arc into the trash can. She gave him the ghost of an impressed smile.

“You think it’s a haunting of some sort?” she walked her own napkin, and the flimsy paper plate the pizzeria had given them, over to the trash can and deposited them sensibly.

He gave a mock shiver. “Don’t get me too excited Scully, we’re in the same motel room after hours.”

She wondered briefly what he would do if she walked over to the chair he was sitting in and straddled his lap. If she wrapped his tie twice around her fist and pulled his generous mouth to hers. Would his eyes be startled? Would they glaze over in lust?

Her indecorous fantasy was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She answered it.

“Agent Scully, this is Officer Polaski,” said the voice on the other end, “I’m sorry to call so late, but I think I may have something for you.” Scully waved Mulder over and he sat next to her, the mattress dipping below his weight and pushing her into his side. She tilted the phone so they could both hear. “It’s a pretty old case -- from the 50s -- and some of the details of the case notes have been lost over time, but I found a record of an arrest in the woods where you and I were today.”

“Definitely not too late,” Scully reassured her. “What was the charge?”  

“Murder,” Polaski said, and Scully tilted her head slightly to find Mulder’s eyes. “You want me to fax it over?” Polaski went on.

Mulder rose and hurried over to the dresser where a pad of motel stationery sat, the phone and fax numbers at the bottom.

“Please,” Scully said, and then rattled off the number as Mulder held it up for her.

“It’s on its way,” Polaski told her, and Mulder was already slipping on his shoes.

“Be right back,” he said after Scully had thanked her and disconnected, and he trotted out the door toward the motel office.

He was back a few minutes later, shuffling through a few leaves of paper that wafted the smell of hot toner in her direction. “Polaski was right,” he said, handing her a couple, “this is pretty thin.”

They both sat on her bed and traded sheets of paper, reading through the case file.

Franklin Henry Donaughy had been arrested while camping in the woods not far from the Holy Childhood Indian School on the night of November 14, 1952, by two Emmet County Sheriff deputies. His wife, Denise Donaughy, aged 37, had been found dead -- from a gunshot wound to the chest -- in their home in Harrison Township, Michigan (a town located three hours to the south, Scully discovered after a quick map consult and a brief mental calculation). Franklin had claimed to have been hunting and camping up north for the four days beforehand and had no part in her killing, or so he said to the sheriff deputies. There were several pages missing from the file, it appeared, particularly those of Franklin Donaughy’s statements to police.

Mulder handed Scully the coroner’s report, which she looked over.

“This is odd,” she noted, after a moment, and handed the paper back to Mulder. “It says here that the body was discovered sitting up in a lounge chair in their living room under a blanket, next to a switched on radio. There was no blood spray discovered at the scene, but the body had both an entry and exit wound, so they assumed she’d been killed at a different location and then placed in the living room.” She leaned closer to him, pointed to the page. “But, Mulder, the recorded amount of blood that seeped into the chair was almost four liters. That’s nearly all the blood a body has--”

“--So she couldn’t have been killed at a different location and then moved,” Mulder concluded.

“Exactly, it makes no sense.”

“What else does it say?” he asked.

“Not much,” she said, frustrated, “it’s incomplete.”

Mulder blew out a raspberry and shoved his palm tiredly into his eye socket.

“I’ll call the Sheriff’s office tomorrow and see if they have a more complete record. Barring that I can always swim again with the microfiche, see what the local papers said in ‘52.”

“I’ll help,” she smiled at him and then shoved him lightly in the shoulder. “Let’s get some sleep for now, huh?”

He leaned his arm onto hers for a moment and she saw a glimmer of something brewing in his chlorite eyes. A moment later he turned away and then stood from the bed.

“We should,” he agreed, and made his way to the door, throwing her one last glance before closing it softly behind him.

She felt as though she had barely closed her eyes when there was a pounding on the same door. She looked at the glow of the alarm clock next to the bed. It was nearly 1:30 a.m.

She threw open the door to find Mulder threading the tie he’d worn earlier in the day back through the collar of a dress shirt.

“Hank Poquette just called me,” he said. “He found Moira in their bed, unresponsive.”

“Did he call 911?” Scully asked on a hop of adrenaline.

“Paramedics are on their way,” Mulder said, already moving back in the direction of his own room, “I’ll meet you at the car in five.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Cross Village, Michigan

2:40am

The forest around the Poquette property was awash in blue and red light as Mulder and Scully drove up the winding driveway, the house itself lit up with the headlights and search beams of several police cruisers. Mulder pulled in behind one and killed the engine.

“This doesn’t look good,” he said to Scully, who remained quiet, her face grim.

The Poquette’s black dog was whining from its chained position beside the tree, its eyes never once leaving the house as they walked past. EMTs exited the house pushing a stretcher just as Mulder and Scully got to the bottom of the porch steps -- a person laid out beneath a sheet that was pulled over their face.

The agents backed away to let the paramedics pass and shared a look. When they got to the front door, they were met by a confused young sheriff’s deputy who blanched at their IDs. He called over his superior who appeared to be the Sheriff himself, with whom Mulder shook hands. Scully stood back slightly, her hands crossed in front of her.

Hank Poquette sat at the counter in his kitchen, staring blankly ahead, head in his hands.

After Mulder explained -- with as few details as possible -- what they were doing in the area and at the Poquette house, the Sheriff agreed to let them have a few minutes with Hank before they took him into the station to get his statement.

The deputies migrated to the far end of the living room by the door before Mulder spoke quietly to Hank, Scully keeping close at Mulder’s elbow.

“What happened tonight?” Mulder coaxed, as kindly as he could.

Hank didn’t look at either of them; his eyes glassy.

“I had a dream,” he said blankly. “When I woke up… I found her like that. Next to me.”

“What happened in your dream, Hank?” Mulder asked.

Hank finally looked up, a deep groove etched between his eyebrows. He took a shallow breath.

“She died.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Best Western Motel

Petoskey, Michigan

July 2, 1999

7:30am

Scully was dressed and had just unwrapped the towel from her freshly shampooed hair when she heard Mulder at her door. They had left a nearly catatonic Hank Poquette at the local police station at 4:30 a.m., and Scully, bleary-eyed with barely any sleep, had stumbled into the shower thirty minutes earlier.

Hank had said very little when deputies questioned him, simply laying out the timeline of he and Moira’s evening (dinner at a local bar with friends and a 10:00 p.m. bedtime) and had told them that he’d woken to find Moira in bed next to him, unresponsive. It wasn’t until he was in the small interrogation room alone with Mulder and Scully and had a hot cup of coffee in front of him that he’d told them both his dream: she’d fallen from a tall building while he was running to catch her.

“I always have dark dreams,” he’d said cryptically to Scully before they left, his eyes haunted. The Sheriff had mentioned that they didn’t have enough evidence to hold him and that he would be released later in the day.

Mulder moved into her room and tossed a newspaper onto Scully’s unmade bed.

“Interesting entertainment article got picked up by the local paper,” he said, nodding to the periodical. “Page four.”

Scully set down the hairbrush she’d been using on her wet hair and picked up the paper.

July 1, 1999

by Megan McCullough, AP

TOM CRUISE’S DISAPPEARING ACT

An impressive PR stunt was successfully pulled off last night at the premiere of the new Warner Bros. tentpole ‘The Magician.’

Star Tom Cruise was walking the red carpet in front of the Bruin Theater in Westwood when he vanished, ostensibly into thin air. The stunt was captured on film by the press and fans alike, who said Cruise was glad-handing and giving autographs to the fans along the velvet rope when he disappeared.

“He was standing in front of me one second and gone the next,” said fan and witness Amy Michelson, “I couldn’t believe it. We were all kind of freaked out and scared for Tom but then he came back about twenty minutes later.” Witnesses say the star reappeared at the exact spot he had disappeared from about a half an hour later, startling studio and security personnel who had surrounded the area. “He looked totally shell shocked when he reappeared,” Michelson went on, “and he had smears of lipstick all over his mouth. I’m not sure where he went, but I wish it had been with me!”

Sources close to Cruise say that the star was surprised and upset by what they refer to as an ‘uncontracted and unsafe stunt’ and has been looking into lawsuits aimed at Warner Bros. as well as ‘The Magician’s’ executive producer David Copperfield.

When initially asked for comment minutes after the incident, the studio was close-lipped. Press inquiries as to why police were called to the scene in Westwood immediately following the disappearance were chalked up to “miscommunication.”

As of this morning, the studio seems to have changed its tune and released the following statement:

“We at Warner Bros. are always happy to work with Mr. Cruise, and are very proud of ‘The Magician.’ We hope audiences will go to theaters to see it before it, too, disappears!”

Scully looked up at Mulder.

“You don’t think…”

“Lindsey Conrad is a Dreamer, and you saw the posters in her kitchen.”

“Jesus, Mulder.”

“We need to stop this thing Scully. What if one of these people dreams of the President dying? What if some foreign government figures out what’s going on up here and starts using these people for assassinations or -- hell, what if our government does?”

His hair was sticking up in places as though he’d been running his hands through it. Scully looked up at him. “What is ‘this thing,’ Mulder? What the hell are we dealing with here?”

“Something is pulling people into the dreams of others, Scully. Whether you believe it or not. And whatever the mechanism is -- we need to find out what it is, how it works, and how to stop it.”

The explanation Mulder was pushing could not possibly be true. Could it? She stayed mute and could see the color rise in his cheeks.

“People’s lives are at stake Scully,” he said darkly.

She felt anger building inside as well but pushed it back down.

“Maybe we’ll find something in Moira’s autopsy,” she finally said.

Mulder nodded, suddenly looking as tired as she felt.

“I’m going to head back to the library while you’re slicing and dicing -- see what I can turn up on this hunter case Polaski sent us.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Emmet County Morgue

Northern Michigan Regional Hospital

Petoskey, Michigan

9:34am

The county medical examiner was as near to retirement as any she’d ever met. He’d reached the stage of male aging where the hair on his forehead receded, only to grow wildly out of his ears. His fingernails had yellowed and ridged and his eyebrows seemed to crawl across his forehead like hairy grey caterpillars. Nevertheless, he was friendly and polite, if a bit hard of hearing.

“Edward Farrugia,” he said, extending a hand over the body of Moira Poquette. Scully shook it firmly, and found the skin of his palm warm and dry. She’d shaken a lot of ME’s hands in the subterranean dark of various morgues, and found many to be roughly the same texture and temperature as their charges.

“Dana Scully,” she said. “Did you receive the police report from the Sheriff’s office?”

“I did,” Dr. Farrugia informed her, “though I didn’t look at it -- I was just about to. I like to do my initial exam without knowing any of the details. Start from scratch. No preconceived notions to bring into it.”

Scully nodded. She liked that.

“So you’ve already looked at the body?” she asked. The EMTs had left with Moira’s body before she got a chance to see it herself.

“Just an initial visual exam. I’d be happy to share my thoughts,” he said.

“Let me scrub up and we can go over it together?”

He smiled at her and nodded, then headed back into his office while she found the small locker room nearby to scrub in and change. There was a hot pot of coffee on a sideboard table in the locker room itself and she threw back several large, hasty sips.

When she walked back in ten minutes later, she found the Medical Examiner in his office staring at his desk, his face darkly set. He had the police report in his hand. She cleared her throat and he looked up.

“Are you ready to get started?” she asked politely.

“I am,” he said, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “But Dr. Scully… Nothing here adds up.”

“How so?” Scully asked.

Dr. Farrugia glanced toward the examination room where Moira Poquette’s body rested under a sheet. He held up the copy of the police report.  

“From what it says here, this woman went out to dinner last night with her husband and some friends, went home, went to bed and her husband found her unresponsive around midnight. There were multiple witnesses at the bar placing her there not more than two hours before her death. So she eats, goes home, gets in bed. That timetable indicates her death was likely caused by heart attack, stroke, aneurysm -- I’m sure I don’t need to list them all for you,” he went on, “you’re an expert.”

She nodded.

“Agent Scully, this woman died from a fall,” he said. “A pretty big one.”

She walked into the exam room and moved to the table before he’d even finished talking, peeling back the sheet covering Moira Poquette’s body. She heard Dr. Farrugia shuffle in behind her as she stared down in disbelief.

There was no blood, except for a small trickle from a clearly fractured skull. On her torso, her skin had split to the length of about ten or fifteen centimeters right above the hip bone, and a quantity of her small intestine was hanging out from the laceration. They were textbook injuries sustained from a fall of eighty to a hundred feet.

“This is…” she started to say, her tone one of disbelief.

“Yes,” Dr. Farrugia agreed. Their eyes met over the body and he moved to join her on the opposite side.

“Shall we see what we find on the inside?” she asked him after several moments.

“Let’s.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

The Carnegie Library

Petoskey, Michigan

3:30pm

Scully found Mulder beyond the stacks. The Carnegie Library was old, stately, a sturdy box-like structure with stone pillars in front, built with money endowed from Andrew Carnegie himself. Scully had to go to the back of the building and down a set of stairs to the basement, where she found Mulder sitting at a tabletop surrounded by rolls of microfiche, glasses perched on his nose, a screen flickering rapidly in front of him.

“Martha?” he said, as he heard her steps approach, “Let’s go another month or two ahead, see if we can find some articles from the trial.”

He turned when she touched his shoulder, his face blossoming into pleased surprise when he saw it was her.

“Hey,” he said, smiling, whatever slight animosity he’d been feeling towards her earlier in the morning dissipating into the air. “Sorry, I thought you were the librarian who’s been helping me out.”

At this, said librarian came around a corner, a small basket filled with boxes of microfiche rolls slung over her elbow. She was likely around seventy, with bright white hair cut into a fluffy bob, symmetrically cut bangs framing her forehead. She looked at Scully expectantly.

“Can I help you?” she asked Scully.

“Martha, this is the woman I told you about: my partner, Agent Scully,” Mulder said.

She gave Scully a quick up and down.

“Well,” she said, “it’s nice to meet you, Agent Scully. I must say, when pressed, Agent Mulder conceded that you were quite lovely, but I now see why he turned so coy. My dear, you’re a vision.”

Scully felt her cheeks color.

“Martha is a shameless flirt,” Mulder said, his eyes on the tabletop.

“And a matchmaker,” Martha said to Scully, winking.

Mulder pointedly changed the subject, “Do you have late February and early March?”

“Right here,” Martha said, unslinging the basket from her elbow and passing it over to Mulder. She grabbed a nearby chair and pushed it in next to Mulder’s own. “Have a seat, love.”

Scully took the proffered chair and sat, giving Mulder a look as the woman left them on a whirl of white hair, leaving the faintest trace of Chanel No. 5 in her wake.  

“You made a friend,” Scully said, teasing.

“Yeah, well, I spent a week here yesterday morning,” he replied. “How was the autopsy?”

“Illuminating.”

“Yeah?” he said, turning to her in full, “Tell me.”

She sighed. “Three guesses.”

“She died from a fall,” Mulder said, a little reverence in his voice.

Scully nodded. “That’s what the body says.”

Mulder let out a long, low whistle. “Do you believe me now?” he asked, running his thumb along his jaw bone. It took her a moment to look away.

“I’m closer to believing,” she acknowledged.

“I guess I’ll take it,” he said after a moment.

“Have you talked to Hank?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Sheriff drove him home this morning. I’ll head out there when we’re done here and check on him.”

“Hopefully he’ll get some sleep,” Scully said.

“Hopefully he won’t,” Mulder said significantly.

Scully sank into the chair Martha had pulled out for her.

“Have you found anything?” she asked.

Mulder shook his head and passed her a couple of rolls of microfiche.

“Local paper,” he said. “They had a blurb on the arrest of Franklin Donaughy, but nothing else. Probably not that surprising since the ‘murder’ was downstate. Now I’m searching through for articles about the trial to see if there’s anything there.” He nodded toward a second viewing machine further down the table. “Care to join me?”

She pulled the basket of rolls toward her.

“You take February ‘53, I’ll take March?”

XxXxXxXxXxX

They searched for two hours before Scully left to bring them back dinner and Dramamine. Mulder was just wadding up the butcher paper from his ham on rye when Scully got his attention, waving her salad fork in front of his face.

“I think I’ve got it,” she said.

He let out a soft, satisfied belch and then scooted his chair closer to hers.  

It was a front page story:

March 2, 1953

by VJ Hramic

Not Guilty: Hunter Proclaims Innocence

Mulder skimmed the article until he found what he was looking for.

“There,” he said, pointing to the screen, “his alibi -- he’d been hunting and camping in the woods near the school for four days during the time of his wife’s murder. State’s evidence is all circumstantial except for the gun. Same caliber and ammunition as his hunting rifle.”

“Hmm,” said Scully, still not convinced.

They scrolled on for another week and a half until finally:

Guilty!

There was a picture of a haunted looking Franklin Donaughy being led from the county courthouse in handcuffs, surrounded by fedora-wearing reporters and the large drums of fifty-year-old camera flashes.

“Jesus,” Scully said and Mulder leaned forward when she pointed to small print at the end of the article on page 4, below the fold.

“Mr. Donaughy repeatedly shouted the phrase ‘But it was only in my dreams! She only died in my dreams!’ to reporters as he was led away to the Gladwin County Jail. He has been since evaluated and sent to the Northern Michigan Asylum in Traverse City to receive treatment for what doctors are calling a psychotic break.”

The wooden chair creaked when he leaned back in it.

They were both silent for almost a full minute, the hum of the microfiche machines the only sound other than their breathing.

Finally, Mulder rose and spoke.

“I’m going to drive out to the Poquette residence to check on Hank,” he said formally. “Would you, ah, make a call for me?” She nodded up at him from the chair. “I’ve been playing phone tag with the priest at St. Francis Xavier. See if you can get in touch with him and set up a meeting tomorrow -- I want to see what he can tell us about the headmistress of Holy Childhood.”

Mulder walked out to the sedan with a headache. He rolled the windows all the way down as he drove down the sunset road.

[just-another-author-i-guess]

The unholy

Warnings: she/her pronounced reader, mentions of blood and biting, some making out, but honestly there’s not much, I didn’t edit it through tho but what did you really expect

Pairing: bts ot7 x reader, nun! reader, princess! reader, vampire! Jin x reader, hybrid! Namjoon x reader, hybrid! Yoongi x reader, vampire! Hoseok x reader, vampire! Jimin x reader, hybrid! Taehyung x reader, hybrid! Jungkook x reader

Parts: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 -

Author’s note: so it’s currently really late and I’m just now finishing this, which I should have done yesterday but oh well. Anyways, since it’s so late and I’m so damn tired there’s probably a lot of mistakes and stuff and I’m really sorry, but it’s too late to edit it through and I’m sooo tired, and I have school tomorrow T.T damn this chapter just sucks. Anyways I hope you’ll still enjoy it, I would love to know if you did enjoy it!

(Updates; every Sunday!)

Summary:

The king and queen, your mother and father, rules the southern kingdom. The eastern and the western are ruled by kings and queens alike, but the northern are ruled by the most unholy of creatures. Or so you've been told.

Every citizen in the three kingdoms, have been warned about the creatures of the north, and it is with good reason they're all terrified. All your life, your parents have tried to keep the knowledge of the northern creatures from you, but that just made you more curious. Everyday, you would sneak down to the castle library, and read everything you could about the north, wanting to know the secret behind the unholy land.

That of course didn't go well with your parents, and when they found out they decided to send you to the most holy of places, to forget about everything you've read. One of the biggest church organizations in the south agreed to take you in, to rehabilitate you and learn you that you should never question such things as the northern creatures.

By day, you follow the strict prioress around as she lectures you about the holy and the unholy, and by night, you have to go on patrol alone through the church as a punishment for reading about the unholy. But one night, everything changes, when you find the prioress dead, with bite marks all over her body. Of course, you have read about this, and you know exactly what killed her.

But what happens when that exact creature you've read about, shows up right in front of you?

Taglist:

(Please let me know if you want to be tagged!)

@joonsroses @boononx @i-am-supermerwholoked221b @karissassirak @bvblackarmy @queenbianca-7 @someslightobsessions

It wasn’t the first time, you woke up in strange new surroundings, and it surely wouldn’t be the last, but this time it was neither the bathroom nor Seokjin’s bedroom, and you weren’t alone.

Slowly, you blinked your eyes open, definitely not missing the way your head instantly began to pound, as your eyes searched the foreign room.

Your eyes widened, and with a slight gasp and a startled expression, you met the scarlet eyes, of a girl dressed in a similar dress as yours, sitting on your bed and smiling down at you, pearly white fangs on display.

“Oh thank god!”

She exclaimed, and looked like she could jump on you and hug you at any moment, but she didn’t, she just kept smiling, and you were sure that her mouth would be aching by the time she stopped.

“Seokjin would just about have murdered Jeongguk, if you didnt wake up,”

She continued, never even giving the fact that you had no idea who she was a thought, as she continued to ramble on about Seokjin’s distress.

Carefully and with stiff limbs, you started to move up from under the covers, slowly sitting up and feeling you sore body as the girl looked at you with careful eyes.

Her smile was hypnotizing, your eyes seemed to be permanently glued to her pearly white fangs, as her mouth remained in the same wide smile.

Suddenly, a thought seemed to cross her mind, and her smile faded, but the gleam in her eyes remained the same, as she lowered the voice, and leaned closer into you, the smell of metal following her every breath.

“Is it true that Seokjin fed from you?”

The words were carefully punctuated, and just as quick as she leaned in did she pull away, leaving you with a rather confused expression.

“S-sorry?”

Your voice was hoarse, and your throat felt raw as you spoke, as if you hadn’t had water in days.

“You know, there’s a rumor going around, and it’s a great honor to have Seokjin drink from you, and even having fed from him,”

She continued, and your mind began to spin as you tried your best to remember, you tried so hard, but your memory was like a static tv. You furrowed your eyes brows, as the pounding behind your skull got worse, quick flashes of Jeongguk’s fangs flashed before your mind and you started to wonder if your whole interaction with Jeongguk actually happened.

“I-I can’t remember,”

You stuttered, as the intense pounding kept building up, making it hard to focus on the girls shiny fangs, as you shut your eyes hard and pressed your palms against your forehead, helplessly.

“But that’s what everyone is saying, that you’re Seokjin’s feeder, and he said himself that he gave you blood to keep you alive-“

“Aera, enough.”

Suddenly, the door was opened, almost violently, and Seokjin’s voice cut through the air like sharp knife, trying to cut into the girl, Aera as well.

Shocked almost, her eyes widened, and she stood up, head held low as she turned around to face Seokjin.

“I-I’m sorry your highness-“

She started, but only received a half threatening growl from Seokjin in response.

“Continue your chores for now, but don’t ever come in here unless you’re told to, understood?”

Seokjins voice was dripping with authority, the same voice he used to scold Taehyung, Hoseok and Jeongguk prior, and if it hadn’t been for the blinding headache a shiver would have run down your spine.

Aera merely whimpered in response, before scurrying out of the room, her quick footsteps could be heard down the hall long after she was gone.

“Drink some water,”

Suddenly, Seokjin was sitting were Aera had been sitting seconds ago, holding out a glass filled with icy water towards you, and with shaky hands you accepted, quickly gulping down the water like your life depended on it.

Slowly, the headache seemed to calm itself, and your brain was now only numbly bumping against your skull, easier to ignore.

Carefully you handed Seokjin the glass, arm tiredly lifting itself off the bed and reaching out to Seokjin.

“What happened?”

You demanded, as soon as the glass was set back on the table, searching Seokjin’s brilliant eyes for answers, but receiving nothing.

“What did Aera ask you?”

He shot back, and you shook your head, more careful than you normally would, as your eyes continued to search Seokjin’s.

“You didn’t answer my question, what happened with Jeongguk?”

You continued, not intending to give up. After coming here, you had gotten absolutely no answers from no one, and you were getting fed up.

Seokjin’s eyes seemed to harden, when you mentioned Jeongguk’s name and quick memories of the interaction with Jeongguk began to flash before you.

You remember how incredibly nice it felt, when you felt asleep against his chest, and how he didn’t feel cold and unwelcoming, unlike Seokjin and, what was the other boy called, Yoongi.

Both their eyes were cold and deep red, but Jeongguk’s was so much more human like, they were big, and brown and welcoming. They were everything Seokjin wasn’t, and you had to fight the shiver that went through you, when Seokjin leaned closer and you could feel the coolness emitting off of him.

Seokjin sighed, he sounded just as tired as he always did when you pried, and he looked the part too. He looked like he hadn’t fed in days; he looked like Jeongguk had before he fed on you.

Suddenly, the same strange sensation went through you. You wanted, no you needed to let Seokjin feed on you, you needed to feel his fangs sink into your skin and you needed to see how his cheeks would round and turn a more pinkish color than the pale white they were now.

“S-Seokjin, are you hungry?”

The question itself was an intruder in your mouth, but it escaped before you could even react, making Seokjin look at you with a shocked, almost worried expression.

“If you’re hungry, you should feed,”

You continued, the words escaping your lips without your consent, as you absentmindedly began to lift you tired arm, presenting your wrist to him, already with two, almost faded bike marks on it from Taehyung.

“(y/n), stop,”

Seokjin started, his eyes betraying him, as they followed the multiple bitemarks visible on you, and the tip of his pink tongue, coming out to wet his lips, fangs gently starting to protrude his botttom lip.

“You look hungry,”

You hummed, the idea of Seokjin sinking his fangs into your wrist, making you blood almost boil over with excitement and your body began feeling warm and fuzzy just at the thought, a weird contrast to Seokjin’s ice cold one.

“You lost a lot of blood already bunny,”

Despite his words, slender fingers began to gently curl around your wrist, making goosebumps appear as his cold digits met your skin.

Your eyes seemed lost in each other’s, as Seokjin gently brought your wrist to his mouth, furrowing his brows as the smell of blood started to take a hold of him, but still fighting against it with the little self control he had left.

Slowly, his tongue game out to taste your salty skin, and instantly a shudder ran through him, just at the thought of tasting your blood once more.

Truth be told, you were right; Seokjin was hungry. He hadn’t fed since the night in the church, afraid to take too much, and drain you too soon, but his brothers sure didn’t care for his worry. He had endured watching both Hoseok, Taehyung and Jeongguk drink from you, without ever having a taste himself, and he was getting fed up.

He brought you here to be his feeder, not theirs, his.

The thought made Seokjin growl against your skin, almost animalistic, as his fangs began to slightly poke at your wrist, without cutting into the skin.

His brothers weren’t supposed to drink from you, they should be drinking animal blood he gave them, the only exceptions being himself, Jeongguk and Yoongi.

The thought made him slightly retreat his fangs, it wouldn’t be safe for any of you if he drank from you now, you needed to have your bloodlevels up, and he should be in his right mindset, not just doing it out of raw jealousy.

“Bunny I can’t, it’s not safe,”

He let your wrist go, mourning the loss of the delicious smell emitting from you, as he watched your arm limply fall down on the sheets.

“But Jeongguk could-“

You started, feeling the unbearable loss when Seokjin let go, still desperate to see his cheeks full and well fed.

“Jeongguk doesn’t care about safety,”

Seokjin cut you off, voice sharp as his still protruding fangs, and you instantly quiet down, as he let out a long sigh.

“Besides, you don’t have to feed me, bunny, I’ll come to you when I need it,”

He spoke again, voice turning softer, as he looked at you with soft, caring eyes, fangs slowly disappearing.

“Jeongguk’s And Taehyung’s venom must still be messing with you, it’s never a good idea to combine it,”

Seokjin sighed, looking at you with worry in his eyes, as you let the past few days slowly weigh down on you. Some parts of your memory were still fuzzy, but slowly you were starting to vividly remember the way Hoseok and Taehyung had fed on you in the kitchen, and the way Jeongguk had growled when they had tried to pull him away from you.

You lightly cocked your head to the side, not completely getting what he was hinting at, but remembering him mentioning it when you were inside the lab room with Jeongguk.

“Don’t worry too much about it,”

He spoke again, voice a little more strained this time, and you noticed once again how tired he actually looked, you wanted nothing more than to offer him a space on the bed, cuddling up to him and sleeping until all your troubles went away, but before you could even open your mouth he spoke again.

“Namjoon will come in a bit, the two of you will go to the library so he can tell you a bit more about the different venoms,”

Seokjin sounded sounded so hollow, just as hollow as he looked, when he got up from the bed, making the wood under his feet slightly creek, and before you could even blink, he was long gone down the hall, and you were left all to yourself, to wonder who exactly Namjoon was.

Later that day, a tall boy, definitely taller than Seokjin and the rest, with a friendly smile and dimples, contrasting his pitch black hair and pale skin, knocked on your door.

“I’m Namjoon, Seokjin sent me to get you,”

He shortly explained, giving you another friendly smile, again making a big contrast to his icy cold skin.

You nodded once, and for up to follow him out the door, as you took in his attire from behind. He was dressed like Seokjin and the others, the only way you could describe it was prince-like.

He placed a protective hand on the small of your back, like Yoongi had done, but without pushing you, as he began to lead you to the library.

Walking down the many hallways, the castle was not nearly as empty as it had been the other multiple times you had been out in the halls. Now, the two of you would meet a servant almost at every corner, cleaning or doing other chores, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there were anyone down in the kitchens as well.

With the many new surroundings and people to look at, the walk didn’t seem to take long at all, and before you knew it, Namjoon had led you into a big, magnificent library, with books from all over the world.

He seemed pretty proud of the collection himself, as he went into explain about it, utterly mesmerized by the way your eyes would light up in excitement.

He let you to a group of comfortable looking, red chairs in a more secluded area of the library, and he gently patted one, indicating you to sit down.

“Here, Seokjin told me to give you this,”

Namjoon spoke, as he stood with his back to you, picking out books from the shelves. Suddenly he stopped, eyes focusing on a big, heavy book standing a little behind the others, and without the slightest struggle, did he pull it out and present it to you on the table.

‘The vampire anatomy’

Was written on it with big, bold, golden letters, and instantly your hands reached out to gently brush over the old looking book, afraid it might turn to dust in your grasp.

“You’ll need to know about us, if you’re going to stay here,”

Namjoon reasoned, taking a seat in a chair besides your, opening the book with less careful fingers, landing on a chapter about different venoms stored in a vampires fangs.

“Here, Seokjin wanted you to read this,”

You looked from the handwritten, cursive letters, to Namjoon with a curious expression, question after question just at the tip of your tongue.

“Seokjin mentioned something about Jeongguk and Taehyung’s venoms,”

You said absentmindedly, but Namjoon’s ears seemed to perk up, brilliant dark red orbs, searching yours.

“That would be because they’re fusing, when you’ve been bitten by different vampires in a small span of time, their venom’s will fuse and sometimes that can be very dangerous,”

He went onto explain, and you cocked your head.

“What about Hoseok then? Why didn’t he say anything about him?”

The questions came stumbling out of your mouth, but Namjoon didn’t seem to mind, happily lecturing you on what you needed to know.

“That’s because Hoseok’s venom is harmless, if you didn’t know about it’s existence it would be as if it was never even there, Taehyung and Jeongguk on the other hand both has dangerous venoms, and because they bit you in that short timespan they’re clashing, that is probably why you fainted when Jeongguk bit you,”

You hummed along, indicating you were listening, as you focused on Namjoon’s kind eyes, and the way his face lit up in a most endearing way when he was talking.

One thought was still bugging your mind though, you still couldn’t let go what the maid, Aera had said to your earlier.

It’s a great honor to have Seokjin bite you.

“Did Seokjin bite me while I was unconscious?”

The question slipped out of your mouth, surprising both yourself and Namjoon.

“Who told you that?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and you sank the lump in your throat, slowly backing a little way when you realized you had leaned so much to the side that your head was practically leaning on Namjoon’s shoulder.

“A-a maid,”

You stuttered, and Namjoon just shook his head with a tired expression.

“Yes, yes Seokjin bit you, he didn’t feed off you though, he only bit you to balance out the fusion of Jeongguk and Taehyung’s venoms, and he also had to let you feed on him, but only to balance out your bloodlevels, Jeongguk almost killed you,”

Your eyes brows furrowed more with every new information, and you closed your eyes trying to grasp everything. Namjoon gently smiled at your confused expression, and handed the book back to you.

“Please read yourself,”

Carefully your hands grasped the book, lightly brushing Namjoon’s cold ones, and you placed the book in your lap.

-

Just half an hour into reading, did your mind start to get tired and the words you read were starting to make no sense.

From time to time, you would spare glances at Namjoon as he was deeply immersed in his own book, too immersed to really care about your boredroom, as you took in his sideprofile.

He was beautiful, there was no denying it, with his pitch black hair, slightly dipping down into his eyes, causing him to brush it away every few minutes, and his deep red, mesmerizing eyes as they scanned the book he was reading, along with his otherworldly proportions.

“Can I help you?”

A look, a little too cocky for his own good, adorned his features, and you realized in embarrassment that you had been caught, quickly looking up to meet his kind eyes, a subtle blush covering your face and ears.

“I-I’m sorry,”

You stuttered, as you began to realize just how close you were to him, noses almost brushing, when you turned your head.

Namjoon chuckled, voice noticeably lowering, making all sorts of emotions stir inside you. Long forgotten was the book, and whatever venom you were reading about, Namjoon being the only thing currently on your mind.

“No worries, bunny,”

He tilted his head a little, giving you a way too obvious invitation to his softlooking lips, and you couldn’t bring yourself to deny, slowly leaning forward again, lips carefully coliding.

Instantly, you sighed into the kiss, as his large hand came up to cup your rounded cheek, deepening the kiss, as you continued leaning forward, till you were almost halfway into his chair.

He felt like fire and ice, the kiss was soft and smooth, making your head spin, warm sensations shooting straight to your core as you felt his fangs slightly protruding, carefully poking at your bottom lip.

Testing out the waters, the tip of his pink tongue began to poke your bottom lip as well, carefully sliding into your mouth, dancing around your own tongue.

He tasted like metal and a certain sweetness that belonged to him, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, letting his tongue roam your mouth freely.

You did however need air, and sooner than you wanted to, you parted from him, a string of salvia connecting the both of you, making it clear how messy your kiss had actually been, and Namjoon looked at you with blown out pupils, fangs now fully on display for you and you felt your skin tingle.

He swallowed, hard.

“Can-can I have a taste?”

Without hesitation, you nodded, already offering him your wrist, like you did with Seokjin.

Instantly, his long fingers curlers around you, ice cold digits making contact with overheated skin, again feeling the wonderful feeling of fire and ice colliding.

First, his soft tongue came out to lap at your salty skin, followed by his nose, as he gently nosed around the area he intended to bite. He sucked and playfully nibbled at your skin, before finally biting down, sinking his teeth into the area he had already marked with a couple of hickies.

Your breathy moan escaped out into the empty library, as you felt his fangs sink in, instantly drawing moans and groans from him as well, as he slowly began to gulp down your sweet nectar.

You watched with hazy eyes as he drank, amazed by the way his Adam’s apple would bop up and down every time he sank another mouthful.

He was viciously licking at your bite marks the same time he was sucking, making sure no excess blood would go to waste as he fed.

Before long, he retreated with a satisfied groan, licking greedily around his mouth for any excess blood, two bite marks now permanently dug into your skin.

Your two wounds were still leaking the smallest amount of blood, but it was quickly fixed once Namjoon carefully dipped his thump into each wound, gathering whatever excess was left and greedily licking his fingers dry.

“Thank you, Bunny,”

He said, voice sincere as he gave your hand a squeeze, making your heart flutter when he didn’t let go, but only carefully intertwined your fingers, his big ones almost completely covering yours.

Much to your disappointment, Namjoon had to go sooner or later, leaving you to wonder around on your. You had just made your way out of the library, when a strange sensation filled you up.

It was the same feeling you had, before feeding Jeongguk, it was the same yearning to see his cheeks rounded and the happy satisfied look on his face, but he wasn’t there.

You could have sworn you were alone, except the couple servants walking around the castle cleaning and doing chores.

You felt restless, wondering around with the urge to find Jeongguk, but something told you that it was the last thing Seokjin would want you to.

You were torn, as you stood between the hallway that led to what you assumed must be a dining room, and the staircase you had talked earlier down to the kitchens.

“Bunny..”

A shiver ran down your spine, and you instantly turned around, upon hearing Jeongguk’s hoarse whisper in your ear, but nothing. The hallway couldn���t have been emptier.

“Bunny, I know you can hear me..”

Jeongguks voice continued, almost tauntingly as you stood there, confused in the hallway.

“Go to the dungeons, be a good girl and come down here for me, bunny,”

Your mind seemed to be made up, as you step by step, carefully began to walk down the stairs leading to the cellar and the kitchens.

“Come on Bunny, hurry up, I’m hungry..”

His raspy voice filled your senses, and instantly your only goal was to feed him, you wanted, no you needed to feed him, at the moment it was all your heart desired.

With your eagerness, it wasn’t long before you were stood before a big wooden door, looking like the kind of door you would never go through under any normal circumstances, but Jeongguk’s voice was egging you on.

“Come on Bunny, just open the door..”

He was persuasive, and you were sure you could feel him behind it, you knew he was there, and there was nothing you wanted more than to come to him, so it wasn’t long before your hands were gently placed against the wood of the door, and you pushed.

The door was heavy, but not so heavy you couldn’t open it, slowly you slid it open, revealing a dark room with multiple cages, all badly scratched up and clearly meant for something much stronger than a human.

Then you saw him, you gasped, and instantly forgot about the door as you ran to him, letting the door slam behind you.

“J-Jeongguk,”

The small amount of sunlight shining in through a tiny window, was just enough for you to see his state.

He was standing pressed up against the cage, looking paler than ever with hollowed our features and the most agonized look on his face.

Without even thinking, you instantly pressed yourself up against the cage as well, wanting to feel the small amount of warmth he emitted, and he instantly reached out through the bars, squeezing your hips trying to get your closer, closer, closer.

“Bunny..”

He rasped, looked down at you with dark eyes as he was towering over you.

“You found me,”

A cocky smirk crossed his features despite his state, and you instantly nodded, ready to do whatever he asked.

Gently, you let your fingers come up and hold his hollow cheeks, turning his face down so you could look into his brilliant eyes once more.

“What did they do to you?”

You whispered, worriedly stroking his cheekbones with your thumb, as you stood on your tiptoes, noses brushing as Jeongguk inhaled sharply.

“Nothing you cant fix,”

He reasoned, voice still raspy, boarding on a growl as he without warning leaned down and crashed his lips onto yours, almost violently, instantly igniting all sorts of flames in your lower stomach.

[papermoonloveslucy]

MARY WICKES

June 13, 1910 - October 22, 1995

Mary Wickes (nee Mary Isabella Wickenhauser) was born in St. Louis, Missouri, to parents who were theatre buffs. A smart student, Mary skipped two grades and graduated from High School at age 16. In college, she majored in English and Political Science, though shifted her career goals to acting at the suggestion of a professor. 

Wickes’ first Broadway play was Spring Dance in 1934, acting alongside Phil Ober, who married Vivian Vance in 1941. Her second Broadway role was in Stage Door (1936) although she was not asked to repeat her role in the 1937 film. One of the RKO contract players cast in the film version was Lucille Ball. 

In The Man Who Came to Dinner, her seventh Broadway show in 1939, she played Nurse Preen, a role she repeated in the 1942 film, her Hollywood debut. She did the role twice more on television in 1949 and 1972. During her busy film and television career, she often played prim, professional women, secretaries, nurses, nuns, and housekeepers, who made sarcastic quips. She left Broadway in 1948, and did not return for another 30 years. 

Wickes did not do nearly as much radio work as many actors in Hollywood did, probably because she was busy on Broadway, but she did act opposite Lucy and Desi’s friend and house guest Orson Welles doing radio plays for  the “Mercury Theatre” program. She was also sometimes heard in the 1950 series “Crime Does Not Pay.” 

On December 19, 1949, in a one-hour live “Studio One in Hollywood” presentation on CBS (a weekly anthology series), Mary Wickes became the first actor to play Mary Poppins, almost 15 years before Julie Andrews immortalized the magical nanny on screen. 

Lucille Ball and Mary Wickes were more than just co-stars. Wickes was a close personal friend to Lucille Ball, who often went on vacation with the family.  According to Ball’s daughter, Lucie Arnaz, Wickes was her mother’s most constant friend throughout her life.     

Wickes was actually a regular on television a couple of years before Lucille Ball, as part of the cast of “Inside U.S.A.” (1949-1950).  Lucille Ball guest-starred on the series in November 1949. The show was done in New York and Lucy was delayed in getting to the studio for rehearsals, so Mary Wickes was asked to stand in for her. When she finally arrived, Lucy observed Wickes and was impressed with her work. They were friends from then on. 

A year later, Ball joined her film co-star Bob Hope on his television show, “The Star Spangled Revue”, which also featured Mary Wickes. 

In February 1952, Ball hired Wickes to play one of her most memorable characters, Lucy Ricardo’s ballet mistress, Madam LaMond, on “I Love Lucy.” This would be Wickes’ only performance on the series. 

Although she did not return to “I Love Lucy”, Wickes still maintained a relationship with Desilu, appearing on 21 episodes of “The Danny Thomas Show” from 1956 to 1958. She played Danny’s no-nonsense Press Agent, Liz O’Neill. 

At the end of the first season of “The Lucy Show,” however, Wickes returned to Lucy’s TV family. In her first appearance, her character actually used her birth name, Mrs. Wickenhauser in “Lucy and the Runaway Butterfly” (TLS S1;E29) in 1963. 

A few months later, Wickes is back. This time as Frances, one of Lucy’s friends, at the start of season two, which was shot (but not aired) in color. Fran takes the role of Charmian, opposite Lucy’s Cleopatra, at the Danfield Community Theatre. 

Fran was also a member of the Danfield Women’s Auxiliary Fire Department, alongside Lucy and Viv. So when they form a softball team, Fran and Audrey (Mary Jane Croft) also get involved. 

Fran’s final appearance finds her and the other volunteer fire fighters taking life-saving courses in order to impress Mr. Mooney and the bank trustees to save their brigade.  When that fails, Lucy sets a small fire in the bank, intending to be the hero and put it out - but naturally the plan fails. 

When the series re-set the action in Los Angeles, Fran was left behind, and Wickes instead appeared as a series of different characters, starting with Lucy’s Aunt Gussie, in “Lucy and the Sleeping Beauty” (TLS S4;E9) in 1965. The dozing beauty of the title is not Wickes, but guest star Clint Walker. 

In 1966, Lucille Ball’s favorite game show, “Password”, hosted not one, but two ‘Lucille Ball & Friends’ weeks!  Mary Wickes played during the November week. When Mary Wickes learns they are playing for money, she says “We have to give it to Lucy and Gary.”  Lucy says “That’s not true!”  Lucy and Mary win the second game in 28 seconds.

In 1967, Wickes returns to “The Lucy Show” to play Mrs. Winslow, a mother in urgent need of a babysitter.  Lucy answers the call, not knowing her little ones are actually chimpanzees!  Oh, and there’s a baby elephant, too! 

A few months later, when Robert Goulet guest stars, Wickes plays his frazzled assistant, Miss Hurlow. With Goulet having three personalities, it’s no wonder she’s frazzled. 

On her final “Lucy Show” appearance (her 8th), Wickes plays another eccentric aunt of Lucy Carmichael’s, Aunt Agatha, a mystery guest who comes to visit  and makes turns Lucy’s life upside down by making her take part in her strenuous health and fitness routine. 

Once Lucille Ball re-boots “The Lucy Show” as “Here’s Lucy” there is an attempt to make Wickes into a recurring character. She plays Isabel, a secretary in the same building as The Unique Employment Agency.  

The attempt only lasts two episodes, however: “Lucy Goes on Strike” (HL S1;E16)...

...and “Lucy Gets Her Man” (HL S1;E21). Wickes only has 40 seconds of screen time at the very start of the episode. Mary Jane Croft joined the show shortly afterwards as Mary Jane Lewis, serving much the same function. 

A few months later, however, she was back. This time returning to her nurse’s uniform she filled out so expertly in The Man Who Came To Dinner (inset photo), to play Nurse Hurlow in “Lucy and Harry’s Tonsils” (HL S2;E5). Perhaps coincidentally, Wickes uses the same surname she used as Robert Goulet’s secretary on “The Lucy Show.”  Perhaps it was the same woman who got fed up with the craziness of show business and went into nursing?  Or, more likely,  the writers just ran out of names!

For the first time, Wickes’ character doesn’t have a name, but she gets most of the laughs, as the personal care attendant of a germ-phobic little old lady with a gigantic diamond that needs cutting. Wickes spends most of her screen time spraying everyone she meets with an aerosol disinfectant!  Wally Cox plays the nervous jeweler. 

Wickes then gets into a habit she finds hard to break, when she plays Lucy’s sister-in-law, Sister Paula, in “Lucy’s All-Nun Band” (HL S4;E8) in 1971. Although Wickes only played two nuns on the big screen, in The Trouble with Angels (1966) and Sister Act (1992), both films had sequels where she reprised her roles. 

“Women like me. They think I'm wholesome or something.” ~ Mary Wickes

At the start of season 5, with Lucille Ball / Lucy Carter’s leg in a cast, she naturally returned to her whites to play Nurse Sylvia Ogilvy in both “Lucy's Big Break” (HL S5;E1) and the next episode, “Lucy and Eva Gabor are Hospital Roomies” (HL S5;E2).  The two episodes are both linked by Lucy’s recovery in the hospital. 

In “Lucy Plays Cops and Robbers” (HL S6;E14), Wickes plays Violet Barker, Lucy’s neighbor. Her husband is played by sitcom veteran Al Lewis of “Car 54″ and “The Munsters”. They are part of Lucy’s neighborhood watch group. The surname Barker will also be used for Lucy’s character on her final sitcom, “Life With Lucy.”  

In her final appearance on the series, Wickes goes to the old west when Lucy is elected honorary sheriff of a one-horse town called Cartridge Belt. Wickes plays Clara Simpson, the town philanthropist. 

In the last episode aired of “Here’s Lucy” there is a character named Mary Winters, a character written to be played by Mary Wickes, or at the very least, with Mary Wickes in mind. The role was filled by a very Mary Wickes-like actress, also named Mary, Mary Treen. 

Lucille Ball and Mary Wickes collaborated one last time on television in “Lucy Calls The President” a 1977 TV special that reunited Lucy with many of her favorite supporting cast members. Wickes once again plays Lucy’s aunt, Miss Millie Baker.  The special has the Whittaker family rolling out the red carpet because they believe that President Jimmy Carter and family are going to visit! 

Life after Lucy included appearing as a recurring character on “The Father Dowling Mysteries” from 1989 to 1991, as well as her film roles in Sister Act and Little Women. 

In 2013, Steve Taravella wrote a biography of Wickes titled Mary Wickes: I Know I’ve Seen That Face Before. 

Mary Wickes died of complications following hip surgery on October 22, 1995, aged 85. She made a $2 million bequest in memory of her parents, establishing the Isabella and Frank Wickenhauser Memorial Library Fund for Television, Film and Theater Arts at the Washington University in St. Louis.

“I love playing good comedy with a heart, comedy which touches the audience.” ~ Mary Wickes

[tired-college-student-writing]

A Match made in Therapy Chapter 2: Destined Meeting

Summary: JT and Dani know that outside of the Team Bright had very few people in his life. It was them, Gil, his mother, sister, therapist, parakeet, and his serial killer father. His circle of friends was small, but not as small as they seemed to think.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 (HERE)

Chapter 3

__________________________________________________

Stick hadn’t visited in a month.

The one person that had stuck around after Dad had died had left, all because Matt was too soft, too eager to have someone who liked him in his life.

He wanted to go back, stop himself from making that damn bracelet, prevent him from chasing off the only one that didn’t treat him like he was a freak.

But he couldn’t.

So instead of being pulled out of the orphanage to train and hone his skills, he was drug along on the weekly trip to Central Park, the little kids excited to go on the carousel that had just started back up in the last month, the older kids scheming on how to get away from the nuns for a bit.

He couldn’t stop from wrinkling his nose when Sister Joella asked if he was going to ride the carousel as she led him through the streets as if at twelve years old he wasn’t one of the oldest kids in the orphanage.

Instead, he parked himself on a bench as far away from the puke-covered rusty ride filled with mechanical squeals and screaming children, Thurgood Marshall braille book nestled in his lap as his fingers ran over the words, trying to tune out the harsh words of the nuns trying to keep all the children in line.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Matt flinched, head snapping towards the noise on reflex even if he couldn’t see the boy next to him. He hadn’t noticed his approach, Stick would kick his ass for being so lost in thought, but now he could read the boy easily, young, maybe a year younger than Matt, nervous and hands shaking slightly as he gripped a thick book.

“No, go ahead,” Matt offered easily, fingers falling back to his book.

“Thanks, I would have gone to one of the benches closer to the carousel but I didn’t want to get in between yelling nuns.”

Matt snorted, “Good call, Sister Mary Alice is wicked when she’s mad and has been known to yell at anyone that gets too close when she’s in a mood.”  

“Fun,” the dry response made Matt smirk, “I’ll just stay over here and let my sister try and get past her to the carousel with our n… babysitter.”

Matt didn’t comment on the slip-up but grimaced slightly in his mind. Rich Boy then, not surprisingly, the Upper East Side was just about the same distance from the carousel as Hell’s Kitchen, but no doubt the pleasant conversation would end as soon as the other boy realized he wasn’t from the same world as him.  

“I don’t see why I needed to tag along anyways,” The other boy mumbled, “I can read just as well at the house as I can here.”

Matt laughed at that, feeling his own thought vocalized in such an indignant tone, “I thought the same thing, but apparently, fresh air is good for us.”

The other boy laughed back and then offered a hand, “I’m Malcolm by the way,”

“Matt,” He offered not moving to shake the hand he knew was there. He felt the pause as the boy’s, Malcolm’s, eyes no doubt flashed from his glasses to his cane sitting next to him and down at his braille book, and he retracted his hand, heating rising to his face.

“What are you reading, Matt?”  His voice was the same when he spoke. Not changing even after he realized his bench mate couldn’t see. It felt strange, usually, people changed how they spoke to him when they figured out he was blind, being softer, more gentle as if he was spun from glass, or they spoke down to him, acting like he was a baby simply because his eyes didn’t function.

“Thurgood Marshall,” Matt replied waiting for the confusion only to be surprised once more.

“He’s a supreme court justice isn’t he?”

“Was, he retired in October.”

“Oh really,” Malcolm hummed, “He did a lot of civil rights work, right?”

“Yeah,” Matt found himself agreeing, “The first African American Supreme Court Justice, he was on the biggest fighters for equal voting rights, equal housing, and equal education rights.”  

“That’s really amazing,”

“He wanted to fight for what he believed in and he did everything he could to make the world a better place,”

“I can stand behind that,” Malcolm said, thumbing the binding of his own book, “I never really looked into much about politics or laws, I usually gravitate more towards medicine and other sciences.”

“Really?” Matt asked, head cocking, “What are you reading now?

“ Reptile Medicine and Surgery by Douglas Mader,” He replied back, “It’s about the struggles of diagnosing and treating various issues that different species of reptiles, along with how different animals react to different dosages and treatments.”

“Is that an issue in a lot of places?”

Malcolm nodded before quickly adding, “I just nodded, yeah it is cause most vets have had little training on how to treat non-mammals and it can cause lots of issues if you don’t know what to look for and what can cause stress in the animals.”  

“I never thought of it like that,” Matt hummed, “if there is a good percent of reptiles as pets, you would think an equal ratio of vets would be able to treat them.”

“Yeah but you forget that…”

It took Matt fifteen minutes to realize that his hand hadn’t slid across the page in front of him since Malcolm had arrived, another fifteen to realize that he had long since moved past polite and into a real conversation, unlike any he’d had since his dad had died. Over two hours they talked, topics going from books to reptiles, to medicine, Matt offering up a few complaints of accessibility even with The new Americans with Disabilities Act being instituted, to psychology.

It was Interesting, Matt gave, unwilling to label it as anything further. Fun, enjoyable, and nice were soft words, words he wasn’t allowed to use. He couldn’t be soft, even if Stick had abandoned him just like everyone else, it didn’t mean that he would forget his lessons.

“Matthew!” Sister Joella called, walking over, “Sweetheart, it’s time to go, we need to get back to Saint Agnes for Dinner .”

He bristled as cutting his sentence off mid-word as he waited for Malcolm’s response, knowing that he couldn’t hide the fact he was one of the nuns’ charges when she was calling him like that.

“You’re leaving?”

Matt felt shock overtake him again as the boy sounded heartbroken, his heart betraying no disgust or pity at the fact that Matt was an orphan. No Matt heard only… understanding?

“Yeah,” Matt sighed closing his book, “Can’t leave the Sisters waiting.”

“Okay,” the deep sadness in the boy’s voice almost made Matt wince, “I guess this is goodbye?”

“For now,” Matt couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, “I mean, if you want to meet up again, we’re going to be here again next week, right Sister Joella?”

The nun seemed surprised but the soft smile was evident on her voice as she responded, “Of course! We come either here or the pond every Friday. Next Friday we were planning to come here again if the weather permits us.”

“Really?” Malcolm asked, “I’d love to! I mean that’d be great I can get my Nanny to bring me, and I’ll bring that book on Psychology I was telling you about, I can read you passages from it!”

The smile pulling at Matt’s lips was completely unwanted but he couldn’t get it to go away, “Okay. I can see if I can get to the library and find a copy of Thurgood Marshall you can read then.”

“Deal! Shake on it?”

Matt offered out his hand and he almost laughed at how eager the other was to shake it, his excitement almost contagious.

He couldn’t quite block out the nuns' ecstatic and disbelieving whispers that night at dinner as Joella proudly told them about how little Murdock had been animatedly talking to someone at the park.

He didn’t mind as much as he thought he should, even if they did keep calling Malcolm Matt’s friend.

He couldn’t be soft, couldn’t have friends, but talking to Malcolm was fine, right?

__________________________________________________

Taglist: @ofvalkyrja

[mca-attack21]

Starting to Question - Part 4

Welcome back to Tumblr. I hope you are having a good day today. Here are the previous parts of this series:  Part 1   Part 2  Part 3

You invited Stefan to the Founder’s Day party that the Lockwood’s were hosting. You thought that he would come up with some excuse to get out of it, but he actually seemed to be looking forward to it. He greeted you, immediately complimenting your appearance. The two of you made your way to the party and walked around looking at the various exhibits.Everything was going great until Damon and Caroline showed up. Caroline whisked Stefan away to go dancing and Damon started filling your head with doubts again.  

When you met back up with Stefan, he asked you to dance. You took him up on his offer and used the opportunity to ask him the various questions you had. He immediately blamed Damon for messing with your head. However, at this point, you were tired on the never-ending carousel that you seemed to have stepped on. 

“Even if Damon did start this, it doesn’t change the fact that we have been dating for almost two weeks and I barely know anything about you. Just tell me something Stefan, anything” you pleaded for the reassurance that you so desperately needed.

When he remained silent, you pulled away and went to the bathroom to clear your head. It was there that you ran into Caroline and saw for the first time what Damon had done to her. You immediately went to Stefan.

“Stefan! I am so sorry. I never should’ve trusted Damon. He is a horrible person.”

“Y/n. What happened? Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” he asked scanning you over for any sign of injury.

“No, I’m fine. But Caroline, she has bite marks and Damon has messed with her head,” you started, “and you don’t even look remotely surprised…”

“Listen Y/n there is a lot going on here that you don’t understand. Things that I want to tell you, but at the same time things that I may never be able to tell you. I’m going to take care of Damon. Caroline will be okay. You are just going to have to trust me,” he tried.

Unfortunately, that was your breaking point for the night. Damon should be turned into the police. How could Stefan know about this and not do anything? Why was it so damn hard for him to trust you with anything? What was he hiding? So, you left.

Stefan than disappeared for four days, no calls, no texts, nothing. When he did return he promised you an explanation, but you weren’t sure you wanted one anymore. He pleaded with you to give him another chance, and to meet him at the Grill at four.

You went to the Grill waited for over an hour and when Stefan did show up he gave a vague excuse for why he was late. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for you to lose your patience and leave. You went home feeling miserable, you liked Stefan but this endless cycle of lies and secrets was not healthy.

Jeremy came in and advised you to go get something to eat. You were surprised to see that Stefan was in your kitchen cooking dinner.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

“I am making you dinner. You haven’t eaten yet and I am a good cook. My Italian roots demand it.” he answered.

“I don’t know what you are trying to accomplish,” you said exhaustedly.

“You said you want to know me. Well, I figured if you are going to dump me, you might as well at least get to know who you are dumping” he smiled.

He then started telling you about his life. He started by telling you about Katherine and the history there. He then began talking about books, tv shows, movies, and music. You were helping him make dinner when you nicked yourself with a knife.

“Ow” you hissed.

“Are you alright?” he asked immediately noticing the blood. He had to turn away because his face was beginning to change. Before he did turn away you saw his reflection in the mirror.

“Stefan, your face” you acknowledged with concern as you finished rinsing off your finger.

“I think I got garlic in my eye” he lied with his back to you.

“Here let me see” 

But he didn’t turn around.

“Seriously Stefan, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine” he answered turning back to face you.

“Okay, I think my paranoia is turning into full-blown hallucinations” you noted as you looked at his face which had returned to normal.

“All part of your charm” he replied. 

The proximity led you both into a kiss, which symbolically reunited your relationship. You both finished out the night with dinner, dessert, and another kiss. All the while, Stefan was opening up about all of the things that made him who he was.

The next day, you were at the “Sexy Suds Car Wash”. You were listening to Caroline explain your various roles for the day when Stefan arrived. She then called the two of your out, “It is a sexy car wash, not a nun’s car wash”

When she walked away you turned to Stefan, “Well, you heard her. I guess you are just going to have to take your shirt off”

“I think that you have to go first” he teased.

“Okay,” you answered. You went to try to take your shirt off seductively. Instead, you got caught in it like a child. “So. Not. Sexy” you mumbled through the fabric. Stefan laughed at you and assisted you.

He cupped your face in his hands, looked you in the eyes, and said with adoration, “I disagree,” before pulling you in for a quick kiss.  

It was at the car wash that a man called Stefan out by name and said he knew him from 1953. That among other things that he said didn’t sit well with you, so you ditched the car wash and went to the local library to look through the archives. You found a video from 1953 and sure as day, there was Stefan.

That is when you started to put the pieces together. The dead bodies were drained of blood. Vicki said she was attacked by a vampire. The never aging. The instant healing. The super-strength. The way he always just appeared or disappeared. The ways he changes that can’t be explained. But vampires couldn’t be real? It’s not possible.

You needed to hear him say it one way or the other. Maybe you were going insane. But you needed to hear him say it.

So you drove to his house in the middle of the night. You were working up the courage to confront him when the door opened revealing him with a wooden stake.

“What are you?” you blurted out.

[queencocoakimmie]

Wink Part 4

/1/ /2/ /3/ /5/ /6/

Awakening

Michael x Female Reader

Warning: Blasphemy, death, angst, and violence.

Word Count: 1,484

Summary: Lili’s search for the truth.

According to legend, God formed Lilith as the first woman. He did it in the same way as he created Adam. The only difference was that in place of pure dust, he also used filth and residue. Traditionally Lilith means ''the night'', and she is related to attributes connected with the spiritual aspects of sensuality and freedom, but also terror.

After an hour of searching on the internet for “Woman Wearing Snake,” I began to get frustrated. Broken links and porn websites yielding nothing. I made one last ditch effort and searched imagery. Amongst the nude models and porn pics, there was a tiny article about a demon called Lilith.

I searched more and more about her. The more I searched, the more I became afraid. What does this have to do with me? Why do I have visions of her? I shut my laptop with a resounding snap. It earned me a few shushes from some of the students in the library. I went to the bookshelves with several call numbers. Once I had them, I checked them out and started down the hallway.

I passed by Zoe’s room and saw the door was ajar. Maybe she could help me understand what was happening to me. After all, she was the one that found me.

My parents died in a car wreck when I was 6. I don’t remember much about them. My mother had beautiful green eyes and bright curly red hair. My father was tall and kind. He had a wide smile and perfect teeth. Dark brown hair and blue eyes. He looked like a Disney Prince. One day in the summer, they were taken from me. A drunk driver hit the driver’s side, and my father was dead instantly. My mother passed away later, at the hospital. After that, I was whisked away to be a ward of the state. I was an orphan. I bounced around from foster home to foster home. They never seemed to want me for long. My visions had started after my parents died. No one wanted the crazy little-traumatized kid around. I understood that much later.

I was 12 when Zoe found me. I had run away again from Saint Francis’s. The nuns there were relentless. Called me a witch and evil. There were going to beat the Devil out of me, even if it killed me.

I was outside a restaurant, digging in the trash when a vision overtook me. A school made of white bricks. A beautiful tall woman dressed in black. Another woman next to her, bright red hair and big retro glasses. This place made me feel like home. I passed out after that vision and woke up at Miss Robichaux’s. Zoe had seen me fall and sensed my magic. She took me to Cordelia right away. They would keep me safe and teach me how to harness my power. I had them under control until Michael came. Could it be that he is the reason I’m having these visions? I’ve never had them before.

I knocked on Zoe’s door and pushed it open slightly. She stood up from her desk and came to greet me with a hug. She peppered me with questions about my plans for tonight and my silly friends. She could see the forlorn look on my face and told me to sit down. “Tell me, Lili, what’s wrong? Whatever it is, we can tackle it together.” I felt like a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I told her about John. I told her about my visions. I told her everything, except about Michael.

The rumors about them watching over a “special boy” turned out to be true. They were planning something. Something about administering the Seven Wonders test. Cordelia was sure that he would pass, the others weren’t so convinced. But there was something more. For the first time in my whole life here, I wondered if they weren’t up to something sinister. He was just a boy, I thought. What harm could he do?

I went into detail about my visions, though. She knitted her brows in confusion and worry. I explained to her how I afraid I was that I was losing my mind. Losing my grip on reality. The visions were so powerful, my body felt drained afterward. All she did was nod her head and listen. Taking down notes on the desk next to her. When I was finished, she stood up and gave me a hug, “See, don’t you feel better that you let it all out?” I nodded into her shoulder, tears seeping through her blouse. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?” She said, suspiciously. “No, that’s it.” I lied. “You would tell me, if there were, right?” I nodded again, not wanting to face her, I buried my face into her shoulder. She patted my back and pull me away to look at her. “You are such a powerful witch. You just don’t know it yet. I’ll look into this for you, ok?” I nodded again, feeling like a fool. She told me to get some sleep and that she’d see me Monday morning in her office.

Before I closed her door, I saw her reach down and pick up her phone. I lingered, wanting to eavesdrop. Immediately feeling foolish, I started to close the door until I heard her voice, “She’s starting to remember. Yes, I know. It wasn’t supposed to happen this soon. It’s that boy. After the ceremony, everyone who stands with him has to be dealt with.” I gasped too loudly, and her head snapped in the direction of the door. I waited a minute then closed it gently.

Tears stream down my face and I began to run. I ran out of the building, passed a few of my classmates. I ran out the front doors of Miss Robichaux’s and into the street. Nowhere to go, I ran to the forest. I ran for so long; my legs grew tired. I tripped over an exposed tree root. I lay there, knees bloody, hands scratched up. I was a disheveled, mess. Then I heard a rustling in the trees behind me. I hadn’t really realized that I was in the forest, at night, alone until now. Fear started to creep up my neck. My teeth started to chatter. I was afraid and cold. Then through a break in the trees, I saw a woman. A porcelain skinned, woman with bright red hair. Her eyes the color of emeralds. She looked just like…my mother.

She glided towards me, feet never touching the forest floor. Stretching out her left arm, she beckoned me to follow her. A normal person would be terrified of this sight. But, she radiated warmth, I knew that I’d be safe with her.

She led me to a clearing and gestured for me to sit down. She came close to me, and I could see that she was not alive, but not dead either. She was more like a statue. Her skin looked hard, like stone. Her delicate features looked as if she had been molded and shaped by an artist. She was beautiful.

She placed her hands on the side of my head and whispered, “Remember.” “Remember what?” I cry out of frustration. Then I hear the hiss of the snake. It slithers over to me and stops at my feet. It waits for me to acknowledge it. Its eyes speaking to me, telling me I have to give permission for it to come to me. I do.

When it starts moving again, it does so very slowly. The woman looks down at it and smiles. It twists up my leg and stops at my bloodied knee. Its forked tongue flicks out and licks the blood. I can feel the invisible fibers of my skin, pulling together. It's healing me. It moved over to my other knee and does the same thing. It slides and twists around my thighs. I throw my head back, in ecstasy. It moves up my body, passed my wet core, it caresses my neck with its tongue. Then eye to eye, it stares at me. Pleading with me. “Remember”, it hisses. I close my eyes and let its tongue lathe over my face. It suddenly stops and falls to the ground. I open my eyes and watch in horror, as its body begins to split. Horrible, tearing sounds pierce the night sky. The skin falls away. A man lies there before me. Naked, and panting. “Michael, is that you?” I say.

He lifts his head; his face is oily and sticky. His curly hair plastered to his forehead. He says to me, “I’m glad I brought extra clothes,” before he collapses.

----------------------------------------

*I've already written parts 5 and 6!! 5 is pretty smutty. So buckle up and get ready!

@sojournmichael @duncvn @michael-langdon-appreciation @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @lovelykhaleesiii @ccodyfern @petersfern-fics @kinlovecody @gelukstraan @icylangdon @langdonsrapture @duncans-donuts @cocosfern @thedeviltohisangel @xtheinevitableprophecyx @stupidocupido @floweryshell @flowersiren @ritualmichael @langdonsoceaneyes @lvngdvns @katiekitty261 @confettucini @langdons-rep @cocotheangelchild @duncans-donuts @dunc-donut @michael-langdon6 @khaleesimel @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @michealangdons @langdvn @langdonpilots @michaelcngdon @langdonfern @langdonsinferno

[crzcorgi]

Words with Friends...with benefits

For the beautiful @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash ‘s “Ash’s Birthday Negan Challenge”

AU Negan x Librarian Reader (y/n)

My prompt was Words with Friends

Word Count ~4500

Warnings ~ NSFW with lots of smuffy (smut/fluffy) fun

@negans-network

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jesus fucking Christ on a fucking cracker, what the fuck is this?!” I slammed the piece of paper on the principal’s desk.

 “Mr. Negan. Would you please refrain from using profanities while in the school.”

 “What the f…ever. What is…” I pointed at the paper. “THIS?!”

 “It’s Words With Friends, a game Mr. Negan. Basically it’s Scrabble and…”

 “Yeah, yeah, I know all that. But this fu… says we’re going to be playing it with the other teachers. Say what?”

 “Yes, well, we’ve been seeing a lot less camaraderie among the staff, less of the help your neighbor. Aren’t we all here for the same reasons? To help shape tomorrow’s leaders, to help them grow and learn in a healthy environment. Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

 Old fucker was babbling some shittin’ nonsense and I had pretty much tuned him out. “Yeah, okay. Do we get to choose who we’re partnered with cause I’m thinking that new nurse might be…”

 “No, Mr. Negan, we will choose your partner. In fact, let me see…” He started shuffling through some papers, pulling one out of the pile. “Yes, here it is. Your playing with Ms Y/L/N!”

 “Uh, who the f…who’s that?!” I was dreading the shithead’s answer.

“She’s the new librarian! How fortuitous Mr. Negan! Imagine that!” He had the biggest stupid fucking grin on his fucking fat face.

 “Jesus, Gregory! You fucking did that on purpose! Pair the gym coach with probably the biggest egg-fucking-head in the whole damn school. Probably has a fucking stick so far up her scrawny ass it’s sticking out of her mouth. No, not doing it.”

 He sighed, he’s fucking beady eyes blinking quickly at me. “Mr. Negan, you know what I’m going to say. You will be play this game I’m afraid, or you will be looking for another job.”

 I laughed, “you can’t fucking fire me because I refuse to play a fucking nerd game, Gregory.”

 “Negan.”

 “Gregy.”

He stood up, walking around to stand beside me. “Come on, the others, the teachers, they see you playing along, it looks good, you know?  I don’t ask much from you, do I? I let you pretty much rule your roost, give you all the funds you need, right? Can’t you do this one thing for me?”

 “Begging Gregory? Isn’t that fucking beneath you?” I ran my hand over my chin thinking about how I fucking needed a shave. “Fine, I’ll do it. But this Ms…”

 “Ms. Y/L/N.”

 “Yeah, Ms. Y/L/N she better not be one of those uptight bitches that can’t take a little joking around. I don’t need her running here to tattle on me. Jesus.”

 “Negan, to be fair, Ms. Simon was 75 years old and you were telling highly inappropriate jokes in the library no less.”

 “Old bat needed to get a sense of humor.” I started for the door. “So what do I need to do Gregory?”

 “Report to the library after school, our first round of Words begins today.”

 “And my fucking team practice?”

 “Will just be late today. They’ll just have to practice without you for an hour.”

 I opened the door. “Fine, whatever. You owe me. Fucking big.”

 He smiled, a big stupid fucking grin. “You have a good day, Mr. Negan.”

 “Yeah, what the fuck ever.”

 I wanted the fucking day to be over. But I also wasn’t looking forward to the afternoon. Whatever I’d done to piss off the gods I wish I could take it back. Words with Friends, what the ever loving fuckity fuck?!

 As I made my way to the library at 2:30, I remembered that I had a date the next night. A fucking hottie that worked at the sandwich shop down the street from my house. Fuck, I needed to get laid like yesterday. I’d been in a bit of a fucking dry spell. But I saw a tsunami coming my way and I was fucking ready with my surfboard. I was gonna ride that wave until I couldn’t fucking move.

 “Mr. Negan, Gregory said you agreed to game time but I didn’t believe it!”

 “Yeah, well fucking surprise Mrs. Smith.”

 I rolled my eyes behind her back, I spotted an empty seat toward the back of tables that were set up in rows, game boards set up on each one.  I sat down, leaning back and closing my eyes, thinking about tomorrow night.

 “Excuse me, Mrs. Smith pointed me back here. Are you Mr.Negan?”

 For a minute I thought I was fucking dreaming and a sexy fucking angel was speaking. But I opened my eyes to who I assumed was Ms. Y/L/N, the new librarian and my partner. With a bun. Dressed like a nun. And glasses so fucking thick I couldn’t even tell if she had eyes that needed those glasses.”

 “Yeah, I’m Negan.” I stood up, pulling her chair out for her. “You must be Ms. Y/L/N?”  Pushing her chair back in, I noticed she had what looked like a tattoo, that was partially covered up by makeup, behind her ear. Hmmm.

 “Yes, I’m her. But you can call me Y/N, we’re both adults.” She giggled, a sweet sound.

 “So, looks like we’re fucking partners, huh?”

 She giggled again, “yes, I guess we are Mr. Negan.”

 “Just Negan, sweetheart, afterall, we are both adults.” I leaned over towards her, winking, causing her to blush.

 After Gregy boy gave us our little fucking speech, explaining the rules like we were fucking kindergarteners, we started our game.

 “Ladies first.” I nodded towards her.

 Smiling, she played. “It’s not much, but I have horrible tiles I’m afraid.”

 “Brach? What the…?” I caught her expression, stopping myself from finishing that sentence.

 “It’s a female dog, Mr., I mean, Negan. But if you would like to challenge me, go right ahead.” She grinned at me.

 “I’m sure you know what you’re doing doll, so it’s fine.” I looked at my tiles, instantly spotting a word. My lips turning up into a cocky smile as I played my word.

 We played for awhile. Our scores fucking amazingly similar.. She played all the smarty fucking pants words, words no one ever uses in any normal fucking conversations. I played my words, breasts, ass, cleavage, horny, each word making her squirm uncomfortably in her seat, her face turning pinker with each play.

 I played my last word, putting me on top, in more ways than one. I was fucking proud of this one.

 “Phallus. Nice one Mr. Negan.” She looked away, shaken.

 I laughed. “Well darling, no one plays games like me.”

 “I imagine. I’m running out of tiles so excuse my choice.” She placed her tiles down, adding to one of mine.

 “What the fuck? That ain’t a word sweetheart!”

 “Are you challenging me, Negan? I was sure you would know that one.”  She looked up at me, taking her glasses off and batting her pretty eyes at me, a supposedly innocent smile on her lips. I got a better look at her and fuck me if she wasn’t gorgeous.

 “I know that, I mean, not fucking personally if that’s what your fucking implying!” She was fucking with me and I was getting pissed.

 “Oh no, of course not.” She leaned over, her lips mere inches from my ear, her hand landing on my knee, moving upward. “I’m sure you have no first hand knowledge of one those.”

 Fuck! What the fuckity fucking hell did she just do?! I had to fucking compose myself, wasn’t going let Ms prissy pants see my reaction to her. Fucking breath man.

 “Okay, microphallus for the win doll. Nice”

 “Thank you, Negan.” She removed her hand quickly, her glasses back on. “You play a mean game. But I never lose.” She turned to face me, a sly smirk on her face.

 We both turned to face the room, realizing we were all alone.

 “What the fuckity fuck?! Were we playing that long?!”

 “I guess so Mr. Negan.”

 The way she said my name, something stirred in me. She’d been saying it all afternoon, no effect. But just now, the way she purred it, my dick came to life, twitching, itching to escape.

 She stood, picking up the tiles from the board and placing them in the box. “It looks like they left me to clean up.” She sighed.

 “Would you like some help sweetheart?” I needed to get to practice but I didn’t want to leave here, her.

“That’s okay, Mr. Negan, I’m sure you’ve got places to be.” She sounded almost disappointed. “It won’t take me too long anyway.” She began picking up the game board on the next table.

 I stood up, moving up towards the front. “I’ll pick up this side, you get that side. We’ll be done in no fucking time darling!”

 “Well, thank you Mr. Negan, you’re such a gentleman.” She smiled, placing the boxes on a cart. “Not at all what I was warned about.”

 “Warned? What did the old busybody bitties say about me now?” I laughed, causing her to smile.

 “Well,” She started walking towards me, stopping when she reached the other side of the table I was at. “They told me you were rude, crass and loved to make people, especially women…” she reached up, pulling her long hair from the bun it was in, her curls bouncing off her shoulders. Pulling her glasses from her face and placing them on the table, she turned, walking back from where she had come. “Embarrassed, uncomfortable. But you see Mr. Negan.” She turned her head, looking at me over her shoulder. “It takes ALOT to embarrass me. And you haven’t done it.”

 “Well sweetheart, you’ve only just met me, give it time.” I started walking towards her. Reaching her, her back to me, I ran a finger up the back of her sweater. “You’d be fucking amazed at what I can do, say. I’ve made a sailor fucking blush.”

 She turned to face me. Her eyes were a beautiful shade of y/e/c, her lips so fucking enticing, her tongue running over them, making them glisten. I was so fucking wrong, she wasn’t the uptight prissy librarian, fucking no. She was the librarian songs, movies, were written about. A teenage boy’s wet dream come to life. Fuck, she was hot, plain and simple. And I wanted her.

 “I’m no sailor, Mr. Negan. I’m just a simple librarian.” She unbuttoned her sweater, pulling it off and throwing it on the table. I could now see why she had the fucker buttoned up to her chin, she only had one of those silky things on underneath. I knew I was fucking staring but shit, she was all tits and nipples. And I was a kid in the proverbial candy store. “It’s awfully toasty in here, don’t you think?” She had picked up a magazine and began fanning herself. And fuck if it wasn’t making me squirm.

 “I believe it has gotten quite hot in here sweetheart.” I moved next to her, blowing on her neck. “Better sweetheart?”

 She giggled. “Your breath is hot, Mr. Negan,” She turned away, walking away between the stacks of books.

 “Where ya goin’ sweet thing?” I wondered aloud.

 “Come and find me Mr. Negan!” She answered in a giggle.

 I followed after her realizing that she had disappeared. “Where’d you go doll?” I began looking between the racks figuring she couldn’t have gotten far.

 “Check our the 600 aisle Mr. Negan. It’s the most interesting row.” She purred.

I glanced on the endcaps of the shelves, noticing the numbers. I quickly made my way to the 600’s. I tipped my head, peeking down the row and seeing her, leaning back against the shelf, reading a book.

 “What ya reading there darling?” I asked, moving slowly towards her.

 She glanced up at me, a sweet smile on her face. “Nothing much, Mr. Negan. You read much?”

 By her side now, I placed my arms on either side of her, my legs on either side of hers. “I’m not much of a reader if there’s no pictures sweet girl.”

 She looked up at me. “This book has plenty of pictures.” She turned the open book around so I could see what she was reading. “Very interesting, doncha think Mr. Negan?” She hummed as she moved her face towards mine.

 My fucking face must have shown my shock as she began laughing. “Did I embarrass you Mr. Negan?” She had placed the book in my hands, freeing her own to wrap around my neck, her big y/e/c eyes blinking seductively at me.

 I laughed, a bit fucking nervously. “Ha, no no! Hell no baby girl. You showing me this for a reason?” I winked, my tongue running slowly over my lips. “Wanna try one of these positions out?”

 “Maybe…” she whispered in my ear. “The Kama Sutra is a favorite of mine.” Her breath tickling the hairs on my neck. “And I’ve always wanted to have my brains screwed out in a library.”

 Fuck she was nothing if not forward. “You,” I brought one hand up to run along the side of her face, my thumb stroking her cheek lightly. “Are my kind of girl.”

 Of like mind, our lips slammed together, our tongues quickly tangling. Her fingers quickly finding their way into my hair, pulling lightly. I brought my hands down to her ass, squeezing each round cheek through the thin fabric of her skirt. She suddenly pulled away.

 Panting, her hands quickly making easy work of her skirt’s zipper. I watched, fucking mesmerized as she slid the skirt down her legs, stepping out of it. Pulling the little silky tank she had on over her head, she stepped back, letting me truly take her in. She was a fucking stunning beauty, all curvy legs, ass and breasts.

 “So, dressed like that makes me think you were fucking expecting to be enjoying yourself a bit tonight, huh?” I laughed. She had on the sexiest pair of fucking underwear I’d ever seen. All silk and lace. Some fancy floral design. Her breasts all pushed up, looking so fucking enticing, I wanted to just dive into them. Her panties were perfect, barely covering her bits but just enough silk to make you wonder. But the best part was she was wearing thigh high stockings with the garter belt, a instant make me fucking hard as steel deal. Shit, I was a fucking goner.

 She smiled. “Honestly, no, this is nothing special.” She ran her hands down her thighs. “A girl likes to feel pretty, sexy, no matter what she’s wearing or where she’s going.”

 “Well sweetheart, you most certain-fucking-ly are sexy and gorgeous. Couldn’t quite see how beautiful through all that frumpy shit you were wearing.”

 She giggled, her hands running up my chest. “Well, Mr. Negan, the school kinda frowns upon dressing like this.” She looked down at her body.

 We both laughed. “I’m not sure any fucking work would get done if you did doll. I can just see all those fucking horny teenagers walking around with shittin’ boners.”

 “How about you Mr. Negan?” She had risen up on her toes, her lips brushing against my ear. “Could you get any work done?”

 I sucked in a deep breath, inhaling her scent. Fucking shivers running down my spine. “I don’t believe I fucking would sweet thing, no.”

 I brought my hands down to grasp her ass, squeezing, kneading, our lips upon each other again, my tongue winning the war of dominance. She tasted so fucking good causing me to groan. My hands working their way around to her front, dipping into her panties. She let out a sigh, that quickly turned to moans as my fingers found her damp folds. I inserting two of them into her pussy, my thumb running circles around her hardening clit.

 “Oh… god…yes!”

 “You can call me god, baby, but I usually just go by Negan.”

 “Shut up and just make me cum!” She growled in my ear.

 “Oooh, a feisty one! Mmhmm!” I laughed. I hastened my movements, adding a third finger and hooking them at just the right angle, my thumb adding extra pressure.

 She came undone, her moans so loud I was sure someone fucking heard. As she leaned her trembling body into mine, I brought my juice covered fingers up to my mouth, tasting her.

 “Fucking heavenly baby. Jeeeesus!” I licked each finger clean, she watched me, her head leaning against my chest, a sly smile appearing. We both jumped when we heard some enter the library. “Shit doll!”

 She whispered. “It’s probably just Joe, the night custodian.” She quickly slipped her skirt and top back on, stepping out into the main aisle.

 “Doll!” I realized her skirt was pulled up in the back, her hot ass exposed. She turned to face be, bringing a finger up to her lips is a shushing gesture. Fuck.

 “Is that you Joseph?” She yelled.

 “It sure is Miss y/ln! Just here to clean. What are you still doing here this late?”

 She disappeared, obviously going to talk to Joe. With her skirt around her waist and her ass on display.  I took off after her, willing my fucking hard on down. I jogged my way down to where y/n was standing, talking to Joe.

 “Mr. Negan, you’re here too?!”

 She turned to look at me, an angry scowl coming across her face. I looked at her, my eyes darting down to her ass. She must have thought I was fucking flirting or something because she wasn’t catching on. Just kept giving me fucking side eye and chatting with fucking Joe, who couldn’t keep his fucking eyes off of her.

 I reached over, trying not to be obvious, reaching for her skirt. She must have noticed, because she turned around quickly, jumping away from me.

 “What’s going on?” She yelled. I heard Joe make a gasping sound and realized he was fucking staring at her ass. Fuckity fucking fucker.

 “Uh, Miss y/l/n, your skirt, uh.”

 “What?!” She turned around, looking down and realizing. “Oh my god, I’m so embarrassed! I don’t know how that could possibly have happened!” She had pulled her skirt down by now. Her cheeks a gorgeous shade of pink.

 “Uh, I don’t think the library needs cleaning tonight, I’ll just see myself out.” He turned, waving over his shoulder as he headed for the door. “And Mr. Negan, Miss y/l/n?”

 We both answered with a questioning “yes?”

 “Please don’t make a mess. And remember the walls are thin, it’s amazing what I can hear all over the school.   Have fun!”

 “Oh my god, Negan! He knows!” She look shocked, embarrassed, but then started giggling. She grabbed my hand, pulling me back down the aisles of books.

 “Where are  you taking me sweetheart?”

 “Maybe finish what we started?” She questioned me over her shoulder, a wink and a smirk pulling at her lips.

 My dick twitching at her spoken promise. “Sounds fucking good to me baby.”  I followed her willingly towards the back. “Where we headed darling?” My question soon answered when I saw an old couch.

 “A bit more comfortable, don’t you think?” She was turned towards me her top already thrown off, her skirt sliding down her shapely legs. She sat down, leaning back against the cushions, crossing those go on for fucking days stocking encased legs, her tits pressed forward so far. I was aching to touch them. She patted the seat next to her. “Sit with me Mr. Negan?”

 “Fuck sweet thing, you don’t have to ask me twice!” I moved over to the couch, sitting down. She slid over next to me.

 “Now, where were we?” She began pulling my shirt up my chest.

 “Let me help doll.” I pulled it off quickly. “Better?” I asked her, winking.

 “Much.” She purred, startling me as she was suddenly in my lap, straddling my legs. She placed her hands on my shoulders, moving them slowly downward, her fingers tickling the chest hairs, her nails lightly scraping. “I love a man with body hair, Negan.” As she spoke, her panty covered core began rotating over my painfully hard cock.

 I must have been making a face because she noticed. “Am I making you uncomfortable Mr. Negan?”

 “Kinda y/n.” I smirked, trying to hold myself together.

 She slid backwards, off my dick, which made me let out a breath I had been holding in. She then slid down to the floor onto her knees. “Can I help you,” she ran her hands up my thighs towards my waist “with your pants?” She skirted around my massive protruding bulge, reaching up to undo my belt, button and zipper.

 I couldn’t stop the throaty moans from escaping me. As she began pulling my pants down, I shifted my ass up to make it easier. Her eyes stayed on me as she slowly pulled my pants, and boxers, down, my more than fucking ready dick springing free.

 She stopped her actions, moving her hands up and grabbing a hold of my dick. Still eyes on me, her tongue darting out and running a wet stripe right up the underside to the head. I couldn’t decide if it was from fucking pain or pleasure but my eyes closed shut and I began groaning, my hands grasping at the pillows next to me.

 “Fuck baby!” I couldn’t be quiet as her tongue circled the head, dipping into the slit.

 “Macrophallus for the win Negan.” She purred as she swallowed me. All of me.

 “Fuck…that mean…” I moaned out.

 She released me with a wet pop. “Abnormally large penis Negan.” She giggled as she stood up.

 “Well, what else would you fucking expect?!” I laughed, but quickly quieted down when she began to slowly slide her panties down her legs. And I was unabashedly fucking staring.  “That has got to be the most fucking gorgeous pussy I’ve ever seen sweetheart! God fucking damn!” I slammed my palms down on the sofa.

 She giggled as she straddled my legs, lowering down onto me. She began rubbing her folds over my hard cock, making us both moan. The wetness from us both making her glide easily, but I wasn’t going to be able to take much more of the fucking foreplay.

 “Up doll. Now!”

 I startled her, but a fucking smirk appeared on her gorgeous face. “Yes SIR!” She stood up off of me, stepping beside me, her arms reaching out to lean against the back of the sofa. She began wiggling her ass at me, two fucking glorious y/s/c globes. I moved to stand behind her, my hands grabbing her ass, squeezing tightly, so fucking soft, velvety, so pliable.

 “You want this big fucking cock in your tight pussy baby girl? I’m not gonna hold back, you wiggling that ass at me, teasing me all afternoon. You are most certain-fucking-ly are going to pay for your insolence.”

 She looked over her shoulder at me, her beautiful y/e/c eyes blinking at me. The sweetest innocent fucking smile on her luscious red lips.

 “Keep your eyes on me doll.” I ordered her as I lined my cock up to her wet entrance, slamming into her in one thrust, causing her arms to give out and gasp out loudly. I swung my arm around her waist pulling her body back into mine. “I’ve got you sweetheart.” I cooed in her ear.

 “Oh Negan, yes, God YES!”

 “You are so fucking tight baby, never had a cock as big as mine huh?” I growled into her hair.

 “No…no, not ever!” She whined.  “Oh God…”

 I held her tightly as I rammed into her, pulled out as far as I fucking could, jamming back in. I could feel my cock tip hitting her inside, it was causing all kinds of new fucking feelings for me. I twisted my waist just enough to hit her at a different angle. I reached around, grabbing her bra, pulling it down letting her tits free. I tweaked both nipples, making them harden instantly.

 “Oh MY GOD!!!” I swung one hand down, my fingers tweaking her hardened nub, sending her over into fucking bliss. I was right behind, my jerks becoming erratic, I began shaking.

 “Fuck baby girl… I’m cumming…” I growled out, panting heavily. Just as I felt my stomach tighten, her tiny fingers reached around gripping my fucking sack, kneading it lightly and causing me to shoot my fucking seed so far into her that I swear it was gonna come out the other end. I could stop cumming, fuck I was full.

 As I finished, I turned us both around, falling onto the sofa with y/n in my lap, my dick still inside her. Her head falling back onto my shoulder, one hand reaching up to gently stroking her damp hair away from her face. We both groaned at the loss as my dick softened and dropped out.

 She turned to face me, her small fingers finding my scruff, tickling it. “You’re an amazing man, Mr. Negan. And you play a mean game of Words With Friends.” She snickered, her lips meeting mine in a sweet quick kiss.

 “Fuck doll, you’re the mean gamer. What’s that word you used again, macrophallus?”

 She laughed. “Yes, Mr. Big Dick.”

 “I like that, maybe I should change my fucking name to Mr. Big Dick on my door.” I laughed, nuzzling my nose into doll’s neck. We stayed like that for quite awhile, fucking cuddling. Something I never do. But fuck if this girl didn’t do something to me. She was humming some song while running her hands up and down my arms, fucking soothing me.

 “Negan?” She whispered in my ear. “I think we should clean up, get dressed. Don’t want Joseph to come looking for us again!” She giggled.

 “Guess we should!” I helped us both up, she ran off, coming back with damp towels. I had her sit down so I could clean her up, nothing fucking sexual. We got dressed, making sure nothing looked out of the ordinary.

 As we made our way to the door, I took a chance, taking her hand in my own. She squeezed it tightly, looking up at me with a sweet smile.

 “Can I drive you home sweet thing?”

 “I would love that Mr. Negan. Maybe stay a bit?” She looked up at me through her long eyelashes, a bit hesitant.

 “I would fucking love to stay baby.”

 I ended up forgetting all about the hot sandwich shop girl.

[ryik-the-writer]

A03

Previous Chapters

Chapter 1: Pan meets a Wendy

Chapter 2: Scars (Felix’s Story)

Chapter 3: Day One

Chapter 4: Revenge and Fireflies

Chapter 5: Brighter than Stars

Chapter 6: filler: The Tigress

Chapter 7: Operation Spotless!

Chapter 8: Operation Spotless: Reporters Down

Chapter 9: A Dance with the Devil

Chapter 10: filler: Felix and the Pancake

Chapter 11: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 1

Chapter 12: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 2

Chapter 13: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 3

Chapter 14. Recovery

Chapter 14.2 Recovery some more

Chapter 15: Trapped

Chapter 16: Fairydust pt. 1

-,-,-,-,-,-

I have reached demi-god status! Two people have done fanart on my fic:

Desklazy on tumblr and Cherrymizu on Instagram! I-I-I-I got so many feels!

desklazyhttps://www.instagram.com/p/BmgkPXrn3si/?taken-by=cherrymizu

http://desklazy.tumblr.com/tagged/papers-and-sleuthers

Also, this is my longest chapter to date at 23 pages and +9000 words, beating my record from chapter 13!

-,-,-,-,-,-,-

“Speak up, kid.” Sydney yelled through the phone.

Wendy pressed the diner phone as close to her face as she could. Her cell phone had died as soon as she left the library, and despite Storybrooke’s vintage look, it did not have payphones around town, thus she had to rely on Granny’s charity to complete the next step of her mission.

“I asked if you kept any notes on a story you worked on?” Wendy said as loudly as she could without attracting attention.

“Depends on the story. Which one you looking for?”

Though she trusted Sydney’s ability to keep silence, she didn’t want to get him too involved in case this all went south. He’d been damaged enough because of her.

“One from about…twenty years ago?”

She pulled the phone away from her ear when Glass burst out laughing.

“You want me to find notes from a story from two decades ago? What the hell have you gotten into now?”

“Research purposes.” Wendy stated vaguely.

Sydney chuckled again. “I don’t have a memory that far back, kid. Is Pan involved in this research of yours?”

“No.” Wendy huffed. “This is all me.”

“Heh, that’s unusual.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to remind her boss that every case she had worked on had started off as a solo project before Pan stuck his head into it. However, she needed to stay focused on Tink and push her frustrating counterpart into the furthest part of her mind.

They shared a few more words before Wendy hung up with a heavy sigh. A dead end. She leaned against the counter and put an strike across Glass’s name.

“Everything work out?” Granny inquired from across the counter.

“Not really.” Wendy replied, pulling her bag to her shoulder.

Granny leaned in closer. “Are you working on a new story?”

Wendy glanced behind her to see a few other diner patrons who were hungry for new news to feed their gossip groups until.

“N-no.” Wendy concluded. “Just…needed to make a phone call.”

“Hmm, right.” Granny hummed, unconvinced. “So you weren’t just changing details with Pan?”

“Poppycock.” Wendy muttered under her breath, easing out from behind the counter and leaving the friendly diner before Pan could be mentioned again.

-,-,-,-,-

“That’s him.” Graham pointed at a grainy photo on the police station wall. The man in question a curly mustache that reminded Wendy of Clark Gable.

“The sheriff before you.” Wendy nodded.

“Yep, old Holmes. Three terms unopposed.” Graham said before taking a bite out of his sandwich. It was his lunchbreak and he was working through it to get the paper work on Jekyll out before the end of the day. Wendy felt guilty about taking away the only free time he’d had, but he really didn’t seem to mind.

“Where is he now, exactly?” Wendy inquired. She hadn’t told Graham why she was looking for the ex-sheriff, and hopefully he wouldn’t be too concerned. It was best she kept her mission for Tink’s origins from as many people as possible.

“In the cemetery now.” Graham answered. “He passed away a few years ago.”

“Shit.”

Graham coughed, preventing his last bite of sandwich from going down the wrong pipe. “Pardon?”

“No, no sorry.” Wendy sighed. “I just…really wanted to meet him.”

Graham looked the journalist over suspiciously, but had too much going on to worry about her sleuthing.

“Just one question: is Pan involved in…whatever you’re doing?”

“No.” Wendy replied, annoyed.

“Alright.” Graham shrugged, turning back to the computer. “That means one less crisis this week.”

Wendy chuckled and took Graham’s dismissal has her cue to leave.

She crossed off his name from her book and hoped that her visit to the convent would be more successful.

-,-,-,-,-

The nunnery seemed much friendlier than the ones back in London, brighter with the colorful lights of the stained-glass windows bouncing off the.

Yet there was this air of dread around Wendy, like the walls were ready to push in and crush her to dust. She wondered if this was what Tink had felt during her time here, or if her own newfound claustrophobia was arising once more.

The apprehension clung to her bones as she followed one of the nuns to Mother Superior’s office. From the brief moment Wendy had laid eyes on the woman in blue, Wendy was more than certain that she wasn’t very nice. Anyone who could make someone like Tink La’Belle cry was certainly a monster.

The nun turned to her when she paused, giving her as small smile that indicated for her to do the same. She knocked on the door and a muffled response allowed the nun to enter.

“Mother Superior,” the nun greeted. “A young lady is here to see you.”

“Yes, yes let her in.” she spoke, sounding annoyed but willing.

The younger nun turned to Wendy with an apologetic smile and stepped aside to allow her entrance. Wendy breathed out nervously, watching as the door closed behind her, leaving her with a possible enemy.

“What is it?” the mother sighed impatiently, her head lifting from the paperwork she was scribbling on. “Oh, you again.” She said with a gross whine. “You didn’t bring that hooligan with you, did you?”

A definite enemy, then.

Wendy cleared her throat, as well as clearing any rude comment that was threatening to come up.

“No, it’s just me. My name is Wendy Darling. We didn’t get the chance to introduce ourselves after you upset my friend.” Wendy snarked. It would seem she didn’t clear everything away.

Mother Superior’s eyes bowed into a hard glare. “What do you want?”

“I want to know about what you might have seen the night Tink La’Belle was left on the convent doorsteps.” Wendy stated confidently, keeping eye contact with the spiteful nun.

A flash of blankness ran over the nun’s soft features before they hardened again.

“Why on earth ado you want to know any of that?”

“For the truth.” Wendy said. “There’s something else to this simple abandonment story and I intend to find out just what it is.”

“And splay it all over your pathetic paper?” Superior snipped.

“The only person who will ever know about any of this is Tink.” Wendy clarified. God forbid if anything got back to Pan.

The nun’s face paled slightly, and Wendy could see the wheels spinning frantically behind her eyes. With a blink, she was back to her passive, professional facade.

“I told the police years ago everything I knew and saw.” She stated, looking back down at the paperwork. It was the way the pen shook in her hand that gave Wendy the indication to push forward.

“I know you were young at the time,” Wendy pressed on more softly. “But if you remember anything—a mysterious person wondering around, a sound, someone coming by later—it would help—”

“I have nothing left to say!” Superior shouted, her façade dropping and crumbling into shards before Wendy’s eyes. “Now leave, or I’ll call the police!”

“Fine!” Wendy yelled back, her own patience slipping away. “Then you can explain to them why you keep harassing Tink to the point where she’s considering getting a restraining order against you!”

The rage vanished instantly from the Mother’s face, a wave of despair washing over her instead.

“She said that?” she inquired, her voice wretched.

For a brief moment Wendy almost felt pity for the nun. It would appear that despite her harassment towards Tink, there was a part of her that generally cared for her.

Then she recalled Felix holding her sobbing friend and the rage resurfaced.

“It was indicated.” Wendy replied simply. “Maybe, when I tell her the truth about her abandonment, I can mention that you’re the reason I found it and that you helped me.”

For a moment Wendy thought she had her. The head nun seemed to contemplate what she was saying, mulling it over to an accepting extent.

Then, she disappointed Wendy by bending over her paperwork once again.

“As I said, I have nothing to say that I didn’t report to the police all those years ago.” She stated more mechanically. “Now please, excuse yourself.”

Wendy actually twitched. Really, the nerve of this woman! She was sly, Wendy would pay her that compliment. She thought of a way she could make her say more. She could reveal what Tink told her, about why she had refused to return to the convent.

That place was never a home.

But as Wendy mulled it over (and as the words hung on the very tip of her tongue), she decided against it. That was something Pan would do, and do with pleasure if she had to guess. Pan wasn’t here, she didn’t have to handle things his way.

She was Wendy Darling, and she was clean.

“If you happen to remember anything,” Wendy said with sarcastic politeness. “Just call the paper and let me know.”

The head nun flinched but did not answer, and Wendy pressed no more.

Stomping out of the convent, she slashed Mother Superior’s name off her list and hummed when she saw her next—and last source.

Mr. Gold.

-,-,-,-,-

Mr. Gold looked up from his tedious paperwork when the door opened, cursing that someone would wonder in this close to lunch time. He had planned to close shop early so that he could visit Belle in the hospital as he had done since her rescue. His agitation stilled some when he saw that it was Wendy Darling, Belle’s savior.

His savior.

“Mr. Gold,” she greeted, an air nervousness in her voice. “May I talk to you for a moment?”                          

“Miss Darling,” Mr. Gold returned, smiling whole-heartedly rather than with his usual sarcasm. “Please, come in. Would you follow me to the back?”

Wendy nodded, glad for the privacy. The shop itself reminded Belle of her grandmother’s house: a fire hazard with its antiques but strangely inviting. It had the stale smell of dust just overpowered enough by the smell of strongly brewed tea.  

Mr. Gold guested to a small, rumpled cot for her to sit, and in a moment he pulled a whistling teapot from a small hotplate.

“Milk, sugar?” Mr. Gold inquired as he set out an additional teacup next to his own.

“Just a dab, if you please.” She answered, pulling out her notebook.

He handed her a cup and took a seat in a rough desk chair across from her. Wendy noticed that his own teacup had a chip in the rim.

“Belle’s doing.” He indicated when he caught her gaze. “The first time she entered my shop, I shocked her as she was admiring a stack of books. I don’t know why, but I fell for her rather quickly after that.”

Wendy smiled at the fleeting love story. Five minutes in his shop, Mr. Gold had revealed more about himself than Pan had in the month and a half she’d known him.

“However, I’m sure you didn’t come here to hear me drawl on about my past. What can I do for you, Miss Darling?”

Wendy took a sip of her tea before she answered (it was a bit too strong for her liking but still much better than the bagged stuff she’d had to sip on during her stay in Storybrooke).

“Actually, it’s your past I’m inquiring about.” Wendy stated, pulling out her cellphone for the pictures she took in the library.

Mr. Gold’s calculated expression bowed into calm curiosity. “Is this about Pan?”

Wendy felt she would have to start introducing herself with “Hi, may we talk, and no this is not about Peter flipping Pan,” for now on.

“No, it’s about a mutual friend of ours, Tink La’Bell.” Wendy showed him the grainy picture of the cross she took in the library. “I know it’s a long shot, but I was curious if the police asked you about the cross she had with her. I would have brought it with me but…”

Mr. Gold peaked over the top of her cellphone. “But this is a silent angel mission for you?”

“It is.” Wendy confided. “I’d just like to help her find some kind of closure. Do you have any idea if someone around here had one like it, or maybe if they got it from here?”

There was a comment in his smile that Wendy wanted to hear, however his attention returned to her cellphone a moment more before he handed it back to her.

“I recall Miss La’Bell’s abandonment quite well,” Mr. Gold reminisced. “Sheriff Holmes came to my shop the day after the incident to ask me similar questions like the ones you’re asking me.”

Wendy frowned, sensing another dead end.

“Let me guess, there was nothing you could provide him.”

“You’re quick to reach the worst conclusion, Miss Darling.”  Mr. Gold teased before turning to a nearby shelf. “I cataloged the item during the 24-hours it was in my possession so that I could do extensive research to find its origins. Thusly, I came to a few conclusions to satisfy the sheriff.”

“Could you share those conclusions with me?” Wendy asked hopefully.

“Would you like the answers I gave to the sheriff or the information I found afterwards?”

Wendy’s heart pounded with anticipation. This was the best, and so far only, lead she’d gotten and it would seem it could lead her to all the answers she was striving for.

“In order, please.”

Mr. Gold pulled out a small card and low and behold there was a picture of Tink’s half-cross attached to it.

“I discovered that the cross was Italian-made, and 30% silver.” Mr. Gold relayed.

“Italian-made? Does that mean that it didn’t come from Storybrooke?”

“Perhaps. Usually when something that wasn’t made here on the mainland cycles about, it comes through my shop. Not to mention the second half of the cross was never found, so Miss La’Belle was definitely brought here from outside of Storybrooke.”

Wendy nodded, a dead-end seemingly upon her.

“At least, that’s the information I gave the authorities.”

Wendy breathed in. He knew something no one else did. Another secret keeper, too much like Pan.

Although, Pan’s secrets stemmed were more personal, while Mr. Gold’s more than likely stemmed farther. He had stakes in Storybrooke, as Pan and several others had warned her. More than likely anything he was about to tell her could land him in legal trouble. Then again, this was all off the record. What the police didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

“What else did you discover?”

Mr. Gold ran the tip of his tongue over his lip. “A great deal of secrets, all of which stem back to the very place Miss La’Bell was dropped off at.”

“With all due respect Mr. Gold, I get enough of the vague allusions from Pan. Could we be more direct with each other?”

Mr. Gold smiled approvingly. “In all honesty, there are a few details I can’t reveal.”

“For legal reasons?” Wendy sighed. “I promise you, this all off-record.”

“For business-related reasons, Miss Darling.” Mr. Gold corrected. “I made a deal with Miss La’Bell’s abdicator.”  

Wendy paused, the meaning of his words sinking deep into the liner of her brain, infuriating and intriguing her all at once.

“You know who did it, who abandoned Tink?”

“I do.” Mr. Gold stated, his tone leveling when he saw Wendy’s gaze darken.

“You’ve known all this time and you told no one? The authorities, Tink? She has the right to know! You should have told her!”

Mr. Gold barely flinched when she yelled at him. “You’re right.” He agreed.

“Then why? What kind of deal did you make with her parents that would prevent you from giving her the information she deserved?”

Mr. Gold looked down at his ring, the strange blue stone reminding Wendy so much of Belle’s eyes.

“As I said, I can’t reveal the details of the deal I made.”

“Even to the person it affected most?” Belle barked, rage boiling inside her. Tink had a hole in her heart because of her parents, a hole Gold could have filled long ago. Instead he had used Tink’s pain as a bargaining chip against the people who had caused her so much pain. He used people to put himself further on top.

Just like Pan.

Just like his brother.

“I didn’t see it before.” Wendy muttered, shaking her head. “I didn’t see the connection, the part of you that he wanted to keep buried.” She lifted her head and met Mr. Gold dead in the eyes. The slight flinch he let off from the heat of her gaze only dulled her rage slightly.

Very slightly.

“I see it now. You’re both cut from the same cloth. You’re both horrible, selfish people”

Mr. Gold surveyed the young journalist, startled by her fire yet excited to feel the licks of her flames. Despite what Pan thought, Gold had indeed been keeping tabs on his much younger brother on and off since Belle’s disappearance. He knew about his shenanigans he pulled for the sake of journalism, about the lives he’d helped destroy. About the battles with his demons and recklessness and close calls. He even knew about Jekyll and August and all the bouts of filth in-between.

And he knew about the impact the young woman before him was having on him. He had seen it in the way he had carried himself in the last few months. Even when he was bruised and cut up from his recent horrors, there was still some sort of light over him, and Wendy Darling was always by his side to cast it.

He hadn’t seen him so alive since…well, Belle.

“No, Miss Darling.” Mr. Gold finally spoke. “You’re quite wrong on that note.”

“I doubt it.” Wendy hissed, grabbing her purse and standing.

“Where are you going?”

“To find Tink and tell her everything you’ve told me!” Wendy barked. “It’ll hurt her, but she had a right to know.”

“That won’t be necessary, Miss Darling.” Mr. Gold sighed, reaching under the counter and pulling out a small box.

“So you’re going to tell me who they are?”

“No, I can’t do that.” Gold stated simply, pulling a small brass key from the box. “But perhaps, Mother Superior can.”

“I’ve already talked to her—”

“You spoke to her, but you didn’t get the truth, I’m sure.”

“What do you…”

Mr. Gold reached out for her hand and curled the ancient key into her palm.

“Go back to the convent and search her office. You’ll find all you need to know.”

“But…”  

“I can’t say anymore.” Mr. Gold stated firmly, turning to retreat into the back room. “I must ask you to be off now, Miss Darling.”

Wendy groaned. This mysterious-town cliché had gotten old fast.

“What if she won’t talk to me?”

“Trust me, Miss Darling, once you find what you’re looking for, she’ll be singing like a bird.”

Wendy glared at him as she stuffed the key into her pocket.

“I barely trust Pan, why would I trust you?”

“Because you don’t have a choice. You’re getting desperate, and one thing I can recognize is a desperate soul.”

“I am far from desperate, Mr. Gold.” Wendy commented, turning on her heel. If he thought he could manipulate her with mixed metaphors than he would be sorely disappointed.

Pan couldn’t, and neither could his much older, much calmer brother.

But as she stormed out of his shop and headed back to the convent, she did hope whatever Gold wanted her to find would lead to the end of her current case. She wasn’t desperate, but she didn’t have a single straw left to grasp.

-,-,-,-,-

It sickened Wendy to think so, but she wished she had called Pan to join her—at least on this part of her mission.

Judging by their experience with August Booth and his vicious feathered pet, Pan was much more knowledgeable in these sorts of misadventures.

And as the minutes ticked until it was quite enough for Wendy to sneak back into the convent, she wished more than ever that he was here with her. Yelling or cursing at her, soothing and reassuring her that she had nothing to worry about. Taking the blunt of their horrors and fears from her.

It sickened her to have become so dependent on someone like Pan, who frustrated, hurt, and comforted her all at once.

God she needed therapy.

Finally, the young nun from earlier left the convent, locking the doors behind her as she whistled her way to the living quarters just behind the garden. Wendy scurried to the door, searching for a key under the worn map and in the bushes near the door. Though a quick look around the grounds indicated that there were no cameras around to worry about, there was still the grinding fear of being caught that she had yet to shake during her time as a journalist.

Pan would bite her head off if he were here.

Wendy rolled her eyes and searched for a window. She’d probably go straight to Hell for breaking into a nunnery, but she would risk damnation later if Tink received some kind of peace.

She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them warm, her knuckles grazing the key Mr. Gold had bestowed upon her earlier. She had no idea what it would open, or even if what it revealed would do anything for her current case, but she had a hunch that Mr. Gold hadn’t given it to her just to get her out of his shop.

A thought came to her as she examined the key: it was old, much like the door leading into the convent. She turned back to the door and tested her hunch, her stomach flipping with joy as the key turned easily in the door lock. She pushed the old door opened, the aging squeak barely startling her. With a shaky breath she snuck into the nunnery and closed the door carefully behind her.

The walk to the head nun’s office felt shorter, as if time were working with her to ensure that she didn’t get caught before she found what she was looking for.

Her door was locked, as it should be during the night. Yet Wendy could feel the doorknob buzzing with all the secrets inside the quaint office. Carefully, Wendy inserted the key into the ancient key hole and the door opened with ease. Mr. Gold have given her a skeleton key. Either he was indeed a persistent ally, or a misleading enemy.

Wendy turned on the light and wondered where to go from there. The key couldn’t possibly unlocked everything in the room, could it? There was only one way to find out, and Wendy nervously began searching.

She started with the cluttered shelves, searching for anything that screamed TINK. Mostly she found old religious texts and old financial records that were probably too important to be boxed up in an abandoned library for snoops like her to find.

This was becoming frustrating. What was she even supposed to be looking for? Every mystery book and movie she had consumed often indicated that this part was easy, that the answer to her problems would jump out in front of her. It was an overused but very convenient plot device.

She couldn’t have helped but think that Pan would have found it by now.

As she mused on the thought, her cellphone buzzed against her hip. She quickly grabbed it to put it on silent and stared at the unknown name in her inbox.

Find what you’re looking for yet?

Wendy’s jaw slacked. Pan? She texted back.

No Larry King who do you think?

“How did you get my number?” she muttered aloud before texting the same question.

Not important. Have you found what you were looking for?

Wendy wanted to argue on the breach of her security, but decided that if he was curious about her mystery hunt, maybe he could give her a pointer or two.

Not yet. I’m in Superior’s office looking for clues.

You broke in? Now THAT’S my girl!

Wendy rolled her eyes. Don’t call me that.

I’m coming over. This is too adorable to miss.

“No!” Wendy exclaimed, tensing at the echo of her own voice before typing again.

Don’t. This is stressful enough!

She waited for a response, but none followed. She cursed Pan and herself. She was going to get caught and more than likely thrown into a cell with him!

She had to make a quick decision before he showed up. She could either ditch her mission altogether and run, or she could push through just long enough for a miracle to happen.

Her phone buzzed once more and she pounced on it before the buzz finished.

Check the drawers. There’s always something in the drawers.

“No bloody duh.” Wendy spat at Pan’s text before rushing to the head nun’s desk. Like the doors, the locks were ancient, leaving Wendy to wonder if the desk had been part of the property from the beginning.

The contents of it were scarce, full of old receipts, office supplies and little toys no doubt confiscated from unruly children.

Then there was something that stood out: a wad of blue silky cloth. It was too much of a coincidence for Wendy to pass up. She picked up the mass and instantly felt the added weight of whatever was wrapped up. Her heart pounded in anticipation for the reveal, and by the time she unraveled the object, the answers to a 20+ years case was almost solved.

In her hand was the other half Tink’s cross.

Mother Superior’s cross?

She moved the heavy, smooth metal in her palm, glazing over the jewels and the jagged edge where the cross must have broken off.

Mother Superior had had it all along, had had it lying in a drawer to gather dust while she belittled Tink. Wendy moved the cool metal to her chest, trying to possibly envision what her friend had gone through, how relieved she must had felt when she was able to leave it behind.

She had the other half of the cross, she had the keeper to Tink’s past, but she still didn’t have a motive. A “why?”

Unless…just possibly…

“What are you doing here?”

Wendy turned to face the head nun, her eyes roaming over her robed form, no doubt having been asleep just moments before. Her eyes widened when she saw that Wendy was holding the cross.

“Give me that!” She commanded, stepping forward.

Wendy scurried behind the desk, using the ancient relic as a border between them.

“You know something.” Wendy accused. “You know who abandoned her.”

“I’m calling the police.” She said, though made no move to act on her threat.

“Good, call them!” Wendy exclaimed. “Tell them you lied to them over twenty years ago, why you withheld evidence.”

Mother Superior lunged at the desk and snatched the cross from Wendy’s hand, the whiplash causing her to send the broken edge into her palm.

Wendy gasped in pain, clenching the end of her sleeve into the bloody streak. Panic began to consume her, the fear of a repeat of her last two brush with death a rising possibility.

“This was none of your concern to being with.” The head nun growled. “Everything was going as it should be.”

Wendy took the blue silk cloth and wrapped it tightly around her hand. “How…how was anything going well?” she panted, stalling long enough for Pan to arrive. “Do you know what you put her through? What you took from her?”

The head nun seethed, squeezing the cross tighter in her palm. “I did everything possible. I kept her close, kept her safe. I gave her everything she needed.”

“Except the most important thing a mother should give their child,” Wendy seethed, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction when Superior’s expression paled. “Love.”

Mother Superior looked her over. “No…how…” her expression darkened. “Gold told you, didn’t he?”

“No,” Wendy sighed. “Honestly, I’m just connecting dots at this point. And…she has your nose.”

The head nun blinked, panic rising in her eyes. “Are…are you recording this?”

“No.” Wendy sighed, flexing her fingers. “Like I said earlier, anything you tell me will only go back to Tink.”

“Get out.”

“She deserves to know the truth!” Wendy pleaded.

“You have no proof now.” The head nun fought, shoving the rest of the cross deep into her robe pocket. “I’ll deny everything, and nothing will change.”

“Yeah it will.”

Mother Superior shot around just as Pan breezed around the corner, his lips curved in anticipation.

“Rule one of journalism: lock the damn door after you break-and-enter.” Pan said with a frown Wendy’s way. A small smirk followed. “Unless you were just hoping I’d show up.”

“Yes, the same way I hope for appendicitis.” Wendy snarked, hiding her secret smile behind her bandaged hand. “I’m kind of busy here…”

“Yeah I heard,” Pan threw back. “And I think  Graham, Sydney and, well damn, all of Storybrooke, would like to hear too.”

Wendy watched the head nun’s back tense. They had her in a corner, and while this was hardly the way Wendy had wanted this to go, it was working as things had to be.

“Please,” Wendy beseeched once more. “Tell us the truth. We can help.”

“Or we can expose you.” Pan shrugged. “Just spill it.”

Mother Superior sent a deadly glare Pan’s way, but when he smirked back at hwe unfazed, she plopped down in her chair, defeated. She scrubbed two worn hands over her face, covering her eyes for a moment before turning to Wendy once more.

“You swear you’re not reporting this?”c

“Okay,” Wendy sighed, pulling out all the evidence she had gathered. “You’re Tink’s mum. You staged her abandonment and subsequently adopted her.”

“Yes.” The head nun admitted quietly.

“Shit.” Pan mumbled.

“Fine, I get all that.” Wendy nodded. “But the real question is why? Why go through such an elaborate setup for a baby you wanted to keep? Why never tell her anything?”

“Because I would have lost everything I had ever worked for.”

Wendy glanced at Pan who was staring at the head nun in a very queer way. It concerned her really, but she couldn’t focus on him right now.

“What do you mean?” Wendy inquired.

“I…was a lot like her.” Superior said, rubbing her hands nervously together. “I was abandoned, and someone took me under their wing.”

“You call humiliating and berating someone taking them under your wing?” Pan seethed.

Wendy held a hand out, warning him to stay put. “I can handle this.” She said, turning back to the nun. “Continue.”

“The nun before me groomed me to take her place when I was eighteen. About a year before, I went on a mission trip to Italy and…” she paused, her eyes searching the past for the more intimate details. “I met a man…”

Wendy nodded, assuming that the man in question was Tink’s father.

“He said and did things that…” she smiled fondly, “that went against everything I had ever known. I loved him, I really did…”

“Yes, lovely, I’m sure the sex was great but on to the post-baby abandonment already.” Pan intervened.

“Pan, shut up.” Wendy snapped.

“She’s stalling!”

“She’s telling a story, zip it!”

Pan rolled his eyes and slid down the wall, muttering something about idiots and exhaustive details.

“Okay, you met a man and got pregnant.” Wendy said, eager to speed the story along but wanting to do so in a more professional matter. “What led to you keeping Tink?”

The head nun was quite for a moment, a myriad of emotions swimming through her deep brown eyes.

“I told…Tink’s father…” she grimaced, as if the mention of the man left a bad taste in her mouth. “But he wasn’t interested in being a father, and I had no choice but to return to the states.”

“And no one noticed you were pregnant?” Wendy questioned.

“I spent most of my time in confinement, praying.” Superior admitted, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “By the time it was time for her to be born, we went into hiding, to this cabin just outside of town…”

“Shit.” Pan cursed. “The one that Gold owns? Is that how your arse got caught?”

“I…do you really need to know all that?”

“We can get to that.” Wendy promised, more in Pan’s direction than in Superior’s. “What happened then?”

The Mother’s back remained straight, her expression blank. “That’s it really. I gave birth to her in the cabin and later I took her to the convent to be found. All staged. And you know the rest. Are we done?”

Wendy stared at her for a moment, trying to wrap her mind around her tale.

“You’ve given us the bare bones of your tale, but nothing else. No motive no real reason why you did the things you did.”

“What more do you want?” Mother Superior groaned, sounding more tried than irritating.

“I want…answers!” Wendy said. “I want something meaningful to take back to Tink! I want her to know why you would keep her for a week and then just…dump her. Why you shamed her and forbade her from doing normal things. Why you—her mother—would put her through all you did!”

“I didn’t know how to be a mother!” Mother Superior yelled, her voice breaking with a sob. “I had my entire life planned out, I didn’t know how to fit a baby into all of it.” She took a long breath and straightened her spine once more, the blank veil of emotion she carried so perfectly falling over her face. “I did the best I could to give her a good life.”

“No,” Wendy said. “You did the best you could to cover your arse so that you could keep face.”

Superior glared at Wendy, but the young journalist gave her no room to cut in an argument.

“After you left yesterday, she told me about how you made her feel. About how you made the only home she ever knew feel like a prison. It was heartbreaking. And you have the nerve to try to drag her back here.”

“She’s living in sin!” Superior protested.

“She’s living with someone who loves her more than anyone else in this whole damn world!” Pan barked, stepping beside Wendy.

“Peter…”

“He has never, would never, do anything to hurt her, unlike you.” Pan growled, eyes aflame. He smirked then, enjoying the way the head nun paled. “I think you know that, and I think you’re jealous. She loves him and she’ll never love you. Not then, not ever.”

“I don’t have to listen to this any longer.” The head nun decided, standing up and heading for the exit. “I answer to one higher power, and he will judge me righteous!”

Pan stepped in front of her, not necessarily blocking her escape, but his presence was enough to stall the nun.

“Righteous?” Wendy gasped behind her. “I may not know much about God, but I’m sure using his name to judge your deceitfulness is blasphemy.”

“Everything I did was for the benefit of everyone!” Superior argued. “He will see that! I did it all in his name!”

“God is not your scapegoat!” Wendy yelled back. Despite her current hatred for the pious nun, she couldn’t help but feel something equivalent to pity for her. It certainly couldn’t have been easy to get pregnant so young and then subsequently abandoned by the child’s father. She had just never tapped into her maternal instincts. Maybe with help, she could have.

“I do care for her Miss Darling, whether you,” she glanced to Pan, “or anyone else thinks so or not.”  

“Is that why you gave her the other half of your cross?” Wendy inquired, pointing at her protruding coat pocket. “So that she would know that you loved her?”

The nun looked down guiltily. “The cross was an accident. I had bougt it in Italy…with him. I meant to throw it away but it had slipped my mind. The night I faked Tink’s abandonment, the chain I had it on broke and it shattered against the concrete. I had put one of the pieces in her bassinet and by the time the police came it was too late to hide it before it was documented in their report.”

“Oh my god you’re the worse.” Pan groaned.

“The bottom line,” Superior continued, unperturbed, “is that all of this will be resolved when Tink rejoins the convent for good.”

“Oh, you plan to tell her everything if she does?” Wendy inquired more sarcastically than she meant to. “Or would that risk your position you ditched her for?”

“I suppose that’s really up to you.” Superior replied icily. “You can tell Tink all I’ve told you tonight and destroy all I’ve managed to build.”

“Bitch we just might.” Pan muttered.

“But,” the nun contemplated with a small, eerie smile. “Without a recording, she won’t believe a word you tell her, and I’ll deny you ever being here.”

Wendy gripped the table to prevent herself from diving at the nun. Cunning witch! She glanced at Pan who gave her an “I fucking told you so” look and she wished they were on a higher floor so that she could jump to her fate.

Still, Wendy refused to let the nun have the last word. She straightened her coat and gathered her things, ready to leave on a final note.

“Who do you think she’s going to believe, Mother Superior? Someone who’s actually taken the time to earn her trust, or the woman who mentally and emotionally broke her for years?”

The head nun’s satisfied smile vanished, and her mouth fell as she searched for a retort.

“My advice is to talk to her first.” Wendy said as she stepped out of her office. “It might take a while but she’ll forgive you.” She motioned to Pan. “She did him.”

“Hey, watch it.” Pan warned only for Wendy to breeze past him unperturbed. He followed her with one last dirty look at the nun.

They made it out of the convent without incident, but neither of the journalists looked or spoke to each other until they were walking the quiet streets of inner-Storybrooke.

“Well you just barely screwed that up.” Pan teased, his spirits lifting

“I was doing fine long before you poked your nose into it.” Wendy miffed.

“Please you were bored to death without me.” Pan chuckled, and then nodded to her bandaged hand. “Not to mention you get cut up a lot worse when I’m not around.”

Wendy rolled her eyes. True, she had missed his accustomed presence today, but she had been doing a lot better on her own than she thought she had. No panic attacks, no shadowy figures crossing her path. She had been fine, abet a bit lonely.

“Well, I thought you needed more time to recover from your little tantrum yesterday.” Wendy spoke, keeping her eyes straight ahead.

“Oh, I see.” Pan scoffed. “Get a good night sleep last night, Wendy? Oh wait, no you didn’t.”

Wendy skid to a stop and shot around to the jeering boy. “That’s something totally different.”

“You’d be surprised just how much it’s not.” Pan argued.

“You know what, let’s just…drop it.” Wendy sighed exasperatedly.

“Fine with me.” Pan grumbled, and the two slipped into silence again.

They were close enough to town that they could see the ever-present light of Granny’s diner twinkling in the night. Despite how lively the restaurant still seemed to be, the rest of the town seemed too quiet, too peaceful despite what had happened—and was still happening—around it.

“I wonder what she’s going to do.” Wendy pondered aloud. “Will she tell Tink anything, or will things go back to being the way they were?”

“You should have recorded it.” Pan shrugged. “Then the bitch couldn’t hide anymore.”

“Actually, I’m kind of glad I didn’t.”

“You’re glad a whole day of work was for nothing?” Pan scoffed.

Wendy stopped and turned to Pan, sighed exhaustedly. “I’m glad that Superior now has the chance to come clean without the threat of blackmail hanging over her head.”

Pan observed her, taking in her nobility and strength, but quietly judging her obscene sense of justice. She didn’t know how twisted the head nun really was. She didn’t know at all.

“This was never my story to tell.” Wendy continued. “I shouldn’t be the one to decide where Mother Superior’s secrets get thrown around. She knows we know, so maybe that will give her enough of a push to tell Tink the truth.”

“Maybe.” Pan muttered, a small pearl of rage growing in his belly. But Wendy was smiling, satisfied with her days work, and he held off.

It wasn’t her fault she didn’t know everything.

“Well,” Wendy sighed. “I think I’ll head home, try to sleep.”

“Yeah.” Pan muttered, his hand sliding deeper into his pockets.

“Goodnight.” Wendy renounced, giving him a light nod before turning away.

Pan nodded, watching as she clipped to the apartments, safe and smiling whole-heartedly for the first time in weeks.  

“Fly, fly, little bird.” Pan muttered before turning in the direction of the Mirror. As he walked, he fished deep in his pockets of his coat to pull out his cellphone.

Before him was a recording app with all thirteen and a half minutes of his and Wendy’s conversation with Mother Superior saved.

Rule one of journalism may have been to lock the door after breaking and entering, but rule two was to always have a recorder going.

Pan weighed his phone back and forth in his hands, readying himself to give into his dark urge to put it on tomorrow’s front page.

The idea that Tink deserved better was what was stopping him.

Wendy thought that the Blue fairy was also a victim in all this, but she was way off from the truth. She witnessed a mere moment of Tink’s pain brought on by the holy horror. Pan had witnessed years of it.

Once, during his first week of school, when he didn’t have Felix or anyone else to call home to, he witnessed her cruelty first-hand.

It had been an early release day, but it could have been the end of the world and Pan wouldn’t have thought different. He was numb from the excitement of classmates. All he had to go home to was a stolic brother and a quiet, dusty house.

He was ready to walk back to said quiet, dusty house when someone bumped into his shoulder and changed the course of his overly quiet life forever.

“I completely forgot about the early release day.” Tink La’Belle (who at the time wasn’t the quite confident young woman she was in later years) gasped as she and Felix Croft pushed past the exiting bustle of students. “I forgot my clothes…”

“It’s okay,” Felix (who at the time was unblemished by scars and loss) assured, and Pan watched as he rubbed a hand comfortingly over her back. “We’ll sneak through the woods and then…”

Felix suddenly stopped when a blue car in desperate need of a paintjob on the hood breezed into the school parking lot, narrowly missing the bike rack.

Pan divided his attention between the pinch-faced nun who stepped out of the car, and the way Felix Croft’s hand waved up and down on Tink La’Belle’s back. The motion was therapeutic in a way Pan didn’t understand, and it numbed him all in the right ways. When the door to the nun’s car slammed and she started screaming, the peace he felt was shattered, and he was thoroughly pissed from the interuption.

“What are you wearing?” Mother Superior demanded, marching up to Felix and Tink while many of the other students looked on.

Pan hadn’t been sure who she had been yelling at. Both Felix and Tink were dressed rather appropriately for the cool Autumn weather, right down to the jeans and boots.

“I…snagged my skirt.” Tink said quietly, a sound that didn’t suit her loud, confident nature.

“Doing what?” the nun snarled with a glare at Felix.

“Please don’t do this.” Tink begged, and Pan could feel the heat of her mortification even from his place on the steps.

“Get in the car now.” The head nun snarled, grabbing Tink by the wrist before she had a chance to protest.

The small utter of discomfort caused Pan’s stomach to turn, and a small but fierce flame to flicker in his chest.

“You’re hurting her!” Felix had yelled after them.

“You stay out of this!” the nun growled at him, bundling Tink into the passenger seat before stalking to the other side.

Students muttered their condolences as the car drove off, but Felix didn’t utter a word. Didn’t even seem to breath.

Pan rolled his eyes at the boy’s love-struck agony (it would be many months before Belle would enter his life and fill him with the same pain), but he licked his lips as an idea filled his mind.

The following morning, the Daily Mirror ran a story on the second page about how the head nun of the Sisters of Saint Melissa’s car had been completely vandalized. Torn tires, key marks in the paint, and—as the mechanic would later explain—pieces of an Apollo candy bar in the gas tank.

While Pan chuckled about the small act of revenge he performed on Tink’s behalf, it also filled him with resentment for the head horror.

Wendy had said that this was Mother Superior’s tale to tell.

She was dead wrong.

It was his, and Felix’s, and anyone else who had to witness the head nun’s cruelty.

Pan didn’t blame her for her ignorance, but he wasn’t going to let it stop him from giving the icy bitch what she had coming.

He made a turn to the Mirror, ignoring the nagging voice in his head that—for whatever damn reason—he should feel some kind of guilt for what he was about to do.

-,-,-,-,-,-,-

Despite another restless night, Wendy felt more blissful when she awoke the next morning than she had in weeks. She had accomplished something big yesterday with only a slight interference from Pan. She felt more confident now, braver. She was going to be okay, and the idea was enough to make her sob.

As she locked up her apartment and headed to the Mirror, she wondered if Mother Superior had contacted Tink yet. No doubt her name would be brought into it, and Wendy was prepared for the backlash. She hoped whatever happened, her friend could finally get the closure she deserved.

There was something off in town as Wendy got closer to the paper. People seemed to be sending her side-glances behind their freshly printed papers. Wendy assumed it was about the Jekyll story and ducked her head. She hoped Pan hadn’t added any extravagant details for shock value.

The unnatural feeling followed her into the Mirror, which was unusually quiet for a Monday morning.

It wasn’t until she saw Glass, Felix, and a sobbing Tink in Glass’s office that she realized something was horribly wrong.

Two very distinctive thoughts ran through her head at that moment:

Tink knew, or something had happened to Pan, as he was nowhere in sight.

They all turned to her when she barged into the office, searching their faces for answers.

“What’s going on?”

“Like you don’t know!” Tink screamed at her, causing Wendy to flinch from the unexpected reaction.

“Know what?” Wendy gasped, reaching out to Tink.

“Do not touch me!” she yelled, snatching away from Wendy. “Stay the hell away from me!”

“Tink calm down.” Felix tried to sooth.

“No!” Tink fought. “What she’s done is lower then low. She does not get a pass on this!”

Felix pulled her back, trying to put some distance between the two women. Glass stepped forward, a hand on his lower back to steady himself.

“What’s going on?” Wendy begged him.

Glass held up the latest addition of the Daily Mirror. The moment she saw the stolid, gray image of Mother Superior she knew what had happened.

HEAD NUN OF CONVENT REVEALED TO BE MOTHER OF BABY ABANDONED IN 1991

Wendy’s name was under the headline and Tink had her scapegoat.

“I trusted you!” she sobbed. “I told you all of that in confidence and you published it like—like some kind of bizarre tabloid story!”

“T-Tink,” Wendy gasped, the paper rattling in her hands. “I swear I didn’t—”

“I thought you were different, that you knew how to separate your job from the rest of the world.” Tink hiccupped, pulling from Felix’s protective grip so that she could step up to Wendy and look her straight in the eye. “But Pan got to you. You’re just as filthy and selfish as he is. More concerned about a few seconds of glory than people’s lives.”

Wendy’s chest constricted with the weight of Tink’s words—her very misguided, hateful words.

“No, Tink, please that’s not—”

“Save it,” Tink sneered, stepping around her. “I’m done with you.”

Wendy couldn’t speak, couldn’t move as she heard Tink leave the office, Felix following her without so much as a glance at her. The moment that followed was quiet, yet bizarrely peaceful, like the few seconds right at the end of a horrible storm that had devastated the world around it.

It was Glass who pulled her back into the storm, and Wendy felt the air scorch her skin.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, having to sit on his desk due to his still-injured back. “This was the research you were doing all day yesterday?”

“It wasn’t…I didn’t…”

Glass cursed and threw the paper on the floor. “We’ll be lucky if she or the convent don’t sue. Did you get any recordings or video? We can avoid slander at least.”

Wendy began to shake her head until a thought occurred to her.

“Pan might.” She said quietly, her strength slowly rebuilding after Tink had drained it from her.

“Shit!” Glass exclaimed. “I knew you hadn’t done this all on your own.”

Wendy’s head shot up to stare at Glass, another, much more different bubble of hurt filling her chest.

The entire town thought she was glued to Pan’s side. She couldn’t even screw up without them somehow thinking he had a say in it.

It was time to rip herself from him, or perhaps just rip him a part in general.

“Where does he live?” Wendy inquired calmly.

“You’ve been here all this time and haven’t figured out where he lives?” Glass remarked off-handedly.

“Tell me his address please.” Wendy pled more urgently.

Before Glass could respond, the office phone began to ring. He cursed and reached out to put it on hold.

“You know what, fine.” He grumbled, scribbling something out on a sticky note before tossing it carelessly Wendy’s way. “I have to deal with damage control. Just…don’t kill him before I figure all this out.”

Wendy barely managed a nod before she turned to leave the office, the note crumbling into the center of her pale, shaky palm.

She wasn’t sure what she was going to do to him when she saw him, but she knew she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she saw blood running down his traitorous face.

It took her half an hour of stomping through town and having people jump out of her way before she found the first story apartment. It surprised her that it was in the building in front of her own, and that Pan had never mentioned their close proximity before.

Another thing to add to the list of reasons he was to die today.

“Peter Pan!” she screamed as she banged on his front door. “Open this bloody door!”

She continued to bang on it, unperturbed about the neighbors or what people passing on the street may think. When he didn’t answer, she stepped aside and tried to look through his curtained windows. She could see a slither of a kitchen through the cloth, but no Pan.

Frustrated, she stepped down and search for a rock or something she could use to break the window. Just as she was knuckles-deep in dirt, the door opened. Her glare melted instantly at who was leaning against it.

“A-A…uh, Mr. Booth.” Wendy swallowed, heat numbing her cheeks at the site of the shirtless man with a coffee cup clutched in his hands.

“August is fine.” he smiled, sleep still present in his deep blue eyes. “Winry, right?”

“Wendy.” She croaked, trying to wrap her head to what was going on. “I’m sorry to…disturb…um…I’m sorry…is Pan here?”

August turned just enough so that Wendy could peek into Pan’s apartment. Just ahead she could see what she assumed was Pan’s bedroom, as she saw a figure in bed and his long, pale arm sticking out from under the covers.

“I can wake him if it’s important.” August stated.

Wendy watched the tantalizing movement of his body as he breathed peacefully, sleeping away as if he hadn’t just destroyed several lives.

The rotten bastard.

“It’s fine, I’ll wake him.”

August stepped aside as Wendy barged into the apartment, watching in mixed horror as she grabbed a stray pillow from the end of the bed and began mercilessly beating Pan until he startled awake.

“Shit.” August laughed into his coffee.

“The fuck!” Pan slurred, shooting up and rubbing his eyes. “Wendy?”

“What the actual bloody hell is wrong with you!” Wendy screamed so loud the giant fuzzy cat in the corner of the room scurried away in a frenzy.

“In general?” Pan yawned, the thin sheet covering his waist sliding further down as he stretched. “August, you still here?”

“Yep.” The man in question responded from the living room.

Wendy’s face heated from the sheer absurdity of all that had happened in the last half hour. It was almost too much to bear, especially when the person responsible cared so little that he had spent the night in the throes of passion with another person. She wanted to scream or cry or break something, anything to get the horrible feeling of failure and hurt out of her system.

She grabbed the pillow she had been beating him with and raised it over her head again, ready to destroy him once and for all.

However, Pan’s phone began to vibrate on the nightstand, and he held up a finger to stall her.

“Just a sec,” he said answering his phone. “Hello?”

“Are you bloody kidding me!” Wendy yelled at him, slapping him on the shoulder with the pillow.

With a flick of his wrist, Pan wordlessly tore the sheet from his waist. Wendy gasped, covering her face with the pillow to block her view of Pan’s parts, her face hot enough to boil water on.

“Alright, repeat that.” Pan asserted with a slight smirk.

As the blood rushing through her ears began to slow down, Wendy shifted her attention to the man chuckling over his coffee. He winked at her when he noticed her gaze, and Wendy blushed all the more.      

With her anger cooling, she now felt a bit embarrassed that she had stumbled into such an intimate setting. It was odd seeing Pan with someone who just the day before had been held for suspected murder, but it was more odd to see him with someone who he had insisted he had no current attraction to. Wendy could only wonder the circumstance that had seduced August Booth in to Pan’s bed.

“Astrid, slow down.” Pan demanded over the phone.

Wendy turned just enough so that she could see his face, using the pillow to block out his parts. She watched as his confused look melted into astonishment.

“What? When?”

Wendy gulped. Something was wrong.

“Damn…yeah, sorry for swearing, whatever.”

Oh, that he would apologize for.

“I’ll be there soon.” He said, hanging up and standing.

Wendy looked away, listening as he frantically opened and closed drawers.

“Come on, we’ve got to go.” Pan said over the rustle of clothing.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why—”

In a flash, Pan had her facing him, his hands gripping her shoulders like he was trying to hold her together.

Then Wendy saw it, the rare emotion of guilt in the depths of his green eyes. It was just a twinkle, like the life of star, but it was there all the same, and it made Wendy’s stomach turn with anticipation.

He was trying to hold himself together.

“We’ve got to get down to the convent.” Pan croaked, his hands fidgeting on Wendy’s skin. “Mother Superior was just found dead.”

-,-,-,-,-,-  

Okay, I mean to have this out sooner but I totally changed the ending at the last second (the other one was just confusing and kind of boring to me).

I have two ideas for the next couple of chapters, but I must flesh them out first. Not to mention it’s my last semester of college and I have to focus on my studies if I’m to graduate without incident.

Also, I have a side project with this story I’m working on 😉 as well as chapters to my other works. But I shall update soon I say!

Thanks for all the love guys!

[qqueenofhades]

March is Women's History Month and I got myself thinkin' about how grateful I am for the gal pals in my life (of which you are most definitely one!), and I was wondering - what are some of your favorite historical female friendships and why?

Happy Women’s History Month indeed. Let’s get some ladies up in this joint and do some learning.

Below, in (approximately) chronological order:

1. MurasakiShikubu and Empress Shoshi (10th/11th century)

Murasaki Shikibu was a lady-in-waiting to the Japanese empress Shoshi in the late 10th/early 11th century, and is credited as the author of the first novel, The Tale of Genji. She also kept the Diary of Lady Murasaki, which records details of court life and her relationship with the empress, who was her patron and supported her literary pursuits. Allegedly, Shoshi asked Murasaki to write some more stories when she needed something new to read, and they eventually retired together to the country once Shoshi’s son became emperor. Shoshi herself was a shrewd political operator who carefully managed her family and dynasty’s fortunes, became a Buddhist nun, and died at the age of 86.

2. Christinede Pizan and Anastasia (14th/15th century)

Christine de Pizan was an Italian-French author in the late fourteenth/early fifteenth century, who wrote what are often characterized as many early feminist texts and literary critiques. She wrote blazing responses to popular romances written by men (which were often horrendously misogynist) and was in demand as an author; her texts were commissioned by royalty and kept on elite library shelves. She also sought out other women to collaborate with, including Anastasia, who we know only by her first name. Christine praised her as the finest manuscript illuminator and illustrator in Paris, whose work was hotly in demand, and who had worked on several projects for Christine herself.

3. The Rain Queens of the Lovedu (16th century-present)

This is technically about mothers and daughters, but shh, it counts. The South African tribe of the Lovedu has been ruled for centuries by a “rain queen,” whose wisdom passed from mother to daughter, and who was presented with wives by surrounding chiefs in recognition of her magical powers. If it doesn’t rain, the queen doesn’t get blamed, her (male) rain doctors get blamed instead, and any children of her “brides” are regarded as hers. It created a mystical, matriarchical tradition in the tribe throughout generations, though in the 21st century it has run into modern political difficulties.

4. Queen Elizabeth I and Grace O’Malley (16th century)

Queen Elizabeth I needs no introduction, but Grace O’Malley was an Irish pirate queen who ruled around the Connaught area of Ireland in the late 16th century. When she and her sons ran afoul of English justice, she applied to Queen Elizabeth directly for an audience, which eventually happened at Greenwich in 1593. Elizabeth spoke no Irish and Grace spoke no English, so the two women spoke Latin to each other. Grace must have also made quite an impression on her fellow queen, as Elizabeth released her sons and granted her a pardon, as long as she didn’t return to her reaving ways.

5. Julie d’Aubigny and Fanchon Moreau (17th century)

Julie d’Aubigny, or “La Maupin” had an almost ridiculously eventful life. A cross-dressing, bisexual, sword-fighting opera singer, she famously burned down a convent to run away with her nun lover, kissed a girl at a society party and beat all three of the noblemen who challenged her to duels as a result, and had a noted career in French theater. Fanchon Moreau was one of the actresses that Julie fell in love with, allegedly trying to commit suicide when Fanchon took up with another lover. She later died at the age of only 33.

6. Christina,Queen of Sweden and her many female friends (17th century)

To speak of impossibly colorful and interesting 17th century women: Christina, Queen of Sweden was also a cross-dressing expert swordswoman, rider, and hunter who spoke ten languages, ruled as queen of Sweden for twenty-two years, then resigned the throne and went to Rome, was ferociously brilliant and educated, and has been sometimes regarded as possibly intersex or trans, though she denied that she was a “Male or Hermaphrodite,” as she had often been accused of. She was also either bisexual or a lesbian, who had many relationships and friendships with women, including possibly with Gabrielle de Rochechouart de Montemart, a dazzling beauty and wit who was the older sister of Louis XIV’s famous mistress, Madame de Montespan. (Gabrielle’s BFF was also the openly gay Philippe, duc d’Anjou, Louis XIV’s younger brother.)

7. Queen Anne and Sarah Churchill (18th century)

Queen Anne was known for her passionate and long-running friendships with women, as I wrote about in the post above, and Sarah Churchill, the Duchess of Marlborough, was the longest-lasting and most influential of these. Anne was in love with her, while Sarah was more pragmatic about her relationship with the princess and then queen, and used her considerable intellect and political opinions in the early years of Anne’s rule. Their relationship broke down in 1708, at the death of Anne’s beloved husband George, and Sarah’s unflattering portrayal of Anne would hold sway for many years after.

8. Anne Bonny and Mary Read (18th century)

If you’ve watched Black Sails, you know about these two, but their real-life counterparts were probably even more colorful. They were swashbuckling female pirates who drank, fought, swore, and fucked as hardcore as their male counterparts, and who fought to the end when their ship got captured, while Calico Jack Rackham hid below deck. (Sorry, Jack, but Black Sails was definitely nice to you.) And yes, the real Anne and Mary were probably in a relationship, though we don’t know for sure.

9. ElizabethFreeman and Catharine Sedgwick (18th/19th century)

Elizabeth Freeman, or “Mum Bett,” was a slave who sued the state of Massachusetts for her freedom – and won – in 1780, and after telling her former master to get fucked, took a paying job with the Sedgwick family. She raised Catharine as a child, and Catharine later wrote her life story, the reason we know about her. Catharine grew up to be a successful novelist whose heroines often rebelled against the strictures of 19th-century American society, and she and Elizabeth are now buried side by side in the Sedgwick family plot. (Does anyone else suddenly have something in their eye? Just me?)

10. Ada Lovelace and Mary Somerville (19th century)

Ada Lovelace, nee Byron, was the only legitimate daughter of the infamous Lord Byron, a brilliant mathematician, and the founding mother of computer science, along with her friend and colleague, the great Victorian inventor and eccentric Charles Babbage. However, she was tutored in her young adulthood by the equally brilliant Mary Somerville, a prolific scientist and author of mathematical and astronomical papers and textbooks, and they were close friends; if Ada had a pressing mathematical problem, she would stop by Mary’s for a cup of tea and a brainstorming session. Somerville College in Oxford is now named in Mary’s honor, after she died at the age of ninety-two.

11. Victoria Woodhull and Tennessee Claflin (19th century)

They were sisters, but shh, again, it counts. Victoria Woodhull was the first woman to run for president of the United States (in 1872, with Frederick Douglass as her running mate) and she and Tennessee were journalists, stockbrokers, and advocates of free love who fought with Party Pooper Extraordinaire and self-appointed guardian of 19th-century American virtue Anthony Comstock, as is written about in the Historical Hour With Hilary entry above. They lived in New York together and ran Woodhull and Claflin’s Weekly, a newspaper, and gave blazing speeches for female suffrage and equality.

12. Lyudmila Pavlichenko and Eleanor Roosevelt (20th century)

Ukrainian-born Lyudmila Pavlichenko was the best female sniper of all time, serving in the Red Army during WWII and recording a total of 309 confirmed kills. That was a lot of Nazis, and she was very proud of killing them. She was one of the rare Soviet citizens invited to America for a victory tour, where the American press fixated on idiotic questions about whether she wore makeup while fighting and that her uniform made her look fat (no, really). However, Lyudmila also met First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, and they struck up an unlikely friendship. Eleanor helped Lyudmila tell the sexist asses where to stick it, and they ended up remaining friends for the rest of their lives, including a meeting 15 years later, in 1957, when Lyudmila was living in quiet obscurity in Moscow.

[arabellaflynn]

One of the more amusing family stories I sometimes tell is about a relative of mine, a few generations back, who moved in with another man after his wife died. Ooh, everybody goes. Salacious family gossip! Except the little town they moved to was actually Lily Dale Assembly, in upstate New York, which so far as I know is still one of the oldest continually running Spiritualist communes in the United States. Harry and Edward moved up there so that Edward, ex-model and former elder in the Presbyterian church, could start on what I think was his third career as a spirit medium. He channeled the spirit of an Edwardian actress named Lillie Langtry, also known as "the Jersey Rose". At this point, the whole 'shacked up with his boyfriend' thing has become the least interesting part of the story, and people begin to look at me funny. My parents fucked things up in many respects, several of them so egregious that I haven't spoken to them in years, but I want to give credit where credit is due. They never sat us down to have a talk about how some boys like boys and some girls like girls, and they were all people just like anyone else. It was stupidly obvious. My mother talked about "Harry and Edward" in the same tone she used for "Aunt Helen and Uncle Bob". Except friendlier, as Uncle Bob was known to be a lecher who eyeballed the teenage cousins, and we mysteriously saw a lot less of him after I was about twelve. I was probably in college -- so, old enough for my own friends to start coming out -- before I thought about it long enough to realize how unusual this was. There are a lot of families where I never would have heard about Harry, because they would have disavowed any knowledge of his existence as soon as they found out about his "friend". Tracing LGBT+ relatives can be tricky. They tend to lack a lot of paperwork that straight couples would have. Not just legit marriage certificates -- which don't always exist -- but a lot of other records that are predicated on the assumption that there is a marriage certificate, somewhere. Fifty years ago, John Doe and Roberta Roe could move halfway across the country together and apply for an apartment as "Mr. and Mrs. John Doe", and nobody would ever check. The only way to get that information, pre-internet, was to find out where the marriage would have been officiated, write to the appropriate county clerk (with a processing fee enclosed), and wait 4-6 weeks to see if you got an illegible photocopy or a 'no such file exists' form letter back. No landlord was going to do that. They'd look at you, make a snap judgement on whether you were likely to grow forty tons of weed in their rental property, and ask if you had first, last, and deposit. After you have a lease as "John and Roberta Doe", you can start getting utility bills, phone lines, library cards, checking accounts, even state IDs, depending on where (and when) you were. My own parents are a good example of how this works. My mother used her maiden name right up until she was lying in a hospital bed with a newborn (me), and the nuns filing the paperwork were confused by the concept of putting a different surname down for mother and child. My mother, who was understandably short on patience, finally relented and told them to use Dad's name for everybody. (In her words, "I was afraid they were gonna lose you.") They weren't legally married until I was three, and they only did it because we had moved from Little Canada to a state that even today spits in the face of social progress, and Dad's new health insurance wouldn't otherwise have covered anybody else. Mind you, my college FAFSA papers said they'd been filing taxes as married since 1978. My mother was never one to let a little thing like federal tax law prevent her from doing as she damn well pleased. In Harry and Edward's case, we do have some documentation: Harry wrote memoirs. My mother had a copy, and I've read it. They're mostly about the spirit medium stuff, but there's a fair bit about life as well, and they were hilariously domestic. You would have to engage in mental gymnastics of a phenomenal order to read the two of them as anything but a couple. I seem to recall Harry's daughter either writing to or visiting them in Lily Dale; according to the family, she was mainly just happy her father had settled down with someone who could cook, so he'd stop living on scrambled eggs and spaghetti. I've had no luck so far finding a copy of my own. Partly because it was privately published by someone who evidently went out of business 30+ years ago, but mostly because I didn't have any full names for anybody. The family has only ever referred to Harry as "Uncle Doc Harry". He wasn't a doctor of anything, but he did have an MSW, and for that time and that branch of the family, that was a pretty high-falutin' education. I'm still not sure if he was my great-uncle or my great-great-uncle. My grandfather was from a gigantic Irish Catholic farm family, where there were so many kids with such a range of ages that the eldest grandkids used to babysit their youngest aunts and uncles. It was without a great deal of hope that I prodded the Lily Dale Assembly at about 2 am one night, via their Facebook page. Yes, they have a Facebook page. Of course they have a Facebook page. Another thing you have to consider when nosing around after your queer kin is how to frame it. Somewhere conservative, I probably would have inquired after Harry, mentioning at some point that he used to share a house with someone named Edward. The Assembly, though? The Spiritualists are justifiably proud of their history of being early adopters of things like women's suffrage, feminism, and universal civil rights. They attract a lot of weirdos because they treat the weirdos like valid human beings. I was asking after people who would still be in the living memory of older residents, and a town like Lily Dale would have remembered them as the boring middle-aged married couple. So I just asked about my relatives, plural, Harry and Edward, and mentioned the ghost actress, figuring it would have been pretty unique even for a place like that. I expected to get a teenage intern, who had no idea what I was talking about, but could at least give me some way to get in contact with the town registrar or whatever a Spiritualist commune has. No. Oh, no. Whoever was answering their messages knew exactly who I was talking about, because they used to live across the street. Not only told me where the two of them went, but described the house they bought when they moved out of town in the early '90s. What the actual fuck. Thus armed with useful things like surnames, I went off to Google some more. I still haven't had any luck finding the book; when I first read it, online shopping was already a thing, and I found it eerie as hell to be physically holding a book that had no listing on Amazon. It has an AISN now, as someone evidently sold a signed copy on Amazon once, but no ISBN, and therefore no WorldCat entry. If it exists in any library I can get to, I'm not sure I have any way to ask for it. I can't find their obituaries, either -- my guess is they ran in the newspaper of the small town they lived in after Lily Dale, but the online archives have a big gap between 1989, when their microfiche scans end, and the 2000s, when someone bothered building them a website. If they have headstones, nobody's taken pictures of them for FindAGrave.com. I threw their names at Spokeo and WhitePages and the like, to see if whoever survived longest had moved elsewhere to be with other family, and made an interesting discovery. Directories like that scrape data from other places. Mailing lists, public records, that sort of thing. Most people have at least one "AKA" listing, where they did or didn't use their middle initial for something, or went by Kathy instead of Katherine. Harry seems to have really been Harry, never Harold, which fits with the family naming habits. I did dig up a middle name, and it does tally with the one on the picture of the book cover on Amazon out-of-stock listing, so at least I know I'm tracking the right guy. So far as I can tell from his AKAs, Edward never went by Ed or Eddie -- but he did, at some point in his life, go by Harry's surname. It's exactly the sort of middle finger to convention I would expect from any relative of mine, really. Fuck you, mainstream society, we're married. One of the places it's noted is on a profile for one of the ancestry services that says it was created and maintained by his brother, so at least some of his family seems to have treated them the same way Harry's did. It actually makes me wonder if they had some sort of commitment ceremony at some point. (Beyond signing a joint mortgage on at least one house, I mean. Those are way harder to get out of than a marriage.) There wouldn't be any records filed with the State of New York -- although there's always the chance they were smart enough to file legal papers giving power of attorney and leaving their estate to the other one -- but if it happened in Lily Dale, the Assembly might have noted it. from Blogger https://ift.tt/2zVc9Bw via IFTTT -------------------- Enjoy my writing? Consider becoming a Patron, subscribing via Kindle, or just toss a little something in my tip jar. Thanks!

[ketio-keynata]

Prologue 2: Naked Justice (pII)

The young Ketio was sitting in his school, not paying attention to what the old nun had to say. His Father Tasgall Blair taught him that it was for the good of the gods for him to be educated in such a way. But it didn’t seem that way, all it seemed like was boring math and useless facts. He liked history though, he enjoyed listening to stories of legendary heroes going on dangerous quests, devastating wars and the like. But other than history they never read anything like that. All the books in the school-chapel were avant-garde stories about farmers, plays about nobles killing each other, and dense theological theory. He never did spend much time in the library. Instead he spent time in playground playing with the other children  (or at least, the ones who would let a tiefling near them) and spending time in the armory.

To Ketio the armory was his favorite place. The armory was where the templars kept their weapons and all the young paladins would go to spar with each other. This excited Ketio. He was too young to spar with the adults but he could not stop watching. He studied all their techniques, their stances, and their fighting styles to the point where he could predict the outcome of a match with some accuracy. The nun who ran the armory, Sister Emilia, took notice of Ketio, but cared little for his presence. He could stay as long as he wanted, as long as he didn’t touch the combat weapons and left the trainees alone. 

All while he’s daydreaming, there is a knock on the door of the classroom. The teacher answered the door, and there, standing at the door was a certain Alena one-eye. Taller than most women at 5′9 the children loved when she came to visit, mostly because the teacher would lighten up around her and she occasionally brought sweets. However she had a look on her face saying that this was no time to celebrate. There would be no sweets today. “Sister, by the order of the Grandmaster of the monastery I have come to deliver an important announcement. The Graduate Sean Cathal, has decided that he will not take the on the title of Junior Templar. He will...walk.” A hushed silence overtook the room.

Students started gossiping to each other almost immediately after Alena left, much to the protest of The Nun. But she couldn’t stop the commotion. The children would speak. “What’s Sean doing?” “What does ‘graduate’ mean” Good for him” several children said. However Ketio had no Idea what Alean meant when she said “Sean will walk.” He asked the child next to him, one of the few who trusted him.  “Uh, I think it means there’s gonna be a party and we’ll send him naked in the woods...at least that’s what my mums say.” This left Ketio even more confused, this child was generally seen as the class nerd, and if he didn’t know, ketio was gonna need to some research, which he loathed.

Hours passed and it was time for him to go home. Tasgall was waiting in the dormitory, with a freshly skinned deer hanging out on a meat hook. He smiled at Ketio “Not a good day eh? We all deal with stuff like that.” Ketio thought for a moment “Yeah, I guess all I can do is just go again tomorrow.” Tasgall laughed “That’s my boy! Now then, get the fire going so I can get this soup going. 

Ketio went over to the countertop to grab a match, the crisp crack of it igniting told him that this would be an easy job. He tossed the match into the fireplace and it was not long before the fire was raging. “These new matches have some strange new magic in them.” Tasgall said as he tossed another match in. He continued “Hopefully we won’t need more than 2 or 3 from now on.” He said as he poured some deer chunks and onions into the stew. The splash of the water spilled out of the pot a bit and onto the floor, but not enough to burn oneself.”

Within the hour the sun was setting and the soup was ready. When the two were sat at the table and the meal prayers were said, Tasgall hadn’t fit a spoonful of soup into his mouth when  Ketio almost immediately asked “Why are we sending Sean into the woods naked?” Tasgall laughed so hard that a piece of deer came out of his nose and back into the bowl of soup. He had to get up to fetch a pail of water from the sink. “My boy!” He boasted “Lliiara’s Walk is so much more than being sent into the woods nude as the day you were born!” he paused for a moment, thinking how best to phrase this to a child “Lliiara’s Walk is a great pilgrimage, not to any holy site, but to the world! To bring joy on Lliiara’s behalf, and Justice for Tyr.” Ketio looked at Tasgall and said “Well, that’s uh, great. But why exactly are we sending him out naked.” 

“We aren’t sending him out completely naked...well yes...he will have no clothes. But he will have an axe and the good word of the gods with him. He is to start completely from scratch to bring joy and justice to the world.” Tasgall continued “Unfortunately, few are ever recognized by Lliiara herself and never come home. Those who do are blessed with the power of the gods.” Ketio looked at him and said “Has anyone ever made it home.” 

“You know miss Alena yes?” Ketio nodded. “Well, she looks like she is much younger than me, but she...she is ancient. She is older than the oldest books in our libraries. I’d have to say...six...seven hundred years? She can live so long because she is kept alive and youthful by the will of Lliiara herself.” 

Ketio thought for a moment and then asked “So if Sean completes the walk, he will live forever?” Tasgall laughed “It’s possible, but chances are Sean will...” Tasgall thought for a good long minute before he realized that saying Sean may never return to the monastery alive is not exactly the best thing to say to a six year old. “...chances are Sean will just settle down somewhere else. Maybe create a farm, or a brand new monastery. Who knows. But he may never return without the goodwill of Lliiara.”

Ketio is still worried for Sean, but at least he knows what he’s getting himself into. After all, immortality sounds pretty cool. Maybe Sean will get a different kind of power...who knows.

[just-another-author-i-guess]

The unholy

Warnings: she/ her pronounced reader, blood, biting, this is vampire au after all, slight nudity, Taehyung still can’t keep it in his pants, the reader is kinda aroused all the time, surprise surprise I didn’t bother to edit it through but what did you really expect at this point

Pairing: bts ot7 x reader, nun! reader, princess! reader, vampire! Jin x reader, hybrid! Namjoon x reader, hybrid! Yoongi x reader, vampire! Hoseok x reader, vampire! Jimin x reader, hybrid! Taehyung x reader, hybrid! Jungkook x reader

Parts: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 -

Author’s note: so I’m back with another chapter of the unholy! Sorry this is kinda short and really poorly written but I hope you can forgive me. Also, I just want to thank y’all for all the positivity I’ve been receiving lately like??? I don’t deserve y’all ??? Thanks?? Anyways, I hope you enjoy, things are about to get steamy. (; (you wont understand it now so it’s not as funny, just wait till it makes sense)

(Updates; every Sunday)

Summary:

The king and queen, your mother and father, rules the southern kingdom. The eastern and the western are ruled by kings and queens alike, but the northern are ruled by the most unholy of creatures. Or so you've been told.

Every citizen in the three kingdoms, have been warned about the creatures of the north, and it is with good reason they're all terrified. All your life, your parents have tried to keep the knowledge of the northern creatures from you, but that just made you more curious. Everyday, you would sneak down to the castle library, and read everything you could about the north, wanting to know the secret behind the unholy land.

That of course didn't go well with your parents, and when they found out they decided to send you to the most holy of places, to forget about everything you've read. One of the biggest church organizations in the south agreed to take you in, to rehabilitate you and learn you that you should never question such things as the northern creatures.

By day, you follow the strict prioress around as she lectures you about the holy and the unholy, and by night, you have to go on patrol alone through the church as a punishment for reading about the unholy. But one night, everything changes, when you find the prioress dead, with bite marks all over her body. Of course, you have read about this, and you know exactly what killed her.

But what happens when that exact creature you've read about, shows up right in front of you?

Taglist:

(to be tagged please dm me or comment on this post)

(i’m so sorry if i forgot someone)

@sweetcrvture @boononx @i-am-supermerwholoked221b @karissassirak @bvblackarmy @queenbianca-7 @someslightobsessions @hazeljrz @thefandomelifeishard

The walk up to Jin’s room was strange, to say at least. A heavy silence loomed over you, and not a single living creature showed up on your way, not even Hoseok or Taehyung who had surely only been a few meters in front of you.

You must admit you were a tad bit disappointed, secretly looking forward to see the faces of the other four, still unknown residents of the house.

The walk was shorter than you remembered, Seokjin racing down hallways with you right behind him, your wrist permanently locked in his tight grip, as he dragged you along. It seemed like the house were getting smaller and smaller with every hallways and corridor you passed, making you quite unsure of what you had seen just a couple minutes ago when you had ventured out by yourself.

But before long, Seokjin promptly stopped infront of what you assumed to be the door to his room, making you stumble a bit, faceplanting into his chest, and quickly, embarrassed stepping back.

Without a word, he unlocked the door, with a little, faded grey key, a satisfying ‘click’ sound echoing through the empty hallway.

Gently, Seokjin pushed you forward into his room, forgetting his own strength for a moment and making you fall forward harder than intended.

Quickly, a delicious smell filled your nostrils, and the sole reason why you walked down into the kitchens to begin with filled your brain; hunger.

In the exact same moment, your tummy grumbled, loudly and proudly, making Seokjin huff in amusement, the ice disappearing from his eyes as he remembered how human you were.

“As I said earlier, there’s a meal waiting for you,”

He mused, making you look up at him with a rather offended look, as he stood there grinning.

So he thought it was funny how hungry you were, after he left you alone for what felt like hours without food?

Angrily, you marched in the direction of the delicious smelling meal prepared by his desk, and slumped down on the chair, as he followed you and sat down besides you without making the slightest sound.

Seokjins room were tightly organized, in fact it was organized so much there almost weren’t any space left. To others, including you, it might have looked like a mess of books, papers and clothes scattered everywhere, but every piece of clothes and every ripped out page had a certain place, that’s how Seokjin liked to organize his hoarders.

In between the many things he had scattered around, you recognized more than a few items, from the castles and and dormitories you had previously lived. Things you were certain, that a vampire would never need, and it puzzled you.

Your eyebrows furrowed, as your eye caught a cooking book laying on his floor. The kitchen looked like it hadn’t been occupied for centuries, but still he had a cooking boom laying on his floor. And it wasn’t just one, you noticed, there were many, ranking from pastries to exquisite meals that would surely be a king worthy.

Seokjin noticed you confusion, and huffed once again in amusement, a quiet, breathy sound that somehow still managed to radiate joy into to the world.

You shrugged, deciding to let it go, when the scent from the delicious looking food found its way back to your nose, and instantly your hunger won the battle, and it wasn’t long before you were stuffing your face with all the goods laid out to you on the table.

Seokjin watched, with a sly smile on his face, as you ate the contents on your plate. Truth be told, his brothers had also been very confused to why he had even bothered to get cooking books, when the condition he was in didn’t allow him to drink anything besides human blood.

But it wasn’t the food itself that fascinated him, it was the human behind the making of the many foods that truly perked his interest. Of course, he wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself, but he did find humans more than interesting, always trying to gather the information he could find around them, and gathering the thing they used daily as well.

Those were his lucky days, the days were he would find a random doll, a child had dropped, or even better would he find things created by humans, things such as cooking books. He wanted to learn how to cook, he wanted to learn the human way of doing it, not just ordering around a servant to do it for him. He longed to learn the human ways of life, he longed to feel human again.

As a small child, he hadn’t known how lucky he had been, to eat actual food, to need actual sleep, but the more he grew the less he needed the human needs and the more he craved what ran through a humans veins instead.

He sighed, watching you finish off your last bite, a content look on your face as you did so, and turned to look at him with a rather embarrassed expression, blood flooding your cheeks.

“Sorry,,I lost my manners for a moment,”

You gently dapped your moutharea with the cloth laying next to you, as you brushed your hands off in your ruined skirt.

“I..”

He started, but soon trailing off, mouth growing dry as hunger flared up in him again, but he had already taken so much from you, and his brothers had too, he needed to let you rest.

“You need to get your bloodlevels up, take a bath, there’s been a new dress prepared for you outside the bathroom,”

He started, standing up to leave once more, but still keeping eye contact with you, as his Adam’s apple bubled, and the only thing he truly wanted was to sink his fangs deep into your soft skin, draining the color you had just recently gained in your face.

“Someone will come get you later.”

Rather stiffly, he turned around, and disappeared quicker than you could even blink, the only evidence that he had been there being the door shutting soundly a few seconds later.

You picked the black dress up with careful fingers, noticing how much it resembled the one you already wore. Only this one was more detailed, clearly meant for someone with a higher standing than your current one.

You sighed, slinging the black fabric over your arm, entering the bathroom. You noticed how much of a difference it was to Seokjin’s dark room, here, light actually shone through the curtains, enlightening you that it must have been mid afternoon.

The room was fairly big, white marble tiles running up the walls and covering the walls, one big mirror standing a little off to the side, and the big, perhaps the biggest bathtub you had ever seen, standing proudly in the middle.

Carefully, you placed the new dress on the floor, and noticed a little, white underdress being curled up in the otherwise black fabric. With light touches, you let your fingers slide over the bathtub, feeling the smooth stone material beneath them, finally reaching the tap and gently twisting it.

To your luck, warm water came tumbling out almost immediately, the room getting gradually more humid, as you started to discard of your old, ruined dress.

Silently, you stepped into the now high water, small ridges forming as your foot hit the surface, and you shuddered. The water was warm, almost burning, but you couldn’t help but enjoy it, when the warm sensations surrounded you as you sank down.

The wager covered you all the way up to you shoulders, and you quickly leaned back, the water now going to your chin, with a content sigh. You let all the stressful events from the last few days wash away and flood out in the water, dried blood and dirt slowly flooding off of you.

As the warm water hit the bite marks on your neck, a shiver went up your spine, suddenly remembering the encounter with Hoseok and Taehyung in the kitchen. You had been starting to question yourself if it was even real, but when your fingertips lightly glided over the other sets of bitemarks on your wrist, and you remembered Taehyung’s intense hunger, you knew it was real.

Slowly, you let your eyes close, the scene in the kitchen playing on repeat, and your bitemarks were starting to feel hotter than the water itself. The way they had sank their fangs into you, and slowly out again, had you lightly whimpering. But it wasn’t soon, before the events of the last few hours came crashing down on you, forcing you to forget your lust and drift up into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

“Bunny..bunny.. I know you can hear me,”

The sudden voice of Taehyung instantly had your eyes open, and you looked around, wondering how he got in here in the first place. But you couldn’t the anything, the whole bathroom was covered in white, hot steam from your bath, and the only thing you could feel was his presence. He was here, and you wanted oh so desperately to get to him, a full ache starting to make itself present between your legs.

“Bunny,”

Taehyung spoke again, voice as soft and smooth as honey, but at the same time deadly and poisonous.

“Be a good girl for me, get out of the tub,”

You did as you were told, shaky legs hitting the cold tile floor, as you stood completely bare and dripping wet in the middle of the steam cloud.

“Taehyung?”

You called out for him, all too desperate to feel his hands on you, as only were met with your own voice echoing back to you.

“Shh, come here bunny, gotta be quiet,”

Taehyung shushed you, voice now right besides your ear, and you instantly turned around, being met with a rather cocky looking Taehyung, hair wet and curly from the steam.

“T-Taehyung,”

You shuddered, face flushed and red, as his hands began to caress your sides, curling themselves into your warm skin, as he continued to smile at you, a rare, sweet smile

“Here Jin-hyung can’t find us,”

He purred, hands running up and down your back, until they reached the small of your back, curling around your hips were they stopped their journey, and he pulled you flush against him.

He didn’t seem to care that your body was wet, therefore making his shirt damp, as he continued to press closer to you, slowly backing you up against the wall, you back hitting the cold tiles, making chills shoot up your spine.

“Are you gonna be good for me? Letting me take you right against this wall?”

His voice dropped lower, fangs coming out to poke his bottom lip, and you could do nothing but get lost in his brilliant crimson eyes and nod helplessly.

With one finally push, he had you pressed completely against the wall, sandwiching you between him and the cold marble tiles. You couldn’t wait for what was about to come, you couldn’t wait for Taehyung’s tongue in your mouth, you couldn’t wait for his fangs sinking into your skin.

But just as his lips touched yours, a sharp knock on the door made you shoot up, and realize you were still sitting in the bathtub, the warm water had now turned rather cold, and a shiver went through you.

The knock echoed again, before a gruff voice spoke.

“Seokjin sent me to get you. Are you clothed?”

The voice sounded tired and strained, and quickly you stepped out of the tub, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel, still a little hazy from the all the vivid dream you had just had.

You could have sworn Taehyung was here.

“I-I’m almost done!”

You managed to call out, through hot stuttering, and you heard a tired sigh on the other side.

As quick as you could, you picked up the dress, combing your hair with your fingers, after you had put it on. The white underdress apparently had sleeves as well, making the long black dress look more like a maid dress, than what you had originally thought. it did look an awful lot, like the one the prioress used to wear.

Quickly, you stuck your feet in your shoes as well, and carefully opened the door, letting out steam, careful not to hit whoever was stood on the other side.

In the hallway, a boy smaller than the others, but still way taller than you, stood with an annoyed look on his face.

“Took you long enough,”

He grumbled, and placed a hand on the small of your back, the exact same spot where you could have sworn Taehyung had touched you just a few moments before.

Suddenly, the hand gripped your dress tightly, the boy freezing, looking at you with an expression that wavered between hunger and disgust.

“Why do you smell like Taehyung? Is he hiding somewhere here?”

He accusingly asked, pushing you forward in a more rough manner, closing the doors behind him. You stayed silent, contemplating wether or not you should tell him about your dream.

“You never answered me,”

He pressed, after a long pause of silence, him pushing you forward as you hurried down the many confusing hallways of the house.

“I-“

You started, your brain suddenly feeling just as fuzzy as your body, and all you wanted was for him to stop pushing you so hard. It was as if the memories of the dream quickly fled your brain, making you almost forget where you where for a moment, the world started to almost spin around you.

“I-i can’t remember,”

You muttered, placing your hands around your head, to get the spinning sensations out.

“He’s probably messing with your memory, that little shit,”

The boy grumbled lowly, and for a moment or two you weren’t quite sure who he was talking about. It was almost as if the whole encounter in the bathroom never happened, you could only remember the steam, the steam and someone, most likely Taehyung had been calling out to you.

Instead of pushing you, he now opted for wrapping his arm around your middle, making it easier to follow his quick strides, as he began to almost drag you along like you were nothing more than an old rag doll.

Silently, and more careful that the boy had been with you, did he open a big, dark wooden door, this time gently shoving you inside, instead of harshly pushing you.

Nevertheless, you stumbled inside, still feeling confused and fuzzy, your mind doing it’s best to figure out what exactly had happened in the bathroom, and why exactly you couldn’t remember it.

“Taehyung is in her head, hyung, I think he did something to her while she was bathing,”

The boy, went straight up to Seokjin, leaving you to stand alone in the strange looking room. You eyes wondering the many shelves with strange liquids, the big, messy desk Seokjin was standing over, and the big, comfortable looking bed in the corner, where a very tired looking boy was laying.

He looked like Taehyung and Hoseok had before they fed off of you, he looked hollow and paler than the rest, and a sudden urge to let him feed on you filled your head.

You got the sudden urge to bend over him, letting him sink his teeth into your neck, and drink until his cheeks went chubby and color returned to his face, but before you could even take a step forward, Seokjin shot you a sharp look, and you slightly stepped back, and tried to focus on anything but the boy in the bed.

“Thank you Yoongi, will you help Jeongguk sit up?”

Seokjin spoke, voice tired and strained, as he motioned you to come over, and the boy, Yoongi walked over the boy in the bed, Jeongguk, and with careful, caring hands helped him sit up in the bed.

Slowly, you made your way over to stand besides Seokjin, as he began to write notes down in a old looking journal.

“Do you know why you’re here, bunny?”

Seokjin asked, and you noticed how his voice was softer when he addressed you, instead of the tired, slightly annoyed voice he spoke with, had it been to Taehyung. Pausing a little at his question, you lightly shook your head, looking up to look straight up into his crimson eyes.

“Why can’t I remember anything?”

You shot back, wanting oh so badly to figure out what had went on in the bathroom, and why everyone was worried about Taehyung messing with your brain.

Seokjin paused, letting the pencil he was writing with go, making it land on the wooden table with a little thump.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

He asked, tone slightly worrying but not too much, as he instead grabbed onto to counter, tightening his hand around it.

“I..”

You started, eyebrows furrowing as you thought deeply.

“I remember falling asleep, and there was this steam filling up the bathroom..”

You wondered outloud, definitely noticing the way Seokjin grimaced, angrily letting out a huff of air as he cursed out the younger boy’s name.

“The fuzzy feelings will go away soon, relax, in the meantime I have a favor to ask of you,”

He started, and you skeptically nodded along, happy to know that the weird feeling would soon go away, but very unsatisfied with the answer you got.

“As you can see, Jeongguk is very sick, I- we don’t know what is wrong with him yet, but he has refused to drink any form of animal blood, and even the human blood we had stored away did he refuse to drink-“

“So you’re asking me to let him feed on me?”

You finished Seokjin’s sentence for him, and had it been anyone but you had he surely been annoyed, but he was actually rather impressed with your guessing skills.

“..yes.”

He sank again, Adam’s apple bubbling like it had done in his room, and nervously glancing at the weak Jeongguk who was now sitting up, with the help of Yoongi. You watched in amazement, as Seokjin reached behind him, grabbing one of the strange liquids, and pouring another weirdly colorful liquid into it, before shaking and looking skeptically at it.

“Drink this,”

He handed you the strange, now dark green liquid, and you stired it a little, noticing how it smelled almost metallic.

“Why?”

You questioned, eyeing whatever it was, and questioning to yourself if it was really worth drinking. Seokjin sighed, a long pause went through the room before he spoke.

“It will help with the side effects of Jeongguks venom,”

He sighed, and looked like it was the most normal thing to say after giving someone a strange green liquid, demanding they drink it. Upon noticing your scared expression, he lightly huffed, the same amusement from before briefly returning to his eyes.

“Some vampires have venom stored in their teeth, Jeongguk’s venom can and will cause a fair amount of damage, if you don’t drink the antidote I made you,”

Wearily, you took your first sip of the antidote, reasoning with yourself that surely Seokjin wouldn’t put you in a situation that could actually kill you. And when the venom didn’t taste as bad as expected, you quickly gulped the rest down.

“That’s a good girl,”

Seokjin praised you, making your cheeks turn slightly red, as you handed him the now empty cup back, turning your head, and carefully stealing a glance at Jeongguk. Seokjins hand landed on your back, indicating you should walk over to Jeongguk, and so you did, the strange urge to see him well fed making its presence known again.

“Jeongguk,”

Seokjin said sternly, making you slightly jump, but keeping your focus on the sick Jeongguk.

“Don’t take too much from her, take what you need, I trust you,”

“I know hyung, I won’t,”

The younger boy rasped, and that was the first time you had heard his voice. It was so much more alive than he looked, only sounding a tad bit tired, as his big, brown eyes met yours, and without even realizing it, you stepped forward, already beginning to bow down to him.

“She’s just waiting to be fed on,”

Jeongguk mumbled, voice just above a whisper, as he let his shaking hands lock around your shoulders as he situated you as he wanted you on his bed. You did not complain once, bowing to his will, feeling strangely submissive to the boy, as you let him slump you against him and expose your neck to him.

Both his hyungs were watching with cautious eyes, ready to interfere if anything bad was to happen, and with Jeongguk bad things was always to happen.

Slowly, he began nosing up your neck, a shiver ran up his spine, as he could practically already smell your blood through your skin. Suddenly, his tongue began to lap at the two marks, Hoesok had made earlier.

“Hoseok hyung got to her already?”

Jeongguk questioned, sounding more like a child that had to share his favorite toy.

“It was a mistake, Jeongguk, hurry up,”

Seokjin began tapping his foot, annoyed with the way the younger boy was taking his sweet time to smell you, when he couldn’t help but feel possessive. You were his feeder, he should be drinking from you.

That was all the encouragement Jeongguk needed, before he found his spot right below Hoseok’s, slowly beginning to lick it like a man starved, and you felt his supposedly poisonous fangs poke at your skin.

Suddenly he pierced, without warning, one hand resting on your belly, keeping you as close to him as possible and the other locked around your throat, keeping it in place.

Another shiver went up his spine upon tasting your blood, and instantly he dived deeper, only being spurred on by the way you held the many moans inside you, when you felt his fangs slide into you.

He drank like he was possessed, he drank like he hadn’t fed in days, and he hadn’t, he drank till his cheeks were round and chubby and he had no intentions of stopping.

He grunted and groaned into your neck, the heavenly feelings his feeding sent straight to your core made it hard for you to keep the whines and moans from spilling out, but you did your best, considering the fact that Yoongi and Seokjin were standing right besides you.

Only when the color started to drain from your face, did Seokjin interfere.

“Jeongguk, Jeongguk! You’ve had more than enough,”

He yelled, when the boy still didn’t listen, sucking even more viciously, making purple and blue hickeys appear along with the two bite marks. Only when Yoongi began to pull at him, did he stop, his fangs sliding out of you with a deep satisfied grunt, making you shudder against him.

You felt lightheaded, helplessly falling against Jeongguks chest, as you heard them loudly argue, Seokjin yelling profanities at Jeongguk for taking too much of you blood, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at this point.

The lightheadedness was making you tired, so tired that the voices turned to mere background noise and you closed you eyes, noticing how comfortable Jeongguks chest felt against your back, how warm he was, how much you needed to sleep. And slowly but surely, your eyes closed, and you drifted off to a deep, almost coma like sleep.

[mikhailsbluecarnation-blog]

It is okay to grow up, Osomatsu, part 2: Both Sides's life

"Ahem! So, for our daily life, we cleaned this building, restocking food and reading on library if nothing worth to do. We wake up on 8am at least." Priest!Karamatsu tried to keep his composure, "It is busiest on Sunday and festival days, so we take role who will cook often.".

"Anyway, what is a defense attorney? First time hearing it" priest!Karamatsu was a bit curious.

Osomatsu shrugged, "I have no idea, but I think they defend guilty people?", Osomatsu wrote those down in his mind, "What does other Choromatsu do? He sounds like important person", he smiled and drank his milk. Priest!Karamatsu smiled and sighed, "He protect this entire land and water, to keep it alive and well, like you how you protect your brothers". These two continue to chit chat with fun, until nearly evening.

Nun!Ichimatsu came in the kitchen and handed a pair of pajama with red color, "For you, I actually just fix devil!Oso's since he keep ruining his wings part", "Do you want to go to forest with me tomorrow? We will hunt".

He looked at nun!Ichimatsu and nodded, "Sure!" He held his new clothes and nodded, "I want to take a bath, where can I?" He looked at nun!Ichi and Priest!Kara, both of them pointed at left hall, "Just go there".

He walked to bathroom and find witch!Todomatsu on the hall, Todomatsu smiled and held his hand, "Going to bathroom?"

"Can you be with me for a while?" Todomatsu smiled and took him to his room, "My bathroom is more unique and not boring"

Goddess!Choromatsu came in Todomatsu's bathroom, "Geez, you are really trying to be his big brother huh?" He whispered to Todomatsu's ears while smirking, Osomatsu looked confused but he just shrugged it off,

Osomatsu looked at them, "uhmm..can I take a bath by myself?" He said it shyly and blushes a bit.

------------------~~same hour~~~------------

Karamatsu ran and dashed under storm, "Osomatsu!! Osomatsu!! Where are you? Damn it!! This is not funny! For you doing extraordinary things!" He continued to run, run and run. He skipped many buildings, alleyways, shops and parks.

"Osomatsu!! Answer me!! I am not angry okay? Sorry to hit you! So please come back! I am not mature enough to be the oldest if you are really gone!" He kicked a trashcan and bags that blocked his way, desperately searching for the eldest who vanishes for days!

"Osomatsu! I am sorry! I am guilty! Sorry for restrain you a lot and blame you on most of things! Although you are protecting us from danger on land and everywhere. Life is really an ugly court!!"

Choromatsu ran beating Kara's speed and dragged him down, "It is my turn to look after him! You are just blindly look for him! You can't even control yourself!!", Choromatsu gripped his collar then hugged him, "I should not put pressure him too much, he often caught zoning out this lately right? I think he starts to thinking about his future, about ours!!!", Choromatsu cried loud under the long lasting storm that mercilessly showered them sorrow. "Karamatsu let's go home. We will search for him tomorrow"

Meanwhile Todomatsu tried to track and think possibility of Osomatsu's whereabout, he leaned to a wall and try to think. "I have not go out with Osomatsu even for a while this lately, if only! If only I do hang out with him for a while, then I must be know about his whereabout now!" Todomatsu decided to strolled on any minimarket, hoping he will meet Osomatsu while walking.

Ichimatsu was walking on the alley to nowhere while carrying cats, he walked in and out every alley, he found an old foreign looking building with broken roof and creepy statues. He placed cats under a good looking roof, cats are running around and one ran far enough, Ichimatsu chased him.

His eyes expressed a shocking surprise when he see Osomatsu sat under the same roof with a cat licking his finger, Ichimatsu quickly send messages to others and his location. Ichimatsu hugged Osomatsu tightly to keep him warm, the cheeks that used to blush infront of them are being replaced with pale white porcelain cheeks.

Choromatsu ran to the location while carrying Karamatsu on his back, just whatever he takes to go to that building.

Ichimatsu cried when he looked at them finally arrived, "Osomatsu nii san is!! Osomatsu nii san is!!-" he stopped and crying.

Choro and Kara knew what is going on, they hugged Osomatsu, "for now let's go back, carry him like normal. We will discuss it..." Karamatsu said after he took deep breath.

They met Todomatsu who is crying halfway and they all went back to the house. Todomatsu take care of Osomatsu's body, checking every pulse location.

Todomatsu exhaled, "I finally find a bit pulse, Jyuushimatsu nii san, can you buy us lots of oxygen cans? Just use all of my savings", he pushed to his limit to keep his logic dominate to hope for finding and saving the eldest brother.

Jyuushimatsu nodded and ran off buying, busy with it, he buy lots of food too.

------------------

Devil!Oso wander off and sighed, "To grant someone's wish, Equal sacrifice is required, but I make exception. I take him here, to this world for that. Then it is him who can decide to go back or not. I wonder how things can going on further?"

-------continue on chapter 3-----

[elanorjane]

No Rest for the Wicked (Ch 2/20)

Summary: Rumford Gold is tired. He may have just lost his taste for killing people. Which is a problem considering it’s his job. Unable to complete his latest assignment, he's stranded in an obnoxiously chipper small town and continually distracted by the town's captivating librarian.   Belle French is growing weary of her role as Storybrooke's resident good girl. Every day she sits in her empty library, surrounded by the places she’ll never get to see. When a mysterious stranger comes into town, Belle thinks she might have just found her great romantic adventure.   Job undone, Gold’s assassin colleagues descend on the town. Forced to make a choice, Gold has to decide: Tell Belle the truth about being an assassin and ruin the image she has of him or complete the job while trying to protect Belle...including from himself.

AO3 Link

The bell hanging over Game of Thorns’ cherry red door jangled as Belle let herself in to her father’s shop. She inhaled the familiar floral scents. Some people found the fragrance overpowering, but to her it was home. Literally. She’d taken her first steps while bracing one pudgy baby arm against the cooler doors. In the back of the store was a door frame with a succession of lines carved in it, marking her heights from birth to high school graduation. She could discern the changing of the seasons, not because of her decision to wear a coat, but by the slight change in aroma when she opened the door to deliver her father his lunch.

She came by the flower shop every work day to bring him food, lest he get so involved in work he forgot to eat at all. At noon, like clockwork, she arrived carrying either something homemade in a brown paper bag or takeout from Granny’s wrapped in styrofoam and plastic. Today it was a turkey sandwich, apple, and carrot sticks she’d compiled before leaving for the library.

Two steps inside the shop, she almost collided into someone darting from behind a display wall of roses too tall to see over. Belle threw an arm over the bag she carried to protect the contents from getting squashed.

“Hello, Mother Superior!” Belle greeted, taking a step back and placing a hand on the diminutive nun’s shoulder to steady the both of them.

“Good afternoon, Belle,” the nun dropped the hand that had flung to her chest in surprise. “I must not have heard the bell.” She recovered herself, “Thank you again for the generous book donation.”

Like the librarian before her, every year Belle sponsored the book sale held during the convent’s biggest annual fundraiser, Miner’s Day. The civic affair held a special place in Belle’s heart. The Miner’s Day Festival was where, when she was a very little girl, she'd found her favorite book, Her Handsome Hero. She'd begged her mother to let her get it and not only had she bought it for her, she'd read it to her every single night until Belle learned to read on her own. That book, and all the others after it, continued a love affair with books that she shared with her mother. It was what had made her want to become a librarian. When she was 19, she'd replaced the old librarian that sold Her Handsome Hero to her that fateful day, and she'd been at the post ever since.  

“I’m happy to,” Belle replied genuinely.

“Every little bit helps,” Mother Superior insisted. “Nowadays, people are so busy,” she shook her head. “But I can always count on you.”

Belle winced. She knew she hadn’t meant to, but Mother Superior’s last observation had stung. Reliable Belle. That was her. Always around, always available. She was delighted to help the community that had given her so much, she really was. But lately she’d been wondering what it would be like to say no every once in a while because she wouldn’t be home. She’d be far away, traveling.

She’d meant to leave Storybrooke, to go to college, and see the world. But there was always a reason to defer. The death of her mother, a flower shop that needed help, a library that would close without her, responsibilities she felt obligated, or was expected, to stick around for. She was ingrained in this town now, she sometimes feared to her detriment.

She was now a very single adult. She ran the library and helped her father with the flower shop during the busy holidays. She truly loved the people here, growing up with a tight group of friends who she was still close to. Yet lately she felt as if she existed on the outskirts of Storybrooke. People met, got married, had families, came and went; but she, and Storybrooke, stayed the same.  

“We’ll see you at Miner’s Day then,” Mother Superior told her as way of goodbye.  

Belle struggled to place a genuine smile on her face so she nodded instead. “I’ll be there.”

She’d be there. Like she always was.

The bell behind her signaled that Mother Superior had left. Belle sighed. So she’d continue to surrounded herself with books about the adventures she couldn’t have. She longed for something to happen in this town, since she couldn’t leave it. Or maybe someone to come through and whisk her away, shaking up her safe little world. That was maybe too romantic a thought, even for her.  

Might as well wish for a white knight on a galloping stead while I’m at it.

She weaved her way through the rows of flowers to the back of the shop where her father stood behind the counter.

“Hi, Dad,” she called.

Moe French looked up from whatever order form he was concentrating on, a scowl on his face. “Hello, Belle,” he grinned, any remnants of his serious mood gone.  

She held up the bag, “Brought you your lunch.”

He stepped aside to made room for her on the other side of the counter. “You take such good care of me, Princess,” he told her, using his nickname for her.  

She shrugged his observation off. Of course she did. Her father was the most important person in her life. He was the only family she had. Which was what made her feel so guilty about her daydreams of being far, far away from Storybrooke. Why was she wishing time with her only living relative away?

“I can’t stay today,” she told him, sliding the bag across the counter. “Mary Margaret’s class is visiting at 12:30. But meet at home for dinner?”

“See you at six,” he smiled warmly at her again.  

She leveled her most serious gaze at him. “And make sure you eat all the carrots this time!” she scolded, pointing at him as she walked backwards towards the exit.

Moe chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re worse than your mother.”

She gave him a wave over her shoulder and hurried back out of the shop and across the street.

If she couldn't leave Storybrooke, maybe adventure would one day come to her. But she doubted it. Nothing ever happened in this town, nothing exciting anyway, therefore nothing ever happened to her. Storybrooke was a safe place full of safe people. Every day was like the one before, with the annual interruption of the Miner’s Day Festival, but even that was getting old. She'd seen it over twenty times already.

Face it, your parents moved here, you were born here, and you’ll die here.

There were worse ways to live a life, she reminded herself. She loved her little library. But she wanted to see something outside the books she read. Maybe experience some of the things she found in them...like the romance novels she’s found herself picking up in lieu of classic literature lately.

She'd had her high school boyfriend, Gaston, who worked at the Storybrooke veterinary clinic and who everyone in town, including her father, expected her to marry. But she had broke it off after high school, wanting to be free in case opportunity came calling and she could steal away at a moments notice, nothing tying her down. But with no money, and no car except the Game of Thorns van, she was stuck regardless.

Belle didn't think she wanted to marry a man like Gaston anyway. Gaston had no interest in life outside Storybrooke. It's not that she didn't love Gaston, or Storybrooke, she simply wanted the choice to choose them instead of having them chosen for her. She wanted to decide her own fate.

But, as yet another Miner’s Day festival rolled around, it seemed like circumstances had decided for her. She unlocked the doors to the library, took down the “Will Return Soon” sign in the window, and took her place behind the circulation desk.

So she'd sit here, behind this desk, continue to bring her father his forgotten lunches, and donate to the nuns, until adventure found her.